#and i know at this point my gpa is solid enough to take it but

[eggsistential-basket]

guys i've let my ego get wrapped up in my gpa again but even worse than high school this time

[loganjameshowlett]

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

01: AND YOU MAY ASK YOURSELF (WELL, HOW DID I GET HERE?)

pairing: peter parker/mutant!reader summary: you tutor peter parker. you dodge a robbery. you get run over and are somehow unhurt. all in a day's work, i guess. word count: 4.1k+

series masterlist | next installment

You were beginning to regret promising your tutoring services to Professor Sorensen. 

The early morning sky was pink outside the library’s picture windows, and you stared wistfully as you spread your things out across one of the empty tables, wishing that you were still in bed. But Sorensen was maybe your favorite professor ever, and when she stopped you after class last week and asked you to tutor for the general education English classes in exchange for a meager pay and some extra points on your final essay, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no. 

You couldn’t imagine, though, what kind of linguistically-inept STEM major would be desperate enough for tutoring to schedule an appointment with you at eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. You kind of wanted to beat them over the head with your laptop. Instead, you took a searing gulp of your coffee and opened your current required reading for Sorensen’s class. If you were going to be up this early, you might as well make some use of the time beyond tutoring. 

“Excuse me,” a voice calling your name cut through the otherwise silent main reading room of the library a few minutes later, and you looked up to find a tall boy with messy brown hair standing at the other side of your table. He had a frayed backpack slung over one shoulder, and a look of exhaustion in his brown eyes that was very familiar to you. “Am I in the right place for Professor Sorensen’s English tutoring?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, shutting your book and briefly glancing down at the email from Sorensen open on your laptop to catch his name. “Peter Parker?” 

“That’s me,” he nodded, offering a small smile as he slid into the chair to the right of you. 

“So, you’re taking Beginnings of American Lit with Professor Liu, right?” you asked, checking the email once more. 

“Yeah. She’s kind of a tough grader, and if I don’t score an A on my next essay it’ll fuck with my GPA,” Peter explained, glancing over at you sheepishly as he dug through his bag, eventually producing a thin stack of rumpled papers. “I was hoping we could edit this one together? Maybe you’ll be able to explain what she’s looking for, ‘cause I really don’t know.” 

“Yeah, Liu is… particular, but not impossible,” you told him, reaching forward to slide the essay toward you. “Luckily, I’ve taken her twice, so I think I’ll be able to help.”

“Oh, thank god. I was starting to feel hopeless,” Peter said, and you couldn’t help but snort at the complete earnestness in his voice.  

“So, I take it you’re not a humanities major,” you observe, and Peter laughs, shaking his head. 

“Definitely not. I’m a chemistry major, actually. Science has always come easily to me, but writing not so much. S’why I put off taking my literature requirement until Junior year.”

“That’s what I did with my lab science requirement,” you said. “And now I’m struggling through a biology lab that might actually kill my GPA. Okay, so, your intro paragraph looks pretty good. Thesis is solid. I think your trouble is probably in the body– Liu is a real stickler for thorough analysis of quotes and citations. And by thorough, I mean extensive to the point of near-redundancy.” 

“Alright, I already know I’m gonna have to beef up the middle, in that case,” Peter sighed, taking the first page of his essay to look over the few line edits you had penned in with red ink. “Hey, about your biology lab. I can help, if you want. As a thank you for helping me with Liu’s class.” 

“Yeah? That’d be a lifesaver, honestly,” you said, raising your brow at him. “I don’t really know anyone in the department to help me find a reliable tutor. Not that I know you’re a reliable tutor. You could be a really shitty chemist, for all I know.” 

Peter let out a theatrical gasp, bringing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very good chemist. And, lucky for you, a perfectly average biologist. Good enough to get you to pass that lab with an A, I bet.” 

“Well, then, I’m gonna hold you to that, Mr. Parker.” 

“Just Peter’s fine. Mr. Parker makes me sound geriatric.” 

“Okay, Peter,” you hum. “Look, this quote you have at the top of this paragraph? It’ll be really easy to beef up your analysis if you introduce how it speaks on gender roles in American culture at the time. In fact, you could probably get a whole extra paragraph out of it, if you provide enough context.” 

“Would you mind writing that in the margin? I’ll forget otherwise,” Peter asked and you complied, writing the potential edit in small, neat letters next to the paragraph. “If you’re free Friday afternoon, we could go through some of your biology work.” 

“I actually am free then,” you said, eyes roaming over the last paragraph of his essay. You scribbled a few notes and line edits in, before stacking the pages neatly and sliding them back towards Peter. “Tell you what, you make the edits we talked about today, and we can go over the next version of your essay then, too, yeah? Make sure it’s up to Professor Liu’s standard?” 

“You’re an angel,” Peter said, glancing up from where he was absorbing your edits to shoot you a grin. “Hey, sorry to be so abrupt, but I gotta run. How does same spot, two o’clock on Friday sound?” 

“Works for me. Thanks for volunteering to help, Parker.” 

“ ‘Course. We should exchange numbers, in case anything comes up. I never check my email,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He passed it along to you, the contacts page opened, and you entered your information, sending a text to yourself so you had his information in return. 

“See you Friday,” you smiled, handing the phone back to him. 

“Friday,” Peter confirmed, taking a few backward steps away from the table before turning around. He glanced over his shoulder once more, waving, before he disappeared into the hall. 

***

“God, this shift couldn’t be any fuckin’ slower,” Mickey groaned, dropping her head against the bodega’s countertop. Her red curls fanned all around her head, dripping over the edge of the counter. 

“Closing shift is always slow, Mick,” you reminded her, leaning against the wall with your arms folded over your chest. The thick of the after work rush had been over for about an hour, leaving the bodega deserted, aside from the two of you and Gary, the ancient orange bodega cat. 

“Dontcha ever just wish somethin’ interesting would happen around here?” she asked, picking her head up in order to blow a big pink bubble from her lips. 

“Interesting things happen in this city every day,” you countered. “Spider-Man fights some new fuckin’ loser every week, man, and that’s just him. Daredevil broke Mrs. Llewellyn’s kitchen window, like, four days ago.” 

“That shit’s not interesting anymore; you said it yourself, it happens every day,” Mickey said, stepping around the counter to pretend to organize the shelves. “Tell you what’d be interesting: if we found out who Daredevil or Spider-Man or any of the others are beneath the mask. And if not that, I’d settle for Daredevil crashing through my bedroom window tonight. That man is fine.” 

“How would you know? Nobody’s ever seen his face.” 

“He’s built, baby. That’s how I know,” Mickey scoffed. 

You shrugged. “I’d rather the cape types stay away from my bedroom window. Or my general vicinity. I’ve got enough going on between class and this job and tutoring without getting involved in one of their situations.” 

“Oh come on, you’re telling me the thought of some sexy superhero literally crashing into your life isn’t appealing at all?” 

“No, dude. I don’t want the drama. Or, I’m sorry, the adventure,” you doubled down. “You can have it.” 

“Amen,” Mickey nodded. “I hope Daredevil heard you say that somehow.” 

Before you could respond, the mostly quiet night was cut through with the sound of police sirens, loud and close and then fading slightly as they passed down the street. 

“Wonder what’s going on,” you murmured, craning your neck to follow the red and blue lights down the block. 

“Whatever it is, I hope a man in tights responds to it.”

“God, Mickey, you are incorrigible,” you groaned, turning away from the window and grasping the handle of the broom, looking for something to do. 

“Don’t use your fancy English major words on me, woman.” 

“Incorrigible is not a fancy–” you started, but were cut off by your phone ringing in your pocket, the specific song you assigned to Mr. Browne, your boss. 

“Hey, bossman, what’s up?” you asked, answering. Concern laced your voice; it wasn’t like Mr. Browne to call during closing shift. He trusted you and Mickey not to burn the place down, and his watching reruns of Jeopardy! time was basically sacred. 

“Honey, listen,” his gruff voice filtered through the speaker. “I want you and Mickey to close up and go on home now.” 

“What? Why? There’s still an hour until closing,” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

“I just saw on the news that there’s a robbery going down in the neighborhood, and I don’t need you girls getting caught up in any danger, okay?”

“Oh, guess that explains the police cars,” you said, more to yourself than to him. 

“You see? Lock up and get out of there,” he said, his voice firmer. “And no dilly-dallying, you hear? I got a bad feeling.” 

“Okay, Mr. Browne, you got it. We’ll close up now and go straight home,” you promised. 

“Good. Just feed Gary before you go.” 

“Will do. G’night, bossman,” you said, before hanging up the phone. 

“What’s that all about?” Mickey asked, brushing a piece of her wild hair away from her face. 

“Apparently those police cars that went by are responding to a robbery in the neighborhood,” you informed her. “Mr. Browne wants us to lock up and go home now before we get caught up in any of the trouble.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Mickey grinned. “You get the keys, I’ll feed Gar.” You did as she said, retrieving the keys, your jacket, and your bag from behind the counter. Already, you were lost in thoughts of going home and crashing immediately in bed. You had been out and about for over twelve hours that day already, and you were practically asleep on your feet. You had half a mind to walk down the block and thank the robbers for cutting your shift short. 

A minute later, the two of you were standing out on the sidewalk. You could hear shouts and the sirens as more police responded to the scene, even the drone of a news copter overhead. The robbery must be closer than you expected, and maybe a bigger problem than you were assuming, too. There was a bank two blocks down and one over; you wondered if it was all going down over there. 

“Alright, text me the minute you get home,” Mickey said sternly. 

“You, too,” you responded. The two of you lived in opposite directions, so you wouldn’t have the comfort of each other’s company on the walk home. 

“We’ll be fine,” Mickey responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I bet the neighborhood is safer than usual– bet nobody else will try shit with the place crawling with so many cops. But still text me when you get home, got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pulled you into a quick, tight hug before waving and heading down the block towards home. You turned in the opposite direction, back towards your apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. The night was cool for the beginning of October, and you pulled your flimsy zip-up tighter around your middle, hiding your hands deep in the pockets. Your head swam with all the things you needed to do for the week, wondering if you should get a jump on some of it with your newfound hour of free time, or actually give yourself a rest for once. You were leaning toward the former; if you hurried, you could probably finish the reading you started at the library before Peter showed up, and the corresponding question set. 

With that thought in mind, you cut through a nearby alley, shaving off a block from your walk. You wouldn’t normally, but you had a feeling that Mickey was right, the high concentration of cops in the area would deter any other criminals. Probably you’d be fine. You stuffed your earbuds in your ears and pressed play on whatever had last been going, lost in thought as you tried to plan the rest of your week around class and work shifts and your new tutoring session with Peter. 

As you cut through a second alley, bringing you just half a block from home, chin tucked in and head down against the wind, you didn’t hear the squeal of tires as they turned around a corner and sped down the street you were just on. You didn’t hear as they abruptly turned into the alley, doors scraping against a dumpster. The hair-raising screech of metal on metal finally cut through your music, and you turned around just in time to find a large, black SUV barrelling straight towards you. 

There was nowhere to go. The alley was hardly wider than the car itself, and fear or shock or some horrible mix of both at the sight of it coming toward you had rooted you to one spot on the wet asphalt. 

Fuck. I am about to die, you thought as you stared down the headlights, so bright you couldn’t see whoever was driving the thing. 

The next ten seconds– because, really, it couldn’t have been any longer than that– occurred in a blur. The impact, your body on the wet ground. Front right tire crushing over your torso, the back tire following half a second later. Vaguely, with the small part of your brain where synapses still seemed to be firing, you knew there must be immeasurable pain, but all you felt was cold and static. There were too many things happening at once, too many pains and thoughts all garbled together that you couldn’t feel or register any of it. 

You laid there, staring up at the dark, gusty sky, expecting death to collect you at any moment. When, after several minutes of slow blinking and shallow breathing, you were still alive, you figured you might have experienced a miracle. Maybe the tires had passed over you in just the right way to preserve your life? Not that you thought such a thing was possible. Getting crushed by a speeding SUV felt like a very final kind of thing. 

Slowly, your senses started coming back to you. Hearing first, as you registered sirens rushing past at the mouth of the alley. You grimaced, tensing as you waited for them to also cut down the alley and actually kill you this time, but they passed by without incident. The pain started next: a horrible, dull ache across your ribs and a sharper, prickling kind of hurt along your shoulder blades, but nothing like you thought you should have been experiencing. You were worried that it was still all a trick of the mind, that you’d muster up the courage to lift your head and look down to take stock of the damage and find your torso resembling roadkill more than anything human. But you couldn’t lay there forever, you reasoned, and so went to work testing appendages to see if they were in order. 

You wiggled your fingers and toes first, surprised, frankly, that you were able to do so. If you could wiggle your toes, everything below your ribs must still be connected to everything above your ribs. Good sign. You bent your arms at the elbow next, which reignited the flame of pain in your shoulder blades, but they moved fine otherwise. Bent your knees, turned your head from side to side. You were… okay, you concluded. Physically not dying in a dirty alley, at least. 

A jolt of effort, and you sat up all the way, despite the protest of pain across your ribs and shoulder blades. Looking down, you took stock of the dark tire track running across the front of your sweater, but more importantly, the very uncrushed nature of your ribs and internal organs. 

“How the fuck,” you muttered to yourself, brushing your hands tentatively down your front. The contact of your palms against your middle was like irritating a nasty bruise, but that was it. That was… impossible, you were pretty sure. Maybe you could gaslight yourself into believing it was if it had been some tiny, dinghy little car that had run you over, but it was a fucking monstrous SUV. 

Blinking, you reached back toward the wall behind you and used it to hoist yourself up onto your feet. A terrible panic was creeping up on you now, and you preferred to deal with that in the privacy of your bedroom, not on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. As you turned to stumble your way out of the alley, you noticed something else: the pavement beneath where you had fallen was crushed in a peculiar shape, almost like wings and six feet across. 

“What the fuck,” you said, louder this time. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. This situation was getting stranger by the second, and you were pretty sure you were about to experience a mental break, if you weren’t already. 

Maybe I actually am dead, and none of this is happening right now, you mused as the alley spat you back out on the street. Your feet headed in the direction of your apartment on their own accord, your mind caught up in bright headlights and wing shapes stamped into asphalt. A horrible headache was building behind your eyes, and all you wanted was to get to the safety of your own home, dead or not. 

The walk seemed to take an eternity in your dazed state, but eventually the familiar redbrick corner building that had been your home for the last two years loomed in front of you. You fumbled in your jacket pocket for your key, gripping it in your shaky fist as you punched in the key code to the front door. Up four flights of stairs, a fight with the apartment door as the lock rejected your key like always. You went through the motions in a dream state, so many thoughts tumbling through your head, but none of them sticking. Before opening the door, you shucked off your sweater and balled it up in your arms, in case either of your roommates were up and about. You really had no idea how you’d be able to explain the tire tracks across the front. 

Inside, the lights were dim and a Bob’s Burgers rerun was playing at low-volume on the little television. An electric blue pixie cut shot up over the back of the couch at the sound of the opening door. 

“You’re home early,” your cousin, Winona, called to you. “What’s the deal?” 

“Uh…robbery. Down the block. Mr. Browne wanted us to leave early to be, um, safe,” you stammered out, toeing your shoes off at the door. Each subtle movement sent more pain lancing through your ribs, and you struggled to keep a straight, unbothered face. 

Winona wasn’t convinced. After living together for two years and knowing you since birth, she was familiar with all of your little idiosyncrasies. She could tell when you were just a little irritated, so of course she could tell when you… well, when whatever the fuck just happened, happened to you. Her thick, dark brows drew in until they met at the center, brown eyes narrowing as she scrutinized you. 

“What’s going on with you?” Your cousin was not one to beat around the bush. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, skirting around the question.

“Somethin’s wrong with our girl?” a sleepy voice called from the other end of the couch. A second later, Odie’s head of wild brown waves popped up over the back of the couch. Winona’s best friend since grade school and your other roommate, she was extremely protective over you. Always had been, since she met you when you started freshman year at Midtown High and she and Winona were seniors. 

“There’s nothing wrong,” you huffed. Even that extra expansion of your lungs caused the pain to flare. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

Winona frowned at you, clearly disbelieving. “I made lasagna earlier. You hungry?” 

“Ate a bunch of junk at work with Mick. But I’ll bring some with me for lunch tomorrow,” you promised, and wrenched open your bedroom door and disappeared behind it before either of them could question you further. You pressed yourself against the door once it was closed, then jumped away quickly as the action sent an explosion of pain through your shoulder blades. You’d forgotten about it that fast. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, closing your eyes against the burning of tears suddenly threatening to come. “Oh, god. What the fuck. What the fuck.” 

What was even the next move? You couldn’t very well go out there and tell Winona you’d been crushed by an SUV earlier in the night. Nothing about your current state would corroborate the claim, why would she, or anyone else, believe you? And honestly, that was the least of your worries. More pressing issues: why weren’t you crushed by the SUV? Why weren’t you fucking dead? What was up with the weird, wing-shaped damage in the street below you? What had actually happened in that alley?

Something was deeply, deeply not right. You could feel the wrongness of it all buzzing through every inch of your body. You knew that the feeling would overwhelm you if you let it, and you were dangerously close to just sinking to the floor and letting it take you. 

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Opening your eyes, you fished it out and brought the too-bright screen to your eyes. 

Make it home okay? The text from Mickey read. 

No, you wanted to say. Got hit by a fucking car but somehow I think that might be the least of my problems. I think something’s really wrong. 

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but of course you didn’t type it. You shot off a text confirming that you did– because really, you supposed, you did get home okay in some sense of the word– and asked if she did, too. 

After Mickey texted back that she did get home safe, you set about the task of peeling off your uniform. Every movement hurt like a bitch, and you reminded yourself every five seconds that you should be grateful for the pain. You didn’t even have a single broken bone. You weren’t dead. You could handle some aches and bruising. 

You worked your jeans off first, then your shirt and bra, heaping them in the corner of your room and plucking a random t-shirt and pajama shorts out of your drawer. Before pulling on the t-shirt, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror tucked in the corner. As you suspected, a thick line of bruises was already purpling along your ribs, the width of a car tire. You sighed, turning to see how far they stretched on either side and paused when your back came into view. 

Two thick lines of what looked like red, irritated scar tissue traced along the lines of your shoulder blades. It looked as though someone had surgically cut them open, and recently. You brought a hand to your mouth, suppressing the gasp threatening to worm its way out. You felt like all the crap you ate at work was about to make a reappearance. 

Those certainly hadn’t been there this morning. You would know: you stood naked in front of this very mirror after your shower, sleepily trying to pick out your outfit. The skin of your back had been smooth, unscarred. Obviously. You would have remembered if you had gone through something that would have resulted in scars like this. 

“Okay, no,” you muttered, throwing the t-shirt over your head as quickly as possible in your bruised, hurting state. This was all too much to deal with in one night, you decided suddenly. You were tired and hurting and you had a busy fucking day tomorrow, damn it. 

You pulled your blankets back and turned off the light, climbing gingerly into bed. Maybe if you were lucky, you would wake up in the morning to all of this having been some wild fucking nightmare. Not that you were ever that lucky.

