#A lot of people I know think of college or even grad school as this Edenic paradise from which they were cast out into the work force

[teenagefeeling]

just saw this tweet posted on here with like 12k notes and it's honestly pissing me off???? bestie i was not assigned a single paper longer than 5 pages in all of high school and in college they varied a lot but i was also definitely expected to write 10 page term papers. im sorry you had really shitty teachers in high school who didn't explain this to you, but the reason they make you write so much is because you have to learn how to fully explain an idea and connect evidence to your arguments and generally just get practice structuring longer works. essay writing is a skill and you can get better (and much faster) at it with practice, which is what high school teachers are trying to introduce students to. it's about analytical thinking and learning how to draw conclusions and connections across topics, which is like, maybe the most important academic skill you could have imo. also why are you complaining about a works cited page? cite your fucking sources. it's not extra work it's literally part of the process. (without sources, you're not writing a research paper ur just writing an opinion essay. which is fine but probably not the assignment and also probably not gonna help u understand class material unless ur magically already familiar with it. in which case why are you in the class? you see how it makes no sense to complain about citing sources?)

like yes it's funny that college professors tend to be comparatively chill in demeanor from high school teachers (certainly not always tho!) but i don't think that means that college is less academically rigorous. college is by design much more challenging academically than high school is, and that does include literally just requiring more work. like this tweet is just straight up incorrect

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I have ~Thoughts~ on the Harry Potter Phenomenon that was

(Courtesy of memories prompted by this Tumblr Poll)

Back when I was a senior in college (back in the mid-to-late 1980s), I actually wrote a fantasy novel for kids aged ~8 - ~11 (in a self-designed course for a single credit, under the guidance of my Literature advisor), inspired by a series of dreams and recurring characters that showed up in them.

My advisor encouraged me to try and get it published. And so, I arranged with teachers from my old school to have a class of 30 or so 10 year-olds beta read it, and give me feedback for revisions. The kids also encouraged me to try and publish it.

So I did.

Now, back then, there was no "Self Publishing." The closest thing was "Vanity Publishing," where you would pay 100% of the publishing cost of your book, which would be printed in hard copy, for the benefit of having 500 -1,000 books shipped to your personal address, which you were then responsible for storing and selling out of the trunk of your car in a parking lot, somewhere. And if word got out that you were trying to claim credit for being a "published author" because of a Vanity Press book, actual publishers wouldn't touch you with a 40-foot pole.

If you wanted to get published, you had to buy that year's copy of Writer's Market: a listing of magazine and book publishers, and agents, with a brief description of what material they published, and what they wouldn't touch.

Guess what genre no agent or publisher was interested in handling?

That's right, Gentle Readers: Fantasy for children aged 8 - 11. I would have happily sent out a dozen queries for each story I wrote, if there were publishers and agents willing to look at them. But for three to four years of trying, in directories of two-columns of tiny print, and several [hundred]* pages long, I'd be lucky to find two or three outlets even willing to look at fantasy for kids.

The general consensus, across the publishing business, was that fantasy was a dead and obsolete genre. If it was for kids old enough to read chapter books and novels, it must also be firmly grounded in realism and actual history, because everyone knows the only people buying books for kids that age were teachers, who wanted stories with practical applications in the classroom.

***

After 3 - 4 years of trying, while I was in grad school, I finally got a rejection from the one agent who agreed to read my novel. A few days later, I received news that my mother had died from the breast cancer she'd been fighting, and my heart just went out of the project altogether.

A few years later, the first Harry Potter book was published. And it became a worldwide phenomenon. And it was the kids, themselves, who were driving the sales.

See, I think the real reason the books were such a success, even though they were never really very well written, was because they were in a genre the audience was hungry for -- a genre they'd been denied access to for all of their young lives.

Someone who is starving will think even moldy bread is delicious.

*Gosh, what a word to leave out via typo; the Writers Market rivaled the Manhattan Yellow Pages in length.

[a-very-tired-jew]

You're not as informed as you think, and age does play a factor.

This is going to ruffle some feathers, but it needs to be said. You're not as informed on the I/P Conflict and the history of the region as you think, and age plays a major factor. Hell, you're not as informed on a lot of topics as you think. I want you to think about what you were doing 5 years ago. Were you still running around on the playground? Were you making dioramas for a science class? Were you in high school worried about being a first year? Were you just starting to pick out colleges or deciding to even go? Did you ever call a teacher by their first name? Now, there is a line that we hear thrown about that people don't fully mature till they're 25. While this is bupkis and misrepresents the research, it is true that the brain does not stop developing till sometime in the mid to late 20s. In fact, the brains of undergraduates age 18-22 and their respective thought patterns more closely resemble high schoolers than they do mid 20s and above. So what does this mean in the course of the I/P conflict? For one thing, this is your first incident. Your first I/P war. Those of us in our 30s and above have seen a good number of them at this point. I even remember when the use of child suicide bombers became a standard method for Hamas and other terrorist groups during the Second Intifada. As such, many of us are used to the manipulation that we see in this particular region. We're used to seeing antisemitism be dismissed and well intentioned people be manipulated. Many of us are just tired because you're going through the same shit we did at your age and we look back and go "oh, we were severely misinformed". Because this is your first, you're super passionate about it, but that passion can be manipulated. Second, you're not as smart or well informed as you think you are. This has to do with the age and maturation thing mentioned above. While 25 is an arbitrary number, there are some milestones that happen by then. By 25 you have had enough life experience to really start piecing together your education, your life experiences, your world experiences, and your respective beliefs into a coherent way of approaching topics. Hopefully by that age you're less likely to have the emotional outburst in response to a subject (think about the stereotypical slamming the door teenager behavior, many of us did that and we cringe thinking about it) and more likely to approach something in a levelheaded and informed manner. Unfortunately there is some research that shows evidence that Gen Z and Millenials are susceptible to propaganda and misinformation, with the former exhibiting behavior akin to Boomers. So keep that in mind that none of us are safe for misinformation, but some generations are worse than others. Now, who am I to say this to you? Some of you are quite mad right at the moment. Some of you have strived to be seen as well informed young adults or to be taken seriously, and in some cases you are. However...

I'm in my 30s and I have been teaching at the college level for a decade and some change now. By no means am I an expert, but I have enough experience to say something. The ages I teach are 18+, meaning I've had students that are typical fresh high school grads and students that are in their 50s. Myself and my colleagues have heard repeatedly from students the "I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing" line to only watch that 18-22 y.o. student fail miserably or come crying to us later. I have personally watched students go through the stages of grief as they realized in my classes that their pet science activism is not what they thought, but they've wrapped so much of their identity around it. You're still learning, and thinking you know more just because you read something online is an issue. You're also still growing and developing as a person. Recognize that you can be manipulated. Recognize that you can be wrong. Recognize your own inherent biases. Then do better.

[kastheory]

steve did not bully eddie in "the past" steve was a grade below him for 3 out of 4 years of his high school career freshman steve heard this weird loudass sophomore talking w his friends at 100 decibels in the hallway about fighting elves in the woods or something (steve did not know what larping was nor care to find out) and then he went to class bc are you insane hes not fucking w a sophomore you dont normally fuck w people ahead of your grade especially if they yell at people and wear chains and get into fights in the woods (with elves?) and you dont even have classes w them. you dont even care much about them in the first place beyond passing gossip like HAVE YOU GUYS EVER BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL. sorry. anyway.

then steve keeps catching this guy in his periphery over the next two years shouting about board games and controversial food opinions and metal bands that steve likes a few songs from but could not ever imagine giving that much of a shit about. like at all. and by (steve's) year 3 the motherfucker is bouncing off the walls giving speeches about what the hell ever and saying he cant fucking WAIT to get out of this FUCKED UP PLACE!!!! YEP ITS TRUE IN LESS THAN ONE MEASLY YEAR ILL BE SAYING MY SWEET SWEET GOODBYES TO THIS BRAINLESS CONFORMIST PRISON!!!! and hardly anyone reacts beyond rolling their eyes or snickering to their friends about it and this includes steve because who cares literally who cares. this guys been causing a ruckus since the beginning of time and hes weird and unpredictable and not worth trying to shove in a locker he would probably evade the attack anyway like a nimble mouse or squirrel he might even try to bite you. and steve didnt shove anybody in lockers in the first place so who cares and yeah he has pretty eyes and a funny way of talking and moving around but WHO CARES

and then steve goes through the first round of nightmarish shit that would become a yearly ordeal and then wraps up junior year in a perfectly normal not haunted whatsoever fashion. and then hes a senior and in his subtly cringefail era (ongoing) and that freak guy is STILL HERE for some reason and kinda pissed off and possibly a bit devastated about it so okay great now steve has a few classes with this angry weirdo loudguy but. crucially. he has had a lot of OTHER SHIT to deal with lately (MONSTERS ARE REAL) (GIRL DIED IN HIS POOL) (GF RESENTS HIM) (HAS NO FRIENDS) (COLLEGE APPS) so the only effect eddie's constantly loudmouthed & often unwarranted input during class ever has is that it adds a little flavor to the constant metaphorical and literal headache of steves life.

and then he goes through round 2 of shit and finishes his senior year with little hope for a satisfying future ahead of him and never once thinks about that guy again except when his fellow grads whisper about oh my godd did you hear that the freak flunked out again hahaha and yep sure enough eddie's not there at the graduation ceremony. and he thinks huh i wonder what his fucking problem is and then he MOVES ON. the end. thats the extent of """their past""" at least in terms of any actual interactions btwn the two of them i promise okay listen to me. i was there

[babiebom]

Sdv Age and Height Headcanons

A/N: hi! It’s officially my birthday(the 15th) and I am now 23 :((((( I didn’t know what to post because everything is in the works right now but I wanted to post something to celebrate in a way so here!! Only base game stardew characters so no ridgeside or expanded. I do count Rasmodius/Marlon/Gunther/Morris as base game even though they’re expanded upon in mods. If anyone has questions for me (personal or about my fics or whatever) feel free to request or ask!!

Tw: none other than a mention of death in Shane’s part.

Sdv Masterlist

Sebastian

We always have to start with the loml (it tries to autocorrect loml to mommy and lonely btw)

I think he’s about 23-26 I think he has a degree in IT but I’m not sure. He has to be able to have graduated or taken classes or something.

I think he’s 5’10 at the shortest and 6’2 maybe 6’2 1/2 at the tallest.

Idk just seems tall to me because he’s lowkey intimidating.

Sam

Him and Abigail are in the same age range. I think they were born in the same year.

This means he is about 22-25 and his birthday occurs right after summer break(maybe I should do birthday headcanons?)

I think he is a very tall boy(keep in mind that I am short af so what I mean by very tall depends)

So maybe he is 5’10 at the shortest like Seb and 6’3 at the tallest.

I think him and Seb can be interchangeable when it comes to height? Both of them however come behind Harvey and Elliott but not by a lot.

Shane

The shortest bachelor for sure

I think he is very short and stocky he gives me big strong dad energy like your dads not the tallest but man is strong af.

So maybe 5’5-5’8? I mean 5’8 isnt short at all really but keep in mind I’m saying this is the tallest he can be, and the height really does make some guys seem really short when in reality they arent( also my phone tried to add king every time I typed short so there’s that)

Among the older bachelors so about 31-35?

I feel like that’s enough time to go from playing football(sorry gridball) in high school, getting a scholarship to play in college, dropping out to take care of his goddaughter when his friends die and becoming depressed.

He just seems like a 30 something year old going through the trenches :(.

Harvey

I think the oldest out of the bachelors and bachelorettes. He has gone to med school and that is I think at least like 4 years then 8 years? Unless I’m wrong lmao

So I think he would be around 35-38

He’s an older man that has spent his life helping people it’s so cute

He is on the taller side. In my mind he gives gentle giant vibes.

So 6’0 at the shortest and maybe 6’5 at the tallest. I think he towers over people but his posture is so bad that no one notices.

Alex

I think he is between the ass trio and Maru so 21-24

I think he graduated high school only a couple years prior to year one because of how passionate he is about gridball and how he thinks it’ll happen I don’t think anyone older would be like “someday I’ll go pro” they’d be crushed already

I think he is 6’0 exactly. He gives off 6 feet vibes like I can see that if he had a tinder profile it would 100 percent say “I’m 6’0 btw”

Elliott

I think he’s 34 exactly.

He seems like during his 20s he worked in the family business, he did what was told of him because he didn’t really know how to be an adult.

Then when he hit 30 he decided that he didn’t want anything to do with the family business and decided to move to Pelican Town to follow his dreams of writing.

He had enough money saved up to move and cut contact with his parents after they threatened to disown him because of him choosing to chase his dreams.

I think he is up there with Harvey as I’ve already said. I think they could be the same height range and who is taller is interchangeable.

So 6’0-6’5 really. Gives off hunk on the cover of a romance novel vibes.

Penny

I think she’s around 24-26. And I do think she has a teaching license and an education degree so this would give her enough time to have graduated and come back to Pelican Town after like a year of teaching in the city.

She seems sort of mature but immature at the same time, like immature when it comes to romance and dating, and sort of life but also she has the vibes of an introvert that was forced to mature quickly so she is good at making decisions, but at the same time her emotions are out of whack.

I think she’s a petite girl she doesn’t look very tall at all.

So I think she’s 5’2-5’5 I think for women to me 5’5 that’s the cap on people seeming short to me for women.

Abigail

Luckily I didn’t have to think about this too hard because I already answered this in one of my very first posts

I think she is 5’4 to 5’8 (sorry I’m American so 162 to 172 cm?)

She’s the first one I’m doing I’m not converting everyone but it’s like 2.5 cm per inch and 30.5 per foot

Her age is around 22-25 in year 1 I think. I know I’m my original Abigail headcanon I said oldest is 24 but I think 25 is okay.

She is amongst the youngest in her grade level during school years.

Haley

I think she’s on the younger side, like the same age range as Alex. Especially because she gives the vibes if she just graduated and hasn’t grown out of her mean girl/insecure personality

So she’s about 21-24

I think she’s similar to Abigail where she gives off like petite girl energy but also tall girl energy. Like I feel like she was a cheerleader and people always said that she could model so maybe she’s on the taller side

So maybe 5’4-5’7

Idk what it is about women that are 5’7 are specifically beautiful to me, they seem super tall but not so tall that it makes me feel like they’re a giant, their arms and legs are long idkidk.

Emily

She’s the older sister of Haley, and I think she’s pretty close to Shane and Gus so I think she’s on the older side

I also think that she could be the oldest out of all the bachelorettes.

