#and she sent my case manager an email to follow up with me

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

Prologue

(a/n: Hey everybody! First time writing here, so please 🙏 excuse my poor looking posts and grammatical errors /let me know if u see any!!/ English is not my first language so pls take that into account O.O tyy ❤️) WARNING!-there's i think one swear word

wc: 2.8 k words im sry really, like i yap a lot 😭

ALSO: please let me know if you're interested in the continuation

Imagine that in addition to your logical thinking, communicational skills and physical performance, Blue Lock also tests your mental health, because if you excel in these 4 areas, you might be worthy to become a manager of one of their players. However, competing with 199 other girls who are going through the same ordeal, let's admit, doesn't really calm your nerves. But how did you even end up in Blue Lock in the first place?

—————— Saturday morning, sitting in the corner of a nearby coffee shop, with your books open, laptop fully charged, your phone on silent mode with of course, a cup of caffeine on the side, you are ready to conquer those history notes. You had already started to memorize everything the previous week, so today was really about practicing and revising. After cracking your back and sipping some coffee, you began reading the first few lines on your laptop, occasionally peeking at the highlighted parts of your book in case you got stuck.

Time passed quickly, and when you looked at the clock on your phone screen, it turned out that you had been repeating ridiculously difficult names, dates, places and events which were described in an awful lot of detail for exactly 1 hour and 32 minutes. Seeing that, you decided to take a well-deserved break, which actually just consisted of texting and watching funny cat videos.

Closing your laptop and books, you gave yourself half an hour to rest, so that time wouldn't double leading to you procrastinating and forgetting everything you'd just revised. Reaching for your phone and turning off the silent mode, you started reading the few messages that had come in during your study session. Most of them were sent from your best friend, briefly stating that she had fallen asleep and will probably have stay up all night to cramp whatever material she can get into her head, hoping that she somehow manages to pass on Monday.

“Told ya to set an alarm >:( Well, you should have accepted my offer to study together HAHAHA good luck btw :D”-you wrote in response, feeling kinda sorry for her. Then you went straight to your emails after seeing a notification, where you found a recently received message with a strange title.

“BLUE LOCK INVITATION”

What the hell is Blue Lock? And why did you get an invitation? Your initial thought was that it’s a scam and were trying to delete the email if your stupid finger hadn’t slipped, making it press and open the email. Great, now your eyes were glued to the screen, trying to read whatever was on the message.

“Dear L/N Y/N!

We are honored to invite you to the Blue Lock Manager Training Program, where you will be granted the chance to work with one of our future star football players. We hope you will consider the offer because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you are interested, please come to the following address and time.

Any further questions will be answered on-site!

Blue Lock Assistant and Health Manager,

Anri Teieri”

Um, what the fuck. Yeah, doesn’t sound sketchy at aaall…as you read the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it, not understanding how they even knew about your existence in the first place and more importantly…how did they get your email address? Although that wasn’t the point, it piqued your interest. You had so many questions yet you could only get answers on the spot.

“Smart tactic.”-you said, before browsing the internet to find something about this Blue Lock project. About 20 minutes later though, you leaned back into your chair and sighed in defeat as there was not a single thing about Blue Lock at all. The only thing you had was this quite fancy looking email.

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you began to think about the offer and whether or not to go. Your current job wasn’t good neither was the payment, which is why you recently had to take on a second job. But from what you read about the program, if you were to actually work with a soon to be star football player, the pay would probably be high. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a person, right?

After thoroughly thinking about the offer, you decided to give it a chance. Finishing the rest of your work, you came home and talked to your parents somehow persuading them to agree. Later that day you also informed your best friend as well. The weekend passed as you successfully finished your history exam on Monday and then you headed straight to the so-called Blue Lock building, the very next day. ——————

That's how you ended up in your current situation. On your first day there, they led you to a big hall with a bunch of people. To be specific, young girls around your age. Looking around for a bit, you realized that there were a lot of girls indeed, but no boys in sight. Finding it a bit strange, but shrugging it off, you turned around to face a huge stage, where moments later a pink-haired woman appeared, whose name you assumed and now know is Anri, introduced herself and greeted you from a big podium with a mic in her hand.

Finishing the brief intro she then continued with a very thorough and detailed speech, revealing that if you agreed to the conditions of the program, you would technically be locked up in the building for the next 3 months and would participate in intensive training, where you potentially could be eliminated for poor results.

