#I never had more problems than with the women who are thirty or older who act pretentious because of their age and/or experience

[adelindschade]

I got an update e-mail my work is going to do training sessions. Not one but throughout the week until they are up and running post-renovations. 

I mean - I have to be there beyond just the ONE session? What else do we need to go over besides the menu change and some fancy fucking napkin fold? 

It’s too soon! Two weeks and I have to go back to those assholes in management and catty coworkers I blocked on social media. I want my peace of mind back! I want my evenings back! It’s being taken away too soon. 

[mrs-harrington-reid]

Begin Again

Snow on the beach

" I can’t speak, afraid to jinx it. I can’t even dare to wish it but your eyes are flying saucers from another planet. Now I’m all for you like Janet can this be a real thing, can it?” - Taylor Swift

Pairing: Post Prison Spencer x Single Mom Reader

Summary: Spencer's therapist had encouraged him to get back into the dating scene to improve his mental wellness but after multiple failed blind dates Spencer feels that it is doing the exact opposite. That is until JJ and Garcia set him up with you.

Warnings: talking about traumatic dates, fluffity fluffy fluff, post prison spencer just being a little lover boy cutie pahtootie, lmk if I missed anything else!

Begin Again (Masterlist)

It wasn't that the girls Spencer went on blind dates with were horrible, they just weren't exactly the best. His first date was with a nice women that was in the same book club as Garcia. The date had gone wonderful until she asked if he had a chip in his neck so that the government could track him, and he would've laughed if she wasn't being completely serious. The next one was a girl who used to nanny Henry, that was all fun and games until her ex boyfriend showed up at the restaurant and she left Spencer with nothing but the bill.

Then there was the one who had too much wine and threw up all over him, the one who believed that the earth was flat and that the holocaust never happened, the one who just wanted a signed book from Rossi, and so on. He had been on at least ten failed dates within the spand of three months and to say he was over it would be an understatement.

"Oh come on Spence just give this one a try." JJ pleaded as they walked into the elevator with Garcia.

"I just don't see how this girl could possibly be any better than the last ten that you and Garcia set me up with."

"But she is!" Garcia exclaimed. "You see me and the all so lovely JJ realized the problem was that we hadn't picked a girl for you together as a team so that's exactly what we did and she will blow your little genius mind."

"fine." He huffed in defeat "but if this date ends horribly you have to promise to never set me up again."

Both the girls agreed to the deal so Garcia sent him your number as fast as she possibly could've.

All he could do was pray that they were right and that this date would turn out to be better than the last ones.

_

You adjusted your knitted sweater while you intensely examined yourself in the mirror. You wondered if you had put on too much makeup or if your tan knitted sweater with jeans and converse was too lazy for a first date.

"Can you stop fixing something every five seconds your seriously stressing me out." Your best friend Liv pleaded behind you while her head hung off the edge of your bed.

"I'm scared liv this is the first date I've been on in a long time and I don't want it to turn into a dumpster fire of a night." You sighed and brushed out the curls in your hair one more time.

"I think its going to be just fine from what you told me this guy is just as awkward as you are so maybe it's like a match made in dork heaven." She laughed.

"He seems super sweet I'm just scared he's going to run for the hills as soon as I tell him about Autumn."

“If he has a problem with the fact that you have a daughter he clearly isn't mature enough to handle a real relationship and needs to start acting his age."

Most men you tried to date either immediately ran or told you that they "weren't looking for anything serious right now" after you told them a out Autumn. You just prayed that Spencer would be the exception considering he was six years older than you and had experienced a little more life than you had.

The ping of a text message distracted you from your previous thoughts. "Okay liv, Spencer is going to be here in five minutes to pick me up. Theo is dropping Autumn off at seven and remember please she needs to be in bed by eight or else she gets grumpy in the morning and I'll be home at least by eight thirty." You rambled.

"don't you worry about Autumn she's going to have a great time with the world's greatest god mother. Also I already took the day off so go clean out your cobwebs tonight, I got this." You both let out a laugh at her last comment.

"I just feel so guilty leaving Autumn the day she comes home from her dad's. I promise I will be home by at least nine so maybe I can call in too and we can go get brunch in the morning?" You suggested fixing your earrings; finally feeling less anxious about how this would all play out.

Before liv could answer you the doorbell rang signaling you that either Spencer was waiting or Theo had been there early to drop Autumn off. Your heart rate picked up as you grabbed your purse and walked to the front door and slowly turned the knob.

"Hi you must be Y/N" Spencer smiled when you opened the door. You hadn't expected him to walk all the way up to your door and knock. Most of the guys you'd gone out with were the drive by and honk type, especially Autumns father Theo when you were dating.

"Yes I am and you must be the famous Dr. Spencer Reid I've heard so much about." You beamed as you walked out and shut your door behind you as soon as you heard liv open her mouth.

"Only good things I hope?"

"I think we both know JJ and Penelope would never dare to say anything bad about you." You said as you both approached his car, blushing when he opened the car door for you.

You were sort of confused at the fact that he insisted on picking you up. You could’ve sworn that you remembered JJ saying something about how he hated driving.

The drive was mostly silent and sort of awkward on your way to the unknown restaurant that Penelope had insisted he take you to after you told her that you enjoyed pasta, she had made your guys' reservation and everything. And when you arrived he opened your door for you once again. Even after being told almost every detail about the man standing before you still felt extremely nervous to make conversation.

"So JJ tells me that your a teacher." He attempts to make small talk.

"I am. I teach kindergarten, honestly I wanted to be an English Lit professor but you kinda of have to wait for one of those guys to die before the position is opened." You winced at your own shitty joke. You and Liv had always joked about how college professors looked like they were decomposing but Spencer didn't know that. And now that you’re thinking about it you remember Penelope telling you that Spencer was a professor when he wasn't with the BAU.

He let out at small laugh and you were absolutely flabbergasted. He got your joke? And he laughed? You were starting to wonder if this was just a laugh at all her jokes type of flirt tactic. But then again JJ had told you that he was sort of oblivious and bad at flirting.

"That's so true. You know the average age of college professors in the United States is 42 but there are significantly more faculty that reported their age at 55 and above so technically there's a lot more old professors in the USA than young professors." He rambled.

"I didn't know that." You smiled. He did understand your joke.

When you arrived at the front door of the restaurant you were met with a sign that said "CLOSED" in bold letters. You swear you could've cried you were only twenty minutes into the date and it had been so wonderful until this.

"oh...well if you wanted we could find a food truck and eat in my car? But only if you want to." He suggested, anxiously waiting for your response. You noticed him fidgeting with his fingers and you immediately interpreted that he was outside his comfort zone asking you to stay but he was still trying nonetheless.

"This isn't your master plan to drive to some viewpoint and get me in your back seat is it?" you smiled trying to ease his anxiety.

"I promise" he held his hands up.

You both walked back to his car unable to stop smiling. He was glad that you already weren't like the other girls he had gone on dates with. And you were happy that he wasn't as douche like the other guys you had been on dates with but you also still needed to tell him about autumn before you fully came to any conclusion about his character.

"Spencer before we continue this date I have something I need to tell you." You stopped walking and looked at him and he had fully set into a panic. This is it. This is when you would turn out to be just as insane as the other ones. He braced himself for your next words. "I have a one year daughter. I needed to tell you before I got too attached and you decided to run. I told JJ and Penelope not to tell you so that I could see how you reacted."

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. "That's a relief."

You quirked your brow at him. "So you don't care that I have a daughter at home?"

"Not at all" he reassured you "I actually quite like kids. I've never had any of my own but I have my two godsons and they're wonderful." You smiled at him. How could he have been so damn perfect.

You continued walking and he opened the door for you once again when you reached his car. And once you were both in the small talk started up again. "So I assume you know how I know JJ and Garcia but how did you meet them." He was still astounded at the fact that they both knew someone this perfect and didn't set you up with him sooner.

"I used to be Henry's teacher and then when my I had my daughter me and JJ were in a mom group together and we became friends. And then I met Penelope when JJ invited me out one night and I've been friends with the both of them ever since." You responded. "And I'm guessing your Henry's godfather that he dressed up as for Halloween when I had him as a student?"

"How did you know? That was such a long time ago I'm surprised you even remember that." He smiled at the fond memory.

"Because it was probably the cutest little costume I had ever seen and extremely creative might I add. My daughter was a pumpkin for her first Halloween and Henry beat her in cuteness by a long shot." You gushed. "But don't ever tell her I said that."

"Can you tell me about her? Your daughter." Spencer asked. You felt like you needed to pinch your arm to see if this was real.

"Her name is Autumn. I named her that because she was born in October and my favorite poem is Autumn by Alice Clary. She has so much personality for a one year old and she’s just so beautiful and amazing. I never saw myself being a mom but now that I am I couldn’t imagine anything else." He admired the way your eyes sparkled and your voiced softened when you talked about her. It was so incredible how in love you were with being a mother. He parked the car and you both walked out and towards the first food truck that you had passed neither of you cared what kind of food it was considering you were absolutely starving.

Within the next couple of hours you had both ordered your food and we're currently eating it as you spoke on the hood of Spencer's car. He has his head thrown back laughing as you told a story about one of your lousy dates that you had been on in the past.

"So I really thought I got stood up and I was ready to leave until this guy shows up and explained to me that he had to have his mom drop him off because he missed the bus. And then he continues to tell me all about how he still lived in her basement and was unemployed." You laughed.

"What did you tell him."

"I pretended that Autumns dad called me and told me that she was sick and I had to leave immediately." You responded "and then he asked me if I could take him back to his mom's house on my way. I ended up taking him home and paying for my own dinner."

"I can do you one better." Spencer laughed "One time JJ set me up with this woman from your mom group named Amy and she seemed okay until she started drinking and in the middle of me telling her what I do for a living she threw up all over me in the middle of the restaurant. I had to carry her out because she could barely walk and I swear my car smelled like puke for a week."

"why would JJ even set you up with her" you wheezed "we literally call her alcoholic Amy. She always has a flask in her son’s diaper bag it’s absurd.” You giggled.

Spencer sat there admiring your beauty as you laughed. Something about you made him feel so comfortable. In the short time you'd known each other you made him feel so comfortable that he didn't need to hide behind all his knowledge. Comfortable enough that he could just be a carefree and casual version of himself that he barely even knew existed. He felt bold and confident in your presence and it made him so truly happy.

Your phone starting to ring. You picked it up extremely fast, scared that it was Liv wanting to face time to tell you that something was wrong with Autumn. But Penelope's name and face was the only thing that covered your screen.

"Oh look who it is." You giggled and flashed your phone at Spencer before you answered. "Hey pen, what's up?"

"So I was calling to ask how the date went but then I realized that I had gotten the confirmation for your guys' reservation at six this morning and I thought it was weird but sei la vie you know?" You and Spencer smiled at her rambling "But then I looked at the website and these people are open at six in the freaking morning! So turns out I made your reservation for seven thirty am not seven thirty pm cause they're closed at five which is completely bonkers if you ask me." She took a second to finally breathe "so I am so sorry if your date got ruined. Ugh and you were the first good one we set him up with too but I'll fix it no worries my love."

"Pen I'm gonna say your hours too late on this call but your all good we found something else to do so no worries." You laughed and turned your screen so that Penelope could see Spencer sitting next to you.

"Oh look at that you guys are still out. I would like to end this call with a quick" she cleared her throat preparing for her next words "I win Spencer, I told you she was a good one! ha!" After those last words she hung up.

"oh my goodness I didn't even realize what time it was" you gasped when you looked at the time on your phone and saw that It was almost midnight. "I'm so sorry I kept you out this late."

"No really your okay. I'd be lying if I didn't already see the time a while ago, I just didn't want this to end so fast." He admitted and it made you heart absolutely melt.

"If I didn't have autumn waiting at home for me I would totally stay for longer but I really should get going." You sighed.

He nodded and took your guys' garbage to throw away before he opened the passenger door for you to hop in. After he got back into the car and put his seat belt on he felt the need to ask you about your previous marriage. Something intrigued him about the fact that you had gotten divorced for what he considered to be at a young age.

“So I know this is sort of first date taboo but um, why did you get divorced? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to I was just kind of curious because I just feel like twenty eight is a young age to get divorced.”

“Oh no I really don’t mind talking about it.” You reassured him. “Me and Theo met in high school. Honestly it was one of those cliche high school sweethearts type of things. I was a cheerleader; he was the captain of the basketball team and our parents were friends so we just thought why not? It seemed right at the time but after I got pregnant with autumn everything changed so I filled for divorce before she was born.” “you know it’s actually proven that children who never experience their parents unhappy relationships actually live a much happier and healthier life than those who experience their parents divorce.” He tried to make you feel better about your failed marriage in his own special way.

“I hope that’s the case with Autumn” you sighed.

“I’m sure it will be. I know we haven’t known each other for very long but you seem like a really good mom.” He smiled as you pulled into your driveway. Neither of you were ready for the night to end but you knew it had to eventually.

“I’ll walk you to your door” he cleared his throat before exiting his car. He opened the door and you both silently walked to the front door but as you went to turn the knob Spencer stopped you. “I’m going to ask you a question and you can feel free to tell me no but it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t ask. Can I kiss you?”

“yeah” you let out softly. He placed his hand on your cheek and slowly leaned down until your lips met. You moved your arms to rest on his shoulders while he moved his other hand to your waist. Something as simple as a kiss had never felt so perfect to you.

That was until Liv opened the door and cleared her throat in an incredibly overdramatic manner. “Hi I’m Olivia, Y/N’s roommate.�� You and Spencer pulled away from each other, cheeks flushed and chests heaving.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Spencer” Olivia waited for a handshake that was never going to happen.

“He has a thing with germs”, “I have a thing with germs” you both stated at the exact same time.

“Anyway I should get inside now I had a fun night with you Spencer, feel free to text me anytime.” You smiled at each other with a silent understanding before he walked away.

you walked past liv to get inside. “So coming home after curfew young lady. Tsk. tsk. Did you get lucky?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“no he was a perfect gentleman and we just got lost in conversation.” You beamed.

“I imagine it was hard to have a conversation with his tongue down your throat!”

“that was the only time we kissed tonight! I really like him liv something about this guy just feels so different. It feels like I was meant to meet him you know.” Liv let out a small laugh but you were completely serious. You knew Spencer Reid was about to change your life you just didn’t know how yet.

“oh my goodness and what was that germ thing about. I mean the man wouldn’t shake my hand but he would swap saliva with you?”

“you know it’s actually more cleanly to kiss than shake hands.”

liv just shook her head “you two really were made for each other. I’m going to bed now but I will be ready for brunch in the morning.” She said before she walked to her room. You threw yourself on your couch and you couldn’t help but kick your feet at just how happy you were and little did you know Spencer was just as giddy as he walked into his apartment.