So maybe 29-35

She seems a lot more mature than Haley, as well as understanding and confident in her life and her choices

As well as she doesn’t seem insecure or as if she’s weird at all like I think younger people are.

I think her height range is very small compared to the others like

She’s 5’5-5’6

She gives off the vibes for that like not too short not too tall just average.

Maru

In my opinion Maru is the youngest out of the bachelorettes AND bachelors because I think everyone is around the same age and she’s the younger sister of Sebastian who I think is closer to everyone else’s ages so it makes her younger.

I think she’s about 19-21

Like yes she’s working as a nurse, but it’s a small town and she’s an actual genius, I don’t think they care that she’s young. Besides Harvey handles everything on his own she mostly does paperwork and assistant stuff.

Her height has to be around like 5’2-5’4 I think she is a very small girl despite Robin and Demetrius being a little on the taller side.

Leah

I think she might be the second oldest out of the bachelorettes

Like her backstory is her working in a dead end job, she was in a longtime relationship and could’ve gotten married had she not decided to leave

So she’s about 27-31 she’s not the same age as Emily, but she does hang out with Elliott so I think she’s a little older.

I think she’s about 5’6 she makes me feel as if she’s about average in heigh because of how artistic she is I feel like anyone smaller would be very disadvantaged when carving or doing anything and so would someone taller.

Pierre

I think he would be about 5’9-5’11

Like he doesn’t seem too tall but he does give me taller side energy

Would probably tell people he’s 6 feet bc he gives me the vibes of someone who would because he wants to seem like he’s perfect.

I think he’s like 45-48

He is for sure older than Caroline especially because I believe he is into the traditional gender roles which means younger wife and older husband.

Caroline

Caroline I think is a very average woman. And not by looks because I think she actually would be quite attractive like I feel like she would be vERY beautiful.

I mean in terms of her body, she isn’t too big or too small, she didn’t have too much fat or too little her body is just average.

So I think she would be 5’4-5’6

I also think all of the moms are in a similar age range so she would be 44-47

Honestly with the way they’re designed I would’ve said 30s but that would make no sense if their kids are in the marrying age/having kids range.

Jodi

I think she is on the shorter side, she gives me short thicc mom energy. Especially because Kent is a military man.

So maybe 5’2-5’5 bc I think Kent towers over her and so does Sam. The kids did not get her genes because I do think Vincent would be quite tall when he is an adult.

I also think she would be like 43-46 she has a kid that’s an adult and a kid that’s a child so I think this age range would be more plausible for her to have had one kid young and the other one at an older age.

Kent

Is large and in charge like BIG MAN

So I think he must be 6’2-6’5

Like towers over most people and intimidates them based on size alone.

Similar age as Jodi. I think they probably were in the same grade in high school so same age 43-46

Vincent

Right now like as of year 1 would probably be tiny

Like people think he’s going to turn out like Jodi but would actually turn out to be like Kent and Sam and be huge.

So maybe like 3’10?

Kinda small for his age but not like super small?

He is probably 6 or 7 years old

So CUTEEEEEE

Evelyn

Granny Evelyn is probably TINY

Like I think she is 4’9

She’s so cute and small and was probably taller when she was younger

Also old as HELL from how she looks

So maybe from 80-95

Because she as well as George have to older than everyone on the older side.

George

Was probably on the taller side before he was wheelchair bound.

Probably 5’11 exactly like not super tall but tall enough.

Him and Evelyn have such a big height gap and it’s ADORABLE.

I think maybe 2 or 3 years older than Evelyn

83-98 so super old lmao

Pam

I think the oldest out of the parents

So maybe 49-54

She hates the fact that she’s on the older side out of the parents, especially because she isn’t really close to the others as much as she would like to be. She feels out of place among them.

I think she’s about 5’6 I can see her being VERY beautiful when she was younger, and she probably still has a nice body and face, especially if she stops drinking.

Lewis

His ass is probably in his 60s but sees himself as younger

I think 60s isn’t really old at all, like it’s still enough time to do different things.

But his glory days are over

Probably 5’9 like average height.

Clint

I think he might be younger than Emily. His crush seems very immature to me. And it makes him a little less incel-y but idk.

So maybe 27-30?

He’s definitely old enough to know not to act a fool but like it makes sense at this age that he’s an asshole after being rejected for so long y’know.

I think he’s maybe 5’9? Not too short but not too tall. Definitely thinks being taller could’ve helped his situation.

Gunther

I cannot tell anything about this man at ALL

He’s very mysterious

I think he is literally 40-59

Could literally be anywhere in that

He’s probably 5’10 too since I think he’s able to see something on the shelves, and he can see over the counter.

Gus

He’s on the older side. Idk if he has kids or anything, but he gives dad vibes

So maybe 50-59 not too old but like middle aged.

Very sweet and that’s what gives me the father vibes.

Also he doesn’t seem like a gossip but knows a lot which gives me that age range.

I think he’s either 5’6 or 6’3 nothing else. I think 5’6 is more likely though.

Demetrius

I think he is a little younger than Robin. It’s lowkey what makes him and Sebastian to be so bad at getting along.

So maybe 40-42?

Old enough to be a dad but not really old enough I guess.

I think he is VERY tall. Especially since in game it looks like he has a little height over Robin.

So 6’3 at the shortest? 6’5 at the most?

Robin

43-46

I think she had Sebastian at 20? Maybe younger but I think 20 is a good age. She was young and barely out of teenagedom that her parents were probably upset.

I think she’s a little tall but not too tall like 5’7

Very beautiful and her legs are longer than her torso but not in a tall SpongeBob vibe y’know.

Marlon

I think he’s in his 50s? So 50-60

I think he is younger than Lewis and that’s also why they can’t really get along other than Marnie.

Probably 5’10

Like tall enough that when fighting monsters he has no disadvantage but not so tall that he can’t get anything done.

Linus

He is also mysterious.

He looks old but at the same time he lives in nature and his looks probably don’t match his age.

So anywhere from 50-70?

Some 70 year olds look young and can move around and I don’t doubt that he is agile due to him being a nature man.

Leo

On the taller side of kids.

So sort of like 4’5 or almost 5’0

I think Leo is older than Jas and Vincent

But not too much older that it’s weird.

So maybe 10?

Marnie

I think she is on the older side. I don’t think that she is too old, for sure younger than Lewis

I think she’s like 50-56?

Young enough that Lewis wants to sleep with her for sure

Also young enough that she still hopes by some miracle that she has a child

I think she’s like 5’2-5’4

Rasmodius

I think he is either like super old like hundreds of years or like a mortal person old

So maybe like 60-70

Quite a bit older than Caroline and old enough that he has lived and seen some things

Like an affair and a divorce and losing everything

Probably 6’0 exactly ngl

Jas

Also on the smaller side, and will end up like 5’2 at most when she’s older

So like 3’7 first year she is a very small BABY

She’s also the same age as Vincent so 6 or 7

Willy

I think he is old but doesn’t look it

So in his 60s-70s

Has time to fish and perfect it has time to gain things and lose things

Has lived through a LOT

I think he is 5’5-5’9

A bit on the smaller side but y’know short kings exist.

[separatist-apologist]

Separatist-apologist lore beneath the cut

I dropped out of college when I was 19 and when I decided to go back, I had two kids. I was undeclared and I felt old despite still being in my 20s. I had a scholarship which required me to do daytime classes with all of the brand new 18 year olds and I felt wildly out of place. Before that, I'd been staying at home raising my kids while their dad worked and a lot of people thought wanting to return to the workforce was a mistake, so there was this immense pressure to succeed where I'd once failed.

The problem was not knowing what I wanted to do. All I really cared about was history and domestic violence and as far as I knew, there was no good career path that combined those things, and so I signed up for four random classes that had nothing to do with each other. One of them was called Serial Killers in America which was taught by a former police officer. Another was introduction to psychology, taught by a social worker.

I was sitting in the Serial Killer class one morning, way in the back where no one paid me any attention, when the professor (former cop, remember) began telling a story about being called to a house for domestic violence and I remember looking up at her as she said that too often, these things are a "he said, she said," and they're usually both lying.

And it just ignited something angry in my stomach. I was looking for an advisor since I'd been undeclared and I turned that day to the psych professor and asked if she'd fill out my form to be my advisor. As she was, I told her what the other professor said and how much it bothered me and she asked me what I wanted to do. So I told her, and she asked if I'd ever considered social work.

So began six years of perfectionism and the single-minded goal of getting my masters degree and working in the field as a licensed social worker. I remember my first day in orientation at grad school, someone asked if anyone knew where they wanted to be in 5 years. I was the only person who raised their hand. I knew where I wanted to be.

And for the last three years, I got to live that dream. The good, the bad, the horrible- all of it was mine. And today I pack up this office I've worked in for the last three years because its all over. The work was always good and I'm proud of what I've done. I've published papers, I've sat in state-wide commissions, I've talked to legislators, I've presented at conferences and I've trained a new generation of advocates who feel the same passion I do.

It's no secret that people who work in this field are typically survivors themselves. Something about surviving it turns people into advocates, whether they meant to be or not. And often they manage to make it out of the metaphorical burning building, turn around, and decide they need to go back inside to try and get others. The amount of people I've talked to who say, "I want other people to know they're not alone and they can get through this," is numerous. It makes you optimistic, it makes it impossible to ignore the good in humanity even when you're faced with some of the worst people/circumstances you'll ever encounter.

And despite all the petty office politics, a system designed (sometimes purposefully) to make leaving difficult, and state legislators who push back every inch of progress we ever made, I will miss it. The work was always good. I'm proud of the things I did individually for folks, of the amount of times I got to tell someone they did nothing wrong, that they deserved safety and respect.

These three years have been the best and worst of my life, but the work was always good. I will always be in it, will always be standing beside the ghost of my childhood self, offering her a hand and a voice and I think if I accomplished nothing else, at least I did that.

[buckets-and-trees]

Hehe I’m here with a dare 😏

So I’m such a sucker for angst but with a happy ending - I’d love to hear how you would go about writing a forced proximity meets the one that got away fic, from what I’ve read of your writing I feel like you’d really do those tropes justice

Alright, Em... let me stretch my fingers and get ready for this one...

I THOUGHT about this.

Ari Levinson

Modern AU - college and then mid-to-late-30s Ari

We're going to call this... er... maybe an "imagine-novella"? It kind of ended up being a 2500-word plot exploration. No content warnings, only some language.

You meet Ari in college. He’s tall and toned and tanned, always in a baseball cap unless forced otherwise, and he’s already sporting a full beard and looking good with it. He’s a couple of years older because he worked out of high school before for a couple of years - long enough to put enough away to pay for tuition without being a burden on his parents. When you meet him, it's when there's the huge club rush out on the quad your junior year. It's in the middle of campus in the first weeks of the semester so everyone does wander through by the nature of when and where it is. You see the table for the radio station on campus. Truthfully you don't even notice him at first. You're standing twenty feet away looking at the sign and thinking about whether or not it's worth it, maybe shake things up, you love music - you're that friend always making the playlists, discovering new songs and bands, dying to go to big music festivals, etc, and your campus has a radio station...

Someone else was talking to him as he's running that table, and they leave and then he sees you standing there, and, "Hey! You!"

It jolts you out of your thoughts and you're caught off guard for just a half a second, and go, "Me?"

He grins, "Yeah, you."

Your feet move before you even really think about it because ... that's just what you do when people call you over. It’s an instant crush for you but you try and reign it in, because he's excited that you're actually interested in the station, and you genuinely are excited about it. He's a Journalism and Communications major and the station manager, and so he gives you the pitch to come to an info meeting they're going to have, he'd love to see you there.

And you do go. Because... it doesn't matter that he's cute. The more you keep thinking about it, you decide it would actually be fun. You get a show, you make a lot of new friends with the other station people - some of them are total nerds, but they're all fun or nice or a little bit irreverent, and so station meetings once a month are fun. You're a good DJ. You have fun with your shows. Ari takes note - he appreciates it. The station is his baby. He puts everything into it. He's not outgoing, even though he's charismatic, but he can't help but gravitate to the people who really fucking love it like him. You don't get to know him super well that first year, but when it's time for him to appoint new directors to run the station the next year, he pulls you aside and says he loves what you've done with your show and wants you to think about applying for a director position.

You do. It's going to be your last year of college, the DJ gig hasn't been work, it's just been fun, and ... you love being part of the team, love to work on exciting projects, dig your hands into the dirt and make something great, so yeah. You throw your hat in the ring, because why not? And it could be an extra thing to go on your grad school applications.

Ari not only picks you for the team, he actually ends up picking you to be the director of programming, his number two, the one who oversees the DJs and putting together the roster for shows each semester. And that's what launches everything to a new level.

You lock down DJs that you want to come back the next fall, you both go away for the summer, but now you're texting somewhat regularly about ideas for the next year, things you'll work on, and the real working friendship develops. When fall semester starts and it's full speed on the ground, you and the team of directors really work to make the station great, but it's A LOT of you and Ari.

And to say he becomes one of your best friends senior year? Maybe. You tread that line because there's still that part of your heart that crushes on him, but the part that loves doing everything station and music and working on this big beast together? That's big. You let that be the focus. Because it's fun. And he's fun. And he's brilliant (like you, which is why he likes you) and ambitious (like you) and he's got this great, rich laugh that you get to hear a lot. And a lot of your other friends are busy with their senior years, too, and so are you, and so you don't mind any of the time you spend working on the station with Ari and the other directors and the DJs who are just this pack of a couple dozen people who come and go. But a lot of you and Ari.

And he doesn't date anyone. Not the entire time you know him. You heard/thought maybe there were some hook ups he indulged in during your junior year, but not that year before you both graduate. He clearly doesn't have time for a girlfriend and doesn't love anything more than the station, but you do think - just a little bit - just in the back of your head sometimes - that maybe you don't hear about him with anyone this year because... he's not going to date you - that would be unprofessional for you two and the station - but maybe it's because you are close. And maybe as you get closer to the end of the year... maybe he's going to make a move. He's always said he's already a confirmed old bachelor, but the way he smiles at you, the way he values your opinion, how often he says how amazing you are and how he appreciates you... you're going to be the girl who finally gets him.

But time is running out. And even though you both pour your hearts into the station together, there are never any late nights (those are given to studying, passing classes, etc). The last month, he says stuff like he's never going to see any of you again. Jokingly. You all laugh as directors because how could he mean it? He's made you all a family.

