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jaegeraether · 5 months

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 15)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (15)

Masterlist (other parts here)

The morning had been filled with more sex, desperate kisses and grabbing, biting and fucking. But it was more than just sex, much more, and they both knew it. It was the most expressive way that they could both show each other just how much they affected each other. How much they meant to each other. And damned if they weren’t going to use every second they had in their little happy bubble.

YFN had managed to convince Lucy that she’d be okay to go to the embassy alone. She knew Lucy had been neglecting her knee to spend time with her and was overdue for some recovery sessions. Lucy insisted on dropping her off regardless and left to do her physio.

YFN was nervous, but she had nothing to worry about. She met a nice man called Martin who looked over her case and listened to her explanations of what happened. He told her that complaints were common and that he didn’t agree with the system and how it operated. “This isn’t America. We aren’t ICE!” He’d said gruffly and they spoke a little about how it shouldn’t be so easy to make anonymous complaints of someone’s Visa when they were ‘clearly within the legal parameters of such Visa’. They had a good chat about him, his partner and his children, while he went through his paperwork. They spoke about her previous job and how her visit was going. He’d appreciated the mountain of evidence she’d brought, both self-researched and from Lucy’s lawyers. It turned out he was a huge football supporter -as she was realising that most of the UK were- and his daughter even played in the under 15s. He ducked away apologetically to confirm her character reference was who she said they were, and of course Ridley had answered the phone. He came back gushing over her, like everyone who met her did. An acquired taste, but very intelligent and loveable. He’d even apologised when he’d gotten back as the conversation went longer than expected – the effect Ridley had on people. Again, she wasn’t surprised.

Martin offered her Visa back, along with his number to call in case another complaint was made, or for any other future changes to her Visa.

YFN felt comfortable enough with him to ask about Visa’s for Europe as well as the possibility of working in the UK. They’d discussed the apparent lack of interviewers for women’s sport and again, he was eager. She showed him an example of the column she used to write in Australia which was very much open to whatever topic controversial enough for her to deem worthy of a column, and he moved around a few appointments to talk to her about her options. She had a few different options, but he guided her towards the sponsorship from a company. She needed to be guaranteed at least 6 months of work and the Visa was for 2 years with the ability to progress to other Visa’s past that. YFN hadn’t personally spoken to the company Katie and Caitlin had been speaking of, and she didn't mention them to Martin, but he seemed confident she would find work. She liked him, he seemed a lovely family man and exactly the type of person she’d needed to sort out the mess that had been made. Somehow, the horrible situation had turned out completely in her favour.

They parted ways, Martin again insisting that she use his number with any more Visa changes or questions, and she was excited to tell Lucy the news, and the possibility of staying around Europe for longer. She loved giving her good news.

She came out of the appointment after being there for a few hours and opened her phone. She immediately saw that Lucy had posted some pictures of her rehab session, including some boxing. YFN could feel her body heat at the sight, and she bit her lip. She liked the post, of course, and commented with a bicep emoji, and a face exhaling emoji. Lucy would know what she meant. She did, after all, have hickey’s on her biceps from their adventures over the past 24 hours, and she wasn’t apologetic about that at all. She was obsessed with her biceps and whenever she had a chance, they were always in her hands, or under her mouth. She found it hard to believe that this woman, Lucy Bronze, the jaw-droppingly sexy woman in those photo's, was her girlfriend, and had quite literally been inside her last night. And this morning. She caught her thoughts, biting her lip again.

She didn’t want to rush Lucy, and so she gave her a simple text saying she was out exploring London whenever she was finished, and to not rush. When she and Jordan were alone, she’d changed the time of the booking she had to 3pm, because she had no idea how long the Visa would take and regardless, she wanted Lucy to have a good amount of hours with her session.

Of course, Lucy called her almost immediately.

“I can com-”

“No, Luce. You stay.”

“But-”

“Luciiiia.” Unlike everyone else, she pronounced it as ‘Loo-chee-ah’, which she knew Lucy loved.

“I don’t like you out there alone with…”

“I know, love.” She said softer, repeating Lucy’s words from the night before. It filled her with butterflies, and she swore she could hear Lucy soften over the phone. “I’m happy to explore and I’ll stay around people. I’ll be fine, just please… please focus on your health and your knee. I’ll see you at 2:30, okay? I’ll message you where we can meet..”

Lucy wasn’t keen on the idea, but she reluctantly agreed.

For the first time, YFN found herself in the dead centre of London and although she wanted to enjoy herself, she always felt her eyes wandering around for those girls, and so she made sure to stay near people in case anything happened. Regardless, she tried to enjoy her day. She wandered around looking at shops and the old buildings in wonder, making sure to take photos for her Nan, and send a few to Lucy as a way of telling her she was okay. She sat in a park for a little while and read some of the book she’d brought, feeling the sun on her skin. It wasn’t as harsh as the sun in Australia, but it was just enough to cut through the breeze and keep her skin sun-kissed and warm.

When 2:30pm eventually came around, YFN was wandering to the spot she told Lucy to meet at, and there she was, standing outside, leaned up against her car, the most attractive human being on the planet. YFN could feel her body reacting, needing her. She was in shorts, of course, her knee strapped, and she was so goddamn tanned from Spain. Her ankles were crossed, as well as her arms and her biceps stretched her white Nike shirt. Just the outline of her body, those muscled thighs, biceps, shoulders, were sending her crazy and that was without mentioning her throat, or her jawline that could probably cut paper. She was scanning the park for YFN, her eyes looking in the opposite direction so she could better see that jawline and the features of her face. Having just been to training, she was without glasses and her face looked almost naked to her. She could brush her lips over each part of her face like she had last night, and it still wouldn’t be enough. As she got closer, Lucy spotted her, and that wide grin crossed her face. YFN sped up and jogged towards her for two reasons: 1) because she didn’t want Lucy to have to walk on her knee more than she had to and, 2) she couldn’t stand being apart from her a second longer. Her arms wrapped around her Lucy and they fell back into the car with a chuckle. Lucy’s arms around her were just as strong and needy as her own. Her head found its favourite place on her collarbone, forehead to her neck and she breathed her in. She smelled like vanilla and bitter orange. Lucy’s smell. The smell that was home to her now.

“God I missed you.” Lucy groaned, kissing YFN wherever she could reach. YFN giggled and tilted her head back, accepting all of the love.

“London is pretty… and I missed you more.”

“Impossible.” Lucy refused between kisses.

“Your post sent me wild..”

Lucy pulled back with a wide grin and flirty green eyes. “Oh, you liked it, did you? I was hoping you would..”

“I’m loving your boxing era.”

“Good thing it’s around to stay then. Best way to do cardio without straining my knee, plus, I’m really enjoying it. Building more muscle.” She flexed her bicep and YFN grinned.

"Well not the best way to do cardio..."

Lucy groaned.

YFN's hands glided their way up her back and shoulders, dipping over the muscles that she’d worked so hard for. She could feel herself getting wet and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asked, voice husky but curious.

“Calming myself down.” She said and took another breath.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the sexiest human being to ever exist and I’m trying to stop myself getting so excited.”

Lucy was silent until YFN had to open her eyes to look. Lucy’s expression was flirty, needy, in control, and horny. Her hands slid down YFN’s sides, over her waist, her hips, and found their way to her ass where they grabbed and began sliding back up her back, pressing them together.

“All mine.” Lucy growled in a way that said there was absolutely no arguing to be done as she crashed their lips together, pulling her against her body by her lower back. YFN returned the passion eagerly, one hand on the side of Lucy’s neck, the other at the back of her head. She was hers. Her body shuddered at the want, the need, the passion in which Lucy claimed her. Their tongues met and brushed each other teasing, while they gasped for breath.

YFN eventually found the strength to pull away first. “Public, Lucia…” she reminded her. Lucy grunted, still holding her tight, her lips brushing over her temple, her cheek, her jaw. When she started going for her throat, YFN had to give her another warning. She’d never had sex in public before but fuck, she was just about to if Lucy didn’t find the strength to stop.

Lucy groaned and pulled back, lips well kissed and breathing ragged. It was good to see that YFN had the same effect on Lucy as she did for her.

“How have I survived without you this long?” She asked, shaking her head, and YFN knew she wasn’t referring to the past 7 hours.

“I was just thinking the same thing…” She managed to regain her composure just a little and only due to the sound of people around them. “Ready for our second date?”

It was a rage room. Or so that’s all Lucy thought it was. She was kept in the dark from the moment YFN had said she’d plan the second date, right up to the point where they were in overalls and goggles, locked in a room with baseball bats and other weapons of choice. Lucy was pleasantly surprised, her face lighting up and her inner child bubbling to the surface.

“We’ve had a bit of a rough time lately…” YFN explained. “I figured we could get some stress out?”

And they did. Lucy was hesitant at first, not wanting to show her rage. But after YFN was more than willing to demonstrate her frustrations by taking an axe to the window of a car, Lucy let loose. And absolutely fucking destroyed the room. It started with a grin, it shifted to annoyance, then rage, then it simmered back down to pure fun. She’d needed this and didn’t even realise it.

After the room was destroyed and she thought she was done, she dropped the bat, panting. Suddenly she was hit in the neck, a wet substance exploding on her skin, splashing down onto her overalls and up onto her face. She still had a surprised look on her face as she turned towards her little Australian who had a devious look on hers. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and she was tossing a paint balloon in her hand. Her favourite movie.

“You want me to be your Heath Ledger?” Lucy challenged.

YFN chuckled and threw another one, and Lucy the athlete was easily able to avoid it. Then she ran. Lucy dove for the other bag on the ground, tugging it over her shoulder as she chased her around the room. Her first red paint balloon smacked into her shoulder, and the next smacked a perfect blue target on her ass. They shouted and chased, teased, and tried to hide behind items. YFN was worried for Lucy’s knee, but it didn't seem to be a concern for the right back at all. As they were covered with different colours of the rainbow and running out of ammo, Lucy tackled her to the ground and they smashed their last balloons over each other before their lips crashed together. Their tongues met again, and Lucy groaned, grabbing the back of her thigh and pulling it up around her.

“Aaaaand time’s up folks!” A voice rang through the speakers as the door clicked.

The date had them both smiling so hard that their cheeks were sore and YFN felt happy knowing she’d chosen the right thing for their second date. They wiped off as much paint from each other as they could, but it was still caked in their hair, patching their faces and necks. They knew they wouldn’t be getting the colours out of their nails for days.

On the way home, they stopped by a pizza place that Jordan had suggested they try. YFN figured that the perfect end to the date would be a casual pizza takeaway at home with cuddles and blankets. Lucy was more than keen on the idea. She pulled up outside of the pizza restaurant and left the car running.

“I’ll go pick it up.” Lucy leant over and kissed YFN on the lips like they’d been together years. “I’ll just be a minute, little one.”

YFN’s cheeks flushed slightly, her little butterflies coming to life. Since she’d texted Lucy where she was, she hadn’t picked up her phone all night and it was such a good feeling. She loved being detached from it, especially lately when it had been causing so much stress. She enjoyed it so much that she’d used Lucy’s phone to place the pizza order on, not wanting to see her phone until tomorrow.

But apparently not even that could remove the problems that had inserted themselves so abruptly into her life. Still smiling, she looked out of Lucy’s window and saw two of them staring at her, pointing and yelling. Before she had time to process beyond shock, they were running across the road for the car. YFN panicked and leant over, slamming the door locks on. They grabbed at the door, trying to yank it open. YFN’s eyes were wide with shock as they smashed against the car, shouting abuse at her. She almost froze, and considered beeping the horn but she didn’t want Lucy to run out and be hurt by these maniacs. Then she made the mistake of turning to look out her window for her girlfriend and locked eyes with her. Kristie. She put her phone up to the window clearly showing YFN a photo of her and Lucy kissing when she'd picked her up at the park.

“I warned you, you fucking slut! She’s mine!” She yelled, pure hatred in her voice.

Kristie took a few steps back, her arm raising behind her. Then a brick shattered through the window and collided with her head. And then, black.

#lucy bronze #jordan nobbs #lucy bronze x reader #woso #engwnt #lionesses #lucy bronze imagine #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #england lionesses

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pensat-i-fet · 10 months

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A big silly idiot (Kai Havertz x Reader)

**I got a request by an account that has now change the name and I can’t find it, so I can’t tag it. Sorry 😔 But the idea was to write some jealous Havertz where the reader is a physio. And…I know he moved to Arsenal but not in this story 😅 or the little cameo wouldn’t work. Always fun to write jealous characters and I hope you guys enjoy it!! ❤️**

Word count: 1022

Masterlist

Wattpad

"And because of the new coaching staff, there are all these new people working here. Some for the medical team. That'd be weird. I was so used to my previous colleagues".

"It'll be fine".

"I hope so. For a moment I worried they'd fire me too".

"How could they fire the best doctor in the history of football doctors?"

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's comments and turned to kiss him goodbye when you reached the infirmary. But when you were leaning against the door with your eyes closed, the door opened before Kai could kiss you.

You would have fallen to the floor had it not been for the arms that caught you.

"So sorry. Are you ok?"

Kai was looking at the young man who still held your arms, not wanting to make a scene but slightly glaring at him. There was no need to touch you for that long.

"I'm fine, yeah. Note to self: don't lean against closed doors".

The mystery man laughed with you before noticing there was someone else there.

"Oh, hi! Are you here for your treatment?"

"No, I'm with her".

You frowned at his words and tone.

"He's on his way to training. Treatment for the players that aren't injured usually comes after they train. Unless you've changed that already?"

"No, that's fine. I just need an updated list of who’s fit and who’s not".

"I'm going now", said Kai, making you look at him. He was acting so weird.

"I know. Have a good training. I'll see you after".

"My kiss?"

He was being so obvious. "Who do you want the kiss from?"

When Kai rolled his eyes, you moved closed and pecked his cheek. "But…".

"See you later".

You got inside the room, closing the door and leaving Kai to be moody outside of your little place of work.

"So, what's your name?"

"Sebastiano. But you can call me Sebas".

"Right, you're the manager's son".

"I swear I know how to do my job and didn't just get it because of him", he joked.

"I'm dating a player. I get how it feels to be judged because of personal connections so you won't get that kind of comment from me".

"Nice. It's hard to find someone who gets it, you know?"

You nodded. "Anything you need, let me know".

Kai also learned who the new medical team member was very soon since everyone was talking about the new staff. And he also kept glaring at him during training.

"Why does he have to be here?"

"What?", Enzo looked at who his teammate was pointing. "Well, he's learning the dynamics of the team from someone who knows all about it…".

"It's not that hard, is it? We train, we get injured, he treats the injury and hopefully doesn’t make it worse. He’s just here because of daddy so maybe he won’t even know how to put a plaster on a wound".

"Why are you so annoyed by him…wait. Are you jealous?"

"Jealous of what?"

"Of a young good looking guy who has to work with your girlfriend".

"I'm not", said Kai, kicking the ball and leaving to find a new training partner.

But he was jealous. He was used to you being surrounded either by other women or by dudes so old they could be your dad…or grandad. And Enzo was right. This new guy was good-looking and seemed nice too. What if you liked him? And he was smart like you, not an idiot who earns a living kicking and heading a ball.

He tried to concentrate on training but hearing you giggle at whatever the new guy was saying didn’t help his case.

“Ten minutes left”, you said, “now it’s when we leave and get everything ready for those who need more treatment. Most will just need some massages and similar”.

“Ok, let’s go”.

Kai saw you both leaving and when he noticed the new guy putting his hand on your back when you walked in front of him, he lost it.

“Ahhh!”

Everyone turned to look at him after his very unnatural scream and he fell to the floor holding his ankle.

“You ok?”

“I twisted my ankle. I think I need to go to the infirmary to get it checked”.

“Sure”, said one of the physios helping Kai to stand up and walking with him to where you were.

When the door opened, you lifted your head to see who was coming in. Your head that was very close to the new guy’s, who was looking at the same documents you had placed on the table.

“Kai, what happened?”

“I twisted my ankle”, he said and you were immediately by his side to guide him to one of the stretchers.

A few people surrounded you two, since there was no one else to attend at the moment. You took Kai’s shoe off and then his sock too to check the foot…but there was nothing to check.

“It’s not bruised or swollen…”.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah”, you said, giving him a funny look. “Does it hurt when I touch it?”

“No”.

“Does it now?”, you asked, applying way more pressure than necessary.

“Yes! Don’t do that”.

“Just checking. I got this, guys. Go get everything ready for the rest of the players”.

Kai could tell you weren’t happy by your expression. He knew you too well but that went both ways. You knew him too well too.

“Did you fake an injury?”

“What? Why would I…”.

“You’re jealous. No, don’t say anything. I can tell. And you’re so stupid for it”.

“It’s just…he’s young and smart, like you”.

“And about to marry someone”, you said and Kai closed his eyes and let his head fall back before he started to laugh. “I really am an idiot, huh?”

“A big silly idiot. But even if he wasn’t engaged to someone else…come on. It takes more than young and smart to win me over”.

“Sorry”.

“I wish I had seen you faking the injury on the pitch, though. It must have been hilarious”.

“Yeah, I’m not winning an Oscar anytime soon”.