-

A/N: sorry this took my so long to get this out I’m revamping my fics rn so hopefully I’ll be posting more soon! I hope you enjoyed this and heads up I have not proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes you come across. I appreciate feedback and I hope y’all have a wonderful day and lmk if you would like to be added in the taglist💕

also if any of y’all are into the Harry Potter universe please feel free to check out my other fic im working on called: The Alchemy

Taglist: @witchsbitchestime @sonicthehedgedoggo @feyresqueen @donttrustlove @alcoholandcakes @person-005 @ilwsma @mega-kittyglitter-1 @creative-heart @chicken-fifi

[pseudowho]

Hi Mrs. Haitch :D!!! I have a bit of a problem dump in the following 2 paragraphs. And I absolutely do not expect you to read or respond unless you want to! You’re not a therapist and you’re not responsible for others’ emotions. If you do want to read/reply, that’s really welcomed as well!

I personally have had/am having issues with men who are in their thirties hitting on me when I thought I made it clear I just want to be completely platonic friends AND they all knew my age from the start 🥲 TW - I was 19 when two 33 year olds sexually harassed me (one was a coworker who said stuff out of the blue, like, “you want kids? I’ll put one in you” (for context, he heard me talking to my co-hostess about wanting to raise children in the ways I never got loved, nurtured, and cared for) // “What if I touch myself and moan your name?” // “Wanna hear a joke TRIGGER WARNING “Are you a school? Cause I wanna shoot kids inside you” which was literally such a disgusting and inexcusable joke??? Hello?) and currently there’s a 30 year old guy who KEEEEEPS trying to get me to be his super close friend (he was flirting CONSTANTLY until I made it really overly clear I don’t want romance with anyone atm). He knows I am 21 as well! Which is wild to me! Just wild. I’ve literally FELT my frontal lobe developing in the past few years (It’s like I could suddenly start to understand the importance of more practical decisions), and it won’t stop developing until I’m 25 either. So for a full grown 30 year old… to be… I’m 9 year younger than him… idk… it’s weird to me…

and I was wondering, should I feel bad for these people? Would you let pity/guilt override the judgment? (I am not perfect at all and have my share of flaws, but I have had a issues with letting hurt people who hurt people, get away with stuff they do to me AND I feel guilty for not being their personal therapist, even though expecting that of any single person who ISN’T one’s professional therapist, is unfair). You seem like a kind person who understands the depth of humans, so I think I trust your judgment! And would love to hear what you have to say if you want to share. The 33 year olds have deep rooted issues and my heart truly sympathizes with them (but I do feel a shit ton of disgust too. if they ever did that to somebody else I would be SO MAD).

I’m eventually somehow gonna figure these questions out (as life tends to go), so don’t worry about this ask at all if it’s not ur cup of tea, or is draining.

Take care and hope you have a LOVEEEELYYYY DAYYYYYY!!!! (Also curious what ur fav tea is? Mine is Numi’s earl gray. It’s too perfect, so elevated. Very flavorful and elegant and THE NOTESSSSSS oh god. Could write a whole post on it)

Anyone who thinks comments like that are flirting, need to be re-educated. With a baseball bat. They'll call it 'dark humour' when really they're just cunts, so they're doing you a real favour showing you that early.

Well done for not being flattered by the attentions of an older man, because...

If there's anything that women aged 30+ tend to notice, it's that when men their age hit on much younger women, it's usually because that man's character is lacking, he's emotionally immature, a predator who relies on younger women and girls being less self confident, and it is most often a RED FLAG.

These 30+ year old men are usually not with women their own age, because the women their own age recognise that they're arseholes or losers, most of the time, and we cringe when they then repeatedly shoot their shot with young women who they will flatter with that age old adage of 'you're so mature for your age!'

If they have deep-seated issues and they turn it into someone else's problem, without any sense of ownership or willingness to actually work on resolving or improving from their issues, RUN.

Never get with someone out of pity. Have some self-respect, and do not let them mistake your kindness for weakness.

Because people see me as understanding, I am a therapist. To everyone. All the time. Strangers, within hours of meeting me, will often pour out their emotional vulnerabilities and traumas; while I'm tough and able to compute it all, and to help them, and read through a solution, it is sometimes a heavy burden.

But for YOU, remember there is a difference between you therapising someone, and someone using you to trauma-dump. Learn to recognise the two, and protect yourself from being used, especially if these are the very same men who have recently been trying to get into your pants.

My favourite tea is Yorkshire Tea by Taylors of Harrogate, with a splash of milk and a spoonful of brown sugar or honey.

Don't let these pieces of shit use you, kiddo.

They're not "daddies"; they haven't earned such an esteemed title. Nothing daddy about these tramps.

All my love, and I have a knife in my pocket,

-- Haitch xxx

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 || 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: dean winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: loving dean was easy, even though he was older than you, even though you knew that he'd never love you back.

― warnings: heavy swearing, implied sexual content, dean is a bit of a man whore but we love him for it, dean's good at hiding his feelings, mutual pining, unrequited love (not really).

― wc: 621

⋆ a/n: thank you @brittany-rubin for this request! i'm sorry it took me so long to get to this, but i've had a bit of a writer's block when it came to this prompt, but i tried my best and i hope this lived up to your expectations :]

masterlist | AO3

Being in love with Dean was like playing a game that you already knew you were going to lose. Not only was he significantly older than you, but he was also a longtime friend, and roommate. Being on the road with your feelings was easy, because you would have easily been able to separate yourself from him if you needed too, but now, you were trapped, like a rabid animal in a cage. At least you have Sam there. Yeah, Sam.

When Dean was in his early thirties, watching him flirt with other women was like a punch to the gut, constantly showing up the hotel room all three of you shared after a night out, his neck decorated in hickies as you tried to keep yourself together. He'd tell you about his late night endeavors as you tried to keep up with the conversation. You were glad that his midnight endeavors had dwindled down to one to none. It was still hard, because even though you didn't have any competitors, you couldn't ever be with him.

Usually, you were able to tolerate Dean talking about his sex life, but maybe you slept on the wrong side of the bed, or hadn't slept at all because he had been out all night, your brain practically drowning at the thought of him having sex with someone else.

"She was crazy man." Dean began with a smile on his face. You breathed in, projecting all of your sleep deprived agitation into stirring sugar into your coffee. "She did this thing with her tongue—" He was cut off by you slamming your mug onto the sheet metal island. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?" Dean piped up from behind you. Unable to bite your tongue you regrettably said, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't care about who you've fucked?" Both Sam & Dean fell silent at your snapping, embarrassment swirling in your gut as you felt their eyes on you.

You left the kitchen, storming into your room and sitting on the side of your bed. If he didn't know you liked him, he sure as shit knew you did now, or maybe had some grasp on the fact that you may or may not feel something for him that was more than friendly. You were mentally kicking yourself, your door cracking open, the creaking alerting you of someone's presence.

"What the hell was that back there?" Dean, of course it was Dean, why wouldn't it be Dean? "I'm sorry.. I just— I haven't slept, I don't know." He let out a sigh, sitting right next to you as your heart leaped into your throat. "I think me and you both know that it wasn't because you were tired. I've been talking about this for years, and it's a problem all of a sudden?" Anger began to burrow itself deep inside of you. "What do you want me to say Dean? Maybe that I'm in love with you? That you probably don't want me because I'm like a sister to you?" You couldn't look at him, your brain silently wishing that he would just go away.

"Who said I see you like a sister?" You looked at him through your peripheral vision, hoping you didn't hear him incorrectly. "What?" His arm settled around your waist. "You heard me. Who said?" You gulped nervously. "Me?" He let out a laugh. "That's now very reliable. No offense." You cracked a grin. "None taken." Your breaths fell in to the silent air of your room. "So you love me?" You nodded, a bit hesitant. "Is that a problem?" Your voice shook. He pulled you closer to him, his lips grazing yours.

"Not at all."

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

[cdyssey]

Different World

Prompt: i re-read your gardening fic recently where mel's staring at barb and is heart-eyes at her and it's just. so nice. so anything along those lines, would be lovely.

A/N: 

Happy belated birthday, Scottie (@gatalentan)!!

I can't believe you have me over here writing fluff, smh.

But on a sincere note, I'm extremely glad that I've gotten to know you over the last few months. You are so kind, so talented, so funny, and so wonderful, and I'm incredibly lucky that I get to be a witness to all your brilliance firsthand. 

Thank you for all that you do for the Abbott fandom, and thank you for just being a lovely person all around. I'm honored to be someone that you call friend.

CW: Alcohol Mention, Discussions of Coming Out, Suggestiveness

AO3 Link

—

That night, as Barbara ices her coconut cake with passive aggressive gusto, Melissa wraps her arms around her partner’s curving waist in apology, nestling her chin against her shoulder. She has to prop herself up on her tiptoes to do so, which is one of the occupational hazards of being naturally short and loving someone whose favorite kind of shoe is a sensible heel. 

She likes that, though.

Their height difference.

She’s spent all these years looking up to Barbara Howard in so many more ways than one.

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before you talk to me again?” She pouts, poking her lower lip out a little. Barbara pauses her emotionally charged cake decorating to audibly sigh, the gesture filtering thinly through her nostrils.

“I’m talking to you right now, Melissa,” she says in a measured voice, her Sister-Howard-who-goes-to-church-three-times-a-week tone. It’s guarded and three octaves too formal, somewhat sanctimonious even. “And I assure you—I’m not mad either. It isn’t exactly your fault that you’re irresistible.”

Yep, there it is.

Both the problem and the succinct answer to what has gotten under the older woman’s skin.

Melissa works hard to suppress a smile.

They’d only recently come back from dinner at Ricci’s, where the waitress had spent the entire meal alternating between blushing and stammering every time that Melissa had so much as looked her way. She had found it vaguely amusing, such puppy dog love from a clumsy kitten, chuckling when she opened the tab and saw that the young thing had shakily scrawled her number in pink pen on the receipt. It reminded her of her long past youth, when she’d often found herself wondering if her ma’s cousin with suspiciously cropped hair, or her eleventh grade English teacher who carefully referred to her significant other as her partner, or her favorite foul-mouthed nun at St. Bartholomew’s were like her. 

Did they like women too?

It was harder to talk about back then, of course, and so she didn’t. She kissed girls beneath bleachers and in shadowy, secluded corners all around Philly. She’d been terrified to tell Joe that she swung both ways, afraid that he’d leave her, unaccustomed to people in her life ever staying—but to his enduring credit, that was one of the few things that the old gabbadost never gave her shit about.

It’s a different world nowadays, though, and she loves that for the generations below her. She loves that a squirrelly, little waitress can feel comfortable enough to write down her number and hope for a call that’ll unfortunately never come.

Barbara, on the other hand, had decidedly not been so endeared by the discovery, nearly silent the entire drive back to her house, almost immediately drowning out their ability to talk by turning the volume up on her spectacularly horrible Pandora playlist.

(It's just seventy percent Otis Redding and thirty percent instrumental jazz that isn’t sound mixed properly.)

“Sure feels like you’re something at me,” Melissa shrugs. “Mad, disappointed…”

She trails off, a slow and easy grin lifting one side of her mouth.

“Jealous,” she whispers against the column of Barbara’s exposed neck, pleased when she feels the other woman shiver beneath her.

That will never get old. 

They’ve only been officially dating for a little less than half-a-year now, sure, but every time that Melissa is reminded anew that Barbara is forever hers to cherish, to worship, to love, and reverently respect, she gets chills running laps down her spine all over again.

She’d never thought that she would get to be with her best friend without at least one of them—or, hell, sometimes even both of them—having a foot out the door.

“What? I’m not… jealous,” Barbara huffs, resuming her pastry ministrations again, attacking the cake like it's personally offended her. “You’re being facetious—distracting me while I’m trying to ice this cake. I'm making this for you, you know!"

“Touching, but the cake can wait,” she says firmly, reaching over to pluck the spatula out of Barbara’s hand. 

“Hey!” She protests, but Melissa pays her no mind.

“I wanna know what’s up your craw,” she continues, undeterred, and takes a step back, brandishing the spatula like a wand. She’s tempted to lick the vanilla icing off of it, but she’s well-aware that she’d get an ass chewing faster than she could say Dave-n-Busters if she did.

Barbara finally pivots around herself, arms crossed over her chest, a gesture that Melissa recognizes to be protective. And yet, she equally knows that getting the other woman to admit to feeling caged is half of the battle. Even that’s an admission of vulnerability too far for her sometimes.

“I’m not jealous,” she repeats herself, looking somewhere about an inch to the left of Melissa’s face. “I’m not.”

Melissa instantly softens, noting the consternation in Barbara’s dark eyes, how the emotion swells in them like a bruise. 

“Okay,” she says gently, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “You’re not. I believe you.”

And she does.

That’s the mutual kindness that they’ve extended to each other after all these years of having known and loved each other so intimately: as colleagues, as friends, as lovers. 

Honesty.

It’s a truth made even more striking by the fact that neither of them are particularly honest people, lying to other people and themselves all the time as their most reliable defense mechanisms.

With each other, though, they’ve never held anything back, except maybe for the crucial fact that they loved each other.

But even that had to eventually be named, confessed, and appropriately acted upon—wordlessly communicated by way of mouth and tongue.

“So spill,” she goes on, with all the fondness and exquisite tenderness in the world. “I’ve got time."

Indeed, she has nowhere else to be except for present with Barbara in this delicately fraught moment. She looks at her, this goddess in the flesh, elegant in a silky blue blouse and her shining pearls, and feels a rush of holy adoration.

“Melissa…” The kindergarten teacher starts and then just as abruptly stops, briefly worrying her plum-colored lips together, looking uncomfortable. “I know I said otherwise, I know I said that I wasn’t quite ready for us to be… transparent with the world just yet, but I was—Lord, this sounds so silly saying it out loud—"

She visibly winces and Melissa takes pity on her.

"It's not silly at all," she says quickly. "I'm listenin'."

Barbara smiles gratefully at this intrusion, taking a deep, steadying breath to clearly orient herself.

"... I was, well, annoyed that the waitress didn’t realize that we were together.”

Melissa isn't exactly sure what she was expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't that. She knows that she doesn’t discipline her expression well-enough either, painfully aware that her visceral reaction is the one that Barbara receives; her entire face stretches in utter and cartoonish shock.

“You’re mine,” Barbara says hurriedly, taking advantage of her rare speechlessness, “but that poor waitress didn’t know, and she flirted with you, and I realized how foolish it was—entirely ridiculous even!—to have at least six articulated boundaries preventing me from reaching out and grabbing your hand.”

And to Melissa’s increasing wonder, astonishment, and unadulterated surprise, Barbara reaches out then and does it—she grabs her free hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

“What are you sayin', Barb?” She asks, not daring to hope, hoping anyway. She hasn’t begrudged the older woman for insisting that they wait at all, knowing that she’s just wanted to approach the situation delicately with her girls and to spare Gerald's feelings for just a little while longer following their divorce a little over a year ago now. And even though they’ve never quite talked about it, she has a sneaking suspicion that fear is a powerful inhibitory element too. 

It always is.

It’s terrifying to be in the closet, to not know what's waiting on the other side.

Melissa has been out of it for a pretty long damn time now, but she had no trouble sliding back in just to patiently hold Barbara’s hand.

