#my father is Not White almost none of my coworkers would be considered white by outsiders‚ you walk 1km from the richer parts of -

[manaosdeuwu]

they come and preach to us about 'argentina is white' 'argentina is racist' and don't look at their own history & present. we know better than anyone about how strong racism is here!! those affected by it live through it every day, you can easily see it in your day to day life and we learn about most of the genocides at school. we have the biggest jewish community in Latin America, a big muslim community, many people of different native tribes, afroargentines, etc. all of this data is easy to find with a quick research. you're not fucking helping by reproducing white supremacists discourse. who do you think benefits from the 'white argentina' idea?

[wrenreid]

Off Limits

content warning: none i can think of

Part Four

I’ve been watching Hotch’s son for five days now. I got a call from him this morning apologizing for leaving me with Jack for so long.

“I really don’t mind, Hotch,” I told him.

It’s true. I’ve always liked kids; well, at least the sweet ones. And I don’t have any kids of my own. Babysitting is a way to take care of children and be able to give them back eventually. I think it’s a pretty good deal.

Anyway, it’s not like I’m alone. Jade is here 90% of the time; the other 10% she’s with friends. I suppose it’s nice having company other than a four year old. We’ve stayed up in the living room talking almost every night after Jack goes to sleep.

We haven’t talked about much, but it’s been nice just to talk. She doesn’t seem to mind when I go on tangents about anything my brain can conjure up. I like that because as tolerant as my coworkers are, their faces always show when they want me to quit rambling. Jade’s facial expressions don’t grow irritated and bored when I spill out my knowledge. She may not really care, but she doesn’t show that. I appreciate it.

She a lot like her dad in some ways, but I don’t think she notices. She’s stubborn and intelligent. I can also tell by examining her body language and the way she talks that she’s a natural born leader. Maybe that’s why Morgan has always called her little Hotch.

When I first met her, I was 23, and she was 16. Her dark hair reminded me of Hotch’s, but it was more chocolate while his was more ebony. Her eyes are dark too, but there’s a hint of hazel in them, like Haley had. Her eyes have gotten a little darker now that she’s aged some years.

Some may say it’s strange that I notice these things, but I notice everything. Details stick out to me. I’ve also noticed how she has a wall she’s put up behind her eyes, keeping those looking into them from seeing her feelings. The wall isn’t as strong or thick as her fathers, but it’s still there.

I have one of those too, I’ll admit. If I remember correctly, I began building that wall at 10 years old. 18 years later, I’d like to say it’s pretty sturdy.

Some might think it’s a bad thing to create those barriers between yourself and the outside world. But from my point of view, it’s a safety net. Why would one wear their heart on their sleeve and risk others using that to their advantage when they can hold all the cards themselves?

All this to say, I don’t blame her for the extra support in front of her emotions.

“Hey,” Jade says with a yawn, her steps making soft thud sounds on the hardwood stairs.

“Hi,” I give her a small wave from my spot on the couch. Jack is watching cartoons on the tv while he sits on the floor, his legs crossed in a pretzel.

Jade slept in this morning, and I told Jack to be a little quieter so she could stay asleep.

It’s 11am now when she heads into the kitchen. She comes back a minute later with a bowl of cereal in her hands. She sits down a little bit away from me on the couch, shelving a spoonful of the cheerios into her mouth as soon as she’s situated.

Her hair’s messy, but it’s kind of flattering somehow. Jade’s dressed in a white t shirt too big for her and black shorts that are hardly visible underneath the shirt.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask, just trying to make conversation. Usually, I don’t bother for small talk, but I figure it can’t do any harm.

Jade finished chewing the handful of cereal in her mouth, swallows, then answers. “Pretty well. I appreciate sleeping in for the first time in a while.”

“Not a morning person?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly. You?”

I furrow my eyebrows a little. “I’d rather sleep in than get up early, but I hardly ever get to. I usually go to bed late too. So I guess you could say I’m more of a night person,” I tell her.

“Me too. I just like night better,” Jade says. “It’s quiet and less bright.”

“Research shows those considered ‘night owls’ are more intelligent and creative than those who wake up early.”

“I guess our brains just need more rest after a hard day of being smarter than everyone else,” she says with a grin.

I laugh softly at that. “I suppose so.”

“Would you want to go to the park today?” She asks, and I almost think she’s asking me on a date of some sorts until I glance back at her and see she’s talking to her brother.

“Yes!” Jack exclaims excitedly.

“Okay. If you go put this in the sink for me, I’ll take you and we can play catch,” Jade says, holding out her bowl.

Jack realizes what she’s doing, but agrees to her terms. He rises from his place on the living room rug and makes his way to the living room with her bowl in his hands.

“That was devious,” I say with a slight chuckle.

“It was strategic. I didn’t want to get up off the couch, and he wants something I can give him. It’s good thinking,” Jade says, tapping her fingertips to her head.

I shake my head, but a smile creeps up onto my lips. “I’m glad I didn’t have any older siblings.”

She laughs softly. “Me too.”

Jack comes back, his hands on his hips. “So, when we going to the park?”

“How about one? I need a shower,” Jade tells him.

“One?” Jack whines.

“That’s only about two hours. Five and a half cartoons,” she says.

“Fine,” he sighs with quite a bit of emotion behind it for a four year old.

The desired time for said four year old rolls around, and Jade keeps to her word. They’re both dressed now. Jack in jeans and a light weight jacket and Jade in thin black joggers and a slightly baggy t shirt.

“You don’t have to go with us if you need a break from you know who,” Jade tells me as she reties Jack’s shoelace that he did himself.

“Actually, I’d like to go if that’s okay. It’s a nice day,” I say with a soft smile.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, grabbing her keys off one of the hooks on the wall.

“Your version of a nice day is quite different from most people’s,” Jade laughs once we’re walking through the park to find a suitable spot.

There’s several people here, some on bikes, some talking on benches, some playing football, some playing with their children. The light grey clouds in the sky are covering up the sun just enough so that it’s not too bright out. It looks like it may rain tonight. The April weather is still somewhat cold, leftover from winter, but it isn’t so chilly that one would need many layers.

I look up at the sky and around us. “The sun isn’t blinding my eyes. Nice day.”

“Valid,” she shrugs. She’s holding hands with Jack, his little legs setting our pace much slower than my usual walk. I don’t mind.

“Right here’s good,” Jade points to an area of the park with green grass and enough space for a kid her brother’s age to play in. There’s a bench just across the concrete path from it.

Jack pulls her onto the grass, his ball in his other hand. “Go far,” he tells her.

She goes about five four away from him.

“Farther than that!”

Jade takes two more steps back. “We’ll start out here, okay?”

“Okay,” he says and throws her his ball.

It’s plastic ball the size of a softball. It’s not hallow, but it’s not too heavy to where it would hurt bad if one got hit with it.

She catches it and underhand- tosses it back. He catches it too. This goes on for a while, and I sit on the bench a small distance away from them. I brought two books to read while we’re here.

Eventually, Jade declares she is quitting the game of catch with her brother. He whines a bit, but she reminds him they’ve been playing for half an hour.

She takes a seat next to be on the bench, Jack sits in front of her on the ground, rolling his ball around.

“Whatcha reading?” Jade asks, looking over my shoulder curiously.

I close the book to show her the cover. She reads the title.

“It’s about a time traveler. Usually I read nonfiction, but the occasional Sci-fi or dark fantasy peeks my interested,” I tell her.

“Dark fantasy,” Jade smirks. “Sounds kinky.”

My face heats up, letting me know I’m definitely blushing which is a little embarrassing.

“N-not like that. Like Lord of the Rings,” I say.

“I know, Spence. I was teasing you,” she says with a little laugh.

“Right,” I give her an awkward laugh in return.

I’m still not exactly used to detecting sarcasm or teasing. I’ve gotten better at realizing when those two devices are being used, but occasionally, they’ll slip past me. Perks of being autistic (sarcasm). I’ve gotten pretty good at detecting mannerisms and reading unsubs, but somehow a joke will still fly over my head.

Jade grins, shaking her head. Her hair brushes my face briefly, and I involuntarily smell the shampoo she just used an hour and a half ago. It smells good. Oats and vanilla I believe.

She twirls her hair for a moment, the brown strands curling around her finger. In the natural lighting, I can see all the different colors in her hair. There’s chocolate brown, caramel, walnut, and even some mixtures of red where the sun shines on it. It’s pretty. It’s pretty and it smells good.

I snap out of my thoughts when Jack hops up from his seat. I’m relieved to have the kid release me from my thoughts. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. Even if it was just her hair, it’s still inappropriate.

—————

Jack pulls me back away from the bench.

“Piggy back ride,” he demands, but it’s kind of cute.

“You’re heavy.”

“Am not,” he says.

I roll my eyes, and bend down so he hand jump on. He does so excitedly, wrapping his arms around my neck.

I walk around with my brother on my back for a little bit until his short attention span is bored with me. Then he forces Spencer to give him a piggy back ride too.

It’s sweet watching the two of them together. Spencer’s good with kids. Better than I am and this one is my own brother.

I love Jack, I really do, but I was 17 when he was born, and it was weird to become a sister at that age. I was excited, of course, but still strange.

I also thought it was weird that my parents were having a baby at that age anyway. It’s not like they were old at all. In fact, Mom was only 35. But when it’s 17 years after your first, it’s a weird gap.

My mom and dad were young when they had me. Mom was 18 a freshman in college, and Dad was 20 and a junior. They’d been dating for three years already, but it’s safe to say I was not planned.

They didn’t let the unplanned baby ruin their plans for college though. Mom became a part time student instead, and both sets of my grandparents helped take care of me whenever needed.

Dad was still able to go to law school when I was three. I’m glad I didn’t ruin their lives completely. But Mom assured me I didn’t ruin it at all. She was honest when she said finding out about me was a minor set back, but she was also honest when she said they loved me no matter what.

Jack and Spencer play around, and I’m convinced to join in.

Eventually, I drive us back home. Jack lays down for a nap at 4, and at 7, I cook dinner instead of Spencer.

Eventually, I get Jack back into bed, but since he took his nap a little later, there was some resistance. Finally, at 11, he goes to bed. I make him promise he won’t tell Dad he went to bed that late, and he says he will if I get him ice cream tomorrow. I will be talking to Dad about why his child is a bargainer.

At midnight, I hear a weird sound from downstairs and go to scope it out.

I laugh softly when I see Spencer popping the popcorn I bought him a couple days ago.

“You weren’t kidding about the late night snack,” I grin, leaning against the kitchen counter.

He turns around, jumping a little. I scared him.

“I never kid about food, Jade,” he says and that makes me laugh a little more.

“Care to share?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment. I scoff. “I suppose.”

“Want to watch a movie?” I ask him, not ready to go to bed.

He looks a little hesitant to say yes. Well, not really hesitant, but somehow nervous? “Yeah. Sounds good.”

five

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @crynroom @scarredelirium @reid1nspiration @bts-sugaplum @awesomeness1679 @preciousbabypeter @yazzyu @cynbx @r3idsp3ncer @1010lizz <3

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 2

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You spent the next week with your stomach in knots.

Why had you told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself? He was being a total asshole, sure, but couldn’t you have kept your cool for like thirty seconds? He was going to call your boss at the cleaning service and tell her exactly what you had said to him, and then not only would you be dismissed from service at his apartment, but then you’d be so fucking fired from your entire job. You could kiss more than your Netflix subscription and fresh vegetables goodbye--your whole food and rent budget was going to hemorrhage and bleed dry.

You’d clocked into your next few shifts with baited breath, just waiting for the moment your boss demanded to speak with you in her office, shock and disappointment twisting her matronly features. Only, the entire week passed, and the call never seemed to come.

Even more confusingly, no guidance had seemed to be issued at all about the fact that you weren’t welcome in Todoroki’s apartment anymore. Your manager never said anything, never spoke to you about reassignment or a schedule change, had only asked if you felt well enough to continue to pick up your shifts in the week after the incident. She’d made a little quip about hazard pay, but hadn’t even acknowledged the incident beyond that.

So when the next Thursday rolled around and your morning lecture let out, you had no idea if you were supposed to head over to Todoroki’s apartment or not.

You stood outside the lecture hall, considering. On the one hand, you could call and ask your manager exactly what the expectations were. On the other, however, if she didn’t already know, then you telling her was going to surface the fact that he’d fired you, and that was going to lead to a more uncomfortable conversation about your employment overall. But maybe she did know, and just hadn’t mentioned it to you? What if Todoroki had just assumed that you would tell her, though, and they would send someone else in your place? If no one showed up to clean, he was going to call, and then you were going to get fired.

You started a slow path towards his apartment. Maybe you could just show up to check and see if any of your coworkers had been sent in your place. And if they hadn’t, you could finish out your last shift there. Besides, the schedule had been set specifically for when he was supposed to be out of the apartment, so it wasn’t like he was going to be there to see that it was you who was doing the cleaning. You could grab the last of the hefty tips and store that up for when you had to switch out with someone in the next week. And then all would be solved, and your Netflix subscription was the only thing that would really suffer for it.

You tapped your foot nervously as you rode the train further into downtown where he lived. Come to think of it, no one had asked you to pass off the keys to his place. Had he really not told your manager that he’d given you the boot?

The flames of your suspicion were fanned when security in the lobby of his building seemed unphased by your presence, and were confirmed when you took the elevator up to his floor and unlocked his door to peek through--none of your coworkers were in sight.

He hadn’t told anyone.

You took a few nervous steps into the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind you. You shouldered off your backpack, dumping it on one of the high stools at the kitchen island and looked around curiously. The glass from the shattered windows had been swept up, and the windows already replaced. Nothing else appeared out of order, no other evidence that the last time you’d been in here, you’d been kidnapped and almost killed.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You’d clean this place at lightning speed, grab your tip, and peace the absolute fuck out before anything more could happen.

You ducked down under the kitchen sink to fish out your usual supplies, pulling on a pair of gloves and grabbing the duster, a microfiber cloth, and a couple of the disinfectants and solutions. You had just piled it all on the counter and were reaching down to grab more when you heard the soft snick of a door opening.

You immediately ducked down behind the counter, and your arm shot out to grab a bottle of windex like it would do anything to protect you from whoever was approaching the kitchen with quiet footsteps. Maybe you could spray it in their eyes and make a run for it.

You stared in the direction of the footfalls, heart beating wildly in your chest.

There was a pause, and then a deep voice issued from over the counter top. “I know you’re there.”

You bit back a swear. You knew that voice, and this was even worse than encountering another villain in his apartment.

Slowly, you climbed to your feet, stomach sinking. That pair of two-toned eyes fixed on you unblinkingly, and a carefully-crafted mask of blank stillness slid over his handsome features. It was too deliberate, and your last hope that maybe he wouldn’t remember you was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you said by way of explanation, cringing. You were so absolutely fucked.

He considered you carefully. You noted he was wearing a deep blue button up over white trousers, which was decidedly not his hero uniform, and any hope of him being on his way out to patrol was similarly extinguished.

“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

His eyes tracked you closely, and you felt like you might burst into flame from the intensity of his focus. “I was...mistaken about who you were.”

You stared at him incredulously. How could he be mistaken about who you were if he had no damn idea in the first place?

Your confusion must have shown clearly on your face, because he sighed. “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were--that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped. He’d thought you were a crazy fan? Suddenly, his comments about your stupidity and you invading his privacy made complete sense. Maybe just after being rescued was not the time for him to have made those comments, but you could see why he had, if he’d thought you had forced your way into his home and had been in the process of going through his things before you were surprised by a villain.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you managed. Well, yes a fan, but not in a breaking and entering kind of a way. And not a fan in the last week. Your twitter, which had previously featured the occasional retweeted shot of his abs, had now been filled with a lot of anti-Todoroki content, including one truly horrible picture of him photoshopped with a half ice, half flame beard, looking horrendously like his father.

Todoroki let out a slow breath, and you thought you could see it mist in the apartment air. Was his quirk acting up? He must still be annoyed, regardless.

“Well glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily. When you stood back up, you almost had a heart attack, as he had rounded the counter so quietly that you hadn’t heard him, and was now standing in between you and your escape.

“Wait,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d just been kidnapped by a villain.”

You eyed the space between his hip and the counter, wondering if you should make a break for it anyway, and if his hero reflexes were fast enough to stop you. The air in the apartment was growing increasingly discomfiting and it was clear Todoroki hated this.

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Something flashed behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I'd like to apologize properly.”

Your own sense of shame slowly crept up on you and your face burned as you suddenly remembered the way you’d told him to go fuck himself. He’d been a douche to you, yes, but he’d literally saved your life and you’d told him to go fuck himself.

You accidentally blurted as much. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself.”

He stared at you, and your cheeks heated. Jesus Christ, you needed to leave.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled, suddenly desperate to put conversational distance from the phrase go fuck yourself. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You could admit, now, that you knew it had been extra embarrassing for him. Even though it wasn’t your fault, in the past week, you’d seen nothing but headlines exploring the rumors that Todoroki had a secret lover. Luckily your name had been kept out of things, but even you could tell it was costing his agency a lot not to just throw the real story out there and the contact details to your cleaning service to calm the media firestorm.

You could only imagine how uncomfortable things could get for you if all of Japan got wind of what had happened, and just what you’d said to him afterwards.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” Todoroki said, and you tilted your head in question.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified, looking serious, and you choked on a laugh.

A small smile tugged at his mouth, then, and some of your discomfort with him evaporated. So the hero had a sense of humor.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you added, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

He raised a white eyebrow. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment, but then Todoroki smirked. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Todoroki let out a low laugh. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Maybe Todoroki wasn’t all bad, then. He had a sense of humor, it seemed, and he’d apologized to you for what he’d said. Maybe you wouldn’t be fired after all, and you could just peacefully transfer your shifts without any blowback from your manager. You could probably weasel your way into a friend’s Netflix account anyway. You’d miss the vegetables, though.

“As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology,” Todoroki said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. They hadn’t been there any of your previous shifts, but you hadn’t really taken note of them when you’d walked in today. You’d just assumed they were sent by a fan or something.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” he said. He looked a little self conscious again.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He coughed suddenly, like he was stifling a surprised laugh. “I hadn’t expected them.”

Your eyes were drawn back to the tulips. They were pretty, their petals thick and full like they had just been about to bloom before they were picked, and they were stark white, like fresh snow, or the right half of Todoroki’s distinctive mop of hair. You hadn’t ever been given flowers before, except for the time you’d graduated middle school. Flowers from your aunt didn’t really count, though.

“Thank you,” you said, looking back up at Todoroki. He was watching you closely, and you felt embarrassment prickle over your skin at being stared at with such intensity. Was he always this intense? Various twitter memes had suggested yes, but it was one thing to know it abstractly and another to experience it in real life, especially when he was even more overwhelming to look at in person.

Now that your anger with him had burned away, you could admit that Shouto Todoroki was way too handsome for anyone’s good, least of all yours. He was tall, leanly muscled, and broad across the shoulders with a trim waist and impossibly long legs. His face, too, was almost unreal, so carefully and perfectly structured with a high-bridged nose, a soft, sensuous mouth, and bright, intelligent eyes. Even the scar only added interest, and did absolutely nothing to detract from the striking beauty of his features.

It was honestly a surprise that you’d managed to get any words out around him at all. You supposed you had the novelty of the situation you’d found yourself in to thank for that. If you’d met him under any other circumstances you probably would have choked on your own tongue and tried to disappear as fast as you could manage.

Pretty boys were not your area of expertise.

“I also wanted to make it clear that I didn’t mean what I said,” Todoroki added in his low tone. “About your being unwelcome here. I don’t intend to interfere with your employment.”

You considered him in surprise. Did this mean...you weren’t resigned to ramen for the next two semesters?

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then you smiled, feeling charitable. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Todoroki smirked. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

He let out another surprised laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. “The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

Something strangely like a challenge glinted in his eyes. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

“You don’t even use them,” you complained, “I can tell. But message received, I’ll spare them.” Your eyes searched back over them, and it dawned on you that you hadn’t been fired, and should probably actually be cleaning them if you intended to keep the job after all. “Now clear out, I do actually have to clean them now.”

Todoroki allowed himself to be bullied out of the kitchen fairly easily, though he didn’t go far.

He took a seat in the living room, which thanks to the open floor plan of his modern apartment, allowed him to supervise you easily enough. He pulled down a book from one of his shelves, but either it was super boring or he wasn’t any good at pretending to read, as it stayed flipped open to the first page for a very long time, and you thought you caught more than the occasional flash of curious grey and blue from the corner of your eye.

He didn’t last long past the first hour of pretending to read, however, and eventually wandered back over to sit at the island while you worked. He launched into a series of questions about you, and seemed genuinely curious about you now that he’d confirmed for himself that you weren’t a crazy stalker fan.

You couldn’t understand why he seemed so interested, but you found yourself telling him anything he wanted to know, detailing your classes, your cranky roommate, your job at the cleaning service to feed you during the semester, the fattie deal on broccoli you’d scored at the grocery store last week, and finally your hobbies including your love of reading, though you hadn’t had much time or budget for books since the school year began. You made sure to steer clear of any mention of your twitter, though, and the multitude of ab shots and recent slew of anti-Todoroki content on it. There was only so much of your life that could be shared with a celebrity hero.

Eventually, you’d covered all your usual ground, and had shouldered on your backpack to leave for the night, but Todoroki stopped you, and insisted on calling you a car home as it had gotten dark. You tried to decline, but on this point he seemed adamant, and not long after you found yourself bundled into the backseat of an agency car, vase of white tulips clutched in your hands.

It was only after you’d let yourself into your apartment and set down the tulips and your bag that you discovered a much thicker bundle of a tip than usual tucked into the side pocket of your backpack. You blanched as you unfolded the bills, staring somewhat stupidly down at the amount. A slim note had been tucked into the fold of the bills, and though you weren’t familiar with the neat handwriting and hadn’t even seen him go for a pen and paper, the note for vegetables was so clearly from Todoroki.

Worse, it told you that Todoroki had actually been listening to your ramblings, and you wondered what other weird things you’d said that had caught his interest enough for him to remember. You hoped nothing else, and that he’d forget it all soon enough anyway. You’d made nice now, but it wasn’t like you guys were going to be fast friends or anything.

You considered the money for a long while, then picked out the amount that was usually left out for you and added it to your wallet. Torodoki had admitted earlier that his manager handled the cleaning service scheduling, and it was likely she was typically responsible for leaving a tip aside for you as well. Todoroki probably didn’t know how much she usually left, and as much as you desperately wanted to pocket the rest of the cash and make a break for the nearest vegetable aisle, you felt weird accepting it.