He makes more comments like that in the last weeks and days, and when he says he's going to shut down all of his social media, because he only had it to run and promote the station, you call him on his bullshit. And he says no. He's serious. He's going to go into journalistic photography, and he's going to create the network he needs where he needs it, but he's not playing the PR games to do it - the dream is wild nature photography, work in remote locations, never talk to humans again if he can help it. And it's so stupid. You tell Ari he's being ridiculous. He can't want to live so far off the grid.

"I'm sorry," he says, kindly but matter-of-factly. "But when we graduate, I'm never talking to any of you ever again."

You scoff. But this conversation is now just you and him in the station on a Saturday afternoon. But then you look at him for a half a second and really see his face. And you think he means it. "Ari, I did not give my fucking heart and soul into this station for the last year as your friend for you to never talk to me again. You at least owe me a lunch five years from now."

He smiles. "Okay. Maybe in five years. You find me in five years and I promise I'll take you to lunch."

And you graduate a week later, and he says goodbye, and you're not sad about it. Maybe just a bit wistful for what might have been. But after that specific "five years" conversation, you realize it was only you who was maybe a bit foolishly hopeful. He'd really never led you on. You never told him you had a crush (you had tried to keep it professional, because you did genuinely love the friendship) and he'd never given you or anyone else any illusion that he was there for anything other than working on the station and that bonding and camaraderie. If he had led you on, if there had been late nights, maybe you would've been hurt. But aside from being secretly hopeful, there really wasn't much harm done by your pining. But maybe in five years, you'll look him up for that lunch he agreed to.

He does fall off the gridl You take a busy summer job and then a paid internship in the fall, and you try and track him a bit, but you do just… get busy and move forward. You think of Ari a lot, but less and less as the time goes on. You know the name of the newspaper he was going to start off with right after graduation, and although he got rid of social media, he did have a beautiful website he set up for his photography. And you check that once in a while, but less and less. You get a fulltime job after the internship, and your life becomes even more full with the things that aren’t Ari, and sometimes you think about him, but most times you don’t.

When that five years rolls around, you start to think of him more again.

But you let it come and go.

You didn’t necessarily feel like you were living your best life, and if you were going to get one lunch to win over the one who got away and make him realize you were the love of his life… maybe you’d feel a little better – a little more accomplished, go to the gym more, be really something – in ten years.

Fleeting thought in ten years. Though you do think of him when you realize it’s that ten year mark. And you just kind of smile because ten years ago you was so wildly for him, and five years ago you was still a touch foolishly hopeful, and wouldn’t it be something if you did look him up now? But you really don’t need to anymore.

Then a couple of years later, you move to a new place, and without ever even trying, who else should somehow be living two doors down from you but Ari fucking Levinson?

And he sees you first. He’s just gotten home, opened the door from the garage into the house to be reunited with his good girl – a beautiful golden retriever who’s waited for him all day, walked with her trotting along at his side out to his mailbox, and looks down the street to see who’s just sending off the movers out of curiosity for who’s moving into the neighborhood, and he does a fucking double take because it’s you.

His god damn jaw drops and he laughs and then calls out your name.

You turn, hardly believing it but knowing that voice anywhere, and you laugh and shake your head. “Ari Levinson?”

You push the messy hair from the long day’s work of moving out of your face and are glad you’re not besotted for this man anymore, even if he does look like even more of an Adonis now, because you do know you look a mess, but you don’t even care. Having moved out of state for this dream job, you couldn’t be any more happy just to have someone from your past right at your new home base.

“’Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world!’”

He meets you halfway, and he pauses a beat away from you because he’s not a hugger, but somehow there’s just this draw to hug you, and so he does. Only surprising to you for a second, but you’re so tired and it’s been a good day but a long day, and you were excited for this move, but you can’t deny a familiar face just feels good, so you melt into him just for the comfort of it for a moment. It’s just nice.

And when you pull back, the obedient but attentive dog draws your attention, lighting your face up with a beautiful grin. “Can I pet your dog?!”

But the two of you are already drawn to each other and bonding before he gets the, “Sure, of course,” out of his mouth.

He doesn’t wear those old baseball caps every day anymore, so he pushes his hand through his hair, and that move has practically made women drop their panties for him over the years, but you don’t even notice, too busy showering affection on his sweet golden girl while the two of you exchange the kind of words two of the oldest friends do when they haven’t seen each other in ages. Why is his chest so tight and warm all at once. Why does he have the thought cross his mind that you showing up here feels like home? Why are you falling in love with his dog and not with him? Wait, why did he think that?

This feels like a slippery slope.

But maybe he doesn’t fucking care.

When he is back inside his house, starting to pull something from the fridge to heat up for dinner, he remembers that he promised you a dinner.

It’s later than you two made the deal for, but… he’ll start there.

Just old friends who are new neighbors.

That night when he’s plugging his phone in to charge before bed, he remembers that he never did get rid of your contact in his phone. You might have the same number.

What he doesn’t know is that when he left the harbor, sure, you waited with that boat hopefully for a bit, but then you finally took your ship and sailed – everywhere really – and you may be eager to fall happily in love with his dog and genuinely grateful to know you’ll have someone in your corner on this new adventure, but you want nothing more than that good friendship in your life. He was one of your greatest friends all those years ago. But you finally got over that pining crush, and here’s no way you’ll be foolish enough to fall for him again, nor do you want to. You couldn’t ask for more than to have your old friend as your new neighbor, with his gorgeous golden retriever.

Ari does text you that night… just a welcome to the neighborhood again, and that he thinks he owes you a dinner, if he remembers correctly (he does, he’s just being casually clever), so he’s gotta take you out tomorrow night.

And it is still the same number, but you fell into the blissful rest of your bed, exhausted after move in day, so you don’t even see it that night. It will wait until you get to it in the morning.

Just like Ari will have to wait for what he wants. And work to try to even bring you around again.

Will he have waited too long and you’ll be the one who got away?

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[olderthannetfic]

As someone who's been wondering why there've been so many senseless, needless arguments online about a hypothetical derth of purity in fiction and how it affects people negatively (it doesn't), now learning from several friends who are teachers (with the oldest being a uni professor) that Gen Z (27-11 yo) and Gen Alpha can't read, have poor media literacy, and soley seek fiction to reaffirm their own worldviews without curiosity and with judgement (and a lot of it). I say this as someone who is Gen Z. I'm only 26 years old, but I'm also a TA right now while I'm in grad school. it's not just the middle school and high school students. College students who should be able to do simple literary analysis cannot. Sure these issues (puritanical thinking, absent/poor parenting, lackluster curriculum, etc) have always existed, but with this in mind, it absolutely makes sense why there's so much dumb discourse over things in media that anyone with sense could separate from reality. Even simple things that you learn in elementary school at 6 years old, like "just because the story is focalized through a specific character, doesn't mean they're correct/the protagonist≠morally righteous/you're not always supposed to agree with the POV character or main characters." Maybe it really is the case that, sure some people are being deliberately obtuse, but there are also others who probably don't know.

I've seen it explained to people in fandom and on tumblr with popular series people have read or seen. No, you're not supposed to think Light Yagami is a good guy or a hero. "L is the straightforward hero in Death Note the whole time" isn't clever. It's the main text. No, you're not supposed to agree with Eren Jaeger or military fascists. "SNK is pro military and pro genocide" is just inaccurate. All the characters exhibiting those traits are killed to signal the flaws in their rhetoric. It's actually really unambiguous in that regard, not at all subtle. No, x shoujo/YA fantasy/Ya romance isn't advocating for middle school or high school girls to date men in their mid-20s. Teen girls have always fantasized about adults they find attractive, and these stories (made for and marketed to teen girls) fulfills that desire while protecting them from the possibility of that reality (an adult returning their feelings). No, it's not weird that mythological gods (but I see people mostly complaining about Greek and Egyptian ones) are related. It's purposeful. They're all related concepts and personifications of nature, which is all connected. Get over yourselves. No, it's not weird that gothic stories have incest in them. It was a common practice among aristocracy and nobility all around them world (so, not just a "white people thing"), and it typically symbolizes the decay as social norms. If you feel discomfort, then the story was successful.

On the one hand, sure. It's purity culture, ignorance, misogyny, etc. On the other hand, do the people who harp on about these actually know how to interpret stories? I'm often told "They can't read" as an explanation by others. I'm starting to think it's true, and I don't know how to combat that as someone who may be an educator down the road myself while also being involved in fandom.

--

I'd say it's about 50/50 the usual The Kids These Days scaremongering and a genuine shift.

Reading comprehension can be taught. I was taught to analyze passages in school. Students have to be open to learning, but it's not like some critical language thing you need to absorb before the age of two: a college student who's actually interested in getting better can perfectly well do so, possibly with some help or possibly just with experience.

Plenty of it is anxiety about being wrong and immoral and hurting people too. It's fundie thinking where listening and engaging means capitulating. Lots of people do slowly get over this. Many will calm down about it if they ever get the anxiety meds they so desperately need. Some would probably benefit from ceasing to self harm via social media doomscrolling or exclusively consuming attention span-destroying, FOMO-inducing garbage.

...I say as I answer tumblr asks instead of getting out of bed to start my New Year's resolutions.

[leonardcohenofficial]

Hi Maddie! Are you willing to talk a little about your PhD journey? All I know is you write a really big paper but I imagine it involves more than that

absolutely! the requirements of a phd will definitely range depending on both your field and subject of your research, but typically involve taking courses that allow you to gain general but high level knowledge of the area on the whole, passing some type of qualifying exam that shows you’re prepared to complete your dissertation, and then writing the dissertation itself, all in a process that can take between typically three years (this seems very short but is fairly common outside of the USA) to a decade. in my program people typically graduated in five or six years; i myself took six years to finish everything up

for my program i took classes in a wide variety of areas, most of which were not directly related to what i wrote about for my dissertation, but all of which were extremely beneficial in 1) learning in areas outside of what i do, 2) helping me feel more prepared when teaching those subjects as part of my TA duties, and 3) allowing me to develop deeper critical and theoretical knowledge that helped me with writing the dissertation itself. i was also really happy that i was able to take classes outside of the theatre department (in the music and literature departments; though the lit class i took was a film class lol), which made total sense given my research is so interdisciplinary. the biggest thing i learned about my research throughout my time is that i very much live in the performance studies world (vs. theatre or drama) which is helpful framing given i write and teach about such a wide range of performance and media forms. my dissertation was much more a performance studies/musicology/american studies project than a Theatre™️ project, but i had a committee that really encouraged me to think across multiple disciplines with my work (and i also got to teach both theatre and film classes, which is pretty cool)

i also really appreciate that my program also gave us so much experience teaching! i taught every single quarter and many summers during grad school, which (while exhausting) not only gave me a ton of practice to build up my own pedagogical approach but made my CV pretty competitive as an early career scholar when applying to jobs. i don’t think i would have gotten multiple tenure-track interviews while still finishing my dissertation had i not had so much teaching experience (as instructor of record!) on there. i also am really grateful that my department also really cares about encouraging phds’ practice within and beyond the department, so i was able to dramaturg and/or direct ten shows within my department on top of a ton of outside gigs at the major LORT houses in town (which was also a really big deal)

the actual dissertation writing process sucks. it’s exhausting and thankless and even if you have a really amazing committee (like i did <3) it is extremely stressful and i do not know ANYONE who has reported a smooth and easy dissertation writing process LOL; however i had really good people on my side (friends, family, colleagues in the department and in arts and humanities in general at school, my faculty, my coworkers at the record shop, etc.) who were so supportive and my biggest champions as i was taking on this massive project. it was a lot but in all honestly even though it took so long, it was not the most difficult academic work i’ve ever had to do (that badge of dishonor goes to the horrendous process of getting my international baccalaureate diploma, which was so awful it led me to go to hippie college with no grades no tests and no majors LMFAO). i am super proud of my dissertation—if anyone wants to read it i’d be happy to send the link!—and even though there are plenty of sections i’ll rework for when i submit it to academic presses for publication, i am really pleased with the work i did and i think that it provides new and (imho) exciting scholarship about topics that i find really meaningful (many of which i’ve loved since i was a kid)

all of this to say, if people have phd, grad school, research, or otherwise related questions or want to chat, please hit me up! always happy to talk about this stuff / offer my very humble advice about any stage of the process <3

[tenderlady]

hi love!! out of curiosity, i didn't know about the lindsay ellis video, how bad is it?

hey, friend!

so, the video itself is here:

in the interest of full disclosure, i haven't actually seen it, so i really can't comment on the quality. my beef is not with lindsay ellis or the work that she's doing--as far as youtubers go, i think she's actually one of the better ones. this video might actually be good! but i haven't watched it, so i, frankly, don't know. my beef is much more with the video essay as a form and what it's doing rather than with lindsay ellis, or this video, specifically.

i'm guessing you're asking because of my tags on this post, which articulates a lot of my issues with the video essay industrial complex lmao, which gets at a lot of my discomfort with them. i used to watch video essays (a lot!), and a lot of my friends still do. like a lot of people, when i got out of grad school, i found i wasn't reading as much anymore, but i still wanted to be stimulated intellectually, and video essays were a good way to do that. but eventually i realized that i wasn't actually Learning Anything lol.

as ismatu gwendolyn says in her piece, "short-form video entertains more than it sticks." this was the place i was finding myself getting into when i was watching video essays a lot, and also the place i see my friends getting into. they are video (and arguably this isn't really short-form since it's over an hour long but i digress), but i find that most people i know don't actually Watch Them the way that you would watch a movie or, say, a lecture in a college class. instead they listen to them as you would listen to a podcast or an audiobook, which is to say While Doing Other Things. some of this is definitely because of the way our current economy is structured (a lot of the people listening to video essays are very busy, i.e., in university or working in a professional desk-type job, or have minimal downtime when not doing those things and have to double dip with their free time, so like things they can use to multi-task), and that is something i totally understand. but if we're looking at these as pedagogical objects (teaching tools from people who are trying to impart knowledge in some kind of way) they're actually not very effective. i respect folks like philosophy tube or contrapoints who include reading lists with their videos, but how many people are actually turning to these original sources? another of gwendolyn's points that i absolutely agree with is that you are engaging with a work in a totally different way by reading it. you have to give a written text your full attention, which is why the backbone of education is still Reading. this full attention forces you to have a deeper engagement with a text than you would while listening to it ambiently, or even just watching it. i get that there are people who can't do this for various reasons, but if actually sitting down with the texts a video essayist is talking about is available to you, you will find a totally different experience, even if those texts are just beatlebooks lol. (additionally, primary video texts--like interview footage of the beatles and yoko--are also hugely informative and different from the interpretive work i'm assuming is happening in lindsay's video)

i actually watched a good chunk of contrapoints' most recent video on desire but ended up dipping around the middle because she brought up anne carson and i realized i could just be reading anne carson lmao. i told a friend about this and he looked at me like i had sprouted an extra head and said "i never really thought about doing that. you're probably the only person i know who's ever done that." i get that like, 5 nerds in usamerica are hardly a representative sample, but that is the kind of behavior i see with video essays: people using them to fill a void of silence while they work/study/play video games/fold laundry rather than engaging with the material critically and learning in a concerted way.

the entertainment aspect is also something that bugs me, but i am a joyless hag, so that may just be me. i have a similar issue with john oliver. folks like oliver and the video essayists are definitely making complex issues more accessible to people who may be unfamiliar, but i don't know if they actually do much in the way of using that opened door to get people anywhere. there's also the issue of video essays being monetized. this isn't to say that Theory(TM) Isn't Monetized (they are published in journals and books, which you often have to buy), but that monetization isn't embedded into the work itself the way it is with video essays. nothing kills the vibe for me like talking about the great works of a philosopher and getting jumpscared by an ad for rocketmortgage or nordvpn halfway through.

like i said: i've watched video essays from time to time. i still do! but sometime in the last like.....4 or 5 years i realized that there were other things i could be doing with my One Wild & Precious Life.

to bring it back to the lindsay ellis video: i had a bunch of irl's (including a fucking ex that i don't talk to anymore!!!!!) send it to me, and i'm sure lindsay does a good job, but i kind of doubt she's going to tell me anything i don't already know lmao. one thing i love about the beatles fandom on here is that (for the most part) we aren't afraid to actually do Real Research Ourselves. the girlies are reading primary sources!!!! i just feel like the lindsay ellis beatle video is Not For Me, but feel free to prove me wrong!