“There goes my money…”-you thought, since you never really cared about football in your life nor did you know anything about it. Which in retrospect, you should have done or researched a bit before coming here since you applied to be a football player's manager after all.

“Well, it doesn't matter now anyway.”-you told yourself for some comfort. After Anri had finished her monologue, she instructed everyone that:

“If you agree and ready to take on the challenge then please go through this door!”-pointing with her microphone at a huge dark blue door that was slowly opening.

Hesitating a bit, you thought about all the possible things that could go wrong, but after a not-so-long train of thoughts you managed to convince yourself. Also that little push by a girl running towards the doors sealed the deal for you as you slowly started to walk towards the unknown.

“I mean, what can I lose, right? My sanity is gone already and even if I get eliminated, I'm just going to go back to my normal life again”-you whispered and with a small grin you officially entered Blue Lock.

To your surprise, the facility was quite clean and not to mention huge since most likely somewhere on the other side of the building, boys were kicking balls and running laps. Following the others, you arrived in what you assumed was a large waiting room with multiple TV screens on the walls. After managing to squish yourself through the crowd, a sudden voice spoke from the speakers and an egg-headed guy with a strangely perfect bowl cut appeared on the screens, introducing himself.

“Hello, diamond grinders! My name is Jinpachi Ego, the coach of the players in Blue Lock and the overall boss of the facility. I guess you already know why you’re here so I won’t bother with that anymore. First, let’s start with a quick count, which is...currently 200 people.”-he said and you looked around with wide eyes. The fact is, there were indeed many people besides you, but you didn't think such a large amount of them would participate.

'Pfft, no worries…'-you encouraged yourself, realizing that you’d probably get kicked out on the second day, if not today. You looked up to the screens again, and bowl cut continued.

“Out of these 200 people, the best performers will be given the best athletes to work with. But! You have to know what you’re doing. From now on, every minute of your time will be spent, from morning to night according to a routine and the underperformers will be eliminated. Understand?”

You nodded unconsciously, following those around you. This was serious and there was no turning back now. Even so looking at that man’s gaze as he spoke somehow made you shiver a little.

'What have I gotten myself into?'-the question suddenly popped into your head, making you doubt for a moment, if you being here was truly a good decision, but Ego's voice immediately made you get back on track.

“Great. Let’s start with a quick summary then. First, you will be divided into 20 teams, 10 people each. This division was based on your current abilities, but they can change over time while you’re here. Each week, the levels to pass are going rise and be harder, and those who can't pass will automatically fail and get eliminated."-he said leaning back into his chair.-"Next, is the routine which the assistant will tell you about in detail later. The goal here in Blue Lock besides creating football players, is to produce ideal managers who have the perfect skills and attitude to fit with them, and to maintain their level, helping them until the end of their careers.-he suddenly raised his index finger and the screens showed what looked like an animation of whatever he was about to say.-"This includes, one: Strategic and logical thinking, two: A healthy and fit body and three: The highest levels of media and communication! If you perform well in these three main areas, then a job and the experience of a lifetime are guaranteed! Don't disappoint me! Now lock off and goodbye for now!”

With that, the egg-headed man finished his speech, disappearing from the screens and Anri, with a microphone in her hand, started to divide everyone up, while handing out papers with our new weekly routine printed on it. Seems like you have been assigned to group number 10. That's not bad, but were your abilities really worth as much to be a team 10 member? So far you have only (tried) to manage your own life and your current football knowledge was equal to zero. But there was no time left for further thoughts, because after receiving the uniform you had to immediately start on the first task according to your assigned routine for the day.

—————— Okay. This was harder than you thought. Wiping off the sweat from your forehead, you started running your seventh lap around the damn track again.

"I’m gonna pass out.”-you muttered under your breath, as your newly made friend, you’d just met a few days ago appeared next to you.

“Same, I'm too tired to be running around in the morning!”-she replied, and after a few seconds the sound of a whistle was heard, signaling the end of the first part of the warm-up. Well, today was going to be long again.

Your new routine consisted of starting your mornings at exactly 7 am with physical exercises and then, you had a quick breakfast. After that you had to start on some brain work tasks for the day, followed by communication class and lunch. A 15 minute break later, media and IT started and before finishing the day with a small workout again, were language lessons waiting for you. Yes. You also had to learn languages.