You could return it during your shift early next week, and that would close out the weird fever dream that the past week had been.

And then, you could finally get back to normal.

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 9

••••

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago. 

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

His heart picks up speed when he suddenly realizes what the look on her face earlier could very  well be...“Yeahhh.”

“And what I want more than anything else in this world is to feel safe every day of my life.”

“You do realize you’re a federal agent, right? One of the most dangerous jobs ever.”

“That’s not...I’m not explaining myself right.”

“Well, you can always resort to my form of communication.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, semi-kidding but not really. 

Shaking her head, unable to keep the smile off her face, she leans over the console, bringing her lips to his in a chaste but passionate kiss. “Better?”

“Oh yes, very much so.”

A sudden burst of nervousness washes over her and she looks down at her left hand, imagining what it would be like to have a ring there and not just any ring, his ring. “What I was trying to say is that I want to feel safe every day of my life in all aspects. I feel so safe with you as my partner. And I know safe is such a mundane word but to me safe means you. You make me feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Like everyday you wake up next to me is better than the last. You have my back no matter what just like I have yours. And as cliche as it sounds, when we’re curled up together in bed or just on the couch and your arms are around me...in my mind its just you and I existing together. You challenge me in a way that no one ever has before and it’s one of the reasons I love you so much and...”

“Kens?”

There’s a hint of desperate hope in his voice, which is strangely calming to her. She finally lets herself look up and when her eyes meet his cerulean blues everything in her is telling her that this is the right choice. “What it all comes down to is this...there’s nothing more I want in this world than to grow old and grey with you. So if your offer still-“

He doesn’t give her time to finish her sentence before his hand finds the back of her neck and he’s pulling her towards him. His lips find hers, but she suddenly pulls back making him whimper. He curiously watches her, wondering the cause of her actions when she gracefully maneuvers through the two seats into the back, tugging him along with her. The fact that they’re parked in a not so private place is the last thing on either of their minds especially once she straddles his lap and his hands find the hem of her tee, ridding her of the white piece of cloth. Good thing NCIS sprung for the extra tinted windows. 

••••

The past week has been filled with a happiness that neither of them can describe. Who knew that officially being engaged would bring this type of euphoria into their lives. Ever since Kensi took him back to that outlook and finally said yes to his proposal everything and nothing has changed at the same time. They’ve been more touchy ever since and definitely happier. A huge challenge that they’ve come across the past week however is having to go into character around the guys at work. 

There have been a couple of instances where they thought the charade was up but it turned out that their coworkers were oblivious as to what was going on around them...which is quite concerning if you think about it. 

The week of bliss had been shattered when a marine’s young daughter goes missing. Kensi was suddenly lost in the past and the similarities of the story playing before them was to her own. 

As she and Marty step onto her front lawn after walking home from school, they both immediately feel something in the air shift. Sharing a look, they quicken their pace, taking the front porch steps 2 at a time. 

Marty swiftly pulls the screen door open, ushering his best friend inside before the sound of soft sobs fill the room around them. They both all but throw their things onto the ground before finding Roberta in the living room, her arms wrapped around Julia comforting her as best as she can. 

“Wh-what’s going on?” The shaggy blonde 17 year old speaks up as his best friend finds his hand, already preparing herself for the worst. 

Roberta looks up, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, it’s your dad.” 

“No!” The brunette shakes her head vigorously. “No!”

“What happened?”

“His helicopter was shot down.”

He’s already prepared for her to collapse in his arms, hell he’s surprised he’s still standing himself. But instead of tears, the young brunette just screams in denial once again before running out the front door. 

Without thought Deeks chases after her, running out the door as he calls out to her. He doesn’t know why he thought she’d stop. He sees the direction she’s going and immediately knows where she’s running off to. 

A few minutes later his flip flop bound feet hit the wooden dock as the echo of her whimpers break his heart. Slipping off his shoes, he takes a seat right next to her, his arm winding around her shoulders as he pulls her into his body. 

Her fingers find the cotton of shirt, grabbing on for dear life. It’s not until he feels her tears seep through the fabric that he finally lets himself break down as well. Donald Blye was more of a father to him than his own and there’s nothing in this world that’s going make the pain go away. 

His lips find the top of her head, knowing that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure she makes it out of this, but for now he will grieve with her, because that’s what you do when you love someone. 

As the arrests are made and Amanda is reunited with her father, Deeks’ attention shifts to his fiancée. He’s seen how lost she was today, who could blame her considering what she went through with her own father. The case brought up memories for himself, but nothing compared to what he knows is going on inside his partner’s head. 

Walking up next to her, it takes everything in him not to pull her in his arms. Her focus doesn’t move away from the marine and his daughter as they embrace, and share apologies. The tears forming in her eyes is unmistakable and considering their coworkers are focused on other things he lets his facade slip a little. “Thinking about your dad?”

“Yeah.” She nods, unable to look at him otherwise her tears might fall. 

They’re sitting at the table eating lunch, actually eating might be a bit of an overstatement. It’s been 6 weeks since they got the news about Don. 6 weeks of tears and regrets along with denial. It was only 3 days after the news until Marty and Roberta found themselves living in the Blye residence once again. 

Both mother and son knew that moving in to take care of their respective best friends was the only option. So here they are, sitting in silence, trying as best as they can not to breakdown. 

A sudden knock at the door pulls the four out of their haze. Marty wipes his mouth and quickly stands. “I’ll get it.”

Walking to the front door, he can see the top of an official marine’s hat peaking through the door window. Dread fills the young man’s body, already sensing that this is the official house call, the one that confirms their worst fears. 

He reaches for the door knob, his head falling in defeat thinking about the hole Kensi is going to go further down. God he wishes he could take this pain away...he’d do anything. She’s been so beside herself especially considering the last time that she ever talked to her dad they were fighting. 

Begrudgingly pulling the door open, he looks up and meets the eyes of one of Don’s unit members. His brow furrows in confusion until he hears the squeaking of the porch swing. He almost falls to his knees when he sees the familiar warm brown eyes.

Marty stands there for a minute, paralyzed in shock. 

“Hi, Marty.” Donald hesitantly stands with the support of his crutches. 

All he think about is Kensi and Julia. He doesn’t respond to his surrogate father, and before he can even process what he’s doing, the 17 year old turns and walks back into the house, cerulean blues wide in shock. 

Kensi’s brow furrows when she hears her best friend walk back into the kitchen and says nothing. She looks across the table at his frozen features and begins to worry. “Marty, what’s wrong?”

This gets the attention of the two older women, three pair of eyes now all on him. He wants to say something but his words fail him. All he can do is turn towards the hall and watch the marine  walk down the hallway, that’s when he suddenly notices the reason for the crutches.

Kensi’s and the mom’s eyes follow his, it takes a few seconds but slowly Donald steps into view. The resounding gasps fill the room, none of them able to process what’s happening before them.

“Hi...it took me awhile but I finally made it.”

No one says a word, but each set of eyes look the man up and down, stopping their gaze when they realize the reason for his crutches.

“Oh my god, Don, what happened to your leg?” Roberta’s lips work faster than what her brain can process, the words spilling out of her like its the most reasonable question to ask.

Marty’s eyes go wide in shock, before her sending a pointed glare.“Mom!” 

“What?”

Before anything else can be said the marine’s eyes follow the length of his body, eventually coming to a stop where his left leg once was. “Oh my god!”

Marty can’t help but crack a smile, his attention flying to his best friend trying to gage her reaction and get some sort of semblance as too what she may be feeling. The small smile and huff of laughter that emanates from her gives him his answer. 

Shaking herself out of her daze, the 14 year old jumps out of her chair, running over to her father and carefully wrapping him a death gripping hug. 

“Hey, he came home.”

Her story may have a happy ending but it was that month and a half that still weigh on her mind. “I know, but its just those 6 weeks and...”

“I know, baby. I know.” And he does. Just like before they found out Don was alive, he’d give anything to take this pain away from his girl.

Once given the okay to go, the pair make their way towards the SRX and just as he expected, she hops in the passenger side leaving him to drive. That’s when he realizes this is one of those days that only has one solution. Quickly pulling out his phone, he shoots off a quick text knowing exactly what she needs.

••••

Every once and awhile the shaggy blonde catches himself taking a look at her. She must be more lost in thought than he assumed because she doesn’t notice him miss the exit to her apartment and continue on towards Malibu until they’re pulling into the parking lot. “How about some tacos at the beach?”

“Sure, I guess.” She shrugs. 

As the SUV pulls to a stop, Marty’s eyes find the lone figure about 100 feet in front of them. 

Noticing he hasn’t made a move to get out yet, Kensi’s brow furrows and follows his line of sight. As soon as her eyes land on what he’s staring at her heart fills with even more love for him than she ever thought was possible. She feels the tears pool in her eyes, her hand finds the his neck, pulling her surprised fiancé’s lips towards hers in a kiss emotional passionate kiss. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

A smile rises to her lips as she places another kiss to his lips before hopping out of the SUV, gaining attention from the man on the bench. The older brunette stands up as quickly as he can and starts heading towards the junior agent. 

When he received a discreet text from his surrogate son, the former marine dropped everything he was doing and headed to the beach. It wasn’t an emergency, which is always a relief but considering there wasn’t much to the text that alone told him she was dealing with something.

As he slowly walks towards her, he outstretches his arms, leaving Kensi to all put collapse into his arms. “Rough day?”

“Yeah.”

The detective watches on as the pair embrace, it breaks his heart knowing that she’s still dealing with the turmoil of thinking she lost her father for years now. He’s tried to help her get through it, her parents have tried, but one thing Kensi Blye is good at, it’s not forgiving herself. 

After a few minutes the pair pulls back, giving Marty the chance to get in his own hug with his surrogate father. “How you doing, son?”

“Better now that she’s better.”

The older man notices a change in the younger man’s gaze towards his daughter. And then when she sends Marty a teary-eyed smile, wrapping her arms around him in thanks, it suddenly hits him. They’re together. 

[slowly-writing]

Almost Lost You

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Requested by: n/a

Warnings: canon typical violence

This case was stumping the entire team. The dump sites had seemingly no correlation, so Ried’s geographical profile was out the window. The MO was all over the place which made it hard to nail down a profile on the unsub. The only thing that proved these murders were connected was the flowers the unsub was leaving in the victim’s hand, and even with that you were beginning to question it all.

“Does anyone else feel like their brain is melting?” JJ groans and you feel inclined to agree.

“Your brain can’t actually melt. You could boil the water in your brain but the fatty tissues that make up the majority of it are harder to break down,” Spencer says and you smile, at least his facts are always consistent.

“That’s not what she means, Spence. It’s a metaphor. She means she’s tired of getting nowhere with the case and she feels like all the work is physically hurting her,” you explain and he nods in understanding, looking at JJ whose head is now laying on the table of the conference room the three of you have hunkered down in.

“Did you know it’s actually proven that fresh air can increase productivity and reduce stress?” Spencer pipes up again and you chuckle as you rise from your seat, grabbing JJ’s shoulders and coaxing her up.

“Good call doc. I think I’m gonna take her outside for a bit before she puts that brain melting theory to the test. You take a break too, alright? Even geniuses have a breaking point,” you wait until he agrees to stop for a bit to lead JJ outside.

“It just feels so messy. Like there’s no way to get through it all,” JJ has tears in her eyes as she looks up at you and your heart breaks at her obvious frustration. You often wonder how JJ got into a field like this, so painful and gruesome. She has such a tender heart, if you had met her outside of work you would’ve guessed she was a teacher, maybe a social worker, but certainly not a profiler whose job was to hunt down some of the worst people the world had to offer.

“I know it feels like this will never end, but it will. I promise it will, because we’re not going anywhere until we catch this creep. Hotch and Emily are interviewing the victim’s families again as we speak and Morgan and Rossi are at the crime scenes. They will all get us some more to work on and eventually we’ll nail this guy.”

“You promise?” JJ’s voice is soft and you can’t resist the urge to pull her into your arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I do. Are you ready to go back in?” JJ nods and you pull away, “then let’s go crack this case.”

xxxxx

“Rose Allen, Jessica Phillips, and Sara Parker have been found dead. Now I don’t know about you guys but I sure as hell don’t want a fourth name added to that list,” Morgan snaps, slamming his hand on the table. You all look up from your notes at the outburst, and none of you blame him. JJ grabs your hand under the table and it calms you both as tensions rise in the room.

“What do you think we’re doing here? None of us want this to go on. We’re trying our best,” Emily knuckles are turning white as she clenches her first.

“Okay let’s all calm down. If we all put our head together then we can crack this. So, the women disappear from their daily routines, they are gone for a week before being found in various locations with different causes of death. What does that tell us?” Hotch starts the discussion and everyone settles in to work.

“He’s obviously stalking them. He knows their routines and is able to grab them without anybody seeing,” Rossi is the first to join in and you nod along.

“And the manner of the killing isn’t important to him, as long as they die. With victim number one we have strangulation, then stabbing, and last dehydration. He doesn’t care how they die as long as he can see them suffer,” your brow is furrowed as you think out loud.

“The flowers obviously mean a lot to him, right? It’s the only consistency,” Emily jumps in and everyone voices their agreement.

“They’re yellow roses. Those symbolize friendship, maybe these women told him they just wanted to be friends?” JJ says and you think she’s onto something until Spencer speaks up.

“Historically yellow roses have a different meaning. Now they are known to symbolize friendship but they actually used to stand for infidelity or unfaithfulness. He could’ve had a childhood trauma involving an unfaithful individual that still haunts him,” Hotch perks up as Reid finishes.

“Rose and Jessica’s family members said they were having relationship troubles, Sara’s family didn’t have much to say, but with how hostile her fiancé was, I’d bet my career that their relationship was rocky,” the analysis makes sense, at least it’s a start.

“Okay, so we have an unsub targeting people whose relationships are failing. Considering he targeted the girls I’d guess they were the ones who were unfaithful, who would know if they were?” Rossi asks and you all think through the list.

“If it was me I’d only tell my closest friends,” you say and try not to wince at the way JJ’s head snaps to face you. “I’m speaking hypothetically of course. I’ve never cheated so I don’t know what it’s like in that situation. I can only make an educated guess on the thoughts and feelings the victims were having in the moment,” you stare ahead as you say it, nobody knows you and JJ are together, and this is not how you want them to find out. “That was a poor choice of words,” you say and Emily raises an eyebrow at you.

“Ignoring y/n’s over explanation of how she’s never cheated on anyone,” Emily says slowly and you avoid eye contact. “None of these women shared friends. Garcia couldn’t even find evidence that they knew each other, let alone had the same confidants.”

“When Will and I went through all that we went to a relationship counselor. Is it possible they saw the same one?” JJ asks and Garcia pipes up for the first time.

“I can have that answer in just a few moments,” the sound of a keyboard can be heard through the computer, “aha! According to their credit card records they all saw Dr. Damien who is a well renowned relationship counselor in the area. She was, however, out of state for a conference when Rose and Jessica’s bodies were found and did not return until after Sara was reported missing.”

“It could still be someone in her office. Receptionist, coworker, hell even a janitor,” Morgan seems as desperate as you all feel.

“I have a receptionist who was working during all three intake appointments, Jacob Daniels and-oh gosh-At age 8 his father murdered his mother, in the trial he claimed it was because she was cheating with the neighbor who denied the allegations. Regardless there was no family and Jacob bounced around the foster system until he aged out five years ago. Three months ago he landed a job in Dr. Damien’s office and within a month and a half the first murder was commited,” Garcia relays the information, her eyes wide.

“That would be the stressor. Hearing about the failing relationships was too much for Daniels and he snapped. Garcia, do you have an address?” Hotch asks as you all stand, grabbing your gear.

“Like you even have to ask. Be safe my lovelies,” Garcia tells you all as she ends the call.

xxxxx

“Jacob Daniels FBI! Open up!” Hotch yells as he bangs on the door. You hear a crash inside and Morgan takes that as his cue to kick open the door. You’re the first inside and Daniels freezes when he sees the guns trained on him. He may be damaged, but he knows he can’t outrun a bullet. Instead he grabs a knife and points it towards you.

“Stay back!” He yells and you raise your hands, holstering your gun before speaking.

“I just want to talk, Jacob. Can we do that?” you ask and you can see him shaking as he looks between you, Morgan, Hotch, and Ried. Everyone else is still en route.

“They needed to die,” Jacob starts and you blink in surprise as he jumps straight into it.

“Why?” he focuses more on you, relaxing despite the three guns still pointed at him. You inch forward as he begins to talk.

“They didn’t know how to love. No woman knows how to love!” He yells.

“Now that’s not a fair statement, plenty of women know what love is,” you say and you can hear the other team calling their ETA through the comms, but you’re hoping to have this wrapped up before the three minutes it will take them to get here are up.

“Do you? Know how to love? Do you have someone?” Jacob’s voice is soft, almost a whisper as he desperately tries to prove himself wrong. You’re only a few feet away now, and he’s slowly lowering the knife. If you can just get a few inches closer you can grab it.

“I do. She is the most important person in my life.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see the confusion on your team’s faces but you don’t have time to focus on them right now. “I can’t tell you why someone would cheat on the love of their life, but I can tell you I never would. A few bad people isn’t a reason to give up on love or life. They hurt people, but they didn’t hurt you Jacob,” his head snaps up and you quickly realize that was the wrong thing to say. He lunges for you and before anyone can get a shot off he has your back pressed to his chest and his knife to your throat.

“Woah calm down man!” Morgan yells, his panic alerting the rest of the team that this just went south.

“Let her go, Jacob,” Hotch’s words inform the team that he has you, the only female in the room. He doesn’t waver though, ever the calm one in the storm. You can hear the tires of the other SUV squealing to a stop outside. Lucky for you so can Daniels and you use his distraction to slam your eyebrow into his ribs. His grip on you loosens and you’re able to take him down. Morgan takes over, cuffing him as you feel a body slam into yours. JJ throws her arms around your neck and you wrap one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head as you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m okay,” you tell her and she lets out a shaky breath before pulling away from you completely.

“You idiot!” she yells slapping your shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” your hand goes to the place she just smacked, though it didn't hurt much.

“Why would you get so close to him! He could’ve killed you!” She slaps your other shoulder and you groan.

“But he didn’t. I thought I could disarm him, but it's okay now. So can we just agree it was a dumb move and stop hitting me please?” you ask and JJ pulls you into a hug again. You wanna laugh at her conflicting emotions, but you know how scared she is.

“I almost lost you,” she whispers and you sigh.

“You didn’t. I know it was scary, but I’m okay.”

“I could hear the whole thing.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise that I’m okay. You didn’t lose me,” you tell her and she nods, pulling away again. The bubble the two of you have been in is popped as you both turn to see the whole team staring at you, Morgan apparently having passed Daniels off to local officers to make sure you were okay.

“How long has this been going on?” Morgan asks and you look to JJ.

“Six months?” you ask her and she nods. You turn back to the team and nod, “yeah, six months.”

“How did we not notice?” Rossi asks and you laugh.

“I was thinking the same thing. Some profilers you are,” JJ teases them but they all seem to be in too much shock to register it.

“So when you went on that rant about not cheating…” Emily trails off and you roll your eyes.

“Did seriously none of you notice how she was looking at me? I thought I was gonna be the next murder victim!” They all laugh and JJ looks at you.

“You ever cheat on me and you will be,” she says simply with her arm wrapped around your waist and a smile on her face.

“How do you say such aggressive things but look so cute doing it?” you ask, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “But I would never cheat on you, my love. I’d have to be an idiot to risk losing you. There’s nobody in the world I’d rather be with.”

“As cute as this is, I’m ready to get out of here,” Morgan teases and you roll your eyes.

“Let’s finish up here and we can talk more on the way home,” Hotch says and you all nod.

“And we know Garcia is gonna want all the details, I wouldn’t mind them either, so drinks when we get back?” Emily offers and you agree.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or taken off)

@rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

Criminal Minds tag list: @reidingandwriting

[mirakumiruku]

In The Contract

A/N: Yaaay more lewd times >:3c No I will not explain myself, I’m just giving y’all your Shiggy food

Shigaraki Tomura x AFAB reader

Contains: dubcon tw, dressing up, abuse of fine print, and Shiggy being a douchebag. WC: 2.5k

You had gone to the League of Villains in an act of desperation. Your pro-hero boyfriend had dumped you for one of his coworkers, kicking you out of his apartment and leaving you jobless. So when you found a housekeeping job with no experience required, and room and board included, you thought you had been given a miracle.

You weren’t so sure about the opportunity when you arrived for the interview, staring up at the old building that you thought would be abandoned, but after double checking you had the right address, you knocked on the back door. You couldn’t help but think this was some kind of organ harvesting scheme, but you didn’t have much to lose at this point.

You did reconsider your choices when the door creaked open, and a hand pulled you inside by the front of your shirt.

“You’re (Y/N), right?” Turquoise eyes bored into yours with the question, and you couldn’t break the contact when you gave a hesitant nod. You knew this face, you’d seen it on TV, accompanied by a warning to contact the police if you saw him. Of course, it was definitely too late for you to run now. 

“You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.” Dabi mumbled, letting go of your shirt and taking you by your arm to drag you further into the building. “I’d say it’s time for your interview, but I think you’re gonna get hired no matter what. You’re the only one stupid enough to reply to our ad.” He laughed as he brought you into what could only be described as an office, composed mainly of a worn out table and a wooden chair, which was occupied by yet another terrifying face. Or rather, a terrifying hand.

“About time, I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t show.” Shigaraki glowered at you from between the fingers that covered his face, idly tapping a pen on the desk. “Well, we don’t have too much room to be picky, but I still have some questions to ask you.”

The ‘interview’ went smoothly, Shigaraki asking you various questions about your views on certain politics, your career history, your relationship and opinion on heroes. He seemed a little pleased when you expressed your experience with your ex boyfriend, like he was hoping for any shred of disdain.

“You sound perfect.” He purred, scribbling his signature on the contract that laid on the desk, before flipping it around and sliding it to you along with the pen. “We can’t pay too well, but room and board are provided, as we said in the ad. By the sounds of it, that’s quite important to you right now.”

You gulped and nodded, scanning over the contract, but the fine print proved too hard to read in your fit of nerves. You steeled yourself and signed the contract. After all, there was no way they would just send you on your merry way if you declined, right?