[fastlikealambo]

C+|| Professor!Eddie Munson x Black!Fem Reader

Summary: After receiving a less than stellar grade on assignment, you receive a request to attend Professor Munson’s office hours. Stuck in a cozy office with your extremely hot professor, your anxiety takes hold and office hours take an unexpected turn.

Triggers: Panic attacks,  Mental Health

Minors, please dni.

Let’s chat during my office hours this week!

You thought about throwing that little post-it stuck to your failure of an essay on the romantic poets right into the garbage and pretending you never got it. Class was hard enough, the material was engaging, you were learning so much yet at the same time, you weren’t paying any fucking attention at all. 

Those salt and pepper curls, the way he chewed on his glasses, that weird little dance he did when someone made an interesting point or gave a correct answer.

That smile....

No, absolutely not.

You had a master’s degree.

You had a perfect GPA.

You qualified to be a Rhodes Scholar.

In kindergarten, your teacher said you were a pleasure to have in class.

You were pristine.

And now you were pristinely sweating in front of your professor’s office, desperately trying to ignore that prickling feeling in the back of your neck. You knocked firmly yet politely, about a few seconds from turning and running away when music from the other side of the door turned off and it was now or never.

The door swung open and there he was, tweed blazer gone, crisp white shirt a little more open than usual, sleeve rolled up to the elbow displaying tattoos you didn’t expect a professor of poetry to have. 

“Come in, I’m so glad you had time to come today!” He said brightly, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses to the top of his head, flattening himself against the door so you could pass.  

A faint whiff of cigarettes and some sort of earthy cologne had you melt but you straightened up immediately, pulling out your paper and notebook. He takes the chair opposite you, legs crossed, reaching for his own notes.

“So, how do you feel about this paper? Let’s start there.” He said brightly. 

The prickling on the back of your neck starts to become a buzzing and it feels like your whole head is vibrating but you ignore it.

“I felt pretty solid about it.I gave thoroughly checked research, provided more than necessary sources to support every claim about Keats’ work I presented, there were no grammar errors, and I ran it through six different plagiarism checkers. The word length is exactly as you required so I’m not sure I understand what I did wrong.” You said, honestly. 

He gently took the paper from your hands to inspect his own writing, your hands starting to shake as he went through each red marked page.

What else could those fingers do, you wondered.

“Your research was impeccable, your grammar and analysis were great, and there are exactly 5,000 words. However, as this was an opinion and analysis assignment, your opinion on the poem itself seems to be missing. You did an amazing analysis but that was only half the assignment and that’s why you received a low grade.”

“I don’t understand.” You said quietly, your hands started to shake and your chest felt really tight all of the sudden. His voice faded into static in your ears and you were really struggling to stay focused.

“I want to know how Keats' work made you feel as well as how the work has been regarded over time. You’re a person, not a research archive. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He asked, leaning in to meet your gaze.

“I read the instructions fifteen times, I analyzed the poem, I gave opinions, strong opinions.” You choked out.

“Other people’s opinions, dead old guy opinions, I wanted yours.” He said, leaning back in his chair.

Failure.

All that work, all that money, two degrees down and you were still just a failure.

“I did a full assignment, I didn’t do half the assignment, I would never do half the work required.” You muttered, trying to take a breath that wasn’t coming. 

 Eddie leaned forward, confused, studying your face before his own face softened with concern as he said your name, once, then again with no response from you.

“Can you hear me, sweetheart? Are you alright?”

You couldn’t breathe.

Okay, five things you could see.

Dirty carpet, empty coffee cup, worn books, your professor’s big brown eyes, oh fuck this was happening in front of an audience.

Another failure.

“Look at me, you’re okay, everything is okay. Fuck the paper, I’ll give you an A if you just take a breath, please breathe!” Professor Munson said, somehow looking worse than you felt. 

You tried to take a big breath but nothing but a rasping noise came out and the office was starting to get very blurry very quickly.  Eddie crouched down in front of you, hesitant.

“Can I touch you, is that okay?” He asked, voice soft and quiet as to not to scare you even more than you already were.

Please do.

How the fuck were you anxious and horny? One of those should cancel the other out.

You managed to nod and Eddie covered your hands with his own, squeezing gently. 

“ You’re okay, nothing in this room or in your head can hurt you, I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay? A nice deep breath, we’ve got all the time in the world.” He said slowly, taking a big breath and you mimicked him,allowing yourself to inhale deeply.

“Good job, sweetheart. Let’s try again, shall we?” He asked, thumb rubbing against your knuckles as you breathe together an additional time. It takes a few minutes before your breathing goes back to normal but he doesn’t let you go.

“There she is, welcome back, sweet girl.” He said with a soft smile, his hand reaching up to stroke your cheek and you put your hand over his time, closing your eyes. You both relaxed into each other’s embrace in the quiet of his office, breathing and being as one.

“I should let you go now.” He said, leaning back first with an awkward cough, looking anywhere but your face, running a hand through his hair.

“But-” You started.

Eddie looked back at you, eyes dark.

“But what?”

You brought your face close to his, not breaking eye contact.

“But what if I don’t want you to?”

Hope you liked this!

[notesbyash]

Congrats on getting into your dream phd program!!! Would you mind sharing a little bit about what you mean by cold emailiing working? I'm going to have to start applying to phd programs next year and I'm feeling nervous about it and would love to hear how you did it. Thank you!!!

So. (this is a long rambly post, beware)

PhD applications and programs are unique from undergraduate applications (and most Masters programs) in that it's more of an apprenticeship application than anything. There are certain programs where you're admitted to the program as a whole but in my experience these are relatively rare.

The way that I conceptualized PhD applications, and the way that I was suggested to conceptualize them by my mentors, was to approach it as applying to work with a particular faculty member/lab. From an institutional perspective, think of it as a hiring process. Faculty members write grants to get money to fund some project, then the pick from a pool of PhD applications to find someone that they think will best fit the bill and be able to produce research. This is why it's helpful to not only have a solid GPA (something I didn't have) but also to have prior research experience and publications under your belt (I have research experience but no publications which. f). You're trying to boost the case that if you're handed money, you will be able to make "good use" of it.

So in review - faculty are looking for someone who has an academic or industry background that matches their research intent, has the qualifications to be trusted with a long-term project and displays a level of dedication to not dropping out when the going gets hard. Seems straightfoward enough.

Now comes the networking. See, research lab websites are notorious for not being updated. Faculty profiles are notorious for not being updated. It is incredibly difficult from an outside perspective to even know if a faculty member has the funds or space in their lab to take on a new student. If you've applied to a program but there's no faculty member who has the funds or availability to take you on, you're out of luck before you're even measured against the other candidates.

The fastest way to save time (and money because jfc these apps aren't cheap) is to straight up cold email the faculty member or lab you want to work with and ask if they're taking students. Include a little bit about yourself, your background and why you're emailing them. Talk about how your interest matches theirs. Reference a paper or two they wrote recently. Not everyone cold emails faculty, so this is a great way to stand out and get them to see you as an individual, not just an application number. From there, you'll get a response. Sometimes the lab/faculty won't have the funds to take on a new student in which case you've saved yourself time and money. Sometimes they do have funds and will want to know more about you or see some work. These conversations don't always have to be long, but it allows you to get an idea of the faculty member, the lab, and/or the program culture. It gets your foot in the door and a chance to see what the next 4+ years of your life might be.

The core of this is that when you apply to a PhD program, you apply to do research. You should be going into a PhD program with, basically, an idea of what you want to do with your life (academically speaking) and how you want to contribute to the field (I was asked point blank what I wanted my contribution to the field of aerospace to be when I died at the end of my career). You find a faculty member or lab that you want to work with because that allows you to fulfill your own dream research, because the work that they are doing is work that you want to contribute to and that you believe in.

Cold emailing faculty members allows you a chance to directly communicate with the people you want to work with and tell them that this is where you really want to be, that you have a clear goal and that you're dedicated to your craft.

(And it means that sometimes, you happen to be exactly the person they are looking for.)

[stardustedknuckles]

Guys school is so much fucking easier when I don't have to worry about a GPA. I just did my week 3 essay and spent like an hour stressing about MLA citations for websites with no known author, which part was the section name vs the site name vs blah blah blah and it hit me that like. The essay is solid. If the teacher wants to take points off for citations being wonky it's literally not going to bring me to anything close to a failing grade and I do not plan to ever be in a position where MLA format matters on a regular basis. Take the points if you're gonna. The work itself is good. And submit.

There was no point in my academic career up until now that I was allowed to just get it done. If I didn't make straight A's in school I was deprived of extracurricular activities and/or got my ass beat because "there was no excuse." In college I was on scholarship, which meant I was allowed to make two Cs before I lost my tuition. "just getting it done" was never an option. It is so nice to be able to look at my work and go "good enough." and move the fuck on. I know what I'm getting out of this class, I know the meat of the work meets the requirements and even exceeds in a few areas. I'm not going back to that level of stress I dealt with for 12-16 years. I'm just not.

[neoheros]

fuckboy! bokuto headcanons

— find the fuckboy! masterlist here ♡

the day you and bokuto met was one of the most annoying days of your life

hands down, even the thought of reminiscing what that day put you through is enough to send chills down your spine

it was your first year in a new school and work had already been piled on you mercilessly

you had plans on going to a high quality university once you graduated so you figured you’d better start on extra curriculars as soon as possible

of course when you joined the school newspaper and student council you didn’t really expect to end up being that busy

you, on the verge of tears: hi are you taking in member applications because i’m short on one sports activity and i really don’t want that to be the reason why my favorite uni rejected me because i’ll be damned if volleyball ruins my life and—

bokuto, alarmed: please stop crying

he was the only silver lining that day that made it worth it to recall how hard your first year was

now you’re both graduating and close as ever that you’re actually kind of thankful that you went through all that just to meet him

he wasn’t exactly the most attentive boy in class but what he lacked in academics he made up for in sports

when you saw him play volleyball for the first time, you were flat out star struck at his skills and that’s when you understood why so many girls would go after him

he had a reputation in school and you were well aware of the fact that hanging around him meant that getting hated by his numerous dates and flings

you didn’t care though, you were there to graduate and get a fantastic gpa like everyone expected you to

you told bokuto all this the first time he tried to hit on you and at first he was confused to why you’d turn him down but then you offered him to be friends instead and he was more than ecstatic to accept

so now you’re in the running to graduate senior year in the honor roll and all your references have been backed up by solid hard work and proof that you’re sure if the uni doesn’t accept you then it’s going to be their fault and not yours

you: at this point i’m gonna be the most eligible college applicant there is

bokuto: but at the cost of blowing me over every time i ask to hang out 😔

you: personally i find those to be the highlight of our friendship

being best friends with bokuto is quite literally the meaning of getting the best of both worlds

he was there to redirect your focus when you were clearly too frantic to remember your goals but he was also the one to drag you out for a break or two when you’re too deep in your head

“i’m with someone right now but i had to ask— have you eaten yet?” he says into the phone, smiling shyly at his date who’s kind enough to let him take a minute to himself.

you snort, “i have this new technique where i get through my chapters and diet at the same time and it’s basically a win win situ—”

you hear him sigh and mumble an apology to the person he was with, shuffling over the phone as you try to tell him you were gonna be fine

bokuto: i’m on my way and just so you know, you owe me

you: bro this was from your own volition

he snaps you a photo of him in his car with a gloomy expression, but you’re quick to notice the mcdonald’s sign in the corner

you snap him back, “if ur getting me food, get me a mcflurry too ok <3”

to which he replies almost too quickly with a picture of himself giving you a thumbs up and the caption, “i know i’m not an idiot”

he takes care of you a lot and sometimes you find yourself guilty for putting that obligation on him but he never fails to reassure you that it felt nice to be committed to someone every now and then

you: you know that you’d actually be a good boyfriend if you stopped slutting around right

bokuto: you know that you’d actually be a good girlfriend if you stopped dating your books right

you, defeated: touché asshole

when it came to you, you just didn’t have time to worry about relationships and whatnot

you saw how your friends would get obsessed over them and completely derail their futures just to live in the ‘now’ of it all

you obviously called bullshit on that but could they blame you? you had high expectations for your life and you were sure as hell not gonna let some guy take you away from that

besides, you were best friends with the guy that made girls believe in love and break their hearts in one weekend, if the universe wanted you to have faith in dating then maybe they should’ve thought this one through

your phone dinged, ruining the silence you so enjoyed as bokuto peered over your shoulder to see what it was about

“hi ! i’m from your class and i’ve always found you so pretty, would you mind going ou—” he read aloud in a laugh and you delete the message before he could finish

bokuto: yknow one of these days you’re gonna get murdered by one of your admirers who just couldn’t let anyone else have you

you: and i will thank them for that 😌✨

“if you’re turning down all these men because you’re waiting for me to ask you out then all you have to do is say so.” he grins, and it gets wider when he sees you divert all your attention towards him.

you look at him dead in the eye, “no.”

his expression drops, pointing at his heart as he pouts, “that’s hurtful.”

you roll your eyes, telling him all about the plans that you would rather prioritize over falling in love, going on and on about how it would bring you nothing but setting you back and all that

he could only cross his arms as he listens to you ramble, amazed at how you’re saying so many things and all of them were just flat out wrong

it used to hurt him when you talked about swearing off love but the more he listened to it over the years the more amusing it got

he knew one day you’d end up finding someone to love the way he thinks he loves you and maybe it’d be him or maybe it’d be someone you just haven’t met yet

one day you’d realize how important it is to feel and give love to those who mean much to you

maybe you’d even notice the signs that he’s been trying to give you all these years

but in the mean time, you were his problem to deal with, and he didn’t mind taking all the words you said about hating love as long as he could spend every moment of it with you.

[johnkrrasinski]

illicit affair;

full masterlist

Pairings: Professor!Andy Barber x female!reader (AU) 

Word count: 2,898

Warning: SMUT!!!! fingering, blowjob (male receiving), dirty talk. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: you had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though. 

a/n: this one’s written for @stargazingfangirl18​ and @navybrat817​‘s shameless hoes for chris writing challenge. i picked the prompt “your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind.” hope you like it! leave a like and comment. enjoy! 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

There he goes again, captivating the entire room with that dashing suit and tie, making it difficult for you to breathe. Andy Barber was the professor of your criminal law class. To say he was attractive would be an understatement. The man is the living embodiment of every girl’s wildest dreams. When you first took the class, with the hopes of becoming a social worker, you didn’t expect it to be this challenging. You were confident in your own work ethic and in being a fast learner. No major was too onerous for you to ace.

Until Andy Barber walked into the class on that first day and you realized he was going to teach you for the entire semester.

You had never had a man spellbinding you this badly before. You had a few crushes here and there, but not once did they make you feel the way Andy Barber does. And you knew that it was inappropriate to lust after your professor but, it wasn’t a crime if he is a divorcé and the whole class could relate, right?

It wasn’t only wrong but it was also cruel and unfair that he succeeded in making you lose every bit of your focus whenever he was around. No matter how hard you try to pay attention to what he is lecturing about, your mind would always drift away to nasty places that you shouldn’t even be thinking about visiting. No matter how hard you try to simply open your laptop and type away the vital points that you would need to memorize for final exams, you just couldn’t. It’s like you were paralyzed by his magnetism and oh, how well did he do it.

Like how you currently had a pen stuck between your teeth as if you were fellating it because you were imagining what it would be like to have those plump lips of his on yours and so your pen had to take the beating.

You didn’t know whether he noticed you at all from where you were sitting, you always choose to sit in the middle row, where you could still see things clearly on the board but you didn’t have to feel so exposed because sitting on the front row means everyone who sat behind you could see every movement you make and you would have to deal with the uneasiness of the proximity between you and your professor gave you and you had no wish to make it worse for yourself.

It wasn’t only that he was insanely good-looking but he was also a gentleman. He always charmed the class with his humorous comments and witty jokes while he was doing a lecture or simply when he called out a student who fell asleep. He always made himself available for his students who were confused about the subject or needed guidance on some complex topics. He always greeted the class with a warm smile and he always tried to understand the struggles of being a college student.

You had lost count on how many filthy dreams you had about this man, and how many daydreams you had lost yourself in during his class or simply when you were wide awake. He truly got you on a chokehold. A part of you would sometimes wonder, how could anyone divorce this man? If he were your husband, you would feel like the luckiest woman on earth. You wouldn’t ask for anything else in life.

“Any question…?” He ended today’s session by allowing the students to raise their hands if they needed some enlightenment.

Several students raised their hands and presented their questions and he answered them all eloquently. When there was no more question asked, he dismissed the class and all of the students got out of their seats and exited the room. You were still stuck amidst of your fantasy where Professor Barber was devouring you like you were the last tasty meal on earth and he hadn’t been fed for a month. The thought of his mouth lapping your juices as his beard creating delicious friction on your inner thigh alone was enough to soak your panties.  

You didn’t realize that the class was over until everyone had left and your professor called out your name. There were only the two of you now in the room.

“Y/N? Y/N! Class is dismissed.” He shook you out of your daydream with the gentleness of his voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, sir I was- I’m gonna leave now.”

“Are you alright? You zoned out a little there.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just- I… I was thinking… of… finals. Yeah, I was thinking of finals.”

“If you need a brief tutor, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no! It’s fine, really, I’ll manage. Have a good day sir.” You hurriedly pack up your laptop and stationery and you immediately ran for the door. But you were abruptly stopped by his voice that had slightly shifted its tone.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Miss Y/L/N, do you have a minute?”

Oh shit. This is it. This is where he is going to interrogate you for always being absentminded throughout his entire session and you are probably going to say something really idiotic and you are going to embarrass yourself or you might even spill your own secrets and he is going to get you suspended and then-

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Come here, have a seat.” He pulled a chair from one of the tables and placed it across his seat.

You nervously approached him and sat down as your hands trembled because if there’s another word to describe Andy Barber, it would be intimidating. His charisma isn’t only appealing but could also conquer his interlocutors.

“I’ve noticed that your grades have been slipping lately, why is that?”

“I just- I don’t know, maybe I’ve been really tired, sir. College can be really stressful.”

“I understand. But what puzzles me is that I did some background check on you and your grades in other subjects are doing really well. In fact, you had kept a solid 4.0 GPA for two years in a row now. So, what is the problem here, y/n?”

You gulped. Fucking hell, how the hell were you supposed to answer that? “Oh, don’t worry, it’s simply you being so ridiculously hot that you have been distracting me every time you’re lecturing. Maybe, I don’t know, if you could just bend me over on your desk and make me your girlfriend, that might help me take my mind off you.”

“I just- I’ve had a lot in my mind, sir, and it’s just- this subject is really hard,” you spoke meekly. “I promise, I will work really hard on my finals, sir. I won’t let you down.” You hoped that it was convincing enough so that you could carry on with your day and not sit here like a scared mouse.