[lady-raziel]

How Project 2025 could radically reshape higher ed (insidehighered.com)

I know you've heard a lot of things about Project 2025 at this point and most of them are scary, but I think it's things like this that indicate that even the stuff in that plan that seems boring is very scary too. Here's a bit of an analysis on some of the plans regarding higher education.

Basically, they want to make it much, much harder to get student loans, and to make the loans you can get much harder to pay off. For so many people, the only way they'll ever be able to get a higher education is with the help of federal student loans. Without that assistance, and for degrees that don't guarantee a high-paying career quickly (such as art, history, literature-- so many subjects, most of them "soft-sciences") because having a high-income would be necessary to keep up with payments (as income-driven repayment plans will be eliminated)...a lot of people will not go to college. Particularly people from disadvantaged backgrounds.

So it would be that most high-school grads can't afford school, and the ones that take on loans have to prioritize careers that by nature aren't the ones taking on learning from history, culture, or political thought because it's hard to make money and advance quickly career-wise with those. It would gatekeep the "soft-science" subjects that tend to spur criticisms of society, history, and power to those who could afford to pay full-price-- who are also likely to be privileged and in the ruling class and thus the least likely to criticize the existing culture. And by gatekeeping that knowledge and its credentials, they could discredit anyone who hasn't studied the subject by saying that they are uninformed or uneducated and thus shouldn't be taken seriously. They would be in full control of the research being done and the types of papers being written. The end result is crippling the ability to even have academic discourse or research to refute their other policy goals.

Furthermore, the elimination of many repayment plans that already exist serves to punish the people who have already gotten degrees-- if you don't already have a stable job, trying to keep up with higher payments while your taxes go up (increasing tax rate for people making under $168k to 15% of income and eliminating pretty much every deduction, credit, and exclusion) and still affording the necessities (made much harder when Medicaid, SNAP, other social safety nets are cut) will be very challenging. And if you DO have a stable job and are educated on subjects that allow you to criticize the movement-- they can attack you and discredit you and make you lose that job if you publicly disagree. The way Project 2025 suggests restructuring the federal workforce is an example-- even if you're an expert, if you work in a federal agency and don't comply, you're gone.

The long-term purpose of all this is clear-- control the knowledge, control the history, prevent people from developing any skills to oppose you through research or academic theory, prevent people from going to institutions that can get them to question society and power. It is much harder to organize and develop ideas to oppose the people in power if you never get any chance to learn how or what others have done before you.

When the obstacles to getting educated become so great, so challenging, how many people will try? Why risk it, when you have more certainty working a blue-collar job instead? Why push young women to go to school when, if they take out loans, may not be able to maintain the payments if they get married and leave the workforce to have children-- or if they get pregnant (and will not be able to access birth control or an abortion) unexpectedly and also have to leave the workforce? With social safety net programs gutted and women forced to give birth upon becoming pregnant, and no early childhood education program to provide relief causing women to have to stay home, there would be no way to repay student loans for women who leave the workforce in this scenario. Being a woman is too much of a risk for higher ed in this world--how many will take that risk?

And none of this even scratches what Project 2025 wants to do to the colleges and universities themselves and how teaching certain subjects could cause them to lose funding. Again--how many will take that risk? Going bankrupt, or discussing critical race theory?

The real, long-lasting threat of this agenda, even beyond the immediate terrible effects on the LGBTQ+ community and disadvantaged communities, is to make life unlivable for those that disagree or exist in a way the right-wing doesn't like. It uses the whole of systems of power--governmental, financial, social, societal-- to work together in concert to make the only way to live be their way. It's not just one policy--it's all of them working together to crush people and make sure even those in a privileged position who could disagree...won't.

You know the call to action is to vote. But I'd also spend some time educating yourself on some of the more boring-sounding objectives in Project 2025. Don't feel pressured to read the whole thing yourself, because it's very long and dense as it IS actually written by smart and competent people who are conservative academics and former Trump staffers. That's why it's a problem-- these people are smart enough and know enough to make this plan work. But there are a lot of articles from reputable sources out there breaking down even the dullest-sounding parts of this plan-- please spend some time understanding the extent and educate those around you.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Your Side of Town [Aaron x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@taybrinafavs) Center (@dilfgifs) Right (The Killers - From "Your Side of Town" music video)

Prompt: When the reader starts going to UC Riverside to get her PhD, she meets the dangerous and enigmatic Aaron Hotchner in her Tax Fraud class. She is forced to ask why she likes him, and if he is as dangerous as her friend, Emily Prentiss, says. 

Pairing: College!Aaron x Non-BAU!Reader, fem!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns 

Category: Angst 

Word Count: 14.5K 

Content Warnings: Language, mention of drinking alcohol, beating [Aaron], mention of gangs and criminal organizations, a brief description of murder and blood. Please let me know if I missed any. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! This is a long note, but hopefully, it will explain this fic better before you read it. It started this story a few months ago when The Killers released the song “Your Side of Town.” It gave me such strong Aaron vibes that I had to write a fic based on it. I decided to write a college AU where the reader is in school with Aaron who is working on his law degree. I’ve made some changes to the setting and period, but I’ve tried to keep the characters as true to the show as possible, even with the changes. Much of this chapter is setting up the future storyline and depending on if people like this chapter or not, I might work on a part two. This is something very different for me, so I hope it’s okay. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n 

y/f/c/d = Your favorite coffee (or coffee adjacent drink). 

d/b = department building 

y/l/n = your last name. 

y/f/s = your favorite subject 

The California sun beat down on y/n, as she walked toward campus She walked quickly, even if she didn’t need to. Her pace demonstrated her stress. She had barely slept even though she had intentionally gone to bed early. y/n couldn’t tell if it was worse to be in bed unable to sleep or be awake and dreaming, longing, praying for sleep. She couldn’t decide and she was too nervous to think about it at the moment. The walk from the commuter parking lot to the UC Riverside campus was pretty, but it was a hot day. As y/n dipped into her normal coffee shop, it was a bit more crowded than usual, but certainly not as bad as it would be at 10 a.m. 

Perhaps getting up and out of her apartment at 6 a.m. had paid off. As she reached the counter, y/n ordered a coffee straight and an iced y/f/c/d. She lingered by the pickup counter, looking at the mostly older patrons sitting and reading the local paper or chatting with friends who were up as early as themselves. 

These people didn’t seem like students. One or two of the twelve patrons of the shop could be seniors, but it was hard for her to tell. y/n knew she was rubbish at guessing ages. Always had been. y/n’s name was called shortly after and she made it back outside. From the coffee shop, it was only a short walk to the crosswalk that would take her onto campus proper. Because her hands were full, she leaned her hip against the crosswalk button. The electronic voice droned out, “Wait to cross, West Campus Drive.” y/n let out a sigh. She knew her anxiety was unfounded. She had graduated from undergrad, and then grad school, there was no reason she should not be able to obtain her PhD in four or five years or so. 

Even if this was the case, imposter syndrome was still a constant stalker. The crosswalk voice told her she was good to walk. y/n had zoned out, and sure thing. The walk sign was on. y/n got a move on. The road wasn't long, but cars were known to speed down the blind curve, and over the summer, when y/n had moved into her apartment, got to meetings with her advisor, gotten used to campus, and gotten to know her two roommates, she had seen many an accident on West Campus Drive. She didn’t fancy getting into an accident. Not when their life was finally coming to something. 

y/n had agreed that this was going to be the year that she stopped running from her past. She contemplated this as she made it safely onto campus and the short walk to her d/b. As she approached the door, a colleague whom she was getting to know, Ted Anderson, walked up the steps. He saw that she didn’t have a free hand and moved more quickly. He pulled the door open and flashed her a smile before saying, “Moring, y/l/n. You ready for this?” y/n gave him a small smile back and said, “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve got my syllabi printed, my two coffees, and Fraud in the U.S. tonight at six, so if it’s not a good day, at least it will be a busy one.” Anderson nodded as he moved behind her into the building saying, “I’m sure you’ll do great.” y/n gave him a soft smile as they diverted paths. Her office was on the third floor and his on the first. y/n wasn’t sure why she had been graced with an office with a window, but she would enjoy the sunlight streaming through the window as she worked. She had nothing to complain about there. 

The first half of the day went well. The two sophomore-level courses on _y/f/s had gone by quickly. The first day both lecture halls had been packed with around two hundred students each. The imposter syndrome seemed to melt away as a learned mask of confidence and the need to be in control took its place, even if the persona wasn’t fully formed yet for herself or the class. It was refreshing. It gave her the boost that she needed until lunchtime rolled around. y/n moved to the department office and got some copies of a reading from the student worker, got a fresh cup of much worse coffee from the shared office pot. 

The last two classes of the day were more varied than the first. One was a junior-level cross-cultural course on y/f/s and the last, at 3:30 p.m., was a freshman introductory course on y/n’s field of study. Although it already felt far too early to be behind on work on the first freaking day of the semester, that didn’t mean that there weren’t things to do. Chief of which was annotating the U.S. Fraud and Compliance course that y/n was auditing this semester. y/n’s field of study and research was primarily in equity and inequality in the United States over the last two decades. As it turned out, things like tax fraud and White-Collar crime turned out many of the policies that caused inequality and not murder or violence as the government and law enforcement liked to tout every year with new stats that “Crime was going up.” 

Sure Organized crime was a part of it, but a lot of the original crime syndicates had come out of the early 1920s because of prohibition and bootlegging. And new crime rings had popped up from the disastrous War on Drugs. The policy had only seemed to push cocaine into marginalized communities which allowed the law to continue over-policing and criminalizing those communities. Thus, the desire to audit the Fraud course. 

The elderly professor, Dr. Porter, had been kind enough to respond to y/n’s email asking if he would allow it. He had requested a meeting with her in his office in central campus. She had gone, and they made their introductions. Dr. Porter had asked, “So why do you want to take the course? It’s a pretty small class, with only twenty-two students. There’d be room for you, I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. I’d require that you do all the work and participate in the class. It wouldn’t be fair to the other students.” y/n explained her research to the man and he listened and took some notes. When she had finished her explanation, Mr. Porter nodded and said, “That sounds very interesting. I’d be happy for you to take the course as long as you don’t think this coursework along with your teaching and research will be too much for you?” 

y/n had thought about this, labored about it even. However, she knew that it would be a lot. However, taking a course on the subject taught by an expert in the field, felt like a safer bet than trying to learn it all herself. That was just too much history and policy for her to attempt to grasp solo. With a determined look, y/n nodded and said, “Yes. It’d be an honor to Take this with you and your students. Thank you so much for making this accommodation for me. Porter smiled and said, “Well, thank you for your enthusiasm. Fraud and Tax Law isn’t something people usually get excited about. It’s bound to be an interesting semester.” The man’s words were a foretelling of the start of something much bigger than a student taking on an extra class.

         y/n turned her attention to the syllabus for the course. It was thick, with pages on pages about the class, an introduction for the materials to be covered, the four pre-class reading assignments, two pages of prerequisites, and then the grading system, required texts and materials, and lastly, The course calendar. y/n had skimmed it ounce and done all of the pre-readings which were stashed in a file folder in her suede shoulder bag. Now, she was going to sit down and thoroughly annotate the lengthy syllabus. When y/n had finished with that, she moved outside to get a quick bite to eat and another coffee before she would need to head to her office, grab her things, and head across campus to the Law Building. 

The quad was now much busier with students scurrying about to and fro. y/n moved into the crowd and moved her way upstream to the crosswalk she had been at a few hours prior. y/n had intended to pack a lunch, but in the bustle of the morning, it had slipped her mind. She wasn’t going to be too hard on herself about it. She would make sure to bring one tomorrow and all the days after. One meal out wasn’t going to ruin her budget. y/n did have to keep a pretty strict budget. Even if UC Riverside was a preeminent school in California, and even though her department had offered her a position in the program and waived her tuition costs, with rent, gas, and food prices all at a premium, the small pay she got from her lecturing always seemed to be running low by the end of the month. Thus, the need for a budget. If she worked hard enough and was dedicated to her financial plan, she would be able to start some savings. She needed that. She wasn’t going to be caught unawares like she had in the past. She wanted to settle. To stop running. And that took a different kind of work than constant escapism. 

After a light meal, y/n moved back to the coffee shop from before and got a coffee and a shot of espresso. y/n doctored her coffee the way she liked and then walked back to campus. If nothing else, her constant desire for coffee got her some daily exercise. Everyone she had spoken to had promised her that Cali would be a consistent cool temperature. However, as the five o’clock sun beat down on her, if did not feel cool. The month she had moved in with her roommates, the papers and TV kept saying that they were in a “record heat wave,” and that the heat was expected to keep rising until the first two weeks of September. y/n longed for it to be just a bit cooler. A 70-degree day would heal her and put her at ease. The heat did the opposite. 