#kai havertz #kai havertz imagine #kai havertz one shot #kai havertz fluff #kai havertz x reader #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #footballer fluff #footballer x reader

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cherryxcadbury · 1 year

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Social Media

as you could prob guess, this has to do with the ongoing case. The comments on social media are so fucking disgusting to the victim. Some have said,

“Some women will do anything for money.”

“Careers getting ruined yearly cuz women don’t get punished.”

“Women on their way to ruin men’s sport because no one watches them.”

and these aren’t even the horrible comments, many are ten times worse. There are also obviously a lot of “oh he’d never do that he’s a good Muslim”, but I’m not getting into that.

Listen, I absolutely loved Hakimi, but after spending quite some time reviewing the news, I’ve chosen to support the victim with everything that’s been release because god knows very few people in the football community on social media are supporting her.

If you want to believe Hakimi’s innocent, then go ahead, I’m not in the slightest telling you what to do, nothing has been confirmed or revealed yet. My opinion is guilty until proven innocent in this given situation because of how the police dept has chosen to pursue the case despite the women begging it to not be.

But this is no bloody excuse to shame a potential victim for coming forward. If it does end up being a lie, then what can you do. But for now, my love and support is with her.

Remember to be kind. Loyalty to someone does not at all give the right to go bash another person just because they’re seen as “opposition”, or “destroying their career.” My sympathy also goes out to Hiba and their two children especially for this potentially life altering change that may be upon them.

If anyone, and I mean anyone at all (you don’t have to share the same opinion as me), needs to talk about something, is having trouble coping, has anything they need to share at all, my inbox & dms are open for all❤️

for the time being, I won’t be writing anything for hakimi or kylian until more light is shed on the situation. If this offends you, feel free to unfollow❤️

thank you guys again 4 the love & support. and again, may the truth prevail 🤍🧸

#achraf hakimi #hakimi #kylianmbappe #achrafhakimi #mbappe #mbappé #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé #kylian #psg #paris saint germain #morocco national team #france national team #ligue 1 #mindfulness #social media #be kind #hiba abouk

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waru-chan8 · 5 months

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I’m the anon that asked about Pecco and the factory vs satellite bikes, I just finished my hospital shift and I’m literally sat in my car right now cuz I’ve been waiting to read your answer since I got the notification on my phone that you posted, and I just want to say that I will never get why some fans love putting riders or drivers on a pedestal and say that they never do any wrong, they ARE in fact human even if some feel like they aren’t -Marc I’m looking at you- but yeah they are human and make mistakes and they should apologise and never repeat it, but what pissed me the most about Pecco is him driving while drunk cuz as a trauma surgeon I will never forgive anyone who knows that they are drunk and make the choice to drive, and then his comment about periods; kindly shut the fuck up Pecco, I love you and support you as a rider but that made me lose some respect I have for him as a person, women don’t whine when they have their periods: I just finished being on call for 24 hours while I’m on my first day and wanted to die when I was doing a surgery and my back and stomach were killing me but I never complained, so for him as a man who never experienced period pain to come and say that he was in so much pain that he complained like a woman on period.

and I just realised that this is a long ask but thank you so much for being a safe space and hold the riders accountable when they do mistakes cuz they are human and we all make mistakes no matter how we try and not make any mistake it’s how we learn to grow as human; so yeah if my favourite driver or rider said or did something bad I will talk about it and hold him accountable and not forget about it like some fans do

Hi again anon 👋👋👋👋. I hope you had a good shift in the hospital and not too many Emergency surgeries.

People really have notifications for when I post? Really? I mean I'm just a regular girl in my corner making silly post and ranting. It seriously flatters me.

I think the difference is being a fan or a hooligan. A fan or a true fan understands that behind the PR there's a human and they either understand or ignore it. A hooligan will actually defend them because they have put them in a pedestal. I don't understand why people just refuses to believe they little guy is capable of bad things, but as we have been saying all day long, they are human and they make mistake. I hope he learned from them, which is the important. And apology, which not everyone did.

My guess is because it was summer break and Ibiza. I find it incredible is that Spanish police let him off the hook because of who he was. If I did that (I'm Spaniard, or for the matter anyone), we lost points in or driving license and have to pay fines, jail time even depending on the implications. We have to thank he didn't get injured, and that he crashed in a roundabout, because he could have crashed into a house, or a cliff, or worst killed someone.

About the period comment, I'm just going to say there a general misbelieve that women are the weak sex, and I love to see men try the period cramp simulations. At level 1 some of them are already crying. I do know that pain tolerance is something that varies from person to person, but generally speaking, women have a higher pain tolerance than men. I'm a women, and lucky I've never suffer on my period, but I head is like 10x a quick in the balls, and we all know how much guys complain and need to recover from that. So next time, try to use that.

This just reminded me of the meme with football players with a male on the floor crying and asking to be changed and a stretcher BECAUSE ANOTHER PLAYER STEPPED ON HIM , while a female is asking the coach to not change them when she is actively bleeding. Which just illustrates that maybe are guys the weak ones.

Hey don't worry, unless you are being on purpose an ass of coming with hate, this will always be a safe space. It will always be a space open to discussion (with respect) when we don't share opinions because I love to learn other people's point of view or different opinions or informations.

#Ask #Anon's tag #Surgeon anon's tag(?)#MotoGP #Anti-Bagnaia #<- for blacklisting #Sport #Gender

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pedrogavi · 11 months

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i think whats causing so much uproar with these pedri rumors (and gavi as well) is the fact that a lot of his fan girls are younger than him and are probably around like 13-16. absolutely none of this is abnormal for a guy his age, especially a footballer (literally every famous footballer ever has links w women that the media fixate on). unfortunately for pedri and gavi, anything they do is going to be far more in the spotlight than most because they have such a Large amount of popularity, and it’s only increased since the world cup. the media loves to speculate/make rumors about famous footballers whenever they can because it gives them engagement, it’s always been like this. a lot of the rumors aren’t necessarily BASELESS, they just speculate far more than what an actual interaction was (like, they’ll say a girl is someone’s girlfriend bc they took a pic together lol). i can guarantee every other footballer around pedri and gavis age (i’m 19 so u know, u just know how the age range is lol) is doing the same kind of thing they just don’t get as much attention/focus because well, not as popular. regardless, pedri hasn’t actually done a single thing wrong, like is literally like everyone else his age (it’s like how non-famous people have shit like tinder), and while i’m sure he doesn’t care much, having so many people on whatever links there are (and then harassing the girls involved as well which has always bothered me) is just so so strange, and it’s not helped by him having a younger fanbase as well. i digress though, i just absolutely hate how involved random people on the internet are in the private lives of a 20 year old and an 18 year old; it’s just very strange like why can’t we just all focus on the cute, PUBLIC, friendships in the team and on their actual ability as footballers like lol

I agree. I think that fame comes with consequences, but they didn't even choose it yk, they're just footballers doing their job, Pedri and Gavi are both in the limelight with their privacy being constantly invaded, and I agree this has happened so many times, when famous guys like them take a pic with a girl people start speculating, but the car thing was baseless cause u didn't even see his car near a hotel?? Where did that even come from? There needs to be a reason why the rumour started. And I agree young footballers do have some sorta dating method, it is normal, some tend to keep it discreet, some things go undiscovered as they should which is actually more believable than sht social media tries to tell us, I've seen people directing us to girls accounts in comment sections claiming this person is dating this footballer bla bla, it's that bad out there and as yk lies travel faster than truth, I can't help but feel sad for players.

#pedrogavi anons

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damn-behzinga · 3 years

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okay, lowkey hate every other part of the sidemen fandom apart from the tumblr one. instagram is full of so many homophobic and transphobic comments, calling people sensative when the sidemen have said or done something wrong. they're so quick to jump down someone's throat when they say anything bad about football, the sidemen, or any music artist but when it comes down to things, they will call individuals slurs because they do not know the harm it could cause.

young teens going online to jokingly call tobi or jj the n word is not okay.

people brushing over the blatant racism towards vik because all the racism is sprinkled in a way you overlook is not okay.

the only person to talk about how to be a better man towards women after the tragic and terrifying death of Sarah Everard was tobi.

there's a weird normalisation of being bad at school, the sidemen, perhaps unaware, promote that. whether they chose to be or not, young kids look up to them and it is so important that they make it clear that people are educated on important topics, like politics and what's happening in society. it comes up every so often but it ends up being a joke where none of them are fully educated on the subject to explain it fully. I am not saying that the sidemen need to make every video about politics or society or whatever, I'm saying that there is a way the sidemen can use their platforms for more good then they already do. a retweet takes less then a second, putting information in the videos takes a few minutes, and asking for more information takes a few moments. other creators and celebrities who are in a similar situation to the sidemen do, so why aren't they? they are not required to do this in any means but do you not think that a group of seven adults with over ten million subscribers, who have access to the internet and resources, should not be using their platform to help others?

they do not have the excuse of not knowing. they are on social media every day, it is part of their career. they are living in an almost forced ignorance by choosing to ignore what is happening. if they don't understand a topic, they can search for it. if they are worried about the way their content will come across because they speak up about something, there is a serious problem there. how many times can they turn a blind eye to the racism and transphobia in the fandom and get away with it?

with the uprising in the Stop Asian Hate movement and the BLM movement, it feels like the sidemen aren't getting involved or helping as much as they could. you may argue that it is more an american thing but then you too would be ignoring the problem that racism is a global problem. racism does not stop at black individuals, Asian and other POC are effected. the sidemen need to develop the way they use their platforms for the sake of the development of society and the people that watch their content. it's as simple as sharing an interest. the sidemen say why they like a certain product, more people buy that product. the sidemen say why these movements are important, the more people are likely to listen. it's a domino effect.

I love the sidemen, I think they're content is brilliant and creative but they are grown adults who can make their own decisions and I think we as a fandom should acknowledge how they treat specific problems online and in real life.

#sidemen #sdmn #behzinga #ksi #wroetoshaw #miniminter #zerkaa #tbjzl #vikkstar123

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lithaxbaby · 3 years

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Feminine feminism

Ever since I was a kid I rejected anything inherently female, I feel like the reasons why are pretty obvious, but I’ll divulge anyway. “Are there any strong boys in the class to help?”, “girls can’t play football with us!”, “you’re so un-ladylike!” “The boys are the doctors and the girls are the nurses”, “No! The prince saves the princess” and I’m sure we all have a lot more experiences of sexism growing up. Now I’m not saying that boys didn’t experience their fair share of sexism growing up, because they certainly have. “Boys don’t cry”, “what kind of boy doesn’t like sports”, “those toys are for girls”. And I acknowledge the fact that sexism towards young boys completely exits because the sexist remarks made to boys are at the same time, sexist to girls too, but it’s not the same vice verse. Let me explain. “Boys don’t cry” - this implies that boys are too strong to cry, but there is no such thing as “girls don’t cry”. Why? You may be asking ourself, well it’s simple really, because girls are weak and feeble, so they can cry. I am in no way saying that telling a young boy to hide his emotions is a compliment or a positive thing, because we all know the effects are detrimental, but what I am saying is even the sexist comments directed at men don’t lift women up, even though the sexist comments directed at women lift men higher than a women could ever be.

Now years later, school has ran it’s course and I’m in the big world. I’m a very confident person, I love who I am and how I look, I never went through the awkward insecure teenage phase, which is most likely down to two things. The first being my amazing family. I was never just my parents pretty daughter, there was always something specific they would pick out and describe to me how beautiful it was, so I was never insecure about my nose or my weight or anything really, because everything about me had it’s beauty described in detail growing up. The second reason sounds like a silly one, but it’s the fact that I always had boys that had crushes on me in school. I don’t seek male validation and I do everything I do for myself, but knowing that no matter if I had a back pack instead of a hand bag or if I didn’t wear make up, the boys still liked me proved to me that maybe my parents were right, I am naturally beautiful while being myself.

There is one thing I don’t like about myself though something I can’t “learn to love” as the media tells you to do, this is something I need to get rid of asap. My internalised sexism. As a child I moulded myself based on how I wanted to feel. I wanted to feel strong and fun, so I became masculine, believing that these stereotypes on women are completely true, and of course I don’t want to be a weak damsel, so therefore I’ll try my hardest to not be a girl. Ive carried that into my current life. No revealing clothes or people wont take you seriously, because they will be reminded you’re a women. I was dressing like Billie Eilish before Billie Eilish. No pink or you’ll be branded as girly AKA stupid. No hobbies like dancing, because it’s not a real sport or even a talent, it’s a boring feminine pass time. No using a napkin to wipe your face or putting a bite size amount of food in your mouth, or else you will look like you care about how you look and be branded as vein and conceded. As I got older I tried to keep playing with the boys, but it became hard. All the boys would go on bike rides, but they didn’t want a girl coming because I’d be too slow, they would play football but they didn’t want a girl playing football because I wasn’t very good and would ruin the game. Now all the boys play video games, but have you ever tried to play video games with boys? “Go make me a sandwich and stop playing on your boyfriends Xbox”, “you are so bad at this game, you obviously only play to impress boys”, and even things that they view as compliments such as “Wow, you’re really good for a girl!”. Growing up I had to deal with sexism from all the adults around me, but now it’s from people I called my friends, saying they aren’t feminists because feminists are crazy bitches, and being called “Will’s lass” (Will is my boyfriend and lass means young/teenage girl in the UK, I’m not a pirate, I promise) as if he is the human and I’m the pet. I’ve had experiences with his family members such as uncles and cousins approaching us at special occasion, look at him and say “is this your lass? she’s gorgeous” as if looking at me everywhere besides in the eyes and commenting on me like an animal or even an inanimate object is a compliment to both me and my boyfriend. My point is, no matter how I breach the universal code of conduct of how a woman should look or act, I still get treated the same way I did as a little girl.

So today I say to myself and anyone else out there feeling the same way: fuck it. Wear all that make up, use that napkin, go to that dance class, use your prettiest pink bag and wear that short skirt. These people that hold these outdated and hateful views aren’t the people you should be changing yourself for. Whether you have long hair and make up on, or short hair and look the same way you woke up, people will judge you for one simple thing and that is the thing between your legs. So show the world how sexy yet smart you are, how ladylike yet strong you are, how great your dancing is yet how many kills you can get on team deathmatch in Call of Duty. Don’t waste your time trying to get sexists of the world to decide you’re masculine enough to not be judged, be who you want to be and give them something to talk about, they’re talking anyway.

#female #feminist #real feminism #intersectional feminism #journal #journey #childhood #self improvement #girly stuff #sexism #blog post #writers on tumblr #writing #womensupportingwomen #womenempowerment #beautiful women #positive mental attitude

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

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People that are misrepresented and/or villainized that more people need to talk about:

1. Nuerodiverse people: My father said it best - “Equal doesn’t mean everyone gets the same thing, it means everyone gets what they need.” Our society is so against “lazy culture” that it believes any extra help is a blessing, not a right. You need more breaks at work because people physically exhaust you? Harper works twenty shifts a week PLUS overtime, so suck it up! You had a breakdown the other day, so you can’t come to lunch? Fine, I’ll just never invite you again, since you like being ALONE so much! You have a hyperfixation that isn’t normal, but you finally get to talk about it? Ew, no one likes [insert interest here], why are you into THAT? People are unique machines, and sometimes people just don’t fit what is expected of them. Of course everyone must make sacrifices, and they can’t do exactly what they want all the time, but for some neurodiverse people, that’s a given. They already give so much up or push things to the side. Why do they need to stretch themselves even thinner for YOU? Being held to a certain standard is one thing, but raising that bar higher than some can reach is one of the biggest problems in our nation. People shouldn’t have to hide who they are just because their stimming or panic attack is making you uncomfy.

2. Trans Women: Of course trans men get plenty of hate, and I am not denying that in the slightest. However, the fear mongering that people use to deny trans women’s rights is astounding, especially about bathrooms and women’s sports. First of all, when has a man EVER dressed up as a woman to commit ANY sort of rape or whatever you’re claiming they do? Second of all, do you think a psychopathic killer/rapist/kidnapper would be stopped by a measly sign? What sort of Harry Potter world are you living in where a sign will protect you from criminals? And, on the subject of sports, you claim that a trans woman can’t be on a women sports team, because men are inherently stronger than women. There are SO many women athletes that are MUCH stronger than a lot of men. It isn’t about biology, it’s about training. You don’t just come out a weight lifter, or a runner, or a swimmer! You’re just using their trans identity as an excuse to cry about how you got third place. Sorry you suck, but that is NO reason to deny a person their rights as a human being. Men are not out to get you, or to claw their way above everyone else. Not all of them are creeps, sexists, rapists, or psychopaths. So why are trans men any different?

3. Furries: Okay, okay, one of these things are not like the others. After all, you CHOOSE your interests. But imagine if you made this painting, right? And you spent hours just pouring yourself into this work of art. You looked over every detail, learned and gained from past mistakes, and brushed every centimeter of paint with artistic scrutiny. You finish, and you step back. All of your hard work paid off. The painting looks immaculate. You decide this is good enough to share on social media. Reddit, Instagram, TikTok, whatever. You are so proud of your accomplishment. Comments start flooding in. However, instead of congratulating all your hard work and money and time you put into this painting, they are only talking about one aspect: the bridge you had put over the river. It’s front and center, and each piece of wood was drawn with excellent detail. But they aren’t impressed...no, they’re disgusted! They claim that you have a fetish for bridges, that you built it wrong, or that no bridge looks like that. But OTHER people paint bridges, you cry. Why am I not allowed to paint them?! Well, the comments reply, they’re in the background, where they belong. And they actually look NORMAL! That’s what furries/fursuit makers have to deal with ALL THE TIME! Not only that, but they are blasted on the internet, made the butt of every joke, and hated on to no end. Why the hell would you cheer on your favorite football mascot but call furries freaks in the same breath?