“I’m saying that we’re absolutely not taking separate cars to school anymore,” comes an astoundingly decisive answer as Barbara rolls her thumb across the side of Melissa's own. “And when you stay over, I want you to bring more than a night’s worth of clothes and a toothbrush. I’ll even make you a drawer.”

“Just a drawer?” Melissa laughs, but there are tears standing in her eyes, and she’s smiling so damn hard that it almost hurts. Barbara takes the opportunity to steal the spatula back, prying it from her fist and tossing it on the kitchen counter behind her. 

“Two,” she amends teasingly, her own eyes over bright, briefly swinging their hands in the gap between them. “And maybe some space in your closet for your frankly ludicrous collection of leather jackets.”

“Hey! I’ve only got seven.”

“That’s at least five too many.”

“Screw your calculus,” Melissa snorts, and now it’s her turn in the tango of their affection to make a bold move. She leverages their clasped hands to reel Barbara in, pulling their bodies close, aligning their chests, their tummies, their warm thighs.

“Vulgar,” Barbara smiles down at her, anchoring her fingers on her hips.

“Feisty,” Melissa corrects before gathering the collar of her partner’s blouse in her fingertips. It’s a wordless request that she should lean forward; they have plenty of things to say to each other without ever needing to speak. 

Their lips meet at a crooked angle, soft and luscious, a little bitter from the champagne that Melissa had at dinner and simultaneously sweet from Barbara’s honeyed wine. And Melissa’s toes splay on the cold tiles, fireworks bursting in the column of her throat as she reaches up to gingerly cradles the nape of Barbara’s neck. And Barbara is so gentle, so kind, and yet characteristically exact as she spreads her kisses from Melissa’s mouth to her jaw to her neck to the slightly freckled skin just above her collarbone—a practiced connoisseur by now in knowing all the little places that make her sing.

She thinks that if they could ever just get these damn clothes off, she’d reciprocate the favor, starting with the space between her lovely breasts and loving her all the way down.

“Would you hold it against me if I confess to having been the tiniest bit jealous?” Barbara finally admits when Melissa’s lips ghost the side of her head. The overhead lighting rings her hair in a golden halo.

Melissa laughs loudly—enchanted, so perfectly in love.

“I think I’d hold it against you if you weren’t,” she clucks, gratified when she feels Barbara hitch against her. The kindergarten teacher begins to work her fingers beneath the edge of Melissa’s shirt, rolling it upwards, baring her skin.

“You’re so unserious, girlfriend.”

“Tell me that again after we’re done,” she smirks before doing her part and helping out.

When all is said and done, there’s a pile of clothes on the kitchen floor, a half-iced coconut cake on the marbled counter, and two women who can’t quite take their hands off each other, stumbling and dancing all the way down the dimly-lit hall.

[thenewyorkstar]

Unmarried Women, Toxic Bachelors

Once upon a time an English journalist came to New York. Elizabeth was attractive and bright, and right away she hooked up with one of the cities typically eligible bachelors. Tim was 42. A well liked, and respected Investment Banker who made about 2 Million A year. They met one evening in typical New York fashion, at a gallery opening. It was love at first sight. For 2 weeks they snuggled, went to romantic restaurants, had wonderful sex, and shared their most intimate secrets. One warm spring day he took her to a town house he saw in Sundays 'New York Times'. That day Tim popped the question "How would you like to have dinner with my folks Tuesday night?" On Tuesday he called with some bad news. When she hadn't heard from him in 2 weeks she called. He said he was up to his ears and that he'd call her the next day. "He never did call of course! Bastard!" She told me one day over coffee. "I don't understand. In England, looking at houses together would have meant something". Then I realised. No one's told her about the end of love in Manhattan.

Welcome to the age of Un-innocence. No one has 'Breakfast at Tiffanys' and no one has 'Affairs to Remember'. Instead we have breakfast at 7am and affairs we try to forget as quickly as possible. Self-protection and closing the deal are paramount. Cupid has flown the co-op. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of women like this in the city. We all know them and we all agree they're great. They travel, they pay taxes, they'll spend $400 on a pair of Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals. And they're alone. It's like the riddle of the Sphinx.

Why are there so many great unmarried women and no great unmarried guys?

I explore these sorts of issues in my column, and I have terrific sources...my friends. "When you're a young guy in your twenties, women are controlling the relationships. By the time you're an eligible man in your thirties you feel like you're being devoured by women. Suddenly the guys are holding all the chips. I call it a mid-thirties power flip". Peter Mason - Toxic Bachelor. "it's all about age and Biology. I mean if you want to get married it's to have kids, right? And you don't wanna do it with someone older than 35 'cos then you have to have kids right away and that's about it. I think these women should just forget about marriage and have a good time". Capote Duncan - Toxic Bachelor. "I have a friend, who's always gone out with extremely sexy guys and just had a good time. One day she woke up and she's 41. She couldn't get anymore dates. She had a complete physical breakdown, couldn't hold onto her job and had to move back to Wisconsin to live, with her mother." Miranda Hobbes - Unmarried Woman. "Most men are threatened by successful women. If you want to get these guys, you have to keep your mouth shut and play by the rules". Charlotte York - Unmarried Women. "I totally believe that love conquers all. Sometimes you just have to give it a little space, and that's exactly what is missing in Manhattan, the space for romance". Skipper Johnston - Hopeless Romantic.

"The problem is expectations. Older women don't want to settle for what's available". - Toxic Bachelor.

"By the time you reach your mid thirties you think - 'Why should I settle?' You know?" - Unmarried Women.

"It's like the older we get the more we keep self-selecting down to a smaller and smaller group." - Unmarried Women.

"There's not one woman in New York who hasn't turned down 10 wonderful guys 'cos they were too short, or too fat or too poor." - Toxic Bachelor.

"I have been out with some of those guys, the short, fat poor ones. It makes absolutely no difference. They're just as self-centred and unappreciative as the good-looking ones." - Unmarried Women.

"Why don't these women just marry a fat guy? Why don't they just marry a big fat tub of lard?" - Toxic Bachelor.

Another thirty something birthday with a group of unmarried female friends. We would have all preferred a nice celebratory conference call. "Look, if you're a successful saleswomen in this city you have two choices, you can bang your head against the wall and try and find a relationship or you can say say SCREW'EM, and just go out and have sex like a man". Samantha Jones was a New York inspiration. A PR Executive who routinely slept with good looking guys in their twenties.

Was it true? were women in New York really giving up on love and throttling up on power? What a tempting thought.

"You know i'm beginning to think the only place where one can still find love and romance in New York is the gay community, it's straight love that's become closeted." Stanford Blatch was one of my closest friends. He was the owner of a talent agency who at the moment was down a single client. "Oh my god, don't turn around. The loathe of your life is at the bar." It was Kurt Harrington a mistake I made when I was 26, and 29, and 31. It was true, I no longer felt a thing for Kurt. After all these years I finally saw him for what he was- a self centred, withholding creep who was still the best sex I ever had in my life. However, I did have a little experiment in mind.

Kurt was just like I remembered, better because this time there would be none of that messy emotional attachment. As I began to get dressed, I realised that I'd done it. I'd just had sex like a man. I left feeling powerful, potent and incredibly alive. I felt like I owned this city. Nothing and no-one could get in my way. 'Thump'.

Number one - He's very handsome.

Number two - He's not wearing a wedding ring.

Number three - He knows I carry a personal supply of ultra textured Trojans with a reserver tip.

His name is Mr Big.

Later that night Skipper Johnson met me for coffee and confessed a shocking intimate secret. "Do you know it's been like a year?" He said. "Really? I don't understand that. You're such a nice guy." I said. "That's the problem I'm too nice, you know? I'm a romantic. I just have so much feeling. Don't you have any friends that you can hook me up with?" He said. "Maybe, maybe my friend Miranda." I said. Miranda was going to hate Skipper. She'd think he was mocking her with his sweet nature and decide he was an asshole. The way she had decided all men were assholes.

Friday night at the club Chaos. It was just like that bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name, except they were likely to forget it 5 minutes later. Still it was the creme de la creme of New York whipped into a frenzy. Sometimes you got a souffle, sometimes cottage cheese. I was just about to rescue Skipper from an increasingly hopeless situation with Miranda when suddenly Kurt Harrington appeared. "You know I was really pissed off the way you left the other day. Then I thought - how great! You finally understand the kind of relationship I really want and now we can have sex without commitment." I didn't understand. Did all men secretly want their women promiscuous and emotionally detached? And if I was really having sex like a man, why didn't I feel more in control?

"You see that guy? He's the next Donald Trump except he's younger and much better looking. He usually only dates models, but hey i'm as good looking as a model plus I own my own business." Samantha had the kind of deluded self-confidence that caused men like Ross Perot to run for President and it usually got her what she wanted. And there she went, off to take her best shot with Mr Big. Meanwhile Charlotte York was passing the most splendid evening with Capote Duncan. Though Charlotte was determined to play hard to get, she didn't want to end the evening too abruptly. Charlotte had told me later that she thought that she had played the entire evening flawlessly, until he had to go to Chaos as he needed to have sex. Back at Chaos, things were swinging into high gear and Samantha was putting the moves on Mr Big which ended disastrous. Meanwhile Skipper Johnston was hopelessly smitten with Miranda Hobbes. Miranda had told me later that she thought he was too nice, but that she was willing to overlook one flaw. And Capote Duncan found his fix for the night, Samantha.

And so another Friday night in Manhattan crept towards dawn. And just when I thought I would have to do the unspeakable, walk home..."well, get in for Christ's sakes" said Mr Big. In the car ride back to 72nd street and 3rd avenue, we were having the talk about our jobs and life "I write a column called Sex and The City, right now i'm researching an article about women who have sex like men. You know, they have sex and then afterwards feel nothing" I said. He giggled and said "I get it, you've never been in love." Suddenly I felt the wind knocked out of me. I wanted to crawl under the covers and go right to sleep. He dropped me off and I started walking into my apartment building until a had a sudden urge to run back out, I said with haste "Wait, Have you ever been in love?" He said "Abso-fuckin'-lutley.

[briamichellewrites]

65

Mike went home to find Chester after hanging out with Phoenix. They went inside the house and he told him he was mentally exhausted. Chester pulled him into a hug. He felt his exhaustion wash away from him. Something about his hugs always made him feel better. He was so sensitive, he felt everything everyone else was feeling. Good or bad. They were best friends and had been since they welcomed him into the band. He was his home away from home.

While on tour, they shared the stage. It was as if it was just them and their fans sometimes. He tuned out Joe, Brad, Rob, and Phoenix. They knew each other’s movements so well, they were almost in sync. But they weren’t anything more than best friends, right? Mike never considered himself to be attracted to him. He was only attracted to women. But he hadn’t dated anyone since he broke up with Anna.

His focus was on Bria and her never-ending health problems. They weren’t her fault. He reminded himself of that. It wasn’t her fault. They went upstairs to his bedroom where they lay on his bed. Why were they on his bed? He had no idea. It just felt like the right place to be. Chester. Sweet, sensitive Chester. He rolled on top of him. Mike pulled him down further before kissing him. He got up and took off his shirt before kissing him again.

Mike ran his fingers down his chest. He had seen it more times than he could count. Chester was always walking around half-naked. It was a joke because they never knew when they saw him if he would be fully dressed or not. He memorized every tattoo on his thin body. Seeing them up close was different. He let him make love to his body. Everything he did was gentle and loving.

Just like him. He opened his legs and he came in between them. His chest rubbed against his, as he moved inside him. Mike groaned in pleasure. Keep going, Chazzy. For the rest of the evening, they took turns until they were exhausted. Mike pulled out after emptying everything inside of him. He caught his breath before lying down beside him. Holy shit! That was not anything either of them expected. It was so impulsive and unplanned. He learned more about him than he ever had before.

“What the hell was that?”

“Mikey, I’ve been waiting to do that for years. I love you.”

“You’re in love with me? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have been thrilled!”

“Because I was scared, Mikey! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Will you let me think about this? I promise not to cut you out.”

Yeah. They kissed again.

Brad and Bria were hanging out with Bradley Cooper. He hugged his best friend before introducing his girlfriend. They shook hands. It was nice to meet you. He sat down and pulled his chair up to the table. She was in a good mood. A waitress came over and gave the usual speech welcoming them and telling them about the specials. She then took their drink orders.

As they went through the menu, they talked about what they thought sounded good. They gave each other suggestions. Brad joked about her pay. Fuck you. He laughed before explaining to Bradley that was a joke whenever they went out. While talking, he learned she was a singer and songwriter, who was taking a break due to physical therapy. How did she meet Brad? He met her through Matt Damon, who met her at Koi.

He brought him and George over to meet her. Since she had zero memory of that, she had to agree with him. Bradley could see how truly happy he was. He worried about him being alone because of his history of depression. Bria was gorgeous! He guessed she was maybe in her mid-twenties. A lot younger than he would want him to have for a girlfriend.

He was thirty years old, so he was a little older than her. Out of respect for Brad, he wouldn’t try to take her away from him. She probably had guys lined up to date her. If he didn’t know she was a musician, he would have guessed she was a model. She was that kind of pretty. He noticed her walker but he wasn’t going to ask about it unless she mentioned it. It wasn’t his business. Brad helped her to the table and he pulled out a chair, so she could sit down. What kind of music did she play?

Adult contemporary. She was working on music for her new album when she ended up in the hospital. Brad asked her if she wanted to talk about it. She didn’t have to.

“I’m an open book.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

What happened, if it was okay to ask? Yeah, she was hospitalized for low blood pressure. Her friend, Mike found her unresponsive in her bathroom. He called 911. They put her into a coma to prevent brain damage. The doctor didn’t know if or when she would wake up.

He thought that if she did, she would have severe developmental disabilities and would need around-the-clock care for the rest of her life. She did wake up. With physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy, she was able to be somewhat independent. She was still doing physical therapy to build strength in her legs.

That’s why she needed a walker. Low blood pressure? Yeah. It happened out of nowhere. How long was she in a coma? Two weeks. The only lingering effect she had was memory loss. She couldn’t remember anything from before she went into her coma. She also had trouble sometimes remembering words. When she woke up, she was essentially a baby because she had to relearn how to do everything. She used her facial expressions to communicate what she wanted or needed.

Mike was home by himself. He thought about his night with Chester. Everything was perfect. He remembered his skin against his and the feeling of his lips. Did he love him or was he just lonely? He didn’t know. I love you. No, he was in love with him. Why did that scare him? He didn’t know. Chester. Sweet sensitive Chester. He wanted him forever.

He wanted to feel his body and his hips rubbing against his. His voice was in his ear as he laid kisses against his neck. He was so gentle. Everything he did made him want more. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him. Was it love? He wasn’t scared of being with another man. Chester wasn’t just another man. He was his best friend. Then what was he afraid of? He was afraid of hurting him. Just like Bria. He was so in love with her and he thought he was doing the right thing.

But, he hurt her by not wanting to be in a relationship with her. He couldn’t do that to him. When he got to his laptop, he opened up a Word document. Chester… I love you. As he typed up a letter, everything came pouring out. He talked about his fear of hurting him and being hurt. Maybe he wasn’t ever going to get over Anna cheating on him.