“Excellent.” Shigaraki smirked, taking the contract and tucking it into a folder. “Dabi, can you show them to their room?” His eyes flickered from Dabi back to you, “I’m hoping for you to start as soon as possible, tomorrow morning at the latest. Does that work for you?”

You nodded slowly, worried about the panicked babbling that would escape your lips if you dared open them. 

The room Dabi had brought you to was depressing at best. An old mattress sat atop a metal bed frame in one corner, a small dresser and a cracked mirror standing on the other end of the room next to a tiny closet. You looked back at Dabi, still nervous. 

“Um… how am I… gonna go get my stuff?”

“I dunno. Where is it?”

“Well, some of it’s at my motel room, but most of it is back at my ex’s house…”

“Motel we can do, house of a pro hero is a hard no.” 

You sighed, but knew nothing would come from trying to argue with the villain. “Alright…” Maybe you could text your ex and see if he would drop your things off at the motel, or maybe you’d find it in a charity shop in a month or so. 

The night passed without event. Dinner was cup ramen, and you immediately understood why they needed a cook. 

The next morning you were brought to Shigaraki’s office again, where he went over your duties. The group had a food budget, it was your job to utilize it and make a list for whoever was to run the errands that week. You also had daily jobs like making lunch and dinner for the group, as well as various cleaning tasks. 

From what you had seen, you definitely had your work cut out for you.

You spent the first week working non-stop. Scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms from top to bottom with the strongest cleaner you could find, mopping up the filthy floors and attacking the scattered mold colonies with bleach. How anyone, criminal or not, could live like this was beyond you. 

The first day you had made lunch for everyone, you were showered in praise. It was clear these people hadn’t eaten a proper meal in such a long time, at least not one that didn’t come out of the microwave. 

As much as you wanted to resent the group for their actions, you couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest when you caught Shigaraki’s smile behind his father’s hand. 

You couldn’t help the nagging feeling in your gut that something was off, though. Shigaraki had a mischievous, almost devilish glint in his eye that most of the others lacked when his gaze landed upon you. None of the others looked at you that way, not counting Dabi, though you felt like he gave everyone that look.

The next week, a few packages had arrived in the group’s PO box with your name on them. Spinner, that week’s gofer, had brought them up to your room and placed them next to your bed, giving you a grin and a quick bow in thanks to you. You couldn’t help the way you beamed back at him.

Your cheerful mood quickly disappeared, though, when you opened the packages. Inside were piles of fabrics and frills, and as you pulled out the one on top you recognized what it was: a maid dress. It wasn’t too revealing, you wagered that the skirt would reach to just above your knee. But as you dug through the first box that was all it was filled with, one dress for each day of the week, either in black or cheery pastels. The other box had petticoats, tights, a pair of shiny black mary janes, and some surprisingly conservative underwear considering the other items. 

As if on cue, you heard the distinctive sound of knuckles on your doorframe.

“Hey.” Came Shigaraki’s low voice, and you could almost feel his eyes boring into your back. “I figured you should have a uniform. It’s cute, right?”

“Cute… cute isn’t the exact word I’d use.” You mumbled, draping one of the dresses over your arm. 

“Well, whatever word you would use, it’s your uniform.”

You pouted, but sighed. “Whatever…”

“Good.”

In the morning, you had changed from your pajamas to the black maid dress. It was a hair tight, but otherwise it fit perfectly. You didn’t want to think about how Shigaraki had gotten your measurements. The petticoat was soft against your thighs, and the tights were a silky opaque white. You topped it off with the frilly white apron tied snug around your waist, and the patent leather shoes shined to a perfect finish.

The reactions to your new outfit were mixed. Himiko had hung off you the moment you stepped into the room, gushing about how cute you were, your new dress was so pretty, could she dress you up in her own costumes sometimes? You also elicited a wolf whistle from Dabi, and you couldn’t help but notice Spinner trying to hide his intense blush behind the magazine he was reading.

Shigaraki, meanwhile, was surprisingly silent. You didn’t miss the approving glint in his eye when you passed him, though, on your way to pick up some discarded dishes from the night before. 

Your first task of the morning was always making breakfast for whoever was up at the time. The fluffy skirt got in the way of your work, and you had to be careful to not burn the petticoats when you put the tray of bacon into the oven.

“Well don’t you look cute?”

You yelped in surprise at the sound of Shigaraki’s voice, quickly shutting the oven. “Er… thank you, Mr. Shigaraki.” 

“Oh, please. You can call me Tomura when no one else is around.” He stalked over, removing the hand from his face and setting it on the counter, his eyes raking up your body. “Too bad the shipping took so long, I would’ve had you wear this a long time ago.”

“I appreciate the compliment, Tomura, but… I really should be getting back to work.” As if to drive your point home, you pulled down a bowl to crack eggs into.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m here for work.” Tomura came up behind you, his palms coming to rest on your hips, with his pointer finger poised in the air. 

You couldn’t help the squeak that escaped your throat when you felt his hips grind against your back. You tried to turn around and pry yourself away, but he held fast. “Wh-what are you–?”

“Oh, did you not read that part of the contract?” Tomura laughed low in his chest, burying his face into your neck. “That was awfully careless of you. You’re here to take care of all my needs, including more–” he punctuated his words with another harsh grind against your ass, “–intimate ones.” 

“B-but… I…”

“But what? It was on the contract. I’d be happy to go get it.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. Of course you chose not to read the contract, he probably meant for you to not read it. After all, you doubted you would have taken the job if that was part of the description, and he knew it too. 

“I mean, if you really don’t want to, I’d be happy to go find someone else. Can’t guarantee you can keep your job, though.”

You took a deep breath before nodding, bracing yourself on the counter. “F-fine.”

“Good~”

Within an instant Tomura was kneeling behind you, and shoving his face within your petticoats. You could feel his warm breath on your clothed heat, letting out a surprised yelp when he tore a hole in the tights. 

“Don’t know why I even bothered getting these, I knew they would end up ripped anyway…” He mused softly, giving you a few kittenlicks through your underwear before finally moving it to the side. His tongue was on you immediately, flicking your clit and lapping eagerly at your cunt. Your thighs tried to press together, instead squeezing Tomura’s head between the soft flesh. 

“Aww, is kitten enjoying this?~” He purred, two fingers coming up to circle your clit. “Good. I have to make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock.” With that he nestled his face back between your legs, pressing the flat of his tongue against your core in order to take a long, drawn out lick.

Tomura didn’t seem to show any signs of letting up no matter how much you whined and tried to push him away, nor how tight the knot in your stomach was getting from his constant ministrations. 

“Ah ah, kitten. I just want to make sure you’re not gonna hurt when you take my cock.” He gave your clit a teasing flick with the tip of his tongue. “It’s no fun if you don’t feel good while I’m splitting you open.”

You couldn’t find the words to argue with that, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to anyway. 

Your grip on the counter was turning your knuckles white, and you couldn’t help your whimpers and whines as you jutted your hips back against Tomura’s tongue. The stimulation continued without interruption, and you were getting so close, your velvety walls tightening around the tongue that had thrust itself inside of you. And just as your vision became blurry around the edges…

Tomura pulled away, licking his lips and removing his head from your skirts, standing up straight once more.

“N-no faaair!~” You whined, your tongue hanging out as you panted to catch your breath.

“Mm, I’d just much rather have you cum on my cock, kitten~” Tomura gave a low laugh at the childish pout that you took on, quickly freeing himself from the constraints of his pants. Once his length had broken free, he gave it a few languid pumps as he flipped up your skirts. 

You let out a low keen as he slowly pressed inside, punctuated by a grunt when his hips pressed flush with your ass.

“F-fuck, kitten~” He growled, face coming to bury itself in your shoulder. “So fucking tight…” He didn’t give you any time to adjust before he was madly gyrating his hips against you, only pulling his cock a few inches out before slamming it home with a bit too much force.

As much as you wanted to hate it, you couldn’t help the squeaks and moans that flowed from your lips with each animalistic thrust, especially when one of his hands came down to circle your clit in time with his bruising movements. You wanted to push him off when he pawed at your hips and ran his tongue up the side of your neck, but the majority of your mind was determined to at least reach your end.

You could feel yourself getting close once more, standing on your tiptoes in order to give Tomura better leverage to hit the spot inside you that made you see stars. Your moans were growing louder and louder, and you clawed at the countertop for some kind of purchase as you neared your edge.

Just as you were about to cum, you felt a spurting inside you: Tomura’s cum painting your insides white. Once he came, all his movements stopped, prompting a displeased whine to be ripped from your throat.

“Aww, did you not cum?” Tomura gave a fake pout, stroking your hair tenderly before he grabbed a handful and gave a gentle tug, his face contorting into a grin. “Too bad, isn’t it? I guess you’ll have to come find me later if you really want it that much.”

“B-but… I n-need to cum!~” You whined, smushing your cheek against the counter and giving Tomura the biggest teary doe eyes you could muster.

“Is that so?” He gave a thoughtful hum, wiping your tears away and stroking your hair once more. “That’s really quite a shame. Though, your job is to please me. You being allowed to cum every time isn’t part of the contract~”

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the June 2021 Edition

I have read a lot of books this month. That should be stated upfront. Just an absolute metric ton of books. Some real good, some not-so good, some inadvertently hysterical. Also, I made that BINGO board. Because, like, you ever have a total crisis of writing-confidence and ignore that potential freakout and the tendency of your coworkers to miss deadlines by reading every free Amazon sports romance you can find? And several full YA series? In one month? No? My experiences are not universal, I understand. Anyway, there’s thoughts and opinions and spoilers under the cut. Everyone read the Once Upon a Con series, I’m begging you.

READ THIS SERIES! PLEASE! EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! EVERYONE IN EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! THE FANDOM STUFF DID NOT GIVE ME SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT!

Geekerella by Ashley Poston Part romance, part love letter to nerd culture, and all totally adorbs, Geekerella is a fairy tale for anyone who believes in the magic of fandom. Geek girl Elle Wittimer lives and breathes Starfield, the classic sci-fi series she grew up watching with her late father. So when she sees a cosplay contest for a new Starfield movie, she has to enter. The prize? An invitation to the ExcelsiCon Cosplay Ball, and a meet-and-greet with the actor slated to play Federation Prince Carmindor in the reboot. With savings from her gig at the Magic Pumpkin food truck (and her dad’s old costume), Elle’s determined to win…unless her stepsisters get there first. Teen actor Darien Freeman used to live for cons—before he was famous. Now they’re nothing but autographs and awkward meet-and-greets. Playing Carmindor is all he’s ever wanted, but the Starfield fandom has written him off as just another dumb heartthrob. As ExcelsiCon draws near, Darien feels more and more like a fake—until he meets a girl who shows him otherwise. 

The Princess and the Fangirl by Ashley Poston Imogen Lovelace is an ordinary fangirl on an impossible mission: to save her favorite Starfield character, Princess Amara, from being killed off. On the other hand, the actress who plays Amara wouldn’t mind being axed. Jessica Stone doesn’t even like being part of the Starfield franchise—and she’s desperate to leave the intense scrutiny of fandom behind. Though Imogen and Jess have nothing in common, they do look strangely similar to one another—and a case of mistaken identity at ExcelsiCon sets off a chain of events that will change both of their lives. When the script for the Starfield sequel leaks, with all signs pointing to Jess, she and Imogen must trade places to find the person responsible. The deal: Imogen will play Jess at her signings and panels, and Jess will help Imogen’s best friend run their booth. But as these “princesses” race to find the script leaker—in each other’s shoes—they’re up against more than they bargained for. From the darker side of fandom to unexpected crushes, Imogen and Jess must find a way to rescue themselves from their own expectations...and redefine what it means to live happily ever after. 

Bookish and the Beast by Ashley Poston In this third book of the Once Upon a Con series, Rosie Thorne is feeling stuck—on her college application essays, in her small town, and on that mysterious General Sond cosplayer she met at ExcelsiCon. Most of all, she’s stuck in her grief over her mother’s death. Her only solace was her late mother’s library of rare Starfield novels, but even that disappeared when they sold it to pay off hospital bills. On the other hand, Vance Reigns has been Hollywood royalty for as long as he can remember—with all the privilege and scrutiny that entails. When a tabloid scandal catches up to him, he’s forced to hide out somewhere the paparazzi would never expect to find him: Small Town USA. At least there’s a library in the house. Too bad he doesn’t read. When Vance’s and Rosie’s paths collide, sparks do not fly. But as they begrudgingly get to know each other, their careful masks come off—and they may just find that there’s more risk in shutting each other out than in opening their hearts.

— I cannot possibly overstate what an absolute delight this series was. Cute and sweet and adorable. Like rot your teeth sweet with romances that my high-school self would have swooned over. (I would have been so in love with Darien Freeman as a 16 year old, it’s not even funny. Also, I would have been obsessed with Starfield.) Let’s be honest, my current self swooned quite a lot. Reading these books genuinely felt like a love letter to fandom. To the good and bad and trashy parts of it, and it made my heart swell thinking about these fictional kids and the community they found and how much they learned and then they FELL IN LOVE and, like, not to sound like an after-school special, but: THE REP IN THESE BOOKS?!?? HOLY S H I T. So good. So goddamn good. And not, like, shoved to the side. Like, Jess falls in love with a girl. And it gets its swoon-worthy moment as much as anyone else. Plus, bi-librarian dad who wears suspenders??? Sign. Me. Up. Twisting the fairy tales into the stories also worked really well in my opinion. Honestly my only gripe was that Darien found a cell phone number in the white pages, but, like, everything else was a joy. Please read these books. I promise they will make you smile.

IN WHICH I CAN NEVER TURN DOWN A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge Betrothed to the evil ruler of her kingdom, Nyx has always known that her fate was to marry him, kill him, and free her people from his tyranny. But on her seventeenth birthday when she moves into his castle high on the kingdom's mountaintop, nothing is what she expected—particularly her charming and beguiling new husband. Nyx knows she must save her homeland at all costs, yet she can't resist the pull of her sworn enemy—who's gotten in her way by stealing her heart.

— Yo. YO. Everyone in this book was horrible! And it was wonderful! I figured out the twist approximately point two seconds after the potential for a twist was possibly introduced and it did not diminish my enjoyment of this book for one second. I am such a sucker for any Beauty and the Beast AU, but this was way different than anything I’d read before and Nyx was a blood-thirsty terror and I loved her. The magic and the world building was fascinating in that I really did not expect Greek gods and goddess, but it was also a welcome turn in a weird, huh, that’s interesting sort of way. And the banter was a-plus, top tier. Even when they were snarking at each other. Especially when they were snarking at each other. (Still a pretty quick turn from enemies to lovers, but I’m willing to overlook that based almost solely on the snark.) Plus, the castle was fascinating. And there were more twists aside from the main twist, none of which I figured out. All of which I gasped over. The end was like—chef’s kiss, fantastic. I would like a novel-length sequel to tell me how everything worked out.

...BUT THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD ONE WASN’T AS GOOD

Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge When Rachelle was fifteen she was good—apprenticed to her aunt and in training to protect her village from dark magic. But she was also reckless—straying from the forest path in search of a way to free her world from the threat of eternal darkness. After an illicit meeting goes dreadfully wrong, Rachelle is forced to make a terrible choice that binds her to the very evil she had hoped to defeat.Three years later, Rachelle has given her life to serving the realm, fighting deadly creatures in a vain effort to atone. When the king orders her to guard his son Armand—the man she hates most—Rachelle forces Armand to help her hunt for the legendary sword that might save their world. Together, they navigate the opulent world of the courtly elite, where beauty and power reign and no one can be trusted. And as the two become unexpected allies, they discover far-reaching conspiracies, hidden magic . . . and a love that may be their undoing. Within a palace built on unbelievable wealth and dangerous secrets, can Rachelle discover the truth and stop the fall of endless night?

— As much as I loved Cruel Beauty, I was like ehhhh on this one. Which is part Little Red Riding Hood (although that seems like a stretch, honestly) and part The Girl With No Hands, which is a fairy tale I have literally never heard of before. Rachelle was just—sorta whiny? Which, y’know, she was cursed and had fucked up her entire life, so fair, but also...annoying. I kept reading mostly to try and understand what the FUCK was going on with the magic. I like to consider myself a relatively intelligent person who can understand most YA novels, but this one was tough to keep track of. Like, sure, the imagery of the Dark Forest was cool, but also what is a Gladspring? I’m still not sure I know. Also, this kind of dragged in some places. Lots of patrolling the palace (whining about life) and not enough magic-fighting or establishing any sort of relationship between Rachelle and Armand. Which just sort of happened? Amidst, approximately, twenty-four different twists that were admittedly cool, but also felt like they came out of nowhere. Everything that happened in Cruel Beauty made sense. Most of what happened here felt like it was shoehorned in for shock value.

YOU WANT MORAL AMBIGUITY? BOY HAVE I GOT MORAL AMBIGUITY FOR YOU. IN GODDAMN SPADES.

The Firebird Series by Claudia Gray Marguerite Caine's physicist parents are known for their groundbreaking achievements. Their most astonishing invention, called the Firebird, allows users to jump into multiple universes—and promises to revolutionize science forever. But then Marguerite's father is murdered, and the killer—her parent's handsome, enigmatic assistant Paul— escapes into another dimension before the law can touch him.Marguerite refuses to let the man who destroyed her family go free. So she races after Paul through different universes, always leaping into another version of herself. But she also meets alternate versions of the people she knows—including Paul, whose life entangles with hers in increasingly familiar ways. Before long she begins to question Paul's guilt—as well as her own heart. And soon she discovers the truth behind her father's death is far more sinister than she expected.

— Guys. GUYS. These books, oh my G O D. Little known fact about me, but I am trash for cross-dimensional soulmates. The concept of “we’ll find each other anywhere” is one of my favorites, so I was so psyched about these books. And for awhile that’s what I thought I was going to get out of them. But. BUT! What I actually got was something, not totally different, but not entirely great, either. The problem here was that when anyone used one of the Firebird devices to jump dimensions they TOOK OVER THE BODY THEY JUMPED INTO. So, like, that consciousness got shoved to the side while whatever prime!person just took over. Living that body’s life. In a different dimension. And that’s kinda fucked up, right??? Brings in all sorts of questions about consent and morality and let me tell you, guys, this YA series DID NOT ADDRESS A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Which is also super fucked up!! So, like, Marguerite is just bouncing around dimensions taking over people’s bodies and lives and leaving this, frankly, trail of destruction in her wake. And as if that wasn’t enough!!! In the second book Paul’s soul gets, like, split and she’s got to round up the pieces through dimensions, meeting all sorts of Pauls who are occasionally kind of shit people and he eventually just, like, CANNOT COPE. Seriously, I could not stop reading these. Partially for the moral ambiguity. Partially because I could not figure out why Paul loved Marguerite. Also, capitalism was the ultimate villain. AS IT SHOULD BE, REALLY.

CREEPY FAE WERE KIND OF CREEPY AND THAT’S NOT BAD, BUT LIKE MAYBE THIS WASN’T A GOOD BOOK?

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson Isobel is an artistic prodigy with a dangerous set of clients: the sinister fair folk, immortal creatures who cannot bake bread or put a pen to paper without crumbling to dust. They crave human Craft with a terrible thirst, and Isobel’s paintings are highly prized. But when she receives her first royal patron—Rook, the autumn prince—she makes a terrible mistake. She paints mortal sorrow in his eyes—a weakness that could cost him his life. Furious, Rook spirits her away to his kingdom to stand trial for her crime. But something is seriously wrong in his world, and they are attacked from every side. With Isobel and Rook depending on each other for survival, their alliance blossoms into trust, then love—and that love violates the fair folks’ ruthless laws. Now both of their lives are forfeit, unless Isobel can use her skill as an artist to fight the fairy courts. Because secretly, her Craft represents a threat the fair folk have never faced in all the millennia of their unchanging lives: for the first time, her portraits have the power to make them feel.

— I’ve seen this book mentioned a lot. As good. And it wasn’t not good, but Isobel was pretty goddamn annoying and kind of dumb and a little self-important and I was mostly here for the creepy fae. That was fun. More fae should have antlers and stuff. Everything in this story happened ridiculously fast. I couldn’t believe it was over when it was over.

THE PROSE WAS VERY PRETTY. I’M NOT SURE WHY THE DRAGON HAD TO BE SUCH A MONUMENTAL DICK.

Uprooted  by Naomi Novik Agnieszka loves her valley home, her quiet village, the forests and the bright shining river. But the corrupted Wood stands on the border, full of malevolent power, and its shadow lies over her life. Her people rely on the cold, driven wizard known only as the Dragon to keep its powers at bay. But he demands a terrible price for his help: one young woman handed over to serve him for ten years, a fate almost as terrible as falling to the Wood. The next choosing is fast approaching, and Agnieszka is afraid. She knows—everyone knows—that the Dragon will take Kasia: beautiful, graceful, brave Kasia, all the things Agnieszka isn’t, and her dearest friend in the world. And there is no way to save her. But Agnieszka fears the wrong things. For when the Dragon comes, it is not Kasia he will choose.

— Let me just say first off, that this should have been two books. Everything happened so quickly, I swear I got whiplash. That being said, as a heroine, I liked Agnieszka a lot. She was understandably freaked by everything that happened, but once she kind of settled, she didn’t take The Dragon’s shit and that was good because The Dragon was kind of shitty. This is why it should have been two books. Because everything The Dragon did felt like it needed some kind of explanation. Or at least some sort of reasoning for why he was such a monumental bastard. Which is why I was a little confused that Agnieszka was in love with him? He was such a dick, honestly. The last third or so of this book was the best because Novik really does know how to write action and the magic itself was pretty fascinating. (I wish it went into more depth, but I think I’m spoiled by fic and that’s not actually how the publishing world works.) Kasia might have been the most interesting person in this story. Girl went through it and just became a total badass. I loved her.

MARAUDER FEELINGS! MARAUDER FEELINGS! SO! MANY! MARAUDER! FEELINGS!

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater All her life, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love's death. She doesn't believe in true love and never thought this would be a problem, but as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

— RICHARD GANSEY, MY BELOVED. What a dweeb. A self-sacrificing, sorta sad dweeb. When he wrapped his jacket around Blue, my heart exploded. I think I spent the last fifteen or so chapters with disconcertingly wide eyes and possibly my hand over my mouth. Still not entirely sure why a Welsh king was in Virginia, but I loved it. Was real glad he was there. As promised by that one book rec list I read months ago, the Marauders vibes of these books were off the charts. It was a weird story with lots of weird things and I hope Mr. Grey gets to be happy one day and that Ronan and Adam make out some more eventually. I think they’ll both feel a lot better if they do. Like, about the world as a whole. Has anyone read the Ronan spinoff series? Should I read the Ronan spinoff series?