“Final starts in two weeks,” he reminded you. “How are you going to convince me that you could wrap an entire semester within only two weeks when you have other courses demanding equal attention, y/n?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask a friend to help me study. I’ll do whatever it takes to pass the test, sir. I give you my word.” Goddamnit, what the hell was he doing to you? Of course, you weren’t going to ask for anybody’s help, you were always the one who was giving help to your fellow classmates instead of needing one. Now you were just making silly excuses to get you out.

His brows furrowed. You knew he wasn’t going to buy your answer so easily. Andy took his job very seriously and it disappointed him to the extreme when one of his students wasn’t doing well in his course. It made him feel like he didn’t do enough in educating these young people. So when one of his students didn’t fulfil his expectations, he was going to address it and solve the problem together.

There was a silence that lingered between the two of you until he broke it off, “how far are you willing to go to pass this class, y/n?”

“Anything sir, I-, I care about my grades. I know I don’t show it enough but I won’t fail you this time.”

“Anything?” Suddenly, the expression on his face transitioned into something impish.

“Yeah, anything at all, sir.”

“How about I offer you a proposition?” His tone was sultry.

“You do something for me, and I’ll make sure you get an A+ on your test. You don’t have to worry about failing.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Instead of giving you a direct answer, he stood up from his seat and sat on the edge of the table. His hands were folded on his propped up thigh.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, y/n and I want an honest answer. No bullshit or the deal is off.”

You were taken aback by the word that he just used. It wasn’t very in-character of him to cuss, especially in front of a student. You didn’t know if he was a completely different man outside of the university, so this was certainly something you weren’t used to.

“O-okay…”

“Why are you failing in my class, y/n?”

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. Your lips quivered as tears began brimming in your eyes. You were scared of telling him the truth but you knew if you lie again, he would see right through you and you would end up failing his class for real and there will be no second chance. You refused to retake the same course next semester when you could be getting closer to getting your degree.

You drooped your head down in defeat. The eye contact was overwhelming you and you sucked it up and gathered every last bit of dignity you had in you to give him an answer.

“I… I’m attracted to you, sir.”

He nodded. What you didn’t see was a wicked smirk forming on his lips, as if he knew what he was going to hear when he made you confess. “Go on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about- about making love to you, sir.” you stuttered your words. You cringed at your own words. There was no way to unring the bell now. You just humiliated yourself in front of the person whose attention you wanted the most. He disclosed your dirtiest secrets and this was going to be your doom.

“Good girl. Now, we better not stall any longer, yeah? I’ve got another class in twenty minutes.” He sat back on the chair and ordered, “get on your knees.”

“Wh… What?”

“You heard me. On your knees, I won’t tell you anymore.” his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know what was happening but you were excited. You got on your feet and before you could even take a step, he stopped you. “No, no. Crawl.”

You stared at him incredulously as if he had just told you a joke. But you did what you were told to anyway, fearing that you would disappoint him before the act could even begin. You got on your knees with your hands on the floor and crawled to between his spread knees.

You waited for his next instruction with your hands on your thighs as your head hung low. “Take off my pants.”

Without further delay, you undid the zip of his pants and pulled the waistband down along with his boxer briefs, just enough to let his enormous cock spring free. “Good girl. You listen well. Now… you know what to do.” He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and leaned back on the headrest nonchalantly whilst still maintaining his gaze on you.

Shit, you always fantasized about him using your body but you weren’t actually experienced. Yes, you’ve had a few casual hookups now and then, but it was nothing like this. Your professor who seemed to really enjoy turning you into a puddle by simply commanding you around like his own personal sex slave.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t act like you haven't watched porn.”

You start by doing what you had learned from a few pornographic videos which is by stroking him with your hand and then you wrap your lips around his shaft. The taste of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva made you moan. His hand then went to grab a fistful of your hair to push you forward until his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Ah, fuck. That’s better.” Then he took the wheel from there, using your hair as leverage to guide you up and down at a moderate pace. He grunted as he threw his head back against the headrest. “Shit, that’s good. Keep going, baby.” A part of you was a tad elated when he praised you for something you had very little experience in. The ecstatic look on his face amplified the dampness in your panties, your body begging for more. He kept using your face to get himself off and you felt him convulsed in your mouth. He quickened his motion and then released deep inside your throat.  

A few seconds later, he pulled himself out after his cum painted your trachea. “Get up and bend on the table,” you did what he says and pressed your cheek on the wooden surface. “Who knew a 4.0 GPA student like you would be such a dirty slut? You might fool everyone but you can’t fool me, baby.”

He lifted the hem of your plaid skirt and smacked your buttocks with both of his hands, leaving a fiery red handprint on your buttcheeks. You yelped as it echoed on the walls. He pushed aside the crotch of your underwear, and he inserted two of his fingers inside soaked holes, scissoring you wide open for him. You moaned in pleasure as you gripped the edge of the table.

“Fucking slut. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me?” You didn’t answer as you continued to cry out. He smacked your left bum once more, “answer me!”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” You stammered between your ragged breathing.

“Is this why you can’t get your shit together? ‘Cause you keep fantasizing about my fingers buried deep in your needy cunt?”

“Yes sir…” your voice quaked.

“Extra points for honesty.” He retreated his fingers and replaced it with his cock. The unwarned intrusion sent a jolt through your body. You squealed in shock as you closed your eyes, trying to adjust yourself to his size. “Ah fuck, you’re so tight.” His hand went to your hair once more and grabbed a fistful of it as he began driving his hips forward. The friction in your G-spot sent electricity through your veins.

He didn’t waste any time by picking up the pace as he lifted your head and brought it closer to his, making you look up to him. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this how you imagined?” He kept thrusting brutally in between his foul words. “yes… Sir. You feel so good around me.” He pecked a brief kiss on your lips and kept pounding you like an animal.

A few more violent strikes and you clenched around him, pushing him to the edge along with you. “Cum baby, show me what a dirty whore you are.” You shut your eyes as you felt the tightening coil in your belly and then it burst, your orgasm dripping all over your thighs. Andy was so close to his climax and a few more deep-seated thrusts, he reached his own and he ejaculated deep inside your womb.

You tried to regain control over your breathing with Andy still engulfed in you. A few minutes later, you both came down from your highs as Andy pulled himself out of you. He put his pants back on and threw himself back on the chair. You stood up on your wobbly legs as you felt your panties squelch with both yours and Andy’s cum blended.

You straighten your rumpled skirt and shirt, as Andy did so with his tie. “You should go, don’t you have another class?”

“I do, but… Did I pass the test, sir?” you batted your lashes at him. The fear and agitation that were there ten minutes ago had dissolved.  

He chuckled at your coquettish remark. He stood up from his chair and closed the distance between you. “Yes sweetheart, you passed the test.”

You beamed as you bit your lip once more. “If you got another test for me, I wouldn’t mind…” you spoke timidly.

“You really are something, aren’t you?”

You shrugged, “I’ve got layers, sir.”

He looked at his watch and realized that he only had five minutes left for his next session. “You are dismissed… For now. I’ve got more lessons that I’d like to teach you, baby.” He winked at you and pecked your lips.

“I’ll be looking forward to our next class, sir.” You packed up your bags and exited to the hall. Looks like you just bent every rule of the university, but you had no doubt in mind that you would do it over and over and over again for your favourite professor.

[lils-writes-stuff]

All That Remains

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three | part two | part one | season one

summary: it’s the readers first day back on the job and the case has a huge plot twist

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, sadness, gore, fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode episode 14

 “Oh my god, okay I know I’ve seen it before, but the ring is just so beautiful on you,” Penelope gushed as she held Y/N’s that adorned her new engagement ring. 

 The women of the BAU gathered around her on her first day back to admire the ring. Of course, JJ and Penelope had seen it at least once before, but it was a whole different experience seeing it on her hand.

 It had been a total of three weeks since Y/N was discharged from the hospital and she was so excited to get back to work. She couldn’t deal with leave again and since she was fine mentally, all she had to do was wait until she was fine physically. 

 Spencer tended to her needs every waking moment he was home, much to her detest. He even thought about having her call her mother to stay with her until she was completely healed, but he revoked his idea when she gave him a not-so-loving look. But she was grateful none the less for his love and care for her. She was concerned about him though, sure she was stabbed, but he was the one kidnapped. After Spencer’s psych evaluation, he was deemed fit to go back to work. Y/N was very jealous when he got to go back. 

 “Thank you,” Y/N blushed as her hand moved to Blake to look at the ring.

 “He really did a good job of picking it out,” she declared as she examined the ring. 

 “Who knew Spence had such good taste?” JJ remarked, making the other women laugh. 

  Spencer heard the last of the conversation and naturally gave his actual reasoning for his choice. ��It actually has nothing to do with taste, I made a decision by averaging all of her jewelry together and using an equation to evaluate which rings--”

 JJ coughed making Spencer stop. “Spence, I was joking, you did a great job.”

 “Right,” Spencer smiled sheepishly. 

 “It’s okay, Bubs, I think it was really cool how you chose it,” Y/N reassured the man’s insecurities. 

 He smiled at the compliment and then turned to Rossi as his voice was heard coming down the steps. 

 “Okay, okay, I know I saw it at the hospital that day, but you have to let me see it again,” Rossi spoke quickly as he came over to look at the ring again.

 Y/N laughed and held out her hand for him to see. 

 “It’s very you, Y/N,” Rossi commented as he looked at the ring. “Congratulations you two, again.” 

 “Thanks Rossi,” Spencer smiled at the man gratefully. 

 “Hey, you know what we should do?” JJ asked, gaining the attention of the rest of them. “We should have an engagement party!” 

 “Oh my gosh that is a great idea!” Penelope exclaimed, bouncing on her toes happily. “We can have little cupcakes made with rings and all the fun stuff.”

 “And I’ll host it,” Rossi said happily, turning to the couple who were just watching the plan being made.

 “Oh, Rossi, you don’t have to-” 

 “No, no, I insist, it’ll be a great time!” Rossi cut Y/N off from her protest. 

 Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer, wanting his input on the idea. Spencer simply shrugged, muttering a ‘why not’. The both of them knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

 “Okay, sure, that’d be fun,” Y/N agreed with a smile. 

 “Excellent,” Rossi said with a nod. 

 “Guys,” Hotch said, nodding to the round table room.  

-------------

 “911 what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice spook. 

 A pause then an inaudible mutter.

 “Hello? What’s your emergency?”

 “They’re gone,” The man on the other line responded. “My girls are gone. I need your help.”

 “When you say girls, do you mean your daughters?” 

 “Yes.” 

 “All right, I need you to stay on the line, sir. Please confirm where you’re calling from.”

 “1721 Hillcrest Drive, this can’t be happening.” 

 “What’s your name, sir?” 

 “Bruce. Bruce Morrison.”

 “How old are your daughters, Mr. Morrison?”

 “Thirteen and Seventeen.” 

 “When was the last time you saw them?”

 “They went to bed around 9:30. No, wait, it was Monday. Sarah has a study group, so it was more like 10:00.”

 “Sir, today is Wednesday. You haven’t seen them since Monday?”

 “No. No, that can’t be right.”

 “I’m sorry, sir, but it is. The police have been alerted, sir, and they’re on their way.” 

 “That call came in an hour ago,” Hotch said, stopping the recording. 

 The rest of the team sat in stunned silence as they listened to the message. 

 “How does a single father lose his teenage daughters for thirty-six hours?” JJ asked in disbelief. 

 “He doesn’t,” Rossi shook his head. 

 “His girls are gone,” Blake repeated the phrasing of Bruce on the phone. 

 “Yeah, that’s strange, he didn’t blame anyone,” Y/N pointed, agreeing with Blake’s silent question. 

 “And he doesn’t use any buzzwords first responders are trained to hear,” Derek added. “He never says missing, abducted, runaway.”

 “Maybe that’s what they did, though. Maybe they ran away,” Penelope perked up. She didn’t like to hear the call, let alone have this happening in the first place, she was hoping for a better outcome then what everyone was thinking. 

 “There’s no history of that,” Rossi argued sadly. 

 “The likelihood of a stranger abduction in a neighborhood like this is rare. I’ve counted seven turns from the entrance to their driveway,” Spencer announced as he looked down at the map on the table. “No one just stumbled onto the house.” 

 “And where’s the mother? Could this be a parental child abduction?” Y/N asked, turning her head from Spencer to Hotch. 

 “Uh, doubtful,” Hotch sighed. “Exactly one year ago today, he made this call.”

 With one click on the remote, another 911 call came up. The call was almost exactly the same as the one they had just listened to. Same phrasing, same tone, just replacing ‘girls’ with ‘wife’. 

 “She’d also been missing for two days before he contacted authorities, and she’s never been found,” Hotch said, stopping the recording. 

 “This man is either the victim of a serial offender, or he is one,” Rossi said. 

 “Please tell me this guy’s in custody?” Derek asked with irritation. 

 “The Salisbury police are at his home, and they’ve been there since the call came in,” Hotch answered.

 “There are hard copies and tablet copies of both case files on the plane,” Penelope announced. “It’s a short flight to the eastern shore. There’ll be more when you land.”

 The team gathered up all that they had on the round table and made their way to the plane.

-----------

 “Bruce and Judy Morrison were well-liked and active in the community,” Y/N said as she looked over the files they had received on the plane.  

 Spencer sat down beside her, placing a cup of tea on the table. 

 She smiled and mouthed a thank you which he replied doing the same thing. 

 “Yeah, all signs point to them living a quiet life,” JJ agreed as she flipped through her own file. 

 “He’s a writer and a professor, and it looks like she got into real estate a few years ago,” Derek added as his eyes scanned over a page. 

 “ ‘02, before the market crashed,” Rossi established as he looked at the date.

 “Well, ten years later, Judy had an affair with a co-worker. A Jeff Godwin?” JJ’s voice went off in question as she read the name. 

 “That was discovered in the investigation, but never made it in the papers,” Blake said, leaning in her chair so she could look at JJ. 

 “Bruce Morrison was a prime suspect, but they never found any evidence, and the affair wasn’t deemed enough of a motive,” Hotch clarified. “The university’s put him on sabbatical since then.”  

 “He’s been writing forever, and he’s been teaching since 1985,” JJ added, flipping through the pages of the file. “Transcript says he was grief-stricken and couldn’t handle the pressure.”

 “Not many people could,” Rossi bargained. “The odds of this event striking the same family on the same day must be a million to one.” 

 “Mm, close enough,” Spencer hummed, not arguing with the statistic. 

 “Judy inherited money from her family, and it’s in a trust fund for the girls,” Blake assessed. 

 “Oh, jeez, please don’t tell me he got rid of his wife for money,” Y/N shook her head. 

 “Uh, bank records indicate he hasn’t touched the funds, despite the depleting supplemental income from the university,” Spencer eased the worry. 

 “Yeah, but it could be a combo platter. Revenge and profit,” Rossi argued.

 “His wife cheated, and he retaliated in anger, that might not be a surprise, but that doesn’t explain why he would harm his own children,” Derek added, confusion evident in his voice. 

------------

 “The oldest daughter Sarah had a 4.0 GPA, but she didn’t apply to a single college back east,” Spencer began as he read from the page in the file in his lap. “She got accepted to Stanford early admission. Maybe her father saw going that far away as a form of betrayal.”

 “The second one in a year,” Rossi’s voice posed over the phone. “First his wife of twenty-seven years fools around and then probably threatens to end the marriage. A year later, the daughter can’t wait to leave.” 

 “Abandonment could be the common denominator,” Blake agreed from her seat beside Y/N in the back of the SUV with Derek and Spencer. 

 “There is another possibility,” Derek interrupted. “Maybe Bruce Morrison didn’t do it. Did the family have any enemies?”

 “The only person that could remotely be an enemy would be Jeff Godwin,” Y/N answered, her own mind forming possible theories. 

 “Mm, looks like he had a pretty solid alibi the night Judy went missing,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “He was wining and dining with his own wife at a local restaurant.”

 “So the only viable suspect back then was the same one we have now,” Blake said.

 “All the answers are in that house,” Hotch said as they turned the final corner and came up to the house of the Morrisons. 

 The front yard was filled with locals as one SUV pulled into the driveway and the other pulled along the side of the street. The doors of the cars echoed shut as they exited the vehicles and walked up to the detective who was waiting for them on the front porch. 

 “Marty Friedman. Thanks for making the trip,” the detective said as Hotch and Rossi approached him first. “I’ve got search and rescue combing the woods and the Choptank and Wicomico rivers. We’re dredging all the way from here to the Chesapeake. I’m not letting this guy get away with this again.”

 “Has he said why he took a day to call?” Y/N posed the question everyone had been wondering. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her navy coat from the cool air.

 Friedman scoffed. “Claims he doesn’t remember,” he looked back to the window where Bruce was standing, inspecting the new visitors. “He’s been glued to his computer, maybe he needs new material for a novel.”

 “We’ll work alongside your team if that’s alright,” Hotch said to Friedman. 

 “Whatever you need,” he responded with a nod. 

 The team followed the detective into the house. Y/N looked at Bruce as he eyed down Hotch as they walked into the house. 

 “Everyone take a room,” Hotch ordered and the team split up and walked amongst the house. 

 “Looks like Katie stayed in a lot,” Spencer assessed as he and Y/N looked over the young girl’s room. “She has her schedule of when she was gonna try new recipes.” 

 Spencer flipped through the colorful pages of the book with different recipes and fun sketches. 

 “She seems like a really sweet girl,” Y/N sighed as she looked through a journal. She then turned to her desk and pointed out some of the things she noticed. “Her charger’s here, but her phone is not.” 

 “Maybe it’s with her?” Spencer posed.

 “Maybe, I’ll have Garcia track it,” Y/N said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. 

 “It’ll only work if it’s on,” Spencer reminded her.

 “It’s worth a try though,” Y/N looked up to Spencer with sad eyes. Of course, her first case back had to do with kids, just her luck.

 “If the girls had access to a phone and they were okay, they would have called for help by now,” Spencer said, giving her the same sad eyes she gave him. 

 Y/N’s thumb stopped typing, she knew he was right, but that guilty feeling in her didn’t want her to.

 “Y/N.” Spencer’s hands reached for hers that held her phone. “You okay?” 

 “Yeah, it’s just-” she let out a shaky breath with a groan- “it’s just my luck that my first case back has to do with kids.”

 Spencer looked down sadly, knowing the pain she was feeling. 

 “But it’s okay, it’s just because it’s the first case, ripping off the bandaid, you know? I’ll get back to being able to carpmentalizing it any second.” She shook her hands out after setting down her phone and the journal she was holding. 

 Spencer gave her the look. The look that said it’s okay to take a second, it’s okay to talk to me, it’s okay to not be ready all just yet. 

 “Stop that.”

 “Stop what?” 

 “Stop being so understanding,” she laughed and pointed her finger at him. “I’m fine, I really am, it’s just gonna take a sec to get into the swing of things again.” 

 “Okay,” he smiled, reaching for her hand,and pulling her into a loving hug that made her heart melt. 

-------------

 Y/N’s eyes scanned over the box in the basement of the Morrison house. Shelf after shelf filled with buckets and old memorabilia of Judy. 