Back in her office, y/n took off her blazer and fanned herself with some loose papers. She sat, and drained the espresso knowing this much caffeine was a bad idea so late in the day, but that was a later problem. For now, she sat down, took a few deep breaths, and gathered her things for her cross-campus commute. When everything was packed and ready to go, she checked her outfit, choosing to leave the blazer behind. She didn’t need to impress the people in this class as much as she did for her students. Entering the large lux building, y/n moved up the stairs to the fourth floor and found her class. There were still twenty minutes before the lecture would begin, but that would give her time to find a seat that was in the back so the real students could be close to Dr. Porter.

         There were four students already in the class scattered in the small space. There were tables, with two chairs at each table. They were set in two neat rows that led to the front of the room with the wooden lectern and the bulky equipment for the projector. y/n took a seat at the table on the far-left side of the room. There were three extra seats in the room to accommodate the twenty-two students and herself. Thus, she felt alright if she sat in the seat near the row and not next to the wall. It would give her a better view of the screen. y/n had an idea that she was going to be having a lot of eye strain this semester. A few more students moved into the room, and y/n got out her colored markers and notebooks, and the pre-readings along with the syllabus. 

Just as y/n was taking the first sip of her coffee, five students walked in followed by Dr. Porter who called her to the front of the class. y/n flushed slightly but waited for the man sitting across from her to get seated. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, black Levi’s, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. He was far less professional-looking than many of the other students in the room. 

Some of the younger men even wore suits, though y/n was unsure if such gestures mattered to the law professors or not. The man was, if not professional, at least very attractive. He had smooth light skin and a sharp jaw. His dark hair contrasting his skin was short and had a little curve in the front, framing his face well. The man gave her a wicked smile, his dark brown eyes captivating as she moved past him now that he was finally seated. For a moment, y/n thought that those were the kinds of eyes she could get lost in. The thought only lasted that, though, a moment. She pulled herself together and thought, “Come on now, some pretty boy isn’t going to turn your head like a teenager, this isn’t a romance.’ Those types of feelings were uncharacteristic for y/n, and she let the idea pass quickly the man turned to who appeared to be his friend and said, “Yeah, I’d skip Constitutional with Leery. Try and see if you can get a section with Menendez. He made it fun, as strange as those sounds coming from me.”

         y/n moved down the aisle and got some looks from the other students. When she got to the older man, she smiled at him and asked, “What can I do for you, Dr. Porter?” Porter pointed to the Rolodex and said, “Do you know how to work these things? This one is frozen on a blank slide. I’ve not grown with the technology as you can see.” y/n nodded and said, “Let me see if I can get it working for you, Sir.” y/n moved behind the equipment and knelt. She made sure her skirt was at an acceptable level. Even if no one was behind her to see anything and she was wearing black tights, it was a natural teacher habit to make sure everything was covered appropriately. 

The slide deck appeared to be jammed. y/n fiddled with it with her finger for a moment and it slipped back into place with a satisfying click. y/n looked up to Dr. Porter and asked, “Do you have the deck you want to use for today?” The man nodded and looked around his desk for a second before he found the miniaturized slides and handed them to her. y/n slotted them into the space and pushed them down. She looked up at the screen and it now read the first slide: “Tax Fraud in the United States. LW5000. Fall 1991. Dr. E. L. Porter.” y/n stood up and the Doctor said, “You’re a lifesaver. I always need someone younger than me to help me with this new-fangled technology. How was your first day? Did everything go smoothly?” y/n nodded and said, “I’m happy to help anytime, and the first day was good. Busy but good.” Porter smiled and y/n moved back to her seat. Not all of the class hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening at the front, but some had been watching the two speak so causally with looks of veiled interest. 

y/n moved back to her seat, the man in the leather jacket shot her a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. y/n turned her face away from his gaze, trying to hide the rising blush in her face. She wished someone less attractive had decided to sit next to her. Honestly one of those pretentious suits would do fine, but she was happy with her spot and she wasn’t planning on moving. She was sure the attractive man would do something to irk her and stop whatever little infatuation she felt for him. 

The class started in earnest and because it was such a small class, the professor had everyone give a small two or three-sentence introduction with each student’s name, what year they were in, and what they hoped to do once they graduated. Dr. Porter started at the front and moved back. The answers ran the gambit from a desire to work in the FBI fraud department, to a criminal lawyer, to a CPA. y/n noted names of students who seemed particularly driven but not overconfident. She knew she was going to need help with the course given it wasn’t her area of study. When it got to the man sitting across from her, she looked at him. He raised a lazy hand and said, “Hey, I’m Aaron Hotchner. I’m in L2 and I want to be a public defender when I graduate.” At hearing his name, some gave a little gasp, and others shot him a dirty glare. This reaction didn’t seem to bother him. However, it left y/n at a bit of a loss. She had no clue why this man’s classmates had reacted this way. There was a dynamic playing out here that she was not aware of. 

The university taught around 26,000 students each semester and there was no way she could keep up with half the drama. It took half a second to realize that she was the last person who needed to speak, and she snapped back to attention. y/n gave a small smile and said, “Hi. I’m y/n y/l/n. I’m just auditing this class. I’m a PhD candidate in the y/d department. This class aligns with my research and Dr. Porter graciously is allowing me to sit in.” Porter inclined his head toward her and said, “We’re happy to have you Ms. y/l/n. Now with the introductions over, let’s cover the basics of the Criminal Tax System. It will be helpful if you pull out your readings as I will be calling on some students to answer questions.” 

Everyone shuffled to get the readings out of their bag. y/n looked as Aaron pulled the readings out of his shoulder bag and flipped to the first page of the reading. If he seemed very casual in his dress, the copious notes he had taken on the reading showed that he was at least taking this class seriously. y/n wondered if she should add his name to the list of people to try and befriend for help, but the class's response to his being here had her hesitate. She didn’t want to get involved in some bigger drama that she wasn’t aware of. She looked up from his papers only to catch his dark brown eyes. Both of them looked to the front of the class as Dr. Porter called on the first student for an answer. Neither y/n nor the enigmatic man across from her got called during the first three hours of class. The last slide on the Rolodex was the lengthy homework included a chapter from the required textbook and five separate cases for review. Dr. Porter dismissed everyone. Some students moved to the front to introduce themselves to the professor while others moved out into the hallway. It was dark as y/n moved outside. As she pulled her shoulder bag up and over her neck, someone called her name. y/n turned and found Parker, a student who seemed like a nice and cool student trying to catch up to her. y/n slowed and said, “Hey, what’s up Parker?” The girl beamed at being remembered and said, “I just wanted to hear more about your research. It sounds very cool.” y/n flushed and said, “Really? Thanks that’s nice.” The two walked in the same direction talking a bit about each other, the class, and y/n’s research. The whole walk made y/n feel like her work wasn’t for nothing, or extremely boring. The two women exchanged numbers as they headed toward different parts of campus. 

As she moved, yet again someone called her name. The voice was familiar and she whipped her head to the side to see Aaron now rambling beside her. It had become clear that he had been walking behind her and Parker, and y/n hadn’t noticed him. She chastised herself for not being more aware of her surroundings. y/n let out a breath and said, “Oh, it’s you. Is there something you want, Aaron?” Mr. Hotchner gave a sly smile indicating that he knew she knew there was more to him than he was letting on. Aaron replied to her question with, “Are you really smart or something, or really stupid?” y/n had not expected to be insulted in her first real interaction with this odd, odd, man and said, “Sorry, what?” Aaron laughed slightly and said, “Well auditing Tax Fraud with Porter? He’s like the most demanding prof in the department. He’s brutal from what I’ve heard.” 

y/n flushed, and was grateful that it was too dark for the man to see. She had heard of Dr. Porter's reputation as a strict and demanding professor. She wasn’t going to let on that she was unaware of the man’s full reputation. Instead, she said, “Well, on this subject, maybe I’m somewhere in the middle.” She hesitated and added, “And, he was the only person willing to let me audit the course. I might be a fucking idiot for agreeing to this, but I’m going to do my damn best. It’s the least I can do for Dr. Porter to let me in. The worst that can happen is that I’m the class clown and dunce. I’ll still have learned something if that’s the case.” 

It seemed that Aaron had not expected that response. He stopped in his tracks for a moment and looked at her with incredulity. He gave a very soft, “Huh,” and then kept walking next to her. y/n wondered, ‘Why was this handsome man walking with her? What he could want from her apart from a reaction was beyond her.’ Aaron looked like he was about to say something else, but another, new voice pierced the quiet atmosphere of the near-silent campus. Aaron and y/n looked over as a built man approached saying, “Hey, Hotch. How was the first day?” 

Aaron rolled his eyes and said, “Fine. Normal. How was your first day, Morgan?” The new man stepped into the light. y/n observed the new figure. He wore dark blue jeans and a loose green t-shirt had hid what y/n assumed was a built frame given the man’s strong forearms. The color of his shirt matched the deep tone of his skin well. The man looked her over for one second before saying, “Yeah it was fine. I mean I slept through my first alarm. So I skipped the rest of my classes for the day. Sunk cost ya’ know.” At hearing this, Aaron facepalmed and said, “Morgan, are you trying to buy yourself another fucking semester here?” 

It was clear to y/n that ‘Hotch’ and Morgan were friends given how casually they were addressing each other and Aaron’s use of profanity. y/n felt like she was intruding on a private conversation and was glad when she reached her turn-off. She moved to the left and Aaron called out, saying, “Good luck with all your stuff.” She looked over to the two men and said, “Yeah, thanks. See you next week.” As she moved farther away, she could overhear Morgan say, “Who was that chick man?” And Aaron’s response of, “Just a girl in my class. Now come on. Let’s go home. I’m fucking tired.” There was something so odd about Aaron, his demeanor, and his ‘friend’ to y/n. She shook off the encounter for the moment as she finally got to her car. 

When y/n got back to her shared apartment at around ten p.m., the lights were still burning downstairs. She thought, ‘Must be Emily.’ Emily was the only one that made sense. But the young attractive brunette didn’t normally stay up that late. Emily’s morning shifts required her to be up at around four a.m., so it was odd that she would be up so late. It certainly wasn’t Garcia. y/n’s most eccentric roommate, Penelope Garcia, seemed to be up all hours of the day and night. y/n had wondered if Garcia took uppers to stay up all night at the club or with her coding pals, or sometimes both at the same time. The one time Penelope had dragged her out to a rave, y/n found it miraculous that the spunky blonde with her gang of friends had elbowed their way to the back, found an empty table, and pulled out a clunky PC. The group, and Garcia in particular had a penchant for finding creepy guys online and making sure they got reported to whatever authorities seemed necessary. Pen was fantastic with finding people online, and y/n was glad she wasn’t on that woman’s bad side. Shockingly, Garcia hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, but all four of her friends took pity on y/n, clearly not in her environment with the strobe lights and deafening music in the background. Each of the friends got her a drink and a nice man asked her to dance. It had been an exciting night, but not one she planned on replicating soon. 

When y/n entered the first story she was met with Emily smiling and holding out a glass of red wine for her. y/n smiled and said, “Em this is so sweet. What’s the occasion?” y/n noticed the uncorked bottle on the counter. Prentiss grabbed her glass and said, “To celebrate your first day of course. I know you’ve been stressed about it. So, first cheers. And then tell me how it went.” y/n clinked glasses with Em and began regaling her with the events of the day. She tried to keep it short, knowing that her roommate would want to get to bed soon. Prentiss listened with rapt attention. Emily never seemed like the type of person y/n could be close friends with. y/n would like to think she was easy to get along with. She kept the shared space clean, offered food when she made it, and tried to stay pretty quiet and unobtrusive, but the more time she spent in Emily’s company, the more she liked her. Emily was so dedicated given all the crap her job threw at her, especially all the sexism and misogyny she faced. But even on top of those hurdles, she generally was just a funny and caring person. Emily was fiercely dedicated to the people she liked and it seemed that y/n was one of them. y/n wasn’t sure if she had taken pity on her when she first moved in or not, but if it was the latter, y/n wasn’t even mad about it. She had felt truly lost when she first moved to the city, and Emily, given her beat as a policewoman for the LAPD, had told her where to avoid late at night and showed her around their apartment area thoroughly. That had been a kindness.  

As y/n finished wrapping up her narrative of the evening events, she included the strange interaction with the man who sat across from her saying, “And there was this really cute guy in my class. Strange but cute. He kind of insinuated that I was stupid for auditing the class which was insulting, but damn was he cute. Everyone else in the class seemed shocked when they heard his name.” Emily raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, who is this dude? Do you remember his name?” y/n rolled her eyes and said, “Well yeah. How could I forget given the reception he got? His name’s Aaron Hotchner. Do you know him or something?” At hearing the name, Em stilled and seemed to pale. This was not the response y/n had been expecting and she said quickly, “Should I know who that is?” y/n was at a loss for this response for a seemingly hot guy in a leather jacket. Emily took a deep breath before saying, “I’d stay away from him. The Hotchner name has a, well a reputation.” y/n furrowed her brows and said, “Okay. Now you have me worried. Who is this guy?” Em let out another breath and stroked her hands through her hair saying, “Well. I can tell you this. His dad, Mr. Hotchner Sr. is the head of one of the largest gangs in this part of the city. The man and his gang are in deep with the drug trade. As for his son, well, from what I hear he’s not involved. At least not yet, but people are keeping an eye on him.” 

y/n couldn’t stop herself from letting her mouth drop open. That was a real surprise. Suddenly the response of the class made more sense. To have someone of that status, studying law was an oddity. How Aaron Hotchner had chosen this path of study was bizarre. It wasn’t her place to think about it, but even if that was the case, the idea stuck with her. Prentiss could see this look stuck on y/n’s face and warned, “Listen, y/n. Just for your sake, stay away from him. I can’t tell you what Aaron Hotchner is doing with his life, but his dad’s not a good guy. I wouldn’t want you to get tied up in some unsafe stuff.” y/n flushed and said, “Don’t worry Em. I’m not planning on it. He might be cute, but given your new information, he’s not that cute. Now, pour me another glass. And I’ll be happy to pay you back for half the bottle, given how good this stuff tastes, I’m assuming it’s not cheap.” Prentiss held out the bottle and refilled y/n’s glass saying, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This one’s my treat.” y/n smiled at Emily. She really was the best. Once they had finished off the bottle, both women moved quickly to their rooms and headed to their separate bedrooms. Both women fell into bed bed too exhausted to think about much more than sleep. 

