#Emily Tokes

[accidentcache]

Okay... hear me out. I love that game religiously I have the new and old version and jack's play thru is always my go to. I think they should hadn't have named it Until Dawn because it is SO FAR from that. They def should just put something like "inspired by Until Dawn" in the trailer or something lol The trailer looks interesting. I love that they included the wendigo and the psycho as homage to the source material. The CGI doesn't look half bad. Regardless of it being bad though, I'm still gonna see it in theaters FOR SURE LMAO. What are your thoughts, Dee? 👀

same but mark’s playthrough will forever be my favorite!! and you definitely took the words right from my mouth. purely based off the trailer shown that i’ve seen, they should’ve said something like “inspired by Until Dawn” or whatever but YES i totally agree. i am never able to actually watch horror movies (im a huge pussy that’s why i watch play throughs of horror games bc the commentary helps) so im not gonna go out and see it, but the work they put into the wen**go and the cgi so far looks AMAZING. i can admire that much LMAO

[tokeposts]

the until dawn remake is making me want to change my theme...................

[prentisszlover]

well.... It toke some time to realize that Derek is a little shit friend to emily, especially on the doyle arc, funny how some fics just made that very clear.

[phantomram-b00]

If you’re Latine/Latinx who don’t know how to speak Spanish. That’s okay, you’re still Latine/Latinx.

So since it the last day of Hispanic heritage, and honestly I wish I was more participle with this month as an Hispanic. I’ll try to do that next time, I think honestly I just really don’t know what to exactly post, but then I had a thought. Something I wish I had someone tell me back then. So I want to talk about it in honor of Hispanic heritage month, sorry if I did this on the last day, I’ll do better next time. But for now, I wanna share just a small story while also showing encouragement, so hope you like it.

So, If you go on my introduction post, I noted that I’m Puerto Rican and also, that I don’t know how to speak Spanish. Ironic/silly isn’t it? It even more so considering mostly all my family speak Spanish, so your a question that your asking is “didn’t your folks teach you?”. Well, haha about that, you see I’m not gonna reveal anything super personal, all imma say to give context is that I couldn’t talk until I was exactly five years old; so my mom kinda had no other choice but to teach me English. So most of my childhood that was the only language I learn.

Now probably also wondering “well, you learn English? didn’t you have Spanish class?”, yes I did, in my state at least, the require language to learn was Spanish (which imma reveal a very silly funfact: I thought because of movies/show the require language was French because all they learn was french.), so as a kid I wanted to learn; only, people there already were very advantage in Spanish, a lot better than me, (small context: in my state, majority of the people are more Spanish speakers, let me clarify I’m not saying this is bad since I do love Spanish. I’m just clarifying to provide context) and not only that, the spanish at least I was taught were completely different than the Spanish I know with my folks. So as a kid, it made me really insecure about my Spanish skills, like sure I knew some basic and whatnot but I couldn’t and still can’t speak fluently like my folks. So overtime, I got insecure about my identity too. It got to the point that I wasn’t proud to be Hispanic, because back then a thought that would play was “what’s the point if I can’t even speak our basic language?”. This wasn’t to say I didn’t love being Puerto Rican or Puerto Rico as a whole, I love being Puerto Rican and Puerto Rico, I just felt in a way, I’m not worthy to call myself Puerto Rican if I couldn’t speak Spanish. I still remember a teacher even told me that “it kinda is your mom fault for not teaching you” and it boy if that didn’t make me more self conscious. (There was more, but I’m not comfortable revealing them just yet. So maybe next time my ghostly pals)

But then, I remember, 2020, I watched Emirichu’s video about her Asian experience. And it help me feel emotional, because while my parents didn’t move form Puerto Rico to America (that goes to my grandma), like Emily, I had this big disconnect from my Puerto Rican roots and often feel envious when others spoke better Spanish than me. And not only that, I did at some point and like mention I felt embarrassed so I convinced myself say “oh I can never like tostones” or “I’m definitely going to feel more of an outside if I ever visit Puerto Rico one day” or even “I might as well not try, it already too late”. But, the video let me know I wasn’t alone. And even seeing comments under the video, it help me feel like I wasn’t the only one with this identity crisis. But one thing that I feel is upmost important that I toke from the video, “you’re still Latine/Latinx/any other race no matter if you can or can’t speak Spanish or any native language.” And man, I wish I heard that a lot during my childhood rather than feeling embarrassed, ashamed or feel out of place. But I’m happy I found this video, and I’m glad the video found me and others like me.

So overtime, I began to slowly become appreciative of my roots. I think what was maybe the final push was Lin Manuel Miranda’s Broadway turn movie “In the heights”, now I love the Broadway, so when watching the movie, I couldn’t help but love it even more, because I appreciate how the movie celebrate all walks of Latine/Latinx/Hispanic cultures from Dominican, Cuban, Chilean, Mexican, Colombian, Puerto Rican and more. How this community is so vast and vibrant of overall, proud of their heritage. So I began to slowly being loving my heritage, and for healing, whenever I make an oc, I make them Puerto Rican or headcanon an existing character as Puerto Rican, or learn fact about Puerto Rico to feel more connected (like funfact did you know Puerto Rico is also called Isla del Encanto? Isn’t that beautiful? 🥹) and even now I would ask my mom “hey what does *insert Spanish phrase* mean?” Granted, I will still get moment where I doubt or have imposter syndrome (or as my mom would sometimes say I am my worse critic). But I stop myself, and say “hey, you’re still Hispanic/Latine/Latinx.” Or “don’t worry, you’re still learning.” It’s still a process. And even now I still don’t know Spanish, like I guess to best describe it, I know what people can be saying or what they’re talking about depending on the context but I don’t know how to respond back. Nor write..or spell. But I still am learning as I go, my folks told me one of the best way is to listen to Spanish song and so I’ve been trying to do that or I’ll ask my mom “hey is this accurate?”. So I just want to tell the people who will read this or my Hispanic/Latine/Latinx ghost pals that, no matter if you can’t speak the language, like certain food from your roots, or are feeling the same way I felt, it’s okay, your still valid and you’re still Hispanic/Latine/Latinx. I can’t say it going to be easy, because I’ll be a hypocrite if I did, but, I can say, it worth it each step of the way. And I wish you luck amigos.

But, thanks for taking the time to read this, I know this isn’t my usually good omen content and I’m sorry if I wasn’t super active for this heritage month. I’ll try better next time. But until then, hope your having your last day of Hispanic/Latine/Latinx heritage month! what is it I can do to be more participant for next time? Let me know! Or if you have any question about this post or anything, my inbox is open ask away my fellow ghost ^v^ And always, especially with it still being all hallow’s Eve, stay spooky my pals!

[slashervideo]

➠ @jesvshotsaucechristmascake asked: “ i’m not sure i know who i’m supposed to be anymore. ”

.·:*¨ ✘★✘ ¨*:·.  Josh considered the words carefully. He hadn't known Mike to be the doubtful type, but in the wake of the horrors they found on Blackwood Mountain, it seemed he was learning a lot about his friend that he didn't know before. One thing Josh did know for sure, though, was that Mike wasn't usually the type to talk about such vulnerability. He was good at keeping up the good natured, party boy façade. That made the confession hit all the more harder.

The pair had been sitting on Josh's back deck, sharing a joint. Wolfie seemed all too happy to be outdoors and was currently lounging by the pool, panting happily. The sun was starting to go down, making things a little cooler, but it was still nice out in Josh's opinion. "Maybe that's your problem," he offered, no hint of a joke or tease in voice. "Maybe you're not supposed to be anyone. Your mom's way too intense with your appearance, but it's not just her. In school, you always seemed to do whatever just to make your friends happy. Even Emily walked all over you when you guys were together. Not trying to be harsh, bro, but you literally went through hell. Fuck man, not even all of you made it back." He glanced to the missing fingers briefly.

"Maybe instead of 'supposed to be', you should be asking what you 'could be'." He shook his head and grabbed the joint from the ash tray, lighting it up for another toke. "Shit, I sound like an army ad." He breathed in, then added in clarification, "What do you want to be?" Exhaling the smoke, the offered the joint.

[ericleo108]

11/03/2023 Click here for Spotify, Apple Music, or Youtube. “Back to life” is my 62nd official release. This is a cosmic luve response track to Hailee Seinfeld. The song was self-recorded but mixed and mastered by Sam Peters at La Luna Recordings in Kalamazoo Michigan. The cover art is made by xoxodesigns from fiverr and the beat is by Tantu beats.

I talk about this blog post and other updates in the latest Sunday update here:

Basically, I want to emulate Hailee because I wanna be like Hailee. She’s an indolic figure. I think she is very talented and beautiful. Naturally, I am attracted to her more than most coupled with how I get cosmic love coincidences I was highly motivated to make this track.

Although I never say her name, it’s obvious who the song is inspired by, and her admiration is more overt. I have other songs inspired by Hailee like “Just Us Two” but there was nothing definitive before this. I don’t know what Hailee likes or if she likes me so I tried to keep it as professional as possible. But I’m personally very attached to Hailee.

The cover emulates Hailee’s back-to-life cover from the Bumble Bee movie. I intentionally released this on the anniversary of Bumble Bee. I’m trying to get Hailee to dive for me

She is a cosmic love. This song is a response to all the coincidences I’ve had over the years. It’s more a culmination of her media presence rather than my personal feelings. I’m actually talking about a girl as if she was Hailee because Hailee is like most girls.

Like with Emma in “Hey Emma” I tried hard not to sexualize Hailee. I wanted to make it about her work and express the way she makes me feel through her media representations and artistic influence.

I loved Dickinson and watched all of it. I watched a couple of episodes of hawkeye. Bumble Bee is the best Transformers movie hands down and I love Hailee's music

If I ever meet her I’d probably fan girl out and ask her in a date. There’s just something about Hailee that gets to me.

In other words. I love you Hailee. I hope you like your song.