 “Wow,” Spencer mused as he walked closer to Y/N from his side of the room. “She had a lot of hobbies before she started selling real estate.”

 “Yeah, family projects it looks like,” Y/N nodded. She turned to the shelf she had just been looking at boxes being held on it. “Devoted mom.” 

 On the boxes were dates written under the label ‘quilts’. The dates went all the way back to 1998, the years Sarah Morrison was born. 

 “You ready, Reid?” Derek’s voice called from up the stairs.

 “Yeah,” Spencer echoed back. “You good?” He asked, turning to Y/N. 

 She nodded and he turned to head up the stairs. 

Her eyes scanned over the boxes again, looking at the only one that was labeled with a name. On the box, it read; ‘Quilts, 1999-200, Katie’. Y/N made sure to keep that in mind for anything in the future and turned up the stairs to follow Spencer. 

---------

 “So what do you think?” Blake asked, turning to Y/N and Rossi, exiting Sarah’s room. The sobs of Bruce echoed down the hall after Hotch told him they had just found the body of Katie in a river. Sarah had still yet to be found. 

 “He’s sober, so this is raw emotion,” Rossi answered as the three walked down the hallway. “He lost his legs when Hotch told him.” 

 “The tears could be guilt as much as grief,” Y/N whispered as a reminder.

 “Because that’s what we’re supposed to do when given that news,” Blake said as they rounded the corner and filed down the stairs. “I don’t mean to sound so cynical, but the man writes fiction.” 

 Y/N and Rossi nodded as they came to the last set of stairs. At the bottom stood Hotch and JJ, who had just gotten off the phone with Derek and Spencer who were at the scene. 

 “Any sign of Sarah?” Y/N asked, hopeful for a good answer. 

 “Maybe she’s still out there,” JJ said, just as hopeful as Y/N for a good report from the people on the phone.

 “Doubtful, unless she’s found shelter,” Rossi acknowledged as they walked the final steps of the stairs. “It’s supposed to be in the twenties tonight.” 

 “Now that we’ve got Katie’s body, we should run scenarios for what really happened Monday night,” Blake said. 

 Hotch hung up his phone and looked up to the group around him. “That was the lab. Bruce definitely fired a gun at some point, there’s residue on the sheets and on the boots.”

 Y/N sighed, not wanting to hear that news. “We need to get him to the station.” 

 The five of them turned as they heard the creaking of the floorboards behind them. At the top of the stairs stood Bruce, hearing the whole conversation. 

-------------

 “Alright thanks, Spence,” Y/N said, hanging up her phone and turning to Hotch. “That was Reid. He said Katie had skin built up under her nails. They’re on their way back from the M.E. right now.” 

 “We need to look for defensive wounds on him,” Hotch nodded, leaving the bullpen and entering into the interrogation room. 

 Y/N walked closer to the one-way window and watched as Hotch entered the room. 

 “Mr. Morrison, I need to ask you to roll up your sleeves,” Hotch ordered Bruce. 

 “What?” Bruce asked, turning his head sharply to look at Hotch. 

 “Please.” 

 Bruce sighed and rolled up his sleeve on his right arm, revealing small but numerous cuts on his forearm.  

 “I saw these in the shower this morning when I woke up,” Bruce said sadly, not making eye contact with Hotch. “I have no idea how I got them.” 

 “Did they happen during the fight?” Hotch asked, referring to the fit a neighbor had told them he heard. 

 “It wasn’t a fight, it was just parenting,” Bruce tried to explain. “Did the detective tell you about Jeff Godwin? You should talk to him.” 

 Hotch raised a brow in question at the man. 

 “He still coaches Sarah’s soccer team, even though it’s ridiculous.” 

 “Every time I ask you a question, you have this habit of deflecting attention onto someone else,” Hotch remarked, making Bruce become quiet. 

 Y/N rolled her shoulders, standing up straight as she watched Bruce’s body language, trying to decipher his emotions and behavior. When he stayed unresponsive, Y/N took that as the end of the interview and walked out of the room into the break room. 

 “Wonder Woman,” Derek greeted the woman as she walked in. 

 She let out a huff as a greeting back, clearly annoyed with everything that Bruce was saying. “Bruce Morrison wants us to talk to Jeff Godwin.”

 “Convenient, since he just walked in,” Spencer said as he walked over to the two by the coffee station. 

 “Great just what he wanted,” Y/N sighed, moving into the spot next to Derek as he finished making his coffee. 

 As he moved over for Y/N to make her coffee, he picked up his phone that began to ring. 

 “Hey, Blake,” Derek answered as he stepped away from the coffee bar. 

 Y/N poured some creamer into the cup as she listened to Derek on the phone. 

 “Morgan, we need you to find Jeff Godwin,” Blake’s voice echoed through the phone. 

 “She isn’t the only one he thinks that,” Y/N sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. 

 “Uh, he just walked in,” Derek responded, turning to look through the window to Jeff Godwin who was standing in a room to the side of them.

 “He did?” Blake mused. 

 “Says he heard we found Katie, and he’s worried about Sarah,” Derek said, relaying the conversation that Y/N had not heard yet. 

 “He also texted Sarah the night she went missing and then deleted the text.” Blake’s information made the three’s faces contort in shock and look to Jeff. “It looks like they texted a lot.” 

 “Really?” Derek said, some anger boiling inside him as he watched Jeff. Without having Blake respond, he hung up the phone and nodded for Y/N to come with him. 

 “Mr. Godwin,” Y/N greeted as she and Derek entered the room he was in.

 “Mr. Godwin, why did you feel it was appropriate to regularly text a seventeen-year-old girl?” Derek asked, getting straight to the point. 

 “I-I’ve known those girls for a long time-” Jeff shook his head- “Way before anything happened between me and their mother.”

 Y/N and Derek’s faces stayed unresponsive, waiting for him to get to the actual intent of why he was texting a teen. 

 “Look, I coach Sarah.” 

 “And you didn’t think to request a different team, you know, considering the circumstances?” Y/N asked, her hand not holding her coffee gesturing as she spoke. 

 “No,” Jeff shrugged. “My daughter plays on that team.”

 Once again, Derek and Y/N stayed unresponsive. 

 “Look, Sarah reached out to me Monday night- God knows she needs a father figure--” 

 “Maybe the man her mother had an affair with…” Derek began taking a step closer to Jeff. 

 Y/N took a step also, becoming even with Derek. “Might not be the best person for that,” Y/N finished the statement. 

 Derek nodded in agreement. 

 “Look-” Jeff took a step of his own- “I just came in here because I had heard about Katie and I was worried about Sarah. Don’t treat me like a criminal.”

 “Sarah deleted texts that the two of you shared,” Y/N said, turning her head to the side. “The same day she disappeared. Now that’s a little suspicious, don’t you agree, Morgan?” 

 “Mm-hmm,” Derek hummed in response. 

 “Hey- wait, okay,” Jeff stumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “They’re all here. We agreed to meet in the parking lot of the convenience store on route 113.” 

 He turned his phone, showing the texts to Y/N and Derek. Derek took the phone from the man’s hand, putting it between the two of them so they could read it. 

 “Is this a regular thing for you?” Derek asked as he read the texts. 

 “Well, we’ve met there a couple of times recently, when she was really scared about what was happening with her and her dad,” Jeff responded. 

 “What was happening?” Y/N asked. 

 Jeff took in a deep breath, almost like he was afraid to tell them. “Bruce gets...violent when he drinks, and it’s been getting worse.”

 Derek and Y/N turned their heads, silently saying for him to elaborate more on the topic. 

 Jeff let out a breath through his nose. “Sarah had every reason to be terrified. I mean look what happened.” 

 Derek and Y/N nodded, handing Jeff his phone back and heading out of the room. When they walked out, they were greeted with the whole team now, including Penelope on a video call. 

 “Is everyone there?” Penelope asked prompting Hotch to nod. “Um, this call came in on Monday.”

 Before she continued, Hotch walked over to the door of the conference room and closed it. 

 “It was made on Katie’s cell, which is still M.I.A., the only 800 number she called was the local abuse hotline. She called there a few times in the last couple of months,” Penelope explained, pressing play on the recording. JJ turned up the TV volume. 

 “My name is Katie Morrison, I called last week,” Katie’s voice rang through the speaker. 

 “Yes, Katie, I remember you,” the operator on the other line responded. 

 “He’s at it again. He’s just going crazy. He’s really drunk.” 

 “Katie, are you safe?” 

 “Yes, hold on.”

 “Hi, it’s Sarah,” Sarah’s voice came into the call. “We’re okay. I can handle this.”

 “Girl’s open the door,” Bruce’s voice yelled next. “Katie, open the door.” 

 The sound of loud banging was heard next, making Y/N squeezing her eyes shut. 

 “I said open the door!” 

 When the recording stopped, Y/N opened her eyes and watched as Hotch asked to have the recording sent to his phone and took Rossi to the interrogation room holding Bruce. 

-----------

 Y/N watched through the glass as Bruce began to remember the night as the call was played to him. As it ended, he slammed his hand on the table, repeating the same words he said in the call. He looked up to the glass, on his side being a mirror so he was looking at himself. 

 He walked closer to it, his demeanor changing slightly as he looked at himself. 

 What surprised everyone behind the glass was what he said next. 

 “Oh my god, what a pathetic little cry baby.” 

 The rest of the team that was behind the glass looked at each other in confusion, continuing to listen to the man as he spoke. 

 “Ugh,” Bruce rubbed his eyes. “I was always right about you, huh?”

 He was still talking to himself in the mirror. He then turned around, a smug smirk playing on his face as he looked at Rossi and Hotch. 

 “So you got old Bruce-y in a cage, huh?” 

 Rossi and Hotch didn’t respond, still trying to decipher who this was and what was happening. 

 “You think that’s gonna help?” Bruce walked around the two agents and back over to his chair. “It’s only gonna make him hide longer.”

 When he reached the chair, he faced the two men again. “What do you wanna know?” 

 Rossi and Hotch stayed quiet again, not sure what to do. 

 When they didn’t give him a response, the man spoke again. “I’m gonna have to tell you ‘cause the baby’s got his pacifier.” 

 “Where’s Sarah?” Hotch finally asked a question. 

 “She’s learning a lesson,” the man responded with a shrug. 

 “What did you do to them?” Hotch asked. 

 In a mocking tone, the man responded, “What did you do to them?”

 Not amused, Hotch and Rossi glared at him. 

 “I scared them that’s all. They need it,” he sighed. 

 “Why?”

 “Because they’re spoiled, ungrateful little bitches who walk all over him any chance they get,” he responded. 

 “Wow,” Y/N whispered in amazement at the response. 

 “What happened to Bruce?” Hotch asked the question everyone had been wondering. 

 “He’s hiding, of course,” the man responded. “See… when he can’t handle it, I save his ass. Bruce’s problem is...he can’t handle anything.”

--------------

 “So Bruce said Katie baked cookies Monday night,” JJ said, turning away from the board as Rossi and Friedman entered the room. “We found them in the kitchen, so that’s true.”

 “And two of Sarah’s friends confirmed she never made it to her study group,” Blake continued, her voice slightly muffled from her cheek being pressed against her hand. 

 “And that’s because Jeff Godwin was in the parking lot with her from 8:15 to 9:30,” Derek added. 

 “And the girls called the hotline at 9:58,” Spencer finished the timeline. 

 “Detective, have your officers found either gun?” Hotch asked as detective Friedman walked up to the board to look at the post-it notes on it. 

 “No, but we’ve increased the search given where Katie’s body was found,” Friedman replied. 

 “Okay so, we’ve got residue, but we don’t know which gun or where it is now,” Derek said, his eyes trained on the floor. 

 “Okay, look,” Y/N said, raising her hands to stop anyone from talking. “Whoever that was in there said he wanted to scare them, not hurt them.”

 “Katie was beaten over the head in the middle of nowhere,” Blake reminded her. 

 “You’re right,” Y/N gestured to her. “The altar could have lost his temper, or it could have been a horrible accident.”

 “But getting the girls out of the house was planned. He said he wanted to scare them and had a gun to do it,” Rossi said. 

 “And then, he drove them somewhere,” Derek continued. “Bruce’s car had the same mud on the driver’s side floor that he had on his boots, but there wasn’t any in the backseat. SO three people drove somewhere, but only he came back.” 

 “And the DNA coming back from under Katie’s nails will tell us what we already know-- That Bruce Morrison did this. SO can I arrest him now?” Friedman said, antsy to put cuffs on the man he felt was responsible. 

 “Detective, you have sufficient evidence to make the arrest, but we still don’t have Sarah,” Hotch told him, eyes glaring at the man. 

 “Give us an hour, and maybe, he’ll tell us where she is,” Y/N said, an idea in her head forming. 

 “It's your call, but he could still help us,” Hotch said. 

 Friedman sighed. “Okay. One hour.”

 So the team began their work, and they had to work fast. 

 “There’s no way for us to confirm a D.I.D. diagnosis yet, but we do know he has chronic alcoholism, Which can and has gone hand in hand with it,” Spencer explained to the team that was scattered amongst the conference room. “The interesting thing is his liver and pancreas wouldn’t have survived thirty years of that kind of abuse, so there must have been years where he’s gotten help.” 

 “He was in a program,” Blake shrugged. 

 “Eh, it would have to be more than that,” Spencer replied then turned to Y/N who had Penelope on the line. “Garcia, has he ever been on medication to help curb his drinking?” 

 “All I’ve got is a yearly physical, and that is it,” Penelope replied. 

 “D.I.D. usually stems from a history of sexual abuse,” Blake said slowly, hoping to give something to Penelope to help her. 

 “Okay, well, I’ve got nothing like that,” Penelope said. “All I have on Bruce Morrison is that his mother died when he was ten-”

 “There’s your abandonment issue,” Rossi remarked. 

 “And he was raised by a single alcoholic father, and there’s no evidence of any prescriptions.”

 “I mean, they look like the perfect family,” Spencer said, opening the file with family photos in it. 

 “Yeah, but she would have had to know about his drinking before they got married,” Y/N said as she peered over at the photos Spencer was holding. “So maybe, she helped manage him and kept his problem a secret.” 

 “She could have been the one that got the prescription,” Spencer’s lightbulb went off. “Garcia, can you run her medical history?” 

 “Yeah, hold on…”

 They waited about twenty seconds before her voice was heard again. 

 “Okay, disulfiram. Am I saying that right? It’s for chronic alcoholism. She had a 90-day supply delivered four times a year for as long as I can tell. And it stopped coming a few months ago.”

 “It makes you just feel nauseous if you drink,” Spencer explained the effects of the medicine. 

 “But she isn’t the one who had the drinking problem, he is. Garcia, who canceled it?” Derek asked the woman on the phone. 

 “Please hold while I dig.” She hung up the phone.

 “Could that be the trigger? He goes after his daughters now that he’s off his meds?” Blake turned to look at Y/N and Spencer when she asked her questions. 

 Y/N’s eyes panned up to the TV that showed Hotch talking to Bruce. Then to Jeff Godwin in the other room. “That instability could work for us.” 

 She set her plan into action. Y/N had Derek get Jeff Godwin and bring him into the interrogation room with Bruce in it. 

 “Hey, I- I didn’t- Hey, look I didn’t agree to this,” Jeff stumbled as he came face to face with Bruce sitting in the interrogation room. 

 “Well, we’re looking for Sarah, and you’re the last ones to see her alive,” Y/N said, leaning on the metal table.

 “Look, like I told you guys earlier, I had nothing to do with this. And Sarah’s afraid of him.” He pointed at Bruce when he spoke of him. 

 “You wanna tell us about your relationship with Sarah?” Y/N asked, moving her hands in a circular motion as she spoke. 

 “I don’t have one,” Jeff replied, after a pregnant pause. 

 Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh, that’s strange. Why do you text her all the time then?” 

 At her words, Bruce sat up straighter, jaw clenching as he looked at a frightened Jeff. 

 “Jeff, come on, it’s not that big of a leap,” Y/N spoke nonchalantly. “Couldn’t have Judy anymore so you thought... Why not? Sarah looks just like her mom.”  

 Her words angered Bruce just like she thought they would. He pushed himself out of his chair and leaped for Jeff, but Derek intercepted him before he could touch him. 

 “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!” Bruce exclaimed as Derek pushed him back. 

 “Get him out! Get him out now,” Derek commanded the guard in the room to take Jeff out. 

 Once Derek had calmed Bruce (now his altar) down, he walked out of the room, leaving Y/N there standing on the other side of the table. 

 “Judy was gonna leave my boy for that scumbag,” the altar said, pointing to the door Jeff had exited. 

 “What’s your name?” Y/N asked as she watched the altar's body language. 

 “What’s your name?”

 Y/N scoffed at his retort. “I’m Y/N, and you,” she nodded, her arms crossed as she stood tall. 

 “My name is Johnny, and I need a cigarette, Y/N,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips. 

 “Well, I might be able to help you out there, even though I don’t condone smoking, but I’m sure you’re stressed.” Y/N began to walk back and forth across the room. 

 “Oh, I’m not,” Johnny shook his head. “I just want a smoke.”

 “Johnny,” Y/N scolded at the lie. “Come on. I know these teenage girls stress you out, no matter what you say.”

 Johnny lifted his head up, a smug smirk as he looked at Y/N. 

 “How do you deal with it?” She continued her questions in hopes they would get him to tell her where Sarah was. “Do you like to, um...go out and shoot something?” 

 Johnny’s head cocked to the side and he shrugged. “Sometimes, but I don’t get much of a chance to do that.”

 Y/N raised her brows in fake surprise. “Oh! I thought you did have a chance recently?”

 Johnny chuckled and didn’t respond.

 Y/N smirked at his none response and let out her own chuckle. “I think you did.”

 Johnny’s head dropped as he continued to laugh. 

 “Now, you know, I’m just- I’m curious,” she laughed then pointed to the door with her thumb. “Then I’ll go get you a cancerous cigarette.”

 Johnny smiled and gestured towards Y/N. “I like you, Y/N.” 

 Oh, that’ll make Spencer’s blood pressure go up, Y/N thought to herself. 

 “So…” Y/N trailed off, walking back and forth again as she changed the subject. “You took the girls somewhere to scare them...somewhere quiet, isolated…” She watched his reactions to what she said carefully. “Near the water?” 

 That got him to respond. 

 “I didn’t do anything but scare ‘em.” 

 “Oh, of course not.” 

 Johnny crossed his arms and came closer to Y/N as she stood in a dominant stance across the room. 

 “Do you have a place by the river?” 

 Johnny ignored the question. “Mm, pretty, and smart.” 

 Y/N gave him daring eyes, demanding an actual answer to her question. 

 “It’s not my place,” Johnny shook his head. “It’s not anybody’s place anymore.” 

 Y/N turned her head for him to elaborate more. 

 “I’ve taken them out there before, but this time…” He leaned forward, closer to Y/N this time (almost in her face) and whispered, “I got their attention.”

 Y/N stepped back, nodding her head and nodded towards the guard to open the door. 

 “How about that cigarette now?” 

 “Not gonna let you pour cancer into Bruce’s lungs.”