The semester seemed to move like those in grad school had two years before. Without concrete classes to ground her, y/n’s classes and her weekly meetings with her advisor were the only things that kept time a constant. y/n had prepped for the larger sophomore seminar class, but the smaller classes she just arranged weekly. The law class also added a level of stability, if not a whole load of extra work on top of her own research and writing time. It was a burden but also allowed her time outside of her office to make some new friends. y/n found friends with Parker and Steven. They would prep for their case assignments. After the first three weeks of the class, when all three of them had been called on, now, they had a better understanding of how the class would be. 

It was a learning curve to be in a law class. It wasn’t like any of her other classes. There had been plenty of courses centered on discussion mostly, but this type of interrogation that the class required was difficult for her. y/n and her new friends who were more adept at law than her prepped for this type of questioning. Demanding, interrogatory, personal even. The group had all worked on coming up with practice questions, some more accurate than others. After the fourth class, the friend group had each been called. It had been y/n’s first time. She had been called about the United States v. Caldwell case in 2016. Her copious notes had helped her provide a semi-succinct response. The friend group walked across campus after class each going to their respective cars. As they walked, they talked about the class, and y/n’s response, and what she might have said differently. As they moved down the quad, they rambled slowly across the campus not wanting to leave each other’s company yet. 

A new voice was added to the mix as someone left one of the many buildings on the quad. y/n looked up and smiled. It was Spencer. y/n beamed, she hadn’t seen Dr. Reid in some time. She had met him at one of those awkward faculty socials. Everyone else at the social had at least one friend there except for her and Spencer. So naturally they had made their way to each other and introduced themselves. The young and brilliant Dr. Reid was teaching an abnormal psychology class and getting a third PhD in chemistry while also teaching. 

Suddenly y/n had felt very stupid and that her schedule didn’t seem that busy at all. Dr. Reid, having done this for a long time could see the look on her face and he rushed to reassure y/n that she was taking on a lot too and that he was just a freak who literally couldn’t get his mind to slow down no matter how hard he tried. That had made her feel better, at least a little. Then Spencer had asked her about her research and his genuine interest in her field had validated her even more. Her imposter syndrome slipping away. As it turned out, Dr. Reid was a fount of knowledge about her area of interest as well, and the young slender man offered to give her information or loan her any of his slew of books if she wanted. y/n had readily agreed and the pair swapped email addresses. y/n thought that if she was less busy she might have thought Spencer was the type of man she might be attracted to. But she was too busy for an attempt at a romance and she had just moved in. Getting her feet under her was her current goal, not finding a fling. Perhaps, if she survived the semester she would think about it later, However, she would be surprised if the young man wasn’t taken already. From what she could see, he was a catch. After the mixer b, both of them had spent their social batteries and Spencer was nice enough to drive her to her car in the commuter lot. As they parted ways they vowed to meet up for a coffee and chat soon. 

They had met up once before the semester started for coffee at another place the genius liked. They had both bemoaned making syllabi and the heat and anything else they wanted to get off their chests. The conversation had been cathartic. Unfortunately, the semester had picked up at a furious pace and they hadn’t met up since then. Spencer had been kind enough to send her an email or two checking in, which she had responded to. y/n was very pleased to see him again in person. She called him over, and Dr. Reid’s long legs got him to her in a few strides. Reid was in a sweater vest and black slacks with his distinctive brown shoulder bag. The two friends checked in. After a brief conversation, y/n introduced Spencer to her friends. 

Everyone said their hello’s and the four of them now moved across the large campus. The lights on the quad seemed to be placed haphazardly, not fully or well illuminating the space. Emily had told y/n to carry pepper spray when she walked at night. y/n assumed that Preniss had multiple stories of nights gone wrong for young women on campus given her job as a policewoman, and y/n believed her. Thus, y/n always carried some pepper spray with her in the side pocket of her bag, just in reach. The group rounded a corner to see the first strong light of the night. The beam of light from a solitary lamp shone down on a large imposing figure silhouetted against the glow of the light. Suddenly the warm camaraderie of the night that had been forming between the new and old friends felt like it was cut with a knife. Something felt very wrong about the person standing in the shadow and the group of young adults stopped in their tracks. Even though all their cars were in this direction, nobody felt like moving forward. Noting the palpable tension in front of them. 

They all stood there for a minute looking to see if the figure would move, but he didn’t. The figure stood stock still, apparently unaware of the group's intimidation of him. Or, perhaps that was the goal as another, familiar voice came from behind them. The four students turned and y/n was surprised to find Aaron approaching them with a stiff gait. y/n was used to seeing him smooth and loose and what appeared as ease, but this was not that. Suddenly y/n wondered if that apathetic demeanor was all an act that Hotch put on. Aaron stepped forward and everyone in the law class they shared with him cocked a weary eyebrow. Hotch sighed and said, “I’m not joking, beat it. Find an alternative route or take thirty minutes to talk in the library or something. Just don’t be here right now.” Parker, Steven, and Spencer’s eyes all moved to the man in the shadows and then turned, but y/n kept her eyes glued on Aaron. 

After hearing Emily’s warning about him, she had withdrawn a bit in class. Hotch had spoken to her a few times, and she engaged him in light conversation about her research and job as a senior lecturer. It seemed that the conversation never steered in his direction. It was never about his life or his choice to join law school even though y/n had tried to get him to say something about himself. The man was infuriatingly hard to read. y/n wasn’t sure why she was trying to get him to speak about himself. It wasn’t like Aaron was interested in her. For the most part, when he talked to her, it seemed to fill empty silence during the breaks in the class. y/n didn’t want to be involved in any drama, certainly not anything that would get her in trouble. But the enigmatic figures of Aaron were enticing in his way. Perhaps it was just the intrigue of someone like him. She was personally familiar with more white-collar crime, but the grit and darkness of the mob, or the mafia, or whatever his father was involved in had caught her attention. y/n assumed it was like a bad case of curiosity killed the cat. y/n hadn’t turned yet as the rest moved back from the direction they had come from. She watched as Aaron turned toward the man. Aaron’s shoulders were tense beneath his jacket. She could feel that he was ill at ease. y/n caught sight of Aaron’s friend from before, Morgan, standing a few feet to the left of Aaron. She hadn’t seen him in the gloom of the night until now. It seemed that this meeting might have been planned ahead of time given the coordination. 

y/n felt someone take her hand and she looked up at Spencer. Dr. Reid didn’t say anything. He just pulled her away from the scene. The tension only seemed to grow as the group moved farther away. Spencer looked back once as he hustled y/n down the path. Whoever had joined the man who had told the group to leave gave Spencer a grateful nod before moving toward his friend. Reid chose not to look anymore, as he wrapped a protective arm around y/n’s waist and said, “I’ll drive you to your car. Mine’s in lot B anyway. Not far from the commuter lot.” y/n looked up at him again, and gave a small smile, saying, “Yeah, thanks that’d be nice.” y/n resisted the urge to say, ‘You’re a terrible liar, Spence. We both know that lot B and the commuter lot are on opposite ends of the campus’ but she kept that to herself. y/n was grateful to have a colleague like Spencer to give her rides at all. y/n quickly said goodbye to her other friends and joined Reid at the stairs that led down to the parking area with his car. y/n’s head was filled with thoughts about Aaron and what was happening back at the quad. If Aaron was going to be okay. If he had expected to be meeting that man tonight or if it was as much of a surprise to him as it had been to all of them. Given his tone, she assumed that it was a surprise to him too, but she may never be sure. 

Back in the quad, Aaron scowled. How many times had he told his father, and his father’s men over and over again to not find him in public? If he had to be dragged into some sordid affair that his dad had caused. Morgan stepped a few feet toward Aaron but Hotch raised a hand and said, “Don’t get involved Derek. I don’t expect this to be anything but some intimidation crap.” Morgan nodded and took a step back, but the built man still slipped a hand to the back pocket of his pants fingering the cool metal of his diamond back gun. Derek kept his eyes on Jeffries, one of Mr. Hotchner Sr.’s largest enforcers. Derek thought it was stupid to send Jeffries, if Mr. Hotchner wanted his son’s attention, that would not be the man he would send. 

Hotch stepped forward and said, “I don’t have anything to say to my father. He knows that so what the hell does he want with me.” Aaron was standing right next to the man. Even though Aaron was tall, he was nothing compared to Jeffries. Jeffries was a mountain of a man. Hotch was not intimidated. This man was here to threaten him physically. He was here to impose a different kind of demand on the son of the Boss. After an unsettling moment of silence, in a deep voice, one laced with the stress of a chain smoker, Jeffries said, “Mr. Hotchner Sr. wants to meet with you on Saturday at the Mercado Club. His treat.” Aaron scoffed and replied, “You think I’m going on his turf on a meeting night? God the man needs more of a grip than I thought. Jesus.” Hotch took a breath; he took a moment to look to the side, and he saw Morgan uncomfortably shuffling from one foot to the other. Aaron turned back to Jeffries and said, “You can tell my father that’s not happening. I’m out, and I don’t know how many more times I can keep telling him that.” The large man replied, “Tell him yourself on Saturday at the club. I’m not a messenger pigeon, and Aaron, this is the third time you’ve blown off your father. He’s not pleased and you know how he gets, so this isn’t a meeting I’d push off.” 

Hotch let out a big breath and gave a small nod. He wasn’t looking forward to a meeting with his old man, but whatever fuckery his dad could impose on his life wasn’t worth a half hour of animosity and argumentation about his life goals. Jeffries sensing a concession from Aaron, gave a tiny nod and moved out of the solitary spotlight and back into the darkness. As large and imposing a man as Jeffries was, he easily and quickly slipped back and away into the darkness of the campus. Aaron was so angry at having been contacted against his direct wishes. Not only had his father contacted him in public, putting his image in question, but he had done it in front of… Aaron considered what to call the people in his class. They weren’t his friends precisely, but colleagues and classmates felt a bit too dismissive. Aaron thought especially of the woman who was auditing the class. From their first meeting, he had assumed that she had no idea who he was. That rarely happened to him, though he assumed someone had filled her in after the fact. Even if that was the case, she had remained respectful and friendly toward him. Every time she or he entered the class, she would ask how he was doing with an interest that didn’t seem forced or faked. It was the first real interaction he felt like he had had in the department in years. 

Aaron thought it was rather pathetic, but looked forward to the beginning of each class just to have a few words with y/n. Hotch’s mind switched back to the present as Morgan approached him. Aaron looked over to his friend and saint, “Did you know this was going to happen?” His voice came out harsher than he intended, but Derek’s demeanor told him that his friend and pseudo-bodyguard had been more aware than he’d been. Hotch let out a scoff and said, “Unfucking believable. You should have told me and I could have walked fifteen thousand other ways back to my car.” Morgan put his hands up and said, “Listen, Hotch. I couldn’t have stopped it. And I know I stick with you more than your old man, but technically he’s still paying me to look out for you. And there are some things that even I’m not going to argue with.” Aaron could understand where Derek was coming from and he lifted a hand saying, “I get it. I’m just pissed. Now, let’s go home. I need to get wasted or something after tonight.” The pair moved together into the darkness with a sense of their friendship slightly strained. Aaron’s life was taking a turn he had desperately tried to avoid, but it seemed his family, and his past was haunting him like a ghost who just would not quit. 

y/n got home safely. She quietly moved into her room. She took a hot shower, letting the warm water steam up her small bathroom. Even though the rent was outrageous, there was the perk that each of the women had their own bathroom and shower. Her mind swelled with images of Aaron standing in front of the large man. She thought about what Emily had said about his father being the head of some sort of gang. y/n hadn’t had the time time to look into it at all. Her interactions with Aaron had all seemed pleasant and if she didn’t know about his shadowy past, she might have just thought he was some cocky young man trying to look cool with his rings and classic leather jacket. These thoughts persisted until she was in bed and eventually asleep. In the morning, y/n got dressed for a meeting with her advisor and office hours. y/n started a big pot of coffee. She knew that Em would be down in a minute because the shower upstairs had just turned off. True to form, Prentiss was down the stairs just as the coffee was finished. y/n poured her roomie a mugful, and Emily gave her a gentle smile. The brunette in her police uniform with cuffs, and gun and all. As the woman drank their liquid breakfast, y/n’s brain flashed to last night and she asked, “Hey Emily. What kind of gang is Aaron’s father the leader of? There was some threatening guy on campus last night. It seems he was there to talk to Aaron or something.” 

Hearing this, Em’s ears perked up. She had been trying for two years to impress her supervisor. She had gone above and beyond in terms of the effort and hours she put in on the street. She picked up shifts and did the jobs no one wanted. And all her efforts had been for naught. She was still in her entry-level position and had crappy entry-level pay. At this point, Emily was looking at anything to try and get a step ahead of all the other men in the department. She had started looking at stalled cases or those that were backlogged at the department. One of those cases was the Hotchner crime ring. The thought of a new lead had Emily on her toes. Prentiss was excited but also realized that y/n could have also been in a degree of danger. Emily thought about her words before she said, “Well, from my research and knowledge of the gang activity in the area, I can tell you this, Mr. Hotchner Sr. isn’t running some West Side Story turf gang. The man is in deep. His gang is a criminal organization. I’d say that it was closer to the mafia than a gang, but he doesn’t have quite that much influence yet. If the department would only spend a few more dollars looking into that group, they’d easily find more than they have now. Honestly, it’s infuriating.” 

This was all news to y/n. She wasn’t versed in any of the things that Emily was talking about. There was a moment of silence before Prentiss said, “So the guy you saw, the one that spoke to Aaron, did you hear any of that conversation? Did you see the man at all?” y/n shook her head no and replied, “Not really. Aaron told us to leave another way. I can tell you the guy was big, but I couldn’t see him very well. He was weathering a suit, but that’s about it.” Em nodded and took another thoughtful sip of her coffee. When she set the cup down, she said, not to anyone in particular, “I swear gangs and drugs are ruining this city and the cops aren’t doing a thing about it.” 

Just as Emily said this, Garcia entered the room. She was dressed in her normal eccentric style. She had star decals on her face and wore a bubble gum pink lip. From the blonde's energy, it was hard to tell if she was just coming back from an all-nighter or just heading out for brunch. y/n asked the clarifying question, “Pen, you just getting in or going out?” Garcia beamed and said, “I just had a lovely night out. Club, club, another club, and then my friend JJ’s house. You’d both like her I think. Now what did I hear about gangs and drugs? You’re not planning on locking me up, are you Emily?” Prentiss laughed at this and said, “Garcia, you’re forgetting that Lexaporo and Adderal are prescription medications. Unless you’re selling your pills on the side of the road, you’re scott-free in my book.” 