4. Single/stay at home fathers: Moms aren’t the only ones who take care of the kids! Holy moly! Dads are fully capable of raising healthy, happy children, and being fully in tune with their emotions and needs. They aren’t babysitting, or giving mom the day off, or pedophiles staring at children in the playground. And when they get angry at their children, which is bound to happen, people think that the father is being abusive or incompetent, when, in reality, the child is just being a little crap, as children do. There have been instances where people grab a dad’s child because they picked the child up and were mistaken for a kidnapper! Um, hello?! Don’t you think a child would cry or something if a complete stranger picked them up, or yell for help? Kids aren’t completely stupid! They know who their daddies are.

There are so many more! Please, feel free to reblog and talk about people who need to be represented!

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wheresmynaya · 3 years

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Lost in the Lights Ch.2 | Brittana

Okay so I’m breaking routine here by posting another chapter so soon but I’m just blown away by the response so far and I got excited. LIKE WOAH, I really thought I wasn’t going to reach many people with this bc like...sports. Guess we all just really love Brittana, huh?

Also, 9-0 baby! 😘

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x)

No one is more surprised by the discovery of the Titans’ new quarterback than Santana. Actually, surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. Santana’s flat out dumbfounded by the news.

Is it the fact that they’ve never had a female Titan, let alone a female QB? Is it the fact that she’s actually really good? Is it the fact that it’s Brittany?

Santana’s at a loss.

The blonde just didn’t strike her as the type to play such a rough sport. She’s like this walking ray of sunshine that irks Santana to no end and she’s only had to deal with her for like a week! No one would’ve ever guessed that Brittany was the one to lead the Titans to their first win but maybe that’s because there’s apparently this side of her that Santana just hadn’t seen yet?

Judging by the way Brittany dominated on the field, Santana had her all wrong.

Santana spends her entire weekend trying to stay on top of her tan before the Autumn chill sets in, but in between sips of cold sweet tea and scrolling through her social media feeds there’s Brittany. Again, she doesn’t know why the quarterback keeps disrupting her thoughts, but it seems like she can’t outrun the girl.

At the moment, Brittany’s everywhere Santana looks! Mainly on social media; one minute Santana’s liking a picture Quinn posted of them before the game on Friday and the next she’s being bombarded by shots of Brittany posing with her teammates. Mike and Sam basically make the same exact post with the whole New Year New QB, but what surprises her is that even Puck is on her feed doing the same thing!

To think that the guys would even allow having a female quarterback is beyond her, because the last time she checked they were all a bunch of sexist pigs. Then again, maybe Coach Beiste has finally taught them all a thing or two about respecting women enough to be okay with playing alongside them?

Santana has no idea.

It’s just crazy how this girl seems to have popped up out of nowhere and now Santana can’t get away even when she’s not at school. The weekends are sacred to her, it’s her time to relax and reset before having to deal with all the McKinley High imbeciles but seeing so much of Brittany has her thoughts running nonstop.

What’s worse is that Santana can’t describe why she’s so annoyed by it all!

It isn’t until Monday rolls around that things finally start to come to a head.

The Titans’ recent win still seems to be the only thing anyone at McKinley wants to talk about, but Santana manages to evade all those conversations. She doesn’t know anything about the game other than the Titans have sucked for most of her high school career but she’s still obligated to cheer for them.

It’s a small price to pay when you’re a real winner. The Cheerios have way more titles and that’s really the only thing Santana cares about.

It’s all apart of her master plan to get the hell out of Lima once she graduates. With several National Championship wins under her belt, along with being Co-Captain since Sophomore year, Santana’s hoping it’ll help to expand her university options.

Although, she knows her future is practically mapped out for her – deep down she still has hope for a miracle. Until then, she just wants to make sure she’s well-prepared for anything which means retaining her position on the squad and making good grades.

Santana goes through the motions of the school day as usual, and as usual she fights the inescapable feeling of giddiness as she makes her way towards her final class of the day. She doesn’t actually mind the class – Miss Holliday is secretly one of her favorite teachers at McKinley – but she’s not the blonde that’s making her stomach fill with fluttery things.

She’s barely taken two steps into the room when she spots Brittany already sitting at their shared desk. She had been resting her chin in her palm looking bored as ever until Santana walked in. That’s when Brittany perked up and turned on her signature mega-watt smile.

It was getting harder and harder for Santana to scowl at the sight of it.

“Hi!” Brittany greeted happily as Santana took a seat next to her, “How was your weekend?”

It was always the same with Brittany, no matter what kind of look Santana threw her way. Brittany never seemed to be fazed by her grumpiness. She just took it in stride and continued to try and make conversation even if Santana never gave her much to work with.

Maybe that’s why Santana’s drawn to the blonde? She doesn’t scare easily unlike most at the school who wouldn’t dare be so persistent.

“Fine,” Santana answered with a sigh of indifference while she got settled and took out her binder and pen.

“Awesome,” Brittany nodded and picked up her own pen to start doodling, “I had good weekend too. I went to the park, did some chores around the house, hung out with some guys from the team and – “

The team caused a crack in Santana’s façade.

She looked to Brittany, trying to figure out how the girl sitting next to her was the same fierce player she saw Friday night. With the confusion and curiosity that’s been building ever since, the words just came tumbling out of her before she could catch them.

“You’re our new QB,” Santana stated but it sounded more like an accusation than an observation.

Brittany’s brows rose and a coy smile began to spread across her lips, “So you can say more than two words?”

Santana rolled her eyes at the sarcasm but even more so at how that smile made her stomach flip. She really needed to get her shit together.

“But yeah,” Brittany added coolly, “Seems like I am.”

Santana looked down at her binder, “You didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask,” Brittany replied just as quickly.

Before Santana could get wrapped up in that giddy feeling again, she hardened herself. She was starting to see how Brittany could keep up with the guys on the team, the girl was quick and she had confidence.

Santana liked that…or whatever.

“Sup dudes!” Miss Holliday greeted the class as she strolled in just after the bell, “Is this Monday dragging or what?”

Some kids grunted in agreement. Brittany chuckled away and Miss Holliday smirked up at her.

“Awesome game, Chica!” Miss Holliday complimented as she walked down their row closest to Brittany. She held out her fist for Brittany to bump, “You kicked butt out there.”

“Thanks,” Brittany replied sweetly as their fists connected, “It was a team effort.”

“Spoken like a true leader. About time we got a little girl power in this school,” Miss Holliday nodded approvingly before moving down the row.

Santana watched Brittany giggle then get swept up in listening to Miss Holliday’s instructions for the warm-up activity. Again, Santana found herself in awe of how Brittany was the same girl who could break tackles and fire a football downfield. Brittany was friendly and soft and diplomatic, nothing like any of the guys on the team.

“You’re staring,” Brittany pointed out although her gaze remained on Miss Holliday now standing at the front of the class setting up the projector.

Santana doesn’t know why, but Brittany’s comment makes her cheeks burn.

She was glad when one of the kids closest to the door was asked to turn off the lights. In the darkness, she found some comfort and a little confidence. She was able to get a grip and act like a normal person.

“We’ve never had a female QB before,” Santana whispered. She had her pen in hand, trying to follow along with everyone else by doing the activity but her focus was elsewhere.

“So I’ve heard,” Brittany replied just as softly.

Santana didn’t know what to say next; this was the most they’ve spoken to each other thus far and she really didn’t know where the conversation was going.

What she didn’t anticipate though was fucking it all up with one sentence.

“Girls,” Santana breathed out and for some reason the word made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn’t realize she hadn’t said it in awhile, maybe not since seeing…

Santana swallows hard at the memory trying to worm its way in. She pushes it to the back of her mind; now isn’t the time for it.

“Girls,” She repeats herself with a steadier voice, “They aren’t supposed to play football.”

When Brittany looks at her, the friendly smile is gone and her pretty blue eyes are darker and fill with disbelief.

Santana knows she said the wrong thing the second the words leave her lips. It’s not exactly what she meant, but it’s too late to take it back now. Her words have already done the damage.

“Huh,” Brittany scoffs and averts her eyes back to her work, “Didn’t expect to hear that coming from you.”

Santana frowns – mostly out of guilt – but her instincts have her on the defense, “What’s that suppose to mean?”

She watches Brittany’s jaw tighten before she’s turning to look at Santana again. Her brows knit together, “It means I didn’t think you were the small-minded type.”

Santana feels winded.

She’s been called many things in her life and has heard some creative insults aimed at her, but never has she ever been called small-minded. She’s surprised by how much that one actually hurts. After everything she went through last year, after all the backlash, after having to deal with real small-minded people she feels a little offended. She can’t be lumped in with them. It’s not possible, because she’s…

The word gets trapped her throat and Santana has to swallow hard again to steady herself.

She isn’t like everyone else.

On second thought, maybe she is if she’s still saying something like that?

“I’ve always been told that those who can play the game well should,” Brittany tells her firmly, “I think I’m someone that can and judging by your team’s standings for the past three years, you could use someone like me on that field.”

Santana gulps. She can’t remember the last time someone at this school spoke to her the way Brittany is. It’s not a tone she’s familiar with, but she knows she deserves it.

“I don’t know you very well, but I thought – I don’t know – I thought you’d at least be a little more accepting than the hicks I’ve come across in this town,” Brittany continues, “I guess I was wrong.”

Santana’s lips part to defend herself, but nothing comes out.

Brittany doesn’t notice, “It shouldn’t matter if I’m a girl or a boy or a damn alien from outer space. If you can play – if you want to play – then you should, no matter what the sport is. Anyone that thinks otherwise is just…well, they’re stupid.”

The last word has Brittany’s voice cracking and the sound finally has Santana sputtering for an explanations, “I – I didn’t mean to – “

“You should probably just pay attention to the board, Santana.”

Santana bites her lip at Brittany’s clipped tone – that might’ve been the first time she’s ever heard Brittany say her name. She does as she’s told though. It’s best if she doesn’t dig herself a deeper hole.

Santana spends the rest of the day mulling over Brittany's words. Even through Cheerios practice after school, Santana can’t seem to get her head on right.

Maybe she really has become a product of her environment? Maybe all the small-minded people she's surrounded by have somehow managed to rub off on her after all of these years?

That can’t be the case, can it?

She hates that she has to ask herself that. Usually, Santana’s not one to have any regrets or remorse once she spits out her vicious words but this time she finds herself backpedaling when it comes to Brittany. She wasn’t trying to be a bitch, it just sort of happened and for once in her life she feels kind of horrible about it.

“You okay?” Quinn asks hesitantly after she dismissed the squad for a water break. Santana was meant to lead warm-ups today but Quinn seemed more eager to take over and Santana didn’t mind considering she’s so distracted.

“Yeah,” Santana shrugs, “I’m fine.”

“You’re quiet today,” Quinn notes, “You didn’t even laugh when Bec accidentally called Coach Sylvester sir.”

Santana tries to mask her worries and shrugs again, “She’s not that far off, have you seen Coach lately? Very mannish.”

Quinn smirks, pleased to seemingly have her best friend back, “So true.”

Just then Coach Sylvester blows her whistle and barks orders at the squad. Santana’s reluctant to move, but she pushes herself up anyway.

“God,” She groans as they walk over to the others, “I’m over this year and it hasn’t even started.”

“Same,” Quinn chuckles, “Let’s go make fun of the JV squad later? I hear they need a ton of work and their practices runs longer than ours because they suck so much.”

If it were any other day, that suggestion would have Santana eager to get a front row seat but even that doesn’t help. Still, she has to retain some sort of normalcy even if thoughts of Brittany are trying their hardest to disrupt that.

“I can’t wait to see that train wreck,” Santana quips and together, she and her best friend fall in line with the rest of the squad.

The remainder of the week is more of the same: class, Cheerios practice, homework then repeat. The only thing that’s out of the ordinary for Santana is the icy, cold shoulder Brittany’s giving her now.

Or maybe Santana’s the one avoiding her?

It’s all minor details. What’s important is that they aren’t speaking to each other anymore and Santana’s starting to miss Brittany’s usual cheerful greetings.

She knows what she needs to do to fix this. It doesn’t make it any easier for her to actually do it though. To admit that she was wrong, to apologize for her words, to accept responsibility for her actions? Santana’s not use to most of that!

It’s a weird kind of tension though between her and Brittany, so Santana’s not sure how much more she can take. Instead, she steals sideways glances in the dark and hopes Brittany takes pity on her and makes the first move.

Brittany doesn’t and soon one week’s worth of silence ends up turning into two.

Santana had every intention of making amends by last Friday’s game, but things just kept coming up. There’s class and Cheerios practice, but now she actually has to study for upcoming quizzes and assignments. She can’t fall behind again so once practice ends, Santana usually gets changed right away and heads straight for her car without even glancing in the Titans’ direction.

Is she using schoolwork as a lame excuse to avoid dealing with her shit? Of course, she’s a teenager. Procrastination comes naturally to her!

Later that night, Santana sits with both of her parents at the table for dinner. It’s a rare occasion to have Maribel and Hector home at the same time, but that quickly loses its novelty when Hector starts to grill Santana on her studies.

“Papi, it’s only the third week,” Santana gently reasons.

“And?” Hector gives her a stern look, “You need to stay on top of things, Santana.”

It’s a simple sentence, but Santana feels like there’s way more beneath the surface. Sometimes it’s hard being the daughter of a successful doctor whose father was also a doctor and his father before him. There is a long line of them in the Lopez legacy and that looms over Santana like a dark cloud, especially now that she’s in her Senior year.

It’s gone without saying whose footsteps Santana will follow, but it’s still a lot of pressure for her. It’s only a matter of time before her dad begins to lecture her again about college and the importance of good grades and extracurriculars while her mom tries to elevate some of that stress.

She’s never met two people who show their love for someone so differently.

“Don’t put too much pressure on her,” Maribel says and squeezes Santana’s hand from across the table lovingly, “You’re doing fine, mija.”

Hector frowns at his wife, “Fine isn’t enough. You think any of these Ivy League schools care about fine? Of course not. They’re going through thousands of applicants a year and fine doesn’t stand out. Fine doesn’t get into Harvard.”

Maribel narrows her eyes at his rambling.

“Don’t give me that look,” Hector huffs but his voice softens as he looks to Santana, “You know what I’m talking about.”

Santana can already guess what he’s about to say. She’s heard it so many times before.

“You can’t get complacent, Santana. You have a lot to make up for,” Hector adds just as Santana knew he would, “Especially after the year you’ve had.”

“That’s an understatement,” Santana mumbles as she pushes food around on her plate.

“What was that?” Hector raises a challenging brow.

“It’s nothing,” Santana dismisses and smiles reassuringly at her dad, “I’m on top of everything this year, Papi. I promise, you don’t have to worry. I won’t disappoint you.”

When Hector matches her smile, Santana feels a little relief even if it only lasts for a moment.

It isn’t until they’re nearing the end of the third week of school when things on the Brittany-front begin to shift for Santana. They still aren’t speaking to each other, but the blonde practically pops up everywhere she goes – if not physically, then someone’s bound to be talking about her.

After securing a second win for the Titans, Brittany has quickly climbed the ranks on the popularity ladder. The buzz around her grows, but what’s odd is that despite her obvious talents and annoyingly charming smile the students of McKinley have mixed feelings about her.

More importantly, about having a female quarterback.

On her walks to class, Santana has overheard the murmurs of doubt in Brittany’s abilities. Some are frustrated at how a new kid was able to dethrone Finn Hudson who has been leading the team all of her high school career. Some think Coach Beiste is getting soft. Some think it’s all a hoax, but Santana doesn’t really understand that one.

Regardless of how they feel about her though, Brittany’s still able to part crowds any time she walks down the hall. It doesn’t look like she pays them any mind, but Santana’s been wrong about her before.

But with popularity comes the irritating gossip mongers and Santana happens to overhear Brittany’s first encounter with McKinley’s most annoying: Jacob Ben Israel.

\\\\\

Between her morning runs, class, football practice, weight training, homework and helping out with Pete, Brittany’s having a hard time finding a moment to relax. She should be use to the hectic schedule by now, but making the change from her old school’s system to Lima’s is throwing her off a little. The school days start earlier, football practices run later and the work is a little harder than she use to.

Then there’s everything going on with Santana and that might be the most frustrating.

For nearly two weeks, they’ve kept this thing between them going. Did Brittany overreact by saying what she said? She doesn’t think so. Maybe Santana didn’t think what she said to her was a big deal, but to Brittany it was. The things people say to her in Lima aren’t anything knew, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune to their sting.

Most times, she’s able to ignore them but it just hits differently when she hears the utter disbelief coming from a fellow female. It’s like, whatever happened to empowering and uplifting each other? Did Santana not grow up listening to the Spice Girls? Has she never watched She’s the Man? Bend it like Beckham? A League of their own?

It’s so irritating because she can’t even ask Santana, the girl avoids her like the plague! The only time they’re ever close enough is in English class and that’s only because they have to share a table.