 The door closed behind her after she spoke and she could hear the tantrum Johnny was having. When she entered the bullpen, she saw Spencer standing in front of the glass. Arms crossed and lips pursed. 

 “Bub,” she whispered, gaining his attention. “You good?” 

 “Mm-hm, yep,” he nodded turning to her. “Just uh, you know, it was a little difficult not jumping through the glass to strangle him when he looked at you.” 

 Y/N chucked, her head dropping as she took a step closer to him. 

 “Spence, you and I both know that he wouldn’t have walked out of that room if he got closer to me.”

 Spencer laughed as she pushed up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. He grabbed her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the spot right beside her ring.

------------

 That night, in the pouring, freezing rain, JJ and Derek found Sarah in the woods. She had a black eye and some cuts but she was okay. 

 Y/N had gone to the hospital to talk to Sarah with JJ. Letting her know what she would have to do and it was okay to back out. 

 Sarah seemed like a genuinely sweet girl and she took a liking to Y/N as she cried. When the three of them entered the precinct, JJ took her into the interrogation room, while Y/N stayed in the bullpen with the rest of the team. 

 “I have a bad feeling,” Y/N whispered as her stomach turned, something was off. 

 “What about?” Spencer whispered back. 

 “I’m not sure yet…” 

 As Sarah sat down, her two hands clasped together reached across the table for Bruce’s. His cuffed wrists stayed together as he held her hands.

 “I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, eyes spilling with tears. 

 “Dad, you need help,” Sarah said softly.

 Bruce let out a breath and nodded. 

 His eyes went up to the cuts and bruises on Sarah’s face and sucked in a sharp breath. “Did I do that?” 

 Sarah nodded and let a few more tears slip.

 “I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized genuinely again. “I’m so sorry.” 

 Y/N stomach turned again, this time out of sadness. Instinctively, she reached for Spencer’s hand, needing a reassurement, and to know it would all be okay. He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together for a second, and squeezed it. 

 “What can I do?” Bruce asked Sarah, pleading agony in his voice. 

 “They say that if you tell them where mom is, this will all just-” 

 “But I don’t know. You know I don’t know,” Bruce cut her off.

 “She didn’t just disappear, Dad,” Sarah sobbed. 

 When Bruce didn’t respond, only letting out a breathy sob, Sarah let out another crying accusation. 

 “Oh God, you killed her too didn’t you?” 

 “No, no, I didn’t,” Bruce shook his head.

 “How am I supposed to believe you?” Sarah sobbed and started pointing to the marking Bruce, or rather Johnny left. “This--this is what you’ve done.” 

 Bruce just looked at the injuries sadly. 

 “You have hurt us all for a long time,” Sarah continued, her voice giving out at the end. She stood up from the table and began to exit the room with JJ. 

 Bruce pleaded with her to not go, but she didn’t listen and just left the room. 

----------

 Y/N walked with Sarah into her home, the mood of the house much different now compared to earlier in the day. The rain had died down from earlier, but it was still falling on the roof hard enough so it could be heard in the house. Sarah had an FBI jacket wrapped around her and Y/N had her signature navy petticoat tied around her waist.

 “You cold?” Y/N asked, noting how Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. 

 “Yeah, a bit, the thermostats right there,” she pointed to the machine down the hall. 

 Y/N walked down the hall, turning up the temperature, and looked back to Sarah. “Should warm up soon.” 

 Sarah stood, staring at the floor as Y/N walked closer to her. 

 “You think you can sleep?” 

 “Yeah, I want to shower first,” Sarah pointed up the stairs. 

 Y/N nodded in surprise. “Okay. Uh… you sure you’ll be okay up there?” 

 The reason why Y/N asked this was because, after her brother died, she wouldn’t even enter that side of the house for months. So it confused her as to how she would be able to go upstairs and be okay. 

 “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sarah said reassuringly. 

 Hesitantly, Y/N nodded, her bad gut feeling coming back. “Okay, um, I’m gonna make us some tea, that sound good?” 

 “That’d be really nice, thanks.” And with that, Sarah made her way up the stairs.

 Y/N nodded, letting her reassuring fake smile fall once Sarah was out of sight. Her eyes panned over to the table in the hall that adorned family photos. Behind it was a quilt she assumed their mother made. 

 The sound of her text messages startled her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the text from Spencer. 

 All good? 

 “Oh Spencer, you always know when somethings up,” Y/N whispered to herself and replied with ‘not sure’. 

 About five minutes later, after Y/N had finished with the tea, she made her way to the dining room and set the cups down. Her phone went off again, this time a call. 

 When she pulled it out of her pocket, Spencer’s name lit up the screen. 

 “Hey,” she answered, her voice hushed.

 “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, worry clear in his voice. 

 Y/N sat down at the head of the table and let out a breath. “I don’t know, I’m not sure, but the feeling is back again. She’s just...too casual and almost cold since we got here.” 

 “It could be the shock,” Spencer replied.

 “Yeah, I know, but she’s composed at the same time,” Y/N said, trying to explain Sarah’s behavior. “She has not mentioned Katie to me even once since we got here. I couldn’t go to the side of the house that my brother stayed in after he died.” 

 “She does have a point,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “When my sister died, I couldn’t even walk into my house, let alone past her room.”

 “Well, what do you think, Y/N, Sarah pulled it off?” Blake’s voice asked. 

 “It may be a possibility,” Y/N shrugged. 

 “It’s a very detailed plan,” Blake commented. 

 “What, she knew about her father’s condition and took advantage of it?” Spencer asked as his voice rushed as he spoke. 

 “She set up character witnesses like Jeff Godwin...to back up her fear,” Derek’s voice said, piecing together a theory. “She even got her little sister to make calls to a hotline. She manipulated us from the minute we found her.”

 “Her writing suggested no empathy and no real emotional connection to the family,” Blake said, recalling the writing she had read earlier that day. 

 “Psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer remarked. 

 “Her wounds are more than superficial, but they could be self-inflicted, right, Y/N?” JJ asked the woman on the phone. 

 Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Sarah enter the room. 

 “Baby, I know, I’m sorry I can’t be there for the dinner tonight,” Y/N said, quickly coming up with a cover for why she was on the phone. “But London and Jackson are there until Friday and I promise I will make it up to you when I get back.”

 Y/N then turned to look at Sarah, acknowledging her presence. “You okay? I didn’t hear the shower.”

 “Yeah, I just wanted my tea,” Sarah pointed to the cup on the table.

 “Oh, I was gonna bring it to you, but it should be ready,” Y/N stood up and handed her the cup. 

 “Yeah, I’m still here,” she said, wanting to let them know she was okay. 

 “We’ll be right there, stay on the phone,” Spencer said quickly as Y/N assumed he was running out of the precinct. 

 “Baby, I gotta go,” she said and hung up the phone, watching as Sarah walked away. 

 When Y/N heard the water running, she walked down to the basement, remembering the tub she saw earlier. She took her flashlight connected to her holster out and walked down the stairs. When she reached the floor she walked straight over to the tubs of quilts, specifically the one with Katie’s name. 

 She pulled it off the shelf and moved it over to an empty table next to it. As she filed through all the blankets, she came across a real estate binder. When she opened it and flipped through the pages, she heard a gun click behind her. 

 “Why did you have to come down here?” 

 Sarah’s voice rang in the quiet of the basement. 

 Cautiously, Y/N turned around to look at her. In Sarah’s hand was the second gun they had been looking for. 

 “We’ve been looking for that.” 

 “It’s an old house, I know the best hiding places,” she shrugged. “But you, what do you think you know?” 

 “You put everything that went missing with your mother inside this box,” Y/N nodded to the box beside her. “1999.” 

 “Maybe my dad did it?” 

 “No,” Y/N spoke before she could even finish. “No, you chose this box because it’s the year Katie was born and everything changed.”

 Sarah’s face formed a snarl as Y/N spoke. 

 “She was your little sister.”

 “Katie ruined everything-” she took the last step so now she was level with Y/N- “and my mother let her.” 

 “Your mother loved you,” Y/N protested. 

 “Well, she loved Katie more,” Sarah seethed. 

 Y/N and Sarah stood in silence for a second. 

 “I should’ve cried for Katie,” Sarah scoffed. “I guess there are some things I just can’t fake.”

 Carefully, Y/N’s hand reached for the gun on her belt, something she really didn’t want to have to do. 

 “You won’t do it,” Sarah said, taking another step closer. 

 “You need to back up- now.” Y/N’s voice was stern as she commanded the young girl.

 “I can say my trauma kicked in,” Sarah explained. “PTSD.”

 Her face then formed into fear, “I saw you with the gun, and I didn’t know what else to do!”

 Then her face went back to normal. 

 Truly, Y/N was kinda impressed. “You thought of everything.”

 Then, by the grace of whatever is out there, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. 

 “Sarah put the gun down,” Derek said softly as he came up behind her. 

 “No, no, you don’t understand. She has a gun, she was going to hurt me,” Sarah used her plea. 

 “No, no, Sarah, It’s okay,” Derek reassured her. As he put his gun down, Spencer lifted his up and pointed it at her.

 “Listen to me,” Derek said, holstering his gun. “I understand. It’s okay, Sarah. She wasn’t going to hurt you. I know you’ve been through enough. All right? I get it.” 

 Sarah let out a fake sob as Derek placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sarah, you’re safe now, okay?”

 Sarah nodded and turned to Derek. “Okay, thank you.”

 As soon as Derek pulled the gun out of Sarah’s hands, Spencer came up from behind her and cuffed her. 

 “What are you doing?!” She exclaimed as the cuffs came down on her wrists. 

 “You’re a smart girl, Sarah. Figure it out,” Derek said, taking Sarah out of Spencer's hands and led her up the stairs. 

 Sarah tried to plead as Derek took her up the stairs. 

 Y/N turned back to the book she had been looking at, opening to a page that held trophies from Sarah’s mom. 

 “February fourth, the day Judy went missing,” Y/N said as she read the date above the necklace. 

 “Trophies,” Spencer said as he got closer to Y/N. “If the detective Friedman had ever found it, she would have pinned it all on Bruce.”

 “Damn, it’s almost impressive,” Y/N whispered as she closed the boom and brought it up as evidence.

------------

 “The guests of honor!” Rossi exclaimed as Y/N and Spencer walked into his home.

 The two chuckled and walked closer to Rossi to hug him. Rossi grabbed each of their faces, kissing them both on the cheeks. 

 “Dave, thank you so much for this,” Y/N said, taking Spencer’s hand as she thanked the man. 

 “Well, it’s the least I could do,” Rossi smiled, then turned and pointed to the room holding his own personal bar. “And I heard that there’s a special someone here to see you, Y/N.” 

 Y/N raised a brow in confusion then looked to Spencer, who had a smirk on his face. 

 “Remember the other day when you had to cover on the phone, and said something about London and Jackson coming to visit,” he beamed at the smile that formed on Y/N’s face as she put the pieces together. 

 “Shut up!” She laughed and rushed into the room, her best friend standing with her own boyfriend next to Derek, laughing about something. “London!” 

 When she heard her name, the dark-headed woman turned around and saw Y/N. “Y/N!” 

 The two met in the middle and hugged tightly, having missed each other so much. 

 “Oh my god, let me see it,” London said, pulling away from the hug so she could look at Y/N’s ring. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” 

 “I know,” Y/N sighed as London held her hand still. 

 “Now I just wonder when Jackson will give me one of those,” London laughed as her boyfriend came up next to her. 

 “Okay, no need to be hostile,” the green-eyed man said as he wrapped an arm around London’s waist. “Congratulations, Y/N.” 

 “Thank you, Dr. Avery,” she responded diplomatically.

 “And to you too, Dr. Reid,” Jackson said, tipping his wine glass to Spencer as he walked up to the three, grabbing Y/N’s hand. 

 “Thank you,” Spencer smiled at the man.

 The four of them had all hung out before. After another case the team had in Seattle, Spencer and Y/N stayed an extra day to hang out with London and Jackson. Y/N and laughed, making a comment about how she was the only one in the group who wasn’t a doctor. 

 “So how was your last case?” London asked. She loved to hear about cases and she repeatedly told Y/N that the team was the real life Scooby-Doo gang. 

 “A plot twist to say the least,” Y/N laughed, not wanting to go into detail. “I’m just glad it’s the weekend, and I’m just keeping my fingers crossed we don’t get called in.” 

 “I know that feeling,” Jackson agreed with a laugh. 

 Then, Hotch’s phone ringing was heard from across the room. 

 “No, not tonight,” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “One night, can serial killers just chill out for one night.”

 Those who heard her comment laughed, but then Hotch reassured her worries. 

 “Don’t worry Y/N, that was Jessica, telling me Jack finished his homework.” 

 “Oh thank goodness.”

 The night went on, Rossi had hired a catering service so the dinner was all little finger foods. Due to the cold weather, Rossi had made a dance floor in the bar room. Clearing out the tables that were in the middle of the room and leaving room for everyone to dance. 

 There was laughter heard all night as everyone danced and sang obnoxiously loud to the 90’s rock. It was a perfect surreal moment that made Y/N so happy. As she danced with Spencer, she pulled herself closer to him and whispered to him. 

 “I wish every night was like this.” 

 “It will be,” Spencer whispered back, placing a kiss on the shell of her ear as he spoke. “This is how we’ll spend every night we’re married, dancing, singing, and laughing until we can’t breathe.” 

 Y/N smiled, turning her head to place her lips on his. This kiss was meant to be a peck, but Spencer held the small of her back closer and let their lips dance together longer. 

 She giggled as she pulled away from him as Derek yelled “Get a room!” as he danced with a very drunk Penelope. 

 “I think I like the idea of us dancing till sunrise.”

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome @word-scribbless @nintendumbfuck @confused-and-really-hungry  @andiebeaword @itsarayofsunshine @baby-i-am-fireproof @abitofeverythinggg @nanocoool @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal @fancyfaucet @im-a-raging-gay @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny @bandsandjill @mbowles23-blog @sarcasm-n-insomnia @citrussirus @nerual222 @april-14-blog @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland @justawildmarebae @sana-li @thesailbells @l0ve-0f-my-life @spencer101reid @spencersdolore @delicateprunecashpony @sader12345678 @dashlilymark @mysticalmagicmoon @onebigfangirlworld @saturn-mp4 @hurricanejjareau @thatweirdo466 @angryknightstatesmantrash @nograciass @danandphilfan6 @la-vie-en-amour1 @squirrellover1967 @reidswords @skyirates @spideyspencer @harrypressman @justine-en @absolutelynotsophie @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal​ @mailikestruecrimetoomuch​ @dadchi-oya​ @marley1773​ @lashtonandmalumsbaby @jesus-christ-ashtons-arms @lulurose17​ @flowers-in-fields​ @multifandombb​ @aimzonicles97​ @criminaly-supernatural​ @aperrywilliams​ @n1ghtsh4d3-67​ @thatsonezesty13 @maya0819 @chaoticsteverogers​ @brendon-phan-stuff @cityofolympus​ @sungieeeeeee​ @notsofruitiesmoothie​ @cassiopeiaathena​ @voguekristens @fandomlover4091​ @criminalminds-and-cookies @marcyag​ @goofyfaith7​ @typical-lingling​ @fallingforfics​ @spycemilk​ @spencers-sass @yuurisassonice​ @kmc217 @daiiybuugle​ @caswinchester2000​ @yomama-umbridge​ @falcon-arrows​

[j-casper]

random emily prentiss hcs i have (that ended up turning into slight penemily hcs—oops.)

@criminalrainyxx

based on a combination of canon and my own headcannons + sergio hcs, my dude

emily’s parents are both ambassadors that met through college before either started their careers. eventually, they got together and had emily; however, they divorced when she was around three because their careers were going in different directions.

they would argue over emily mainly and what they thought was best for her. emily’s father wanted elizabeth to stay home more and have a more active role in emily’s life, and elizabeth wanted to keep working.

when they divorced, emily’s father signed over custody of emily and left to continue his career in another country. emily never really got over him leaving.

it was her father leaving that later causes emily to be so hesitant with relationships, as she saw how distraught her mother was after her father left despite how much the two genuinely loved each other. her father was the first one to show her that even the ones that love you can leave.

as a result of her father leaving and her mother’s busy career, emily was raised by a nanny for most of her childhood.

her nanny was the one that first realized the extent of her anxiety, and she was the one that taught emily methods of calming herself and her anxiety, as well as ways to stop having a panic attack.

her nanny was also the one that taught her how to bake which emily is surprisingly good at unlike cooking.

emily stayed in touch with her old nanny well into adulthood, sending her birthday and mother’s day gifts every year.

(in turn, her nanny sends her a birthday card every year. emily keeps them tucked away in her desk at work for her to look at when things get overwhelming and as a reminder to remember the breathing exercises she was taught as a child to calm down)

emily is actually pretty smart (canon). not “spencer smart” but smart enough on her own to end up attending yale for graduate school.

despite moving around a lot and partying, emily kept a solid 4.0 GPA plus extracurriculars throughout her schooling (nothing less than perfect for her mother).

languages really fascinate her, and it was her father that first read to her in another language and he attempted to teach her it before he left. (she kept up her language learning through tutors after he left)

eventually, when it came to college, she only applied to a few despite probably being able to get into an ivy league. she ended up picking chesapeake bay university because it was the farthest away she could get from her mother at the time.

for the first year, she mainly took language courses and it took her a while to actually pick a major.

(she eventually picked criminal justice just to spite her mother but ended up falling in love with the subject, leading her to later attend yale for a graduate degree in it)

it was also in her first year of college that she had her first relationship with a woman. (before college, she was too scared of what her mother would say about her sexuality if she dated someone of the same gender while in high school)

she met her through the LGBT+ Alliance on campus

they didn’t last together long but the relationship really helped emily come to terms with her sexuality.

(surprisingly, when she came out to her mother, her mother didn’t mind. elizabeth later told emily though to only pick acceptable women (i.e. those that won’t make a fool out of themselves and therefore emily and elizabeth by proxy) to come to galas as her plus one.)

emily had a crush on jj at one point when she joined the BAU but quickly dropped it upon realizing that the blonde was straight.

even more, emily never really told anyone on the team her sexuality. not because she was ashamed, but because no one really asked. but they all slowly find out over time because emily doesn’t really hide it.

derek finds out first after emily casually tells him a story about one of her ex-girlfriends. derek doesn’t blink and instead just enlists emily as his wingwoman and tries to set her up on blind dates.