Lyrics

No more “I love you’s,” unless you put it into capital letters I love my baby, brings me back to life She got that vibe, leaves me feel’n right I just want her love, and make her shine Make our inner force combine I like history, it appeals to the senses I write every day, and Feel like Emily Dickenson  My poetry is civics, we all have hiccups But I do my best like Kate Bishop  She’s tuned into my frequency I love that she into me   Fit together like Symmetry  And reciprocate the energy  Synergygisticly,  I make syllybls into solliqueys  Complex but simple Yeah it’s something to see   She said I make her feel like she’s starvin�� From the butterflies that conjure up I said I’m flattered but I beg your pardon Can you tell I’m real fond of your love I want your hand to hold Align our souls Play our songs, top-down As we ride the coast Got nothing but time, I’ll stay for more Cuz that’s my whirlwind, she makes me whole I love my baby, brings me back to life She got that vibe, and leaves me feel’n right I just want her love, and to make her shine Make our inner force combine I love my baby, brings me back to life She got that vibe, and leaves me feel’n right I just want her love, and to make her shine Make our inner force combine I do it for my health, I love myself I don’t need no body’s help  I do it for my health, I love myself I don’t need no body’s help  I do it for my health, I love myself I don’t need no body’s help  I do it for my health, I love myself I don’t need no body’s help  Roll it up, take a toke As waves crash on the shore It’s like good times are asking for more It feels like the west coast Where they got the best dope And the beat pulse sounds like a stethoscope I’m about to hit rock bottom And although I keep fallin’ I just want you to be a part of my problem  Real involvement, Feel Indulgence  Make you think about how best to solve it cuz I love my baby, brings me back to life She got that vibe, and leaves me feel’n right I just want her love, and make her shine Make our inner force combine I love my baby, brings me back to life She got that vibe, and leaves me feel’n right I just want her love, and make her shine Make our inner force combine I want her love, even when I’m not right And even beyond into the afterlife I want her love, even when I’m not right And even beyond into the afterlife

[weasleysjoke]

Daydreaming

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: There were two features of Reid’s that drove you insane: his lips and his hands. You couldn’t help yourself to get horny because of the gestures he made while reading. It got to the point where you embarrassed yourself daydreaming of him.

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Smut, Oral (Female and male receiving), Penetration, Chocking, Dom Specer.

A/N: As I always remind, English is not my first nor second language so if there’s any grammar error please don’t come at me. I had to write this because of my obsession with Matthew’s hands.

Y/N, calm fucking down. There’s people dying and you are being a horny asshole. Breathe and concentrate.

I have to remind myself constantly to keep my eyes on the files and not stare at Dr. Sexy Hands. Spencer and I have been stuck on the commissary, on a little village lost in the middle of nowhere, to keep reading the files of a few suspects that fitted the profile of a murderer we were investigating.

“Y/N, I think I found something.” I hear Spencer’s voice calling me and I turn to give him my full attention. “This guy fits perfectly the profile and his mother died a month ago. That could be enough motive for his psychotic breakdown.” As I read the file of the man, I realize that Reid’s completely right and we start calling the team to let them know.

It only toke us an stressful evening to finish the paperwork and we go back to Virginia on the plane during nighttime. Everybody seem to be extra tired and had fallen sleep just as we sat on the plane. Spence and I were the only ones who were awake, blaming it on the amount of coffee’s that we toke that day.

Reid and I were the only ones sitting by the plane table, both with a book on our hands. To be honest, I was paying 0 attention to the book. Since I started on the BAU a year ago, Spencer and I always had a weird type of tension. Everybody knew I was hella attracted to him, but he didn’t notice any of the many signals threw at him.

He was so fucking oblivious for this type of things. I can believe how a genius profiler couldn’t see that I had the hots for him since day one.

As a profiler there are things that you pick out of people, and even more if you have a crush on them. There were two things that drove me insane about Reid: his lips and his hands.

HIS MOTHERFUCKING HANDS.

On one side, when he started ranting about stuff he knew or was passionate about his lips would dry out. So, with that happening, he had the constant need of travelling his tongue throw his plumped lips to hydrate them.

HE. WAS. CONSTANTLY. LICKING. THEM.

I almost caught myself moaning out loud on the conference room one day that I was extra horny, and Spencer was explaining to me the movie he saw that night. His eyes were fixed on mine and my eyes kept travelling from his to his lips and moving hands. Emily, who sat by my side, smirked and shot me a knowingly look.

On the other side, HIS HANDS. Everybody knew he could read 20.000 words per minute, which was crazy by itself. To help his reading his hands followed rapidly the sentences and flipped the pages with ease.

It may sound stupid, but I got wet several times just watching him read. Reading Reid combined his two most attractive features. His lips moved following the words and his hands accompanied the book pages.

So, after all the tension accumulated in these few days of work, Spencer currently reading by my side felt like a sick joke. A fucking punishment.

All I could think about is how his full lips would feel against your neck, travelling towards your tits and sucking hardly on one of your nipples while the other one was being pinched with his long fingers. How his mouth and hands would feel against your core, his tongue against your clit and one hand against your neck.

You hadn’t realized that everybody had already got off the plane, except for Reid who couldn’t get out of his sit because you were blocking him.

“Y/N!” His hands made a set of movements in front your eyes to wake you from the daydream you were having. His eyes were looking at you worryingly. “Are you okay? You look kinda flushed, maybe you are getting sick.”

“Oh! Sorry, Spence. I was just daydreaming, or more like nightdreaming since it’s 2 am.” I tried to joke.

“Did you know that most people spend 47% of their waking time daydreaming every day? Although, there’s no consistent theory or definition among psychologists on the different types of daydreams.”

To be honest, I did not hear a word he just said. My eyes were locked on his lips and after he said the last word, he drew his lips against his lower lip.

I moaned.

I. FUCKING. MOANED. OUT. LOUD.

Somebody kill me right now.

Embarrassed I falsely coughed. “I didn’t know. That sounds interesting, Reid, but we should leave already. It’s so late.”

Spencer seemed to be speechless because he didn’t say a word just a ‘goodbye’ left his lips after getting to the parking lot.

I fucked it up, I need to talk to Emily and drink a bottle of wine.

“Emily.” I groaned as I hear she picked the call.

“Y/N, I was asleep. What happened? Is there something wrong?” She asked worryingly but annoyed at the same time.

“I messed up. I messed up so badly. I don’t think I can ever look at Spencer’s face again.”

I heard her laugh. “What happened? Do you wanna come to my place and explain it to me?”

“Sure, prepare the wine.” I hang up after hearing her laugh again.

In less than 10 minutes I’m already ringing her door.

“Hey baby, come in.” Emily greeted me and passing me a glass full of white wine.

As I sat down on her sofa, I give a big gulp and sigh. “I moaned. He did his lip thingy while ranting about daydreaming and I spent the whole travel in the plane thinking about him, his hands. You know what he does to me! And then, I was just staring at his lips and couldn’t help myself but moan out loud. I’m so embarrassed.”

Emily starts laughing so much that tears started falling of her eyes. I sigh because I knew that she would react like that and I finish my glass and grab her full glass of wine and finishing it in one gulp.

She stops laughing but a smile is plastered in her face. “How did he react?”

“We made it back to the parking lot without crossing any word. He just muttered a ‘goodbye’ and left.” I sigh again and close my eyes feeling already dizzy because of the wine.

I pour myself another glass and drink it.

Emily stares at me till I finish my third glass. “What if you call him and tell him, finally, that you’ve got the hots for him?”

“You know what?! I’m going to do it.” I pick my phone from the table and ring him.

As he picks up, Emily whispers “Put it on speaker.”

I pressed the speaker option and hear Spencer’s voice: ‘Y/N?”

“Hi, Reid. Remember that I was daydreaming on the plane?” I continue without waiting for a response, but he murmurs a ‘yes’. “All I could think about is about your mouth on my pussy and your hands on my neck.”

“Oh my god” I heard Emily say.

“You don’t fucking know what your lips and hands do to me every time you are reading, and you read a fucking lot, Reid.”

I stop my rant and wait for him to say something, but I’m left waiting.

I sigh on defeat. “I’m sorry, I just thought I had to let you know. I’m not going to make things weird in work and if you want to I can stop talking to you. It would hurt but-“

“Y/N” I hear his voice come out my phone like a growl. “Where are you right now?”

Fuck, I’m wet again.

“I’m at Emily’s right now.” I say unsure.

“Give me 15 minutes, I’m coming.” And then he hangs up.

WHAT?

HE IS COMING?!

TO GET ME?!

“Emily, what did just happen?”

“You are getting laid, my girl.” She says loudly. “Are you wearing cute underwear?”

·

I receive a text from Reid saying to come down and I obey immediately saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘thanks’ to Emily.

I see Reid’s car and just as I got into the passenger sit and put the safety belt, he starts driving.

“Y/N. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fucking sound you made on the plane.” My eyes grew wide and turned to stare at him. “I never thought you could actually be attracted to me, although Morgan and Emily always kept insisting that you did.”

I chuckled. “Spence, I’ve always tried to make you notice me, but you are so fucking oblivious. I thought you didn’t want anything from me.”

“How could I not want anything from you? Are you crazy? You are stunning, funny, and so fucking smart. You’ve everything.” He says staring at me as he just parked in front of his apartment.

His eyes drift off to my lips and proceeds to lick his.

And again, I moan out loud.

“Fuck, Y/N. Let’s get inside before I fuck you right here in the car.”

Jesus-fucking-christ.

I’ve never heard him sound like this, a new kind of confidence occupied his body and it showed.

As we reached the lift, the tension between the two of us was so dense I couldn’t breathe steadily. The door dings and opens, Spencer grabbed my hand and takes me to his apartment. Without waiting a second after closing the door, he led me into his room.

“Sit down.” He ordered me and I don’t hesitate to do it. “Before we start this, I want to tell you that I won’t be gentle. Also, this ain’t going to be a one-time thing, after this I’m going to ask you out on a date. Just so you know that I’m not playing with your feelings or that this is a one-sided thing.”

“Reid, I need your lips on mine, right now.”

“This is the only time I’m going to take an order from you, baby.”

He launched himself over my body and went for my lips. With my bottom lip between his teeth, I opened my mouth granting pass to his tongue. As our tongues dance with each other a loud moan left my mouth.

“Y/N… those fucking sounds are going to be the death of me.” He lifts my weigh while turning around and I end up straddling him. “Remind me again of what you daydreamed back in the plane.” He says while leaving kisses on my check and continued with my jaw.

“You started biting my neck…” he proceeded to do that going for the sweet spot just below my ear. “Fuck.” I moan.

“What else?”

His teeth nipped strongly on my skin and I closed my mouth to try to not make a sound, failing of course.

“I imagined you eating me out and then chocking me.”

He separated his head of my neck and looked at me with a new sparkle in his eyes. “If you behave, I might just do that, baby.”

Between kisses, I toke his shirt off and he toke mine, followed by my bra.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed so many nights about these two. Had to jerk off so many times in my shower thinking about coming onto them.” I moaned at his dirty talk; I should have known he was good with his words in bed too. “Maybe we could do that another time, now I’m going to give my full attention to this right here.” He said while cupping my pussy with his hand.