Brittany’s tired and achy and she’s so wrapped up in her thoughts as shuffles through her locker for her textbook for next class that she doesn’t notice she is no longer alone.

“Brittany Pierce!” Brittany hears someone say and the sound makes her flinch, “You’ve become quite the celebrity.”

She leans back slowly and peeks around her locker door to find a rather dorky looking guy with a huge cloud of hair. She notices the mic in his hand next and is instantly confused.

Is she on tv?

“Who are you?” She asks and glances around unsurely for a camera.

“Jacob Ben Israel,” He says and holds out his hand for her to shake, “Some call me JBI for short. I’m McKinley’s #1 source for news and the hottest gossip.”

Brittany shakes his hand; it’s grossly warm and sweaty as hell but she’s not surprised judging by the look of him. He certainty isn’t dressed like a journalist or one of those news reporters she has seen on tv.

She can hear her dad’s voice in her head chastising her for judging a book by its cover so she gives JBI a polite smile, “Oh okay. Nice to meet you.”

She goes to turn back to her locker, but JBI is quick to start the questions.

“So you’re the first female QB here at McKinley High. You’re new to the school and you’re the first to ever bench Finn Hudson and you’ve already led the Titans to their second victory this year. Hoping for a third this Friday?” JBI pauses and holds out the mic for Brittany.

She clears her throat, she’s not sure where the camera is so she just looks at him, “Of course. There are a lot of really great players on the team and I’m confident we can win a lot more games this season.”

“Awesome,” JBI replies enthusiastically, “A winning streak isn’t something a lot of the students here have experienced. You’re off to a great start this year. You’re bound to be nominated for Homecoming Court!”

Brittany almost laughs at that.

She’s been nominated at her old school before – even won a couple times – but that’s because she was voted for by her peers, peers who have known her for years. She doesn’t expect any nomination this year, the only reason anyone knows her is because she plays football. If she were to be nominated, it wouldn’t be because she’s well-liked or something like that. It would be because she sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sounds cool,” Brittany replies despite disagreeing with him.

“So tell us,” JBI’s voice takes a dip. It’s sneaky, almost mischievous, “Would you rather be crowned the King or the Queen?”

Brittany’s stomach flips. She doesn’t like this interview thing anymore.

“What?” She asks because the question confuses her but she finds him wearing this sly grin like he’s just found her weak spot.

He hasn’t, but Brittany’s guard instantly goes up.

“Don’t be shy,” He coaxes with the wag of his brow, “You know what I’m talking about. You’re a female QB, no way you’re strai – “

“Hey!” Suddenly Santana’s there, of all people, and there’s fury in her eyes as she shoves JBI’s mic to his chest, “Fuck off.”

Brittany blinks like she’s caught in a daydream. Her eyes shift from Santana to JBI whose grin widens upon seeing the Co-Captain.

“Now this is a pairing I’m sure everyone would love to see,” He says as he talks into the mic again like nothing’s happened, like Santana isn’t about to beat him over the head with it. He looks to the camera – the kid’s been lingering over Brittany’s right shoulder thus far – and says, “It’s the infamous Santana Lopez, gracing us with her presence.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “I’m not gracing you with shit. Your little show sucks.”

“That’s not what my viewer count says. I’m sure you remember,” JBI quips as he turns back to the pair, “So Brittany, you didn’t answer the question.”

Brittany feels like a deer caught in the headlights; she can’t even remember what the question was, but thankfully Santana interrupts again.

“I said beat it, loser, before I shove that camera so far up your dumb ass you’ll be spitting out polaroids,” Santana snaps.

To Brittany’s surprise though, JBI doesn’t move right away.

“That doesn’t make sense, we’re not even using that kind of cam – “

Santana grits her jaw and takes a threatening step forward. Her voice dips low and gravely, “Try me, Jewfro. Please. I’ve been itching to kick you square in the nuts.”

That threat has JBI reaching to protect his crotch before he turns and runs down the hall with his camera-friend following him.

Brittany watches Santana smirk like she’s so proud of herself for being able to instill the fear of God in someone before she’s averting her gaze. When her stormy brown eyes land on Brittany, the blonde feels a cold chill.

The smirk’s gone and in it’s place is a familiar scowl. Brick by brick, her wall goes up.

“I know you’re new here, Pierce, so a little word of advice,” Santana warns as she turns to the lockers, “Don’t talk to him. He’s a wannabe journalist that reports nothing but bullshit. He’ll twist your words if you let him, trust me. I’ve seen it happen many times and I don’t want you to get caught up in his shit.”

Brittany’s at a loss for words.

Santana hasn’t spoken to her all this time and now all of sudden this? Why would it matter to Santana what she did or said or who she spoke to? Why would she care, she doesn’t even know Brittany?

There’s so many questions beginning to swarm her, but none make it out of her head.

“Thanks,” Is the only word Brittany ends up saying around a shy grin.

There’s a hint of smile on Santana’s lips when their eyes catch for a quick second, but it disappears just as fast.

“It’s whatever,” She says and Brittany hears a locker door slam, “I’ll see you in class.”

It isn’t until Santana’s halfway down the hall that Brittany finally realizes that their lockers are right next to each other’s. She can do nothing but laugh at the small coincidence.

The second time Santana speaks to her, it’s because Brittany accidentally scared the crap out of her.

It’s Thursday now – the last day of practice before the Week 3 game – so Brittany wants to get a jump on warm-ups. She knows there’s a thirty minute buffer between Cheerios and Titans practice, but she has to account for the extra time it takes to pick up her gear from Coach Beiste’s office first since everything’s stored in the boys’ locker room.

Usually, she gets the whole room to herself and plays a little music from her phone to get amped up. This time though, there’s one Cheerio that’s already there and this particular Cheerio surprisingly has a beautiful singing voice.

Brittany feels like she’s being lured in by one of those sirens she has read about in Greek mythology. She thinks she should probably make her presence known because creeping around a locker room is kind of weird, but she’s so in awe of the girl’s voice.

More importantly, the owner of that voice.

“Jesus!” Santana gasps when she rounds the corner to find Brittany lingering by the hampers. Her hand flies to chest to steady her beating heart, “What the hell are you doing, Pierce? Trying to give a girl a heart attack?”

Brittany thanks the heavens when she finds that Santana’s fully clothed already.

“I’m sorry!” Brittany blushes, “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

Santana just shakes her head before eyeing Brittany again. There’s a flash of concern when Santana says, “You look like shit, worse than yesterday when I saw you with JBI.”

Brittany’s not sure how to take that. She hasn’t been sleeping well, that’s for sure, but it worries her that her tiredness is beginning to show. At least, that’s what she hopes Santana is talking about.

“I’ve been super busy lately. Guess I’m just ready for the weekend,” She says instead as she fumbles with the shoulder pads in her hands, “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“Interrupting me?”

“Yeah, you were singing. It sounded really pretty.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Santana brushes off before crossing her arms over her chest, “Why are you in here so early? Doesn’t your practice start at 4?”

“Why are you in here so late?” Brittany challenges, “Didn’t your practice start at 3:30?”

Santana cocks her head to the side, “I had to talk to Ms. Pillsbury about something.”

“Who?”

“She’s the guidance counselor. You’ll probably meet her soon, she’s on all the Seniors about their college application due dates. Figures, she’d want to start off with me.”

Brittany wants to know more. Afterall, she’s naturally curious when it comes to getting to know new people so the questions build but she doesn’t voice any of them. Not that Santana would give her any answers anyway.

Santana’s looking at all the gear Brittany’s toting along with her duffle bag and her brows furrow, “Did you carry all of that here?”

Brittany looks down at her gear and nods.

“Why?” Santana scrunches her nose, “Don’t you have a locker or something?”

Brittany shakes her head, “I was never given one. Coach Beiste said Coach Sylvester is meant to assign one to me, but I guess she’s been busy.”

“Doubt it. She hates Coach Beiste so in turn, she hates you.”

Brittany frowns; what’d she do?

“She’s probably just giving you a hard time because you’re a Titan instead of a Cheerio,” Santana answers then walks off. She goes to grab the clipboard that hangs above the hampers, dangling from it is a key, “I can assign you one, it’s part of my Co-Captain privileges. This side is reserved for the squad, obviously, but the set by the showers are all free. You can leave your football stuff there too, doubt anyone in here is going to want to steal it.”

Brittany’s taken aback by Santana’s random act of kindness for a second time that week. She let’s her smile shine, “Thanks. It really helps having everyting in one place. I don’t have to waste so much time walking back and forth.”

Santana nods and there’s that hint of a smile again before she’s leading the way over to the section of lockers that’s now become Brittany’s.

“Top or bottom?” Santana asks as she scans the list attached to the clipboard. Brittany smirks and notices the moment Santana realizes what she has said, “As in locker preference.”

“Duh,” Brittany jokes with a straight face, “What else would you mean?”

Santana’s face is flushed now and Brittany tries her hardest not to laugh. She’s kind of cute when she’s flustered like that.

“I’ll put you down for top,” Santana answers stiffly. Now her eyes are solely glued to the clipboard in her hands, “I guess I can unlock the bottom one too though so you can have the entire segment. You can – uh – decide which you want to use or whatever.”

“That works for me,” Brittany replies casually before she starts to undress.

Santana practically runs into a wall when she sees Brittany pull her top up over her head and let it drop onto her open duffle bag.

“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Santana calls over her shoulder as she scurries off.

Brittany watches the whole thing curiously. Has Santana never changed in front of other girls before or something? That’s the only explanation she comes to for how awkward she’s being.

Brittany doesn’t dwell on it, just continues getting dressed.

By the time Brittany’s got her practice gear on, Santana appears again. She looks a little shier than before and she’s fiddling with her hands.

Brittany just smiles and reaches down for her helmet, “You going now?”

“Yeah,” Santana answers, “Just trying to enjoy the last bit of A.C.”

“It’s not that hot out,” Brittany chuckles and motions to her pads, “At least you don’t have to wear all this.”

“True,” Santana smirks, “Now that would suck.”

Brittany chuckles again. She likes this version of Santana, she hopes she can see her more often but there’s still a giant pink elephant in the room so Brittany doesn’t get too excited.

“I’ll see you out there I guess,” Brittany says.

Santana nods and turns to leave, but then stops and turns back to face Brittany again.

“Actually, I just wanted to say,” Santana starts.

Brittany wonders if this is it. If she’s finally going to get an apology after what Santana said to her the other week, or at least the start of a conversation about her opinion? Anything would suffice by this point.

Brittany waits.

“I just wanted to say,” Santana repeats and her voice is so shaky. It’s completely unlike the confidence she possessed when she told off JBI, “Have a good practice.”

It’s not what Brittany was anticipating her to say – and judging by the uncertainty on Santana’s face, it wasn’t what she was anticipating to say either – but she’ll take it.

“Thanks,” Brittany grins as she walks by her to leave, “You too.”

By Friday night, Brittany’s feeling better than she has all week. Although they’ve yet to acknowledge Santana’s misjudgments, baby steps in the right direction have been taken.

Kind of.

First Santana defended her against JBI then on Thursday she assigned Brittany a locker and today? Today Santana brought her a drink from the Cheerios special lounge while Brittany was getting ready for the game.

“What is it?” Brittany asked hesitantly as she eyed the color of it. She’s sitting on the benches in the locker room completely dressed now in her uniform. All that’s left are the final touches like a quick dance party to get her pumped and applying a little Game Day eye make up.

“It’s a bunch of healthy stuff like fruits and veggies. All fresh so that explains the color, no preservatives. There’s some vitamin supplements in there too,” Santana explains like it’s all a bother.

Brittany’s beginning to see through that though.

“I don’t take drugs,” Brittany replies and tries to give the bottle back.

Santana rolls her eyes and there’s that hint of a smile again, “Does Vitamin D count as a drug? If so, then Puckerman is definitely on something stronger.”

Brittany frowns at the accusation, “Wait, seriously? The team can get in a lot of troub – “

“Easy, Pierce, I’m sure he’s just all-talk,” Santana amends, “I wouldn’t open an investigation on him or anything.” Then there’s a pause and for a second she looks a little shy as she motions to the bottle in Brittany’s hands. Her voice comes out softer, “Drink that. It’ll help with the tiredness and it’s good for your immune system too incase you’re about to come down with something.”

“You think I’m getting sick?” Brittany chuckles and turns back to apply thick black stripes to the apples of her cheeks.

Santana lifts a shoulder casually before standing, “You almost fell asleep in class today.”

Brittany blushes. Did she really? She’s so tired, she can’t even remember.

“What does that have to do with getting sick?” Brittany wonders.

“It’s almost that time of the year and bugs move quick,” Santana explains, “A lot quicker if you’re not taking care of yourself…for example, not getting enough sleep.”

That takes Brittany by surprise. Santana caring about her? Why? But despite the surprise, Brittany feels warm and fuzzy all over.

“Alright Doc, I’ll drink it,” Brittany jokes as she finishes up drawing on the left stripe. She turns to Santana as she twists off the lid and makes a show of taking a long drink.

Santana actually laughs this time before she shakes her head.

“I feel better already,” Brittany beams as she stands. They’re close now and it’s then that Brittany really notices the height difference, “Thanks for this. What do I owe you? Pressed juices like these probably cost an arm and a leg here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Santana dismisses and takes a step back to put some distance between them, “Just bring home another win.”

“You got it,” Brittany winks and goes to take another swig while she watches Santana leave the locker room.

Unfortunately, it’s a rocky start this time for the Titans. It’s not that Brittany isn’t playing at her best because she always brings 110% to the field no matter how she’s feeling. It’s actually her teammates who aren’t as focused as she is for some reason. There’s still a lot of work to be done when it comes to being a cohesive unit, but today they’ve really taken a step back.

They’re down by 17 points when the half is called.

“Alright, what’s going on out there?” Coach Beiste questions. She’s fuming as she eyes everyone for an answer, “What I’m seeing is that Pierce is the only one here that’s come to play.”

Karofsky scoffs and folds up his arms, “I’m so over hearing about her!”

“Me too!” Azimio chimes in, “First we let in Hummel and now her? What’s next? She gonna join the Puck Heads in the off season and change the game for them too? The rest of us are chopped liver now. It’s not good for my reputation!”

“Your reputation? You were a loser just like the rest of us before Brittany came,” Mike replies but the two don’t take kindly to being called a loser and start shoving at him.

“Cut it out!” Sam tries to breaking it up.

Brittany looks over at them and grimaces. Dave and Azimio both have been a pain in her ass since she’s joined the team, but she thought they were past this by now? They’ve got a winning record, they’re actually improving on being a better team, so what’s the issue all of a sudden?

Coach Beiste shakes her head at them, “Give me a break! One person doesn’t win games. You don’t have to like Pierce but you’re going to give her your respect if you want to play on my field. It’s as simple as that. You work together, you listen and respect each other. That’s what it means to be a team, is it not?”

Brittany eyes her teammates. Aside from the select handful that actually like her, the guys look at her like she’s the enemy. It makes Brittany feel really unsettled.

“Is it not?” Coach Beiste presses.

There are mumbles amongst the squad but it’s not enough for Coach Beiste.

“Louder!”

“Yes, Coach!” They say in unison.

“Okay then, let’s starting acting like a team out there and win this game!” She says with the clap of her hands.

They’re in the fourth quarter now and the Titans have managed to make it a close game despite their rough start. Coach Beiste’s pep talk must’ve worked because the team is playing harder than the first half, but Brittany still senses the undertones of resentment.

She packs it away for now and just focuses on making plays. Afterall, she’s meant to be winning this one for Santana. Well not for Santana; it’s more like paying her back for the drink earlier.

Brittany nods resolutely and looks to the sidelines to see the Co-Captain shaking her pompoms. She does a high kick and yells out a cheer in time with the others, but the smile she’s wearing is what catches Brittany’s eye.

She shakes her head and focuses on the snap.

“Down!” Brittany calls out. She catches the other team’s Line Backer’s movement from the corner of her eye. The defense looks hungry, but so are they. She smirks and braces herself, “Hut!”

The ball is snapped and Brittany quickly hands it off to Puckerman. So far their run game has been pretty weak tonight, but Puckerman surprises everyone and kicks into gear. He plows through the defense at full speed, breaking tackle after tackle, until he crosses over for a first down and steps out of bounds.

He spikes down the ball and makes a sawing motion with his arm while the crowd goes wild. Matt runs up to congratulate him with a hard pat on the back.

“Yes!” Brittany jumps up and down as she cheers.

Over on the sidelines, the Cheerios are just as excited as they chant:

“First and ten, first and ten! First and ten, let’s do it again!”

Brittany sees Santana watching her with a huge grin and it makes her feel warm all over again. She knows it’s silly to think that Santana’s cheers are just for her – same goes for that smile – but she can’t help but dream.

Yeah, she’s decided. She’s really going to win this game just for her.

Brittany quickly runs up to their new line of scrimmage and everyone starts to take their position. She smacks Puckerman on the back when he jogs up next to her to get in formation.

“Nice carry, Puckerman!” She compliments.

“Sawed right through them!” Puckerman shouted excitedly back.

“Let’s keep up that energy,” Brittany praised and called out another play. They were in field goal range now, but like always – Brittany wasn’t here to play it safe especially with the new set of downs.

This time she wanted to try another play-action route since it worked pretty well in the pre-season game. Mike and Sam have proved to her that they have great hands, but they needed to work on their speed and timing. Now was a perfect time to test that. With Puckerman on a roll, the defense was sure to up their coverage on him rather than the receivers which would work perfectly in Brittany’s favor.