Chester, I need help.

Love, Mike

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[rantsintechnicolor]

Gross

I have a question for you. Are you afraid of homeless people?

What does that mean, homeless? 

A woman visited our tasting room with her husband recently and said she is looking to buy a house in our inflated real estate market. She is a person who is able to rent, but I heard her call themselves homeless. And in nearly the same breath this rich (maybe not rich, but definitely more financially stable) white woman said they moved away from their house on the American River where there are too many homeless people (granted, they also said they were older and wanted to move to a place that didn’t have stairs). Poor woman. Poor poor woman. 

She is one type of homeless; she lives in a place she does not yet think of as home. I’ve stopped mentioning to people how we are homeless, because I have started to call it home, this place where we sleep and where our cat lives in Michael’s spare room. We have a safe place to sleep under the roof of some folks that love us, and we help by paying less than half but more than a third of the rent. I still don’t really think of it as home though I feel welcome there. A second home maybe.

Michael did save us. But what if he hadn’t? We would have had to rely on my parents who live out of town. And how long would that support have lasted given their fixed incomes? We would have had to pack up shop and sell the business and move out of the area, after working so hard to build the business, after putting our entire savings into it, after working seven days a week eight to eleven hours a day. We have built it and it cultivates community here. We have added something to the character of this town, this town that won’t take care of its residents, this town that does not enforce ordinances to protect its residents from getting kicked out of their apartment by folks that bring in shit tons of money from out of town. 

Homeless used to mean people without shelter. That’s mostly what it means when it isn’t co-opted by white women who move away from actual homeless people, actual houseless people, actual shelterless people. And these shelterless folk, she is afraid of them. We are afraid of them. 

Why are we afraid of them? Because they are crazy. 

Why are they crazy? Poverty makes you crazy. 

Do you want to say that they were probably crazy before? And does that make them unworthy of shelter? In response, I would wonder aloud what makes you the expert on who is unworthy of shelter, fresh water, healthy food, fucking healthcare, and a chance to make something of themselves, that benefits their community, and lifts up the people of this nation as a whole? 

Is shelter a human right? If it is, the United States lawmakers and people who want to defund public assistance are committing crimes against humanity. 

I’m still so angry about what happened to us. I’ve kept that anger warm and nurtured it in peoples thoughts every thirty-six days with an instagram post and a daily instagram story. I mean to remind people how close we came. I don’t think they believe we ever came close. And they can look at the last 144 days, this gross of days, as proof that we didn’t. It doesn’t work that way, folks. That’s the reasoning that keeps people still believing that “the storm is coming” to take down a cabal of satan worshiping pedophiles that rule Washington and Hollywood. That reasoning is all hogwash.

I’ve asked people how they think we solve the problem of housing, how do we get a more fair system so that working folk don’t have to worry about ending up on the street? I’ve floated some ideas. Which started arguments. No doubt, it is a complicated problem, but we owe it to each other to find a solution. So we can be better. So they can be better parents. So they can think easier. So they can be less reactionary. So we can all have the future we all fucking deserve. Because we do. All of us do. All of us are worthy. 

What would you be willing to give up if you never had to worry about housing again? What would you be willing to give up if all your friends and relatives could be safe from the street? How much would you be willing to give up to not be afraid of homeless people? Because if we all had housing, there wouldn’t be any homeless people to fear. Think about that. Think about if all your neighbors could breathe easy, think clearly, and get the help they need and ask for? Would there be more kindness, more generosity? Doesn’t that sound like a world we need to get to?

[domesticnct]

Hiii can you please write the opposite of this? Them thinking you're older but you're actually their age or younger

OMG I love this!

Mark

Mark would find out when the two of you went to dinner and ordered an alcoholic beverage.

He noticed you got a soda and he asked why you didn't want to try the wine the restaurant was famous for.

When you told him you were underaged he'd be like.

"Wait what? Hold up. I thought you were like older than me."

He'd be pretty surprised by it considering you two had been friends for a while and been going out for a few months, but he'd never really thought to ask you your age.

When you told him you were only a year younger he'd be relieved and be like "good, I thought you were going to say you were Jisung's age and then I would have just seen you as a baby."

Renjun

Renjun would be a little surprised, only because he had sworn he had asked you how old you were before and he swore you had said you were two years older, not two years younger.

Not that an age difference of a few years older or younger really bothers him, he's just really surprised.

Especially because you seem a lot more mature than him, are extremely composed, and seem like you really have your life together.

He would find out because the two of you were talking about random skills you want to learn before you're thirty.

When you told him you wanted to learn to play violin and the average amount of time it takes to become good at it, then said how many years you had left to learn it he'd be like "I thought you were older than me."

When you told him the year you were born he would be surprised and just tell you he thought you were older but that it doesn't matter and he likes you just the same.

Jeno

Jeno would be pretty surprised seeing how he's already told a lot of his friends that he's dating an older woman (I really see him being into older women).

When he found out you were younger he would stare at you with his mouth open all dramatic.

When you ask him what's wrong and that you thought he knew, he'd be like "I thought you said you were three years younger than me, not three months."

He would then go from being surprised to teasing you talking about how you're a baby.

He would instantly be like "call me Oppa."

He would use a lot of those "Back when I was your age" jokes.

He would buy EVERYTHING for you and be like "no, I'm older so it's my responsibility."

It would get a little annoying, but that's the point.

He would eventually stop being sooooo annoying about it, but he would still remind you every so often.

Haechan

He would be the MOST ANNOYING PERSON IN THE WORLD ABOUT IT.

Like Jeno, he would be like "I guess you have to call me Oppa now."

He would also make jokes saying "back when I was your age."

Or if you ever messed something up he'd be like "it's ok, it's because you're still a kid."

He would act like this when you're literally only like two days younger than him. Hell he'd do it if it was even two minutes or two seconds younger than him.

He'd always be like "Don't worry, I'll show you how to do this."

But you know he's just teasing you and he actually doesn't see you this way.

Jaemin

Jaemin would be pleasantly surprised.

He's honestly one of the only members who just sort of forgot to ask you how old you were when you first started dating and never did.

So he'd find out by surprise on your birthday and he wouldn't even tell you he didn't know how old you were.

But you would notice a change.

He would start to take care of you more and baby you a little bit more.

He'd ask if you needed help with simple adulting tasks more than he had in the past. When you connect the dots you get a little irritated at him behaving this way and decide to confront him on it.

He tells you that he would treat you like that regardless, and this being Jaemin I really wouldn't be surprised if he acted this way regardless of age as he got more comfortable around you.

If it really bothered you, he would stop. But he tells you that he just wants to take care of you and he doesn't care if you're younger or older.

He'd probably say something like "even if you were a 1,000 year old vampire, I would still want to be with you."

Chenle

Chenle would also be pleasantly surprised by this.

The entire time you two had been friends he had assumed you were older than him because you were a lot more mature.

When you started going out, it honestly made him feel pretty insecure because he felt like he could be really childish at times.

He would try to change to act more mature so he could be on your level, but when he found out you were younger than him, he let his true playful self show.

You would be a little surprised as your entire friendship he seemed a bit more laidback, but it wasn't really a problem for you.

You actually like him a lot better when he's being himself and not so focused on impressing you.

Jisung

Jisung I think would be the most surprised to find out you were the same age as him.

He always thought you were so mature and poised and on a completely different level than you.

That's why he was surprised when you said something about finally being able to buy tickets to see rated R movies when you two went to the theater together.

He asked why it was finally that and that he thought you'd seen them before.

You confess you had, but you always got your older friends to buy your tickets.

He would be pretty relieved to find out you two were the same age.

Though he never felt he had to put in more effort to come across as more mature, his relief comes from the fact that he was worried you may want to go out and buy alcohol or something else that isn't legal (assuming this takes place in a country where the legal drinking age is over 20/21).

Overall, I think he'd see it as a really good thing that you two are the same age as you're entering your adult life. That way you two could do anything you wanted together without worrying about any laws.

[jezabelofthenorth]

Is Anne Boleyn portrayed better than Catherine of Aragon in Tudor dramas or does she just take her clothes off?

Or I've watched almost every Anne Boleyn thing over the past six months and I'm certain at this point you guys are watching different movies than I am

edit: i;m sorry meant to include there is rape mention cw in this

Okay I might get a little mean here, but at this point I'm convinced no one thinks critically about this, like the constant amount of whinging I see about how Catherine is treated just soooo badly in Tudor dramas and always neglected is wild because it is just not true. I would say the only piece of media that treats Anne like a full person is Anne of The Thousand Days, and that's a 50 year old movie. I started thinking about this when I rewatched season 1 of The Tudors back in August because like, it's really abundantly clear who Michael Hirst likes better and it is not Anne. Anne barely feels like a full character in season 1, Henry is madly in love with her,. Her father is scheming to make that worth their while along with George, but where exactly is Anne in all that?

She gets a considerable amount of screentime but very little insight into what she actually feels about all this, is she in love with Henry too? Does she just want to be queen and is manipulating him? We never get an actual moment where it's made clear so you can pretty much apply whatever interpretation you want there, which is bad! Is Anne actually the female lead here, because she doesn't feel like it at all,  I feel like this gets forgotten because Natalie adds so much depth to Anne you feel like there's more going on, but there really isn't,  Hirst neglects Anne's own feelings about her situation considerably, to a point Natalie has stated she had to push him to give Anne more of a character in season 2. I would say Hirst is just bad at writing women, which like.....he is, but he doesn't have this issue with Catherine, Catherine is a very clear character from the start, which she should be! It's clear what her motives are and what she feels, if I'm honest Catherine in season 1 is probably a little too perfect, like she truly does not have a single negative quality, the worst part is when she calls Anne a whore but I don't think we as the audience is meant to take that as bad on her part which......eh?

The real significance difference is here is how they're portrayed sexually, I do think Catherine and Henry should have had more intimate scenes and Hirst clearly shied away from that because Maria is older, which makes him a coward, but Anne getting treated as a sex object doesn't mean she has better character development,  I mean think about that one!  I mainly got inspired to write this as I just rewatched The Other Boleyn Girl which I hadn't seen in years and in my memory  I thought Catherine hadn't had a good portrayal but like it's fine? She's in most of the movie, she's portrayed as a resilient woman, she gets her Blackfriars speech, is there really a problem here or are you guys actually mad that Natalie Portman is young and beautiful in this and Ana Torrent was in her forties? Because I'll have to draw attention that in this film Catherine again doesn't have a single bad quality while Anne gets raped by Henry before they're even married, so if I was going to get angry about something, I know what it is. It seems to me for years it is been standard to suggest because Anne is portrayed as a young, beautiful women and the utmost sexual desire of Henry's eye that it means she is treated well, but extreme sexulization is actually not interchangeable with respect for Anne as a woman and it is more than obvious than many film makers have absolutely none for her.It is not disrespectful to Catherine to portray her as an older woman, she was 42 when The Great Matter began, there is nothing wrong with being an older woman, the most dramatic parts of Catherine's life took place when she was in her forties, the most dramatic parts of Anne's life took place in her twenties and thirties, that is a simple fact of history.

To open a can of worms that seemed to set a certain part of the internet on fire, let's tackle The Spanish Princess now. Emma Frost and Matthew Graham were quite clear in their veneration for Catherine and their certainty that she has been a maligned figure in history. This seems at odds when you would cross reference most historiography on Catherine, as she seems to be one of the few figures of the Tudor period that has a universally positive reputation .

Through out the two season run both showrunners made their disdain for Anne quite obvious, which was rather odd given they had created a show about Catherine and there wasn't really any need to mention Anne at all. Which makes the choice to include from the start of season 2 particularly bizarre, given historically Anne was in France for the 1510's and would not have been present in the English Court and did not become a Lady in Waiting until in the 1520's. The show does not make it clear who she is and it is only known if you search the role Alice Nokes is playing, which makes her role to be one of heavy handed foreshadowing which simply takes up space to present friendships Catherine had with her actual Ladies of the time. It is not made fully clear who Anne is until the final episode, an episode where Anne is not permitted to speak even though she is in most of the episode and her biggest moment is where she meets Henry late at night in a garden, and removes her clothes to reveal her breasts to him.

Through out the season Anne's male relatives, her father Thomas Boleyn, and her grandfather Thomas Howard are featured prominently. While Anne and her sister Mary are pushed to the side lines and barely given a voice, for a show that claims to present history from the view of women of the era, that seems a choice in poor sport. It could be quite easy to remove Anne entirely from the show, or only make passing mentions of her, instead the choice was to have her exist on the sidelines, mostly voiceless and then to have her be on the forefront as a sexual object to Henry.

In a show that claimed to want to want to give us Catherine's full story, from the time as a 15 year old bride, to a matured, tested Queen, it instead seemed to take a route of focusing on Catherine's less appealing qualities and even gave her faults she never had (as in rejecting her daughter Mary for her gender when it is well known Catherine was an adoring mother). The show seems to think presenting Catherine as a truly unappealing heroine is canceled out by portraying her as a young, beautiful woman, and sexually desired by Henry, that feels extremely insulting to Catherine, who was a tough woman and her best quality certainly wasn't the fact that Henry and Catherine had an active sex life during the first decade of their marriage. You have to see where the decades of presenting Anne as sexually desired by Henry has infected Tudor media in how another Catherine is portrayed here as if a woman should be portrayed positively only through how much their husband desires them.   It simply doesn't matter who you prefer over Catherine and Anne, the misogyny of that choice seems quite clear. I simply can't think of a single piece of Tudor media that gives Catherine of Aragon such an offensive role to play.        

[usermoreid]

Darkened Nights (Violent Things)

Fic Week Day Two: Alternate ending to an episode

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense’.”

The silence in the room was palpable. In almost perfect synchronicity, every head turned to face the man in question only moments before he stormed out of the room, footsteps echoing throughout the house.

"I'm not a narcissist," he said, pacing back and forth as the others entered the room, slowly as if approaching a wild animal that could attack at any second.

"Come on. Look, you can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch," Gideon tried to reassure him, quickly stopping when he was interrupted.

"No, stop. Stop." The room fell quiet once again. "Alright, everybody right now - what's my worst quality?" His head turned frantically around the room, taking in everyone's hesitancy to answer. "Okay, I'll start. I have no sense of humour."

"You're a bully," JJ said hardly a second after he'd finished.

"I'm a bully," he repeated.

"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

"Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men."

"Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever. So why did Reid say that I do?"

"Don't jump to any conclusions just yet. Reid is smart. For all we know, he could have been leaving clues this entire time. We just need to find what they are."

"Clues? We don't even know if Reid's aware that we saw that!" His voice raised at Gideon as an exasperated arm was thrown in the air. "What sort of clue is 'narcissist'? That doesn't lead us anywhere. Like you said, Reid is smart. His clues would be more obvious than that."