Unfortunately not just one, not two or three, but four fucking languages in which you had to reach a basic level. At least the variety was good, since now you knew how to say hello in French, German, Italian and Spanish. (multilingual queen slay) And then based on those you could decide which one you wanted to work on more and reach at least an intermediate level. If that was not enough, the knowledge of English was also mandatory, but at an advanced level. Also for every other day there were talks, activities and tasks about basic football for those (like you ^_^) to have a grasp on the topic. So there you were, in full uniform everyday for the last two months, suffering through training.

It almost hurts to admit, but on some days you started to miss your simple, slightly boring school life. Thinking back to your friends and parents who you hadn't talked with in a while, to those boring classes and your warm bed. Training was hard since other than having to excel at the 3 fields, worrying that you could get eliminated at any moment, if you lacked behind was stressing you out even more than you already were. On top of that, seeing that some of the girls were kicked out of the building was saddening, yet it worked like a charm to make you work even harder to survive till the end.

Sure, it’s not like it wasn’t good here since you arrived. Luckily, you quickly adapted to the new environment, getting used to the shared bathrooms, roommates, the extreme routines and plans you had to follow and the surprisingly good canteen food. But the lack of 'fresh air'of the bustling Tokyo, the crowded places, the subways and the fact you could sleep in on the weekends certainly made a void in your heart. The mountains were a beautiful view, but you started to get bored of them after a while.

That's how you usually spent the rest of your days with. Time also flew a lot quicker with your new friends who you suffered with together until they finally announced the end of the program, ordering everyone to gather in the waiting room. Everybody arrived on time and just a few minutes later bowl cut finally appeared on the screens again. —————— “Yo, diamond grinders! Congrats on surviving till now. Looking at your data and statuses, I'm pretty much satisfied with everyone. Well, it doesn't matter now, since the results are already decided.”-Ego said in a voice that lacked emotions yet again. Still the boredom and lack of sleep were evident on his face, noticing his eye bags and the empty cups of ramen in the background that he didn't even bother to clean up. He coughed a little before continuing.-“After analyzing every single one of you on each field, I have decided on which player to assign you, based on these factors and scores. Let's start now, shall we?"-he asked and a little icon of the first girl who was about to be assigned, appeared on the TV screens, showing her name and the team she belonged to.-"First of all, congratulations to Aiko Hashimoto…”-he said a girl's name that felt unfamiliar to you, and then went on with, what you assumed was the player's jersey number and the name of who she would be managing from now on. Meanwhile on the big screens the footballer's little icon made an appearance as well next to Aiko's.

Ego soon continued with announcing the girls by their rank and time seemed to slow down the moment he started speaking again. After a while, at least 20 minutes have passed, yet your name was nowhere to be heard. Even your closest friend was now assigned to some boy, while you were still waiting for your turn. 'Did you do that well? Maybe they just forgot to kick you out.'-you assumed after another 5 minutes passed. Listening to Ego as he was still announcing names, you glanced around at the remaining girls who seemed confident while standing, not hearing their names yet. They seemed certain that they were getting one of the top players you thought, while you, yourself were still unsure who you would end up with. Before any more thoughts could occupy your mind, the sound of a familiar name hit your ears.

“Next up is L/N Y/N.”-you heard from the speakers and finally your little icon also turned up on the screens. Oh my gosh, it’s you! Wait who was before you again? What numbered player are we even at now?!

Blinking twice, you looked up to the main screen, staring at the miniature doddle of you, while Ego was about to say the lucky guy's name you were going to work with. A sudden rush of excitement and worry began to overwhelm you, anxiously waiting to hear the fruit of your 3 months of suffering. Sure, you did do well in all areas required and even gained some knowledge about football in general, but was it enough? Every girl here did their best, trying equally hard, afraid of missing the opportunity of a lifetime and getting kicked out of the facility.

You gulped ready to hear whatever and whoever was waiting for you on the other side of Blue Lock. Ego’s voice rang through the waiting room as he said the following:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…”

(Oh my gosh, this was a long one, hope you guys enjoyed it ^^; i wasn't sure about this story since it's my first one, so pls let me know if you are interested in a continuation and tell me, who you think will get u as their manager? (★‿★) tyy

[little-diable]

Saturn swallowing his son – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 3/?)