He pushed me into the bed on my back and toke my pants and underwear off. His mouth traveled between my tits and continued on my abdomen. He started kissing my thighs but every time he got close to where I needed him the most, he started kissing my other thigh.

“Please, Spencer.” I implored.

“What do you want, Y/N?” He arched an eyebrow.

“You know what I want, Reid.”

“Use your words.” He blew air into the center of my core.

“I need you, your tongue, fingers�� I don’t care. I need you. PLEASE.”

“If you beg me like that, baby.”

His tongue attacked my clitoris while two of his fingers entered me.

“Spencer!” I screamed.

With a smirk, his tongue continued lapping my clit while his fingers curled inside me. His mouth left my core to give attention to my boobs. His fingers still working in and out and his teeth nipping my nipples was starting to be too much for me. My legs started trembling and sweat was covering every inch of my body. The warm sensation was overwhelming and as he pinched my nipple and bitted the other one, I came.

“Fucking hell Reid.” I moaned. As I came down of my high, he licked his fingers.

“You taste so good, baby. It almost feels like a sin to taste like this, I wanna eat this pussy every day.”

My mouth opened speechless at his words.

Is it possible to be already wet again and ready for more? Because Spencer just had made it possible for me.

“I want those pinks lips wrapped around my cock. Now.”

He grabbed the back of my thighs lifting me up again to straddle him. We get into a deep kiss in which I get to taste myself and help him get out of his pants and boxers. His cock completely erected stood now on his stomach.

Licking my lips hungrily, I went directly to wrap the tip with my lips and tacking it out making a ‘pop’ sound.

“Shit.” He groans.

With the help of my hand, I start slow movements on his length. I take him fully on my mouth earning a loud moan that went directly to the inside of my pussy. His hand grabbed my hair, stopping me for a second.

“Y/N, I’m gonna come in your mouth if you don’t stop.”

“Do it, Reid” I bob my head faster and I toke his balls on my hands massaging them.

“Holy shit.” He growled and came inside my mouth. His saltiness fulling me. “That felt so good baby.” He sighs and cups my face bringing it to his.

We kissed and I smiled. “Now, can I finally have that cock inside my pussy?”

He tucked my hair with his hand making my neck to be on full exposure to his mouth. “Come and ride me baby.” Ordered while attacking my neck again.

He’s going to leave me so many marks.

I positioned my pussy right on his cock and pushed it inside me. We both groaned at the same time.

“You feel so good around me.”

I moaned at his words and started riding him. We both were a moaning mess, but he seemed to get frustrated.

“I need to go faster.” He pushed me into my back. He pushed himself into me, getting more in depth in this new position. My legs were on his shoulders and his cock was deeper than ever. One of his hands traveled to my clit drawing circles on it and his other hand positioned on my neck with a light pressure.

“Harder.” I demanded between moans.

He did what I said and putted more pressure on my neck.

“Y/N, come for me.” As if I just needed to hear him say it, my whole body reacted to his words giving me one of the best orgasms I have ever had.

“Oh my god.” I moaned. My clenched pussy wrapped around him was what he needed to have his release.

“Baby, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.” He said lying on his back and getting off me.

We lied catching our breath.

“Same, Spence.”

He then seemed to be on deep thought.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That now, everytime I read all I’m going to think is about you moaning.”

I laugh at his response. “Finally, you will suffer some consequences for being hot without realizing.”

We laugh.

“As I promised,” he started and turned all his body to face mine, “do you wanna go out with me on a date?”

I looked at him sweetly while we cupped my cheek with one hand, getting my hair out my face.

“Of course, idiot. It was time you asked.”

[sunnys-rewatch-blog]

S3, E1

"It Happened"

They really like starting off new seasons with S&M by Rihanna.

Yet another episode I wanted to get toked out for. Job hunts suck.

Don't cemeteries have cameras around?

"Can we make this our anniversary, instead of hers?" -wow, that's super insensitive. A dear friend of mine lost a dear friend to drug use several years ago and to this day will get so depressed around the anniversary of her death that it causes her to miss work. I can't imagine asking someone to strike out their trauma and center me instead. It's so disrespectful. Then again, Emily seems to be the only one affected by this.

One of the last scenes of Toby and Emily we get.

Imagine living in a world where the cops are so efficient they can take you into the station while you're getting ready for dinner and release you with enough time to still make your dinner reservation.

Hanna is pissing me off, in this episode. She spent the last two seasons being a sub-par friend to her, and I don't feel like she ever truly tries to forgive Mona going forward, so this is really just an act..and not even a good one. And it infuriates me, because Mona was literally so desperate for friends it drove her crazy.

This was a good episode. I don't have much to say about it, though.

[sizzymontgomery]

don't get me wrong people, I'm so mad at what they do to Sharon, i make memes about it bc what else can i do? the whole concept of Sharon Carter being a villain is a joke, you want to show that the Government is trash? fine, there's Isaiah history, Sam's fight for save his family's memory with the boat and being rejected for the bank, Karli's whole fight for her people, John Walker with the "you build me" history, as how he was used as a weapon and left behind when they can't control him anymore, even how they left Sharon behind or how they toke the Shield form Sam to give it to Walker but he still fight, not for the Government but for the people, and you choose to take Sharon Carter Ms America badass sunshine to radicalize her and make her a villain? have you ever read anything about her? her history? were talking about the same woman who initiated a program for agents who want to left the fight and get a normal life, the same woman who is Steve Rogers rock and confidence, Shields best agent (in Steve's words), the same woman with the purest heart who has been through so much and still have faith and hope in people, she even has the childish wish to find the world's greatest hamburger damn it, how could you ruin it a character like that.

Not only they did not do her character justice, they completely ignored the essence of who she is.

Emily sweetie I'm so sorry, you deserve so much better.

you really want me to think they are the same character?

[etherrealoblivion]

A Joint Effort

Prompt: I just thought of this for some reason, but imagine everyone in the bau all high as fuck, in one room together.

Words: 1,905

A/N: for the bad b*tches in my MGG group chat. Love y’all.

Content Warning!!!!: Drugs (weed)

MASTERLIST

~

It had started out a regular Friday evening. Well, as regular as a Friday evening could be for the sorry few that worked in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.

After a particularly draining case, the team decided a night out would be the best way to unwind. More precisely, Morgan decided and convinced the others with much help from Garcia.

So that’s how a mother, a genius, a spy, a hacker, a playboy, a boss, and a millionaire all ended up stumbling home, drunk off their asses down the empty streets of D.C.

Sadly, J.J, who had been the designated driver, didn’t get the memo until after her fourth drink. Garcia, the messenger, was a little late on delivering it. By then, everyone else was already wasted so Hotch figured it was time to go home. Or, actually, to crash at Rossi’s place. He was nearby and had enough bedrooms for everyone to rest peacefully, although the team had a slight notion that the party wasn’t quite over.

This thought was confirmed quite quickly for as everyone plopped down amongst the plethora of cozy chairs in Rossi’s living room, Morgan found the millionaires liquor cabinet, shamelessly helping himself to the array of drinks there.

However, before he could indulge too far, a small wooden box caught his eye as he was about to select a fifty-year scotch.

Alcohol didn’t seem to affect his profiling skills as he deduced what was in the box as if there was a note written on it.

Smirking, Morgan wondered whether or not his team members would. Rossi would, for sure. Garcia, definitely probably. Hotch? Reid? Hmm.

“Hey, Rossi,” Morgan said, putting on a voice of drunken interest, “what’s this box, here?”

Rossi’s head snapped to where he was standing, confirming his suspicions. Before he could speak, Reid piped up, stammering slightly.

“That’s an 1870’s oakwood Captain James box. Collectors quality. Only four hundred were made.”

“Isn’t that a lot?” Garcia asked, taking off her heels.

“Yes, for the era. But three hundred and seventeen were lost to the ocean on the shipwreck of the Casterberous. Interestingly enough--”

“Actually,” Morgan butted in, slowly opening the box and smiling as he saw what was in it, “What I was more interested in was what was in the box.”

Rossi, always composed, shrugged and stood walking towards morgan.

“What can I say? In our line of work, one tends to need to . . . destress every now and again.”

Hotch snorted, finally realizing what the mystery box contained. Dave had told him of his habit, but Hotch never really given it much thought. Everyone had their vices.

“What’s in it?” Prentiss said, trying to steal a glimpse.

“Wait . . .” Garcia paused for a moment, shot Morgan a look to which he smirked knowingly, then burst into laughter, clutching her sides and rolling back on the couch.

J.J looked from Garcia to Rossi, the latter standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. She quickly put two and two together.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Reid was still confused. “What, what is it? What have I missed?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Rossi questioningly to which the older man nodded softly. So Morgan placed the box, lid open, on the coffee table. So that everyone could see the set of pre-rolled cigarettes laying on purple satin within.

Prentiss smiled.

“Well, well, well. David Rossi, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Acapulco gold?”

Everyone but Reid laughed, who was looking at the cigarette curiously.

“I don’t understand. Cigarettes? Prentiss used to smoke, I don’t see the big deal.”

J.J. pat his head.

“You’ll learn, Spence. You’ll learn. May I?” she directed the last part to Rossi, gesturing toward the box.

He waved a hand.

“Be my guest. As long as no one is uncomfortable?” he phrased it as a question.

Murmurs of assent filled the room, everyone but Reid and Hotch reaching for one of the neatly rolled cigarettes in the box and Rossi going to fetch his lighter and put on a quiet record for background noise.

“J.J? You don’t smoke tobacco?”

Morgan laughed. Pretty boy was a genius at most things. This not being one of them.

“Spence,” J.J. took the lighter from Rossi and lit her cigarette, a pungent smell quickly filling the room, “it’s not tobacco.”

A look of comprehension finally found its way onto Reid’s face, causing everyone looking at him to shake with laughter.

“Oh.”

Morgan slapped him on the back, handing him a lit joint. “‘Oh’ is right. Now listen, no peer pressure, Pretty Boy. You get uncomfortable, stand up, and go to bed, no judgment. But, if you wanna chill out for a while, get that genius mind to calm down, take a puff of this.” And Morgan brought his joint to his lips, steadily taking a drag and blowing it out with practiced expertise.

A moment of hesitation was all Spencer needed, quickly reassured by the ease with which his friends and colleagues began to smoke. Then, he brought the joint to his mouth and took a deep breath.

As expected, he coughed immediately, a horrible hacking noise as blue-ish smoke expelled from his mouth and nose.