He turned on his foot, heading back in the direction he came from. The others all shared a look of trepidation before following after him. They'd never seen their boss so unsettled, and in turn it was fraying their nerves in an already precarious situation. Gideon was the only one to look unperturbed but even Emily, who had spent such little time around the man, could see the tightness around his mouth and the stiff way in which he stood. He may have been acting as though he wasn't bothered but they could see right through him. Despite this, they walked on without mentioning it, knowing how private of a man Gideon was.

Back in the computer room, the tension was so thick it was almost suffocating, squeezing their hearts like a clenched fist prepared to strike at any moment. They were all on edge, staring intently at each blank screen as if they would come to life, the answer to the question that was plaguing them all displayed clearly on the screen. But there were no bold letters written out in front of them. There was no easy solution. Their youngest team member was still at the mercy of an unsub that had seemingly no plan to let him leave alive and they had no way of finding him.

Hotch cursed softly under his breath and stalked out of the room once more after several minutes had passed without so much as a mumble from anyone. The team knew better than to feel any shock at Hotch's out of character expletive; none of them could blame the man for not acting like himself. Instead, they looked to Gideon for guidance. The older man held a single hand up, preventing them from joining him in going after Hotch. He searched through the rooms, not finding his colleague in any of them, and then the grounds outside. It was a few feet in front of the house that he finally spotted him. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he could've been mistaken for a statue.

"He's still alive."

Hotch showed no sign of having heard Gideon approaching or settling a few steps behind him, and yet he didn't startle at the words, his stare remaining off into the darkness.

"You can't prove that."

"It's Reid. He always survives."

A small sound filled the air. It would have passed for a chuckle if the bitterness had not been so clear, as if it had rotted within him before being set free.

"You know, sometimes I feel like God sent Reid to me for a reason; as if there was something I could do for him. I couldn't even teach him how to deal with the emotional side of this job before I sent him into what's probably going to be the most traumatising thing he's ever going to experience."

"Then you help him through the aftermath. You still have time, Hotch. Your work isn't done."

Hotch shook his head. "I can't save him."

"All by yourself? Probably not, but I wouldn't be surprised if you did. You've got an entire team in there, Hotch, ready to risk everything. You helped him become the agent he is. If there's anybody that can help him again now, it's you. You understand him. I'm sure there's something Reid mentioned that tells us where he is, but we need you to not treat this like he's already gone."

Neither of them spoke. The only noise between them was the delicate wind, soft whispers floating throughout the air as if sending a message that he couldn’t quite decipher. Hotch’s head dropped down to face the dirt below him, a queue for Gideon to leave that he thankfully took, making his way back to the house that he was beyond tired of seeing. A small breath left Hotch’s lips, almost a sigh but not quite. He knew that Gideon was right. Standing outside staring at the ground wasn’t helping anybody but Hankel, and yet he couldn’t quite find it in himself to turn around. Spencer’s words were playing on repeat in his mind.

“He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team.”

Was he right? Of course he was, Hotch thought to himself. Spencer was never wrong, and he wouldn’t use the word ‘narcissist’ so lightly. But if he truly did put himself above the rest of his team, could he really trust himself to do what was best for one of its members? After all, everybody else was in that god-forsaken house, working tirelessly to bring Spencer home, and here he was: standing alone outside, focusing on his own problems instead of helping them.

With a shuddering breath, he turned around, pausing for only a moment before heading back to his team. Reid may have been right about the narcissism, but he would do everything in his power to get him back regardless. Reid was still alive, and he intended to find him that way as soon as he possibly could.

They all worked until the sun came up, the bright gold rays almost taunting them as they shone in through the windows. It was as the morning light hit that Hotch finally managed to force some of them to sleep. Morgan, JJ and Garcia were the firsts to go, though Morgan was only out for barely two hours before he returned, letting Gideon rest instead. Hotch felt the need to ask if he’d managed to get any sleep at all but based on the drooping of his eyes and the anxious clenching of his fists, he felt it wasn’t necessary.

They continued the search, finding dead end after dead end, and all the while both Hotch and Morgan refused to sleep. Prentiss eventually conceded, taking JJ’s space once she’d woken up. Hotch was rather impressed by how well she functioned on such little rest but he didn’t spare much thought on the matter, knowing that there were more important things at hand. It was only after the third time that they’d nearly fallen asleep on each other that the two men finally accepted that it was time to rest. They needed their entire focus on getting Reid home and they wouldn’t be able to do that if they were incapable of thinking. With heavy hearts and much hesitation, they left the room.

Neither of them had wanted to sleep in the house, the knowledge that they were currently residing in the home of the man that had their friend was hanging over their heads, making it almost impossible to even stand in. Instead, they chose the comfort (or lack thereof) of the FBI SUVs. Hotch climbed into one as Morgan climbed into the other, both immediately sitting in the driver’s seat and laying it back as far as they could go.

Being mid January, there was a strong chill in the air despite the persistent shining of the sun above them. Hotch wrapped his suit jacket tighter around himself, trying to maintain any sense of warmth that the thin clothing gave him. His eyes fell shut and he attempted to fight back every thought that was swarming around in his mind, loud and obnoxious and refusing to leave. It felt like hours of trying to quieten his mind, though in reality it mustn’t have been more than thirty minutes, when the passenger side door opened. His head instantly turned, eyes flying open as the lack of sleep made him more paranoid but less alert.

“I’m guessing I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Morgan said as he dropped into the seat next to him, door slamming shut behind him.

Hotch grunted, eyes closing again. “I knew I should’ve just stayed there and continued working.”

“No, you still did the right thing coming out here. I want to be in there just as much as you do but we’re no help if we can’t even stand upright.”

He hummed non-committedly. “Maybe so. Doesn’t make me okay with being out here while my team is in there working.” Typically, Hotch would never speak to a subordinate in such a way. The lack of sleep, however, was really beginning to affect him, taking away his filter.

It was silent for a few beats, no sound to be heard in or out of the car, until Morgan finally spoke again.

“You know Reid doesn’t actually think you’re a narcissist, right?”

“I hardly think it matters. I’m his boss, he’s allowed to view me in whatever way he does and I have no say in that.”

“But you’re not just his boss, you’re his friend. He had to name someone so that Hankel would stop the roulette. He did it as a means of survival and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

Hotch swallowed hard, still refusing to open his eyes. If he didn’t see Morgan there, he could almost pretend he was talking to himself.

“I just… he’s so young, Morgan, and he’s been through so much already.”

“I know,” Morgan replied quietly. “It’s awful just watching him go through it, I can’t imagine what it actually feels like to be trapped there.”

“We haven’t even seen a video of him in hours and I don’t- It’s not like I actually want to see him being hurt but I’m going out of my mind wondering why it’s been so long.”

Morgan sighed. “I wish I had an answer for you, man. I get it, though. Seeing him is awful but at least we know he’s alive. Right now we’re stuck in this weird limbo where Spencer Reid is both alive and not alive and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Schrödinger's Spencer.”

Morgan didn’t reply for a moment but when he did, it was with a snort. “That’s such a Reid joke to make.”

Hotch let out a light chuckle. “I suppose it is,” he said, his head gently falling back to rest against the seat behind him, “and I suppose that’s a sign for me to go to sleep.”

“Aaron Hotchner cracking jokes? Absolutely a sign to sleep. Good night.”

A small smile made its way to Hotch’s face for hardly a second but the weight that had been taken off his chest felt more permanent. “Good night, Morgan.”

It only took a few minutes after that for the two of them to drift off into a less than restful slumber, the anxiety still flowing through their veins making it difficult to stay asleep. It was enough, though, and by time they walked back into the house, they were ready to start the search again. “What have we got?” Hotch asked as they entered the room.

“Nothing new,” Prentiss informed them, a restrained disappointment seeping into her words. “We haven’t got any more videos, we’ve searched everywhere that’s connected to him, and there have been no new murders.”

“So another dead end." Morgan's fists clenched by his side but he managed to hold himself back from hitting anything.

“I know it’s difficult,” Gideon said, “but we just have to wait it out. I’m aware that the last thing any of us wants is to sit around doing nothing but until we have something to go off, there’s nothing we can do but be patient.”

“Patient,” Morgan murmured with a small scoff. “Right. I’ll just be patient while my best friend is off being tortured.” His eyes drifted around the room, lending on the stack of books sitting on the table. “I guess I’ll go through Hankel’s writing again, see if we missed anything.”

Hotch watched as he reached for one of the books. “I’ll help.”

---------

“We’ll have to watch the videos again.”

Every head turned to face Gideon. They’d spent the past few hours reading the books, over and over and over, looking for any little thing they could’ve missed. Garcia had conducted the most in-depth cyber search possible, trying to find anybody and anything that could be connected to either of the Hankel men. Everything had come up empty. The only thing they had yet to do was rewatch the tapes. They knew it was the next logical step but the thought of watching Reid go through that pain all over again made them feel sick to their stomachs.

“JJ, Garcia, neither of you need to stay for this. Go see if you can get some food together for us, it’s been a while since any of us have eaten a real meal. I know it’s already dark but take a car and see if you can find something. Prentiss, Morgan, you’re free to join them if you’d rather but your eyes would be of use here.”

Once Garcia had loaded the videos ready to be played, her and JJ followed Hotch’s orders, though not without some hesitation from the latter. Morgan and Prentiss immediately sat down without a word, prepared to watch them regardless of how much they wished it wasn’t necessary. It was an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge the way everybody froze momentarily as the first video started, an image of Reid coming onto the screen, clear signs of physical trauma evident.

“The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person to be saved.”

“I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher.”

“Did you see that?” Morgan asked. “The way he looked into the camera before he spoke. What did he say - ‘leave their remains behind like a poacher’? I think that’s a clue.”

Gideon considered him for a moment. “I think you might be right. Here,” he handed him his notebook and pen, “write it down.” He played the next video.

“Tobias, help me.”

“He can’t help you, he’s weak!”

All four of the viewers flinched as skin hit against skin; as whimpers and cries fell from Reid’s lips. Morgan’s fist hitting the table was ignored as the agent on screen fell back in his chair, head hitting the floor with great force.

“You came back to life.”

“Raphael.”

Their focus didn’t leave the screen, watching intently as Reid stared God’s Will directly in the eye and didn’t flinch, God’s angel holding the trigger.

“Choose.”

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist.”

Hotch exhaled deeply but didn’t stop watching, listening to the words that had been playing on repeat in his mind since he’d first heard them. Morgan’s mouth opened as if to speak when Prentiss suddenly raised a hand in front of her, stopping whatever he was going to say. The men looked up at her and she put a finger to her lips, her other hand pointing in the direction of the room next door. They remained silent, ears straining to hear what Prentiss was referring to. It was a few moments later that they realised what it was - a small thump.

Immediately alert, they all reached for their weapons, drawing them up and preparing to defend each other. Hotch crept forward, signaling for the others to get behind him. He moved soundlessly, slowly approaching the door frame that led to the front room. Once at the edge, he glanced into the room, immediately spotting the man standing on the other side.

Morgan moved to stand next to his boss. Gideon and Prentiss would’ve taken the only other door in the room, leaving him with no exit, but there was no path to get there without passing him. Instead, they pressed close, ready to charge in behind Hotch and Morgan. As they were about to move, the man turned around.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Hankel said, voice low but strong, back straight as he stared down his target. “You’re a sinner. Job 15:31. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.’ You must repent.”

His arm hadn’t raised more than a few inches before four different guns went off, bullets lodging into several different parts of his body. He dropped.

Gideon immediately pushed forward, crouching down to check the man’s pulse. “Dead,” he told them.

“Did you hear what he said?” Hotch’s voice was subdued, his gaze fixed on the body on the floor.

“What about it?” Prentiss asked.

“Job 15:31. He said it was Job 15:31. Reid said it was Genesis 23:4. Why would he get it wrong?”

“He’s under a lot of stress. It’s understandable if he misremembered something,” Morgan answered, though he sounded sceptical.

“But he didn’t misremember it. He misquoted it. So what does Genesis 23:4 actually say?” They all hurried to the bookcase that contained bibles, Hotch getting there first and instantly grabbing the closest copy to flick through the pages, sparing hardly a glance at each. “Here,” he said, passing his book to Morgan, “Genesis, chapter twenty-three, verse four. Read it.”

Morgan took the offered bible, finding where Hotch gestured before reading it out loud. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”

“He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose.” Shock and relief stretched his lips into a smile.

“He’s in a cemetery.” Prentiss realised.

At that moment, the door opened and in walked the two that had left earlier, each with a bag on their arm. “Oh my God,” Garcia gasped as she saw the man on the floor, bag falling next to her feet with a thud. “Who is that?!”

“Is that Hankel?” JJ placed her bag down next to Garcia’s but paid no more attention to the food it contained, her focus entirely on the face that was currently surrounded by a pool of its own blood.

“It is,” Hotch answered quickly. “Garcia, check to see if there have been any reports of poaching in the last couple of days.”

“Okay, okay, uh…” She trailed off as she rushed to the computer with the others following, taking care to not step in the blood. It took less than a minute for her to set up the system and conduct her search. “A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property.”

“Where are we talking?”

Garcia zoomed in on the map in response to Morgan’s question.

“What’s that patch of green there?”

“Marshall Parish,” Hotch replied to JJ. “I think it’s an old plantation.”

Emily leaned forward, catching everyone’s attention. “Wait. Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall.”

“Does that say that there’s a cemetery on the ground?” Gideon pointed at the screen.

“We’ve found him,” Hotch breathed. “We’re going to save him.”

-------

“FBI!”

As soon as Hotch’s foot hit the floor after kicking the door open, he was moving. Along with some of the local police, the team entered the cabin, guns drawn and eyes on alert as they searched for any sign of their missing agent.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Oh! What’s that smell?” Prentiss scrunched her face up against the overwhelming scent in the air, casting her glance around the room to find the source. She spotted it on the floor: a pile of burnt fish. The smell threatened to take over their senses as they coughed against it, fighting the urge to leave immediately.

“Let’s spread out. He has to be here somewhere. Let’s go!” Hotch stormed ahead, looking as though the stench hadn’t had the slightest effect on him.

Gideon watched as everybody fanned out to search the grounds as his eyes took one last look over the room, being drawn to the pair of handcuffs laying haphazardly on a chair that he clearly recognised from the videos. Spencer had been sitting in that chair. He’d had those handcuffs on him. He’d been surrounded by that smell. So where was he now? He couldn’t have let himself out of those cuffs, but Hankel wouldn’t have just let him roam free.

With that thought in mind, he left into the darkness of the winter night, the chill immediately seeping into his bones despite the thick clothing he had on to protect himself. An image of Spencer, as frozen as the real Charles Hankel, pushed its way to the front of his mind completely unbidden. He did his best to shove it back, knowing it wouldn’t help. It didn’t leave.

They scoured the cemetery, searching over every inch looking for anything that might tell them where Spencer was before it was too late. Hankel must’ve left him hours ago without a fire or any other means of warmth, it was no wonder that he’d finally become desperate enough to leave the cabin on his own accord despite the great risks it presented him, Hotch thought.

He was aware that Spencer could’ve made it to a road by now but judging by the presumed lack of shoes and warmth, as well as his recently sustained injuries, he felt that it was reasonable to assume that he hadn’t gotten far. Just to cover all bases, he sent some local officers further up, closer to where they’d arrived from.