“Blue 82!” Brittany repeats and looks to her sides for confirmation that they’ve picked up the slight change.

Mike and Sam give her the barest nod before they’re glaring at their defenders. Brittany kicks up her foot and Mike quickly changes position so that he’s next to Sam now on the right side of the field.

“Blue 82!” Brittany calls out again and readies herself for the snap, “Down…Hut!”

The ball is hiked and she fakes the hand off to Puckerman so smoothly that the defense follows after him just as planned. While they chase him down to the left side of the field, Mike and Same cut up the right. Brittany holds onto the ball longer than she likes, making sure she gives her receivers enough time to breakaway from their defenders.

The other team’s Line Backer is trying his hardest to break through her O-Line though. Thankfully, Matt ends up making a key block for Mike and Brittany’s able to step up in the pocket and fire down a quick pass. It’s a little lower than Brittany wanted, but Mike makes the catch and pushes past a defender for another first down!

Everyone went wild, but the play clock was still going since Mike hadn’t made it out of bounds.

Brittany motioned for everyone to hurry into position – this time she was going for a slant route with Matt being the intended receiver. She kept her eye on the seconds ticking away, but the team was able to make it in time to get set.

“OG 30!” She called out. She was really starting to feel that adrenaline kick in but she kept her cool and held out her hands, “Down…Hut!”

Again, Brittany caught the ball and dropped back as everyone began to move. Despite the grumpiness during half time, the guys that made up her O-Line – mostly Dave and Azimio – did their jobs correctly and held the line. Brittany looked to her right and faked a throw before turning to her left and firing at Matt.

He juggled the ball in the air, but ultimately was able to secure possession of it and ran up the side of the field for an easy touchdown!

“Let’s go!” Brittany pumped her fist in the air. That was their best drive all game and now with the new points on the board, they’re finally up by 6! With just a little over ten minutes left in the final quarter, Brittany’s feeling good about their odds in coming away with another win.

She was right to feel confident; Titans end up winning the game 27 – 21. When the final whistle was blown, everyone was cheering and some of her teammates rushed to congratulate her efforts. She happily returned the sentiments, but she couldn’t help but glance over at the sidelines to see if Santana was watching her again too.

And she was, alongside Quinn and the rest of the Cheerios.

Brittany just grinned as she pulled off her helmet and let down her hair, happy that she was able to make good on her promise to Santana.

Despite how great she felt after Friday’s win, Monday morning was a different story.

Everything hurts and she was so exhausted that she didn’t even go for her usual morning run which is telling because she’s one of those rare people that actually works well with routine exercising. She guesses all those late nights studying combined with her patchy sleep schedule have finally taken its toll on her body.

She thinks back to what Santana said Friday about getting enough rest. God, she hopes she isn’t coming down with anything. Getting sick is just not what she needs right now.

“Hey mom?” Brittany taps on Whitney’s bedroom door. The curtains are already drawn and welcome in the morning sun so she knows her mom’s awake already. Whitney appears in the doorway of the master bath in her work uniform and instantly looks worried.

“You feeling okay, kiddo?” She asks as she crosses the room to press at Brittany’s forehead.

“I don’t think I’m sick, but I feel horrible,” Brittany explains.

“Yeah, you don’t have a fever. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Whitney asks.

Brittany shakes her head. Whitney eyes her with concern.

“It’s not the dreams again, is it?”

Brittany shakes her head again, “No. I haven’t had one since the last time I told you. I think I’m just worn out.”

“You’re a busy girl,” Whitney nods.

“Is it okay if I stay home today?” Brittany asks hesitantly, “It’s the only day of the week that I don’t really need to be at practice. I think I can access most of my schoolwork online so – “

“It’s okay, Britt. Just rest today,” Whitney says, “Missing a day isn’t going to break you and I know you’ll catch up when you’re feeling better.”

Brittany fills with relief and gives her mom a weak smile. She’s so happy that Whitney’s so understanding, but she guesses that’s come from experience with everything that happened at the beginning of the year with her dad’s passing. Many mental health days were taken, but Whitney never made her feel bad for it. If anything, she always encouraged them.

“Thanks mom,” Brittany says before taking herself back to bed. She’s able to fall asleep fast for once and she doesn’t wake again until she has to use the bathroom.

When she wakes up the third time, it’s just after three. She sees a text from her mom saying that Gran has Pete and she’ll pick him up once she gets off of work so that Brittany can continue resting.

She smiles and sends a text back to thank her before getting up. After a quick snack and a big glass of OJ, Brittany heads to the couch for another nap.

This time, sleep doesn’t find her as easily as it did the other times so she turns on the tv and tries to find something to watch. She decides to put on something she considers boring in hopes that maybe it’ll bore her right to sleep.

Miraculously, her plan works and she settles in for another nap.

An hour or so goes by when Brittany begins to stir because Pete’s trying to squeeze onto the couch next to her. His cold feel touch her bare ankles beneath her blanket and she flinches at the feel.

“Honey, what did I say in the car?” Whitney whispers, “Let your sister rest.”

“I am,” Pete pouts, “I just wanted to sit with her.”

“How about you come help me with – “

“It’s okay, mom,” Brittany pushes to sit up. Pete instantly beams at her, “I’ve slept enough I think.”

“Feeling better?” Whitney asks and brushes her hand over Brittany’s wild hair.

She nods and does a little stretch, “Much better.”

“Good to hear,” Whitney says and bends down to press kisses to Brittany and Pete’s head, “I’m going to make dinner then. Just leftovers so it shouldn’t take long.”

When she heads off for the kitchen, Pete snuggles in closer to Brittany.

“Did you get to watch cartoons all day?” He asks curiously.

Brittany shakes her head, “Nope, but I did take many naps.”

“Nice!”

“Totally.”

Brittany and Pete are watching tv together a moment later when Brittany hears a knock at the front door. Pete jumps up at the sound and rushes to see who it is.

“Don’t open that door, Peter!” Whitney calls out from the kitchen, “Let your sister get it.”

Pete pouts and hangs back as Brittany moves to get up. She chuckles and ruffles up his hair as she passes by. When Brittany takes a peek, she’s shocked by what she sees and quickly opens the door.

“Santana?” Brittany greets. She’s both confused and pleasantly surprised.

“Who are you?” Pete asks curiously with his head tilted up at the Co-Captain.

“Hi,” Santana smiles kind of nervously as she glances between the two. She’s dressed in her Cheerios warm-up gear – she must’ve just finished practice – and has her binder tucked under her arm.

“Uh…I’m Santana,” She answers softly, “And you are?”

“I’m Peter!” Brittany’s brother holds out his hand to shake, “Everyone calls me Pete though, so you can too if you want.”

Santana quirks a brow at him but smiles as she shakes his hand anyway, “Nice to meet you, Pete.”

“Pete, can you go help mom?” Brittany instructs. She waits until he’s run off then asks Santana out of disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in class today,” She says.

“Yeah…I didn’t feel well.”

“Didn’t I say you were going to get sick?” Santana smirks.

“I’m not sick,” Brittany sighs, “I was just tired.”

“Right,” Santana keeps the smirk and motions to her binder, “Well, I brought you the work you missed. It’s kind of important for the paper due in a few weeks.”

Brittany just blinks. Maybe she’s still asleep and this is all a dream?

“Here,” Santana offers and goes to flip through her binder for a couple handouts to give to Brittany.

The blonde accepts them although she’s still trying to grasp the fact that Santana’s standing on her doorstep, “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Santana nods and it looks like she’s about to turn away.

“Wait. How’d you know where I lived?” Brittany quickly asks before she can run off.

“Mike told me,” Santana shrugs, “Actually, Mike told Quinn and Quinn told me. Apparently you two are neighbors?”

“Yeah, he likes to tell everyone that,” Brittany chuckles before she gets a sudden burst of confidence and asks, “Did you…want to come in?”

“Uhhh,” Santana looks unsure but then she gives Brittany a small smile, “Okay.”

Brittany opens the door a little wider and leads Santana into the living room. She pushes the blanket she brought down from her room to the side so they can both sit on the couch. Brittany starts to flip through the packet Santana gave her and she’s already dreading the assignment.

“Woah,” Brittany gasps, “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “I can help you with it though if you want? Miss Holliday said we can work in groups if we wanted, but we’ll be graded individually.”

Brittany blinks blankly again, “Huh, that’s funny.”

“What?”

Brittany just shakes her head and shrugs, “Just the other week you were insulting me then you stopped talking to me for awhile and now you’re being super helpful. I just can’t get a read on you.”

Brittany wasn’t trying to make Santana feel cornered, she just wanted to open up the conversation. She was over ignoring the obvious, so she went straight for the kill and brought it up head on.

Santana’s shoulders dropped, “Look, I’m…I’m really sorry about that. I was so out of line.”

“Yeah, you really were,” Brittany replies but she isn’t trying to rile Santana up by being argumentative, “You know how many times I’ve heard something similar over the years? Ever since I started playing sports it’s always been: you run like a girl, you throw like a girl, you’re pretty good…for a girl.”

Santana looks apologetically at Brittany and goes to fiddle with her hands in her lap. Brittany notes the familiar motion and decides its something she does when she’s nervous.

Brittany adds, “Like being a girl that plays sports is somehow less than, like it’s a bad thing. I’ve never understood it. I’m just as good as they are.”

Santana shakes her head, “No. I’ve seen you play. You’re so much better.”

“Thanks,” Brittany chuckles weakly, “You know, when I first started I wasn't trying to make some big statement. I didn't want the pressure of being the first female whatever, I just wanted to play. And my family, they've always been super supportive no matter the sport, especially my dad.”

Brittany feels the lump in her throat slowly start to form at his mention and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“He use to come to every game. But people are so stuck on how I've disrupted their precious norms and it makes things harder than they need to be. No matter where I go, the people will either love me or hate me for this. It's crazy. I'm just a girl who loves playing football, why's that so odd?”

“It’s not,” Santana reasons, “You’re a good different, a kind of different a place like this needs.”

Brittany smiles fondly at Santana’s kind words, “Then why did you say what you did?”

Santana pauses for awhile trying to find the right words but in the end she just shakes her head and sighs, “Probably because I’m a bitch?”

Brittany flinches, she doesn’t think that’s the case.

“You’re just…you’re not what I imagined. I thought football players were rough and you’re not like that at all. You’re soft, delicate. You treat with kindness.”

“So does Kurt,” Brittany offers kindly, “And Mike, Sam too.”

“You know what I mean,” Santana replies.

“Yeah, I do. It’s called a stereotype,” Brittany smirks, “Football players happen to come in all shapes and sizes though. Some are soft and delicate like you say I am and some aren’t, but out on the field we’re all the same. We’re one team.”

Santana nods, “I’m sorry about what I said. You have every right to be on that field, same as the guys. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I guess I’m still trying to adjust too. It’s not really something you see here…”

“I accept your apology,” Brittany grins.

Santana lets out a deep sigh, “This town can be so old school sometimes and it sucks how there are younger generations out here that don’t know any different. They don’t see how wrong it is to have such a shit mentality. I guess I forgot what progression looks like until you came.”

Brittany knows Santana’s being genuine now and it makes the wait for this conversation worth it. She goes to joke, “Well it’s a learning process. Now you know for the next time you come across someone who doesn’t fit the status quo.”

“Yeah,” Santana matches Brittany’s grin, “I really do.”

“Well hello,” Whitney greets as she enters the living room. She glances between Brittany and Santana as Santana rises to her feet. She stands up straight and proper, “You going to introduce me to your friend, Britt?”

Brittany gulps at the label. She doesn’t know if she’d call Santana a friend just yet.

“This is my mom Whitney. Mom, this is Santana,” Brittany says while Santana gives a polite smile, “We have class together. She was just bringing me some work I missed today.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Whitney compliments Santana.

“It was nothing,” Santana replied and glanced to Brittany, “I tried to warn her about the risks of over-doing it. I can’t imagine having a schedule like hers.”

Brittany’s brow rises at the overly polite tone. Who knew Santana was a little suck up when it came to parents. She smirks as she watches it unfold.

“Stubbornness, she gets that from her dad’s side,” Whitney jokes, “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re just having leftovers but there’s plenty to go around.”

“Lasagna!” Pete cheers as he runs in from the kitchen.

Santana chuckles but shakes her head, “Thank you, but I should probably get home before my mom starts to worry.”

Whitney nods, “Of course. Well, it was lovely meeting you. Come on Petey, let’s make our plates.”

When they both wander off, Brittany’s again standing alone with Santana in the living room.

“So you’re a kiss-ass,” Brittany jokes, “Never would’ve guessed it.”

Santana rolls her eyes despite smiling, “I have a thing with parents. They love me, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Brittany giggles, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you’re secretly kind. Wouldn’t want to ruin your rep.”

“I appreciate it,” Santana quips playfully before gathering her things, “Well, I really should head off before my mom starts blowing up my phone.”

“Cool,” Brittany nods and leads the way over to the front door to walk Santana out, “Well. Thanks again for bringing over the work I missed.”

“No biggie,” Santana waved off as she turned to leave, “Glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Brittany waved and watched Santana make her way over to her little red Mazda with a pleased smile.

Maybe they weren’t exactly friends yet, but compared to the downward spiral they’ve been experiencing…they weren’t enemies either.

And in football terms, that’s called forward progress.

#Lost in the Lights #Brittana #Brittana fanfiction #QB!Britt

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selfhelpskillss · 3 years

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How To Get Him To Commit And Want You For Everyday Of His Life?

Commitment is the most reliable promise ever. When someone wants a commitment with you, he is saying that he will love you forever.

Unluckily, some modern people show little interest in the commitment. To them, it is an obligation. If your man stays among these people, you can easily realize it.

But, there are still ways for the matter. How to get him to commit? This article will share with you some useful tips and the reasons why they can work.

Let’s read on and be ready to build a commitment with your man!

How To Get Him To Commit?

1. No pressure

If you are asking how to make him commit without pressure, the first thing to do is place no pressure on him. Instead of serious conversations, show him your interest in his opinion on commitment.

Encourage him to tell you how he truly feels. Even if you disagree with his ideas, don’t be defensive. This gives him a sense of comfort towards you. And, he will believe that you value his opinions.

No pressure in the talk

2. Give him some time and space

Offer him space and time to show him that you aren’t really needy or clinging.

Many men, especially the successful ones, have difficulty splitting their time for a woman who is constantly nagging them into a commitment. This is how to get a man to commit.

3. Stay by his side

This is another solution for how to make him commit. Just be there with him any time he needs. Let him think that he can lean on you.

Emotional support is always what a man looks for in his woman.

If he knows he can rely on you in those crucial situations, he will not rush to abandon you. This is because you are irreplaceable to him.

Stay by his side

4. Understand his mind

Before winning a man’s heart, you have to know what is on his mind. However, this quiz is not easy to solve.

For the solution, you can try “His Secret Obsession Review”(https://selfhelpskills.net/his-secret-obsession-review/). The book will show you how to make him chase you and commit.(https://selfhelpskills.net/how-to-make-him-chase-you/)

This book contains scientifically validated information on how to comprehend a man. It depicts how a lady may attract and occupy a man’s mind at the same time.

You’re not going to give up on a relationship that turns out to be pointless. All of the issues are plainly stated. Your boyfriend will be unable to ignore you if you follow the procedures in a logical manner.

“His Secret Obsession” let you read your man’s mind

5. Meet his family

This is one of the first stages in commitment. It should take place after a few months of dating.

To avoid pressure, bring it up gently during a discussion when he is talking about his family. If he says he’ll take you to visit them soon, don’t ask him for the exact time.

If you receive the same reaction all the time, you might need a clear answer. If he declines, he is not ready for you to enter his life.

6. Befriend with his friends

Getting along with his friends is one of the most crucial aspects of a relationship. If you can pull it off, they will be less likely to judge your relationship with negative comments.

Stopping him from meeting his buddies is never a smart option. If you may not like one or more of his friends, don’t allow it to build a gap between you and your partner. Everything gets worse if you criticize them or cause drama with them.

When you can live in harmony with his family and friends, it will be a lot simpler for him to imagine his future with you.

Befriend with his friends

7. Avoid jealousy

Don’t think that jealousy is the answer for how to get a guy to commit. It appears to be the worst approach ever.

Making your man jealous will result in a lot of crying, fights, and your boyfriend leaving. Men prefer women who are fully devoted to them.

So, don’t flirt with acquaintances or outsiders. You should limit mentioning your ex unless your man asks you about him.

8. Be attractive

Being beautiful isn’t only about how you appear from the outside. It’s also about how you are on the inside. Men like women who are self-sufficient and confident.

You deserve a guy who misses you when you are not around. Picturing a future with you seems easier because there is always a beautiful woman waiting for him at home. This is about how to make him miss you and commit.

9. Experience fun things together

There must always be common things for you two to share and do together. This is for a healthy and ideal relationship.

If you’ve been hanging out and want the man to miss you and commit, you’ll have to do more than the normal everyday activities.

You have to seek out opportunities to make memories that will enrich your life. Trying some extreme activities or exciting sports can be great options.

When a man spends a good time with you, he will be less afraid of commitment.