His friends started to giggle, already feeling the high hit them.

Hotch finally decided to join in after a few minutes of watching everyone enjoy themselves. Reid recovered surprisingly quickly, barely coughing the second and third times and not at all by the fourth.

It suddenly occurred to everyone that they’d all been silent the whole time. Garcia, of course, was the first to rectify this.

“Okay, when was the last time everybody got high? Go.” She pointed to her left where J.J sat sprawled out against her.

“Um. Oh god. Three months before I found out I was pregnant with Henry. Although I’m not sure you’d count that as ‘high’. It was one hit from a bong at this party I went to.”

“A party?!” Prentiss said, surprised. “When? Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” everyone exclaimed.

“Okay! Jeez. It was when we had that weekend off after the Garner case. I went down to New Orleans to see Will and . . . one thing led to another.”

“Is that why you kept texting me asking for pictures of my cat?” Garcia giggled, absentmindedly petting J.J’s hair.

“Yeah. . . I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a robot. Don’t ask.”

After a bit of laughter, everyone recovered and it was Hotch’s turn next.

“Four years ago. After the Nieman case in Tampa. Haley was the one who suggested it. It did help me relax, but the taste is something I couldn’t stand.”

Everyone nodded slightly, accepting this answer as valid.

Rossi shrugged, gesturing to the now empty box. Clearly he had smoked recently, probably within the month so the question passed to Morgan.

“I’m gonna be honest. I . . . partake whenever we have free time.”

“So. . . ?” J.J asked.

Morgan sighed.

“Last weekend.”

Wow. Garcia started to laugh which caused a domino effect on the rest of the team. Reid was finally relaxing into the feeling, laughing along with his friends.

“Y’all think that’s real funny, huh?” Morgan said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face.

“Yep,” Reid said through another puff, suppressing a cough. “Only because it makes so much sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan got a mischievous look in his eye. “Okay, Prentiss. Your turn.”

Emily, who had been laughing heartily, suddenly froze, looking nervously around the room.

“I, er, I don’t recall.”

Morgan chuckled.

“Well then, allow me to refresh your memory. Last weekend I’m minding my own business when I get a call from Emily here. She’s going off about how expensive movie tickets are and how it’s cheaper to buy back-alley weed. I tell her not to worry, I’ve got my hands on the good stuff right here. Needless to say, within the hour we were both high off our asses.”

Prentiss had turned bright pink, taking a sip from a water bottle she’d withdrawn from her purse. Looking back, she should have known better than to hide her face from a group of seasoned profilers.

“Oh, damn, Emily!” Garcia bounced on the couch, shaking J.J who groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me! You know I am always one phone call and thirty-five minutes away.”

Emily glanced at Derek, smirking. “That’s the problem, Pen. Sometimes you can be a little . . . much.”

Garcia gasped softly, “Emilia, you offend me. I’m offended. I’m chill! I’m a chill person,” she added, a little shrilly, sending the group into yet another fit of laughter.

“What? Look at me now! I’m relaxing on the couch, totally at peace.”

In her defense, she was. Absentmindedly braiding J.J’s hair and working out the knots in it. One sharp pull made J.J wince.

“Ow! Yeah, ‘at peace’ my ass.”    

“Shush! Reid, go.”

Spencer opened his mouth but Morgan spoke first.

“Aw, come on, Baby Girl. You saw how Pretty Boy here coughed. He hasn’t touched a drug in his life.”

“I-”

“Oh, come on. People don’t only cough when they’ve never smoked before. Besides, he went to Caltech AND got a doctorate at MIT. Those Ivy Leagues have the most toked up students anyway.”

“Well, I-”

“Nah,” Morgan interrupted. “Pretty Boy’s been sober his whole life.”

“Actually . . .”

Morgan’s head snapped to Reid, as quick as he could under the influence. Which, in retrospect was not all that quick.

“Kid. You’re telling me you’ve done this before?”

Reid went even pinker than Emily had.

“Not, uh. Not exactly. I’ve certainly never smoked a joint with anyone. But, well. That wasn’t the question.”

“What was the question?” Garcia asked.

“You’re the one who asked it!”

She simply shrugged, reapplying her lipstick smoothly. The high was slowly wearing off everyone.

“You asked when the last time everyone got high was,” Reid explained, his hands gesticulating wildly. “While I have never smoked - really no one should, the things it does to your lungs - I have ingested marijuana before.”

“What!?” Morgan and Garcia exclaimed, prompting an even louder Shh from Rossi. Hotch was smirking softly, lighting several candelabras around the room, attempting to clear the air of the stench.

“What?” Reid asked, annoyed at their shock. “I might be nerdy but I’m not a prude.”

Prentiss laughed and remarked to J.J, “Next thing he’s gonna be telling us he’s not a virgin.”

“Actual-”

“Stop, right there, kid,” Morgan butted in, settling down on the couch for the night. “That’s not the kinda thing I wanna hear about right now.”

“But you were curious about me getting high before!”

“Yeah, that’s your business.”

Prentiss butted in, “Besides, we should just focus on the now. It seems while we’ve all partook before, but never together like this. This time it’s a… a…”

“A joint effort,” Reid said, glancing around the room with a playful smile.

A collective groan followed his quip and several pillows were thrown his way.

“You’re lucky I’m barely stoned,” Garcia said. “I’d come over there and give you a proper pillow fight.”

Rossi leaned forward over the old box.

“Ladies, gents,” he lifted the purple satin lining revealing several more pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes, “the night is still young.”

And so, the FBI profilers hotboxed David Rossi’s living room, laughing about nonsense and learning much more than they’d wanted to about Spencer Reid’s sexual history

[criminalmindsmoodrn]

moreid//4? for the prompts thing

I’ll do my best nonny🔅

The team was finnally back at home after a pretty messed up case that inflicted all agents, they were tired and Hotch had a few bruised ribs

As soon as the walked in the BAU they all set at their desk and Emily toke a deep breath “That was...intense” They all turned head and nodded JJ:“Agree”

After a few seconds a noise of heels spread in the room with a high squeaking following

“My crime fighters!!Youre here, oh i’ve missed you” Said Garcia going one to one for a hug “How’s the boss? Is he okay? Is he in his office? Do you guys think I should bring him cookies-“

Derek:“Baby girl he’s alright he got a few bruised ribs but he’s going to be alright don’t worry”

Rossi: “Yeah Derek is right Garcia don’t worry”

Garcia: “Alright, alright i’ll just go to his office to see for myself, thanks Rossi”

She turned and made her way thorough Hotch office

“Hey pretty boy i need to talk to you”Emily turned her head at derek and then glanced a smirk at JJ who smiled back <They already know...after all, they’re profilers>

Spencer followed Derek in Garcia office which was now empty cause the woman was in Hotch’s office

“What you wanted to tal-“ Spencer didn’t have the time to finish the sentence that Derek lips were already on his, Dereks tungue was now moving inside Reid’s mouth.

“Morg-” said in the middle of the kiss “ you know th-“ Derek hand was now making his way on Spencer ass

“There are cameras here babe” whispers in a soft voice in Dereks ear

“Honestly,pretty boy, i don’t really care; we can ask Garcia to delete it”Derek said with a smile looking deep in his lover eyes

“You’re right, but the team is out and they’ll be suspicious, only Garcia knows, which now that i think about it, it’s strange that she didn’t scream it from the top of the building” Said Spencer with his genius face

“Yeah i know” Derek’s laugh made Spencer giggle

“Babe i have to go finish the paper work, And i have to give it to Hotch”

with a loud sigh Derek come out with “Come home to me when you’re done pretty boy;alright?”

“Home?” A big smile formed on the younger agent face “I like the sound of that”

They gave each other a soft kiss and left the room with a smile on their faces

Its a small thing but i’ll do better next time💕 hope you enjoyed it, all love nonny 💙

[adamwatchesmovies]

Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood (2003)

It’s finally come to this: Leprechaun 6: Back 2 tha Hood. It’s better than 4: In Space but nowhere near as much fun as the "best" ones. Once again, there is no continuity between any of these stories, despite the title's implication.

When a group of young adults discovers the Leprechaun’s gold, they spend it on gold teeth, marijuana, fast cars, and fancy clothes. Only Emily (Tangi Miller) worries what the treasure's rightful owner (Warwick Davis) might pose when he inevitably reappears to claim what's his.

This movie is… racially insensitive. Other than Emily, everyone in this movie is a stereotype. All of the men are thugs or potheads who want big booty ho's and care only about "tha streetz", all the women believe that getting an education is a waste of time and worry more about their hair than anything of substance. You'd feel a lot better about this horror-comedy if it was actually funny or took advantage of its potential (you hardly ever saw horror films with primarily black casts in the 2000s) rather than emphasize goofy, broad stoner material.

There’s no real horror to speak of, the main reason being the Leprechaun's inherent un-scaryness. It spends most of its time toking up, getting beaten up by everyone it encounters and only kills a few people… using such ridiculous methods as impaling someone with a bong. I can’t emphasize enough how much the Leprechaun sucks in this movie. It gets beaten up or badly injured in every single scene it appears in.

The ending is foreshadowed in the clumsiest, laziest fashion. I’m not going to tell you what it is exactly, but it’d be like the characters in a werewolf movie happening upon a century-old abandoned silver mine as the plot began and them casually mentioning it like it was nothing to their friends. Even with the clumsy set up, I’m not entirely convinced it makes any sense in the end.

If I have anything to praise something, it’ll be the animated intro. I like the backstory given for the Leprechaun and the way the pot of gold is handled in the beginning is pretty clever. Despite all its flaws, I suppose if you want a stoner horror film, this one is also more competently put together than Evil Bong, so that’s something right?

Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood isn’t even as funny as you might expect it to be. It's not even close to being unwatchable like In Space but there's no one I could ever recommend this film to. The morbidly curious will leave feeling like they wasted their time. If you do watch it though, stick around for the end credits and read them carefully to see a joke hidden in there. (On DVD, June 28, 2015)

[thefandomlesbian]

you asked for prompts, so ive got two i guess, if you'd like - hotchreid, with insecure/jealous hotch and/or domestic jemily fluff

Okay, I’ll admit I... kinda missed the mark on this one, but I did try! D: 

Read it here on AO3! 

...

“All hearts float in their own deep oceans of no light, wetblack and glimmering, their four mouths gulping like fish. Hearts are said to pound: this is to be expected, the heart’s regular struggle against being drowned.” -Margaret Atwood

…

The first time Spencer says it, they're eating dinner together. Chicken mango pilaf over brown rice with chopped vegetables. Aaron is drinking apple juice. Spencer, who laughed at him for drinking apple juice, is drinking water. Aaron remembers these preceding moments with exact clarity, the brief silence that filled the room except for their forks scraping their plates, until...