(penelope later finds out that derek knew first and slaps him on the shoulder and scolds him, whispering insistingly “why didn’t you tell me that i had a chance?”)

emily’s father died long before she joined the BAU.

emily keeps his ashes beside the copy of his favorite book he left her on her bedroom dresser.

she attended his funeral along with her mother.

when emily arrived home from the funeral, she cried for the first time in years.

truthfully, she could never find it in herself to hate him despite the fact that he left her.

as a result, emily never really talks about her father, but eventually she tells spencer and the two of them bond over having absent fathers in their lives that both abandoned them.

truthfully, if you ask emily who her favorite team member was and if her answer wouldn’t hurt/offend anyone else on the team, she would admit without hesitation that it was penelope.

to emily, penelope is sunshine in a person and never fails to cheer emily up when she’s being grouchy or sad.

occasionally, penelope and emily (and sometimes derek) hang out together to play video games—even though emily really sucks at them.

emily really likes mario kart though and she doesn’t judge penelope whenever she picks peach (but they do playfully argue over who gets to play yoshi some days).

emily never had a pet growing up so when she sees a man on the side of the road giving away free kittens, she can’t resist going over and coming home with a small black ball of fur cradled in her hands.

she names him sergio, and emily almost cries when he purrs for the first time.

penelope was the first person to learn of sergio after emily sends her a photo of him curled on her lap asleep.

penelope shows up not even an hour later at emily’s door with a bag full of things from the pet store.

sergio leaves emily’s lap for penelope’s and emily can only pout, muttering “traitor” underneath her breath but not being able to deny how cute Penelope’s squeals over his actions are.

penelope stays the night and emily jokes that penelope loves sergio more than her because she never stayed the night before when it was just emily in the apartment.

penelope declares sergio her godchild and emily doesn’t blink, accepting it.

whenever sergio does something cute, emily immediately takes a video/photo and sends it to penelope.

sergio also helps emily with her anxiety, easily calming her when she’s upset.

when emily “dies,” she worries about sergio a lot. however, jj tells her that penelope has him when she asks about him and she relaxes, knowing that penelope loves sergio as much as she does.

when emily returns home, she tries to convince penelope to keep sergio but penelope refuses, instead telling her that they can split custody as penelope knows how much sergio helps emily with her anxiety.

the split in custody leads emily to declare penelope to be her co-parent and remark that sergio is their son.

penelope, in turn, refers to sergio as “emily prentiss’s son” whenever he does something mischievous like breaking penelope’s living room lamp.

emily doesn’t really dress sergio in outfits. mostly because her mother would constantly dress her in clothes she didn’t enjoy and force her to attend events when she was younger, and doesn’t want to force poor sergio to dress up either.

when she sees him for the first time since going to witness protection, however, she can’t help but love the collar + bowtie penelope had him wearing.

speaking of bowties, emily quickly learns that sergio has so many of them. like—he has his own box in penelope’s closet with nothing but bowties. he has bowties for every occasion: halloween, christmas, and etc.

his tag is fish shaped with emily’s and penelope’s phone numbers on the back. emily originally wanted to get him a bone tag but penelope only pouted and emily instead purchased him a black collar with little white bones on it (halloween themed, of course), declaring sergio to be a badass like her and ignoring penelope’s responding fond roll of her eyes.

emily and penelope only take sergio to the best veterinarian in the area, and not once do they miss a single check-up or appointment.

it takes penelope a while but she eventually discovers that emily taught sergio tricks like how to sit and high-five, but—because emily wanted to—sergio only knows how to do the tricks when spoken to in italian, leading penelope to learn italian phrases from emily so she could show off sergio’s tricks on her own.

(and that’s all from now because I will not stop if I continue on 😭)

[connabeth]

Hi! I’m a long time lurker and I think you are super smart and kind. I just finished high school and am going to college in the fall. Do you have any inside advice about your first year of college?

i’m going to be completely honest, i didn’t enjoy my first year of college for a number of reasons—depression, uncertainty, pressure, loss. i was tempted to answer this with a “don’t go” but that’s not particularly helpful or optimistic. for me, it started out rough, got better in the middle, and went downhill once again in the spring. the pandemic might’ve had something to do with it but i still i think i academically benefitted from it because online classes make things more efficient and accessible. even though i was on campus in the fall, all my classes were online so i can’t speak on in-person classes.

my biggest suggestion would be to befriend people in your classes, especially in your smaller classes, when you have the chance because those are the people i talk to the most regularly now. my mental health (and gpa) may have taken a hit recently, but the only thing keeping me sane throughout it all has been my friends. they’ve been there for me, to reassure me and help me see clearly when my mind was going haywire and i was having dangerous impulses. but even outside of the extremes, they’re a positive light in my life. they always make me laugh and help me take my mind off things. social interaction is the one escape you get from the stress of classes—which leads me to my next point.

don’t be afraid to give yourself a break!! since things will likely be in person for you this fall, make it a point to explore outside or go do something with a friend at least every few days. during my fall term, i was overwhelmed with my purely stem courseload and i had periods where i wouldn’t leave my dorm for days to go eat or breathe fresh air or talk to people. please do not try to work yourself to the bone because ultimately that just makes you more unproductive, exhausted, and miserable. take a break to go get food and talk to someone. if you want some time to scroll through social media, do that and get back to work so you can get it out of your system and resist the urge to do so while you’re working. you’ll feel at least partially rejuvenated by the end of it and more motivated to get your work done.

one of my biggest regrets is not exploring campus enough. i didn’t go to a lot of places i could’ve gone because i was too scared to venture out of my comfort zone and make more solid connections with certain people. make use of the resources you have at your fingertips! find someone who’ll go places and try new things with you.

and while we’re on resources, i don’t know the specifics of what your school offers but the greatest asset to my education were the teaching fellows assigned to help with some of my stem classes. they helped me survive the class by giving explanations that made more sense, answering my million hypothetical abs clarification questions, and providing a fuckton of practice problems to help me succeed on tests. make an effort to go to office hours, even if you think you understand the material, because i guarantee you things will come up that you hadn’t even thought of or they’ll clue you in on specific things you need to know for the exams. it also helps you build connections with people which is fulfilling in itself, but also very helpful if you ever need that recommendation in the future. there will also likely be tutoring services offered outside the realm of the class’s staff through school-wide clubs and organizations. if for some reason you don’t feel comfortable learning from the prof/TAs or find their teaching styles inadequate or just want extra help, go to these other sessions to supplement your learning. never, ever feel ashamed about reaching out for help. you’re better for it!

because of parental pressure and the sinking feeling of realizing i’d boxed myself into one career pursuit, i wasn’t able to explore a wide genre of classes like i would’ve wanted to. if you have the opportunity to do so, i highly encourage it. that’s the only way you’re going to know whether something is for you or not. but also, if you’re really interested in physics for example but you do poorly in your intro physics class, that’s not a sign for you to quit and find some other professional interest!! don’t give up at the first sign of “failure”. sometimes things take time and practice and perseverance. think upward trends.

last thing, if you don’t end up with a gpa you like by the end of your freshman year, don’t tear yourself apart. i did recently, but i know now that i have time to make up for losses, learn from my mistakes, and do better moving forward. your future is what you make of it. the most important part of college is being honest with yourself about what you like and dislike, and having a support system in place to guide and encourage you as you navigate this journey. good luck!!

[ace-t-fic]

This a Peter si fic I started (its purely 'feel good' no eye roll moments) but never found out what I wanted to do with it. This hasn't been grammar checked ethier.

The yearly trip to science industries (after the fiasco concerning OC labs) was heavily guarded by the gpa efficiency minimum and it was usually 123 Seniors at Midtown high each year. That only left less than 30 who had the gpa needed in order to attend the field trip. But with detentions and tardies that often brought it down to 25 added in with the people who actually turned in their permission slips drop that number down to a solid 13. That usually  meant the whole decathlon team, one jock, the Sat acres and people with tiger parents. 

So when the paper was only passed to Peter and Flash in their homeroom he wasn’t surprised who qualified for the field trip. 

Last year's field trip the students all got to go to Tesla and returned the day after. Liz said it was a fun experience and even one of the kids was later offered an internship available to him after their graduation. Liz herself wasn’t all that interested in the company herself but she said the experience was an enjoyable one. So Peter would have been lying if he said he wasn’t practically buzzed for when his senior year trip came. 

He wondered if they would be able to tour the new labs Wakanda had set up. He wanted to go for a while but their outside personnel was strictly limited to certified personnel and those with names that ended with Stark or Banner or Avengers. But the name staring back at him was just laughing at him, “congratulations, you have qualified for this year's exclusive Senior trip to SI inc.” an all paid expense to visit his work. Now instead of taking the City bus he could just catch a ride on a big ugly yellow one. 

Not that this was a let down it was still an amazing opportunity many would kill for. He thought gazing behind him to stare at Flash who fist bumped the air. The attention caught his attention and he made brief eye contact with Peter with a smug little smile on his face. Peter only flashed back his before the flash rolled his eyes and no longer paid him attention. 

Flash still didn’t partially believe Peter's internship-neither did anyone else really- but flash was the most put out about it. He would be lying if he says he wasn’t rooting for Peter the night of his junior year party. He even helped Diana, the maid clean and dust just in case Spiderman really did show up. And when he didn’t show up he told Peter exactly how he felt about it with a new string of nicknames. Added on to the occasional passive agressive shoulder shove but nothing more or less beyond that. Sure he was a dick but he wasn’t a good fighter, just richer than Parker he was beating him in the fight of life. 

Peter only rolled his eyes back, shoving the paper into the back of his class notebook. 

The minutes ticked by steadily as Peter waited to meet Ned at his locker. He’s almost deadly positive Ned received one too and is waiting to shake the life out of his shoulders. Peter may work at Si but Ned’s never been and the experience in itself is quite entertaining. Things are always different when best friends are involved. 

“Anyone who received a field trip paper will have to have it signed and returned to me, the office, or Mrs. Meyers up to five days before the date of the field trip. Other than that we will continue on with the stock market Tomorrow!” The teacher screamed over the rustling papers and scraping chairs as he let them out a minute early, if you ask anyone on campus that made him the cool teacher.

Petter grabbed his folders, having lost another backpack he was sure laid webbed to the building and exited the room. He easily made it to his locker before Ned did and even got to close it before he was approached

. 

“Dude you can show me your lab.” he whispered to peter. 

“Actually I can’t, my lab is Tony’s and that's only because Bucky has been keeping him away from the lab.” Peter announced before he got his hopes up. “We’re probably gonna tour below mid level, I don't think they allow anyone without a permanent badge into any of the labs.” 

“Do we get to meet any of the avengers?” 

“Probably Bruce, he’s usually chilling with all the other scientists. It’ll be cool though you know i haven’t actually met him? The dude has to be dumb smart, you know Tony scraps ideas if he can’t get Bruce to sign off on them.” Peter gushes, before an arm is roughly swung around his shoulder. “Ow-no.”

Flashes pffts, “give me a break i hate this as much as you but apparently since I’m friends with idiots i have to slum it with you and- I’m sorry what's your-”

“Ned”

“Yeah Ned, that sounds familiar for the trip. I asked more about it and this might be a good time to turn in our submissions for the upcoming Intern conference. We get in ahead and we can probably impress him enough for our stuff to actually be looked at. Peter, I know your tech smart, I do numbers and possibilities and Ned we’ve been in coding since middle school together so we can definitely do that.” Flash rambles.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ve been coding together for 6 years and you just barely remembered my name?”

“What I’m talking about-Peter is welcome to the winning team. Listen your smart parker you may or may not have an internship although its kinda sketchy that out of nowhere you a loser 17 year old defies all social laws and pops on the popularity chart” Understandable he still cursed Ned for saying anything right before he asked Mary jane to prom god that was embarrassing. 

You know that fancy stuff doesn’t bother me Peter. If I wanted to solely date you for your internship I’d hope someone would’ve knocked sense into you to get over me. 

“But I honestly feel as if we wow at least one impressionable person. They'll seek us an audience with Stark before the rest of the crowd.”  Flash continues. 

“You know that honestly doesn’t sound bad?” Ned finishes unsure over the look of alarm on Peter's face. Because yeah it’s not a bad idea and that expo meant the world to the real science losers around the GLOBE. And Ned really did want to be involved beyond the guy in the chair way before Peter turned into Spiderman. Peter would probably still be hands deep in his theories if he hadn’t gotten bit by some escaped lab spider. This expo at one point in his life -sophomore year- was the only thing that was gonna get Aunt May out of the nearly slumps. 

And flash…. Well he’s just a fucking nerd to put it lightly he was just rich, and since he was rich and gushes this much about being a intern of all things meant he might’ve been worse then both Peter and Ned when they first envisioned running coffee for Tony stark. 

Plus it would be kinda unfair to see if he could pull strings for Ned instead of proving that he was capable of it far more on his own. “Fiiiinn-”

“Whoop! You might actually not be so bad penis.” and with a clap on his shoulder disappearing with the ringing of the bell. 

Peter clenched his jaw shooting a ‘why’ look at Ned, “Oh don’t give me that look, you think I want to work with him. He has money and resources and he is good at real numbers not technical of coding, look you're an spaceship mechanic, he does the landing the thrust or whatever they do and I’m the guy who counts down which is honestly better then both of those jobs-” 

“Please Ned you're embarrassing me '' Peter laughed as he and Ned made their way through the day. 2 months until the field trip that was more than enough time for three geniuses to at least come up with a concept and a prototype for something cool. 

Scrap that they’re screwed. 

“I almost died.” Ned said, sitting in a shock of foam. “You guys just sat there, you were gonna watch me die.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Ned reared back at Flash's comment, “Dramatic! I just went up in flames!” 

“Hey, it was your boy Peter who made it. Plus maybe if he didn’t bail early last  Monday we could’ve caught that our numbers weren’t matching up with his” Maybe if some assholes weren't trying to rob F.E.A.S.T after their charity event he wouldn’t have had too. 

“I told you things happen Flash, I do in fact have a life.”

“MJ tell you that”

“-oo burn”

“Ned!- ok listen in order for this hoverboard to work we have to make sure everything is matched up. It shouldn’t have done that so something else must’ve gone wrong too.” Peter explained grabbing the notebooks and tossing them on the Flashes workbench. Hoverboard and back to future stickers on the covers.

“Might be the fact that it isn’t Hovering. But that's just me.”

[etraytin]

west wing gang on day 14 of self quarantine?

(Okay, assume for the purposes of this fic that the US election schedule is based on reality and not the show’s weird two-year offset, okay? So everything is happening in 2020 instead of 2018 or 2022.)

“Does my face look flushed to you?” Josh demanded. 

“Well, you’ve been yelling for the past ten minutes, so...” Donna pointed out. 

Josh frowned, leaning closer to his laptop. “No, I’m being serious. Do I look flushed to you? I feel hot.” 

Donna flicked her eyes down, studying him through the screen. “Nope,” she decided. “Just normally enraged by politics. Did you take your temperature?” 

“Well yeah, of course I took my temperature,” he replied, grimacing. “I took it three times.” 

“And what did it say?” she asked patiently. 

“98.9,” he admitted. “But I normally run cool! That’s high for me!” 

“Are you coughing?” 

“No, but my throat feels scratchy.” 

She smiled faintly. “Did I mention the part where you’ve been yelling for ten minutes?” 

“Well I can’t help it!” he insisted. “We’re less than four months from the convention, we haven’t sewn up the nomination, we can’t hold a single goddamn rally or let the candidate shake anybody’s hand, we lose every news cycle to a new report about how sneezing is bad for you, I’m four hundred miles away from you and the kids and I can’t come home, the SATs are cancelled so god knows what that’ll do for Jo’s college search-” 

“Josh,” Donna began gently, then more insistently. “Josh! JOSHUA! Calm down, take a breath!” She smiled when he subsided, for all he was still glaring at the screen. “I know it’s frustrating, and I miss you too, but it’s going to be okay,” she promised. “Sam's the prohibitive favorite atthis point, and the virtual Q&As have been very well-received.I've got data here showing a solid fifteen point lead in primarystates that have yet to vote, and twenty-five points against theRepublican candidate. Everything we're doing is working,” shereminded him.

 “Not well enough!” Josh insisted. “I mean, how do we know?Maybe people aren't answering their phones. The only in-personpolling they can do is from people too stupid to stay home, so that'sgotta be skewed, right?”

 “I think it's a pretty good indicator still,” Donna told himpatiently. “And yes, the SAT was canceled, but that just puts us inthe same boat as thousands of other families. Jo has a 4.0 GPA andgreat extracurriculars, plus a letter of recommendation from JosiahBartlet. I think she's going to be just fine.”

 “Maybe,” Josh had to assent. “I feel like I have body aches.Body aches are a symptom, right?” 

 Donna's eyes sharpened. “Where are they at?” 

 “My lower back is killing me,” he informed her, “and myshoulders.” 

 She eased back. “Have you been using the lumbar cushion?” sheasked archly. “And how many hours have you been hunched over thatscreen?” 

 “What else is there to do?” Josh demanded, skirting the pillowquestion entirely.

 “How about some exercise? You guys are in a three bedroom suite,right? There's room to at least do stretching. Oh, CJ's pinging me,I'll patch her in.”

 Donna tapped a few keys and the screen split, now showing both herand a somewhat disheveled CJ. “Christ,” CJ muttered, brushing herhair flat, “I didn't realize we were video calling.” 

 Josh grinned at her, happy to see at least one person less puttogether than himself. “Hey CJ, long time no see! Are those yourpajamas?” 

CJ glared at him. “I'm in quarantine, what do I have to getdressed up for?” 

 “Are you back in the States now?” Donna asked. “Did you haveany trouble?”

 “Not much, all the restrictions are on Europe, but we're stillsupposed to quarantine for fourteen more days.” CJ adjusted thecamera up so only her head and neck were showing. In the background,Danny was wandering around the kitchen in a pair of University ofCalifornia boxer shorts, apparently unaware of the webcam. “How'sthe campaign?” 

 “Stalled,” Josh groused.  “Dead in the water. Momentumless.” 

“That's the spirit!” Sam told him cheerfully, coming from hisbedroom and fastening his cuffs as he leaned over Josh's shoulders.“Josh has been talking to Toby,” he confided to the womenonscreen. “I think we'll have to stop him.”

 “Sounds like a good idea, Mr. Senator,” Donna agreed,grinning. 

 “You'll probably have to tie them both down in separate rooms,”CJ advised. “Long time no see, by the way. You're lookingremarkably happy for a man in quarantine with his campaign staff.” 

 “That's because I have America in my heart,” Sam told her withmock gravity. “Hi, Danny!” CJ glanced down at her own screen and abruptly yanked the webcamfocus back onto herself. 

“Hi Sam!” Danny's voice echoed over theline. “You should be nicer to the press pool.” 

 “They're never nice to me back!” Sam pointed out. “I'mhaving a lot more luck with the women's magazines.” 

 “I bet you are,” CJ cackled. “Hey, have any of you heardfrom Abbey and Jed?”

 “They're all right,” Donna reported. “Zoey, Charlie andtheir kids are out with them, and that farm is so remote it's aboutthe safest place they could be. Abbey says they've got enough cannedgoods in the basement for a year , if you don't mind a lot ofapple-based dishes.”

“And apple based trivia, I'm sure,” Josh put in. “How aboutyou, you're not going out, are you?” 

“I'm being very safe,” Donna assured him. “I'm fromWisconsin, we stock up when there's a storm coming. Hey, Garret!”she called, snagging a fast-moving blur behind her chair. “Say hito Dad and everybody!”