They’d been searching for over twenty minutes when they finally found something. A patch of soil, packed more freshly than that around it. It had been recently planted within the last few days.

“Morgan!” Hotch yelled at the top of his lungs, above the noise of everybody else calling out a different name. He instantly dropped to his knees and began clawing at the dirt, scraping it out and throwing it in random directions, not paying any mind to anybody around him. A body dropped down next to him and hands joined his own but neither looked at the other, concentrating only on the cold ground below them.

They dug and they dug until they hit something - something colder than the dirt it was surrounded with, something much paler. They continued tearing at the floor even more savagely than before, desperation leaking through at the sight of the foreign object. Fear gripped them tighter than the cold did, making them work harder and faster until suddenly a white cloth was visible, soon followed by a familiar dark red.

“No, no, no, no,” Morgan muttered, each word faster and louder than the last. “Come on, man!”

Hotch pulled away dirt from higher up, more gently this time, though he refused to acknowledge what could be under it until he finally saw it. A face, skin soft and almost glistening in the moonlight, marred by dirt and blood. Spencer.

He wedged an arm underneath his back as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Morgan having pulled enough of the ground off of his arms for it to not cause any harm, and he pulled. Once the top half of his body was fully out of the dirt, his hand raised on its own accord in search of a pulse as Morgan set to work on the CPR.

No pulse.

His breath caught in his throat but his fingers didn’t move. He was vaguely aware of the ringing in his ears but he ignored it.

“Please, Spencer. Please,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Wake up. Come on. Wake up!”

“Not like this, pretty boy. Not like this.”

Morgan hadn’t stopped the CPR, going harder than what was necessary. It didn’t escape Hotch’s notice that any CPR at all may be unnecessary as he took a closer look at the boy in front of him. His eyes were closed and his skin was freezing to the touch. At first Hotch assumed that he must have been buried only hours before, likely just before Hankel left on his final self-righteous mission. Now, though, as he stared at the blue-tinted pallor of the agent in front of him, he doubted it.

Spencer Reid had been dead for at least a day now.

“Morgan, stop,” he muttered half-heartedly, his line of sight not moving from eyes that wouldn’t open. He’d never forced Spencer to make eye contact with him before but he was wishing with everything he had that just this once, he would; that just this once, Spencer would open his eyes and stare right back at him.

The aggressive panting by his ear hadn’t stopped, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. What if Spencer opened his eyes for only a second as he looked away? What if he missed Spencer’s final breath? What if-

“Morgan. You have to stop.” His voice was weak but it was all he could muster, still not looking away but being able to see the hands still pumping down on Reid’s chest as he periodically reached up to perform mouth-to-mouth. “Morgan.” He didn’t stop. “Morgan!”

He finally snatched his eyes away from those in front of him, becoming frozen in place as he watched Morgan lose control of the tears rolling down his face. Small sobs fell from his lips but he was clearly holding them back, trying so hard to save a dead man. It didn’t look as though he’d even heard Hotch’s words.

With a shaking breath, Hotch put his hand on Morgan’s arm, not surprised when it was instantly thrown off in a rather violent manner. He put his hand back, holding tighter but still getting thrown off. He forced himself to sit back, body threatening to collapse under the stress of it. Harsher than before, he gripped Morgan’s arm and pulled. Nothing. He pulled again. Nothing.

“Morgan, he's dead. You have to stop.”

Morgan furiously shook his head but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him, leaving Hotch with only one other option. He wrapped both of his arms around the man’s torso and pulled as hard as he could, refusing to let go no matter how much the struggling man tried to get away. Morgan’s arms flailed wildly but Hotch didn’t budge.

“You did all you could, Morgan. You did all you could. There’s nothing more to do. I’m sorry,” he murmured into his ear, the low volume not entirely on purpose.

“No!” Morgan shouted, fighting harder against the restraints of Hotch’s arms. “We can’t just give up on him!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, finding himself unable to stop apologising despite the fact that the words were unable to reach the ears of the person they were meant for.

“Hotch, we can’t- we can’t just give up. We can’t just give up.” At this point Morgan had stopped struggling, both against Hotch and the sobs that were now ripping their way out of his throat. His head buried itself into Hotch’s shoulder as his hands came up to grip onto the arms around him, his legs slightly curling up as wails of agony tore through him.

Around them stood the rest of the team, watching the scene in front of them unfold whilst knowing that there was nothing they could do to help. JJ and Penelope were wrapped around each other, tears falling freely from their eyes as they listened to the slowly quieting cries of the usually hard-to-break agent. Emily was completely frozen, her breath slowing to almost a complete stop. Gideon’s face remained unchanged, though the tears blurring his vision were hard to miss. He took one more look at the man he considered his son, and he turned around, walking away back into the darkness.

Hotch’s arms loosened but didn’t let go of the man inside of them. His apologies hadn’t stopped even as his eyes became less focused, his mind trying to take him somewhere far away but failing to take him further than that cabin. It was ironic, he thought, that a house belonging to someone so dedicated to his worship could be so void of God. No, there was no God here, but there had been an angel, and he’d taken Spencer Reid away from them.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. “I should’ve understood.”

[ultimatebethylficlist]

New Author of the Month: December 2021

Our featured breakthrough author for December is not necessarily new to the fandom, but is new to writing her own fics. It’s peachthorns ( @wherethepeacheshavethorns )!

peachthorns can be found on AO3.

When asked what got her into the Bethyl fandom and what it means to her, she said:

I may be a new author, but I’m not new to the fandom! I watched the series premiere back in 2010, but I couldn’t stop crying over the horse being eaten. I took a break for a few years, then gave it another chance in season 4. (Just in time for my delicate sensibilities to see Hershel’s head get chopped off.) Beth’s character is actually what made me stick with the show. I was also in my early twenties at this time, also sensitive, and quietly strong in the way no one claps for. I never thought I would see someone like me in an apocalyptic show live longer than a few episodes, much less multiple seasons. My instant connection with Beth, and her growing connection with Daryl, caused me to dive headfirst into watching the seasons I had missed, where I was shocked to see how far both of their characters had evolved. When Beth was killed, I ran to fanfiction to look for some AUs that told Beth’s story in the way she deserved. After five years of reading Bethyl fics, I finally tried writing them as well.

Beth Greene means to me that women can be soft and gentle, but still be strong. We don’t have to hide or erase the parts of ourselves that make us feminine, that make us vulnerable, and that make us who we are, in order to be strong.

For her personal fic rec list, she recommends:

not everything has passed away by lindentree is one of my oldest favorites.

I enjoyed SO many fix-it stories in 2015, but I wasn’t great about bookmarking back then, and unfortunately I can’t find them anymore.

I really enjoyed a lot of stories by burningupasun, too. Since coming back during covid, a recent favorite is Marlboro Man by gutsforgarters.

peachthorns’s Works & Personal Thoughts:

Christmas Makes Me Cry Summary: Beth’s smile cracks open her face like the rays of the sun finally forcing through the clouds near the end of a rainy day. His rainy day just happened to be thirty-two rainy years. (Beth sends Daryl out on a Secret Santa Mission for the Grimes kids. Of course, the world ended in damn July so he can't find any candy canes.) Thoughts: This was my first Bethyl fic, written on a whim during a break from grad school. I didn’t expect anyone to read it, but to my shock, it won a Moonshine Award. I think that gave me the confidence boost I needed, since I hadn’t written any fiction in nearly ten years. When COVID started, I began writing some ideas that I had bouncing around. I haven’t kept up with them as well as I’d like to due to health problems and personal stress, but they are still close to my heart and slow progress is being made behind the scenes.

The Weight of These Wings Summary: Daryl was fine with waiting on his brother to get out of jail so they can move on to the next town, but his life just keeps getting more and more crowded. When an accident brings in a whole new group of folks who seem determined to stay put, he tries to come to terms with the fact that he might as well suck it up and try to make room for them. Especially for this blonde girl, who ends up taking up a hell of a lot more room than he thought she would. But can he keep his demons from his past at bay, or will the weight of these wings wear him down? Thoughts: This is my baby. It’s the first time I’ve not given up on a longer project, even though it may seem like I have. It’s an AU where Daryl finds himself and his family without walkers involved. Despite not being set in the ZA, I weave in elements of the plot of the show with a twist. I absolutely love where I’m going to go with it.

a different kind of ‘oh’ Summary: He just looks at her, and he thinks of a million different scenarios where this would maybe be okay. If he was younger. If she was older. If he was nicer. If she was rougher. But deep down he knows that if any of that was true, it wouldn’t matter, because they wouldn’t be Beth and Daryl. Thoughts: This was my own personal Bethyl fix-it fic, where Beth is never abducted. It was also my first time even writing a kiss, much less smut. I was super nervous to publish it, and thrilled with the response it got! It’s almost done, but on hiatus for now. The final chapter will be written eventually.

peachthorns would also like everyone to know that she will be updating very soon, so go give her fics a revisit to prepare yourselves, and keep an eye out for more!

[snickerl]

Of Miracle Births and Other Wonders

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

The lady behind the reception desk sends Mulder and the two kids up to the fourth floor of the hospital. They find another reception area with another helpful nurse. She tells them a doctor will be with them very soon to give them an update on Scully's condition. The few minutes they have to wait tears every nerve in Mulder's body, putting his patience to a hard test. Then, to his great relief, a good-looking woman in her late thirties approaches them. "Hello Mr. Scully, my name is Dr. Hanson, I am taking care of your wife," she says, holding her hand out to shake his.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Doctor, but my name is Mulder. These are our children, Emily and William," Mulder says, nudging them both in front of him. "How is Scully? I mean, my wife? How is she?"

"Hello everybody," the doctor says good-naturedly. "Your wife is perfectly fine, Mr. Mulder. She is doing great with her breathing technique. Her cervix is at 5 centimeters, so we still have some way to go. The baby is in good shape, she is in good shape, so we believe we will have a smooth delivery in a couple of hours. Are you all coming to the delivery room?"

William is aghast, his eyes saucer-wide. "What? Ew, no way! Gross!" He shakes his head vehemently. "Never ever!"

Mulder looks at his daughter. "Em?"

Emily thinks for a moment but quickly decides against it. The thought of seeing her mother in pain, even if it was for a good cause, makes her uncomfortable. "I'd rather stay with Will. We don't want him sitting here all by himself," she says.

"I don't need a sitter," William snaps, "I'm not a baby."

"But you definitely behave like one," Emily fires back. "Now shut up and be nice so dad can look after mom and doesn't have to worry about us at each other's throats out here."

"Alright," Doctor Hanson says. "The waiting area is over there. There are magazines and a vending machine. If you need anything, ask the nurse at reception. Follow me, Mr. Scully...I mean Mr. Mulder, sorry...your wife will be happy to see you." She leads the way to the delivery room. Mulder presses a kiss on Emily's hair and waves at William who has already plummeted into a chair. "Okay, kids. See you later then," he says and hurries to follow the doctor.

"Say hello to mom from us," Emily shouts after him, "and good luck!" She looks after her father who disappears through a swinging door marked Deliveries, then trots toward the waiting area to join her brother. She places herself in a chair next to him, looks around, gets up again to leaf through a pile of magazines on one of the tables, finds nothing of interest, goes back to her chair, and lets herself fall onto it with a sigh.

"You could've gone with dad, if you wanted," William tells her without looking up from his phone.

"Nah, I'm good."

Both sit in silence for a while. William is totally absorbed in a game on his smartphone, Emily pulls a history book and some pencils out of her backpack and starts reading, writing notes on the pages in different colors here and there. William shakes his head when he sees her doing that. "That's so old school, sis."

"Well, it's good for me. This way, the information stays longer in my brain than when I read it on a screen. You may call it old school, bro, I call it efficient mnemonics."

"Whatever," he sighs, his eyes back on the screen.

"Hey, what you said in the car, that mom doesn't care about us anymore, what did you mean by that?"

"I meant what I said, whatever the baby needs comes first, and we will play second fiddle. Or maybe even third. But I don't care. If things get unbearable, I will ask to go to boarding school. They can play house with the new baby then and I won't be there to bother anyone with my presence."

"You're being ridiculous, Will. Mom and dad will never let you go to boarding school, and I can't believe it will be anything like you just said."

William only shrugs. The narrative in his head has solidified like concrete, and he can't imagine a worse place to be right now. The best he can do is immerse himself in this online game and forget about what is happening at the other side of the door his father vanished through. After some hours of playing (thank God he brought his charger) and a short nap with his head leaned back against the wall, his stomach grumbles. "Are you also hungry, Em?"

"Well, I could have a snack. How long have we been waiting?"

"We came here at 10:45 am, now it's almost 6," William tells her, looking at the big clock on the wall of the waiting area.

"Wow, seven hours already. Poor mom. I wonder why dad hasn't given us an update."

"Do you think something is going wrong and he doesn't want to tell us?" William says, his voice trembling a bit.

"I don't think so."

"It's not so unlikely at mom's age."

"And how do you know?"

"I read stuff."

"You read stuff. Where?" Emily has problems picturing her brother behind a pregnancy textbook.

"On the internet, where else? If you google 'late motherhood' you get thousands of hits. And they all tell you women should have babies in their twenties and thirties, not their fifties. There is a reason for that. Nature doesn't want you to have a baby when you're old."

"Mom's not old."

"For having babies she is. She should be a grandmother rather than giving birth."

"Well, if she was a grandmother, I would already have a baby," Emily points out pensively, then adds a determined, "no thanks!"

"I just can't believe they let this happen."

"Let what happen?"

"Getting mom pregnant. Why? How?"

"Well, I can tell you how..."

"Ew, don't!" William imitates a gagging sound. "But why?"

"I guess it just happened."

"There are ways to prevent getting pregnant, I hope you are aware of that, unlike our parents apparently. I don't want to be an uncle on top of this any time soon. How could they have been so dumb? I don't get it. For all the times mom lectured us about condoms and safe sex, she didn't follow her own words." He shakes his head showing his disapproval and lack of understanding quite clearly. "I will never have sex, that's for sure."

Emily gives a slight chuckle. At fourteen, her brother most certainly doesn't have any idea of the joy of it. When he gets older and starts fancying girls, he might rethink his attitude, but something else is hitting her the longer their conversation goes. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Well, what else was I to do? It has been the main topic in our house for the longest time. I guess, sometimes they even forgot I was still living there."

"Bullshit."

William is done explaining his thoughts. His sister obviously isn't getting the point either, just like his parents. "Now are we getting something to eat, or what?"

"You hangry?" Emily asks with a smirk and he is glad she has taken the bait and they changed the topic.

"After seven hours of wasting my time in this stuffy waiting room, I think I am allowed to have a bite to eat. Do you have change for the machine?" The boy is inwardly fuming at his father for once again neglecting him by not giving him money for food.