"I think I'd like for you to choke me."

Aaron, ironically, chokes fairly immediately after this statement. He coughs a chunk of chicken, or is it mango? back into his plate and has inhaled some of the sauce that's now scalding the back of his throat, and he hacks, wondering if rice is going to come out of his nose, which is now streaming, and certainly because he started choking as Spencer spoke, he must've misheard. "You want me to what?" Poke me, toke me, broke me, woke me —

"Choke me."

The pit of Aaron's stomach flips in distress. The fork abruptly begins to tremble in his hand. "I—what?" He puts down the fork quickly to keep from dropping it and disguises his trembling hands by wiping around his mouth with his napkin. "I—Why? What? Who? Where?" He finds it impossible to form a coherent question, so he hopes Spencer will understand something from the noises he just produced and answer it.

Spencer's brows furrow. "You don't look too keen on the idea." Aaron makes another odd sound, something like clearing his throat passed off from choking on his food, and he's grimacing. "I dunno. JJ says she does it with Emily sometimes and it's fun. You know, during sex."

Aaron's whole body tightens up. "Yeah, I got that part." His face and knuckles blanche white. Even his lips lose color.

"I didn't know. You look kind of like I asked you cut my body up and pickle me into jars—"

"JJ told you to do this?"

"Yeah, JJ and Emily—"

"Stop, stop, I don't want to know." Aaron isn't sure of where this all came from, but with those clues, he is very sure he doesn't want to find out. "No."

Spencer frowns, not in an objectionable way, but in a thoughtful way. Clearly this conversation poked a whole bunch of needles into Aaron like bad acupuncture and then rolled him over on that side without taking the needles out. "Could we... Talk about it? You look pretty upset."

"No," Aaron says again. He tries to pick up his fork, but he fumbles with it and is unable to keep a grip on it. He's lost his appetite, anyway. He takes his plate to the kitchen, washes it off, and goes to shower with the door closed, like always—usually so Spencer won't see his upper body, but tonight so Spencer won't see the steam pour out of the room as he turns the water up all the way and scrubs himself until his skin is pink and raw.

Hours later, they're lying together in bed. Spencer drowses in a post-coital haze, his head on Aaron's clothed chest—besides Aaron's shirt, they're both naked. Aaron reads a book, or pretends to, but he hasn't turned a page in three and a half minutes, and Aaron usually reads about two hundred fifty words a minute, which means he's a minute and a half late to turn this page—

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Hm...?" Spencer blinks a few times to shake himself from his sleepy reverie. "What?"

"Do you—Do you think I would ever hurt you?"

"No, of course not. I would never think that." Aaron licks his lips and dog-ears the page (Spencer winces at this but doesn't remark on it) and puts the book to the side. "Are you okay?" Aaron was even more tender than usual tonight, and while ultimately it was for Spencer's benefit, he's concerned about its origins. Aaron has made it pretty clear he doesn't want to talk about the conversation earlier, but Spencer wonders how, exactly, a simple question got him so bent out of shape.

"Do you trust me?" Aaron presses.

"Yeah, of course. You licked my anus, like, ten minutes ago. I trust you not to give us E coli , which is the highest of compliments." Spencer tries to restore some levity to the conversation, since it's clear Aaron won't say what's actually bothering him, and Spencer doesn't particularly like to hold these long conversations completely in the dark.

His attempt doesn't assuage Aaron. "And you trust me not to hurt you? Or put my hands on you, ever?"

Spencer rolls over in his arms to look Aaron in the eyes. "Aaron," he says gently, "I trust you never to let any harm come to me, ever. That's why I asked you to do that." Aaron looks stricken. "You could put your hands on my throat, and I would be the safest man on this wide green earth. Do you think I would ever give that to someone else?" Aaron always knows what's best for him, is always gentle, always sensitive to his needs—he doesn't know where this anxiety came from, but it's not founded in the reality of the Aaron he knows. "You don't have to defend yourself. You don't want to do it. End of conversation." Spencer rubs soothing circles on Aaron's chest.

"I don't want you to think I would ever let anything hurt you."

"I don't think that."

"Even me."

"I don't think that, either." Spencer kisses him. "It's okay. I know better than to try to take sex advice from a couple that involves Emily. She's, like, the opposite of you."

Aaron's interest is piqued. "In what way?" Spencer opens his mouth. "No, wait, never mind, I don't—I don't want to know."

That night, Spencer rests easily, but Aaron squeezes him so tightly around the middle that he has to wiggle more than once to breathe, and very late, long after Aaron thinks he has fallen asleep, he feels Aaron cry silently, face buried between Spencer's shoulder blades.

The next evening, Spencer brews some stew on the stove using the very precise instructions Aaron laid out for him. So far, nothing is on fire, nothing has been blackened into coal, and nothing is melting, so Spencer is achieving expectations. The front door unlocks, and he turns to watch Aaron enter, carrying a boat load of groceries. "Hey, soup's brewing."

"It's stew," Aaron corrects as Spencer takes his bags.

"Yeah, whatever. It's not on fire, is my point."

"I've never been so proud," Aaron deadpans. Spencer kisses his cheek and rolls his eyes and goes to help Aaron put things away in the kitchen. "And, um, I got something—something for you." Aaron's cheeks flush unexpectedly, and Spencer raises his eyebrows in great interest as Aaron holds out a bag to him. "I, uh, I talked to Garcia, and she had some… suggestions."

Spencer wants to ask what kind of suggestions, but inside the bag, he finds a headband with pink cat ears, a pink lacy bralette, and a pink collar with a jingly bell and a small tag—the tag engraved: Spencer .

It's mortifying. It's sweet. It's the most adventurous thing Aaron has ever done (granted, the bar was low). Spencer kisses him hard. "Oh, I love it!"

"Oh, good, I thought maybe Garcia was way off base, but after yesterday, I was afraid to talk to JJ, I don't think I can look either of them in the eye ever again—"

"We could add to the tag property of Aaron Hotchner —"

Aaron shoots him a mild-tempered look. "Don't push your luck."

Spencer fidgets with the bell on the collar. "Say, uh, Garcia didn't say anything to you about, uh... cowboys, did she?"

Aaron frowns. "No, she didn't."

"Or horses, or... Assless chaps?"

"No... No. Should she have?"

"Nope!" Spencer says all too quickly. "Nope, she shouldn't have."

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Things Below

Voices. Voices, everywhere. Emily peered out the window from the backseat of the patrol car. Locked in, but free to hear all these confusing voices. She could hear the thoughts of the people the car drove past, picking up fallout from the minds of people on the sidewalk.

“He gave me too much change. Tough shit, sucker. I’m not telling and I’m keeping it. Those stores are insured against this kind of—”

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late; oh my god, I’m gonna lose my job. What about—”

“I forgot to lock the front door. To hell with whatever he’s saying, I’m sure as hell that I forgot—”

“Stop staring, dumbass. Jeeze, I think I need to jack off in a bathroom stall, otherwise she'll—”

Emily didn’t even care about reading the thoughts themselves. She used to figure people to be thinking drivel like this just by looking at them. No, the reporter wanted to see how well she could focus this ability—how well she could control it. As far as she was concerned, she had developed a superpower. With it, she could change the world.

Only one thing gave her reason for pause; gave her a reason to worry. If she wasn’t dreaming—if this all was real—then it meant the demon she had met at the delicate age of 21 had been real, too.

The edges of her vision turned into streaks, stretching into infinity, blending together in a wild blur of colors and shapes. She only caught glimpse of their faces, all unimportant and forgotten within seconds, but their thoughts reached her mind in fragments, like a rain of glass shards falling into a bottomless pit. Clipped, ripped out of context—like switching rapidly through radio stations and never hearing anything out.

Officer Stanton glanced back at Emily through the rearview mirror. Judging by his furrowed brow, he was concerned about her mental well-being. That was when she realized that her head kept bobbing erratically, moving on a constant swivel. She must have looked like a crazy person to this cop.

“Your nose,” he said after clearing his throat and training his eyes on the road again.

Confounded, Emily dabbed her nose, only to find blood on her fingers.

The splitting headache set in. Or it had been there all along, except that it now cranked the dial to eleven in the very second she stopped tuning in to the thoughts of all the passers-by. She muttered a short curse and a emitted a soft, nervous chuckle.

Looked like the superpower came with a little price tag.

But it had already paid off. Under other circumstances, she would have had to go out on a limb in trusting this “Officer Stanton.” Letting him lock her into the backseat like a common suspect or criminal. But what choice did she have? A bomb turned her apartment block into a blazing inferno, she woke up naked in a dumpster, and she had no phone, no money, and was now wearing the borrowed clothes of her friend Maria—who probably had her pegged as crazy and she should never talk to again.

Scanning Stanton’s thoughts had revealed a certain level of surprising purity. Blue-eyed, this shmuck hadn’t seen anywhere near the amount of horrid things Emily had seen in her time as an investigative reporter, looking into human trafficking and pedophile rings. He was as concerned as she was about Detective Tanner, her single only trustworthy contact in the police—who had gone missing.

Reading Stanton’s mind, Emily knew that this cop had his heart in the right place and was going out on a limb himself. She looked and sounded like a crazy person, had no identification, and lied to him first thing upon their meeting. He had a lot to lose himself.

And she couldn’t tell him everything she had witnessed.

“I was drugged and abducted,” she had admitted to him in that first encounter. Only part of the truth she could speak without sounding like she had lost every last marble.

The other part involved what she could only describe as a trip into hell, where she was hounded by an antagonistic demon she dubbed “Stinky Jim.”

Eight years ago, Emily met Stinky Jim for the first time, though she did not have such a name for the demon yet. Had she known it was real, she would have lost her mind. She would have been the Other Emily, the Lost Emily—the one sitting in a padded cell, rocking back and forth, gibbering, and disconnected from reality.

If her recent awakening—the event since when she could read minds and bend space itself—had taught her anything, then it was that reality itself was a strained, malleable concept.

Even human identity crumbled in the face of enlightened scrutiny.

Back when she was 21, working the sixth McJob in a row before she got smart, got her GED, and got into studying to become a reporter; she still hung out in a basement with the rest of the “gang.”

She remembered that night with stunning clarity. The edges on everything remained sharp. The dive in the basement of the home of Rodney’s parents had burned itself into the pages of her memory.

Her birthday—the night Emily turned 21.