Chapter three, here we go! Promise there will be lots of smut (the next chapter is finally full of smut), but please show some love to this chapter which has barely any smut in it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: none, just some typical CM talk

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (3k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Four

If one of her friends had asked (y/n) what she was planning on doing this Sunday morning, she’d probably have replied with “Sleeping in”, perhaps she’d have told them she was planning on going for a morning walk, perhaps grabbing coffee at a store she frequented. But none of these things were now happening, instead (y/n) was sitting in a black SUV, right next to Professor Hotchner.

She had been awoken by her phone going off, indicating that a new email had been sent to her, eyes struggling to focus on the bright screen of her phone. Her heart had skipped a few beats as she had read the email professor Hotchner had sent her, asking her if she’d like to join him on a trip to the BAU. He had attached his phone number for her, asking her to call him, and as he had explained to her that they were discussing her idea at the BAU, she had began to hastily dress herself, telling him where to pick her up.

“Here, don’t lose this.” Professor Hotchner pushed a visitor’s card into (y/n)’s direction, watching her clip the card to a belt loop, nodding at him as they walked towards one of the elevators. Barely any words had been shared on the drive, relishing in the calmness this very Sunday morning offered the two, grateful that they wouldn’t have to force themselves through any uncomfortable smalltalk. 

“Is there anything I should be careful with, professor?” His dark eyes met hers, pondering over her words for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, having to force himself to stop looking at her. 

“You can call me Hotch while we’re here, (y/n).” The way her name rolled off his tongue left her trembling in surprise, swallowing the gasp wanting to rip through her. “For now all I need you to do is to be as observant as you can be, don’t hold back on theories, and put enough trust in yourself. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in your work.” An unfamiliar sense of pride thumped through (y/n)’s veins, not used to the professor praising her like this. She could only nod, not trusting herself to speak up, pressing her lips tightly together. 

Before either one could speak another word, the elevator came to a halt, exposing the parts of the BAU (y/n) had been dreaming of seeing with her own eyes for years. She followed the tall man, eyes taking in everything she could admire from afar, unable to bite down the excitement filling her body with every step she took. 

“I’ll introduce you to the team first.” He led her towards what appeared to be a conference room, eyes instantly drawn to the familiar faces of Spencer Reid and David Rossi. “This is (y/n), as I told you, she’ll assist us on this case.” 

“It’s good to see you again, (y/n). I’ve been waiting for you to find your way to us.” David Rossi shook her hand with a smile, making heat simmer inside of her, freaking out that the man could still remember her from all these years ago. She shook the hands of the others, not noticing how Aaron Hotchner kept watching her with a slight smile playing on his lips. 

“As (y/n) pointed out to me, the scenes have a very dramatic touch to them. (Y/n) said they remind her of Goya’s Saturn painting.” 

“The painting depicts Saturn swallowing his son. It was foretold that one of his offspring would ultimately usurp his rule. In order to thwart this prophecy, Saturn devoured his own progeny. He managed to consume five of them, yet Jupiter was destined to escape his father's fate thanks to his mother's clever ruse. She replaced the infant with a stone in swaddling clothes and presented it to her unsuspecting husband, who remained oblivious to the subterfuge. Many years later, Jupiter overthrew his father, thus fulfilling the prophecy. During this momentous event, Saturn regurgitated his children, along with the stone.” Spencer kept rambling on, sharing everything he knew about the painting and its history, instantly drawing (y/n) in as she couldn’t hide her amazement. She tried to remember every word that was shared, very well knowing that this was a chance she’d perhaps never get again.

“So, what? Our unsub is fascinated by Greek mythology?” The guy (y/n) and her friends had seen at the bar days ago, who had just introduced himself as Derek Morgan, cut Spencer’s rambling short, muscular arms crossed in front of his chest. For a few seconds they were engulfed by silence, eyes focusing on the pictures of the crime scenes. 

“Maybe he is reliving some childhood trauma? It wouldn’t be surprising if the unsub grew up in an abusive household.” (Y/n) watched Emily Prentiss pick one of the pictures up as she spoke, eyes zoning in on the wounds the victims bodies were littered with. 

“A study from the early 2000s shows that most serial killers displayed similar patterns of severe childhood neglect, patterns developed from birth through adolescence. Our unsub definitely knows about Greek mythology, perhaps a professor or a teacher?” A hum left the others at the information Spencer shared, though (y/n) couldn’t focus on the numbers, speaking up before she could stop herself from doing so. 