That had all of them laughing. Penelope, after getting a cup of coffee, did ask genuinely, “But really what gangs are you talking about?” Emily looked over to y/n and said, “Well Aaron, the ‘bad boy’ in y/n’s class had a run-in with one of his father’s associates on campus last night. Tense affair.” Garcia’s eyes went wide and she said, “From what I’ve heard about the Hotchner group from my friends and fellow hackers they aren’t to be trifled with. Let’s hope Aaron’s father doesn’t want anything serious with his son.” y/n frowned at hearing this. She had never assumed that Aaron’s circumstances were easy. Clearly, from the class's perception of him, they weren’t, but an actual threat of harm or violence to her classmate set her nerves on edge in a way she had not anticipated. However, the time on the clock on the wall caught y/n’s attention. She needed to leave to make her appointment with a student struggling with grades. y/n burned her mouth as she chugged her coffee and said, “Sorry, gotta run ladies. See you both tonight!” With that, she grabbed her backpack and purse and dashed out the door and toward her car. For the rest of the busy day, y/n forgot about Aaron Hotchner, but she would be reminded of him again soon enough. For now, there were the problems of today to solve. 

For Aaron the week went by both shockingly fast and maddeningly long. Time felt like it was playing a sick prank on him as he waited for Saturday night. Hotch went to his normal classes and studied as much as he could given the circumstances. He did shockingly well given the circumstances. Finally, Saturday arrived and Aaron and Morgan drove toward the Mercado Club on the far East side of town. The club was packed. Saturday nights were disco nights with drinks half off. This ensured that the large space was always packed for meeting nights in the more private backroom of the establishment. Morgan had a designated spot on the street and parallel parked between two of the gang member's cars. As Morgan stopped the car, he grabbed Aaron’s shoulder and said, “Listen, man, don’t make this hard on yourself. How many times has Richard done this to you? Know know what he’s gonna do to you if you say no again, so just… just think about it before you say no. If you make me wash blood out of these leather seats again, I’m making you pay for it this time.” 

Derek said this out of a genuine concern for his friend. Morgan had seen this song and dance before and the look in Aaron’s eyes told him that it would be the same old result. After all, money didn’t matter to Hotch. He had more money than he needed, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The fifty dollars it cost to clean or even redetail Morgan’s car didn’t matter to the older Hotchner sibling. Derek wished it did, for his friend's sake. But he had said his peace, and he couldn’t stop Aaron from walking out of the car with a determined stride. Derek followed quickly after Aaron. 

Aaron, clad in his normal leather jacket moved into the club. He had access to the service entry which led to quieter corridors and direct access to the gang's private meeting room. Aaron, however, refused to use his key and elbowed his way through the thick crowd of dancers and revelers. After about five minutes, he made it to the back corridors and toward the club room. Unceremoniously Aaron, and shortly after, Derek, moved into the crowded room. All eyes of the gang members moved to the two new additions to the room. Richard Hotchner, seated at the center of the room raised a hand and quieted the room. Mr. Hotchner Sr. said, “Good of you to join us, gentlemen. Take a seat and we’ll continue the meeting. There were only two extra chairs open in the room. One was in the back and the room. It was clear that Aaron was to take the seat next to his father. Hotch did as expected and sat next to his father. The young man could have laughed at the scene. It felt like something out of The Godfather, except he knew what was coming once the meeting was over. The meeting which covered Hotchern Sr.’s continued plan to spread drugs and gain ground throughout the East and West sides of town seemed to go on forever. Aaron listened as each sector spoke and gave updates with half interest. His father’s criminal activities and need for power and control were the juxtaposition of the life that Aaron hoped to build for himself. He had seen the real pain that his father had not only inflicted on his men, but on the community the gang encompassed as a whole. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to escape his father's control. 

After another hour and a half, the meeting adjourned as Richard raised a hand. Everyone, including Derek, stood and left the room; that was, except for Aaron. Once the whole gang was out, two large men entered the room. One was Jeffries, the other was another security man just as big and intimidating as Jeffries. Richard looked at his son and said, “You know what I’m going to say already.” Hotch sighed and replied, “And you know my response, Dad.” Richard sighed and said, “Every time we have one of these meetings I pray for a Prodigal Son, but I get a Cain instead. But either way, this is in your blood boy and you can’t fight it forever.” By ‘In your blood’ Aaron knew that his father meant, ‘You will take responsibility for my criminal organization. To take the reigns and make it bigger and better than ever before.’ \

At this comment, Aaron said, “Fuck my blood, and fuck you too.” Almost instantaneously after this remark, Hotch’s face was thrown to the side due to a harsh slap to the side of his face. Aaron leveled a glare at his father and managed to say, “Have me beaten black and blue again Dad. It’s not gonna change my mind. I’m never joining you.” Richard shook his head and replied, “You asked for it. And one day, one day it’s gonna work son. Just you wait.” With that, Richard stood and motioned for the two security guards to do as Mr. Hotchner Sr. wanted. Outside the room, Derek stood and listened to the sounds of violence and brutality that were happening inside the space he had just been sitting in. Morgan cringed as the rhythmic sound of fist against flesh continued. The occasional grunt from Aaron cut through the sound of violence. 

After around a half hour, the two large men dragged the barely conscious body of Aaron from the room. Morgan did nothing to stop them. He just followed after them as they dragged Hotch’s body down the quiet hallway. Aaron was unceremoniously dropped down the two concrete stairs to the back entrance of the club. Morgan flushed his body to the railing as Jeffries and the other man moved back inside. Once the security detail was inside, Derek rushed forward toward Aaron’s prone figure. Hotch muttered incoherently against the concrete as Morgan lifted his friend up and toward his car. Derek thought, ‘Yup, it’s gonna be another interior cleaning job tomorrow,’ as he hauled Aaron’s bloodied body toward his parked car. 

Morgan lifted Aaron into the passenger seat and buckled him in. Hotch made a whimpering sound as he was jostled for a moment. Derek, though he was paid by Richard, cared more for his employer's son than he would like to admit. They had built up a pretty strong friendship over the years they had known each other. It had been tense at first because Aaron didn’t want and resented having a bodyguard. This was when he was still in high school and Richard was in some hot water with both the FBI and another gang that was trying to recruit some of his men. Morgan was already a member of the gang and was a loyal member given how young he was. It was only natural that he guard Aaron from any unwanted attention and keep the Boss’s son out of trouble. 

Aaron was, at the time full of anger from recently losing his mother and was making reckless choices for himself and the gang. He had hated Morgan, but the man had pulled him out of some bad situations numerous times over the years. The more time they spent together, the more Hotch sympathized with Morgan. Not in the awkward pitying type of way that many had when Derek was asked to open up, like in counseling centers or at one disastrous youth program he had been sent to. No. Aaron understood why Morgan had turned to a gang for security, and community too. Even if it was a bad community. One rooted in violence and illegality. Derek had to chalk it up to the fact that Aaron’s father was the leader. Aaron had to have seen to full spectrum of reasons for people to join a gang. And a full spectrum of violence as well. The beating Aaron had received tonight was no different than any other except that Richard hadn’t joined in. This was another thing he and Hotch had in common. The first time Aaron had taken his shirt off in front of Morgan, it had been after a workout or something, Derek had been shocked to see a smearing of dark purple and yellow bruises mottling the man’s skin. Morgan had asked if a group and jumped him, but Aaron’s response of, “I only got jumped by someone I know. Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t until weeks later that Morgan saw Richard strike his son, and suddenly it all made more sense. Then Morgan felt sympathy for Aaron as well. After they came to more of an understanding, Hotch had stood up for Morgan against his father a few times and that had sealed their friendship. Morgan rode as smoothly as he could back to their apartment, with just the radio playing some rap on a low level and Aaron’s labored breathing for company. 

The next Monday, y/n arrived at class just on time. She was surprised to see that Aaron wasn’t in his normal seat. She did shoot Parker and Steven a smile as she pulled out her notes as the lecturer began. During the break, y/n moved to the ladies room. Midterms were fast approaching and almost everyone in the class was huddled up making study plans. y/n had already made her study plan with her friends in the class. As she washed her hands she heard a pained sound coming from the men’s room which was just a wall away from the women’s restrooms. y/n quickly wiped her hands free of water and moved outside. There was no one in the hallway and she got close to the door of the men's room and called out, “Hey, um… are you okay in there?” There was a pause and then a little grunt as someone from inside said, “I'm fine.” The voice was familiar, but there was a lisp in it which was making it hard to pinpoint. There were still another twenty minutes to the break, and y/n was interested to see who was suffering in the bathroom and stood leaning against the wall. After around five minutes the door opened and she looked up. Aaron Hotchner was the last person she expected to see limp out of the bathroom. y/n’s eyes widened as she looked at his face which was bruised on the left side. His lips were also split on the top and the bottom. Without thinking much y/n said, “Jesus Christ. What happened to you?” Hotch’s eyes snapped to her. He hadn’t thought anyone was outside. He had been stranding himself in the bathroom for longer than he had thought. He wasn’t sure why he had even come to campus in the first place. It wasn’t like he could go to class like this. Or perhaps he was toying with the idea he would go to class. To make his life harder, or to give his classmates something to talk about, or because he just couldn’t care anymore he wasn’t sure, but y/n had caught him off guard. Her use of expletives for one and the genuine concern on her face as she looked him over with an intense stare. 

Aaron thought of fleeing for a moment. Of running, or limping down the hall as fast as he could, but he realized that he needed help. Help from someone not so invested in him as the son of a gangster and criminal. If that was anyone in the class, it was y/n. As the sound of the lecture room door opened, Aaron moved quickly. He grabbed y/n’s wrist and pulled her into a hallway and then left into another hallway. This one was less lit. Half of the fluorescent bulbs in the hallway seemed to be out and those that were functioning flickered rather ominously. The turn of events had happened so quickly that y/n didn’t say anything until they were stopped in the hallway when y/n said, “Aaron, what’s going on? What happened to you?” 

The original concern was still in her voice, but there was an added edge including a hint of fear for herself. She looked around the space as if expecting something or someone to pop out of a doorway or darkened corner. Aaron took a deep breath and said, “Listen. Sorry for being so abrupt. I don’t even know why I’m here really and I’m sure I’m going to get an earful from Dr. Porter when I come back next week, but I saw you and I thought… well I thought I’d ask a favor, even if I don’t deserve one.” Hotch’s left eyebrow was cocked and y/n listened for him for a minute as if he was speaking a foreign language. She snapped back to herself as her watch beeped the five minutes before class started again. y/n asked, “What’s the favor?” Aaron seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and said, “Can I get your notes from today’s class before next week?” You could fax them to me or I could get them from your tomorrow in your office or something? I’d understood if you said no. It’s just that I really can’t fall behind in this class.” 

There was a very short silence as y/n considered. She didn’t have a lot of time to think because she needed to get back to class, like, now. Two thoughts ran through her head. The first was from the more rational and logical part of her brain. The part that Emily would agree with. It said, ‘Ma’am, look at him right now. Something bad happened here and I don’t think he just tripped on the library stairs. It probably has to do with his family or gang involvement or something. Don’t. Be. Stupid.’ But the other part of her brain said, ‘Look at him. That’s gotta hurt and those cuts and bruises were a few days old which meant they had hurt more back then.’ Going against her logical brain she said, “Yeah. I’ll give you my notes. She rummaged around in her purse pulled out an old receipt and pen and jotted down her home number. She handed him the slip of paper and said, “Here’s my number. Call me later and we can coordinate a meeting time.” 

She had just seen the contents of her bag and she noticed that there was an ibuprofen in there along with an assortment of random stuff. She asked, “Have you had any painkillers recently?” Aaron’s eyes snapped back to her. He looked surprised that she was still talking to him. He looked back to the ground and said, “It’s been like three hours now or something.” y/n pulled out the bottle and undid the cap quickly. She really needed to get back to class and she rushed to tip two tablets into her hand. She closed the bottle and half-pressed the pills into Aaron’s hand. She said, “Call me later,” and then ran back to the lecture. The lecture was in full swing when she got back and y/n noticed that she was about five minutes late. She tried her best to slip into the room. At least she sat at the very back, but her tardy return had a few of the guys in suits and one or two girls in the class giving her the stink eye. 

Dr. Porter also glanced at her, but it was brief before he returned to talking. The rest of the class, y/n had conflicting emotions. The first of which was that she felt bad for being late. Dr. Porter had taken a risk on her, and she was probably letting him down. The other thought she had was if she had made a catastrophic mistake in waiting to see who had been in the men’s restroom. She knew that Em would say she was stupid for getting involved, and part of her agreed, but when she had seen the normally cocky and confidant Aaron Hotchner in such a state, she had let her emotions get the best of her. She pondered if that was her fatal flaw or not. y/n did her best to push away these thoughts and focus on the lecture. If all else failed, she could just ignore Aaron’s call. Little did y/n know that getting involved with Hotch would do much more than cause her stress in Tax Fraud. 

The class progressed as it normally would with just a hint of awkwardness. Dr. Porteer did call her, but her response was coherent and she defended her point about the verdict in the U.S. v Ofshe case and how the drugs that had been obtained and the oversimplification of the government violated the defendant's Fifth Amendment rights. After she had spoken a ghost of a smile graced Dr. Porter’s face. He was happy with her response. If y/n was anything, it was thorough. 

When the class ended everyone filed out of the room, and y/n approached Porter. Parker finished asking a 1uqtion quickly and moved out of the room, patting y/n on the shoulder as they left. y/n and Dr. Porter were alone and y/n said, “I’m sorry for being late after the break. Something, personal, came up. I didn’t expect it to take that long.” Dr. Porter looked at her, a hint of concern in the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He asked, “Is everything alright, y/l/n?” y/n let out a sigh realizing that saying anything was opening avenues to conversations that she might not want to elaborate on. To keep Aaron’s situation private, she simply said, “Well it’s not me that’s having the problems, It’s a friend of mine. They’ve gotten themself into some trouble and I just needed to check in to make sure they were okay. Porter nodded but didn’t look convinced,  and said, “Alright. Well if you ever need anything, or feel overwhelmed with all that you’re juggling this semester, you can always email me or see me during office hours.” y/n smiled warmly and said, “Thanks. Dr. Porter. That means a lot to me.” The older man gave her arm an affectionate squeeze before letting her go for the night. 