Both on the surface and in all things below, she was a different person. Dyed her hair pink, piercings in her ears and on her brow, royal blue lipstick, torn heavy metal T-shirts. Loved ranting about politics, economy, and social justice; but never lifted a finger to do a damned thing about it.

Just like then. They were sitting in Rodney’s parents’ basement, sprawled out over ratty old couches and chairs with the TV set and old video game consoles, smoking weed, and the four boys listening to one of her many unnumbered tirades on LGBTQ+ rights.

“Shut the fuck up if you ain’t gonna do anything ‘bout it,” Chris told her. “Gay Chris,” as he was nicknamed, which didn’t bother him at all once they grew older—he wore the name like a badge of pride.

His voice cracked as he kept the smoke from the bong in his lungs and passed it on to Carlos, and Chris added, “The fuck do you know about any of that, straightie?”

That stunned Emily. That’s when everything clicked for her. When it all changed. Speechless, she silently agreed with him. Everything she knew about the gay experience was theoretical or secondhand, drawing from Chris’ experiences.

But that’s when she found her true calling.

She wouldn’t “shut the fuck up about it.” She refused to, because it would have been against her nature. She would do the legwork, and tell the world. She would relay the truth, even when it hurt, or when it got her and others into hot water. That would be her strength. Her destiny.

It would take till the end of that week and some feverish reading until she figured out that journalism was the way for her to go, but that was the same night when Emily really took the reins of her life into her own hands, and forged the path she now followed with furious determination.

Carlos chortled, then took a long toke from the bong before passing it on to Rodney. Emily remained silent.

With her most recent rant dead in the water, and the only active water being the one making the bubbling and churning sounds whenever anybody inhaled another hit from the bong, her thoughts drifted. The night of her birthday dragged on like many others in this very place, the matter of her birthday only standing out by the amount of weed they would have burned through by the end of the night.

She loved these boys like her brothers. Loved the countless nights they spent together, shooting the shit about their work, their messes of what could barely be described as love lives, playing video games together on the couch in this same basement and getting into swearing matches more heated than the actual gameplay, going to metal concerts together, or talking about philosophy and spirituality into the ungodliest hours of the morning.

Some time around 2 AM, Carlos had already passed out. He snored in the corner with a pile of empty potato chip bags and plastic bottles piled onto him like a work of art. Chris had gone home to get some sleep because of an early shift the next day. Only Jimmy, Rodney, and Emily remained. Stabbing Westward’s Ungod was playing back from the old iPod in a soft volume.

Rodney climbed back onto the couch and slid onto the cushions between Jimmy and Emily. His eyes were bloodshot from all the beer and weed they had been kicking back and he gave her a stupid grin.

“Got something special for this special occasion,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

He unfolded his fingers and presented three little things. To Emily, they looked like stamps or pieces of perforated cardboard just resting on his palm, each of them marked with a pastel yellow smiley face.

Before either Emily or Jimmy could ask, Rodney said, “LSD, hoes. Lucy seeing diamonds—in the sky—or something. So, uh, anyway, how about we go on a real trip?”

Jimmy’s brow furrowed and Emily snickered at him. Buff Jimmy over there, the racing car enthusiast who loved tuning cars and speeding in them, accustomed to acting like the biggest badass of their little gang, was now all skeptical and intimidated by this harmless-looking drug resting in Rodney’s hand.

“Fuck it, why not?” Emily asked.

“Nah, I’ll pass,” Jimmy predictably said. “Y'know what, you should too. Also, I should get back home and get some sleep.”

Jimmy scrambled to leave, looking half asleep already, and muttered a goodbye to Carlos who continued to snore away, oblivious to everything going on now.

“Pussy,” Emily called out after Jimmy just before he flipped her off and closed the basement door behind himself.

Rodney and Emily got a good laugh out of Jimmy’s departure. Then Rodney turned his head and waggled his eyebrows at her, holding out the three slips of LSD still.

“I could put one back, or one of us takes two of ‘em,” he said, letting his voice rise sharply towards the end in challenge.

Emily squinted and then snatched two of them out of his palm.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me, I guess,” she said, grinning with him in challenge, wondering if he wasn’t going to chicken out himself.

She stuck her tongue out at him like she was about to lick Rodney’s face, then placed the two pieces of LSD on her tongue and retracted it. Swallowed.

“How long?” she asked.

“My dick?”

“Fuck you.”

Rodney cackled and told her it would take two hours. They settled on re-watching Scream—one of Emily’s favorite horror movies. They talked over the flick, as usual. Laughed as Carlos turned over in his sleep at one point, knocking over the pyramid of junk piled onto him without even waking up, and they both wondered loudly if they weren’t going to have a horror trip if they watched a horror movie while tripping on LSD, like the idiots they were.

The movie ended and Emily still couldn’t tell if the drug was having any effect on her system.

“Get me another beer, beer bitch,” she told Rodney, softly kicking him in his thigh while she drooped lazily over the other half of the couch.

He got up and went to the small fridge in the corner of the room. She blinked and wondered why he did that without giving her any lip. Even on her birthday, Rodney wasn’t wont to do what she told him to. Returning to her, he uncapped the bottle of beer and held it out to her.

She took it and looked at him in disbelief. Rodney himself looked befuddled. He blinked and looked around. Was the LSD finally kicking in for him? If so, why was it taking so long for her?

If him tripping balls meant he was a compliant little sheep, she was going to have some fun with this. She pulled out her flip phone and started recording a grainy video on the device.

“Hey, Rodney, why don’t you stand on one foot and spin around in a circle for the audience,” she told him, biting her lip and sensing that he would do exactly as told.

And he did. Almost stumbling over the coffee table and falling onto his ass in the process, he did exactly that. Emily covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. She stared at him through the display of her phone, making sure to capture his dumbfounded facial expressions.

“Rodney, tell the world how much of a little skanky whore you are,” she said, mouth agape with a grin so wide that it almost hurt her cheeks.

“I’m such a little skanky whore that I’d eat Paris Hilton’s ass with whipped cream and a cherry on top,” he said, slurring it out as if his consciousness slipped farther away into a trance or delirium with each additional word.

Emily burst out laughing, “You will never live this one down when the others see the video, dipshit.”

Yet something crept up behind Emily. A dark, foreboding sense of something alien and sinister. It only reached the back of her mind with a delay: she heard Rodney’s thoughts before he did or said anything that she told him to. Or rather, she projected her self into him and he complied, pliable like a piece of wet cardboard.

These thoughts made more sense now, in the present, when she knew she could read minds. But back then, she had chalked it up to the acid trip. The day after, she would go back to her normal life, letting the details fade away into oblivion, dismissing them as nightmarish nonsense.

Except for the knock on the door.

Not the door leading in and out of the basement, but the door to the boiler room. A room where nobody should have been inside.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she stared at it, wide-eyed and terrified. Rodney followed her gaze because she willed him to pay just as much attention to it.

Knock knock. Again.

Or rather: THUMP THUMP. Deep, bass. Menacing.

“Rodney, go check on the clown hiding in there,” Emily told Rodney, not even thinking things through. She couldn’t even chalk it up to the booze and drugs.

All she knew was that she feared whatever awaited behind that door.

Like sleepwalking, Rodney approached the boiler room door. Twisted the knob. Opened it.

A soft red light glowed, engulfing him. A light out of this world. It flickered, danced—like flames. But no heat or fire awaited beyond the door. Only madness.

Emily walked there herself, intrigued by the mysterious light. Her whole body tingled with dread, yet she could not help but approach. She knew deep down, lurking beneath the surface of her thoughts, that something evil awaited there. Something that would drive her insane. She didn’t need to approach, should have turned and fled from Rodney’s basement. But curiosity won out over common sense.

She stood next to him and peered into the place beyond the door.

There was no boiler room there. Instead of the dingy little room with the big cylindrical something, some old plastic crates, and a bunch of pipes and valves—a flight of stairs stretched down, winding around a curve. The fiery red light flickered from the depths, beckoning her.

“Rodney, go lie down and sleep.”

He acknowledged her order, not speaking the affirmation out loud but just thinking it. Emily, however, didn’t even register how the thought had reached her like a spoken word. She could taste his dread riding on the back of those thoughts—salty, smooth, bitter, clamping his throat shut and cutting his breath short.

But her eyes fixated on these stairs. Made of obsidian, covered in strange, indecipherable symbols, bearing names on each step. Names of the lost and the damned. The forgotten and the famous. She could not read them, but she knew the names were important. She would read them again one day, but that was not this day.

Rodney laid down onto the couch and fell asleep within an instant. His thoughts turned into a soup of drugged dreaming and Emily shut them out, probing for any presence at the bottom of those stairs. To see if anything dwelt there, any things below.

“Come on down and find out,” something replied. Not in words, but thoughts. Smoky, crackling like wood in a fireplace, with embers rising into a dark and starry night.

Emily took her first step down those stairs in this other-space. Then another. And another. She tread down this path, and the stairwell narrowed as it twisted and turned on her way downward. She burned with curiosity to find what things lay hidden in the depths.

The door slammed shut behind her and something laughed. Something in a deep, bellowing baritone, like a monster straight out of some horror movie. The laughter died down into a chortle, egging her on to turn around and see for herself.

Fear overtook her and prevented her from turning to behold this demon. This madness. She knew it was there, right behind her. Fetid breath rhythmically struck the exposed skin of the back of her neck. The thing was huge, like a man two heads taller than her.

“If you don’t have the balls to look at me, then you better keep movin’, little girl,” the demon spoke to her, cackling some more. The words carried the air of a threat. “What are you afraid of finding down here, anyway?”

More laughter. Sinister. Knowing. Knowing her deepest, darkest desires, and secrets she would learn in the future

Her heart thumped against her chest, pounding so hard that it threatened to explode out of her rib cage any minute now. And whether she was tripping on the LSD, having an overly vivid nightmare, or this was indeed real, she dreaded turning around and instead continued on her descent.

“Welcome to the maze, Emily,” the thing’s voice crackled. Flames licked from its voice and the biting smells of charcoal smoke and sulfur filled her nostrils, stuck to her tongue. Way too real to be imagined, yet even now, she struggled to explain how this experience or even this memory could be real.

Because right now, she sat on the backseat of Officer Stanton’s car. But the vivid recollection of this memory sliced through time and space, reaching her in the now. The demonic presence still lingered, lurking behind her, occupying the space in her mind.

The unwanted guest renting one of the rooms in the mindscape of Motel Emily. The neon sign of vacancy flickered unsteadily.