“I doubt it's somebody with an academic background, these scenes wouldn’t be as dramatic otherwise. But what about somebody favouring art? A painter?” Her eyes instantly flickered up to meet Aaron Hotchner's, the man who was already looking at her, giving (y/n) an encouraging nod, allowing her tense muscles to relax. 

“Garcia, cross reference people who are known as painters around the area, somebody who also shows up in reports from domestic abuse from the past thirty to forty years.” Aaron turned towards (y/n), speaking a soft “Good job, (y/n)” that left her heart skipping beats in excitement. 

……

“Thank you for driving me back.” Her words filled his dark SUV, voice kept quiet to match the calmness they were engulfed by. (Y/n) didn’t dare look away from the handsome man, knowing that she shouldn’t miss a single second fading by, not knowing if or when she’d ever get to share these moments with him again. 

“It’s on me to thank you, (y/n). You’ve done well today.” Only now did she begin to realise how close they were sitting, forearms about to touch, resting on the middle console. She couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering down to his lips, allowing herself to imagine him pulling her closer, softly kissing her as the rain kept pitter pattering down on the windshield of the SUV. 

For the first few seconds (y/n) wasn’t sure if she was only imagining it, but it seemed like Aaron was caught in the same thoughts as (y/n), slowly moving closer. Her heart roared in her chest, praying to whoever was listening that he’d close the distance between them, kissing her like she had hoped he would for years. 

(Y/n) could almost feel his breath on her cold skin, could almost pick up on the shaky breaths leaving him, but before either one could give in the sound of Aaron’s phone going off ripped them apart. His eyes grew cold once again, nodding towards (y/n) as if he was wordlessly saying goodbye, answering the call as he watched her leave the car, clothes instantly soaked through by the heavy rain. 

Disappointment flushed through (y/n), finding her way into her apartment with a sigh breaking through her. She couldn’t help but curse whoever had forced them apart, asking him to return back to the cold demeanour she was all too familiar with by now. 

Would he treat her the same way he had treated her for the past weeks in their upcoming class? Or would he treat her a bit kinder, just like he had done today? One question after another filled her mind, painting scenarios that’d leave her sleepless for hours on end. 

……

“Hi (y/n), it’s Emily Prentiss. Hotch told us you didn’t have any time to keep on working with us on the case, but the girls and I would love to grab some drinks with you if you're up for it?” (Y/n) had been staring at the text message for what felt like hours, rereading every word carefully, hoping that she wasn’t misinterpreting what Emily had texted her. 

Hotch told us you didn’t have any time to keep on working with us on the case – the words felt like blades piercing her heart, cutting deeper and deeper, about to rob her of her last breath. (Y/n) had to blink her tears away, not understanding why he’d tell them lies like this, actively keeping her away from him and the team. 

Ever since that moment in the car he had been back to his brooding self, cold demeanour keeping his distance from (y/n), not even looking at her once in class. She had gotten the memo, had instantly seen through the game he was playing, and yet she was hurt by it, not understanding how he could pull away this easily. Back then she had promised herself that she’d also keep her distance, not wanting to chase a situation this toxic, but now, two weeks later, (y/n) couldn’t help but give into the anger simmering deep inside of her. 

With a deep breath leaving her she tapped on Emily’s contact, calling the agent before (y/n)’s rational self could catch up with her actions. Within a few moments she and Emily had shared information about the whereabouts of the group, promising that she’ll be at the bar in a few, set on distracting herself from her heartbreak. 

……

“(Y/n)! It’s so good to see you!” Penelope was the first one to greet her, followed by Emily and JJ, hugging the women who had already ordered (y/n) her drink. And even though (y/n)’s system was still taken up by her anger, by the ever growing annoyance, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the three women who treated her like she had been their friend for years.

“So tell us, what or who is keeping you this busy?” JJ’s eyes glimmered with mischief, oblivious of the hurt (y/n) had to fight against, expression growing sombre as they watched (y/n) avert her gaze, clearing her throat as if she was feeling awfully uncomfortable. For a second she pondered over her choices, and yet her pettiness spurred her on, parting her lips to reply with her eyes flickering between the three. 

“Uhm, I don’t know why he told you that I’m busy, I’m really not, but I guess he simply doesn’t want me around. I just wish he’d told me that himself.” With an almost pitiful expression thrown her way, Penelope wrapped her arm around (y/n)’s shoulder, pulling her closer. 