Big sister overtakes Em again, "I am definitely getting us something more nutritious. There has to be a cafeteria somewhere with sandwiches and a drink with less sugar than what I see in that machine." The idea of having to deal with a cranky brother on a sugar-high isn't very appealing. She gets up from the chair, her mind set on improving her brother's mood with a tasty snack. Plus, the hunt for food will give her something to do instead of mulling over what her mother is enduring at this very moment in the delivery room. "Text me, if you hear something," she tells her brother before she leaves him alone.

He tries to distract himself with the game again, but his thoughts keep going back to six months ago when his world turned upside down. The situation was surreal. His parents had prepared one of their usual Sunday family dinners, Emily had come to join, and with the dessert they served them the news of the pregnancy. His sister's piercing shriek of surprised joy hurt his eardrums and he almost choked on the pie he had in his mouth. His mother annoyed him with science book citations about the finer points of late motherhood and male ongoing virility that made him want to cover his ears entirely and yell 'too much information' at her. The worst was his dad though. The puppy eyes with which he was looking at his mom and the silly petting of her still flat stomach caused a severe tickling in William's throat. To this very day, he hadn't gotten past the shock. He shakes his head to make the unpleasant memories disappear.

And then, of course, what had to happen happens: Emily is gone for about fifteen minutes when Mulder appears in the waiting area with an ear-to-ear smile on his face. "Waiting time is over, the baby's here! It's a girl! A healthy, beautiful little girl," he announces, his voice full of pride and also relief. He looks around, surprised to find William alone. "Where is your sister?"

"Getting us a snack. Is mom alright?"

"She is. She did great. I am so amazed by that woman." Mulder's whole face lights up. "She sent me to get you guys. When will Em be back?"

"I don't know. She's been gone for about 20 minutes now, it shouldn't take her much longer. I mean only if she hasn't met a cute guy she needed to get into a conversation with." William rolls his eyes so hard he sees the back of his head, his voice high-pitched on 'cute guy'.

Mulder is still so high on adrenaline that he doesn't chime in, although he too has been annoyed more than once by his daughter's tardiness, and the reason has often enough been a 'cute guy'. "Okay, gotta go back to Scully, I don't want to leave her and the baby alone for too long," he says. He points toward a long gray hallway with several doors on each side. "We're in room 302 over there on the right. As soon as Em gets back, come and join us. Mom is waiting for you guys."

"But dad," William laments in vain, his father is already around the corner. "Great," he mumbles to himself. First, they drag him out here and make him wait endless hours in an uncomfortable chair only to be here when the baby is born, and now that it is born, they don't have a problem with him standing around for God knows how long until his tardy sister is back. Typical. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, types in 'get here asap', his fingers flying over the screen, and slams the send button.

Impatience gets the better of him soon. There is no more sitting in the chair and playing online games for him now, he is pacing the waiting area, glad that nobody else is there to see him in this state. If Emily isn't back soon, he'll explode, he thinks, but it takes another 20 minutes until he sees her leisurely strolling down the hallway. He sighs in relief when she finally stands in front of him, a cardboard tray in one hand filled with two drinks and something to eat he can't quite figure out, and some flowers wrapped in paper in the other. "It's about time!" he lets her know.

"Sorry," Emily says quite relaxed, "I was just standing in line to pay for the food when I got your text. This hospital complex is huge and a bit confusing to be honest. I'm not sure I took the shortest way on my way back. Healthy muffins, iced tea, and something for your sweet tooth," she says with a grin, holding the tray out to William. "What happened?"

"What happened? What do you think happened? The baby's here, of course, and mom wants to see us!"

Emily gives a girly shriek that hurts William's ears once again. "Yay! Great! You could've been a bit more specific in your text rather than simply summoning me back here. I thought you were just craving the food."

"Yeah, well, there was food right in front of our noses." William points to the vending machine, unable to keep his outstretched index finger steady. "But you had to go on a hunting trip for some salad leaves and made me stand around here alone wondering."

"Where are they?"

"In room 302. They are waiting for us. It's this way." William nods in the direction Mulder showed him.

"Okay, let's go then."

Side by side, Emily and William take long strides toward the room they were told. "Boy or girl?" Emily asks on the way.

"Girl."

"Yay again! Ah, that's wonderful. I have a little sister," she chants.

William isn't sharing an ounce of his sister's enthusiasm. If he had been given a choice, he would have passed on this experience as a whole, but now that they are standing in front of room 302, by opening that door what he has tried to deny will become real. If only his mom is alright, he will accept all that comes with it: sleepless nights because of the baby crying, smelly diapers, more Thai takeout, and an annoying younger sister on top of an annoying older one. If only his mom is alright. Emily knocks and he hears his mother's voice say "Come in!" It sounds weak, he thinks, and his heartbeat accelerates. When he follows his sister into the room, he braces himself for the worst.

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 4: Rollerskates

***

At Hawkins Middle School, when you hit the fifth grade, you have to write an essay on where you see yourself in ten years. Little Steve, who sat in the front row of Mrs. French’s home room wrote his in blue colored pencil, declaring proudly in that essay that he’d be an astronaut. He later learned that was very unrealistic, and space freaked him out so he wasn’t too bummed about it, he’d chosen it based off of the poster hanging above the chalkboard, so it was fine. But despite not knowing who he wanted to be then, he never expected that in his “ten years from now” he’d be working at a roller rink in California, making minimum wage helping little kids up off the ground when they fell.

That’s what he did for forty hours a week, every week, paying low rent only because Robin was generous enough to let him stay with her, insisting that one hundred dollars a month and help cleaning up was plenty to float the bill. He followed her to California thinking there’d be more for him there. More than just the Family Video that was getting ready to be converted into a Blockbuster Video by the time he got out.

But after job searching in the booming city proved to be unsuccessful, and learning that being picky was not a privilege he had, he settled on the run down roller rink on the outskirts of town where the red carpet on the walls was peeling off and there were dips in the skating floor that made Steve’s job as the designated savior to all the kids, and occasionally adults, who couldn’t hold a vertical position.

He wore the ridiculous referee style shirt with the black and white lines that almost made him look like he’d just escaped from prison, and he circled around the rink, over and over again, for hours on end while open skate was alive and amateurs were in desperate need for his assistance. It wasn’t all bad. Steve had no problem helping up the crying five year old girl who hit her knee hard enough that he could already see bruising, and escorting her off the rink and getting her ice and a bandage, he had no problem with the twelve year old boy who had at least one hand in contact with the wall at all times who was knocked over by some high school jerks.

He hated when the mother’s who came with their kids would purposely fall over with a snicker as soon as Steve switched in on the floor. Very dramatic with their execution, sure to always trip over some nonexistent hole in the floor when Steve was close by just so he’d reach out his hand and lift her from the ground, likely the most action she’d seen in a while. He hated being used like that, he despised when he would turn to leave and they’d gawk at his ass as he skated away, some very drunk and very brave women had even gone as far to steal themselves a squeeze.

When Steve first got the job, he figured it would just be the thing he did to get by before he found a real job. But after the tenth interview resulted in a call beginning with the line “we regret to inform you” he decided to invest in more than one black and white striped shirt. He was going on five years now and his hourly pay had only raised by a dollar in that time, only after taking up extra duties behind the concession stand and skate rental. He worked there long enough to know the regulars. He knew the kids that he needed to look out for, the ones with the wobbly knees that did less than skate and more so stomp around, the teens on rollerblades who were just begging to get themselves kicked out by going the wrong direction, and he definitely steered clear of the women who definitely hit the bar before their Friday night roller skating escapades. He also watched as little kids who fell over every thirty seconds who spent the bulk of their time sitting out and watching improve and grow into solid skaters who could go an entire night staying up on their feet without issue. He knew almost everyone by name, there were rarely ever newcomers, so when the little girl in her little white skates with purple laces rolled out onto the floor by herself, he was not only shocked to see a new face, but shocked at how a kid looking to be barely four was outskating kids ten years older than her. She wasn’t doing any flips or tricks or anything extravagant, but she was smooth with her movements, she was fast, and she had a balance that could compete with his own.

So Steve had to do some investigating. He exercised his privilege of being the only adult employee and sent the new seventeen year old out on the floor while he looked around the seating area for a second unfamiliar face.

Except he doesn’t find an unfamiliar face. Every face in the crowd of skaters in the rink and parents watching from the side is a face he’s seen before.

But one face stands out amongst the rest.

“Billy?”

It had to be him. His hair was short and he'd grown a short beard, but Steve knew that skull tattoo and those blue eyes anywhere.

“Steve?” Billy said back, looking at him in shock. Steve was just glad he was still recognizable.

“Hey man, what are you doing here?”

Billy just pointed out at the floor. “No other rinks in town would let her skate because she’s “too young” so we came here.” He said, and Steve’s eyes found the little girl with the white and purple skates and instantly saw the resemblance. With her blonde curly hair and blue eyes and freckled cheeks, she was the spitting image of Billy. “How long have you been in Cali?”

“Robin and I moved over in ‘86, she just graduated from UCLA.”

Billy looked at him quizzically. “Buckley? The two of you a thing?”

Steve couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I think her girlfriend would take issue with that.”

And Billy just matched his laughter. “You know what? That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“What about you? Wow you got a kid now! You got a wife too?”

Billy shook his head. “No, no. I love Bridgettes mom, but uh… we weren’t exactly compatible.”

“Well it looks like the two of you made one hell of a kid, that’s for sure.”

“We sure did.” Billy says as he looks out at the rink fondly, and Steve sees an entirely different person from the mullet wearing asshole who beat the living shit out of him once, the guy who had a lot more going on than people knew about, the guy who was in pain and never had an authentic smile. He saw into those deep blue eyes and was able to forget about the guy he was, because somehow after only minutes after crossing paths for the first time in five years, he was falling for him, for this new and happy Billy Hargrove.

And Steve says fuck it. He’s spent years having middle aged women literally fall for him, and it was time he took a page out of their book. He doesn’t go as far as to grab his ass, but he makes the bold move.

“Would you maybe want to go out for coffee sometime to like, catch up?”

Billy looks at Steve for a second too long and Steve instantly regrets it as Billy looks him up and down. He wants to take it all back right there but he watches Billy smile and silence his thoughts by saying “Sure. Meet here same time next Friday?”

And Steve doesn’t know what to do next. He’d avoided the dating scene entirely after one bad encounter with a guy he met in ‘87 and it was suffice to say he was out of practice. “Yeah! Great! It’s a uhh…” he paused, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

But fortunately, this version of Billy still had the same amount of game that he did when he was seventeen.

“Steve?” He says, catching Steve mid blush and breath caught in his throat. “It’s a date.”

[write-r-die]

Prisoner - Part 13

February, 1067

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Lady Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Masterlist

Thomasin was horribly ill in the morning due to the combination of her courses, sleeplessness, and anxiety. Etheldreda summoned Elaine without needing to be asked. 

“Are you often like this in the early days of your time?” Etheldreda asked when she was sure Thomasin was, for the moment, finished vomiting in a bucket.

“Not often, thank God,” Thomasin croaked. 

There was a knock at the door. A moment later, a very small Elaine came rushing in. 

“Mercia is with me,” Elaine said, following after her miniature. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The little girl looked very much like her mother. Her curly blonde hair was light but still a shade or two darker than Elaine’s straight, pale tresses.

Thomasin did mind but she wasn’t in a place to object.

Elaine removed her satchel and unpacked its contents: around a dozen small jars filled with herbs and flowers. She set a small cauldron of water over the hearth to heat while she muddled peppermint, ginger, and herbs Thomasin did not recognize into a goblet.

The child parked herself beside Thomasin’s bed. “This my doll,” the child said proudly. “Her name Batty.”

“She’s very pretty,” Thomasin said. “Did your mother make her for you?”

“No. It’s present.”

“A gesture of good will from the queen,” Elaine said from the hearth. “It used to belong to one of her daughters.”

“I make her dress. See?” She shoved the poppet straight into Thomasin’s face so she could get a good look at its wrapping. 

“Very pretty,” Thomasin said, carefully pushing it away. It had an odd smell to it. Lavender, Thomasin thought, and perhaps milfoil.

Elaine finished ladling hot water into the goblet of herbs and brought it to Thomasin. “You must wait a little before drinking this.”

“How long?”

“Until the water turns brown.”

Thomasin frowned. “Lovely.”

“You sick?” The child climbed onto the bed beside Thomasin. Thank God Etheldreda had already changed the bedding.

“A little.”

Mercia leaned forward like she was sharing a secret. “Is it lady sickness?”

“Mercia,” Elaine called. “Stop bothering Lady Thomasin. She has to drink her potion and prepare for the day.” She gestured at Thomasin to start drinking. 

The hot, murky water smelled and tasted considerably better than Thomasin had anticipated, but she would never admit that. She made a face as she drained the cup.

Mercia took the liberty of scooching closer to Thomasin and crossed her little legs. “You got castle?” Mercia asked.

Thomasin looked to Elaine, silently willing the woman to shut her daughter up, but she was back to meddling with her herbs by the fire. “Not anymore.”

“I not have castle,” Mercia said comfortingly. “You have horses?”

“My family had some, yes.” She was without a horse of her own since her mare’s death the year before.

“Not anymore?”

“Not anymore,” Thomasin confirmed.

“I not have horse. You got –”

“Etheldreda, I think perhaps I might bathe. Could you send for a tub? The hot water unknots my muscles.” Thomasin was planning a veritable monologue – as long as she was talking, the child was not – but Mercia had already lost interest in Thomasin.

She crouched beside her mother by the fireplace and plucked dried leaves and flowers from Elaine’s many jars which she then ate.

“A note, milady,” Etheldreda said. She handed the paper over to Thomasin. Thomasin tore it open, expecting something from Henry. It was not. “Are you still ill, Lady Thomasin?” Etheldreda asked.

“It’s from Lawrence,” Thomasin said. All three women fell silent; Mercia tugged at her mother’s hand in a soundless demand for protection and an explanation. “Perhaps I am still unwell.” Thomasin settled back into the pillows.

“What does it say?” Elaine asked.

“He would like to walk with me in the gardens.”

“In Heaven’s name, why?” asked Etheldreda.

“I’m supposed to marry him.”

Mercia wasn’t totally sure what was happening, but the toddler knew how to distract everyone from their problems. Something she heard from Henry and Simon when she caught them by surprise once.

 “Goddamn it!”

*

Thomasin shouldn’t be surprised that Lawrence expected to spend time with her, since they were, after all, engaged.

She supposed she should be pleased in some way. Or that she would be pleased if she were really going to marry him. He was handsome – or would be, if he weren’t directly compared to Henry. He was long-limbed and slim, a combination which made him look foxlike and sly. He was about Henry’s age, which put him somewhere in his early thirties, at least ten years older than Thomasin if not more.

It was a small age gap by most standards; most women wed by sixteen to men at least twice their age, often far more. Justina’s husband was nineteen or twenty years her senior.

As for Lawrence’s personality . . . 

Thomasin originally imagined Lawrence to be the sort of man who took joy in chaos and death. Instead, he was reportedly the sort not to find joy in anything at all. According to Elaine, he wasn’t the angry type either. Indeed, he seemed rather disinterested in general. 