Where the stairs wound down further, she reached a door branching out to the side. Or rather, the word “door” didn’t really cut it. It was a stone portal, covered in more symbols or otherworldly runes.

Without thinking, she pushed it open, hoping to find escape from this place, praying to reach Rodney’s basement again, or appear back in Stanton’s patrol car. The past and the present started bleeding together. Had she really experienced all this, back then? Was this the madness, overtaking her mind, surfacing now, tainting the present and overwriting reality?

“This is as real as it gets, bitch,” the demon said, cackling yet more.

The pink-haired Emily celebrating her 21st birthday and tripping on LSD didn’t understand what she saw beyond the portal once she strained herself, putting her legs and back into pushing it open, her nerves fraying with each inch accompanied by the sounds of stone grinding against stone.

Beyond that portal, she saw another Emily, stripped half-naked, handcuffed to a curtain rack, with some man with a painted face sliding a knife into her exposed back. Bodies of the dead and the dying littered the dark and ruined room of some derelict house in that place and Helpless Emily screamed in agony.

Younger Emily gasped and backed away from this scene of carnage and despair, recalling a memory of something yet to come, which Present Emily knew already and remembered as the time the Grinning Man came close to killing her.

The man with the knife, with the face painted to display a horrid grin over a face of cold and sociopathic indifference, turned to look at Younger Emily. She pulled, tugged at the portal with all her might, desperate to close it before something worse happened.

The Grinning Man, that serial killer, turned from Tortured Emily. He tilted his head, staring into the stone portal in disbelief, studying its frame. Before Younger Emily succeeded in fully shutting the portal, he approached with swift steps, ready to pass from one place into another.

But she slammed it shut just in time, just before she could decipher shouts from beyond the portal.

Worse, the demon remained. Right behind her.

She dared not turn around completely to look upon its horrid visage, but glimpsed it from the corner of her eye. Red like a devil, covered in spikes and horns and smiling at her with a maw lined with rows and rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. Blackened, knife-shaped claws opening and closing in anticipation, ready to rip her to shreds if she looked at it for too long.

It cackled again and Emily continued down the stairs.

“That was you,” it said. “That’ll be you, in the future. You fuck-up. Nobody’s proud of you, Emily. Accomplishing nothing of value. Only watching people die in squalor and misery. You are nothing but a worthless witness. A voyeur in a voyeuristic world.”

Hearing the demon speak in such a modern vernacular and imagining to be such a clichéd presence clashed in her mind, and she almost turned to confront the creature. But she read its thoughts and they mirrored her own.

The first time she realized that turning only meant embracing the madness, and ending up in that padded little room, all alone, locked inside her head with drugs—and not the sort that Younger Emily found fun.

Picking up the pace, she continued down the winding, hellish stairs. The walls drew closer together with each step, never moving, but converging in angles that made her descent more claustrophobic with each passing moment.

Present Emily knew she had to break free of this memory, because it was bleeding into reality. The demon was taking hold. She dabbed more blood from her nose and barely perceived the world outside the patrol car, rolling by. This memory was real, made even more real through recent realizations, and recalling it now was rendering it even more visceral than ever before. The knowledge of Present Emily collided with the memories of Younger Emily and they coalesced. They coagulated.

She passed by another stone portal, almost screaming at what she felt from behind it. Younger Emily did not know what awaited there, but Present Emily did not want to see it, and the two of them refused to push it open and look inside.

“Yeah, you keep walkin’, you hypocritical asshole. Eager to discover the truth, but just another chickenshit,” the demon said.

Instead of the inevitable laughter she expected to ensue, the demon growled with anger, reflecting a rage welling in her bowels, only overshadowed by the terror and fear now gripping her heart and driving her down the stairs, faster and faster.

“He’s dead, Emily. Julian’s dead, and it’s all your fault,” the thing snarled.

Its hoofed feet thundered down the steps behind her, keeping pace with ease, the hulking presence chasing her down deeper into this pit of insanity.

“No,” she finally dared to reply, but the demon mimicked her word, mocking her. Then she repeated herself, “No, that’s not my fault. Not like with the others. Not everything is my fault.”

“Maybe not directly, but what if you never entered his life? What if he hadn’t been on that parking lot, that day? He might not have had some crazy stalker cave his skull in with a two-by-four. So maybe it’s still your fault,” the demon growled.

“Shut up,” she said. Then screamed it. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it, right, Emily?”

The demon’s voice reached a fever pitch and now chased her. She ran, taking multiple steps down the well in strides, pushing through the narrow pathways, wasting no time to wonder how the demon’s sheer mass could fit through here behind her. The stink of fear erupted from her pores in a sheen of sweat, the heat of this hell engulfing her, and the stench of burning flesh rising from the depths.

The stone walls wriggled. They were not made of obsidian anymore, but worms. Millions and millions of pitch-black worms, things that did not belong in reality but were all too real. Slippery, alive. Writhing, as the mass reached out to her like walls of tiny fingers covered in myriads of chomping little mouths, provoking a shriek of terror to escape Emily’s throat, and the demon to laugh its sadistic laugh at her.

“Run, Emily! Run away, you disgusting fucking coward!” The demon spoke in many voices, those of Chris, her father when he slapped her cheek, the monster on her heels, and even herself. They all blended together. One of many, many in one.

There it was again: rocking back and forth, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth. White, padded walls all around.

Was she truly there? Was this even real? Was her entire life just a lie? Figments of her imagination, trying to make sense where none was to be made?

The stairs split into different pathways and Emily knew what to do. Present Emily wiped more blood from her nose and stared at her bloodied fingers in disbelief. Younger Emily had discovered her destiny, was glimpsing horrors from her future. Of the three possible ways to go, she squeezed into the narrowest one, screaming silently as she felt the wriggling mass of worms engulf her with the heat of a thousand fires, causing her skin to blister and painfully peel back. She clenched her teeth shut and feared the things entering through any orifices but pushed forward.

She had to live. She had to fulfill her destiny. She remembered all the people who died, or rather, those who would die.

She could change the world, but only if she didn’t give in now.

“Shit, I’ll give you a tissue once we reach the precinct,” Stanton said. His offer; his words helped, centering her in the now. The words he spoke bled through into that dark place where Younger Emily found herself, an unknown voice from a stranger from another world, or another time, piercing the veils of different realities, and guiding her through this horrid darkness.

The demon grunted and cackled and choked on the worms entering its maw as it squeezed itself through the narrow, suffocating passageway, following Emily without fail. It clawed its way forth, causing a cacophony of disgusting squelching noises, and sensations that reminded her of bones snapping to the point of sharp edges bursting through skin and protruding from human flesh, and teeth gnashing on exposed innards with blood spurting out, gushing, and the reek of feces in the air.

Her eyes long clamped shut, she dared not breathe but had to, and felt first worms trying to wriggle their way into her mouth. She sputtered and spat them out with an angry scream, controlling the rage that drove her, clawing her own way forth, mimicking the demon’s motions. Or it mimicked hers.

The stairs went upwards and she ascended, pulling her way through the narrowest spot of these walls of worms, fleeing up the stairs. The demon tumbled, but then continued giving chase on all fours, like the beast that it truly was. Like the beast in the back of her head, the madness always just a few steps behind her.

“You can’t get away from me,” Stinky Jim cackled, only to abruptly choke on his words, gagging and coughing up more worms. Through rows of bloodied, gritted teeth, he said, “I am always with you, Emily.”

She tripped, fell, scraped her hands on the jagged edges of the obsidian steps, right in front of one of the names inscribed upon the stairs: Xerxes. Younger Emily blinked, did not quite register what it meant until years later, first dismissing this memory and experience as a bad trip, induced by popping too much acid and being tired out of her mind.

Screams echoed through the infinite, infernal stairwell, bouncing off the walls and curdling her blood until she realized: the screams were her own. The demon’s growling matched them, blended in with them, and she screamed in pain as claws dug into her back, lifting her onto her feet and pushing her up a few steps until she ran on yet farther, stumbling forth and upwards, ever away from the madness that followed her wherever she went, ever away from the things below.

The things below the surface of her mind. The horrid things she pushed deep down to still her mind; the darkness she drowned in whiskey and cigarettes even as she grew older.

This could have been her awakening but she skidded right past it. It wouldn’t be for years until she had her world turned upside down. Never realizing the power she held. The demon followed closely, keeping her blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing like fire in her veins.

She reached a stone portal at the top of the stairs and pushed it open. Instead of meeting resistance and stone grinding upon stone once more, it swung open with ease. She burst right through it and stumbled again.

Catching her breath, wheezing, lungs screaming but only pained sounds emerging from her lips, she looked around. There was no demon behind her. Younger Emily, with her pink hair, and her piercings, and completely stoned, stood in Rodney’s basement. Behind her was only the door to the boiler room.

Rodney slept on the couch, curled up into a fetal position. Carlos slept on the chair, sprawled out, still blanketed by some empty plastic wrappers. Static on the TV screen.

Emily ripped the door to the boiler room open, needing to know if that had been real, but there was no hellish stairwell behind it. Just the regular old boiler room that it should have been, reeking of oil.

The demon’s laughter echoed in her mind. She checked the time, noting how many hours had passed and chalking this whole experience up to a bad acid trip after all. She didn’t go home, afraid to be followed or stalked out there in the dark and cold and wet autumn streets, all alone.

Even though she found blood when she wiped her nose, Younger Emily figured it fit. Demons and hell weren’t real. She didn’t have the power to control minds or enter strange otherworlds.

She curled up on the end of the couch, wrapping herself in a smelly old blanket that Rodney should have washed weeks ago. Although she thought the nightmarish imagery and things she had just witnessed would keep her up until the other two boys woke up, exhaustion dragged her into the realm of sleep within minutes.

Emily sat in the back of Stanton’s car, finally escaping from this memory. She looked out the window, at the people in the streets of New Haven. Instead of reading their minds, scanning their thoughts, and testing the limitations of her newfound powers, she decided against any of that.

“I’m still here,” the demon said—Stinky Jim. He sat right next to her, just out of sight.

The fear welled up again, churning in her guts as if the monster gripped her stomach with a claw and twisted.

“I’ll always be with you, Emily. Just one step behind. You ever want the security of that little padded room—to surrender all responsibility, let the world sort itself out and sink into darkness while you drool in the corner—you just turn back. Let me take the wheel,” Stinky Jim said. He cackled again, showing no hint of mercy.

“Or you keep going deeper down, scratchin’ at those wriggling walls, and dive into those lakes of blood and shit and fire. Find out what’s beneath the surface. Drown in the secrets of those things below, or spit ‘em out and curse the world with your wretched knowledge.”