Experience interesting things with him

10. Make him feel that he is special

Show your gratitude for anything he accomplishes, such as the dinners he prepares, or job advancement. You may invite him out to eat or to a football game.

Simple actions like listening to him and not questioning too much can also make him feel special.

Why is this important? Well, men like women who often appreciate them. In the future, these simple appreciations can help to cement your relationship.

11. Be a romantic partner

Don’t try to be romantic to impress him. Just do it naturally instead.

Be intimate with him in your own special manner. Demonstrate how sincere your love and devotion are for him.

Nothing in a relationship is more enjoyable than a romantic partner.

If you have no idea about being romantic, just show him your concern. Care for him with all your heart. And, he can feel the romance.

12. Be yourself

This must be the best answer for how to make a guy commit. You cannot be someone else for your entire life. If you do not like football, do not pretend to like it to please your boyfriend.

You want him to build a commitment with you, not with the person he believes you are.

Be yourself – The ultimate rule

Conclusion

There are tons of methods to answer the question of how to get him to commit. The result depends on your man and how you deal with the situation.

Commitment is not a word. It needs action. If you stay still, nothing can happen. Men are not afraid of commitment. They just don’t want to end up with the wrong person. If you are his missing piece, make him believe that!

Selfhelpskills hope that a commitment will become an important mark in your relationship soon. Thank you for reading!

Credit by: https://selfhelpskills.net/how-to-get-him-to-commit/

#selfhelpskills selfhelpmarriage selfhelpbook selfhelpbooks selfhelpdating

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eazirel · 3 years

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Since it’s pride month, I wrote something about my life as an effeminate man in Nigeria.

One thing Africa, to narrow the milieu, Nigeria is good at is upholding customs even though they clearly are backwards, distasteful, not toeing in line with good conscience, nor an aid to the development of its state. One moment it is discerning morality from its laws and the next using it as bases to its laws and still at that, giving mawkish backups as to what they feel morality is. And every passing day, I wonder how it quests to develop when its laws are backdated and the minds of its people thickly benighted.

Some time ago, I read a story of a very young boy who was tortured to death for being effeminate; He was killed for his love for cosmetics and make up. Amongst other things, his story entails the inhumanity of people who are fanatical and undampened towards their belief of things they do not understand.

Growing up, I was taught to be ashamed of being effeminate or associating with effeminate men, to make conscious efforts in being more manly, that being effeminate emasculates a man and it is not acceptable in the African society, as a matter of fact, that it is ungodlike and morally villainous.

People made it a responsibility to call me by the way I walk, ’boy girl, see as he dey waka like woman, you be man so? Which was not a bother in my early childhood, but not until my teenage years when people with unsolicited opinions not only identified me with being effeminate, but also asked my parents why it was so. My mother always had one particular defense, I don’t know how it came about but whenever she said it, it got them speechless and the most of them wrecking with superficial and ungenuine laughter on their faces .

‘He grew up amongst women, he never had much memory with men.’ This is something I heard year in and out. In fact, it became a defense my siblings used too when confronted about me at school and gradually, I began to see my effeminacy as a malnormal.

I made conscious efforts at altering my truest form. I began to walk as though I was to follow two imaginary parallel lines, I made sure I used less of my hands in talking, and I always tried to never get my legs too close to themselves. I dreaded glossing my lips for it might seem to appear too much to those who cared. Basically, I tried to adjust the things people were concerned about the most.

Although it was always a great relief when boys said I was gradually beginning to act like one, this in its totality was a problem. I spent the most of my time thinking and rehearsing how to be more masculine and appealing to people, which was worth far more than good grades to me. In a quest to be more manly, I prayed, fasted and waited on God for yet ungiven reasons.

The first thing I noticed in a man was how manly he was, and how I could trade all I had to at the very least to just walk as he does without having to rehearse how to. Certainly because, it was so depressing how my pairs counted me as female and all everybody did was laugh at it. I felt like a joke, nobody ever saw the problem with that, it never appeared to be derogatory or abusive. It was rather amusing, something that triggered laughter.

While at high school, about a year before my final year, the press club had a task of running school news at the school assembly every Wednesday morning. School news told students of their obligations, and keeps track on the goings on at the school. It also publicized and extoled students who did exceptional things. I had never made the school news so when I got an opportunity to, I worked very hard to getting in for the best. There was an inter class debate which held at the school and I was the first speak of my class. I read wide and made sure I came up with good arguments. I tested my speed, made sure I was articulate enough, and that my grammar was in check. My class emerged winner and I, the best speaker. I was so happy because had won and the principles comment about it was, ‘you have a mind of a reader’, which meant a whole lot, and because I was going to make it to the school news. On the Wednesday morning, the club’s correspondent who read out the school news spoke about the interclass debate which held and mentioned me as a sharer, and as though his audience needed further description of me, he added, “also known as the best male cat walker in the school”. I am an early bird who was always at the fore of the assembly ground and as soon as he said what he said, it became a parade of laughter, and from where I was standing, it was easy to point me out to anybody who never knew me before then. This kept on for weeks until the whole school had its fill.

This worked negatively on my esteem. It felt like the only place I was truly valued was in mind. Just because I was effeminate. I began to question my goals and tried hard to change what truly I wanted to be. I wanted to be a lawyer and a writer-it’s a good thing that I am both now- but for the fear of public opinion, I began to consider a profession that would have me relate with people less. And no sooner than necessary, my effeminacy was associated with weakness and the conventional impairing gender roles ascribed to women. For instance, a girl can come top of her class overly, and by test of I.Q, be much more probable to become successful in life, but not until she controverts the code, the Nigerian civilization will stand by its view on gender inequality. And this is almost so for effeminate men. In Nigerian thinking, effeminate men can only love girly things, “they can’t love football, they are natural born domestics, they are as good as women in colors, they make good event planners and make-up artist, they don’t seem to make good lawyers nor engineers, they aren’t sound enough to be politicians” and it goes on and on.

I wasn’t taken as a complete man, neither was I as a woman, it was as though I had a different category, ‘a man, but not a real one.’ And for this aggravated may quest to lock myself out to avoid defamatory confrontations from people.

People are fast at pinpointing flaws or what they think is, for the same reasons they see your worst side as the real you. There is always a comparison of whose sin is greater; looking down on other people, seeking to feel better about themselves, and at its peak, for the thought that their opinions matter in every circumstance, down to other people’s personal decisions.

Effeminate people suffer a great deal in Nigeria; ranging from Social and emotional violence, to abuse by security officers. i.e. the defunct anti-robbery squad (SARS). Before October 20th, 2020, an unforgettable day of the massacre of innocent and promising people of Nigeria at Lekki toll gate Lagos, Nigeria, just because they wanted to be heard, BBC Nigeria reported stories from effeminate Nigerian men who were detained and battered for being human. There was also another account of a man who lost his brother to the same governmental agency for being effeminate, and nobody notices this inhumanity.

A single paper cannot do justice to all the inhumanity effeminate men endure in Nigeria and I may not know enough about being effeminate, and probably never will. But one certain thing is, effeminacy is not a decision. It is not something one wakes up to make every morning. I mean, at this stage of my life, I love myself but for the sole fact that we are social beings, I would have changed every morning and maybe have my real self as an alter ego. And neither does effeminacy come from un-association with men or over-relationship with women. men are born men; masculine or effeminate. Effeminate men have the exact capabilities as other humans with same tendencies to succeed. Effeminate men are all shades of beauty, you just need a little bit of soul to see it.

©Johnson Israel2021.

#lgbtq #lgbtqiia+#lgbt discourse #lgbt rights #effeminate #effeminacy

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lovesouroboros · 3 years

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It’s Frightening to Meet The Person We Could Have Become

Tonight I met the girl who I am nearly capable of being. She arose from within me, she pushed me toward the flame. For a brief time, I was vengeful - angry, inspired with rage. There was a flicker, a moment in which I did not recognise myself.

Earlier tonight, I wanted to hurt someone. Not anybody - somebody specific. I wanted to make him feel pain, I wanted him to feel frightened. I wanted him to hurt the way he’d hurt others, the way he’d hurt someone I knew. I wanted him to be scared, the way that she was scared.

I thought it unfair that those who’ve been hurt have to cower while their abusers run free. While they drink at the neighbourhood bar, laughing with friends - the ones who’ve they’ve bruised sit alone, in another, hopefully safer place. The ones that they’ve bruised are still hiding, afraid.

I’d looked for him for a week before now. A few people knew to call me if he was spotted. Soon enough, there he was : on the corner, as if he’d never left. When the dust settles, the monsters crawl back beneath our bed frames. No one dares to stop them. I thought I would.

The call came - I prepared. There was a plan. There were pills crushed to powder, stashed in a tiny ziplock I’d nestled within my purse. I changed clothes - swapped my stained jeans for an expensive mini skirt, name brand. I wanted to look valuable, like someone worth breaking. I put makeup on for the first time in weeks - blush, lipstick, mascara. Looking in the mirror, I thought, “I am ready to kill this man.”

I laughed, but it did not feel like a joke.

I bring my puppy, Scar, to the bar. It’s counterintuitive and premeditated - there is an image to create. “Dainty Damsel totes Dime Sized Dog, falls Head over Heels for Dreamy Drug Dude.”

In reality, I don’t wear heels. It’s good - he’s not as tall as I’d imagined. The table next to him is free, and I feel him watch me when I sit down. I make a spectacle of myself, aided by the passerby patrons who try to chat me up. Not now, I’m on a mission. Today, I’m going to kill a man.

I thought he’d be more bold. I move around a lot, I give him something to comment on - drawing in a notebook, coloured pencils splayed about. I feel him watching me, but he does not speak. I “drop” an orange pencil on the ground and wait for him to return it. He does, but he does not inquire more - it is an act of good grace, no openers to follow.

An acquaintance from the neighbourhood enters - an older man, Jacob. I smile when I see him, and he joins Drug Dude and their friends. I did not know they were acquainted, and I am glad to discover the fact - it is to my advantage. I continue to play manic pixie dream date in the corner until Jacob goes inside to the bar. I wait a minute, then follow.

“Who is that boy you’re with?”

He smiles.

“It’s a long story. I’ll join you in a moment, I need a whiskey first.”

I am intrigued, returning to my table. It isn’t common knowledge, what’s happened between the boy and my friend. In fact, it is Top Secret Info. So what’s the story, too long to express without a drink?

When I sit down, I notice the boy is leaving. We make eye contact, but my courage fails me for a beat. What am I to say?

“Stay, so I can drug you!”

But that isn’t the plan at all. It has to be him first, I need him to hold an illusion of power. I let him leave.

Jacob joins me, now nursing his whiskey. He begins to tell me the story. This boy, he’s just come out of a horrible relationship. Truly violent. (So it is known, there was violence). More than being beautiful, he is kind, and intelligent. Jacob thinks there is a sadness within him. He tells me that the boy does too many drugs, but when he is not wasted, he is a wonderful soul.

Jacob is confident that I am shy, that I am tail between my legs nervous about winning over the Dreamy Druggie. He tells me that he think I’d be good for him, because I am kind, and I don’t drink, and maybe someone loving like me is exactly what DD needs in this moment. I swallow my saliva.

“In any case, he’s gone now. I was too nervous to say hello.”

“I know where he’s gone, I can give you the name of the bar.”

I pause, something strikes me. The feeling passes.

“Would you go with me? I don’t want to do it alone. You could introduce us.”

Jacob smiles again. He is drunk, and happy to play Cupid. I suspect that he is also happy that I’ve placed my trust in him - we were not friends before tonight. He throws back his whiskey.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

The bar isn’t far, about a 5 minute walk from the last one. Still, we have time to chat - and I let Jacob do the talking. He’s a photographer, and he tells me that he wants to take photos for DD’s portfolio. He tells me that DD doesn’t think he is beautiful enough to model - objectively, this is untrue. Apparently he’s told Jacob that his “teeth aren’t nice enough” to have photos taken. Jacob’s solution? Don’t smile.

The new bar is loud. From wall to pavement it is crowded with drunk and sweaty college students chanting in unison about the football match. “Karim! KARIM! KARIIIIM!!” To be there is to be exhausted.

My puppy is scared - she is either too young or too old for this nonsense. I tell Jacob I’ll wait outside, lighting a cigarette and projecting an air of disinterest. He returns quickly, DD in tow. Showtime begins. I am nervous once more.

“Asha, I’d like to present you to a friend of mine. This is Wren. Wren, this is-”

“Asha,” he finishes. My name sounds funny coming out of his mouth - heavier. His eyes are big, like mine. He holds my gaze, and for a moment - I think he knows what I’m up to. Then -

“Enchanté.”

“Enchantée, à toi aussi.”

Jacob is smooth, busying himself with someone beside him without looking like he’s fucking off to give me time to run game. Whether his smoothness is appreciated or not is unapparent, for Wren does not seem to notice his departure.

“Do you live in the neighbourhood?”

Already he is trying to trap me, pre-strangulation analysis. Does whether I’m local play a factor in where he’ll choose to hurt me?

“Two blocks from here, and you?”

I already know where he lives, but it’s nice to ask.

“A bit further, near the bar we were at before. Do you remember me?”

Freeze.

“Have we met?”

“We haven’t, but I’ve seen you many times. I thought maybe you’d have seen me, too.”

Narcissist.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

It’s a cheap line, but it works - he smiles.

“You have nice teeth.”

I’ve seen the bite marks they leave.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t drink, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like who I am when I drink.”

He pauses, studying my face. I don’t know where the words came from, they’re completely misaligned with my charade of innocence. Some part of me decided to offer its truth without consulting the rest, and I’m not sure which part of myself deserves a kick.

“I understand that. I don’t either, usually, but I’m not sure how to stop. It doesn’t make me feel better, but I already feel bad anyway.”

Now it’s my turn to pause. His words feel honest, and it disturbs me. My mother told me once that abusers will wear their vulnerability on their shirtsleeve, like a pin. This is how they keep the “poor me” narrative running, this is why we feel sorry for them rather than angry. I am in the process of reconstructing this knowledge into walls around me when he speaks again -

“What are you when you drink?”

What. Not who. What?

“Violent.”

“Yeah, me too. I don’t want to be, though. I want to be good for people.”

“Are you? Sometimes?”

He crouches down to sit crosslegged on the pavement. Immediately, Scar walks to join him, resting her head on his leg. Two against one, I join them on the ground.

“So?”

“I was thinking. It’s easier here. Yes, sometimes I am good for people. More often, some people are good for me. I try to learn from them, and it works sometimes.”

“What about when it doesn’t work?”

Wren winces, withdrawing his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He pulls out two, offering the first to me. I accept, and he lights them both before speaking again. I inhale.

“Sometimes I’m too angry for anything to work. Except the people I’m angry with, they’re not around anymore. So the people who’ve stuck by me, they get my rage. It’s fucking backwards. I’m fucking backwards.”

I look up to the sky. It is night, but the sky isn’t fully dark - it never is. Light pollution shifts the black to blue, adding in a reddish tint. There are no stars to be seen.

“Why are you telling me this? Is this how you usually flirt?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not flirting, I’m talking. Because I think you’ll understand me. You don’t need to flirt with people who understand you, there’s not a game to be played. Flirting is hiding. When I look at you, I see the same thing that I’m talking about in me. It’s in your eye, the left one : rage. But more than that, you are soft. I see you choosing to be soft. So I trust you, because for some people - it is not a choice. It is much more powerful to have the option to be wicked and choose not to be than to have been kindhearted all along. I am trying to choose that same power.”

“What stops you?”

“Exhaustion.”

I feel a sharp and sudden pain grip my chest, like a hornet sting to the heart. I reach my hand out without warning and grip his tightly.

I cannot explain what happens now, not properly. There are lights, flashes, a lifetime before me. My surroundings disappear. There is a chorus of memories that are not my own. I hear glass shattering and raised voices, I hear door slams. I taste blood in my mouth, my whole body aches. I feel drunk, distorted, disgusted, disgusting. There is a stained mattress, abandoned house, paint peeling. I feel myself making love to a woman, many women - my body is not my own, it is pale, it is Wren’s. I feel decades of tears rushing forward like a tsunami, pouring out of my eyes, filling up my mouth. I feel like I am being waterboarded with saline and screams, writhing and fighting to get out. Finally there is a climax, a tipping point - I manage to pull back, break free.

I am back on the street. Shaking, I look at my hands- they are my own once more. I look up to Wren and see his huge brown eyes, staring back at me. It occurs to me that I have just experienced every pain he’s ever suffered, and now I believe him to be deserving of love. It occurs to me that now, I think I may love him.

“Wren--”

He closes his eyes and places a hand up, stopping the rest of my words before they can meet the air. For a moment he is silent, pensive. Then, finally --

“Asha, did you come here to kill me?”

#tw: abuse #tw : domestic violence #creative writing #vigilante mode #nonfiction #creative nonfiction #essay #abuse #shadow work #magical realism #my writing #writing #writers of tumblr #short stories #short story #original writing #my fiction

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weraceasone · 3 years

Note

Elle, tell me why I have to be a Max Verstappen fan since I’m Dutch? So on Twitter someone asked to tell where you’re from and who your favorite and least favorite driver(s) is/are. So I said I was Dutch and I’m a big fan of Lewis, the Twitch guys, Daniel and Seb. My least favorite driver is Max. All of sudden a whole orange wave of Max Verstappen fans came to attack me:

“you just a fangirl” (this comment is getting very boring *yawn*).