OK, THIS WASN’T THAT BAD, ACTUALLY

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise Jason Thorn... My brother's childhood friend. Oh, how stupidly in love with that boy I was. He was the first boy that made me blush, my first official crush. Sounds beautiful so far, right? That excitement that bubbles up inside you, those famous butterflies you feel for the very first time--he was the reason for them all. But, you only get to live in that fairytale world until they crush your hopes and dreams and then stomp on your heart for good measure. And boy did he crush my little heart into pieces. After the stomping part he became the boy I did my best to stay away from--and let me tell you, it was pretty hard to do when he slept in the room right across from mine. When tragedy struck his family and they moved away, I was ready to forget he ever existed. Now he is a movie star, the one who makes women of all ages go into a screaming frenzy, the one who makes everyone swoon with that dimpled smile of his. Do you think that's dreamy? I certainly don't think so. How about me coming face to face with him? Nope still not dreamy. Not when I can't even manage to look him in the eye. Me? I'm Olive, a new writer. Actually, I'm THE writer of the book that inspired the movie he is about to star in on the big screen. As of late, I am also referred to as the oh-so-very-lucky girl who is about to become the wife of Jason Thorn. Maybe you're thinking yet again that this is all so dreamy? Nope, nothing dreamy going on here. Not even close.

— Ignoring the fact that this was almost blatant self-insert, this was a mostly good, occasionally trashy book with brother’s best friend and the one who got away tropes. Which, as we know, are my life’s blood. (Plus, surprise, fake marriage that isn’t really fake?!? Ok. OK!) My only eeek moment was when Olive got super drunk and wanted Jason to like—consummate the marriage and he was like, No Olive, you’re drunk. And then they ended up doing everything except having full-on sex, which felt a little creep and a lot sketch and then it was never mentioned again. Also, Olive needs to find some better friends, God.

EMERSON COD VOICE: HE’S STAAAAAALKING YOU

Marriage For One by Ella Maise Jack and I, we did everything backward. The day he lured me into his office-which was also the first day we met-he proposed. You'd think a guy who looked like him-a bit cold maybe, but still striking and very unattainable-would only ask the love of his life to marry him, right? You'd think he must be madly in love. Nope. It was me he asked. A complete stranger who had never even heard of him. A stranger who had been dumped by her fiancé only weeks before. You'd think I'd laugh in his face, call him insane-and a few other names-then walk away as quickly as possible. Well…I did all those things except the walking away part. It took him only minutes to talk me into a business deal…erm, I mean marriage, and only days for us to officially tie the knot. Happiest day of my life. Magical. Pop the champagne… Not. It was the worst day. Jack Hawthorne was nothing like what I'd imagined for myself. I blamed him for my lapse in judgment. I blamed his eyes, the ocean blue eyes that looked straight into mine unapologetically, and that frown on his face I had no idea I would become so fascinated with in time. It wasn't long after he said I was the biggest mistake of his life that things started to change. No, he still didn't talk much, but anyone can string a few words together. His actions spoke the loudest to me. And day after day my heart started to get a mind of its own.

— Ok, ok, ok, so I enjoyed the Jason Thorn book, right? Was, like, how bad could this other book be? And it wasn’t bad, but it was patently ridiculous. Let me explain what happened. Not entirely sorry for the spoilers. Jack the lawyer sees that Rose is only going to get the space for her coffee shop from her uncle’s will if she marries someone. She WAS engaged, but the guy split. For reasons no one can understand, especially Rose. She’s sad. She’s spent so much money on espresso machines! Enter Jack the lawyer who one random afternoon is like: HEY ROSE, YOU’RE MOSTLY A STRANGER, BUT I ALSO NEED TO GET MARRIED FOR REASONS I’LL ONLY SORTA EXPLAIN, LETS DO THAT. So they do???? And Jack the lawyer continues to be kinda weird and a little shady, but Rose has got the coffee shop and things are going well. Until! She’s got a leaky brain!!! That’s not a joke. Not a typo. Out of goddamn LEFT FIELD, Rose has got some horrible medical condition, so thank God she got married because Jack the lawyer’s got great health insurance. (this is ROMANTIC) and she’s got to have an operation and he stays with her and sleeps in the hospital chair and her coffee shop is somehow still going strong??? On Madison Avenue??? What sit-down coffee shop on Madison Avenue do you guys know that would succeed? None because it’s not downtown. I digress. Anyway, Rose makes a miraculous recovery, she and Jack the lawyer are now almost in love? At least having a shit ton of sex. They’re mostly happily married. Until, part two! The ex-fiance shows up and is like JACK THE LAWYER PAID ME TO BREAK UP WITH YOU. To which Rose is understandably flabbergasted. She confronts Jack the lawyer who fesses that he’s been seriously crushing on her since they met at her uncle’s Christmas party. She doesn’t remember this. He does. BECAUSE HE’S A STALKER. So, he knew about the will stipulation with marriage BACK THEN, which is why he used FIRM RESOURCES to investigate the ex-fiance and found out he was a con man, using Rose with plans to basically steal all her money. This infuriated Jack the lawyer because he thought Rose deserved better and then proceeded to basically con her himself, just in a different way. With marriage! He told her he needed to get married to show he was a family man to make partner. THAT WAS A LIE. He didn’t need it at all. He just—wanted to marry her??? To help her??? What a psycho. She leaves. He continues to lurk outside the coffee shop. They make up. No one mentions the stalking. The end.

I KEEP GIVING HELENA SECOND CHANCES AND SHE KEEPS...NOT DESERVING THEM

All In Series by Helena Hunting Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.Lainey is the perfect escape from my life. My plan for seclusion becomes a monthlong sex fest punctuated with domestic bliss. But it ends just as abruptly as it began. When I’m called away on a family emergency, I realize too late that I have no way to contact Lainey.A year later, a chance encounter throws Lainey and me together again. But I still have a lie hanging over my head, and Lainey’s keeping secrets of her own. With more than lust at stake, the truth may be our game changer.

— Last year I read a hockey romance by Helena Hunting that was very cute and traditionally published and she’s got a bunch more free Amazon books that, for some reason, I keep downloading and reading and they continue to be absolutely ridiculous. That first one was a not-so-secret accidental pregnancy (as previously discussed ONE TIME without a condom mention and bam pregnant) but the second one with Rook’s sister was actually pretty cute. I’m not sure why they all called him Rook. Almost all these series have at least one book with someone recovering from an injury and they inevitably fall in love with their physical therapist. So, that one was pretty ok. None of these, however, were quite as entertaining as (wait for it) QUEENIE AND KINGSTON. WHOSE FRIENDS AND TEAMMATES ALL CALL HIM KING. QUEENIE. AND. KING. Gag. I read it anyway. At least 99% of that decision was based solely on the fact that the story started just after King found out his sister was actually his mom. How am I supposed to stop reading THAT?!? I ask you. Highlights of Queenie and King’s romance included: him calling his mom/sister MOMSTER, Queenie being secretly married this whole time, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, his strawberry allergy that flared up because she’d had a strawberry milkshake and then GAVE HIM A BLOWJOB, her dad finding out they were dating because he was the GM of the team and saw that his starting goalie was having a MASSIVE allergic reaction, Queenie’s eventual ex-husband getting engaged to someone who previously tried to self-inseminate to trap Rook into a relationship (I am not making this up, I swear) and then when he found out that his fiancee’s kid wasn’t actually his, he got into a massive fight and earned a 20-game suspension. THAT’S A QUARTER OF AN NHL SEASON. Tom Wilson got fined five thousand dollars for practically killing Artemi Panarin on the ice! I did not read the last book in this series because it was MORE ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY and because it was Queenie’s dad and King’s mom and that meant they’d share a sibling. Which is where I draw the line, guys.

THERE WERE SEVEN BOOKS IN THIS SERIES! EVERY SINGLE ONE HAD TO HAVE A SCENE WHERE THE DUDE UNDERSTOOD THAT PERIODS WERE A THING???? LIKE THAT WAS IMPRESSIVE SOMEHOW?!?!

Hot Jocks Series by Kendall Ryan I've never been so stupid in my entire life. My teammate's incredibly sweet and gorgeous younger sister should have been off-limits, but my hockey stick didn't get that memo. After our team won the championship, and plenty of alcohol, our flirting turned physical and I took her to bed. Shame sent her running the next morning from our catastrophic mistake. She thinks I don't remember that night—but every detail is burned into my brain so deeply, I’ll never forget. The feel of her in my arms, the soft whimpers of pleasure I coaxed from her perfect lips…And now I’ve spent three months trying to get her out of my head. Which has been futile, because I’m starting to understand she’s the only girl I’ll ever want. I have one shot to show her I can be exactly what she needs, but Elise won’t be easily convinced. That’s okay, because I’m good under pressure, and this time, I’m playing for keeps.

—I read all of these. All. Of. Them. They were exceptionally quick reads. Every single one had a copious amount of sex in it and a very weird, apparently required scene, where the dude had to be like I’M NOT SQUICKED OUT BY PERIODS AM I NOT THE ULTIMATE EXAMPLE OF MASCULINITY?? My favorite one was Grant and Ana’s, though, because it was so goddamn absurd I cannot believe someone wrote it. Basic gist was that Ana was dating someone on Grant’s team (he’s the captain, natch) but the guy was a dick and abusive and so one night Ana decides to leave, but she needs someone to help her and WHO DOES SHE TURN TO??? That’s right, reclusive captain Grant. Who’s spent the last few years watching his teammates marry-up and start families and he’s so jealous, but he can’t say anything because he’s a stoic MAN™. So he takes Ana and her dog (of course she’s got a dog) back to his super swanky bachelor pad and she just sort of...stays there? Video of the boyfriend accosting her at her job gets leaked and the boyfriend gets sent to the AHL which is not really how it would work, but fine. Naturally, Grant and Ana hook up. It’s emotional. Vaguely romantic. There’s no GODDAMN CONDOM. So, she gets pregnant. But, of course. Except! She doesn’t know if it’s dick boyfriend’s or Grant’s. Because he’s the male lead in a free sports romance on Amazon, Grant is the MOST understanding. He wants to help Ana. He would like to continue having sex with Ana. This is ready-made happily ever after. Only Ana’s like...eh?? She doesn’t want it to look like she bounced from one hockey player to the next, but also she sorta did and she kept telling Grant she just wanted to be friends, only to have sex, like, three chapters later. Then she just moved out! Just moved out. Seven months pregnant. Moving out. With her dog. Of course, this is a free sports romance on Amazon, so eventually she moved back in with Grant. Once she realized independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And because he left practice to be there when she had the baby. Oh! And she got a DNA test after. To see whose kid it was. Grant ripped that ‘ish up. Just ripped it up. Which is cool, I guess. But, like, you didn’t want to double check? What if that kid has to go to the hospital? Did she put Grant’s name on the birth certificate? What are his parental rights?? Anyway, they’re all set to live HEA when....THE DICK BOYFRIEND DIES. Straight up. No explanation. Nothing. Just Grant tells Ana he’s dead, she’s like, oh wow that’s sad, they send some flowers to the funeral and that’s THAT. I assume this was to close any potential plot holes on the father of this baby, but it was hysterical and I cannot stop thinking about it. Strangely enough, the one where the couple made a secret sex tape in college and then got back together because it got released may have been the healthiest relationship in this series.

[cass-watson]

⋆ ⠀⠀⠀࿐ྃ ▸ ; ⠀ [ crystal reed. human/feeder. 36. Bisexual. cisfemale. ] was that just CASSANDRA WATSON, I saw coming out of THE GYM? the SELF-DEFENSE INSTRUCTOR is best to be described as + INDEPENDENT, but pronouns could also be - RECKLESS and as well as being previously unmarked they can easily be noticed by RUNNING HEADFIRST TOWARDS THE DANGER, LIVING WITHIN HER MEANS, DENIM JACKETS, as well as THE HEAD OF MEDUSA, which has only just appeared. @lovebitestarter

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Infidelity, Mentions of drug use, Mentions of overdose, Mentions of Physical, Verbal, and Emotional Abuse (None of it is explicit or heavily touched upon beyond a sentence or two, but it is still there) [[If anyone cannot read this due to the triggers let me know and I will give you the short version! I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to force themselves to read something that’s potentially triggering.]]

About You

My name is Damian and I live in the cst timezone. I’m twenty-five, currently working from home, and have two dogs of my own. I am open to any kinds of plotting! Currently my discord is not setup so for now the best way to reach me via tumblr messenger. The biggest plot I am looking for is for a vampire who Cass is the personal feeder for! Other than that I enjoy drinking iced tea and knitting while listening to podcasts.

— *    ⟢ 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕤 !

full name: Cassandra Ann Watson

species: human

age: thirty-six

date of birth: april 19, 1987

hometown: everett, washington

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: bisexual

+ likes: working out, yoga, going for walks with her dog, autumn, cooking, gardening - dislikes: people who get into her business, the ocean, heights, coffee, mustard

positive traits: Independent, Courageous, Protective, Dependable

negative traits: Reckless, Impatient, Impulsive, Possessive

hobbies: Archery, Yoga, Cooking, Gardening, Trying various new foods

fears: The Ocean, Heights, Being Cheated On

Biography

You were born in a town in Washington. To two high school sweethearts who loved each other and they loved you. The apple of their eye. Doting on you, supporting you, you walked with them hand in hand. And when your family grew bigger that just meant more love and attention to go around. You loved your siblings, even if they did not resemble you or your father, your mother told you that meant god wished for your family to be as colorful as a rainbow.

You are a child no longer

Your childhood was a lie. A lie you would not see until you were finally old enough to understand. Your father is an alcoholic and when he’s not out on the job he’s at the bar, you rarely see him sober. Your mother got pregnant in high school and the year you were born was the year she dropped out, to raise you. She reminds you constantly that if it weren’t for you her life would be better. Your siblings, whom you love so dearly do not have the same father as you or each other. Your mother sleeps with other men a lot. Sometimes she’s doesn’t come home. On those nights it’s up to you to take care of the home, of your family. You are more of a parent than your own parents ever will be.

You cannot escape their claws

When you graduated high school it was with honors. You were almost valedictorian. You wanted to be more than your parents were and more than they thought you would be. You get accepted into the college of your dreams on full scholarship. There is nothing that is stopping you from finally achieving your goals. In your first year, only a few months in and you get a phone call. Your father beat up your mother and her current secret lover pretty bad. Both are in the hospital, your father in jail. Your mother begs you to come home. She needs you. You drop everything and move back home. To take care of your family again. Your mother tries to be better, do better now that your father isn’t around but she falls back into old habits. She tells you that with you back home where you belong and your father in jail she can do what she wants. You are left back at square one.

You love so much but who will love you

You are now turning twenty and working at the local diner, trying to make ends meet. Your brother picks up a job after school and your sister watches your two youngest siblings while you’re at work. There is a guy your age at the diner. His name is Derek and he washes the dishes, maybe even cooks if the diner is short staffed. He flirts with you often and you just roll your eyes with a smile. You have no time for dating or flings. But one night you both work late. You both talk as you work and for once you felt seen, all your issues, your baggage is accepted. You feel lighter than you have in years. You decide to go on one date with him. It turns into two that turns into more. You are in love, truly in love and you tell yourself that this is will last. Through the rose colored glasses you don’t see him breaking your heart until it is too late. Another woman is in his bed and you see red. You want to murder him, no you want to hurt him like he hurt you and it takes everything you are to not do it. Instead you break the nearest thing he owns, you slash his tires, you make sure he knows that you will kill him if you see him again. 

You don’t let yourself cry

Four years later and you set foot into Everwinter for the first time. You had to get away, you needed a fresh start. You needed to bring yourself happiness for once. And the first couple of years go by fine. Until, almost like deja vu you get another dreaded phone call. Your mother overdose on her pills. She’s in the hospital. She needs you. It is like you are back in college. Like your mother has you like a puppet on strings that she tugs when she thinks you’ve been happy for too long. This time is different. You are not returning home this time. You are not giving up the life you are finally building for yourself. You tell her in no uncertain terms that you will be sending money each month to your brother, he will use it to take care of the family as he sees fit. Your mother will not get direct access to it. Unless she once and for all gets better, does better, actions speak louder than words. When you hang up that phone you feel like a puppet who cut its strings. And you feel good.

You broke the water’s surface and finally draw breath

You spend a year with your feeder buddy before you become an official feeder. The first vampire who employs you is for the most part nice and that’s it. Neither of you try to become friends and that is fine for you. Few years with them then you are employed by a different vampire, your current employer. They’re different. They talk to you before they feed, sometimes even chat afterwards. At first you are guarded however they have a knack for wearing you down. You’re not the biggest fan of your job but the money is nothing to sneeze at and your employer doesn’t care that you send all your earnings back home. You don’t have a use for such luxury. Life is good, you are content.

Your mark appears and the water begins to ripple

———

Other Info

Has a 3 year old blue nose pitbull named Maggie that tends to be at her side at all hours of the day. Cassandra loves her and doesn’t think she would have gotten through the past couple of years without her. (image)

She is bisexual, leans towards men/masculine presenting people.

Is a Self Defense Instructor at a local gym. However due to also being a feeder she just gives verbal instructions while using her coworkers as visual aids.

Speaks English and German fluently. Does have a basic understanding of ASL. Currently learning Spanish.

Does not take cheating well at all. If she is in a relationship with someone or with two others then she expects it to be exclusive. She does not share.

———

Wanted Connections

Cassandra’s Current Vampire Employer: either gender or non-gender. She has been a feeder since turning twenty-six and they would be her current vampire employer, possibly only been feeding from her for at most five years or so. They have a not quite friend but not strictly business relationship. They would know that Cassandra sends all the money she earns to her parent and siblings.

Cassandra’s friends: either new or old friends though she has a difficult time keeping up with her friends and isn’t proud that she sometimes leaves them on read. Has been trying her darndest to do better and do right by her friends, hanging out a lot more. 

———

species

Cassandra is a human through and through, she can’t imagine being anything else. Living forever or being stronger does not hold much appeal to her.

The potential that she is bonded to a different species is terrifying. But the idea of her being bonded to anyone is terrifying to her.

Vampires: she feels neutral about vampires as a whole. Her vampire employer isn’t too bad. However she is often warned by other feeders that most rogue vampires, and those of the Malkavian Clan are practically evil incarnate while they consider the Menesis Clan heroes. Cass knows that like humans even vampires are not black and white.

Witches: she does not hold much opinion on witches. To her they seem the closest to humans, if you just think of it from a mortality perspective. Each witch is vastly different from each other so most of her opinions are based on individuals.

———

soulmarks

Cassandra is terrified of being bonded to someone or someones. She does not want it to become another string to control her like her mother did. Or another Derek situation. If she can avoid it she will and is somewhat grateful the mark is in an easy to hide spot.

Getting her mark only recently Cassandra knows, at least assumes the person she’s bound to is a vampire. At least one of them is. She feels pulled in more than one direction.

She does not plan to let her mark disrupt her life. Hopefully. She is trying her best. Cassandra focuses on her two jobs and her dog.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

An Alice Man

PART FIVE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: On a catastrophic afternoon, Ella confronts Jess about his evasive behavior. Later, the annual basket sale disrupts a weekend shift at the diner.

At first, she thought nothing of it. The snubs, when he would look away from her just as he caught her eyes, refusal to hold a conversation disguised as being busy. After all, she didn’t need Jess. She got plenty of social interaction at school and at work, but there was something suspicious in the sudden turnaround of their banter. The cold shoulder was getting old. Her patience finally wore thin on a stormy Monday. February had warmed at an unexpected rate, and the rain rather than snow had begun to fall the week before. Ella suspected another wave of snow would move in before the winter was really over, or she hoped it would. A fire of annoyance was brewing in her stomach as she jogged the distance from Stars Hollow High to the diner, having forgotten her umbrella in the morning. She had only her leather jacket, and had opted to shield her messenger bag instead of her hair in order to save her homework.

With damp hair and her dark eye makeup running a little under her eyes, she stormed into the diner. To add insult to injury, she had slipped on the gravelly slush on the way, and her jeans had torn at the knee. The edges of the ripped denim were tinged red, her skin scraped. She hung her sopping bag and coat from the hanger near the door. They dripped rainwater on the tile floor and she sighed internally. She would definitely have to mop later. Before anyone could say a word, she retreated to the kitchen and tried to ring her hair out. She ran some napkins under her eyes, and they came away dark with eyeshadow and mascara. There was no mirror in the kitchen, but she had a pretty good idea of what she looked like. The words “drowned rat” came to mind, and her rosebud lips were set in a tight, tense line.

Heaving a sigh, she tied her apron around her hips, nearly slipping again in her black clogs. She ignored the stinging in her knee and came around the counter. Rain always slowed business, and there were only a few people in the diner. Lorelai and Rory sat at the counter, Luke speaking with them, while Jess read Naked Lunch on the stool he had stolen and put near the door to the kitchen. He hadn’t looked up or acknowledged her when she brushed past him.

“Um, Ella?” Lorelai asked when she saw the girl.

Grabbing a pencil and a pad to shove into her pocket, Ella finally felt as though the rushed adrenaline was fading in her. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

“Got caught in the rain, huh?” Rory surmised, eyeing her curiously, warily.

Ella furrowed her brows at their strange looks, and how Luke was averting his gaze from her. “Yep. I forgot my umbrella, I fell down on Main, I probably bombed my chem test, I lost my calc textbook and didn’t find it until I spent twenty minutes going through the entire math wing after class, and Jess still has my copy of Jane Eyre,” she enumerated her grievances, caught up in her rant, pointing an angry finger towards Jess on her last note.

On a normal day, she would have swallowed down her irritation and put on a fake sunshiney demeanor. But with virtually only Rory and Lorelai in the diner, she had ended up spewing out all her frustration. She didn’t mention the fight she’d had with her dad in the morning, though. That could wait for the next movie night in the Gilmore house.  

Jess looked up once, lazily, at the sound of his name, and then went back to his reading.

“Okay, honey, I’m sorry, but it’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” Lorelai said, trying to placate her. Sometimes, Ella could get wound as tight as Rory, though always for different reasons.

“What?”

“The shirt situation is not lookin’ so good right now,” Lorelai informed her. Luke had begun puttering with the cash register, checked out from the conversation.