The snow had started to melt, so Lawrence suggested a walk through the garden. They had no chaperone, but there were at least a dozen others walking along the paths. Etheldreda had altered Thomasin’s borrowed clothes so thankfully she didn’t get mud on the hem of her skirts.

The conversation was bland, to say the least, until Thomasin grew tired of being polite.

“I’ve heard the stories about you,” Thomasin finally said. “How you killed that baron’s wife and daughters. How you let your men rape the servants.”

Lawrence took a deep breath and shut his eyes, summoning his every ounce of patience. “My lady, that is what soldiers do in war. The reason most of these men came from Normandy in the first place was to enjoy the spoils of war. More often than not, those spoils are women.” He took another deep breath and went on walking. “I tell you truthfully, I’ve never had a girl against her will. That’s more than I can say for most of these other barons.”

“Indeed,” Thomasin said again.

“Does it surprise you to hear that most of the men here at court have raped defeated women?”

“No.” Thomasin wasn’t a fool, but she didn’t like thinking about that sort of thing. “But not all of them. Henry and his brothers haven’t. Roger hasn’t.”

Lawrence snorted. “Roger’s perversion sways him from women to men, and the Cavills are an anomaly.” 

Thomasin had no idea what the first part meant but she agreed with the second. 

“Henry cares for you deeply,” he said after a moment, tone perfectly conversational. “Tis a pity, that. His family are the most honorable men in Normandy if not the world, but I fear he’s a fool.”

“Why are we speaking of Henry?”

Lawrence stopped walking and raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Thomasin straightened up. “All right. What’s your point, then?”

“I’m sure the two of you will cook up some plot to overthrow me so that Henry can take my place as your intended. Frankly, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Thomasin made a face which she couldn’t hide. “Then why not just release me and let me marry him?” Her words dripped with judgment at his stupidity

“The king gave you to me, not him. He would be insulted if I gave you up for no reason. Besides, you are the sort that I want.”

“The sort,” she repeated. 

“You are beautiful, self-possessed, intelligent, strong. And you speak your mind, which i think saves a great deal of time.” He shrugged. “It’s a sound match.”

Had he just complimented her? The words were kind but his tone was so detached it felt more like an insult. 

Thomasin had the thought that maybe she should hold her tongue. Maybe she shouldn’t say what she wanted to. But she did “How sound was your last match?”

His ears went so red that Thomasin thought they might burst.

“There you are!” Elaine said, feigning relief. She conveniently appeared from a bend in the garden path. “I was looking for you.” She folded Thomasin’s arm into her own. “We must get you back to bed or I fear your promenade will be spoiled with sick. Do you mind terribly, Baron, if I take Lady Thomasin back to her chambers for some much-needed rest?”

“By all means,” he said - in a similarly sarcastic tone to the one Thomasin often used. “I’m due to visit your Saxon brethren in their dungeon anyway. I’ll be sure to give them your best.” He smiled and bowed. “Ladies.”

The women curtseyed and muttered farewells.

“Did you hear him?” Thomasin hissed when he was out of earshot. “He mentioned the Saxons.”

“I heard him,” Elaine said tersely. 

“Shouldn’t they have been executed by now?” asked Thomasin.

“One of the men told me that William is reluctant. They’re fine warriors, supposedly. The king would rather have their loyalty than their heads.”

Thomasin sighed. “Little chance of that.”

**

Henry was among the best warriors under William’s command. He was without a doubt a finer warrior than Lawrence, but he was still vulnerable because he adhered to a code of honor that Lawrence did not. Lawrence’s ruthlessness and detachment made him highly effective, though, and Henry would not make the mistake of underestimating him. 

There was a large stone courtyard between the castle itself and the wall William was building around it to make it into another bailey. Henry joined Roger, Charlie, and most of their men to train. Knights were expected to keep their skills sharp and were therefore expected to practice their skills, so it wasn’t strange for him to be there. No one suspected he was training for a duel, or if they did, they were quiet about it. 

Henry was barely out of the castle before a little voice called his name,

“Henry!” 

He turned around just in time to see Mercia, Elaine’s daughter, crash into his solid legs. He barely had time to maneuver so that she wouldn’t run smack into his scabbard.

“Ah, Mercia!” he said brightly, hoisting the girl into his arms. “You must be careful running. You could’ve gone straight into my sword and be chopped in half!”

“I careful,” she said. “I not cut in half. See?” She opened her arms as if to show him she was whole.

“And what about Batty?” Henry asked, nodding to the doll in her hand. “Is she as careful as you are?”

“Batty not a person, Henry. She not need be careful.”

“Ah, of course! That’s why she won’t talk to me!”

In fact, Batty didn’t interact with Henry because of an unfortunate incident in which Kal thought the poppet belonged to him and nearly tore it to shreds. Mercia had yet to forgive the dog. Her mother repaired the doll as best as she could, though it still bore the marks of its ordeal. Elaine was clever enough to replace some of the lost stuffing with the same herbs she used to treat people with similar wounds. It was Simon’s idea to add lavender to it to help the child relax.

“Where Simon?” Mercia asked.

Simon was Mercia’s dearest companion and she was his. He often referred to the girl as his own small angel, and sometimes asked her where her wings had gone.

Henry would’ve gladly been her playmate, ready for a footrace or a game at a moment’s notice, if his older brother had not asserted himself in that role. Simon’s special relationship with her daughter kindled Elaine’s affections for him until they mirrored his own admiration and tenderness for the healer. 

Simon, like Henry, longed for the joy and companionship of a wife and family, though his desire was even greater than his brother’s.

Charlie, too, wanted a family of his own, but he would not admit such a thing aloud. He could be prickly and cold to those he disliked while charming, funny, and kind to those he did. He often made up his mind about people quite quickly, and once his opinion was formed it was difficult to change. Such was the case with Thomasin.

“Simon is still in the north, at the castle I told you about,” Henry said to the little girl. “I know he would rather be here playing with you.”

“He coming back?” 

“Soon.”

She frowned. “I miss him. He my friend.”

“Am I not your friend, too?” Henry said with false sadness.

“Yeah, you my friend but you not best friend like Simon.”

Henry sighed theatrically. “I suppose I understand.” He looked around but there was no sign of Elaine, only a handful of serving women pinning wet clothes on a line. “Where’s your mother?”

“She with Lady Thomasin.”

Henry broke into a smile at the sound of her name. He always did. “You’ve met Tom?”

The child frowned again. “Who Tom?”

“It’s a name I call Thomasin.”

“Tom is name for boys. Thomasin not a boy,” she explained patiently.

“Of course, of course. Please forgive me.”

“I forgive,” she said, patting his shoulder.

Henry chuckled. “Is your mother friends with Tom? Thomasin,” he corrected.

“Yeah but they not play today. Thomasin not feel good.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Mercia motioned for Henry to bring his ear closer so she could whisper to him. “Lady sickness.” She pulled away. “Mama say not to talk about it cause it a secret. Cannot tell!”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Henry promised. He was quietly relieved to hear it was nothing serious, but he frowned over it. Was she really sick, he wondered, or had her engagement to Lawrence prompted her to withdraw from court life?

“Thomasin pretty,” Mercia said.

“Very pretty,” Henry agreed.

“I like her hair.” The little girl started wiggling, a silent signal for Henry to set her down. “She sad though cause she gotta marry Lawrence. Lawrence really scary. And it a bad thing so I say, ‘Goddamn it!’” She shouted the curse; a female servant nearby looked shocked and horrified at the sound.

“Shh!” Henry said, putting his finger to his lips. “Who said that in front of you? Where did you hear it?”

“You say it. When Kal sneaked up on you and barked. You jump and you say, ‘Goddamn it!’”

“Shh!” Henry said again. “You mustn’t say that.”

“Cause why?”

Henry didn’t have a good reason handy. “Ask Simon when he gets back.”

“Why you not tell me?” she asked, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

“Because I’m not your best friend.”

Henry went for two rounds with Roger, winning both. He then sparred with his squire, since it was his responsibility to train the boy, but he lacked the patience for it today. “Practice your footwork before next time, Jamie. It’s too easy to knock you on your arse.”

“We have an audience,” Roger murmured, nodding to a small, barred window at the base of the castle that looked in on the dungeon. A red-bearded face was just visible through the iron grate. One of the Saxon prisoners, no doubt.

“Can I be of service, sir?” Roger called out. He was courteous by nature, but he became excessively so when speaking to a handsome man – even if that man was in chains.

“Are you preparing for a fight?” the man asked. 

Henry opened his mouth to tell the Saxon that it was none of his business, but Roger answered instead. “Aye.”

“What are you fighting over?”

“What do you care?” Henry said. The Saxon shrugged. “A woman,” Henry finally said.

The Saxon didn’t approve. “One woman is just as good as another. It is no great tragedy to lose one to another man. Certainly not worth dying over.”

Henry though the Saxon must not have known many women in his life if he thought they were all interchangeable. But fair number of men, Saxon and Norman alike, shared his sentiment: So long as she ran the household and gave birth to sons, a woman was a woman, and her personality was of little consequence.

“I disagree,” said Henry. 

“Then she must be the kindest, most loving woman in all of Christendom if you’re willing to die for her,” the Saxon remarked.

Roger smirked. He spoke low enough that only Henry could hear when he said, “She most certainly is not.” Henry shot him a look which he pretended not to say. “What’s your name, Saxon?”

The Saxon sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes in thought but did not reply.

“I’m Baron Roger,” Roger said. “This is Henry, my brother-by-law. And you are?” he prompted when the Saxon didn’t respond.

The Saxon replied, “Cerdic.”

**

One of the squires came around with a note from Henry when Thomasin was readying for dinner. It told Thomasin to come to the servant’s corridor at once. She hurried to finish preparing and went straight to the meeting spot.

“Henry?” she whispered, tiptoeing through the silent hall.

“No.”

Thomasin’s hand flew to her chest in surprise; her fist closed around Henry’s ring. “Charlie,” she gasped. She took a deep breath. “You nearly frightened the life out of me.”

Charlie did not look even the least bit contrite. In fact, he looked murderous. “You can’t let Henry get himself killed for you.”

Straight into arguing, then, Thomasin thought. A gentleman of Charlie’s pedigree ought to feign civility before starting trouble, at least in the beginning of the conversation.

“Do you think I want that? That I’m happy to have Henry risk his life?” Thomasin snapped. “Do you think I haven’t tried to reason with him?”

“You must try harder.”

“I must do nothing of the sort.” Thomasin agreed with his sentiment, but the way he spoke to her made her see red. “You try to reason with him! You’re his brother.”

“I have tried,” he growled, each word as sharp as a razor. “He’s determined to kill himself for you.”

Thomasin was ready to murder Charlie. It was a long time coming. “It’s not my fault that Henry fell in love with me,” she snapped. And that was true, wasn’t it? She hadn’t encouraged his affection, at least not at first. Had she? “I can’t control what he does. Go on hating me if you like, but it won’t change anything for anyone.”

“There’s another way.” Charlie swallowed his discomfort. “If you invite him to share your–”

Thomasin shook her head. “I’ve tried that,” she said, blushing all the way to her hairline. “He won’t. He’s too damn honorable for it.”

“Well you don’t need him to now if it’s already been done,” said Charlie.

“I don’t follow.”

Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I know about that night at the pond, just before you were injured.”

She shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he knew; they hadn’t exactly been subtle. But Charlie assumed too much. 

Thomasin took a deep breath and ignored the feeling of blood rushing into her cheeks. “Henry and I didn’t . . .”

Charlie shut his eyes and tried to be delicate. “Madam, you were unclothed –”

“He didn’t bed me,” Thomasin said strongly. A moment later, she added, “Not quite.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell the king you are not virtuous; you’ll be released from your betrothal without getting my brother slaughtered.”

Thomasin exhaled through her nose. “I’ve considered this course of action,” she confessed. “But it seems unwise to lie to the king, especially for a Saxon. Besides, Lawrence might demand proof. They’ll know I’m lying if they examine me.”

Charlie believed his brother was too fine a man to take advantage of Thomasin, but he was a bit surprised that she was a virgin – or claimed to be, at least. She didn’t possess many virtues that he was aware of, and he hadn’t expected chastity to be one of them.

“It won’t come to that. Some of the men will attest to what they saw that night in the camp.”

Some of the men? Good Lord, how many of them had seen her and Henry together? The fact that any man had seen them meant the whole group knew what happened; gossip spread through camps like wildfire through a dry forest.

Good. Wonderful. Now she was a shrew and a whore.

Charlie was calmer now but his gaze stayed sharp. “My brother loves you. He says it and shows it all the time.”

Thomasin’s throat tightened. “I know.” There was never a doubt in her mind about it. She had the love of a good man. Not many women could say that.

“Yet I’ve never heard you say you love him. I’ve never seen you show it,” he continued. “I won’t let him die for a woman who doesn’t love him back.”

He was right.

She didn’t love him. She couldn’t.

It would betray the promise she made the night her father died never to forgive the invaders that stole her life away. That promise and the anger and pain beneath it were all Thomasin had left of her old self. She doubted she’d ever see any of her siblings again, or her home. That promise was her quiet rebellion against a change she could not fight.

She was allowed to feel tenderness for him, even affection, but she could not love him.

“You don’t know a damned thing about what I feel,” she snarled. She could hardly contain her fury; her whole body shook with the urge to lash out at Charlie and the difficulty of controlling it.

“Perhaps I don’t,” Charlie said. “But don’t allow a good man get killed for nothing.”

Thomasin’s throat was suddenly dry and tight and sore. “I won’t.”

[n7punk]

I will not lie when I first started following you I thought you were like mid/late thirties because your writing was Really Good but over time finding out that you were younger and more around my age has been real interesting lol. In regards to the Anon, always weird when people don’t realize fandom is a shared space especially for She-Ra a show where characters aren’t even minors. Anyways as always love your work <3

aw ty! yeah, like i said, most fandom creators tend to skew older because it takes time to master your art! i just happened to start writing really young. its like when people compare their own art to that of a "talented" 18 year old, but that 18 year old has been drawing for 8 years and they've only been drawing for 2. you're never too old to develop a skill, it just takes time to do it!

i really didn't want to ever say stuff related to my age specifically because of shit like this, and because i know very well that age isn't necessarily an indicator of knowledge or maturity. ive met plenty of people older than me who haven't experienced as much as i have, but i've also met some people who were younger and have experienced more. i still don't want to talk about my age because of stupid wank like this, but i felt like i had to bring it up to point out how laughable this "accusation" is.

it is very chronically online behavior. it's just being needlessly hostile to people and attacking them for no reason. i assume they think they're calling out "predatory" behavior (never mind the double standard of calling out the slightest gap between two lesbians when men, regardless of their own age and all the way until they die, have been found to find women in their early 20s the most attractive in surveys while the ages that women find most attractive increase alongside their own age), but they aren't defending anyone and no one benefits from it because there's no actual problem. they aren't even getting Fake Clout for this since they're a) calling out non-issues and b) they're doing it on anon. adora isn't real, nor a minor, nor even really younger than me, and my behaviour towards her (TAGGING A FANART AS 'MA'AM') isnt a problem or hurting anyone.