“I’m sure he has his reasons, maybe he simply wants to protect you. He can be very cold at times, but I promise, he means well, and you did help us a lot with the Porcelaine killer situation!” 

“He never told me what happened with the case, care to elaborate?” (Y/n)’s eyes kept flickering between the women, waiting for either one of them to tell her who the killer was. 

“It was an artist downtown, we found him through the Goya replicas he tried to sell. The victims all bought the pictures from him, it was some deep rooted family trauma he was guided by, since his father had always told him he’d never be as good as Goya.” With a sigh leaving (y/n) she nodded her head, barely listening to the words Penelope spoke to redirect the conversation. 

Emily’s words about Aaron kept ringing in (y/n)’s ears, even as the three women started to pour shots down their throats with (y/n) mimicking their movements. 

……

“(Y/n)?” Aaron Hotchner’s all too familiar voice rumbled through her, eyes focused on Penelope and Emily, unable to bite down her drunken chuckles. It took her a few moments to reply, struggling with her blurred vision and the way her surroundings kept spinning all too fast. 

“You know what, Hotch?” She slurred her words, breaking out in laughter as Penelope almost lost her balance, leaning onto Emily and JJ as they waited for their taxi to arrive. “You’re the biggest asshole ever, I take back my apology.” 

“Are you drunk, (y/n)? Where are you? Are you alone?” Concern dripped from his words, an emotion her drunken mind didn’t pick up on, attention torn between his words and her newfound friends. She wrapped her arm around herself, trying to shield herself from the cold as a hum left her, wondering what she should tell him. 

“‘M not, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are here, the ones you lied to, in case you forgot.” An angry huff left Aaron, she heard him shuffling around, wondering what he was doing, or where he was going. 

“Where are you? Send me your location, I’ll pick you up.” (Y/n) ended the call, barely able to focus on the screen as she sent him her location, unable to ponder on what was about to happen. She could barely concentrate on the words she shared with the three women, telling them that somebody else would pick her up and that she’ll text them in the morning. And within minutes, (y/n) found herself watching an all too familiar frame walk closer to her, wordlessly wrapping his arm around her shivering frame, guiding (y/n) towards his warm SUV.

“Why did you lie? You could have just told them you don’t want me around.” She whispered her words, interrupted by a yawn rumbling through her, sinking further into the comfortable seat. But her eyes didn't leave his frowning features once, wondering what he was thinking about, wondering how he was feeling about being around her once again. 

“It’s not that simple, (y/n).” Aaron Hotchner matched the tone of her voice, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel. Her mind screamed at her to shut up, to let it rest before this conversation would spiral out of control, and yet (y/n)’s racing heart urged her on to keep on talking, to ask the questions that wouldn't let go of her for months on end otherwise. 

“I know you don’t like me, but it would have been nice if you’d at least told me that I won’t be able to help any longer, to my face.” A sigh left Aaron, teeth grazing his lower lip as he stared stoically ahead, clearly telling (y/n) that their conversation was over. With her eyes wandering to her window and a huff leaving her, she kept watching houses blur by, no longer recognising the area they were in, wondering where he was taking her to – a question her professor answered without her having to ask. 

“You’ll stay at mine for the night, I don’t want to leave you alone in your state.” Angry, drunken words wanted to leave (y/n), words that were silenced by the realisation of what was about to happen. With his hand placed on the small of her back he guided her into the apartment complex, stabilising (y/n)’s frame till they stepped foot into the dark living room. She swayed slightly as she kicked her shoes off, not noticing the amused glance he shot her, watching her struggle. “You can sleep in my bedroom, I’ll take the couch. It’s the last door down the hallway, I’ll bring you some water in a minute.”

“I should take the couch, but you deserve to wake up to some back pain.” A laugh clawed through Aaron Hotchner as he turned from her, missing the sight of (y/n) disappearing down the hallway. With a deep breath being exhaled, he poured her a glass of water before he made his way to the bedroom, freezing in his step as his eyes found her frame, cuddling further into his comfortable pillows. 

“Here’s some water, do you want a shirt to sleep in?” She could only tiredly nod her head, hands working on her top, not caring that her professor was in the room with her, shuffling out of her clothes till she was only wearing her underwear. He had turned from her the second his mind had picked up on what she was about to do, wordlessly pushing the shirt of his into her direction without looking at (y/n) once. “I’ll be back in a few.”