Ella looked down at her shirt and immediately flushed scarlet. She’d worn a white long-sleeve with a black outline of Lou Reed’s face. With the saturation from the rain, the white cotton had become almost entirely see-through and her black bra was completely visible.

“You have got to be kidding,” she said softly to herself, burying her face in her hands.

Again, Jess looked up at the noise and assessed the situation, sputtering something between a sound of surprise and a chuckle when he saw what had happened. Ella arched an eyebrow at him, then switched from thinking mode to acting mode. She grabbed Jess by his sleeve and began dragging him towards the store room.

“Jesus! What-” he began, but she cut him off as they made it into the back.

“What the hell is your problem?!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dejectedly, avoiding eye contact.

“Really, tough guy? You don’t know?” Ella asked, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Look, I know we’re not best friends. In fact, we barely even count as coworkers! And honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck if you ever talk to me again. But, I want my books and my records back! And the next time you wanna hide a black eye from Luke, I wouldn’t count on me helping you!”

“Eleanor, I-”

“Don’t Eleanor me, Jess,” she scoffed.

Jess cast his eyes down at his black boots, and Ella was surprised to find him looking squirmy.

“Luke told me, alright?” he said after a long pause, finally facing her.

“Told you what?” she demanded.

“About your mom and your dad and why you work here,” he blurted out, trying to maintain his hard exterior though embarrassment crawled beneath his skin.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella brought a hand to her necklace and let out another long, frustrated sigh. “Alright. Yes, my mom’s dead and my dad’s not winning any parenting awards. What does that have to do with you morphing into a jackass the last few weeks? More of a jackass than normal?”

“The entire town hates me. And I don’t care. But I figured it would be better for you not to have to deal with-”

“Yeah right,” she mumbled, glancing back at the door to the diner, hoping no one could hear them but knowing everyone probably could. “Luke told you to stay away from me, didn’t he?”

“No, he-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jess.”

“Alright, fine, yes. But I get it.”

Running a hand through her hair, Ella tried to quiet the emotions swarming around within her. “Well, I’m flattered you’ve decided to give me so much choice in the matter.”

“I-”

“Y’know, I’m pretty sick of everyone assuming I’m some scared little girl who needs protecting!” she fumed, speaking with her hands. “Because, guess what, I got dealt a bad hand. And I made it through almost entirely on my own. I’m almost eighteen years old, and I get to choose what I do and who I hang out with! Alright?”

Ella shot him an expectant look. Jess crossed his arms and sighed, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Great! And, just so we’re clear, I’m plenty smart enough to avoid your dumbass antics on my own!”

Her face was set in determination, posture rigid. Redness warmed her skin, her hazel eyes alight with fire. Jess waited a beat, to see whether or not she had finished. After a moment, it seemed like her speech was over. Heaving a breath, Ella fiddled with her blonde waves once more, trying to calm her nerves, remembering again what a shitty day she’d had. But at least she knew what was up with Jess. She knew she would have to assure Luke of her safety at some point, but she had to calm down first. Ever since her mother had died, he, along with Lorelai, had begun looking out for her. It was appreciated, but coupled with the concern of the rest of the town, she, at times, felt suffocated. Especially considering none of those people had to come home with her and face the daily trash of the Stevens household. They didn’t have to listen to her father fucking his new girlfriend in the middle of the night and walk past the old photographs of her mother the next morning. Not even if they continued dropping off random pity casseroles.

Finally, Jess broke the charged silence. “Do you want me to grab you a shirt from upstairs?”

Swallowing thickly, Ella nodded. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her middle. “Please.”

“When I get back, if you want, I can give you my full Jane Eyre review,” he said, his regular smirk returning.

Ella’s muscles relaxed, and she felt relief flood her system, though her voice still held a pronounced bite. “Well, it took you fucking long enough!”

.   .   .

Wiping down the main counter, Ella still fumed beneath her surface. Her blood had cooled about Jess. With everything he had on his record already, she could understand him not wanting to piss Luke off. Well, not piss him off more than the moderate amount he did on a daily basis. But then there was Luke and Lorelai. It made sense for them to team up as her surrogate guardians in the wake of her mother’s death considering how completely in love with each other they were. But Ella never had any interest in talking about what happened, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t insulted to be treated like an aimless toddler. The moment her mother died, everyone started seeing her like the little girl in overalls and blonde pigtails she once was.

Heart beating nervously against her ribs, Ella glanced suspiciously from side to side. It was past nine, closing time, and Jess was in the back washing up the last of the dishes. Luke was unplugging the equipment behind the counter. Ella cleared her throat anxiously.

“Um, Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you tell Jess to stay away from me?” she asked pointedly, having stopped her circular movements of the dish towel in her hand.

Luke froze, facing away from her. She saw his shoulders tense beneath his red flannel. After a beat, he turned back to her and crossed his arms. Leaning against the back counter, he took on an all-knowing stance. However, Ella could not help but think he gave off a less emotionally intelligent vibe than he was going for.

“I just don’t want him getting you into trouble,” he began warily.

She raised her eyebrows, mirroring his stance. Jess’s grey thermal shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves rolled up in bunches to her elbows. Her hair, tied back loosely in a low ponytail, had finally dried. And she’d salvaged her eye makeup in the bathroom with the help of paper towels and sink water. But still, her body was tired from the trials of the day. Monday was usually upsetting, but only very rarely so disastrous.

“Did it ever occur to you that I can keep myself out of trouble?” she asked, subtle hostility dripping from her tone.

“Ella-”

“No, really, am I so helpless that I can’t avoid gnome-stealing?” she asked seriously, maintaining constant eye contact.

Luke mulled it over in her head, then nodded his head, conceding. “Okay, I’m sorry. I was just worried.”

She sighed. In spite of her mood, a small, kind smile crossed Ella’s lips. “Really, Luke, you don’t have to worry. I’m not even friends with that jackass. I’m just educating him in quality literature and vinyl collecting. He has no taste.”

Matching her smile, Luke nodded again and went back to work. “Okay, just don’t let him bother you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

.   .   .

Tossing a dull pencil behind her furiously, Ella growled slightly. She retrieved a second pencil from the bun in her hair, underlining another phrase. The streets of Stars Hollow were slick from a cool morning drizzle, leftover fall leaves, shades of gold and orange, stuck to the asphalt. Biting her lip in concentration, she only let up when she began to taste coppery blood. She was glad for the silence in the diner. The annotations alone were enough to make her brain feel like it was going to implode. Even the mid-morning regulars were occupied, as the entire town stood on the grassy square facing the gazebo. The annual basket sale was underway, the meals for sale ranging from Lorelai’s inedible ruffage to Sookie’s impeccable lunch.

“Y’know you’re gonna end up takin’ someone’s eye out,” Jess drawled, hunched over his own book on a stool near the register.

“Thanks for the warning,” she deadpanned back.

Sighing, Jess saved his place in his book and tossed it on the back counter. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at that for like three hours.”

“No can do,” she said, still not taking her eyes from the text in her hands.

Jess scoffed. “What are you up to anyway?”

Ella groaned at his persistence, finally shutting her book with a snap! “It’s for my spring paper. I’m comparing the modernist depiction of Catholicism in Portrait of the Artist and Death Comes for the Archbishop.”

��I thought you loved James Joyce? A very misguided preference, by the way.”

“I do,” she snapped, her tone wary. “But he’s just one half of the paper. I’m reading Cather right now and I fucking hate it.”

“Sorry to hear that. It’s tragic,” Jess said flatly.

“Bite me.”

Just as they were both getting back into the groove of their reading, Lane burst through the door with a frantic look. She bumped into a few tables on her way to the counter, the metal legs screeching against the tile floor. Ella eyed her in slight amusement and concern.

“Where’s the fire, Lane?” she asked.

“Okay, Ella, I need you to take a deep breath before I tell you this,” Lane began in a sugary voice, refusing to make eye contact.

Ella narrowed her gaze. “Why?”

Jess looked up curiously.

“I really think you should-”

“Lane,” Ella said, dropping her book and pencil, trying to keep her tone even though her heart was in the throat. “Just spit it out. I can take it.”

“Miss Patty made you a basket and they’re about it to bid on it,” Lane said in a rush, taking a step back in preparation for the outburst she knew would follow. She was correct.

“What?” Ella exclaimed, immediately scurrying out from behind the counter and busting through the diner doors. Before leaving completely, she called out in the direction of the stock room, where Luke was doing inventory: “I’m taking my fifteen!”

His interest piqued, Jess hopped down from his stool and followed. Throwing on his jacket and stuffing his hands in his pockets, a smirk formed on his lips at Ella’s irritation. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as she jogged to the square, stopping at the edge of the large crowd where she found Miss Patty. A damp chill blew in the spring air.

“Patty, did you make me a basket?” Ella asked the woman in the drapey velvet outfit.

Blowing a stream of blue smoke from her dark red lips, Patty nodded and laughed. “Of course, dear. I think it’s about time for the summer of your youth.”

Ella shut her eyes for a moment, collecting her anxious words. “I appreciate the concern but I don’t need any help-”

“And, next up, we’ve got this beautiful little basket for everyone’s favorite waitress, Ella Stevens!” Taylor announced from his podium in the gazebo, readying his gavel for the impending bids.

“Trust me. You’ll thank me later, doll,” Miss Patty winked, a knowing smile spread over her made-up face.

Sighing heavily, Ella turned to face the gazebo and felt a mix of panic and frustration churning in her stomach. She looked around for Lane, a desperate search for a friendly face, but Lane had already found the cousin who had bought her basket. Ella knew all about the plot to share the basket with Henry, the boy Lane had met at the Chilton party. She would have been happier for her friend if their method of dating didn’t involve such an insulting town tradition. Instead of Lane, she found only Jess standing beside her, failing to hide his laughter. She rolled her eyes at him, face flushing scarlet when Taylor announced the first bid.

“We’ll start at five dollars!”

“Fuck me,” she growled under her breath.

“Language, Eleanor,” Jess mocked from her right side. But then, he raised an arm and shouted: “Ten dollars!”

“What the hell, Mariano?” she hissed, trying to grab his arm and lower it.

Taylor acknowledged Jess’s bid and waited for another taker to show a hand for fifteen dollars. After a beat of silence, Ella felt the heat on her face growing. She felt as though the entire town had eyes on her. Mercifully, there was little bidding. After a few more random bids from a couple boys she only vaguely recognized from school, Taylor struck his gavel on the podium, and a meager amount of applause sounded. Ella tried to catch Jess’s attention to chew him out as he walked up to retrieve the basket, but he ignored her attempts at engagement.

“And sold for thirty dollars to the nice young hoodlum in the back!”

Strolling back to Ella, Jess could already see the frustrated crease between her brows. She had her arms crossed over her chest defiantly, and he nodded his head for her to accompany him as he began the short walk back to the diner.

“Jess, what-”

“Shall we?” he asked, finally casting her an expectant glance.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, stepping in front of him and putting a hand on his chest.

“Let’s go eat. You should probably grab your jacket first, though,” he reasoned, the smirk never leaving his face.

Slowly, the tension began to leave her figure and her expression cooled off. Her eyes widened in surprise, a bit of confusion, and she laughed nervously. “I’m working. So are you.”

“Really? Because I think I just saw Lorelai run in there and turned the sign closed.”

Over her shoulder, Ella saw Lorelai pushing Luke from the front door, pleading with him to bid on her basket. And when the sign was in view again, she saw it indeed read Closed. Scoffing in disbelief, Ella tucked a wild piece of hair behind her ear.

“I really think it’s time to solve the mystery of whatever Miss Patty thought your suitor would like for lunch. I’m starving. Aren’t you?” Jess gestured to the basket and his smirk turned to a smile.

Shaking her head self consciously, Ella turned a glance down to her black converse for a moment before looking back at Jess. “Alright, but we need to be back for the dinner shift.”

“Good,” Jess said quickly, brushing past her to the diner. “C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

.   .   .

Afternoon light glimmered off the lake as Ella and Jess walked down the dock. Birds chirped from somewhere off in the surrounding woods, and Ella took in a deep breath of the clean nature. Out on the dock, the pine permeated the air pleasantly. Though the breeze was cool, the sun shone down and warmed her face as she glanced up to the clouds passing across the pristine blue sky. It struck Ella how long it had been since she had really enjoyed the weather. The thought almost made her embarrassed, such a simple perk of life she had been ignoring. So often it felt as though she viewed her reality through window panes, only the room changing around her. She was reminded of Emily Dickinson, watching the world change around her and experiencing it all through only her imagination and her poetry. There was such a bittersweet beauty to the thought, and it painfully struck the small part of Ella’s heart reserved only for private wishes.

“Earth to Eleanor,” Jess said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Jeez, what’s on your mind?”

She smiled and shook her head at herself, following Jess’s lead as he sat down on the edge of the dock, placing the basket in between the two of them. “Emily Dickinson.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how wildly unpredictable you are?”

“All the time.”

Chuckling, Jess poised his hands over the basket lid, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Ready, Nancy Drew?”

“That I am. Which Hardy Boy are you? Just so we’re clear on this metaphor,” she said with mock gravity.

“I think I’m a Frank,” Jess answered.

Ella nodded. “Yeah. I agree.”

Slowly, dramatically, Jess pulled back the lid of the basket, a fake sunflower garnishing the top. Frankly, though, it had been one of the least tacky baskets of the entire bunch. Inside, they found pastries. Tons and tons of pastries. Just from the sweet and yeasty smell, so familiar, Ella knew they were made by Fran at Weston’s bakery. They were assorted danishes. Jess tentatively pushed them aside to see if there was anything else, but the danishes were it. As the realization came over both of them, Ella erupted in laughter.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell?” Jess asked through his own breathy chuckles. He watched as Ella threw her head back, her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, gripping her stomach as she laughed.

Catching her breath, Ella shook her head knowingly. “I have zero explanation for this. She means well.”

Jess snorted. “Clearly.”

They both took a danish each, the crinkling of wax paper as they began eating the only sound besides the gentle lapping of the water against the dock and the chirping birds. Ella opted for an apple, while Jess took a cherry.

“So, why does Miss Patty think you need a basket anyway?” Jess broke the ice again after a moment of comfortable silence, both their gazes trained on the greenish-clear water before them. Across the expanse of the lake, there were only pine trees, the spring grass was just beginning to come back in patches below them.

Ella rolled her eyes and grimaced. “She thinks I need someone to ‘share my youthful body with while it lasts.’”

“Wow."

“I know. Patty’s always meddling, but I’m not big on the dating thing.”

Something indecipherable passed across Jess’s face for a moment at her words, but Ella barely noticed it. She swallowed down the last of her danish.

“And you hate the basket thing?” he asked through crumbs.

“It’s just so fucking sexist. Parading the women of Stars Hollow around, literally giving them away to the highest bidder. I know it’s tradition, but it’s such bullshit,” she said, speaking with her hands as her passion mounted.

Jess nodded, and Ella was surprised to see how earnest he looked. “Yeah, it is very...Henry VIII. Isn’t it?”

“Totally. I’ve tried to bring it up at town meetings. But old habits die hard, apparently.”

“That they do.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Excuse me?”

She gestured to the basket between them. “Why’d you buy my basket?”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. Heat of the moment. You seemed pretty pissed. Thought I’d save you from those other assholes who were bidding.”

“I don’t need any saving,” she remarked pointedly, though she then shot him a benevolent look. “But thank you.”

“Duly noted and you’re welcome. If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t my intention to support an antiquated, patriarchal mating ritual,” he said, almost sheepishly.

She hummed in acknowledgement, watching two birds chase each other through the trees across the lake. They were two cardinals, bright red against the muted greenish brown landscape.

“I just didn’t want you to have to spend a picnic with a baseball player. They’re mindless,” he joked, tilting his head at her. “Does that make you feel any better?”

“Marginally.” She smiled, taking another deep breath of the fresh air. She tugged her black corduroy jacket a little tighter around herself, clearing her throat and stealing a glance at Jess. “Y’know, you could be like this all the time if you tried.”

“Like what?”

“Not a dick,” she said bluntly, raising her eyebrows.

Jess laughed evasively. “Well, I’m glad you see me in such a positive light.”

“Look, I’m not trying to…” she trailed off, sensing his discomfort. “One day, you’re beating the hell out of Peter Smith and torturing Luke. And then, you’re buying my basket to rescue me from a stale afternoon with the Stars Hollow High catcher. You’re getting to be quite an inconsistent jackass. It’s just...curiouser and curiouser.”

Scoffing, he tossed her a knowing look, the backhanded insult rolling off him like water. He knew it wasn’t exactly meant as a slight, but more as a question. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes. Y’know, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

A wide grin crossed her face, her hazel eyes lighting up. “I never pegged you as an Alice man.”

“Well, I think we’ve established I’m full of surprises.”

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Conspiracy (2/?)

When Carlos arrives at the 126, he finds the sole survivor of the old firehouse, Judd Ryder, polishing the bright red paint of their truck. Each little circle of the waxing cloth is almost angry in its precision, Judd’s knuckles white with the force of it. It’s like he knows what Carlos is here for, even before he asks him to gather the crew together. He names them off, one by one: Strickland, Chavez, Marwani, Blake, Gillian and Rosewater. Three more firefighters, and three paramedics. None of them seem worried or concerned about Carlos’ presence, or the absence of their captain and his son. Just like with TK, there’s something not quite right here.

“I’m sorry to inform you all, but Captain Strand was found dead in his home this morning.”

Chavez whistles lowly, looking away. He seems to be the only one at all affected by the news, his eyes going glassy as he crosses his arms. Everyone else keeps staring at him, as though they don’t consider it to be news. Well, Carlos did think that TK couldn’t have killed him alone. And he knows that firefighter crews get tight-knit. They’re closer than family, some of them. 

“It was a homicide. After the autopsy, he’ll be released for a burial, or- or whatever service he would have wanted. That would fall to his son, TK, but I imagine he’ll need your support with all that. We’ve just started our investigation, but we will find your captain’s killer, and bring them to justice. Once again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

For a moment, they’re all quiet, but there’s nothing to indicate any sort of grief on their faces, just like with TK. Chavez seems to be the only one affected by the news. A single tear rolls down his cheek. Marwani hugs him in against her side, but otherwise, there is nothing. It’s Judd who breaks the silence. 

“I’m glad the bastard is dead,” he says, and walks away.

At that, Carlos is left to question the team. 

He asks them to take a seat, and pulls out his notebook again to ask them about TK, as a start. “He said that he’s staying with someone named Marjan right now?”

“That would be me.” Marwani- or rather, Marjan- says, lifting her hand slightly. “Captain Strand was a lot, so TK and I have been living together for the past few weeks. He couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And what was it he couldn’t take?”

Marjan looks at Chavez and doesn’t respond. After a moment, she guides him away to cry in peace, away from the questioning. That just leaves Strickland and the paramedics, stoic and unaffected, silent and maybe even smug. None of them seem sad to have lost Captain Strand either, or have any interest in the news that he was murdered. Everything about this investigation is just wrong. Captain Strand was well loved by the community. The people in the neighborhood were happy to see someone reclaim the dreary memorial of a firehouse, and they’ve always been glad to interact with him. From what Carlos heard, he’s popped up on a fair number of local news stories. The whole 126 has. They’re brave and maybe a little reckless, protective of each other, and dedicated to their jobs. And yet, this crew that are so close, don’t seem at all bothered by this. Add that to the implications that Captain Strand wasn’t as good a person as he seems, Carlos has found himself a handful of suspects with clear motives. The only difference between this firehouse and TK Strand is that TK had a key to that house.

“I know this is hard, but it would really help the investigation if one of you could explain to me what it was about your captain that was so bad.”

Gillian looks to Blake, as though for permission. When the woman nods, Gillian begins to speak. “Captain Strand had a really weird thing about TK. He was controlling, to say the least. They lived together and worked together, and Cap would dictate everything TK did. What he could eat, where he could go, who he could talk to. When he first rebuilt this house, he would barely let TK talk to the other firefighters.”

“He took an interest in Mateo, too,” Strickland adds. “Chavez, the one who was crying? Not as intense as with TK, but he was… interested in him.”

“By interested, you mean…?”

“It’s hard to explain, but something wasn’t right,” Blake fills in.

Carlos rubs his face. This is a rough one for too many reasons to count. “Did TK ever tell you that his father had abused him?”

“He didn’t have to. But if he talked to anyone about it, it would have been Mateo or Judd. Mateo knew what Owen was really like, and Judd and TK are like brothers.”

“I’ll have to talk to them both. And Marjan, to make sure TK was with her last night,” Carlos says.

And just like that, Blake is smiling at him. It’s the sort of smile that says he’s stupid, the sort that makes him feel like a scolded child all over again despite the fact that she just told him his prime suspect was likely abused by the victim. While Carlos has looked countless killers in the eyes with this same expression, there’s something more unnerving about how calm she seems. They’re all too at ease. Even if they didn’t like Captain Strand, even if they hated him, they still worked with him every single day. 

“Honestly,” Blake says, “there’s no point in looking into this. The world is a lot better off without that son of a bitch in it.”

When Carlos leaves them behind to look for Marjan and Mateo, he gets this sense that any help TK may have had came from this firehouse. They all hated the victim just as much. Still, he heads over to speak to those two, finding them in the kitchen area with mugs of tea while Mateo blows his nose into a tissue. Poor kid, he didn’t deserve to be involved in this. He seems like the only reasonable one around here, and that unfortunately may be because Captain Strand hurt him too. 

“Could we have a moment?” Carlos asks Marjan.

“Mateo, do you want me to leave or stay?”

Immediately Mateo takes her outstretched hand. “Stay.”

Marjan meets Carlos’ eyes almost with a challenge, pulling up a seat beside Mateo and staying close protectively. It would be sweet in any normal situation, but that’s nowhere near what this mess is. None of them are innocent, except for possibly Mateo. The man is so young, still basically fresh from the academy.

“So, Mateo, I wanted to ask you a couple questions. Your um, your coworkers told me that you and Captain Strand were close?”

He nods. Marjan sends Carlos a warning look. 

“Can you tell me a little more about that? How close were you?”

“Cap, um, he helped me get a job. Hired me, and fought for me to be able to have my exam read to me at the academy. I’m dyslexic. He’s the one who figured that out, actually. Cap was the first person to tell me I was smart.” For a moment, it’s too much. Mateo sobs and wipes his eyes, clings to Marjan when she pulls him close against her chest in a motherly fashion. “He was like a dad to me. I- he treated me just like TK, and- and he believed in me.”

“When you say just like TK…”

“Only the good parts,” Mateo corrects quickly. “He wasn’t mean to me.”