 Garret leaned down into the frame, all lanky body and light brownhair and a dimple just like his dad when he grinned. “Hi Dad andeverybody! Hey Dad, I can use your car while you're gone, right? Ipromise not to go where there are people.” 

 “What?” Josh squawked. “My car? No!” 

 “We'll talk about it later, kiddo,” Donna told Garret, shooinghim away. 

“Donna!” Josh protested. 

“Listen, mister, you haven't been stuck in the house forfourteen days with two bored teenagers,” Donna reminded him.“Even the internet has stopped being enough. It's your own damnfault for buying that middle-age crisis testosterone-mobile.” Josh frowned and tried to ignore the fact that CJ was alreadylaughing. “Fine, but when our insurance rates skyrocket, I'm goingto be the one saying I told you so.” 

 “That's a price I'm willing to let you pay,” Donna replied,serene once again. “You guys have another Q&A in a couple ofhours, right?”

“It's on healthcare in America, so it should be a barn-burner,”Sam agreed. “Are you going to watch?” 

“Oh, I have a list of questions,” CJ assured him smoothly. 

Sam's eyes widened. “That sounds a little terrifying.” 

“I like to think of it as getting you prepared for the bigchair,” CJ told him. “You'll do fine. Josh, don't let him haveany more coffee.” 

 “I'll drink it all myself,” Josh promised. 

 “Josh!” Donna protested. 

 “Good man. Good luck!” CJ called cheerfully. “We're rootingfor you!” 

“Just make sure you vote for me!” Sam called back as CJ'swindow blinked out. “I'm gonna go make some coffee,” he muttered,wandering off into the kitchen.

 “Still feeling warm?” Donna asked when it was just the two ofthem again. 

 “Not as much,” Josh admitted rolling his shoulders. “Stillpretty stiff, though. I miss your backrubs.” 

 “As soon as you can get home, I'll make sure you get one,” shepromised. “Go take a long shower and some Advil, it'll help.” 

 “I miss you, too,” he told her seriously. “This sucks.” 

 “Yeah,” she sighed, slumping visibly. “But it's not forever.Take care of yourself, okay? Come home soon.” 

 “Doing my best,” he promised. “But next time we getquarantined, I'm bringing you with me. Love you.” 

“Sounds like fun,” she laughed. “Love you too. Go do a job.”The picture winked out. Josh took his temperature again. 98.9. Stillokay for now. How long was this thing going to last? 

This fic can also be found at Archive Of Our Own, username Etraytin, under the title   Isolated Cases.

[itsclydebitches]

1. I guess my point is more they're no shortcuts to art. If you want to be a writer professionally. You want to live off your stories. Then you need to have a bunch of shit stories written down first which means you have to start writing those shit stories first. Thats true for all art. Fail faster as they say. Fuck up today and the next day so years from now you have all this knowledge that only fuckups can teach you.

I think it’s that last part that people (myself included) struggle with: “keep that drive to learn from those failures.” Drive needs to come from somewhere and unless you’re hyper focused on a single dream like some shonen protagonist, drive often comes from improvement itself. It’s easy to acknowledge on an intellectual level that you need to fail to improve, but if you’re struggling to see that improvement you’ll start thinking, “Okay, I was told improvement is the reward for failing so often, but I’m not getting that... so why am I bothering to keep this up?” 

To provide a personal example: I suck at math. I really suck at math. We can claim there’s no such thing as “natural talent” all we want, but the fact remains that my brain is not wired to learn math as easily as it learns something like English. Does that mean I can’t learn it? No, but my learning curve is going to look staggeringly different from someone who picks these concepts up more easily and has an easier time remembering them when new concepts are thrown into the mix. What they master in a week might take me months to master - and then mastery on my end requires far more consistent work and practice than it does for them. I literally had a teacher pass me once not because I was actually passing the tests, but because he could see I was putting in twice the effort of my classmates for less than half the reward. So sometimes failure - though obviously necessary - interferes with that drive. If you don’t have such a solid dream that nothing can make a dent in it (I will become a mathematician no matter what!!) or if you don’t have a separate drive helping you along (I need to pass this class to keep up my GPA because my GPA leads to other things I do really want)... that interest can quickly flag. My math is someone else’s drawing. Or writing. Crafts, etc. Everyone has to create bad things in order to start making good things, but if you’re still creating bad things after six months and another friend who started with you is creating decent things in that same time period, it’s hard to keep going purely on the knowledge that you will get better... even though you haven’t seen that yet. 

Which is why I think it’s important to not just remind people that they need to practice, everyone starts out creating bad things, etc. but to also provide different kinds of drives when people inevitably hit these roadblocks. Change the definition of what “good” is to include creations that are achieving something you enjoy even if they’re not yet achieving other markers of “excellence.” Remind yourself and others to look back at old work because it’s often hard to see any improvement when you’re neck deep in your own creation. Make sure to interact with art - reblogging, leaving comments, etc. - so that artists know the steps they’re taking are appreciated, even if those steps feel really, really small to them. It’s one thing to understand that everyone needs to practice, it’s another thing entirely to drum up the time, energy, and will needed for practice when, from your own perspective, it doesn’t seem to be moving fast enough or perhaps doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere at all. Which is why we need to create a culture where artists can call on other kinds of drives when “I need to practice” fails them. Create communities where people can make themselves accountable with deadlines. Interact positively with works so that there’s reward attached to the act of practice. Provide reminders and concrete examples of where improvement has happened. In my experience at least, stuff like that is more beneficial in the long run. If a bad fic of mine gets a single comment then I’ve got a drive to practice writing more because look! Someone liked it!! If, however, a bad fic gets no comments (or worse, nothing but criticism), it’s far harder to work on just, “I need to practice so that people will like my stuff later. Hopefully. Theoretically...” 

[softestgentlest]

Lily & Harry - high school fanfic

Harry Styles.

Harry fucking Styles.

An egotistical, quick witted asshole with a silver tongue and easy charisma.

He's also irritatingly privileged; not only is he filthy fucking rich, but he's also extraordinarily intelligent, and to top it all off, positively, mercilessly, despicably gorgeous. As if he wasn't already dealt the winning hand, his otherworldly physical attractiveness afforded him the freedom to do whatever the hell he pleased, whenever, and wherever he wanted to do it.

And, of course, in some cruel twist of fate, he most often chose to utilize his influence by victimizing me: Lillian Mercier, a quiet, harmless junior, whose sole desire is to graduate ASAP, so I can move onto Cambridge University by the Fall of next year.

I'm on track to receive my diploma a year early, according to my guidance counselor, but I've got to keep my GPA above a 3.8 at least, if I have any hope of getting admitted into my uni of choice.

My mind is humming, sifting through upcoming exams, assignments, papers that need writing, and a number of other priorities as I open up my locker.

I'm just pulling out my SAT prep book, when a series of excited murmurs echo through the crowded hallway. A girl a few feet away turns, whispering to her friend, "I think my ovaries just exploded, dude. Look at Harry's haircut."

I roll my eyes, swapping the prep book with the AP English text that's currently weighing down my bag. I try to focus on my mental "to do" list, but I'm now annoyingly in-tune with the girl's conversation, unable to block them out.

"I know! How could he have gotten even hotter? And look at his outfit...like, he can literally make anything look good."

"Oh my goooodd dude, he's graduating this year. I honestly think I'll die, like, he's the only thing that makes this school tolerable."

"Shhhh, they're coming over here."

The girls go quiet, and I tense, keeping my eyes trained on the interior of my locker. Harry will be graduating at the end of the year, as he's a senior, and with that knowledge, I feel intensely relieved.

Even if I can't graduate early, he'll be gone, and I'll actually be able to enjoy my senior year.

A smile plays across my lips as I stretch to reach the top shelf of my locker, standing on my tippy toes. I'm 5'3, and these lockers were clearly built by men of average height, with little to no regard for high schoolers of smaller statures.

I know I threw some flash cards up there in the rush to make the bus yesterday, but even when I step up and onto the metal base of my assigned storage space, I still can't seem to-

I gasp, as I lose my footing and fall backwards. Luckily - or, maybe unluckily - my fall is broken by something solid. I hear a soft grunt, and large hands grip my waist, steadying me.

I pant, pressing a hand to my racing heart, when I feel something soft brush against the sensitive shell of my ear, "good morning to you too, clumsy."

I shiver, and pull away, immediately recognizing that deep, accented voice as it burns hotly into my skin.

Do not engage, I mentally remind myself, forcing my trembling hands to occupy themselves with the contents of my backpack.

He tssks, clicking his tongue, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks." I concede through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, leaning too close for comfort once again, "it was my pleasure, Lillian." His voice drops an octave on the word 'pleasure,' giving it an unnecessarily sexual undertone, if only to get under my skin.

At the corner of my vision, I see his shadowed silhouette as he leans against the locker beside mine, tall and domineering as ever.

I ignore his presence, slowly zippering up my bag, and securing my lock, before reluctantly turning to face him.

The first thing I notice is the lack of hair. What had once been long, lustrous, chocolaty curls, is now shortened gossamer strands of hair falling over his forehead in a provocative, untidy tumble. The new cut exposes his defined jawline, and those sharp, light catching cheekbones.

As usual, he's dressed to the nines, somehow managing to make his unexpected attire look effortlessly appealing. Today, he's clad in a strange mix of professional, and bohemian pieces: a blue and white checkered wool jacket, a dark pinstriped suit, a red beaded necklace. He's got on bright pink socks, and white loafers, and his signature assortment of rings.

I clear my throat when he catches me checking him out, "Harry, I didn't know you could sew."

He looks perplexed, considering my assumption with furrowed brows, "I can't."

"Oh, then I suppose it was your mother who made that jacket from one of her tablecloths?"

He tilts his head to one side, and runs his fingers roughly through his freshly cut curls, "this," he snarks, smoothing his hands down the woolen fabric, "is a $2,000 jacket, love."

I roll my eyes, hitching my bag over my shoulder, and turn to walk away, only to come face to face with Mitch and Nick, two of Harry's equally asinine friends.

"Excuse me." I prompt. The two boys ignore me, smirking over my head at their scumbag leader.

I huff, turning back around, knowing full well that they aren't going to do anything unless he commands it. "I don't have time for this, Harry." I cross my arms, pursing my lips in annoyance, "I'm gonna be late to class, and so are you."

His mouth curves dangerously, drawing my attention to the pillow-soft push of his lips. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we, Lillian?" he pronounces my name so that it drips from his shapely lips leisurely, provocatively. "What with your big plans to graduate early."

Immediately, I recoil, meeting his expectant stare with wide eyes, "H-how...?"

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't find out?" He pushes off the lockers, Stepping closer, "did you know that you're GPA is just .01 points less than mine?" His voice is honeyed, sickeningly sweet - it sets off warning bells in my head.

I swallow nervously, taking a small step backwards, "I don't see what that has to do with my plan-"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your plans." Again, he advances, but this time I hold my ground, tilting my head to meet his stare, "you see, we weren't competing before...not really. But, if you graduate ahead of your class and maintain that same GPA, well...Cambridge won't even look at me, regardless of my achievements, because you'll have the edge."

I blink, processing his words, "You want to go to Cambridge...?"

He quirks a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I'm dumbfounded, "But...but I-you...but-that's just ridiculous!" I nearly stomp my foot at the sheer absurdity of the notion, but opt to clench my fists at my sides instead.

He looks utterly amused, and leans a bit closer, a challenge in his eyes: "is that right?"

"Why would you want to go to Cambridge?!" I note how whiny my voice sounds, but I'm too distressed to care.

He's full on grinning now, his emerald eyes dancing with glee. "wouldn't you like to know" He purrs in that slow, sexy drawl, his voice dropping so low that it can only be heard by the two of us.

It is then that the bell rings, shrill and disruptive, tearing me from his trance-like stare.

I realize how close we've gotten, our faces perhaps six inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and wrapping around me. Before I can stop myself, I inhale his intoxicating scent: spicy and earthy and masculine, like cigarettes and pine and the leather spines of old books.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes slip shut...he smells so damn good.

Then, just as quickly, I blink, and step back, my heart racing in my chest. I did NOT just...

He straightens, raking his eyes over my trembling frame with an air of affected smugness. Silently, he steps the side, watching me as I collect myself, an embarrassing blush infusing my cheeks.

Slowly, I move down the hallway towards my class, uncharacteristically unconcerned with the possibility of being marked tardy. I can tell that he's following, as students all around turn to stare behind me. We're in the same English class.

My brain seems to have gone into overdrive, conjuring up insane reasons for why I'd smelled him and liked it enough to consider doing it again. Impossible. Harry's a prick. The bane of my existence. Sure, he's wildly attractive, but never have I ever been even remotely interested in him...sexually. So what the hell was that?

Why am I all hot and blushing and trembly? Why?! Especially after he'd dropped the Cambridge bomb! I mean, really? Of all the schools for him to choose, it had to be my dream school. And of the thousands of people I'll be competing with to be admitted, it just had to be him.

Harry's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and he's got the resources and connections to get into any school he wants. The chances of two kids from the same high school getting into Cambridge are absolutely zero, and whether I graduate early or not, Harry's a shoe in for a spot there - he's the ideal student: rich and intelligent and driven, with a shit ton of community service and extracurriculars under his belt, and with a number of published poems and short stories.

He'll take my spot there just by aiming his perfect white grin in the right direction. And if we were both admitted, by some miracle, that would be even worse! 6 more years with him?! I'd die. I couldn't take it. I'd-

"Ah!" I gasp, colliding with a tall boy for the second time today. My books fly out of my arms again, and I fall flat in my ass with a soft yelp of pain.

"Woah! Are you ok?" A voice asks, and I glance up to find a familiar blonde boy looking down at me.

"Um, y-yeah." I say, quickly moving to stand up. Like a gentleman, he reaches down, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. "Uh, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention..." I smile sheepishly,

"Oh, no, it's totally fine." He grins back, then kneels down to pick up my books. "As long as your ok."

"Really, I'm fine." I giggle, kneeling down to help. "Your Neil, right? I think we have psych together?"

He hands me my things, standing up, "close! It's Niall, and yeah, 6th period right?"

I nod, "Niall. Yeah, I'm Lily. I'm the one always shouting out the answers and then getting yelled at." I giggle nervously, feeling a little self conscious around this boy with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile.

He laughs, "well, I'm definitely not one to shout out answers. I'm terrible at Psych." He gestures for me to walk with him, and I do, "I'll walk you to your class, just to make sure your alright."

I roll my eyes playfully, but follow, "I already ran into you. Don't let me be the reason that your late to class too."

I lead the way to the English wing, and we joke lightly about our Psych teacher, Mrs. Campbell. By the time we've arrived, the bell has rung, and I know that he's going to be late because of me, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Hey," he calls out, just as I'm about to open the door to my classroom, "maybe you could tutor me sometime? In Psych? You always seem to be yelling the right answers, and I could really use the help..." he rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"It's the least I can do after running into you." I say, "let's talk in class later?"

"Yeah, sure!" He backs down the hallway, "I'll see you then, Lily!"

When I enter the classroom, there's still a smile on my face, and I quietly make my way to an empty seat in the back. My teacher, Mr. Gray, shoots me an inquisitive look, since I'm not one to show up late to my favorite class, but he doesn't call me out on it.

"Alright guys," he says, "while I was reading you essay submissions from last week, I noticed quite a few spelling errors, so I thought we might have a little bit of a...spelling bee today, just to see where we all stand when it comes to commonly misspelled words." The class groaned collectively, and he laughed, "nothing to worry about. This won't count for a grade, I just want a chance to see where everyone stands. It'll be fun!"

Mr. Gray proceeded to split the class into two groups, and two at a time, he called students up to the board, and in tournament fashion, the winner played the winner from the opposite team. I could tell that he was saving certain students for the end, since they would likely beat out all the competition, thereby depriving their teammates of turns. By the time it got to me, only a few students were left on the opposing team.

"Ok, Kim," he called to my competitor, "your word is Accidentally" Kim correctly spelled two words, and then swapped out with another teammate, Jamie, who only beat me on one word.

"Alright, this is it, guys. Last two. Harry, join Lily up front."

Immediately, my eyes found him, just as the rest of the class turned to watch him rising from his seat. He took a step towards me. Then another. I sort of shivered, watching him move, observing his long legs, slowly closing the space between us with their every measured step. There's something almost feline about it - the way he moves - very masculine...and very...sexual, if that makes any sense at all.

I averted my eyes as he took up the space beside me. Again, the drowsy scent of books and pine with undertones of coffee and tobacco invaded my senses, and I felt my knees threatening to buckle.

"Harry, your word is 'allegiance'"

I felt him smiling, tasted his smooth baritone, skating hotly down my spine: "A-L-L-E-G-I-A-N-C-E. Allegiance."

"Lily, controversy."

I spelled it correctly and held my breath, gazing stubbornly straight ahead.

"Harry, 'immediately.'" He did the same.

"perseverance"

"Accommodate"

"I-N-T-E-L-L-I-G-E-N-C-E, Intelligence." I glanced over at Harry, noting the look of intense boredom on his face as he stared off into the distance. Clearly, this was too easy for both of us.

"Too easy is it, Lillian?"

"Uh, w-what?" I snapped out of my reverie, glancing at Mr. Gray, who looked rather amused.

"If you think it's too easy, we can really put you two to the test. What do you think class?" Mr. Gray looked around, and the class erupted into excited giggles and shouts.

Realizing my mistake, I felt my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "oh I-I didn't m-mean to say that um...out loud sir..."

The damage had already been done. Mr. Gray grinned, clearly excited to have piqued the class's interest, "alright then, let's try....sacrilegious."

Harry, looking rather more alert than he had before, turned to look at me, holding my stare even as each honeyed letter fell from his lips "S-A-C-R-I-L-E-G-I-O-U-S" the flecks of gold in his eyes danced, embers crackling, glittering.

"Conscientious, Lily."

"Oh, um..." I quickly averted my gaze, glancing nervously at my trembling fingers, "C-O-N..." my heart wobbled in my chest. What's comes next? "...S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, Conscientious." I want this to be over...

Harry chuckled beside me, low and slow. I felt his eyes on me. "bureaucratic." He spelled, quick as a whip, and all eyes were back on me.

"Bourgeoisie." Amidst the nerves and exhaustion, my stubbornness gave way to another correct answer. I won't lose to him. Not this, not Cambridge.

He managed "clairvoyant," "coalescence," and "kaleidoscope." I got through "lachrymose," "mnemonic," and "pharmaceutical," and then, finally, he messed up.

I heard it in his voice first, knew before it happened that I had won. Mr. Gray - once again proving himself to be my favorite teacher- threw "triskaidekaphobia" at Harry, and we both froze.

"T-R-I-S-K....A-D-E-K-A-P-H-O-B-I-A." Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding just as breathless as I felt. The class had gone silent, and I could hear my heart racing.

"Incorrect." Mr. Gray uttered, but before the class could erupt into cheers, he continued, "let me just say, Harry, Lily, that was extraordinary. Really, very good show." He slowly began to clap, and our classmates followed suit, whooping and jeering at Harry good-naturedly.