The drive home was peaceful,  serene even. It juxtaposed the earlier moment of tension from that evening. y/n hoped to stay relaxed for the rest of the night. Just do some reading, have a glass of wine, a very hot shower, and hit the bed. Her hopes for calm and quietude were crushed when she got into the apartment and Emily was leaning against the kitchen counter with a deep frown on her face. Before y/n even had the chance to ask, “What’s wrong, Prentiss?” The strong-minded brunette said, “You’re ‘friend’ called about five minutes ago.” This stopped y/n in her tracks. y/n knew that Emily was talking about Aaron, and she was about to get an earful. She steadied herself as her roommate started saying, “y/n, Aaron Hotchner is not the type of guy you want to get tangled up with, okay? I might sound nice and charming and play-act as a ‘bad boy,’ but there is nothing good about him or his family. Promise me you’re not going to be so stupid as to meet up with him and give him your notes. What if he starts expecting things from you? Have you ever thought about that scary moment on campus last week?” 

y/n while taking the verbal reprimand hadn’t thought about the fact that Aaron’s injuries could be related to that event on campus. Had something bad happened to him after Spencer had dragged her away? Although y/n realized that Aaron might have been in a serious and dangerous situation, that didn’t stop her from still being concerned for him. In some small way, y/n was annoyed that Em was so tied into her personal life. So what if she wanted to give Aaron her notes? But the logical part of her brain stopped her from snapping back. y/n took a deep breath and said, “I see where you’re coming from Em. But, he looked so hurt tonight. Desperate. If giving him my notes in a public place, like the coffee shop is a crime, then so be it. I told him I would, and I’m one to keep my promises.” y/n expected some sort of reprimand, but instead, Em sighed and said, “Fine. Call him back. I left his number on the pad on the fridge. But for the love of god, either have me. Garcia, or Spence come with you whenever you meet him?” y/n smiled and said, “Thanks Em. I knew you were a softie under that hard shell of yours.” 

Em scoffed and said, “Well I might be a softie for you. Aaron Hotchner is another matter entirely. At least with you knowing him, I can snoop in on his life. You never know, maybe he’ll give you a hint about his dad and you can pass that info over to me.” y/n rolled her eyes and said, “Whatever you say Em. Now let me call him back. Buffy’s coming on in a half hour and I don’t plan on missing another episode. Do you wanna join? There’s a bottle of red in the fridge we can share?” Emily nodded and said, “You bet. I’ll get the channel pulled up while you talk to your boyfriend.” That comment had y/n rolling her eyes again, but she didn’t say anything as she moved into the kitchen. 

As Prentiss had said, there was a note on the notepad stuck to the fridge that read ‘A.H.’s Number,’ and then a list of seven digits. The phone hung to the left of the fridge. It was egg yolk yellow, a design choice that y/n still didn’t understand as the rest of the kitchen was a pale blue with white accents. Ignoring the contrasting colors of the kitchen, y/n tapped on the phone number and held the receiver to her ear as the dial tone beeped. After the second ring someone answered, but it wasn’t Aaron. The low, husky voice said, “This is Morgan. Who is it?” y/n paused for a second before replying, “Um, this is y/n. y/l/n. I’m calling for Aaron. I’m in his Tax Fraud class, and he wanted my notes from today? I was just trying to arrange a meeting.” y/n stopped talking. She felt like she had said too much, or maybe not enough. The silence was awkward and lingered. Finally, Derek who had mercifully pulled the phone away from his mouth called out, “Hotch, a girl’s on the phone for you.” After a moment, Derek  said, “He’ll be here in a minute.” Then there was silence again. y/n tried to think about where she knew Morgan from. The voice wasn’t wholly new. She had scant few encounters with Aaron and she tried to pinpoint each of them in her mind. The night last week came to mind and she thought of the other man that had been with Aaron as Spencer had pulled her away. She assumed this was the same guy. She pinned the name, Morgan in her head in case she ever needed it. 

She had no clue why she would ever need it, but it couldn’t hurt. After another minute there was more sound, a muffled conversation, and a small grunt before the phone clicked a bit and Aaron’s familiar voice tapped in on the line. He said, “Hey, y/n. Sorry I was out back. Thanks for doing this by the way.” y/n nodded and said, “Yeah. No problem. So my schedule is pretty full this week but I can do Wednesday morning, Thursday in the evening, or Saturday morning. Does one of those times work for you?” Aaron replied, “Saturday works for me. Any place work for you? I can come over or we can meet anywhere that works for you really.” y/n didn’t hesitate as she said, “Let’s do the coffee shop near West campus. You can come and copy my stuff while I grade or read or something.” 

There was a softy, nearly inaudible breath before Hotch said, “It’s a date. Is 9:00 a.m. too early for you?” y/n replied, “Nope. Nine is good. See you then.” Hotch replied, “Right on. See ya then.” Then he disconnected the call. y/n did the same. y/n sighed, again questioning why exactly she was doing what she was. Was it care, curiosity, or a little of both? She couldn’t pinpoint it in her mind. There was also the fact that Aaron had said, “‘It’s a date’” in an infuriating manner. Like he knew that was going to spark some kind of response. Of course, it was a joke, but even so, it irked her because it was working. 

y/n let out a sigh of frustration. She looked up at the clock and realized that she needed to grab the glasses and wine as Buffy would be starting soon. Just as the new episode started. Emily and y/n settled in and just like clockwork, Garcia came down from her room. The charming Pen shuffled into the room and sat down on the couch. y/n knew her third roommate would be down once the show started and had already poured a glass for her. Em was looking at y/n as if asking, ‘So, when are you meeting him?’ And Garcia was looking at Emily as if asking, ‘What’s going on? Why do you have that look on your face?’ Thankfully Buffy was the silencing buffer. None of them dared talk during the episode. It was that important to them. The group's shared love of the campy monster of the week show drew them together in a funny way. In the beginning, y/n thought she was too much of a nerd for Prentiss, but it turned out even the dedicated policewoman couldn’t be turned down by Angel and Spike's charm. They would have to debrief once the commercials started in ten minutes or so, but for now, there was a calm as they all sat in front of the TV. 

The week went by quickly. y/n’s advisor got sick on Wednesday night and emailed her saying that he wouldn’t be able to make it to their Thursday morning meeting. This opened up her morning and she planned to sleep in. That was the plan at least. However, at 7:30 a.m. a knock on her door woke her. y/n was groggy as she made her way to her door. A sharp crack of thunder and lightning had her come more to her senses. It was pouring cats and dogs. y/n rubbed her eyes as she opened the door to the hall light. Emily was standing outside in her uniform. y/n asked sleepily, “What is it Em?” Prentiss bit her bottom lip and said, “My car won’t start. Engine problems. Can I borrow your keys or can you give me a ride to the station? The brunette looked embarrassed to ask, but y/n understood her predicament and said, “Yeah I got you. Let me put on a bra and some pants.” In under ten minutes, the duo were out the door. y/n drove slowly and carefully. The rain continued to pour down. y/n felt a small feeling of dread in the air. As they got to the station, y/n said, “Just give me or Garcia a call when you need to be picked up if you don’t get a ride from your co-workers, okay?” Em nodded and said, “Thanks a million. y/n you’re a lifesaver.” y/n got back into her car and drove to campus. Even though she didn’t have an umbrella, she got half-soaked walking to her office, and Mary Janes squeaked awfully on the floor. In her office, y/n sat down in front of a stack of papers, half of them her students and the other half her own. There was a loud crash of thunder and y/n looked out the window when she saw a dark hooded figure standing outside her office in the downpour. She couldn’t see the person's face in the beating rain. A sound in the hallway caught her attention for a moment. Another pair of noisy shoes. By the time she looked back out of the window, the figure was gone. She shook her head wondering if she’d made up the man. She let the thought pass as she kept working late into the night. 

Emily did end up calling y/n and letting her know that Penelope had picked her up already. y/n was grateful for this. She was exhausted from her day and early morning. She quickly packed up the work that she was taking home with her and switched off the lights and lamps in her office. The rain had stopped hours ago, but it left the ground damp and mist and humidity rose off the earth like a dense fog. y/n got into her car and drove toward home. She took a shortcut to avoid a traffic light that was out. As her headlight illuminated a dark back alleyway behind a store, y/n saw for a moment the same figure from earlier that day. They were leaning over something else. ‘Is that a body?’ y/n stalled, startled like a dear in headlights, even though it was the reverse scenario. For a second y/n made eye contact with the person, and she distinctly saw blood on their mouth, staining their chin a gruesome red. y/n’s heart stopped beating and a moment later a loud honk from behind her shocked her. y/n was blinded by the bright lights behind her. She had not seen the sedan pull up behind her car. In a panicked state, she hit the accelerator and finished her drive home terrified of what she’d just seen. 

y/n rushed into the house and found Emily at the stove. Prentiss turned and her, “Welcome home” died on her lips as she saw her friend. Em turned off the fire under her boiling potatoes and asked, “y/n, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” y/n swallowed trying to get some saliva back into her mouth and throat. She raised her and said in a hoarse voice, “I think I just saw a murder.” Emily’s jaw went slack for a second before she moved forward, police-like, and said, “Okay, y/n. You could have seen anything. It’s dark and gloomy out there.” y/n shook her head and said, “No, Em. Whatever I saw it was bad. I could feel it in my core.” Prentiss nodded, taking y/n seriously, the only one who would for a few days at least. She said, “Okay, y/n. Tell me everything. Think about things as clearly as possible. Don’t try and fill in any gaps, just tell me what you saw.” 

An hour later with Em trying to jog y/n’s memory to get the best information and writing down all the little and big details in her police pad, Prentiss said, “I’ll leave early tomorrow morning and check it out, y/n. Before I head to the station.” y/n’s eyes widened and she protested, “Shouldn’t we look now? There could be someone dying out there.” Emily dropped her eyes and sighed replying, “No, y/n. If what you say is true, then there’s nothing I can do tonight. I’d need more men, dogs, a whole setup.” After a pause Prentiss added, “And, y/n. There is no we in this. It’s dangerous. It’s safest for you to pretend you didn’t see anything tonight. Forget about it and don’t tell anyone.” y/n was frustrated by this response. However, she knew Em was correct. What could she do? Before y/n had a chance to say she was going to bed, Emily said, “Who are you bringing with you to meet Hotchner again?” 

y/n said in an almost deadpan voice, “Reid.” Emily frowned and said, “y/n, I’m going with you for that. I don’t trust Hotchner.” y/n’s head whipped up and she said, “Emily, it’s not like you can just stroll in there with Spence, and I. If Aaron and his family are as smart and powerful as you say, then he’ll know you’re a cop. I don’t think he’ll love that and I do still have to show up to a class with him, and sit across from him for the rest of the semester.” Prentiss could see y/n’s discomfort and replied, “I get it, y/n. And I know you’re trying to be nice, but I don’t want you going alone, and no, I don’t count Reid. I won’t walk in with you, and I won’t talk to you at all, but I will go and just keep an eye out.” y/n rubbed her tired eyes, saying, “Okay, Prentiss. We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to go to bed now.” Em didn’t try and stop y/n as she moved past her and upstairs. y/n stripped out of her clothes from the day and fell into bed. She’d try and convince Em that she was a big girl tomorrow and didn’t need a bodyguard, but she was asleep before she could think of what she would say. y/n tossed and turned as she dreamed of the man outside her window and the person she’d seen with blood on their mouth, looking into her soul.

Text Break Banne by @cafekitsune

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It's been 8 or something months but we are so back.

A note: Lily Zhu -> Rose - Lilith. Lily. EA why. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't related. (I say that as if I don't have two cousins with almost the same name lmao) ..and I didn't use Lily as a nickname for Lilith... She's also 19 instead of an elder.

Transcript below

Gunther: So that's the basic idea we're working off of. What do you think? Rose: You run a conspiracy theory blog with my cousin? Gunther: It’s a travel blog. With an iceberg. Lucas: God, not this again. Rose: An iceberg? Gunther: Yeah iceberg. Like it looks like it’s just surface level. But if you spend time looking into it there’s a lot more there than you originally thought there was. Like how when examining pictures taken from various shows over the year at one of the goth clubs in the arts quarter, you see the staff looks exactly the same even after almost thirty years. This is because the entire staff is composed of vampires. Lucas: Please shut up. Rose: Oh! So it’s an urban legend like thing. Gunther: Is it an urban legend if I have proof? Lucas: The only proof you have is that people on the internet will believe anything. Gunther: Thank you Lucas. I was already aware. My generation figured that out before you learned how to walk. Lucas: You also proved that recent college grads and high school seniors will do anything for cash and experience. But hey- you- I mean your generation also figured that out. At least Caleb gets paid. I do this for free. Gunther: Your payment is me not telling mom about your “alternative” extracurricular activities. Lucas: Basketball? Gunther: Is that what you kids call it? Lucas: Sure. Not like you’d know either way. Rose: Alright! Well… Real interesting thing you’re doing there… I’m going to see what the other are up to! A-haha yeah…

[kaccvcate]

When I was growing up, my mom never told me I was native or Jewish. Even though the only Europeans in my family were dads who abandoned us (I come from an unbroken line of single mothers going back to my Muskogee great-great-grandma), I was only told about my european heritage, and my mom even taught me to hide my accent in public so people wouldn't know. She was so ashamed of where we came from because of how she was discriminated against in college and grad school. She was an anthropologist, and I'm sure other anthropologists will confirm how racist the field was until very recently - it was crazy how she would tell me these stories from her textbooks, which reflecting on later I realize were incredibly racist and condescending (especially whatever book they made her read on Australian Aboriginals.) She even gave me a German name specifically because she thought it would make my Jewish dad abandon me, she wanted me to be white so badly. And she wasn't afraid to abuse me in other ways to get me to act "civilized." She herself was very fair skinned and redheaded, and I think she felt that if only she wasn't native, then she would have been treated more kindly by people and given more opportunities in school and her career. When I ran away from home, I got to meet my dad, who is Choctaw and Jewish and grew up in New England, and he taught me to be proud of ALL my heritage, not just my white ancestors. If I didn't have him, I might have gone on to be a fakey wannabe nazi too, since my mom basically was one without the swastikas. I didn't learn she was native as well until I talked to my grandma about it after I got out of the mental hospital a couple years ago. I tried to kill myself like every young native person I know (I even know a few who managed to pull it off.) A lot of native people come from horribly self-racist, self-hating backgrounds, it is EXTREMELY common, especially in families that understandably never registered with the government to recieve reparations (requiring registration of minorities is something the Nazis did as well, and Native Americans were the first to be rounded up and put in camps.) Genocide is not just physical, it's psychological as well. I often read stories about Jewish people who had to go into hiding for many generations, like in Spain, how they recovered their culture afterward and learned to be proud again. It gives me a lot of hope.