Carlos has to tread lightly. “He was mean to TK, though?”

“Sometimes. When TK pissed him off. But Cap never got mad at me. He cared about me a lot, and he made sure that I always felt good.”

His throat feels tight. 

“And how did he do that, Mateo?”

“I- I don’t wanna talk about it!”

Mateo stands up and leaves. But Marjan doesn’t follow him, just watches him leave and begins to tidy up the kitchen. She must know that Carlos has questions for her too, as she hums to herself and waits for him to ask them.

“TK was staying with you, you said. Last night, was he home the whole night?”

“Never left his room,” Marjan confirms. “He doesn’t leave the house on his own. Captain Strand spent his whole life conditioning that into him. This isn’t worth investigating, Detective. It’s best for everyone if you just let it go.”

@smileofthesun27 @skylark50 @heartofmarjan @chiefsheepbird @ebug2002 @proceduralpassion @cauldronbornkid

[tampon-on-the-sidewalk]

Before I Collapsed.

Content warning for very graphic descriptions of self harm, illness, depression, suicide, and remembering toxic relationships and abusive parents

The night before I was hospitalized, my coworkers sent me home early. I had a rash up my neck, very bad heart palpitations, unsteady on my feet, and the feeling of indigestion despite not eating anything. I was perfectly fine at the beginning of my shift. It was a Friday night. I was working on backstock and stocking the Planters’ endcap when I started to feel funny. They sent me home immediately.

I called my mother explaining the situation. She didn’t want to pick me up. I walked a half hour home. 

I get in the door, sit down, completely out of it. She already starts yelling about me putting my work bag on the chair. 

That night, I wanted nothing more to take every knife we owned and play KerPlunk with my body, shoving them all in and taking one out at a time until everything spilled out of me. I’m pretty sure I bit both wrists three or more times, I forget. I did a lot of crying. I wanted nothing more than to die. I wish that my heart condition or whatever the fuck it ACTUALLY ended up being(was misdiagnosed when I went to the doctor but that’s another story) would have just killed me on my walk home. 

I had a dream that night. I was in a fancy ballroom, the kinds you would see in Disney movies. Actually, it was similar to Beauty and the Beast. There was a wall-mount phone, it was white. A little girl answers it and motions towards me. “Who is it?” I ask. “Nyle.” she responds. And then I wake up.

Nyle, for those of you who have never interracted with me before 2016, was a mutually toxic lover. We met online when I was 13 and he 11. We did things no child should ever do. We dated on and off for years and I relied on him to get me out of my depressions. There was a lot of distrust. A lot of Neglect. But I considered him my life support. He cut all ties with me late 2015. I didn’t connect the dots then, but I also realized the ballroom was because he was in his high school’s theatrical production of Beauty and the Beast. 

His name was the last thing I dreamt, the day I collapsed.

I remember opening my eyes and feeling the worst pressure I’ve ever felt. As if something was literally pushing down on my and forbidding me to lift my head, move my body, breath. I’m pretty sure I didn’t breath for my first few waking minutes. I was completely dissociated from everything, my eyes blank, my body heavy, my mind static. I didn’t try to kill myself the night before. But the way I felt waking up was worse than death. It took me an hour to get out of bed. I trudged up the basement stairs,left the house, almost not wanting to. I walked the half an hour to work but it became an hour. My legs were lead, every step dragging me deeper in to metaphorical mud. I walk into my store, about fifteen minutes late. I’m normally half an hour early.

“Oh, I meant we needed you NEXT Saturday. You can clock in if you want.” 

I clock in. I feel completely useless. I feel unwanted. I feel whatever heart things that were going on yesterday but worse. I feel my depression but worse. 

An hour and a half in. I go down.

I don’t bother calling mother. I don’t bother calling an ambulance. But I know the Patient First, despite being literally across the street, won’t do anything for me because I left my ID at home. I walk there anyway. In pain. Tears streaming down my face.

They don’t bother taking my vitals. They call an ambulance. The Emergency Room doesn’t do tests. If I did bite(I genuinely can’t remember), they noticed the blood spatters and bruises. I make the mistake of mentioning my suicidal thoughts. They throw me into an inpatient mental health facility 2 hours away. The only clothes that I have are my work uniform, and my OTHER job’s uniform because I was supposed to work both that day. They call my mother. She calls my father. My father shows up before they take me to the clinic, completely disappointed in me. I can’t say or do anything. I’m still numb. He has to explain to both jobs that I will not be in for a week. I am forced to quick my part-timer. 

Find out, years later, I have PMDD which probably contributed to my suicidal thoughts the night before I collapsed. I got my period hours before I collapsed. We still don’t know what the rest of my malfunctions were. 

But I have never. NEVER. Felt as heavy and deflated and completely powerless as I did the morning I woke up to his name. None of my PMDD bullshit or other depression(despite having the knife fantasy a few more times after that years later but I digress) has ever been as bad and just difficult to swallow at it was that morning. And I can still remember how I felt that day. It was unbearable. 

But I guess I’m still here.

[highfivecalum]

Our Home Place {CH} 7

NATALIE SMOOTHED OUT the short black dress she had on and flipped her hair over nervously. She was getting ready for the  banquet that Calum had invited her to, Allie in the middle of Natalie’s bed on her stomach, as she scrolled through her phone, and gave her a pep talk.

“I still can’t believe he invited you as his date, Nat.” Allie gushed, once again, and Natalie rolled her eyes, although she couldn’t wipe the smile on her face. She couldn’t believe it either, but she also, didn’t consider it a date.

“It’s not a date,” Natalie reminded Allie. “He invited me as friend. It’s a- it’s friend date.” Natalie tried to hide her sad sigh, but Allie heard it and pursed her lips. “How awful does that sound?” Natalie mumbled, mostly to herself, but Allie heard.

“You don’t want it to be a friend date, do you, Nat?” Allie smirked.

“Would you want it to be a friend date?” Natalie challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Allie hummed in thought. “No. Definitely not.” She laughed.

“Exactly.” Natalie huffed and finished applying the red lipstick on her puckered lips. She did a once over in the mirror, deeming her outfit banquet appropriate enough; a backless black flowing dress, a pair of strappy heels that tied around her ankles, and a small black clutch. “Alright. Think I look good enough?”

Allie looked up from her cracked phone screen and grinned at her best friend. “Absolutely. Calum is going to pop a boner when he lays eyes on you.”

Natalie groaned. Allie had been making sexual comments and innuendos, mostly about Calum, all day and Natalie thought it was seriously getting old. “Can you not?” She frowned, but her frown was soon replaced with a nervous and wide-eyed expression at the sound of her doorbell ringing. “Oh God.”

“Nervous?” Allie cocked an eyebrow, but Natalie ignored her, and shuffled out of her small bedroom, down the small hallway, and to her front door. She fixed her hair and inhaled a deep, calming, breath, before swinging the door open.

There stood Calum, white and black striped button up tucked into his black slacks, the first few buttons undone of his shirt undone showing off the few silver chains that hung from his neck. Natalie didn’t miss the rings on his fingers and the silver bracelet on his wrist. Good fucking Lord. Could he be any hotter? Natalie internally groaned.

Calum didn’t miss the way that Natalie checked him out and he found himself doing the same. Natalie’s legs on full display, curves being shown off by her dress perfectly. She was beautiful, truly beautiful, Calum thought and he had to force himself not to think about her naked.

“Bye! Have fun!” Allie called from behind Natalie, pulling both of them from their thoughts- about each other- and Calum almost moaned at the sight of Natalie’s back, all the way down to the dip in it, on full display, showing it off when she turned around to glare at Allie. “Hi Calum!” Allie waved happily at the man.

“Oh, uh- hello, Allie.”

“You ready to go?” Natalie spun back around, her dress twirling up the in process and Calum couldn’t keep himself from checking out her shiny and smooth legs. Calum cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Great. Let’s go.”

Natalie didn’t bother locking the door behind her, knowing that Allie would be there and would lock the door whenever she left, so she shoved her keys into her small clutch and looked up to find Calum already looking at her with a smile on his face. “What?” She exhaled a shy laugh.

“Nothing.” Calum shook his head. “You just- you look amazing.”

“Oh,” Natalie blushed and hid behind her hair. “Thank you, Calum. You don’t look too bad yourself.” Natalie giggled and finally looked up to see a black car with matte windows and a driver opening the backdoor for her and Natalie. She looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You have a personal driver?”

“It comes with the job.” Calum simply shrugged and rested a hand on the small of her bare back, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin, urging her to walk towards the car. She slid into the backseat, the leather seats cold against her exposed legs and back, and she thanked the driver. Calum got in on the other side, opening his own door, and slid in next to Natalie.

A smirk graced its way onto Natalie’s face when she noticed a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne in it. She picked up and quirked an eyebrow at Calum. “Seriously?” She laughed. “Champagne?”

Calum’s smirk matched Natalie’s. “Fancy, huh?” He took it out of Natalie’s hands, reading the label on it, before smirking even wider. “Should we pop it open?”

“Well, what else are we gonna do? Stare at it?”

Calum laughed and, expertly as if he’d done it a million times before, popped the cap off. Natalie squealed at the loud pop and giggled as it spilled over the top, just missing Calum’s dress pants, and onto the floor of the car. Calum poured himself and Natalie a glass. “Cheers.” They clinked their glasses together and Calum, in one sip, downed the whole glass. Natalie cocked an eyebrow as Calum poured himself another glass. “I can’t ever go to these things completely sober.”

Natalie nodded her head in understanding. “Is there going to be alcohol there?”

“Course there is,” Calum grinned.

The car ride to the banquet was only fifteen minutes and with Calum and Natalie talking and laughing nonstop, it seemed to go by rather quickly. The driver opened the door for Natalie, with her thanking him, and taking Calum’s hand after he tipped the driver, and the pair made their way up to the door.

“Thank you,” Natalie thanked Calum as he opened the door for her and she stepped inside, jaw nearly dropping the floor at the inside of the place. The wall in front of her was all glass; a window showing off the most perfect view of their city she had ever seen. Two large staircases on either side of her and a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling above her.

Calum watched Natalie as she admired the place and found himself smiling. He had the same reaction when he first stepped inside of the place when he was eighteen. His father had brought him, wanting him to get used to the place, since his father knew that Calum would be taking his place once he was too old to continue on. It wasn’t like Calum’s father forced him to, no, Calum genuinely wanted to take his father’s place, keeping the business in the family, and he hoped that Lily, or maybe even another child if he happened to have one, would take over for him when he wasn’t able to anymore.

“Wow.” Natalie breathed out and Calum exhaled a chuckle.

“Yeah. I know.” Calum spoke, but his eyes never left Natalie as she looked around in awe, because while she was admiring the building, he was admiring her.

❋ ❋ ❋

“Alright, alright,” Calum’s coworker, Jordan, laughed as he finished his speech. “Enough of that,” Jordan cleared his throat. “Now, let’s bring up the man who made all of this possible; Calum Hood!”

Everybody cheered, some whooped, including Natalie as she watched Calum walk up to the podium and thank Jordan, she had to roll her lips into her mouth to stop smiling like an idiot. They did the basic side bro hug before Jordan jogged off of the stage and back to the designated table that he, Calum, Natalie, and a few of Calum’s other coworkers were assigned to sit at.

Calum cleared his throat before he spoke in front of the room of almost one hundred people. “Thank you all for coming out tonight. It means a lot.” Calum smiled genuinely. “I really appreciate it, since it’s for my father, and well, he’s not here.” Natalie frowned at Calum’s change in tone, but he quickly recovered and cleared his throat again. “But without him, none of us would be here, so,” Calum raised his glass and everybody followed. “To David Hood.”

“To David Hood!” Everybody spoke and a few clinked their glasses together, Jordan clinking his against Natalie’s, before they both took a sip of their drinks, since, well it’s bad luck to not take a drink after toasting to something.

Calum thanked everybody again before he stepped down from the podium and joined the table again. He lightly clinked his glass against Natalie’s before winking and taking a sip of his own drink; whiskey on the rocks, and Natalie taking a sip of hers; an overly expensive glass of red wine, but since it was an open bar, it was free for her and everybody else.

The music started and most of the people got up to dance, but Natalie and Calum stayed seated. Neither of them were big on dancing, unless they were pretty drunk, and they hadn’t gotten too drunk. Yet. Calum ended his conversation with Jordan and turned to find Natalie laughing at something another one of his coworkers said and he smiled. He was glad she was getting along with them and vise versa.

Calum nudged her shoulder. “Having fun?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Natalie nodded her head. “I am. Thanks for bringing me.”

Calum grinned. “Thank you for coming.”

They continued talking, drinking, and laughing. The drinks never stopped and both Natalie and Calum found themselves buzzing quite hard and that’s when the upbeat music stopped and a slow song, that both Natalie and Calum loved, started playing. Calum stood up, regaining his balance after sitting down for so long, and held a hand out for Natalie to take. She looked at it expectantly.

“Dance with me?”

“Seriously?” She laughed, but stood up, using Calum’s hand to help her and followed him onto the dance floor that was in the middle of the room, surrounded by all of the tables. Calum’s arms snaked around Natalie’s waist and hers wrapped around his neck and they swayed back and forth to the song that was playing; Make You Feel My Love by Adele.

Calum hummed along, as well as Natalie, but Calum’s humming seriously outdid Natalie’s. She didn’t know that he had a nice voice, but then again, they had never discussed anything of the sorts, so she wasn’t all that surprised. There was still a lot she didn’t know about Calum, but she wanted to learn more.

❋ ❋ ❋

Calum and Natalie stumbled through Calum’s front door, both of them giggling and holding onto each other for support. Calum shed himself of his blazer and hung it on the coat rack by the door while Natalie walked into the kitchen, her heels clicking against the tile floor, emitting an echo throughout the house. Calum watched her in drunken awe as she popped open a new bottle of wine from his refrigerator.

“More booze?” Calum grinned.

Natalie poured herself a glass of wine and hopped onto the counter, crossing one leg over the other, she smiled a lazy drunken smile at him. “Always more booze, Calum.” His stomach flipped at her voice saying his name, but he wasn’t sure why. He watched as Natalie sipped her wine, her blood red lipstick staining the glass, and all he could think about was kissing her. “Ugh. My feet are killing me.”

Natalie reached down to untie the laces that were tied around her ankles, but Calum lightly grabbed her wrist, stopping her in the process. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and could almost see the lust in his eyes. “Let me.” Calum delicately untied the shoe, pulling it off her foot, and letting it drop to the floor with a quite thud. He did the same with her other heel, making direct eye contact, and her stomach flipped. She wasn’t sure why it was flipping. Maybe in excitement?

Calum’s hands trailed up her smooth legs, up her dress, bunching it up just a tiny bit in the process, and resting on her hips. He pulled her body, it moving easily against the marble counter, and soon enough her legs were parted and he was standing in between them, and in that moment he was so grateful for his sister taking Lily for the weekend.

“Dear God,” Calum mumbled under his breath, tucking the pieces of hair that fell in Natalie’s face behind her ears. He admired her as she stared at him, now with lust in her eyes as well, not just his. Her plump lips wet from her just running her tongue over them, her cheeks red from both the wine and the close proximity between her and Calum, and from the way his hands felt on her; squeezing her hips just slightly. “You are fucking gorgeous.”

Natalie’s eyes flickered from Calum’s brown eyes to his lips and his did the same. There was so much sexual tension between the two, so much fucking lust, that they couldn’t stand it anymore. Calum inched closer, not even hesitating, before he smashed his lips against Natalie’s and she melted into him. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pulled her body even closer to his own and her fingers lacing through his hair, exhaling a happy sigh since she wanted to do that for so long.

Calum tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss, and his hands moved from Natalie’s waist to her ass, squeezing it, emitting a moan from Natalie’s mouth, and he took that as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. Natalie tasted like red wine and the chocolate covered strawberries she had eaten just before they left the banquet hall and Calum moaned at the taste of her. He wanted to taste her so bad, for so long, and now that it was finally happening, he wasn’t going to waste a minute savoring it.

Calum tasted like the whiskey he was drinking and the cigarette he quickly smoked as he and Natalie waited for his driver to pick them up, and although Natalie wasn’t a huge fan of the smell of cigarettes, she wouldn’t want to taste anything else. Calum’s lips worked against her in a heated kiss, but quickly trailed down to her jaw, neck, collar bones, everywhere he could without parting their bodies too much.

“Fuck, Calum.” Natalie exhaled a moan as Calum’s lips left mark after mark on her skin. He smirked against her skin, loving the way his name fell out of her parted swollen lips. Complete and utter lust took over him and he dropped to his knees, bunching Natalie’s dress up as much as he could until she lifted her hips and gave him full access. Her dress rested on her hips, her legs parted with Calum between them, and he groaned at the sight of her.

Leaving teasing kisses on the insides of her thighs and rubbing her through the very lace panties she had on; Natalie could barely take it.

“Stop teasing.” She breathed.

Calum took that as his cue. Pushing her panties to the side, he slid his fingers through her already wet folds and had to suppress his moans. Soaking wet; all because of him, all for him. He gave her no warning before he attached his tongue to her clit and sucked and flicked his tongue at a perfect speed. Natalie’s body jolted forward, one foot resting on the handle of the drawer next to her and the other hanging by Calum’s side, her fingers automatically laced through his hair like she had done it a million times before.

The closer she got to her orgasm, the harder she pulled on his locks, and the more turned on Calum was. He looked up at her through hooded eyelids and grinned at the sight; Natalie’s head thrown back against the cabinet behind her, lips parted with moans she was trying to keep quiet leaving her lips, and her free hand that wasn’t tugging harshly on Calum’s hair gripping the edge of the counter.

“Oh, fuck, Cal.” She hadn’t meant to call him by his nickname, it just so happened to slip out while she was in pure bliss, but Calum didn’t mind. If anything, he loved it. “I’m gonna-”

Before Natalie could finish her sentence, Calum was slipping two fingers inside of her and picking up the pace of his tongue. He watched her squeeze her eyes shut, open her mouth wider to let out all of the moans she was trying to keep in, and come undone on his tongue. And honestly? It was the sexiest sight Calum had ever seen.

Of course he had been with many women, made many women cum, but nothing compared to Natalie and how she looked above him, in pure bliss because of him. He came up, wiping his mouth off as he did, and reattached their lips, barely letting Natalie come down from her high. “Fuck.” Calum moaned against her lips. “Need you. Need you now.” Natalie wrapped her legs around his waist again and he lifted her up, holding onto her ass and never parting their lips and he walked the two of the blindly up the stairs.

Calum dropped her on his bed with a thud, stripping her of her dress and panties, not having to bother about taking her bra off since she wasn’t wearing one in the first place, and he moaned at the sight of her naked in front of him.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Natalie pouted and Calum exhaled a laugh, but quickly stripped himself of his clothes, leaving him naked in front of Natalie, and smirking at the needy moan that left her parted lips.

Calum opened his bedside drawer, his lips never leaving Natalie’s, and fished around for a condom. He parted their lips when he finally found one, sliding it on his length and pumping himself a few times before reattaching their lips and sliding into Natalie. She let out a surprised gasp at the feeling of him, but quickly adjusted, and urged him to move. He rocked into her at a slow pace at first, but it wasn’t enough, for either of them. Picking up the pace, he leaned up, resting on his knees as he thrusted into Natalie. He watched her grip the sheets under her and listened as moans and inaudible words left her mouth.

He knew she was close and so was he. He licked his thumb and brought it to her clit, rubbing sloppy circles on it, and Natalie moaned even louder than before. He loved the way she looked under him and the sounds she made because of him. After a few more thrusts and a lot of loud moans, Calum was spilling into the condom and Natalie was clenching around him, her own orgasm quickly following his. And he swore that it was the best thing he’d ever felt and seen.

❋ ❋ ❋

Natalie woke up naked and with a headache. She looked around the way too familiar room and bit her lip at the memories of last night. She almost couldn’t believe that she and Calum had sex, but she wasn’t complaining about it or regretting it, she knew she never would.

Natalie rolled over and frowned at the sight of the empty bed next to her. She checked the time on her phone, seeing that it was nine in the morning, and figured that Calum was already awake and starting his day, even with it being a Sunday. Natalie got up, quickly putting her dress on from last night, not being able to find her panties anywhere, and trudged to the bathroom, smiling when she saw an unopened toothbrush on the counter for her.

How thoughtful, she thought.

She couldn’t keep the smile off of her face as she brushed her teeth and tried to fix and salvage her makeup from last night. Natalie noticed the hickeys on her neck and collarbones, of course she did, they were the first thing she noticed when she looked in the mirror, and she couldn’t help the giddy giggle that left her lips at the thought of Calum’s mouth on her skin.

Natalie found Calum in the kitchen with his back to her. Red scratches, no doubt from her fingernails covered her skin and she rolled her lips into her mouth. Pulling out a stool and making herself known, Natalie sat down and Calum spun around. He smiled at her, a very small smile, but a smile. “Morning.” He locked his phone and slid it into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“G’morning.” Natalie grinned. She still had the post-sex glow on her face. Calum instantly noticed the hickeys on her neck, and even though they were from him this time, his stomach still twisted uncomfortably. Calum didn’t want to regret last night, but he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t, because as much as he wanted it to happen, it shouldn’t have. And he had to tell Natalie that.

“I think that we should, uh- we should talk.” Calum stuttered over his words and the smile that was on Natalie’s face slowly fell. He wasn’t smiling and he didn’t seem as chipper and excited as she did and that worried her. “About last night.”

“Oh, uh, okay. What about it?”

Calum ran a hand through his hair. “I had an amazing time last night, I really did, but-” Natalie held her breath as he spoke. “But I-I don’t think that it should have... Happened.” Her heart fell and so did her face and Calum tried not to frown, but at the sight of her looking so upset, it was hard for him not to. “I don’t regret, Natalie. Honestly, I don’t.” Well, maybe just a tiny bit.

“Then what’s the problem?” Natalie asked. Her voice was low and sounded like she was almost embarrassed. Of course she was. Who wouldn’t be? She finally got the chance to have sex with the guy she had be pining after and he was telling her that it shouldn’t have happened. How stupid could she be?

“You’re Lily’s babysitter and I just- I don’t think that it can work out.”

Natalie swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head. She refused to make eye contact, instead staring down at her nails and chipping the perfectly painted nail polish off of them. She didn’t want to cry, really, that would have made her seem quick pathetic, but getting shot down by the guy she was harboring feelings for was not a good feeling.