“you’re picking a driver based on looks that’s racist” (weird comment very very weird)

“Max Verstappen is better than your faves” (not completely true, but who cares? My favorite driver does not have to be the best. I would still be happy with one of them finishing on p11 lmao)

So I posted quick a follow up tweet saying that “I think he is a impressive driver but he is just not my fave.”

I feel like here in the Netherlands we’re only focused on Max (I get it but come one he is not the only driver on the grid). If we as a country would be a team we would be Red Bull since some us only care about one driver (get it, lol). And Ziggo Sport isn’t helping either. After every race I’m trying my best to catch a glimpse of a driver other than Max 🙄. Oh and last thing: The men at Ziggo Sport must keep the same energy for Max as the other driver. When he spins it's okay, but when others do they are bad drivers... Come on men. Again this is no disrespect to Max he is AMAZING (I feel like I should say this everytime otherwise I will get attacked). But I’m just not a big fan of him.

I choose a driver based on personality (which is maybe not a great way to do since having a great personality does not automatically makes you a great driver). But me not being a fan of Max should not make people this mad lol. Most of these drivers do not even know us!

This turned into a whole rant. I’m sorry but it was just getting to me. But let me end on a positive not; I love your blog, the content and you personality. Een hele fijne dag gewenst! Ik weet niet hoe het weer bij jou is, maar hier in Zandvoort schijnt het zonnetje een beetje dus ik ga ff lekker genieten heurrr.

hey Anon!

patriotism is a funny thing, isn’t it? in life we always tend to be drawn to people that we have something in common with. we are drawn to the feeling of unity, a sense of belonging. in these moments nothing else matters, apart from the fact we feel the same thing, have the same want. in the end it’s a bit of an illusion; what do I have in common with somebody who grew up in the other side of the country, with a different set of parents and a different set of people they were influenced by? next to nothing. Max Verstappen being a figurehead for our country is honestly a bit of an illusion too. he never lived here, never went to school here, doesn’t know the Dutch national anthem… it makes me wonder; how Dutch does that make him?

the feeling of being united is tightly linked together with a feeling of ‘being the best’. it’s something we always strive for in Dutch culture, no matter what we do, we have to be the best. we write songs about it and fight our whole lives to achieve the feeling and it somehow feels like everything is ruined when we can’t accomplish it. and the feeling of being the best often ends up with stomping anyone into the ground who dares to break that little bubble that we are living in. the realization that the Red Bull isn’t a championship-winning car, and probably won’t be for a while, is a painful one for a lot of people. I don’t think the Ziggo Sport F1 show is a good one. I’ve criticized them many times before for only focusing on Max, and completely forgetting about the other drivers. yet, it caters to the people’s needs. it’s what the Dutch people want to see. and if Max wasn’t doing well? well, then the show and the media attention wouldn’t be there.

the patriotism comes with a bitter taste of arrogance too. Max is a good driver, he really is. he probably will win that first Dutch World Championship one day and my dad will cry just like he cried when Max won his first race. it’s funny because somehow things like these only get paid attention to, you know; if the people in question are doing well. we never paid any attention to our Dutch national team in women’s football, we never cared about any of their results until they were beating other countries. somehow only the good side matters, while the bad side is something that we close our eyes to. when a football player does well, they are the someone we can look up to, someone we should admire, they are Dutch. when that same football player makes a mistake, a huge one, they aren’t any of those things. we resent them for not fitting into our mold. everything that is Dutch, is inherently good to us; everything that is not, is inherently less-good-even-sometimes-bad to us. there’s certain countries and cultures we can handle, but only if they look and act like us. Germans? they’re fine. Belgians? they are normal people; they are like us. I guess that’s the one thing that bothers me about it. about the patriotism. I’ve said it before, but I feel as if everything we do and say in sport, somehow finds a way to translate back into real life, if it hasn’t already. (we have become accustomed to the idea that this is how it should be. our culture and traditions are top tier, and anything or anyone that doesn’t represent that, is lesser than. how do we teach children that the color of their skin doesn’t matter, their accent doesn’t matter, where their parents are from doesn’t matter; when it somehow is reflected back onto everything that we do?) do I think patriotism is inherently bad? not necessarily. I just think that patriotism should not be synonymous with division. it shouldn’t become a competition of who does and who doesn’t fit into our ‘perfection’ mold. sport creates unity and it should be that way, regardless of which country you are from and which driver support. at the end of the day, we all watch this sport because we love it. and nothing else.

Anon, dankjewel voor de interessante vraag! hier in Amsterdam, dus niet al te ver van Zandvoort vandaan, scheen de zon ook heerlijk vandaag. ik wens je nog een fijne avond! 🧡 (oh, en later toegevoegd; vergat je helemaal te bedanken voor je lieve woorden over mijn blog en persoonlijkheid, dankjewel daarvoor!! ontzettend lief, het betekent echt veel voor me🧡)

#elle answers #handpicked by elle

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

Amplification

It was Sunday. Piper finally had a day off. So, why the hell was she still at work? She eyed the mountain of paperwork on her desk maliciously. “Maybe don’t murder the files.”

“You know, Gideon never told me there’s be this much paperwork, Jayje.” She accepted the cup of coffee from JJ and leaned back in her chair.

“It’s worth it though, right?”

“Every damn day.” Piper laughed. “Why are you still here anyway? Go, be with your son. Be free.” JJ laughed.

“Nah, Will’s spending the day with him and I know better than to be between two boys.” Piper nodded slowly until JJ’s cell buzzed. “Okay, thank you. I’ll alert the team as soon as possible. Yes, thank you.” She flipped the cell shut, slipping it into her pocket.

“What’s up?”

“We have a case. It’s bad.”

“How bad?”

“Remember Amerithrax?”

“No,” Piper whispered.

“It’s worse. Can you call Emily and Garcia? I’ll try and reach Derek and Spencer.” Piper nodded dutifully, reaching for her phone. Hotch walked in with a young Asian woman while Piper was on the phone with Garcia. Done with her first job, she rushed up to Hotch’s office. JJ went to update Piper, only to see her already in Hotch’s office being introduced to the doctor and throw something down her throat. She saw Piper nod to something Hotch directed and scramble to her desk with a file in hand. She gave JJ a quick hug before grabbing the keys to her Yamaha downstairs and helmet from under her desk.

About a half hour later, Spencer walked into the bullpen, only to see it covered with people in military uniform. Emily and Derek caught up to him. “What the hell is going on?” Derek’s voice was a murmur and they weaved through the crowd to the conference room to meet JJ, a young Asian doctor, Hotch and Rossi. Spencer noticed someone missing, but before he could voice it, Derek repeated the question and JJ explained.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, chief of special pathogens with the CDC. Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after 2 pm yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It's now just past 7 a.m. The next day, we have 12 dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Derek noted from his glance into the file. “Anthrax?”

“Anthrax doesn't kill this fast.”

“This strain does,” Dr Kimura added.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets— airports, malls, trains?” Emily looked to Hotch.

“There's a media blackout.”

“We aren’t telling the public?”

“We'd have a mass exodus,” Derek explained.

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi continued.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Hotch finished.

“Or if they wanted attention and didn't get it, they might attack again,” Emily contradicted. “Doesn't the public have the right to know that?”

“If there is another attack, there's no way we'll be able to keep it quiet. Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”

“What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. Odorless and invisible.”

“A sophisticated strain,” Rossi noted. “Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Derek pointed out.

“It's not the lesions I'm worried about,” Dr Kimura commented. “It's the lungs. We don't know how to combat the toxins once they're inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed hospital,” JJ added. “Our offices will become a small command centre and there are already military scientists out there from Fort Detrick.”

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital. Interview the victims. Bishop’s been there for about half an hour so you should be halfway done. Morgan and Prentiss, there's a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene. Dave and I will keep working on the profile from here. There's Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don't know if it's effective against this strain, but it's something,” the doctor provided. Spencer popped his in and downed it with a glass of water before leaving with Dr Kimura.

Piper sat with the next patient. This was the fifth one she’d talked to in the last 20 minutes. They all seemed so normal. One was a mother with a 6-year-old son, the first she watched die while gripping her hand. Her eyes were drained of all life as she kept comforting young men, women and children. The young woman in front of her was beautiful, but drained. Her lips were slowly paling, and her eyes became sunken. Piper rubbed the young woman’s hand as she attempted to recall things until the aphasia set in. That was the worst part. Seeing a beautiful life with so much potential reduced to a babbling mess. Piper had tapped out of resolve. But she had one more patient left to talk to. She clapped a doctor on the shoulder, thanking her for her work before trudging over to the next room. As she walked in, she found Spencer gently talking to Abby. Piper silently entered, shaking hands with Dr Kimura again. “Yesterday afternoon, you rode your bicycle to the park,” Spencer spoke softly. “How did the sun feel on your skin, the breeze through your hair? Can you describe for me what you heard and the people that you saw?”

“It was warm, windy. There were guys...football. Kids... I see free... Me seen fee me.” Abby opened her eyes wide with panic. “Free knee.” Piper’s heart broke and she stepped forward.

“Hey, Abby. I need you to rest okay. We’re gonna take care of you.” She saw a tear roll of Abby’s cheek and Piper released her. The three doctors stepped outside and Piper sniffled.

“What's causing her aphasia?” Spencer asked the doctor.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died.” Piper swallowed the lump in her throat.

“None of the drug combinations are working?”

“The only thing that's helping them right now is the morphine.” Piper ran a hand through her hair.

“All of them are absolutely normal.” Piper’s voice wavered. “Um… there was a mother who spent the day with her… um… her son and a few kids playing football. Abby was uh… cycling with a friend.” Piper took in a deep breath and Spencer excused them for a minute.

“Hey, are you okay?” His golden eyes searched for her watery ones, wishing he could wipe them away.

“Sorry, I uh… I can do this.”

“Pipes, how many?”

“Abby was gonna be my sixth. The uh… the mother died in…” Piper’s voice cracked, and Spencer desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. “Don’t worry about me. Do your science-y thing. I’m useless at that anyway,” she scoffed and walked away over to Kimura who just walked out of another ward.

“38-year-old history teacher. Leaves behind two kids.”

“That’s 17 out of 25,” Spencer noted.

“This strain is duplicating every 30 to 45 minutes. It's poisoning the lungs, causing massive haemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Extreme bacterial amplification,” Spencer thought aloud. “Whoever created this had to at some point go to the trouble of testing it.”

“You’re right.” Piper nodded. “Scientists always start out with small trial runs. I knew a guy; he was experimenting with olfactory nerves and behaviour. Started with rodents, then advanced to larger mammals like monkeys, and then at some point, they do a very small trial run with people, two maybe three people at most.”

“Exactly. There's no way this was his first human test run,” Spencer continued but Dr Kimura shook her head.

“We would have heard about a previous anthrax attack.”

“Not if it presented itself as something else,” Piper noted, a little life entering her eyes as the doctor nodded and left. Once she left, Piper grabbed the history teacher’s medical chart before calling Garcia to put his name aside for her, as well as his family.

“Pipes, there’s a media blackout.”

“So, I’ll talk to them when the case is over. But they deserve to know.” Spencer noticed the subtle confidence in Piper. When the case is over. Not if. When. A few minutes passed and Dr Kimura came back.

“2 days ago, 2 people in 2 separate Baltimore ERs and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly. Doctors didn't test for anthrax because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but I think it can be caused by anthrax.”

“Did they show symptoms that we're seeing now— the lesions?” Piper asked her.

“They wouldn't have if the bodily functions expired as quickly as they did.”

“How quickly?”

“All dead within 3 hours of being admitted.” Her heart went still.

“But the first patient died yesterday at 10 hours.”

“Here's the thing—” Spencer explained to Piper. “If they inhaled a higher concentration of the strain, it would cause a quicker death. Organ failure without exterior physical symptoms.”

“What are their names?”

“Gale Mercer, 31, Martha Finestein, 48, Albert Franks, 52.” The doctor’s tone was quiet but clear as Piper dialled Penelope.

“So, what next?” Spencer looked to Piper.

“We should see if they visited the same place on May 8th. Garcia’ll know what to do.” She relayed the names to Garcia, slightly strengthened by having something to do.

“Gale Mercer made a credit card purchase at the Book Front, owned by Albert Franks.” Piper attempted to breathe evenly as her thought spiralled, overwhelming her with a mixture of moral obligation and guilt. Her nerves wouldn’t settle until Spencer brushed against her.

“Hotch is sending General Whitworth to secure the store. Morgan and Prentiss are going to check it out.” She managed to nod. “He wants us back at the base.” Piper’s eyes widened, obstinacy seeping into her voice.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Pipes—" She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply before continuing.

“I can’t sit at base and do nothing. You can go back, but I am staying here even if all I can do is provide moral support for them. I have to make sure they’re going to be okay.” He watched her collect herself before charging towards the next ward. Spencer exhaled as he dialled Hotch. About a half hour later, Piper plopped down next to Spencer in the waiting room.

“It feels like the plagues of Egypt,” she sighed. “10 scourges created by god.”

“Plague 6 was unhealable boils believed by biblical scholars to be caused by anthrax.” She scoffed.

“Never missed Sunday school, did you?”

“Actually, never been before. How is she doing?”

“She's a fighter. Young, strong. Brave too. But she's started to bleed into her lungs. One of 4 left.”

“We're running into another problem. When the next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” Piper’s mouth drew into a line.

“That’s a moral equation I do not want to solve. Did you call Hotch?”

“Yeah. He’s calling his superiors.” Piper closed her eyes, her head leaned on the armchair. “What did you hear from the bookstore?”

“They ran names of former employees, customers with grievances. No one with the science background we're looking for. Garcia's still digging.” Piper nodded; her eyes still closed. “They’re about to deliver the profile. We need to go.” Breathing in deeply, she pushed herself off the armchair, rubbing her bike keys therapeutically.

At the base, she barely listened to the profile. “Because the locations hit are not symbolically significant, we believe that these attacks are personal. Understanding the significance of these locations will be the key to identifying him.”

“This personal element strongly indicates a home-grown terrorist,” Emily noted, easily settling into her speciality in terrorism. “Like the Amerithrax case, we believe this is someone from the science or defence community.”

“That's why you're here. We think you may know him,” Hotch said. “He may be one of us.”

“These home-grown terrorists are myopic zealots,” Piper spat out. “Ideologues that believe that their work is of the greatest importance.”

“He may have preached about the threat of an attack on America,” Spencer continued. “His co-workers would describe him as histrionic, paranoid, secretive.”

“With all due respect,” a man in an army uniform said, raising his hand. “That's a little vague. What are we supposed to do with something that generic?”

“Sir, we're not finished yet,” Derek explained. “He may have logged excess hours at work in the past weeks preparing for the attack. We believe he's taken the full dosage of anthrax vaccines over the recommended 18-month schedule and had yearly boosters.” Derek glanced at Rossi next to him.

“He's written about the threats of anthrax attacks, published papers. Yet he feels no one is listening. And that angers him.”

“Now, he may have recently experienced some sort of professional humiliation,” Derek continued. “Like be demoted or fired. Now, that would have been his trigger, the moment he decided to go rogue. And he may have betrayed his loved ones to his cause.”

“He may be recently separated or divorced,” Hotch added. “This is somebody who knows every detail of the 2001 anthrax attack and has talked about what that suspect did right or wrong. He's watching the news very closely to see how the country reacts. Please share this with your departments. Thank you.” Piper remained at her desk, staring at nothing while the rest of the team followed JJ into a conference room. She moved into her seat, starting to look up the victims.

Abby Hudson, 17, sophomore at Kellyville High School, AP Calculus. Eleanor Martinez, 34, married to Hector Martinez, building inspector, 6-year-old son. Daniel Moore, 38, history teacher, de facto relationship with Nathan Adams. Piper choked back a sob, blinking back tears as she stared at the ceiling until she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Pipes, is everything—” The dam broke before Emily could finish the question. “Hey, it’s okay.” Soothingly, Emily stroked her hair as Piper cried into her shoulder. They caught more than a few glanced. “What are you looking at? Get back to work before I chuck a shoe at you.” Emily scoffed before pulling Piper out of her seat and moving her into Garcia’s lair. She cursed as her cell buzzed. “Hey, Pen, handle her for a sec. I’ll cover for her with Hotch.” Garcia nodded and pulled a sniffling Piper into her comfiest chair.

Her voice was hollow as she spoke. “I promised them…”

“What, hon?”

“That they’d be okay.” Tears flowed freely down her cheek. “I promised I’d take care of them and they’re… they’re gone.” Piper’s eyes were bloodshot. “How do I do this?’ Penelope rubbed her hand.

“You keep moving. You work your smart butt off and once this case is done…” Piper swallowed uneasily and got up a little shakily. “Hey, not yet. Right now, you’re going to finish a cup of tea and then get to work.” Penelope watched her shoot a trembling smile and went to the office kitchen. She swirled a teaspoon through the caramel liquid when Reid popped up beside her.

“We have a possible suspect. You in?” Piper twisted her mouth at her cup of tea before pouring it into a takeaway cup.

“Let’s go.” Spencer filled her in on the ride. The suspect was Dr Lawrence Nichols who had attended a classified hearing with the Subcommittee on Defence and Homeland Security in January ’02. He used to work at the institute but was forced out that same year.