More cackling.

Emily clamped her eyes shut. She willed Stinky Jim to shut up.

She centered herself. Pushed away every thought. Blocked it all out—she had gained that much control over it now. Focused.

Breathed.

Pushed the demon deep down, where it would lurk. And wait.

With the things below.

—Submitted by Wratts

[youcouldmakealife]

PSOTW: David/Jake; perks of retirement

For the prompt: David & Jake (years after retirement, maybe a year into David's career in the Caps front office): buying a home, moving in, setting up furniture together, smoking a housewarming gift of a well-wrapped joint together (up to you who gives them that gift, but in my mind, it's Emily).

It’s not the only one I got, after I started musing aloud a week ago:

David looks suspicious. Jake’s not really surprised. He is surprised David’s willing to go along with it: he never would have during his career, but even after, Jake expected him to hold out. As far as Jake’s aware, the only ‘substance’ David’s ever put in his system in his entire life is booze, and even then, Jake can count on maybe one hand how many times he’s seen him more than moderately tipsy. David doesn’t really trust not being in control of himself.

His first toke goes about as well as you’d expect, considering.

“Coughing’s good,” Jake says encouragingly.

David glares at him, face red.

“It is,” Jake says. “It makes it work faster.”

“Why do you know this,” David rasps disapprovingly.

“I was a teenager once?” Jake says. And the offseason existed. And retirement kind of left him at loose ends at the start, and Nat’s a bad influence. Jake’s never tried to hide it from David: if he’d asked, Jake would have immediately told the truth, but it’s kind of a testament to who David is that he didn’t even think of it.

He says that all out loud, and David scowls deeper.

“You don’t get to scowl, you’re doing it right now,” Jake points out. He’s pretty sure David’s only doing it because Volkie teased him into it, but he’s also pretty sure this is going to be hilarious, so he doesn’t mind too much.

He’s always been kind of curious how David would act: he’s seen reactions range from like, sleepy and lazy (him), to philosophical (Allie, and it’s funny until she keeps poking him to tell him like, that the universe is expanding and isn’t he terrified?) to eating everything in sight (also him, kinda, but definitely Nat, who gets all creative in the kitchen and makes the best munchies ever), to thinking everything in the world is hilarious (Gally, but to be fair, he always does), to cuddly (Parey, weirdly, and it’s adorable), to horny.

Jake’s maybe hoping for the last one? They’ve had drunk sex before, and it’s kind of great even when it isn’t, just because David’s willing to actually ask for what he wants. He’s gotten better at doing that over the years, but there’s always this split second of hesitation there that disappears only if he’s been drinking. And maybe if he’s high. A man can hope at least. Jake hates that David’s still -- always -- a little self-conscious, like he still -- always -- doesn’t know how fucking amazing he is.

“Jake,” David says. “I feel weird.”

David’s only had like, a toke and a half — Jake’s definitely hogged the joint — which wouldn’t even get Jake buzzed, but it is his first time.

“What kind of weird?” Jake asks.

David hums, like he’s thinking about it, and then puts his head on Jake’s shoulder.

“Good weird,” he decides, and hums again, happy sounding this time, when Jake runs his fingers through his hair.

Cuddly, then. It’s not Jake’s dream, but he’s happy to take it. Jake’s up for a cuddle any time.

David doesn’t move at all, head getting heavier and heavier on Jake’s shoulder, so Jake thinks he might be the sleepy and lazy kind too. Awesome. They can be lazy together.

“Falling asleep there, babe?” Jake asks.

“Mmm,” David mumbles.

“You know what’s awesome high?” Jake says. “Nature documentaries.” David likes those things sober, so he’s gonna love ‘em.

Jake makes sure not to pick any of the ones on carnivores — the last thing they need is to get all heartbroken about some gazelle, not that Jake knows from experience or anything — and arranges them on the couch, David draping himself more in Jake’s lap than out of it.

“Nature’s so amazing,” David says ten minutes in, all wide eyed, and Jake grins into the kiss he presses to his hair.

[dontshootmespence]

Shut Your Face

A/N: After doing my Emily x Reader piece in the 20s, I had a request for Spencer in the 60s. That was the only request, so I went with a Spencer x Male!Reader at Woodstock in 1969. :D Some words I use were more 60s slang, like jazzed/excited, bug out/leave, outta sight/awesome, toke/drag of a pot cigarette, shut your face/shut up, etc.

Warnings: Drinking and pot smoking.

                                                              ------

Maybe, just maybe if Spencer squinted hard enough, he could see the stage. There were people as far as the eye could see no matter where he looked. Even behind them, where the crowd started to dissipate some, scattered groups of people still sat in contentment. “You see anything?” Y/N asked.

“Not really,” Spencer replied to his boyfriend. “But as long as I can hear The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Joe Cocker and The Who I’m jazzed.”

The festival was supposed to go for four days and it was barely day too. It stunk to high hell no matter what he tried to do and he wasn’t about to bug out until it was over so it was going to get a whole lot smellier. Leaning back, he giggled at Y/N’s pants. His boyfriend was a hippie. A real one. Spencer was only kind of a hippie. “Are you laughing at my pants again?” Y/N asked with a sleepy smile on his face.

“You’re a square,” Spencer laughed. His boyfriend was wearing very loud, black, red and white printed pants. He was pretty sure he’d seen a picture of George Harrison wearing similar ones. “Only Harrison can wear that.”

“But you’re still making out with me.”

Spencer sighed happily and leaned back into Y/N’s chest. He wasn’t muscular by any means, but he was warm and inviting and that was all he’d ever really wanted in life. “Because you’re outta sight.”

“You talk like I do when you’re stoned,” Y/N replied. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Shut your face.”

“Never.”

Before they’d left Y/N’s parent’s house a few days earlier, they’d packed all the food and water they could, plus one change of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, some beers and some pot.  They were going to be glued to the same spot for the next three days. The more they smoked, the sillier Spencer got, but he had it coming. After two years of non-stop studying, he deserved to let loose and that meant making out with his boyfriend, listening to music and staying really, really stoned. “Gimme a toke,” he said, reaching upward for the cigarette.

“You sure? You don’t smoke as much as I do,” Y/N laughed, holding the cigarette to Spencer’s lips when he nodded than he was fine. “You’re cute when you’re high.”

“I’m always cute.”

Santana was up and off in the distance they could both hear the soft plucking of the guitar. Very sexy music. Tipping his head upward, Spencer began kissing the underside of Y/N’s chin, small bits of stubble starting to form despite the fact that he’d shaved at his house a couple days earlier. “Are you trying to make out with me during Santana?” Y/N asked as he snaked his hands around Spencer’s waist and underneath the hem of his grungy striped shirt. “Because I would be into that.”

“Yes, I am,” Spencer said, turning around to capture his boyfriend’s lips. “I’m very stoned and my boyfriend is very sexy and I want to make out with him.”

Without a care for who was around them, Y/N leaned back and brought Spencer with him, his hands roaming over soft and sweat slick skin as Spencer tickled the side of his neck. “I gotta get you stoned more often,” he laughed.

Spencer replied. “I wouldn’t mind that. Just not while I’m studying.”

“Square.”

“Shut your face.”

It was one of Spencer’s favorite things to say lately and it was kind of their thing to make fun of each other. Being able to be themselves and touchy with each other was so freeing. No one around them really cared that he was with a man. So different from University where he was surrounded by intolerance at every turn and yet also lucky enough to have friends that didn’t care who shared his bed. There were a few people around them giving them looks, lingering a little too long, but if they were bothered, they were too stoned to care, which was good enough for him. “Did we just make out through all of Santana?” Y/N asked when he listened for the music and didn’t recognize it anymore. 

“I think so,” Spencer laughed. “Shut your face and give some sugar.”

“You’re so blitzed,” Y/N snorted. 

“And stoned. I’m very relaxed right now.”

“I would imagine. Have you seen all the cameras and reporters around here? This is going to be something,” he said, staring off into the distance.

Spencer noticed the wistful tone of his boyfriend’s voice and sat up. “What do you mean? Like it’s going to be something people talk about decades from now?”

Nodding, Y/N pointed all around them. “Look at this. It’s the biggest music festival ever. Plus, people can be themselves here. I’m sure there are some people who are amazingly blitzed and causing trouble, but people are just...free here. It feels like something’s different.”

Spencer ran his forefinger over Y/N’s jawline and leaned in, focusing on the heat behind his slightly tired eyes. “You think we’ll be together to tell people stories about it?”

“You asking if I think we’re going to make the long haul?” 

It was a question in the back of his mind. Granted, he was only 20 and not in a rush a to start that conventional life with a house and kids or pets or anything. He wanted to finish college first and get a job. Hopefully, Y/N would get his auto shop up and running too. “Yea, you want a life with me?”

“I do. We’ll be old men together if I have my way. My hands will be calloused from years of working on cars. Maybe we’ll have a dog. A kid too if we can find someone that will let us adopt,” he said almost dejectedly. “But no matter what, I’ll have you.”

“Good, because that’s what I want,” Spencer replied as his stomach growled. He was pretty sure he’d eaten just a little while ago, but apparently the pot was getting to him. “Do we have any sandwiches? Because I want that too.”

Y/N threw his head back in uproarious laughter which brought some unwanted attention on them, but no one moved. “You’re such a romantic,” he replied, handing Spencer a sandwich he’d packed. “I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too, Y/N. And I’m not just saying that because I’m high.”

Spencer sank into Y/N again and ate his sandwich while Janis Joplin got ready for her set. “You’re going to have to shut your face when she’s up.”

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“If you’re quiet about it,” Spencer laughed, taking a swig of his beer. “And not too distracting.”

“Well...that I don’t know about,” Y/N smirked.

“Eh, it doesn’t matter,” he replied, running his hand up through Y/N’s soft hair. “As long as I’m with you.”

@prettyboyeffect @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @kalie-bee @veroinnumera @lookwhatyoumademequeue @cynbx @tippy06 @smolldork @marvelouslyme96 @literallyprentissstwin @adropintheocean1234567 @grace-for-sale @skrrrrrrrrrrt @mysticpansy @tenaciousarcadeexpert @jason-gideon-is-my-dad @dionnaea @hogwarts-konoha @girlscrushes @bucky-smiles @ggyolo17 @chickenstringlights @sebba-hiddles @hellaqueerangelofthelord @shalomnovak @princess-criminal @jae-sch @boywonderspencer @everyday-imfangirling

                                                             ------