“I’m sorry.” Calum sighed and rounded the island. He took her face in his hands and frowned at the forlorn look on her face. He hated making her feel that way, but he had to, he knew it would be better for both of them, and for Lily, in the long run. He lightly ran his thumb over her cheekbones and frowned. “You’re amazing, Natalie, and if this was under a different circumstance I wouldn’t be saying this, and I would have you in my bed again right now.” Calum admitted and Natalie felt her cheeks burn. “And I don’t want this to change anything between us, okay? I don’t want it to be awkward and I still want us to be able to talk normally like we did before.”

“Yeah, okay.” Natalie nodded her head with a sad smile on her face, but she agreed. She would rather have Calum in her life as the father of the little girl she babysat than not have him in her life at all, so she would have to deal with it, even though it would be ten times harder for her now. “I uh, I should probably go.” Natalie pushed herself off of the stool and away from Calum.

He watched as she picked her shoes up from where they left them last night and tie them up her legs. Natalie grabbed her clutch, throwing her phone in it, and pursed her lips at Calum. “Your car isn’t here. Let me drive you.” Calum was already grabbing his keys out of the bowl by the front door.

“No, it’s fine.” Natalie was already walking down the driveway. “I’ll walk.”

“Natalie,” Calum frowned. “You can’t walk all the way home, especially not in those shoes.”

“It’s fine, Calum.” Natalie assured him and before he could stop her, she was trucking down the driveway and down the sidewalk.

And once Natalie was out of sight, she let the tears fall freely down her face. She angrily wiped them away, not wanting to cry over something so stupid, but she couldn’t help herself. Natalie liked Calum, more than just friends and more than just for sex, and she hated that he didn’t feel the same, and she hated that she would have to be around him all the time with a fake smile on her face, but Natalie had to do it. As much as Natalie hated it, she got herself into this mess.

❋ ❋ ❋

Taglist: @mariellelovescupcakes-blog @bumblebet20 @mermaid-merrick @katelynmusic @cliffordcntrl @bbylonxcal @poppedpins @rexorangecouny @ashton-ma-bestfriend @calumsbabydolll @draftchickaree @wrappedaroundcal @boytoynamedcalum @sisterawesome-blog @fangirlingovereverythingblog @calistajs @checkeredcalum @thebodaciouscth @escap0-with-me @mzchnandlerbong @musicsavedme-00 @5saucewho @kaxseychill @crystalisinfinite @it-was-a-lie @littlemessage-tries @calistheloml @xx-cuddlemecalum-xx @calumismyzaddyyyy @forggetablle @mysteriouslycali @booklove-2 @emma07900 @bookssandbands

[reddeaddamnation]

Imagine: Clay, Daniel and Desmond interviewing you for a job

Desmond Miles

You knocked on the manager’s office door. The company building was huge and you almost got lost on your way here if you hadn’t asked one of the coworkers you met along your way. This Desmond Miles had built quite the empire with companies bearing his name around the world and he was just 25 years old. Well, you thought, of course he will have a company when his father is a billionaire. You were almost scared if he will even consider looking over your CV. You had just finished college and practically threw yourself in deep waters and hoped you won’t drown. You were a candidate for a job probably a hundred other people were applying for and 99 of them will be declined without even being called for an interview. And not just any job. Secretary General of the company. If it wasn’t for your friend urging you to apply for it, you wouldn’t even have had the thoughts for applying.

You were honestly surprised that mr. Miles himself called you and told you to come to his office for the interview the next day at 8 AM sharp. You especially got up early and fixed your hair, put on a small amount of make-up so he doesn’t think you are some bimbo who can’t walk out of home without putting a mask of make-up on, and chose a white blouse and a black knee-length skirt. Professional and classic. 

You knocked on the office door and looked at your watch. It was exactly 8:00 in the morning. Mr. Miles signaled for you to come in. “Ah, you must be miss...L/N?” he asked you once he saw you come in. It took you awhile to answer because you were too astonished by the man in front of you. He was so handsome with short, dark hair, a laid back look in his dark eyes, bearing just a bit of mischief and thin lips stretched into a daring grin. And that suit he wore... he had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt up to his forearms revealing tattoos and an expensive looking watch. “Hello?” he called cheerfully, making you snap out of your trance. “A-ah...yes...That’s me.” you finally answered, a deep blush on your cheeks. “Sit.” he commanded “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?” You nodded your head “Coffee, please.”

“Of course. But first of all, my name is Desmond Miles.“ he introduced himself and added with a sly smirk “If all goes well, your new boss.“ You blushed at his comment again and the fact that he eyed you over. “Now, tell me. Why do you think I should hire you as my secretary?“ 

Clay Kaczmarek

“Mr. Kaczmarek?“ the assistant who lead you to Clay’s office opened the door and called him “Miss L/N is here to see you.“ She made way for you to walk in. Clay looked at you from behind the papers he was reading. “Oh, I was just reading your CV and I am very impressed to say the least.“ he eyed you all over and smirked, approvingly. “We definitely have what to talk about.“ You felt weak under his gaze, your legs felt like they would give up on you and you felt a dark blush scatter on your cheeks. You tried your best not to think about how hot he was in the suit he was wearing. His white shirt’s top two buttons were unbuttoned and his tie was loose around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up and the jacket was loosely around his shoulders. 

“Sit down, I insist.“ he told you and motioned for the chair across from him and you did as he told you to. His office seemed to become suddenly thrice as bigger than it was and that proved to be an obstacle because it wasn’t small in the first place. You two sat in silence for awhile, Clay’s intense gaze never leaving you. “Oh, how rude of me. I’m Clay Kaczmarek. And I am very pleased to meet you.“ he smirked again. “But enough formalities. I said I’m impressed with your CV and what you say you have accomplished by now.“ he took a few other papers that were scattered on his desk. “That gives you quite the advantage over the other candidates.“ and with that he simply ripped the papers he held one by one and casually threw them behind himself, still smirking at you. “As you can see, I want to give you a better chance at getting the job. Because you see, I really want you here. It would be a crime to turn down someone such as yourself.“ he bit his lower lip. “But first things first, I want you to prove the skills you wrote you have.“ he paused for a moment “And any other you perhaps forgot to mention.“ he smirked devilishly.

Daniel Cross

“Come in.“ a harsh voice was heard from inside the manager’s office when you knocked. You walked in and once you closed the door behind yourself, the man sitting behind the desk looked at you indifferently “It was about time you arrive.“ he scoffed “I was clear enough on the phone that you should be here at 8:00 AM sharp. Do you see the clock? It’s 8:05.“ he was teasing. It wasn’t like he was mad. He wanted to test your nerves. If you had to be honest, the suit looked so good on him... You could tell from far away that he was an orderly man who didn’t stand disarray. Everything on him was tidy and smoothed out, just like a business man would look. 

You were caught breathless. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t even think of an excuse, because you had none. You opened and closed your mouth, but no words came out. It probably looked comic because he scoffed again. “I was only joking. Sit down and tell me more about yourself, miss L/N.” he invited you over to sit on the chair across from him. 

“What exactly would you be willing to risk to join our company?“ he asked you with a mischievous grin as he leaned his chin on his hands. “How far would you be willing to go in order to get the job?“ His voice was so low and sensual. Your words caught up in your throat. “You see, we in this company work very hard in order to get what we want. Are you that type of person, Y/N?“

[likeshipsonthesea]

And We All Fall Down (2/?)

[1] [2]

A continuation of Ooby Dooby, this thing I wrote where Nursey accidentally tells single-father Dex that he has a child, too. Oops. Also the title is from another children’s song (Ring-Around-the-Rosie) and is meant to signify Nursey falling even further down the hole he dug himself. Oops again.

*~*~*

Finding a toddler to borrow for a certain amount of time is more difficult than Nursey would’ve thought. Like, he thought it would be really hard to start with, but it turns out its even harder than that. None of his friends have kids, as they’re all fairly young and/or like to drink their cares away for the majority of their weekends, and it’s not like Nursey can just go to a cat-shelter type establishment and pick out a cute two-to-three year old who might possibly look like they share his genes.

He flirted, briefly, with the idea of putting an ad on Craigslist, but not only did the idea of what he’d get in response scare him into double-checking the locks on his apartment’s front door but he’s also pretty sure that someone in some kind of government room with no windows and a thousand computer screens is monitoring shit that goes down on Craigslist, and Nursey really doesn’t want to be put on any kind of list that makes flying even harder than it already is.

Dex texts him, a few days following their meeting- days Nursey has spent debating on whether or not he can die of heartbreak from a guy he’s spent not even an hour with- and he sends a picture of Parker wearing his Spider-man pajamas. It’s probably the most adorable thing Nursey has ever seen in his life, Parker looking so proud of himself with this huge grin on his face, sitting on a rug that looks old and homey, in his apparently favorite outfit. Dex captions it with he wanted me to make sure you knew how cool his pjs were. Nursey dies with cuteness and tells Dex to let Parker know that they are, indeed, the coolest pajamas in existence, and hopes that this isn’t a tit-for-tat type situation in which Nursey is expected to reciprocate with a cute picture of his own adorable, superhero-loving, non-existent kid.

Nursey lets himself into Jack’s apartment, hating himself and also craving some pie for some weird reason. He collapses on the couch with a pitiful sigh-groan-whimper and Jack, who is sat next to him, looks constipated, which he usually does when faced with emotions. He reaches out awkwardly and pats at Nursey’s shoulder, which is actually pretty nice so Nursey gives him a weak smile.

“No luck in the toddler search?” Jack asks, then winces at himself as he realizes how weird what he just said was.

Nursey sighs again. “No. It’s almost like parents don’t want to give their kids away to strange men so they can get dates. Go figure.”

“Thirdy said you could babysit his daughter if you want,” Jack says, a little hopeful. “Mostly because he wants to know how it is going to turn out.” Nursey loves Jack, he really does, because there’s only so many friends that would actually ask their coworkers if his friend could borrow their baby for a bit.

“I told Dex I had a son,” Nursey says, waving his hand for no reason. “But thanks anyway.”

“Marty has a son,” Jack says, almost like he’s thinking to himself. He winces again, momentarily forgetting that this isn’t the weirdest fucking situation ever.

Nursey gives Jack a flat look, which isn’t fair because Jack is trying to help but- “I show up with a white baby and he’s definitely going to think I’m more of a creeper than I already am.”

“I don’t see what the big issue is,” Holster says, returning from Jack’s kitchen with a giant bowl of popcorn. Shitty trails behind him, a similarly sized bowl of chocolate covered pretzels in his hands. Lardo has a three six-packs of beer in her hands, which she quickly dumps across the coffee table for everyone to grab. Nursey looks at them and whines to himself. He doesn’t even feel like drinking, he’s so upset. “You met the guy, what? Once for like an hour? Just never talk to him again.”

“I can’t just-” Nursey cuts himself off with a whine and reflops onto the couch, because he’s apparently regressed into childhood maturity once again. He briefly wonders if he could pass his own self off as his son and then hurts his head thinking about the logistics for a minute. “I- you didn’t see him. He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Shitty raises his eyebrows. “More beautiful than Jack?” Nursey nods solemnly and Shitty swears. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t risk being arrested because he’s pretty,” Lardo says, throwing away a can of beer she’s already finished even though they haven’t even started the movie yet.

“It’s not just that,” Nursey mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. “He’s really good with his kid and he’s funny and he plays hockey, and I don’t know.” He shrugs, looking up at Lardo and feeling embarrassed and vulnerable and shitty. “I just felt good being around him. I- everything was okay for a little bit.”

Lardo, who has dealt with Nursey’s shit almost as much as Shitty, considers him for a moment. Nursey lets her look her fill, baring his soul to her even though he knows she can see it whenever she wants. After a few heavy moments, she finally shakes her head. “Derek,” she says, her voice soft, “if you really do like this guy, you can’t pretend that you’re a father. It would ruin any chance you had.”

“Yeah, brah, fake babies are good for a one-and-done but long-term?” Shitty makes a face. “Not kosh.”

“But what do I tell him?” Nursey says, whining more but mostly just because why not.

“The truth,” Jack says, his voice quiet but firm, and he gives Nursey a reassuring smile when Nursye turns to look at him. “If he’s worth it, he’ll see how sw’awesome you are despite the whole-” Jack winces again, “-lying about having a kid thing.”

Nursey sniffles, wiping at a nonexistent tear. “That was beautiful.”

“Group hug!” Shitty cheers, then jumps onto the couch like a starfish. Nursey coughs all the air out of his lungs, and before he can rectify it, Holster and Lardo join the pile. Nursey and Jack are busy complaining, loudly and with much laughter, that it’s too much weight, then Shitty starts sobbing because he accuses them of calling him fat, and it’s at that moment that Ransom bursts into the apartment, grinning from ear to ear.

“Tell me I’m the best bro,” he says.

“You’re the best bro,” Holster says without pause.

“Want to know why I’m the best bro?” Ransom asks. Before anyone responds, he continues, “Because only the bestest of best bros could help his bro get a little bro to take to a bro date with another bro!”

Nursey blinks confused. What does bro even mean at this point? Holster, it seems, is better at deciphering it. “You found a toddler?” he asks, shock and awe in his voice. Nursey panics momentarily, wondering what “found a toddler” means. Like, a friend of a friend promised to lend the baby to a stranger for an afternoon kind of found, or like, someone left a stroller unattended at a grocery store and now the whole cast of Law and Order: SVU is going to be at their door in a few minutes kind of found?

“It might be cool to meet Mariska Hargitay,” he mumbles to himself. Everyone else, who is used to his mumblings, begins inquiring via yelling how exactly Ransom found a toddler.

“My sis is going on vacation and I convinced her to let me babysit my nephew while she and her wife go to Paris.” Ransom grins, incredibly proud of himself, and Nursey is thankful and he feels bad but-

“Thanks, brah, but I kinda decided to nix the fake baby idea.”

Ransom deflates. “Dude. Now I have a toddler for a week all by myself.”

“You love Wade,” Holster protests. “We can dress him up like Broadway characters again.”

Ransom winces. “Yeah, Sabrina nixed that after the Pippin ones. Gave her a bad vibe.” And he shakes his head, changing the subject physically. “And yeah, I love Wade, coolest little dude who can’t form sentences, but, like, for an afternoon, a day at most. A whole week is going to be brutal.” He collapses in the armchair, already exhausted at the mere thought of entertaining a toddler for an extended period of time.

“I could help you watch him,” Nursey suggests. “It is my fault you’ve got him in the first place, and I still need to do research for the book anyway.” Nursey doesn’t know why he’s doing this; he has no experience with kids and he’s probably just going to make the whole thing worse, but maybe a part of him is hoping that if he gets enough practice hours with a baby, Dex will be more inclined to let him into his and Parker’s lives. Possibly. Improbably. Would you let a guy who lied about having a son to look less creepy about watching children play in a park around your toddler? Nursey would, but he might be biased.

“Sw’awesome!” Ransom cheers. “Bro-parenting.”

“Bro,” Holster says, wounded. “I thought we were gonna be bro-parents.”

“That’s when we have our own kids,” Ransom says, like it’s obvious, and Holster is apparently pacified. The rest of the people on the couch exchange looks; they’re not sure if Holster and Ransom are actually dating and just never thought it pertinent to inform any of them or if they’re just planning to keep living together forever, bros ‘til death do they go off to the big kegster in the sky.

“When does Wade get here?” Nursey asks to change the subject.

“Tomorrow,” Ransom says. His eyes go wide and excited. “We can go to the aquarium!”

*~*~*

Okay, so, babies? Much cuter in the abstract than the physical. Like, meeting Wade, A+ experience. His mothers had cleaned him of any and all fluids, deceiving Nursey into thinking babies were generally clean. Guess what? Not true. They were pushing the stroller along, happily pointing out all the fish to a Wade who probably had no idea what was happening aside from colors! Then all of a sudden there was spit-up and crying (mostly Nursey and Ransom’s) and then Ransom was abandoning Nursey to “go get paper towels” and Nursey was left alone with the crying, vomit-covered toddler in his arms.

He’s hastily rummaging through the stroller, looking for anything aside from his own t-shirt for something to get the vomit off of Wade’s face, ignoring the judging looks from the moms around him. Fuck them, he thinks, at least my kid is the cutest out of all of them. He glances around to make sure and he’s totally got the cutest kid, sans-vomit. Wade’s got these huge chubby baby cheeks and a happy wide smile, with short curly hair and the most adorable button nose there’s ever been.

“Except maybe for Dex’s, kid,” Nursey tells Wade just as he finds a thing of wet-wipes. He manages to finagle a wipe out of it with some vigorous jerking that makes Wade giggle. “He’s got a very cute nose,” Nursey informs him, rubbing at the vomit, and it’s actually going away! Score one for Nursey, zero for toddler digestive tracts. “And there’s all these freckles over it, I bet you in the summer he gets thousands of them.”

“Fishy,” Wade says happily, pointing at a Nemo looking thing behind him.

“Yes, fishy,” Nursey says, proud of Wade’s developmental skills even though he has no right to be. He throws the vomit-wipe into the trash can to their left and then tickles Wade’s tummy, making him shriek with glee. “This is what fishy kisses feel like,” he says seriously, which just makes Wade giggle more.

Wade leans in and smacks a kiss to Nursey’s cheek, which is endearing even with the lingering smell of puke, and Nursey gives him a warm smile as Wade pats at the place he just kissed with his chubby baby hand.

Then Nursey hears, “Nursey!” in an excited, high-pitched voice, and he turns just in time to see Parker running up to him and stopping just before he barrels into Nursey’s knees.

“Parker.” Nursey blinks down at him, shocked considerably. Last night, Nursey and Parker’s father were texting like crazy, going from talking about hockey to books Nursey loved and Dex complained about to Marvel movies and more. It was so easy, companionable and flirty and comfortable. Nursey spent most of the night afterwards agonizing over if he was going to explain his lie to Dex or just not respond to anymore texts, and now here Parker is, bright and smiling and-and sans-Dex.

Nursey looks up and around, eyes programmed to lock onto that gorgeous fiery hair, and he finds Dex looking panicked a few tanks over. He raises a hand in the air and calls Dex’s name until Dex looks over, his eyes locking on Nursey. He jogs over, pushing his way through extended families and stroller walls. When he’s within earshot, he hears Dex asking, “Have you seen Park-”

“Daddy, it’s Nursey!” Parker cheers, bouncing on his feet. Dex instantly floods with relief, his shoulders loosening and his expression relaxing. He kneels down onto the ground and hugs Parker close, his eyes closing as he squeezes. 

“You scared me, Parker. Don’t run away from me like that.” Dex pulls back and Parker’s lip is wobbling a little.

“I’m sowwy,” he says, blinking rapidly. Then he points up at Nursey. “Nursey here.”

Dex squeezes at Parker’s shoulders for a few seconds, not able to look away from him, probably still half-panicked from losing him, but eventually he pulls his eyes away to look up at Nursey and offer a tired, almost self-deprecating smile. He stands up, taking Parker with him so now they’re both standing with babies in their arms, and Nursey almost forgot about Wade until he waves, big and obnoxious, over at Parker.

“Hi!” he says, cheerful, and Parker seems a little shy, ducking his head, but he does wave back, just a little spasm of his fingers, and it’s probably the most adorable interaction Nursey’s seen in his life.

“Oh, this is Wade,” Nursey says, remembering his manners. “Wade, this is Parker and Dex.”

“Hi!” Wade says again, and Dex smiles fondly. Nursey is almost jealous of Wade in that second. How dare a toddler get Dex’s fond eyes when Nursey doesn’t? He may possibly be crazy. I made up a toddler, he thinks, I’m definitely crazy.

Fuck, Nursey thinks as he realizes, Dex probably thinks Wade is my kid. Oh shit, oh fucking shit, how the hell is he going to dig himself out this? He was going to tell Dex he lied- or never talk to him again, he hadn’t decided yet- and it’s so much creepier to explain when he’s been spotted with a toddler that is not his own. Oh, yeah, I just like to hang out around children’s playgrounds alone during my free time and I just have this random toddler who’s my friend’s sister’s kid, a friend who just happens to not be here right now, haha, he’s totally real, this isn’t just a story I made up to explain away my kidnapping of this child, I would never make up something like, that’s almost as ridiculous as making up the existence of a child, who would do that, hahaha.

He is so fucked.

“Hi Wade,” Dex says, his voice softer somehow. “Do you like the fishes?”

“Fishy!” Wade says, which Nursey thinks is an affirmative. “Nemo,” he adds, solemnly, and Parker seems to understand because he nods back seriously. Dex shakes his head and gives Nursey a look, like kids, right? and Nursey tries to nod like a father would but he has like absolutely zero idea of what that would look like.

“My friend Chowder really likes the aquarium, and he conditioned Parker into loving sharks, so this is a weekly trip for us,” Dex says, faux-exasperated but mostly just pleased.

“This is our first time,” Nursey says, because lies fit in his mouth easily. He adjusts Wade on his waist. “We like it for the most part.” Then Nursey thinks for a second and amends, “The jellyfish exhibit was dark.”

“Dark scary,” Wade says.

“Weally scawy,” Parker agrees, and they exchange a happy, oblivious child smile.

Just then, Ransom comes bounding up to them, a wad of paper towels clutched in his hand. “I found-” He pauses, noticing the puke-less toddler in Nursey’s arms.

Nursey shrugs. “There were wet-wipes in the cart.”

“You couldn’t have texted a bro to let him know?” Ransom grumbles, throwing out the towels in the nearby trashcan.

“Jus’in,” Wade cheers, making grabby hands for Ransom. Ransom takes him easily from Nursey, and Nursey hopes that it doesn’t make it seem like his own “son” likes Ransom better than him.

“This is Ransom,” Nursey says, looking back to Dex- and God he’s pretty, how is Nursey ever going to walk away from Dex and Parker without dying inside- and seeing the amicable smile Dex offers Ransom. “Ransom, this is Dex and Parker.”

“The Dex and Parker?” Ransom has a shitty grin on his face, and Nursey feels his face warm (though it’s probably not a visible blush). Dex, on the other hand, flushes across his nose and cheeks in a pleasant, soft pink that Nursey wants to memorize. “I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” Ransom adds, probably as payback for the time Nursey helped Holster fill the pockets of his salmon shorts with actual salmon. Ransom leans in a little towards Parker. “I hear you’ve got some pretty sw’awesome Spider-Man PJs?”