“Committee said he was becoming unstable, fanatical which was why they removed him from Fort Detrick and railroaded from other prominent positions.”

“He fits the profile. Felt like people weren't listening, had access to the spores, lost a prominent job, got divorced.”

“Morgan and Prentiss are hitting the hospital.”

“You didn’t go?”

“Figured he might have kept case files at home for safekeeping.”

“Smart,” Piper muttered. Spencer couldn’t tell if she was talking about him or Nichols, but his chest still swelled. As they pulled up to the house, Piper answered her cell. “All right, thanks Derek. I’m not your—” The line cut off. “Angel,” she finished irritably.

“Still using the nickname?”

“Yeah. Maybe I should give him a really irritating one.” Piper smiled softly. “So, the guy just had people over for a charity event last month.”

“We should look around anyway.” Piper nodded, making to follow when her cell buzzed again.

“What’s up Em? You’re sure it’s clean? ‘Kay, I’ll tell Reid. Be safe.” Piper hung up the cell, turning to Reid, but he’d already left. “Spence!” She walked past the rose bushes to look for him. How hard could it be to find a 6-foot-tall doctor? She turned the corner, her eye catching the door, about to enter when Spencer slammed the glass door shut, latching the door shut. “Spence, wha— what are you doing?”

“Piper get back. Get out of here, now.”

“What are you talking—” Piper trailed off as her eyes fell on the broken vial on the floor. “Is that…” She didn’t want to say it. “No…” A pit had formed in the bottom of her stomach. She wanted to curl up into a ball and pretend none of this was happening. She wanted to scream and rip her hair out and cry all at the same time but instead she stood there, frozen, watching the most precious person to her behind a glass door with a killer disease. Gingerly, she flipped her cell open, telling Hotch everything. Within minutes, Hotch arrived with Dr Kimura and a hazmat team in tow and Piper tore herself away from Spencer to meet him.

“Any update?”

“There's white powder in the room and the air was blasting.” Piper’s voice was hollow. “Nichols is dead. Blunt force trauma to his head. Reid thinks he's been dead 2 or 3 days.”

“Clean him up and get him in the ambulance fast,” Hotch ordered.

“Sir, wait. Reid has to stay inside.”

“Piper, what are you—”

“I know. I want him out of there too but… he’s our best chance at finding the cure. He's already infected and I think he has a better chance of survival if he stays inside.”

“But Pi—”

“Look, it’s not going to do anyone any good to take him to a hospital.” Piper’s tone reached a higher octave. “I won’t let Spencer become another…” Piper stopped, taking a deep breath. “His best chance is inside.” Grudgingly, he nodded, and Piper trudged back to the door, watching a Decon team enter the house to secure the area. Piper pulled out her cell, dialling his number by memory. “Hey, Spence.”

Spencer heard her voice betray her pretence of confidence. “So, I…uh…managed to convince Hotch. Dr Kimura’s coming in to help you out. And uh… you’re gonna be fine.” She scuffled the grass under her foot as she spoke. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Of course. I’ve got you.”

“I’m not gonna be much help, Spence. I’m out here, remember?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally and more importantly mentally, you’re right beside me.” He heard her take a deep breath.

“Okay, walk through the scene. Tell me what you see.”

“I see cages filled with dead animals. I see signs of a struggle, probably before Dr. Nichols was murdered. Equipment's missing. There's a large desk. Clutter all over the surface. But in the corner, There's a smaller desk. It's organized, functional.”

“So, two different workspaces. Maybe he had someone working with him?”

“Maybe. Two sets of handwriting. I'm looking at instructions on how to boil lab-grade broth, sterilize lab equipment, and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that.”

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege.”

“You read his file. You know anyone special?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. I’ll call Hotch. Be…” He heard Piper trail. “Hang in there.” The line cut and Spencer was too smart to not understand that he could die today. Piper was right outside, he could call her but his mom, she was alone in Las Vegas. He rapidly dialled Penelope’s direct line.

“Hey, Reid.”

“Gee, wow, no, uh... No witty Garcia greeting for me?” He heard her sigh on the other end.

“I can't be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

“Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I, uh... I know i can't call my mom without, uh—” He cleared his throat. “Without alerting everyone at her hospital.”

“What do you need?”

“I, uh... I need you to record a message for her in case anything happens to me.”

“Oh, nothing's going to happen to you. You're gonna...brilliantly find out who did this and we're gonna treat this strain.” Spencer laughed, a little too bitterly for his taste.

“I hope you're right, but if you're not, I just— I really want to make sure that she hears my voice.”

“Ok. Just, uh, give me a second. Are you ready?”

“Ready. Hi, Mom. This is Spencer. I just, um...” He sighed, a little aware of Dr Kimura entering the house. “I just...really want you to know that I love you and—” His voice hitched, and he cleared his throat. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” On the other side, Penelope’s heart broke at her best friend’s demise. But before she could comfort him, the line went dead.

“Doctor. How are--how are the patients doing?”

“Let's worry about you.”

“I actually— I feel fine.”

“Ok, if you feel any pain, I could give you something.”

“No, I— I’d rather not take any pain medication.” Spencer fidgeted with his fingers, desperate to get back to work.

“We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable, and I don't want to take any narcotics.”

“Okay. Tell me how I can help.”

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere. Dr. Nichols is a former military scientist, which means he's most likely secretive and most likely a little paranoid. He would have protected the cure and probably would have hidden it from his partners. So, look for something innocuous, something you would not suspect.”

“All right.” His cell buzzed again, a small smile gracing his face. Piper Bishop. “Hey.”

“Hey Doc. How are you feeling?” Piper tried her best to inject cheer in her voice.

“Fine. Actually, I feel fine.” He coughed, harder than intended and Piper heard.

“Spence?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Just a little—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me Dr Spencer Walter Reid! I am not in the mood.”

“I've seen better days.” He was met with silence weighing.

“Emily called me. They don't think the partner was a co-worker. Can you tell us anything else about him?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Listen to me, Spence. How long have I known you?”

“3 years.”

“In those 3 years, I have never seen you question yourself. Spencer, you are the most brilliant, compassionate and perceptive person I have ever met. Don’t start questioning yourself now.”

“Pipes—”

“Don’t Pipes me. Listen. You told me there were two different workspaces, two sets of handwriting. Sets of instructions on how to boil lab-grade broth, sterilize lab equipment, and transfer spores. Why would he write that stuff down?”

“Because he wrote it for someone else. Okay, I see a framed photograph of Dr. Nichols teaching. I see a... I see a binder with syllabi. Course assignments going all the way back to the ‘70s.”

“Good. What else?”

“I saw something earlier. I didn't— I didn't make a connection to it or to the partner, but he has a study on anthrax. He has an annotated bibliography, table of contents. It's formatted like a thesis and has writing in the margins in red ink, like the way a teacher grades a paper. Now, Nichols wouldn't have let just anyone in here, but he may have opened his lab for educational purposes, as a teacher.”

“That’s my genius. I’ll get Garcia on the line. We’re gonna get you out of there.” As Piper switched to Garcia, Reid kept coughing while he read through the paper. “Hey, Spence. Garcia didn’t get anything.”

“Pipes listen to this. ‘This country is woefully unprepared. Every household should have a 2-month supply of Cipro. Hospitals are in need of bio-safety level 4 Decon wings.’ Verbatim to what we heard from Nichols.”

“So, the partner's adopted Nichols' views as his own.”

“There’s more. The chapters are on setting up triage and mobile emergency rooms. I don't think this paper was written by a science student. It's about city preparedness and response.”

“Gimme a sec.” She told Garcia to change the parameters to social studies students— specifically those in public policy and urban planning. “Spence, you did it.” He heard relief flood into her voice. “Penelope got a name. Now get the hell out of there.”

Spencer flipped his cell shut and slipped it in his pocket as Dr Kimura approached. “Dr. Reid. You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn't suspect. What about Nichols' inhaler?” Spencer nodded; a weight lifted from his shoulders. He was herded away to be hosed down and Piper updated him face to face.

“Go help Hotch.”

“Hotch has plenty of people helping him.”

“He needs you more than I do.”

“Spence, I'm gonna see you off to the hospital.”

“I'm about to get naked so they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” Red seeped into Piper’s face as she stammered.

“I’ll, uh… I think I’ll wait outside.” She shot him a thumbs up awkwardly and left the tent. Spencer almost laughed except Kimura held up his arm. Any remaining good spirit drained from his face as he glanced at the cut on his wrist.

“The rose bush,” he realised.

^-^

“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Dr Kimura kept an eye on his vitals on the screen. Spencer’s shirt was unbuttoned, and he had tubes running from his nose while Piper gripped his hand, battling the onslaught of tears.

“My throat's a little dry. But other than that, I feel... Flee... Feel fin. I feel--i fleel fin. i—”

“Relax, Spencer,” Piper interjected, terrified as her voice quivered. “Just focus on me, okay.” She wanted to sob at the sight of him so pale. It was her worst nightmare, ten times worse. This wasn’t a bullet or a stab wound. This was a disease. They’d taken a gamble with the inhaler and at this moment, she didn’t care about the unsub, about the potential deaths, just the man lying on a stretcher in front of her. The only thing keeping her together was being strong for him, but even that failed as his amber eyes flickered closed and her browns flooded with tears. “Faster,” she screamed at the driver and kept rubbing his hand. She held his hand all the way to the ER room, letting him leave as she watched him disappear behind the double doors. She collapsed onto the wall next to her, sliding down as she sobbed right there, apathetic to the staring staff. Eventually her tears dried up and she paced in the waiting room, not giving a damn about how she looked. Finally, Dr Kimura came out, pulling off her surgical gloves, giving her good news and a room number. She thanked her profusely before sprinting to waiting room 2110, halting at Spencer in a white bedsheet, eye still closed. Silently, she padded to the armchair, tucking her legs inside and watching over him until she fell asleep. Spencer’s eyes fluttered awake and he watched Piper snoring gently, her wrist twisted uncomfortably.

“Careful, your wrist isn’t gonna like that.” Piper’s head slipped off and she blinked sleepily at Spencer.

“You’re awake.” Spencer tried to nod but it hurt him to move. “Careful.”

“And there’s jello. Must be my lucky day.” Piper rubbed her face.

“Yeah.” Piper scoffed at the idea of him being lucky. “Kimura brought it in. Figured this day couldn’t get worse I guess.”

“Did they find him?” Piper hummed, unravelling her legs and stretching them out. Like a cat, he noted.

“Picked the park because he was rejected by a girl. Picked the bookstore because that’s where he used to work in college. They caught him at the train lines. Or so I heard.” Piper smiled softly at him. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She sat, watching him devour the jello. Like a kid on his birthday, she noted, smilingly.

“That’s the first real smile I’ve seen all day,” he voiced. Piper reddened slightly as she got up.

“You want some coffee. I want to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Piper wait…” Spencer straightened up. “I need… I need to tell you something.” Piper furrowed her brows, but she pulled her chair closer to Spencer.

“What’s up?”

“When I was in there… I realised something.” He licked his lips. “That if I died today, I’d miss everything.” Piper smiled. “Not the cases. I’d miss you. Your birthdays, your smiles, your bets and your squabbles with Derek.” He watched the smile fade and felt his grow. Piper’s stomach dropped. No, he wasn’t… “I’m not afraid of death, never have been.”

“You’re scared of the dark,” she murmured, remembering an old conversation with Derek and Spencer. He snorted gently.

“I’m scared of the dark, Piper, but I’m terrified of losing you.” Piper’s eyes grew weary.

“Spence, please—”

“I’m tired of hiding it. Dr Piper Aubrey Bishop, I’m in love with you.” Her shoulders sagged and before she could reply, Derek and Dr Kimura walked in.

“You’re real lucky kid. Piper must be some kind of good luck charm.” As though Piper wasn’t uncomfortable already, she fidgeted in her seat while Spencer chuckled.

“Yeah, guess she is.”

“Coffee?” she asked abruptly, not waiting for a response. She practically ran out and Spencer felt shattered.

While Derek helped Spencer to his apartment, he noted that Piper never did come back with the coffee. Derek noticed Spencer’s withdrawn attitude, the lack of cheer on his face, but filed it away as fatigue. Spencer waved Derek goodbye, the latter promising to check up on him later. He sunk into his couch, pulling out his cell as he contemplated dialling her. He re-read her name over and over, as though he needed to memorise it. But he didn’t have to. Her name was etched into his skull, unable to forget it if he tried to. Nor the smell of her hair every Monday morning nor the smile she gave him when he brought her tea nor her laugh at his jokes, even the unfunny ones. He’d never felt as alone as he did now. He felt loneliness in his blood, scratched along his bones repeatedly. He sunk further with every memory that flashed in his head, both good and bad. He remembered how sunken she’d looked after her gunshot wound, how angry she’d been with the sham psychologists, how giddy she’d acted on her birthday, how bloodshot her eyes were after her breakup with Drew, how happy she’d been to be back…home. He’d never stop loving her, he realised as he remembered an old conversation during a group lunch while it started raining heavily outside. Between mouthfuls of stir fry chicken, she’d told him how you never really stop loving someone, you just start loving someone else more. But he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not to her. But as though a pebble had been thrown through the perfectly distilled reflection, the doorbell rang, and the memory faded. Spencer stumbled over to the door, still weak from the disease. He opened the door to see Piper dripping onto the carpet outside his apartment. Her hair was soaked, clung to her face like she clung to her motorcycle helmet. She was breathing hard as though she’d run up the flights of stairs. “The elevator works.”

“It was too slow,” she rasped. Spencer motioned for her to come in, smiling softly at how she left her boots outside, neatly next to the door.

“You know, I think Ms Cumberland down the hall is a kleptomaniac. She might steal those.” Piper chuckled as she settled her helmet and a paper package on the kitchen. “Let me grab you a towel.”

“No, Sp— Reid.” She corrected herself, the transition evident of the giant wall she’d constructed in little under an hour. “You should rest, I know where it is.” She slipped into the bathroom and came back out, done rubbing the water out of her hair. “I uh… I won’t stay long. Um… I didn’t like how we left things. How I left things.” Piper sniffled. She’d been crying, Spencer noticed. Her puffy eyes, the red tinge on her nose.

“Don’t be. Consider it a moment of weakness. So, what can I do for you Bishop?” He saw the words sting her, but the emotion was only a brief flash.

“Well, I never gave you my diagnosis,” she said humourlessly. “Ask me.”

“What’s my diagnosis, Doc?” He spat the question out bitterly.

“You’ve got a few uncurable diseases. They’ve never even heard of one person having all of them. The first,” she stepped a few paces closer, “is called I-can’t-wait-long-enough-for-my-partner-to-get-off-the-phone-before-I-enter-an-unsub’s-house-itis. The second is I-just-have-to-wait-until-I’m-on-my-deathbed-to-confess-my-love-itis.”

“Is there a third one?”

“Yeah. But the last one’s a self-diagnosis. I’ve got a case of holding-in-my-feelings-for-a-co-worker-so-long-that-i-get-terrified-when-he-finally-confesses-itis. Spencer,” she whispered, less than a few paces away now. “I was terrified. So, I did what I do best. I froze you out and I drove. You remember that case in Texas? That kid who was bullied and killed his girlfriend’s dad, the abuser?” He nodded thickly, unsure of where she was going. “That was the first time I drove you somewhere on a bike.”

“I was about to analyze your vehicular choices— but you stopped me.”

“That’s why. Because something happens and it terrifies me, so I drive, and I don’t look back. Ever. And I did it today.” Piper was two steps away. “You, in that house, with that disease, I could’ve run. But I didn’t. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I stayed.”

“Because you’re kind—”

“No, don’t give me that. I’m not kind,” she spat. “I’m selfish. I pretend that helping others gives me joy but in reality, I run from anything that could ever give me any kind of real happiness. Except,” Piper was a step away. “in this situation, it’s a case of anyone. I ran because I couldn’t handle my feelings for you, Spence.” Her voice was just a whisper. “I ran because I’m terrified of us hurting each other. But I can’t. Not because the situation itself becomes a paradox. Because you’re worth more than any kind of pain. So, Dr Spencer Walter Reid, I’m in love with you too. That’s my diagnosis.” She was only inches away and Spencer could smell the earthy scent of her hair as he grasped the side of head and met her lips. His hands tangled in her soft dark hair as her lips moved against his. She deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as she reached on her tiptoes. The two doctors broke the kiss, breathless as their foreheads touched, her eyes fluttering open and gazing softly into his dark brown eyes. She couldn’t help beaming before she kissed him swiftly on the nose and walking over to the kitchen. “Also, Penelope said you like chicken noodle soup?”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer knew he was grinning like an idiot. But he didn’t care. The microwave beeped and the rich scent of chicken and broth seeped through the small apartment and he grinned at Piper who was still smiling as she handed him a bowl.

“Also, your uh…Mrs Cumberland won’t steal my boots.” Piper tucked her feet into the couch next to Spencer. “Not when you gifted her those flowers so lovingly.”

“You got me flowers?” Piper laughed at Spencer’s confuddled smile and she wiped away a small trace of soup with a thumb.

“Technically, you got her flowers which is deeply concerning considering you confessed your love to me less than 4 hours ago.” Spencer gave her a deep chuckle and she lay her head in the crook of his shoulder as she switched the tv onto reruns of Doctor Who while the rain pounded outside.

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