I turned to glance at him then, not feeling very excited about having won. I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped my throat when I saw his face. He had curved his mouth into a grin, ran a hand through his hair boyishly, a calculated carelessness slackening his features - but I saw it in the way his lips twitched, in the way his eyes glossed over and darkened to muted jade.

He's upset. I realized, moving closer without really thinking about it. He's really, really upset.

"H-Harry?" I heard myself whisper, voice trembling. Everyone had, by now, moved into their own little groups, all talking animatedly about the results of our little duel, so they weren't really paying us any mind.

His smile faltered - just for a moment - "good game." He husked, his voice raw. He held out a hand, quirking a brow, watching me with those expectant eyes.

It was then, in that moment, that I realized, very suddenly, that Harry is...beautiful. Like, proper beautiful, like earth shatteringly, mind numbingly gorgeous.

The realization hit me with such immense force that I had to grab his outstretched hand to keep from crumbling to the ground. "O-oh." My mouth parts on the startled little noise, and suddenly I'm very aware of the gentle press of his cold rings against my fingers, his large hand claiming mine, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he holds me. "Uh-huh." My response catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a strangled hiccup.

Quickly, I pull away, stumbling back a few steps, I tear my eyes from his face, flailing my hands around like a monkey.

What the fuck?

•••••••••

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 💛

[starshineandbooks]

Of ghosts and sons

Based almost entirley off of @lovelylogans‘s Gilmore girls AU - AO3 Tumblr

Read THIS on Ao3

Summary: Remus reflects back on his thoughts of his still living loved ones’ lives. Watching his teenager grow into a married man with a kid. 

        Also known as: An excuse to write soft dad! Remus and Son! Roman, and explore how a dead Remus feels about his son marrying an academically smart moron.

Word count: 2596

Pairing: Romantic Moxiety, Romantic Logince, familial lampr

Warnings: Dead character (Remus is a ghost kinda?), mild cursing, a few suggestive lines, Remus being Remus, weird food, sympathtic! Remus

Remus figured he achieved a pretty great death. Oh, sure, he misses things, but now he can float around behind people and be himself with free of judgement, which is, nice. Oddly nice. Don’t get him wrong, he’d had friends, ut, even Virgil and Isidora had been a little weirded out every once in a while.

And, he’s watched Virgil and Isidora, of course he did. They mattered to him. 

Remus is proud of Virgil, finding a good guy, even if he wasn’t a guy Remus would have chosen, to settle down with. Virgil and Patton, Remus think they’re a good match. He’d have loved to make Patton squirm though. Nothing personal, he liked to make everyone squirm. It was fun!

Patton is also fairly interesting, at first Remus just watched him after earth because he was a scandal. Patton, trans, sixteen year old run away, with a baby. Pretty interesting.

Then, Remus got invested. Oops.

Patton was kind, and  a good person. Remus could respect him. Remus isn't so sure that he and Patton would have been friends, but Remus had to admit, Patton was respectable.

Patton Sanders, the kid stood up for himself and his child. Patton befriended Virgil, which is hard enough, then made Virgil love him, which is even harder. Then Virgil fell for Patton romantically, which is a task to make happen. 

Patton raised a smart, ambitious kid. Logan. Remus is fond of Logan, but don’t tell anyone. Of course, Logan is also basically Virgil’s kid, which basically makes Remus Logan’s roundabout uncle in a weird way. 

Logan is smart, wickedly so in fact. The kid goes to Chilton, and is very ambitious. In a cutthroat manner almost. Yet, Logan is genuinely kind, and cares for Remus’ own child.

That’s another thing. Remus has a kid. A biological child he never met.

Isidora had been someone Remus genuinely loved. Not romantically, but he had loved her more than anything else, except maybe Virgil. But that was a different kind of love. 

Isidora, the five foot two latina had been a spitfire of a dancer when Remus knew her. Not much had changed, except, she had Roman not long after Remus died.

And Virgil, bless the man, had fought to be in Roman’s life.

Roman was a lot like his mom, loyal, kind, courageous. Roman was taller than his mother, but just as graceful.

Roman, Remus’ baby, shut up that’s Remus’ baby. His spawn. He’s allowed to be a little sappy.

Roman had grown from an over excited six year old kissing his best-friend-and-first-crush’s skinned knee better into a kind, loyal, selfless teenager who’s a dancer just like his mother.

Remus isn’t stupid. Crazy, inconsiderate, and crass? Sure. But Remus is not and has never been stupid.

He knows that Roman probably is better off for not having him around.

Remus is loud, disruptive, rude, disgusting, and generally the opposite of what is ‘socially acceptable’. Remus even revels in this fact.

But, It’s not always an easy life to lead. And Remus does want Roman to have an easy life where he knows how good he is.

But, on the other hand, he watched Roman struggle with a dad sized cut out hole in his life.

Remus had become something of a myth in Sideshire. Remus, the horror story author recluse, Isidora Prince’s best friend, Roman’s dad, died in a mysterious car crash.

No one really tells Roman much about Remus. So, Roman had a bit of doubt, which is natural.

And Remus is so incredibly proud of Roman. For everything.

Roman had graduated highschool with a solid three point four grade point average. The kid had started college on time and was happy. Roman worked as a dance instructor in the town he attends college in, teaching kids to dance. 

Roman ended up with a supportive boyfriend, Logan. And the two are a good couple, built off of friendship, love, trust, and respect. The stuff of fairytales, even if they do argue a little more than they’d admit.

Remus has learned he can in fact visit dreams, and talk to people that way, he’s had some conversations with Virgil and Isidora that way.

But, Remus thinks it might be time to visit his son. Especially since Virgil and Patton are finally engaged and Roman is thinking about proposing to Logan.

So, that’s how Remus finds himself sitting in Lucy’s diner opposite of his son and his son’s boyfriend. Apparently this is a shared dream between the couple. Works just as well, Remus supposes.

After all, Remus is fairly fond of Logan too.

“Excuse me,” Logan says looking up from his book and where his head had been resting on Roman’s shoulder, “Do we know you? You look very familiar, I regret to say I can not place you however.”

Remus grins wickedly, “You wouldn't I’m a ghost! My corpse is rotting six feet under you twerp!”

Roman looks up, startled, “D-dad?”

Logan tilts his head, “Oh, that makes more sense. Hello Remus. Virgil speaks fondly of you.”

“Dad,” Roman whispers again, grabbing Logan’s arm, “Logan, that’s my dad.”

“I know, I can see dear.” Logan says in an exasperated yet fond voice.

“Hello Roman, you really do have a lot of your mother in you. Izzydory, how is she?”

“Izzy- Mama’s okay, she- she misses you. I miss you- uh- Can I miss you? I never met you.”

“You can miss the idea of someone,” Logan chimes, “And you know very well what Virgil would say about dismissing feelings.”

“Yeah,” Roman nods, “I do.”

Remus hums, turning to Lucy when she comes to take his order, “Can I get a bacon shake with Sardines and coffee grounds?”

Lucy just nods and walks off.

“That’s-” Roman chokes, “That’s gross dad.”

Remus laughs delightedly, “That’s the point!”

“He does things for amusement, not because it is logical.”

“There’s no rhyme or reason to what I do kid, I just do a skiddly boo.” Remus smiles, “So, what’s life like for you in the Bronx kid?”

Roman just stares blankly at his father, “This can't be real, I’ve gotta be dreaming, Lo, darling, I’m dreaming right?”

Logan just sighs, “I had assumed I was, I don’t know Roman, one of us is for sure.”

“You both are, it’s a shared dream,” Remus nods sagely, “You guys could get up to some steamy things since you can share dreams-”

“And as Virgil would say, stop it, fam.” Logan drawls unsure, then signs, shaking his head, “Also, what in the world is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I just meant you two could use the dreams to have dream sex-”

“Please stop,” Logan groans, putting his face in his hands and making a distressed sound, “Why are you like this? That is your son.”

“I know!” Remus cheers, “So, Roman, any questions?”

Roman stares at Remus, “I- I had so many, but- I can’t remember them now.”

Logan turns and whispers something to Roman.

Roman nods, “That’s right, thanks specs!”

“What’s right kid?” Remus asks.

“Oh, I’ve just always wondered, am I- Am I doing the right thing? I mean, if you’re really Remus, you’ve not seen me my whole life, like, yeah i”m your kid but, I’m not raised by you. Did- Did I do okay? Have I made you proud at least?”

Logan looks rather upset from the question, Remus notes. If the dead man had to guess, he’d say it’s because Logan doesn't like that Roman doubts himself.

And Remus doesn't like it either.

No, he is not being sentimental, shut the hell your mouth.

Remus tilts his head, “I’ve been watching you Roman. You to Logan, but Ro, kid, mijo, you’ve done well.”

Roman’s face is almost comical to Remus, wide eyes, mouth quirked up, eyebrows drawn up. A twinge of relief in the breath Roman lets out. Remus thinks he looks like an overly excited puppy. But that’s Remus’ over excited puppy.

Logan smiles gently, hidden almost. Remus does think it’s interesting how similar Logan is to Virgil.

“Really?” Roman breathes out, sounding even more like an overly excited puppy.

“I very much doubt him to be lying Roman, your mother has never put up with liars before, I doubt she would have in the father of her child.” Logan says simply, well, simply for the eighteen year old genius.

“Really, kid. You graduated with a good GPA, you got out of Sideshire, you’re a dancer just like your mother, you’re brave, and just, and kind, but don’t tell anyone I said any of this sappyniess. And kid, Roman, you’re doing good.”

“Thank you,” Roman says softly.

“You should not thank him Ro,” Logan scoffs, “He said the truth, it’s not like he offered to walk you down the aisle at your wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Roman says quickly, “My wedding will be ours.”

Logan blinks, flushing steadily, “Uh-”

“Hopefully!” Roman chimes, “I mean to hopefully!”

“God you’re obnoxiously cute, you know that?” Remus rolls hie eyes, “I’m sure you’ll both be married forever to each other and have some sappy loving relationship.”

“Thanks? I think.” Logan sighs, shaking his head.

“Hey, dad?” Roman starts, “Uh, got any life advice?”

“Save time by putting toothpaste in your food, use bottle caps as orange holders, get a toilet seat and use it to put your plate on when you eat! And, don’t try to fight with Izzy unless whatever you're fighting about really matters, because she is a stubborn woman and you’ll be tired by the end of the argument, and probably have lost.”

“Uh-”

“The bit about your mom sounds accurate, but she’s nice and might listen?” Logan sighs, shaking his head.

“How do you use a toilet seat- never mind I don’t want to know.”

Lucy comes back, setting Remus’ abomination of a milk shake down.

Remus thanks her, turning his head to look at Roman.

“God, you really got your mama’s pretty, you know that? I mean, you look like me some, but god.”

“I- You thought mama was pretty?” Roman blinks, “I’d always thought you were gay, they always said-”

“Kid, I’m gay, not blind.” Remus chuckles, “But yeah, your mom’s pretty kid.”

“Yeah,” Roman sighs, she is.”

“You’re about to wake up because of an alarm you set because you, my friend, have an early shift today. I’m proud of you kid, you’re doing good. I’ll talk to you again, later. Okay?”

“Dad?” Roman blinks, “Are you really here?”

“I’m dead, but yeah, I’m here.”

“Thanks dad.”

“I love you kid,” Remus sighs, “Good luck on your test tomorrow!”

Roman blinks startled but fades from the dream, leaving just Logan.

Logan looks at Remus and snorts darkly, “This isn't at all awkward, you know, my boyfriend’s dead dad in Lucy’s diner. Not to mention that you’re Virgil’s best friend.”

“Yeah, probably word that I’m your uncle and your boyfriend’s dad,” Remus snorts, “But I like weird.”

“Uh, uncle?!”

“Yeah, you’re basically Virgil’s kid, meaning that since I’m basically his brother, that I’m basically your uncle!” Remus cackles, “I thought you were the smart one!”

“It depends on the kind of intelligence,” Logan sighs, “I’ll admit I lack some of the more, say, social knowledge. But, I have dad and Roman at least.”

“Yeah, well, you're a good kid to Logan.”

“Thanks.”

“Be good to my baby Logan,” Remus says darkly, “Be good to my baby or I’ll figure out how to ruin your entire life.”

Logan looks up to Remus, “If I were to be bad to Roman, I’d have ruined my life myself. Because, he is my everything, as stupid and sappy as that sounds.”

Remus nods, “Good. You’ll make it through you know you two will make it out together.”

“Good.” Logan hums, tilting his head, “You're an asshole though. You really hurt a lot of the people we both care for.”

“Ballsy,” Remus smirks, “Calling the dead father of your boyfriend that. I knew I liked you!”

“Very few people seem to,” Logan shrugs, “But the whole dying and destroying Ms. Prince and Virgil and leaving Roman to be in the dark is really my only complaint against you.”

“Y’know, I did regret not being able to be there for them, but Roman especially. He’s my baby Logan, I know you don’t have kids, but, there’s just something about them.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, well, I should go.”

“Probably so. And Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“If you really can talk to people through dreams, don’t leave Roman alone, he’d like you to talk to him. And, maybe talk to Virgil and Ms.Prince some too.”

“Of course. Later dork. Dork means- You’re gone.”

Remus shakes his head as the dream dissolves around him, a bitter laugh leaving him.

Remus made sure to speak to his loved ones every so often, the first time he visited Isidora after Logan had told him too it had been ten years and she had cried a little when she woke up.

Virgil had insulted Remus the whole dream that Remus had visited the emo music loving man.

Remus watches Virgil and Patton’s wedding, glad to watch the entire thing and see his best friend happy. Remus notices that Roman is the best man for Virgil, but only because Logan was Patton’s best man. The younger couple gave a nice speech that called attention to the fact that this wedding has been a long time in the works.

Virgil and Patton’s first dance is sweet and too sappy for Remus’ taste but okay.

Remus nearly screams when Roman and Logan get engaged, because, like the dorks they are, they propose at the same time.

Logan and Roman got reneged on their fifth anniversary, in the gazebo, under the stars. Remus had proposed first, because this was his plan. But Roman pulled out his own ring and asked Logan.

Because the two are entirely too cute.

Remus gloated to them next time he spoke to them both, he called it after all.

Roman and Logan’s wedding is a year and a half later, over the summer between their junior and senior years in college. 

It’s a bigger affair than Virgil and Patton’s had been, but not the largest wedding.

The whole town came, along with Logan’s grandparents, and a few friends from the boys’ own colleges.

Roman and Logan had stared at each other sappily the whole vow giving, making stupid cow eyes.

But, Remus creamed the loudest cheer out of anyone at that wedding when the two kissed and sealed the deal. He caught Isidora and Virgil looking around, then sharing a glance and a bitter laugh, a mutter of Remus’ name.

Roman and Logan’s first dance, per Roman’s selection, was a stupidly sappy song, for a pair of stupidly sappy new husbands. Husbands, God, Roman was married now. To his highschool sweetheart no less, his small town highschool sweetheart.

Remus would say something arguably rude about the whole sappy ordeal, if it wasn’t Roman’s wedding.

A few years down the line, after Logan and Roman graduate, they buy a house in Sideshire, adopting a kid. And oh, Remus has a grandchild now.

Virgil and Patton went to family dinners on Fridays with Emilie and Richard Sanders, Logan and Roman going as well. And somehow, Remus is glad that his saps have each other.

As much as Remus misses his friends and his family, as much as he wishes he could be there for them in the flesh, he’s proud of them no matter what. Even if they are stupidly sappy.

But, Remus looks forward to reuniting with Isidora and Virgil, and officially meeting the rest. One day, but hopefully, not soon.

[ubemango]

I am sick of it 😁😁😁😁

Help!!! This is like my fifth time making a post like this 😭!!!!! BUT I won’t apologize for that because I’m still growing and Learning and trying to be better so. if it takes me five billion tries to finally feel good about myself then so be it 😎

So here: these have been my thoughts the past couple days!!!! There’s a TL;DR at the end if you don’t wanna go through all of it lol but please read if you are able to :,)

Remaking meant a new me! New blog! New (-ish) content! BUT somehow... I still haven’t gotten past a Lot of the Barriers I thought I could overcome if I became ubemango 😅 I ranted about this on my private but the start of lunyua meant the start of a really bad year for me. I got anxious easily, and that made my skin reach an All Time Level of Bad AND fucked up my sleep schedule big time 😅 In short: my health just BOOM plummeted. And then August came and I had a Major panic attack because of a certain fic I posted and it reeeaaaalllllllyyyy just made my experience here on Blue Blog the worst after that

I tried over and over again to find a compromise with myself and my content. I took days off, I deleted fics, I remade......... and now I’m here. And still feeling very Anxious and Bad 😁

I think I want to address something first: I’m currently a full-time second year student majoring in English lit and Political Science, which means: SO MUCH READING AND WRITING 😅😅But my GPA was a solid 3.7 which!!! I’m really proud of lol!!!!! 😁😁😁😁😁 But anywho! I posted drabbles here and there but even then I still felt super anxious and tired. I thought maybe cutting content down to just drabbles would make me feel less bad about not putting out content Period, but now that I think about it....... I was Still Anxious!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t seem to get out of it. I still wake up everyday with this annoying feeling of dread and fear because to be frank: I feel like I’m not enough. I feel like I’m not doing enough. I feel horrible because I’m not writing, and when I do sit down to write I hate what I put down.... case in point. It sucks 😁😁😁 And I am sick of it :D

I wanna go on hiatus. Very badly. But I don’t wanna call it that lol. More like. A Break with a capital B. You know???? Like I enjoy the asks I get immensely, I enjoy responding....... But I think what I’m really trying to get at is .... I really need to start doing things for myself. I’m going to write what I want to write. I’m not going to set deadlines because in reality... this blog is Not my priority at the moment ha ha

So I’ll start my final thoughts here: I’ve been trying to get otiyr 2 out ASAP but it’s not working. It’s making me anxious. It’s making me lose my mind. So I’ll put it on the back burner for now ^^

I might just.... disappear for a couple days at a time. Answer asks when I can (I try not to keep asks in my inbox for more than 48 hours at a time hehe). I’m still writing, but I’m just writing when I can hehe. If I ever start feeling like it’s making me want to d*e, then I’ll take the break, and I won’t feel guilty about it. Because that’s what I’m ultimately working towards. Not feeling like I want to off it all

I’ve started taking melatonin and I’m sleeping for a while.... But I’m still waking up lol, I might just go to the doctor because I’m scared I have sleep apnea 😭😭😭😭😭 Drinking lots of water when I can too. Today I sat down and wrote all the things I needed to do for school and felt like I could do it Right. Thought of reviving stories that I wanted to get out but Didn’t because I kept focusing on otiyr lol.

So...... I’m slowly working on it :) Finding my place. Trying to Feel Good for once :,) I love u much. I’ll get better! So please be patient as I try to do it the best I can 🥰

TL;DR: I’m writing what I want, when I want to. I don’t know when my next fic will come out. I don’t really want to think about getting anything out rn lol

I might randomly go days without posting

I am trying to feel better :)

Love always Ella 💕