“Spider-Man!” Parker cheers, and proceeds to ramble about superheros for a few minutes, to which Wade responds in kind, and as they have their own conversation (with Ransom watching and interjecting as he pleases, because both he and Holster are most comfortable in the presence of toddlers), Nursey manages to talk to Dex about the newest Marvel movie out, which leads to them talking about representation in media, and diversity and the importance of kids having role-models who look like them, and, just.

Dex speaks so carefully, choosing his words deliberately and trying to get what he means across so Nursey can understand easily, and Nursey can picture them talking about their days and Parker’s drawings and movies and pointless things and important things and he just wants, wants to have the chance to talk to Dex for- for as long as Dex will let him. And he realizes, with startling horror, that he is never going to get that. Because he made up the existence of a person and now he can’t even explain it because Dex caught him with a toddler (that Nursey once again lied about and passed off as his own), and, just. Halfway into their conversation, Nursey starts mourning the relationship he and Dex will never have.

Ransom’s phone goes off, and he tells Nursey that they need to get back for lunch with the gang, and Nursey tries not to whine pitifully at the thought of leaving Dex. Dex doesn’t seem to have the same qualms. He says, “Yeah, we’d better get going, too. But we should set up a playdate sometime.”

Nursey is going to say no, he is, but Dex looks so hopeful, and the expression is mirrored on Parker’s little face, and fuck, but, “Sure.” Nursey can feel Ransom staring at the side of his face and studiously ignores him.

Dex lights up, as do Parker and Wade. “I get off work early on Tuesday,” Dex says. “We could do around four if you’re free?”

“Sounds great,” Nursey says, thinking you’re an idiot, you’re an idiot, you’re an- “We can work out the details tonight.”

“See you then.” Dex is smiling, casual but devastatingly beautiful as always. He adjusts Parker in his arms. “Say bye, Park.”

“Bye-bye!” Parker waves goodbye, and Wade mirrors it with a big smile. Dex waves, too, and then they’re both disappearing into the crowd. Nursey deflates as soon as he can’t see the back of Dex’s head anymore.

“Dayum, Nursey, you’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah.” Nursey sighs. He’s so fucked.

“Fishy,” Wade says, almost consolingly, patting at Nursey’s shoulder. That helps.

[judedoyle]

Magic and Mentions

Well: The baby and I survived our first run-in with the Chapos. 

I kept my pregnancy secret from the Internet -- not a very well-guarded secret, granted; my friends knew, my co-workers knew, the people who attended the multiple readings and shows where I was hugely, visibly pregnant on stage knew; hell, I did things like Tweet about my iron-deficiency anemia and post “just wondering” polls about baby names, so I’m pretty sure a ton of my followers knew -- for several reasons. 

One was pure superstition. Thirty-four is relatively late in the game for a surprise pregnancy. Her father and I weren’t exactly trying to avoid a baby, but I figured that at my age, we’d actually have to plan one. Instead, we followed time-honored Irish Catholic tradition, in that we got married and I was somehow knocked up within five minutes of leaving the reception hall. For Lulu to just happen, after all this time, and for her to be healthy on top of everything else, felt unreal. Every time we went to get an ultrasound, I’d be possessed by this sudden, irrational fear that the doctors wouldn’t find anything. They’d have to tell me it was all a misunderstanding, I wasn’t actually pregnant, the previous tests were all false positives, this almost never happens, it really did look like a baby last time we did this, so sorry for the mistake. I mean, I was worried about that in the third trimester, when I could feel her skinny little back thumping against my abdomen every time I moved. Lulu felt like magic to me, and magic is delicate. So I didn’t brag about my pregnancy. I didn’t want her to turn back into a pumpkin when I wasn’t looking. 

But the other reason to stay quiet, the more practical reason, is just that I attract a whole lot of Internet creeps, and I’ve attracted a record number of them in the past two years.

It’s not a unique problem. Any vocally feminist woman on the Internet gets her fair share of Internet creeps, especially if men get in trouble as the result of things she’s written; my Creeps largely come from a few disgruntled “comedians” I wrote up in the Rape Joke Wars of ‘13, plus a couple of Bernie Sanders fan podcasts. Which, since one of the Sanders fan podcasts is run by one of the rape-joke comedians -- and the other is run by that comedian’s roommates -- is a group with more overlap than you’d think. 

I wanted to wait the creepage out. I had hoped that by the time Lulu was born, people would have worn themselves out on having the exact same Sanders/Clinton fight over and over. And yet, they evidently haven’t, so a large percentage of my Internet Creeps are still obsessed with “punishing” me for... something. Disagreeing with them on the Internet, I suppose. Not subscribing to their podcasts. Talking. Breathing. The kid was, inevitably, going to be drawn in to that, for the same reason that my hospitalization for an illness that nearly killed me got drawn in; it’s a vulnerable spot, an easy way to hurt me. These people tend to get so excited about the prospect of hurting me that they rarely pause to consider how they might hurt someone else.

This time last year, when I was getting married, it was not uncommon to go in on my husband. He’s never gotten involved in the Sanders/Clinton debates -- being both very well-adjusted and very unlike me, he believes arguing about politics on the Internet to be stupid -- but they’d still send him the same “funny” threats they sent me, or screencap and send around his Facebook posts to fuel drama, or post thinly veiled anti-Asian stereotypes about how emasculated and “timid” and submissive and unmanly he must be to put up with a big hairy feminazi like yours truly. (The anti-Asian stereotypes, of course, also had the benefit of being anti-feminist stereotypes about how I must be a castrating shrew and needed A Real Man to dominate me and Put Me In My Place. Hurrah for intersectionality!) Or, you know, they’d just call him a ch*nk. It wasn’t because of anything objectionable my husband did or said. He literally didn’t do or say anything. My husband’s first post explicitly acknowledging the harassment campaign was in December 2016, and he acknowledged it only because he was posting to warn our shared social circles not to engage with Jeff Kunzler (Jeevesmeister), a former friend who had been part of the campaign and was facing rape allegations. My husband didn’t bring this on himself or pick a fight or post a “bad take” or whatever excuse these people use to justify targeting someone; he just loved me, so they tried to hurt him. 

None of that really got under his skin -- like I say, he’s a stoic kind of guy -- but it got under mine, the same way it got to me when people would be harassed just for being friends of mine, or RT’ing me too often, or whatever. And I was going to be an especially soft touch due to the pregnancy hormones -- at a Trainwreck reading in Portland, I spent the entire day crying because I’d lost touch with a college friend who moved to Portland -- so I decided I would keep my magic baby to myself. Every day I spent growing Lulu, I’d actually be thinking about Lulu, and not about what some toxic sinkhole of a human being said about Lulu on Twitter. They wouldn’t be able to insult her, or threaten her, because they wouldn’t know she existed. 

It worked for nine months. But I couldn’t go through life with a secret child. I mean, I seriously considered it. But what was I going to do, teach her to flee from the sight of iPhones? Lock her in the attic like the first Mrs. Rochester? I had to let people know about her eventually. I had to let the world in, for better or for worse. 

The first e-mail telling me Lulu would be mentally disabled and ugly and that she should be taken away from me by Child Services came within 48 hours of the birth announcement. 

I have to let the world in. But I have to raise her in a world that has evil in it, and I’m still trying to find some way to accept that. 

In the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, I started letting myself tune out bad news. I didn’t want to know anything about Trumpcare, for example. Nothing about NICU babies or pregnancy as a pre-existing condition or lifetime caps that made babies lose their coverage before they were a week old, nothing about what could or might or would go wrong. The murder of Charleena Lyles shot across my social feed. I picked up the key words -- pregnant, mother, mentally ill -- and put the story to the side, telling myself it would be all right to read it when every word in that constellation wasn’t viscerally terrifying. 

The urge was at least partly white fragility -- I am not Charleena Lyles, I do not face the same injustices or dangers Charleena Lyles did, it is undeniably selfish of me to process Lyles’ story in terms of its impact on me -- but the pain and fear were real. Whatever challenges I face with my mental health, or with sexism, I also have substantial privilege. Women who get sick without the safety net of whiteness don’t end up with platforms to combat stigma or fight back against misrepresentations of their health. They don’t wind up like me. They wind up, an awful lot of the time, like Charleena Lyles.  

And Lulu will not have white privilege. I mean: She won’t be a black woman in America, either. Neither of us can appropriate Lyles’ story. But Lulu, unlike me, will face racism. When she meets her first bully, when she comes home from school crying for the first time, I don’t know what she’ll be crying about; I don’t know whether it’ll be something I’ve experienced and can talk her through, or some form of cruelty that is new to me. Or, worse, whether it will be something I’m implicated in as a white woman -- something I do, or have done, without realizing it. Something I can’t even try to fix without making the situation worse. 

This train of thought is not exactly linear. But in the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, when I was getting hit with huge surges of hormones every few hours, I wasn’t thinking in linear terms. I felt half human at best. I kept remembering the pregnant barn cats I used to see out on my cousins’ farm, frantic and raw and instinctively, protectively vicious; I remembered them pacing, hissing any time one of us got too close, shredding cardboard, hiding under the porch, and I wanted to do any or all of those things, all the time. Any piece of bad news would spiral out of its proper context and into the terror of Something Happening To The Baby, get swallowed up by that weird animal frenzy of impending labor. And I just couldn’t handle it, hearing about the horrible things the world does to its girls. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sending my baby out there, with a mind at least partly like mine, and none of the safeguards I took for granted. 

Yet I can’t tune it out forever. It’s my job to keep track of terrible things being done to women -- a job I’m working my way back up to now, even as I find that my beat increasingly looks like a list of horrible things that could happen to my daughter: ‘90s celebrity found running sex cult for underage girls. President Trump. Newspapers leak nude photos of actress to punish her for taking a traditionally male role. President Trump. Man with several dozen rape allegations not convicted at his rape trial. Beloved progressive journalist repeatedly tried to force female coworkers to give him oral sex because “it’s funny.” President Trump.

President Trump.

President Trump.

The horror is less the violence itself than how the world keeps rolling on regardless. If we really felt what the world is doing to its girls, we would be in the streets, howling at the sky. We couldn’t parse a single one of these headlines as anything other than an atrocity. But we live in this world, where most of these incidents don’t even alter the course of conversation. We live in a world with evil in it, and most of us are used to it by now. 

So I spend a lot of time thinking about him, that first bully. Or her. Whoever the first person to make my daughter cry will be. I spend a lot of time worrying about how I can be ready for the attack -- how I can anticipate all the angles, unlearn all my blind spots, have a good defense ready, without being some clueless overcompensating white mom. It’s what I do, instead of howling at the sky. I get ready. 

Because every little girl gets bullied, sooner or later. Every little girl is a light the world tries to put out; to make smaller, meeker, quieter, less alive, less assured. What matters is who you come home to. Whether they find a way to protect the light in you or just quietly let you know that it would be a lot less trouble, for you and everyone else, if you let yourself go dark. 

There’s another level to all this. I didn’t come into the world under ideal circumstances. I’ve talked about it and written about it; I honestly thought that I was over it. Then I got pregnant, and it all came back to life. 

I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand my father’s violence, but I know it started when I was born. He didn’t like having children. He didn’t like how it took my mother’s focus off him; “he wanted,” my mother says, “to be the baby of the family.” I can’t imagine that the actual work of a child -- the diapers, the crying, the feeding, the constant need to keep hands or eyes on them; having to re-train your reflexes so that you can force yourself to get out of bed instead of grabbing five more minutes of sleep, having to keep your voice and your gestures calm and sweet when they’ve been fussing for hours and you want to jump out a window -- made things easier. It was just a big dose of adulthood, all at once, and he couldn’t take it. So while my mother cared for their newborn daughter, my father got into bed for a few months, didn’t get up except to grab himself more beer when he needed it, and then, when he felt properly rejuvenated, expended all that newfound energy on doing a bunch of cocaine and beating up my mother. He got better. She got pregnant again. He got worse. We had to leave the house before he killed us.  

So that’s it, my origin story -- one that has probably been told, at this point, only slightly less often than Spider-Man’s. I came into this world having to fend off the temper tantrums of a self-absorbed, abusively entitled baby-man, and thirty-five years later, I have not run out of baby-men yet. It has occurred to me, more than once, that I started dealing with men’s bullshit the day I was born, and that I will probably be dealing with it on the day I die. I’ll be in the nursing home, stroking out, hearing some male nurse scream about what a bitch I am for not listening to his podcast. It is my calling.  

But you can’t fight fate. You can only make them sorry they didn’t manage to kill you the first time around. Which, for the most part, is what I do. Or did, until I was pregnant. At which point, everything scared me. I was scared that my husband would leave, hate me, hate the baby, lose his mind. Or that I’d get drunk once the baby was born, drop her, forget her, sleep through her crying. Or we would have to leave, the baby and I, we’d have to live with my mother -- that’s what we had to do, when my mother left my father; we lived with her parents -- and there would be no money, just like there was no money back then, it would never stop, we would never have enough, we would always be in the act of losing everything, running in the night and in fear to a cold, strange place where we were poor. 

They say one of the strangest things about trauma is how it creates an eternal present. The traumatic event never gets entirely integrated into the narrative of your life, never becomes something that happened. Instead it gets stuck in the present tense; the traumatic event is always still happening, somewhere in your brain. You just have to avoid that part of your brain. I didn’t fully understand this, until I was walking around with my conscious mind in 21st-century Brooklyn and the rest of me stuck in Mississippi in 1985. 

We live in a world with evil in it. A world where people hurt each other for no reason and to no great end, where people hurt the most harmless people they can find, or the people they’ve sworn to love and protect; a world where men hurt women for power, for attention, for control, for assurance that they are the most important person in the room. I know that; I’ve always known it. It was probably the first thing I ever saw. 

The challenge, for me, is not believing in the existence of evil. It’s believing in anything else. It’s letting myself think that my trauma ends with me. That my daughter will be allowed to have a different story. 

Which brings us, I suppose, to the past few weeks. 

The actual particulars of the latest Chapo pile-on are pretty banal. One of the hosts went off on some ridiculous supervillain monologue about how, in order for the Democratic primary rifts to heal, all Democrats must kneel, KNEEL BEFORE CHAPO; the supervillain monologue was quoted in a magazine article, the magazine article was screencapped in a Tweet, and the Tweet then floated through my social-media feed, at which point I made a blowjob joke, because men really shouldn’t yell into microphones about how badly they want people to get on their knees if they’re not prepared for someone to make the association. 

Anyway, they took it about as well as fearless free-speech warriors usually take any mild joke at their expense; thus, I’ve spent the past few weeks hearing about how I am a wicked identitarian feminazi who makes False Rape Allegations, and also a rape apologist who makes Rape Jokes, and also, of course, fielding hilarious jokes and/or serious suggestions to the effect that I, myself, ought to be raped and/or murdered for my lack of proper reverence to their podcast.

I stand by my joke, for what it’s worth; it didn’t posit rape as fun or trivial, it didn’t posit being a rape victim as shameful, it wasn’t even necessarily about rape so much as it was about some dude being unattractive. It did, admittedly and intentionally, posit “being a dude who demands other people get on their knees for you” as shameful, which it is, which is why the Chapos were upset. But, more importantly, I doubt it’s worthwhile to debate the finer points of tasteful and appropriate humor with folks who not only explicitly defend their friends’ rape jokes, but have mocked actual rape survivors for talking about their rapes online. 

I mean: Everyone knows Chapo turns people’s lives upside-down for criticizing them, and at this point, everyone knows what the victims usually look like, too. Parker Molloy gets told that she should have her skull crushed by a Nazi. Alana Massey gets called a geriatric bipolar stripper. Arthur Chu gets doxed because people find his divorce funny. I get accused of making False Rape Allegations. (I’m a survivor, by the way. Life is not kind, and the story that started with my father didn’t stop with him.) Everyone who pays attention to Chapo knows this; the only real question is whether they think it’s a bad thing. Because it’s pretty impossible to keep insisting that it’s an accident or a coincidence, when it’s happened this many times. 

So the point is not what I said; the point is not even, really, what they said in response. The point was forcing me to deal with them once again. Anyone who obsessively scans and screencaps my feed like the Chapo crowd does would have known that I’d just given birth. They probably would have known that I’d had a complicated labor that required some pretty major surgery, that I was still in a lot of pain, that I was sleep-deprived, and -- given their obsessive focus on my mental health history -- that I was at relatively high risk for post-partum depression. “the craziest shit is she literally had a baby last week,” one of them posted in a forum during the pile-on. The others then began digging for nasty things to say about the baby. The most common line, so far, is that I don’t love her. Lulu is “the baby [Sady] openly resents for having caused her physical pain with its birth.” Another gentleman concludes that “[Sady] may not actually hate her baby, but she sure as shit wrote a lot of words” denying it. After I posted an old death threat aimed at my potential future children, one dude chimed in to say that he’d combed all the articles I wrote, and had found one article in 2010 that made it seem like I didn’t want children; “if you think the person who wrote that piece liked kids and wanted one, you're deluded,” he chided my followers. 

So that’s what it’ll be. It’s an entirely logical sequel to Castrating Shrew Sady and her Submissive, Henpecked Asian Husband -- Selfish Career Woman Sady and her Neglected, Resented Baby. (Or the more virulent version of the same story, Devouring Monster Sady and her Abused Baby That Someone Should Take Away From Her, who shows up in my e-mail from time to time.) Both are stories about how I’m not woman enough to love somebody; both, just under the surface, are stories about how love for women means being dominated, about how women who refuse to be subjugated or erased by their family responsibilities are refusing their proper place in the world, and passing up their only chance at happiness. The tropes being deployed are classically sexist, like something you’d see in a shitty alarmist magazine piece from 1980 or 1960 about “working women” -- something you’d see, to be quite honest, on Breitbart today. But they’re also describing me, a real person, and my relationship with the baby I longed to protect so much that I refused to speak her name, lest the wrong person repeat it.

It’s evil. What makes it more evil, somehow, is that it is so, so pointless -- it’s not police racism, it’s not the rise of fascism, it’s not my father beating his pregnant wife. It’s just small, useless, playground-bully evil, trying to convince the world that a mother doesn’t love her children because she made fun of your favorite podcast. Frankly, it’s the same stupid, petty, pointless bullying many of us heard in that “bend the knee” monologue -- the assumption that you should run the show, that everyone should do as you tell them, and that if they don’t, you are entitled to do or say absolutely anything you can think of, in order to shut them down or intimidate them into compliance. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s silly to even get upset by it; for the most part, it’s background noise, wasps swarming in a pale ugly nest in your backyard. You walk around the nest. You put it out of mind. You hope not to get stung. It’s been going on so long that I more or less take it for granted. But it matters right now, just as a reminder of what I’ve been dreading: No matter what, the world will always have bullies. And despite what we tell our children, those bullies don’t necessarily go away or get better once they’re all grown up.

Lulu knows nothing about the evil in this world. She knows very little. She gets the boob, and she gets a nap, and she gets to wake up when it’s time for the boob again; she likes it best when the cycle is continuous, where she can just fall asleep on my chest while she’s eating and let me know she’s woken up by opening her mouth again. So we do that for most of the morning, me holding her curled up on a little breastfeeding pillow and reading from an iPad I’ve propped up on the arm of the chair. I’m trying to learn to type with one hand, so I can take advantage of the down time. I’m okay at it. Not great. Let this post bear witness to my progress on that front.

She also spends more and more time awake without being hungry, these days. So we read to her -- you have to read to them from the time they’re newborns, it creates a positive association with books; so far, she’s read Everywhere Babies and Green Eggs and Ham and some back issues of n+1 her father meant to get through before she was born -- and we do Tummy Time on a little orange mat we inherited from our friends. There’s a bunny-shaped rattle attached to the end of the mat, to give her something to work for as she learns to crawl, so I sit there and watch her push her little legs around, and Mr. Bunny dances and delivers his various encouraging monologues about how Baby is made of desserts. (”Mommy had a raspberry ice cream, and a rose-flavored ice cream, and a macaron, and another macaron. And the doctor said, stop! You have to make that baby out of healthy foods! And then Mommy had fifty almond croissants. Lulu is a sweet little almond croissant baby...”) She’s very strong for a baby her age, apparently. She flipped herself over on her first try. Which they shouldn’t be able to do for a few months, so we have to check on her in her crib periodically to make sure she hasn’t done it in her sleep. 

The thing about babies flipping themselves over is that they can get stuck that way, like a turtle. They can flip from back to belly and forget how to reverse it, choke to death on their own bedsheets. There are just so, so many things to be afraid of, with a baby. Loving someone this much, when they’re this helpless, is just one long exercise in fear. 

I don’t know who will make her cry for the first time. Some bully at school, someone on whatever terrifying version of social media her generation winds up using, or one of us -- her father or I, losing patience, saying something she won’t forget. So I sit over my baby and applaud her as she works her arms and legs. So strong, so strong, mommy has such a strong girl, I say, in my happiest voice. And I don’t say the other thing. That she may actually be too strong; that being this strong might kill her. She’ll figure that out on her own time. Girls always do.

And I look at the news. All the terror, all the bullies, all the men harming women to convince themselves they’re the most important guy in the room. It happened the day I was born, it will be happening on the day I die. I left my father. But somehow, as I’m sure any decent therapist would tell me, I chose a career and a way of life that guaranteed I would always be screamed at by some emotionally catastrophic man-baby who behaved just like my father. I left him without leaving him. As long as these guys are calling me an ugly castrating bitch with a fucked-up nose whom no-one could ever love, the experience of living with my Dad is still very much ongoing. 

It got to be the worst it’s ever been, right before I had this little girl. In the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell says, the midpoint of the story is always the most dangerous moment. The hero has been called into another world, tasked with finding something so wonderful it passes comprehension -- something that could change the world, or save it. But he must earn it. He must undergo a form of suffering precisely as terrible as his reward is wonderful. So, at the very midpoint of the story, his worst fear, or his oldest enemy, rises up and nearly kills him. Sometimes, it actually does kill him, and he has to find a way to resurrect himself in order to proceed. He has to pass this test, walk through the underworld unarmed, before he can get his reward and go home. 

So that’s what I do. I sit here, looking out at the world, the evil in it; podcast hosts and Presidents and whoever will use the information here to send me some horrifically personal string of insults through my Squarespace page. I look into the eyes of my hundred-headed father; my original death, which I escaped without escaping. And I say the only three words that matter.

You missed, asshole. 

Because he did. Because they always do. Because I’m still here, and I will be here until their aim gets better, and I do not plan to shut up or become more convenient or submissive until that day. For now, it’s enough to meet the demon on the threshold and keep walking. And so I take my reward, my magic baby, who will grow up with a whole new story about how the world treats girls, and she and I go home.