She watched him leave the room with hurried steps, unable to stop her drunken chuckles from leaving her as she fell back against the mattress. The soft shirt she was now wearing smelled like him, a scent she’d always recognise, no matter how much she tried to pull herself away from the grasp her crush on him had on her heart. Years ago she had fallen prisoner to Aaron Hotchner, to the mere thought of him, mere images that were further from the truth than she had originally anticipated.

“Do you need something else?” With tired eyes she watched him approach once again, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a black shirt. She silently prayed that she’d never forget this very moment, the almost domestic feeling the sight of him shot through her. No longer could she guide the words rumbling through her, no longer could she stop her body from acting on the actions she’d curse herself for in the upcoming hours. 

“Stay?”

[ticklinglady]

The Guild's actions during the story are so insane, when you think about them properly, you know? When I first read the arc with them, this moment hasn't really occurred to me, as I was too busy going nuts over finally seeing the names of the familiar writers, but now when I think of that... I am not sure, I comprehend how they managed to achieve such a ferocious reputation. I have already made a little post about how extremely dysfunctional the DOA members are, but at least those guys have a plan, which actually makes sense more or less, even despite the gang using cheatcodes/the Book. The same cannot be said of the Guild however archghhjkn. Like, what the hell were these guys even doing??? XD

So here are just some moments, which weirded me out the most

At first I'd like to address the entire story with everyone's favorite tsundere, Lucy Maud Montgomery. Her introduction leaves quuuuite an impression in the best way and nothing makes me happier than the fact, that she gets a chance to find happiness in the following chapters and actually becomes a reoccurring character! HOWEVER, her entire involvement with the Guild is super odd... I still can't wrap my head around her getting fired. She is a girl with a hella powerful ability, who got taken to the Guild from a terrible, terrible orphanage in order to fight for them in the war for the Book, so not only is she very strong, but she's also immensely dependant on the organisation and wouldn't do anything outside of its interests. Yet Lucy is also put under extreme pressure. As she herself puts it, the Guild doesn't tolerate failures and will kick her out the moment she screws something up.

Later we see that this is exactly what happens, when she messes up her first mission. Fitzgerald himself confirms that, since she failed and revealed her ability to the enemies, she's no longer useful, so now a powerful esper, like Lucy works for free as a... laundress?

EXCUSE ME??? WHEN HAVE THE GUILD MEMBERS EVER DONE ANYTHING, BUT FAIL AND REVEAL THEIR ABILITIES?

Let's be real, these dudes were successful like only once or twice...

This fact not only makes Fitzgerald look like an idiot for wasting such a talented and useful worker, because of one mistake, but also as one hell of a hypocrite, cause he is more than fine with everyone else fucking up. And in case of Lovecraft and Steinbeck: fucking up twice. To add to the oddity, we later learn, that Louisa genuinely cares for Lucy and despite her social anxiety actually stood up for her during the entire story, but even that wasn't enough to change Fitzgerald's mind on the issue, though Louisa is one of the few people, whose opinion he respects. Honestly, this is such a waste of a truly useful subordinate. And speaking of which....

The Guild has never even tried to implement Edgar Allan Poe during the war...

This man is actually rather op when you think of it. He can capture and neutralise literally any ability user in Yokohama (besides Dazai, Mori and Ranpo ofc) just by throwing a book at them. Seriously, as we see with Chuuya, they don't even have to read it, they just need to see the pages. Plus the book can be actually sent via email!!! So why has there been an absolute zero amount of strategies with the use of this ability??? They could actually try to catch Atsushi by sending him such email containing any of Poe's mystery stories and then safely carry him back to their base. And it doesn't have to be just Atsushi, it could be literally any of their enemies. Non-combatant, like Ranpo could use this pretty damn well to his advantage and it doesn't take a genius to understand the potential of the "Black Cat in Rue Morgue". But nooooo, it seems like everyone has just forgotten of Poe!!! (Tho to be honest, I can actually see this situation in a funny extra awfgbfggfjj. Not the main story however) The agency would never even learn of his existence, if he didn't personally decide to try to fuck Ranpo's life up. Like, what does Poe even do in the Guild? He's the master architect and, according to him, the third ranking man in the organization, but we never see him be of any use, so Idk. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Lucy at least got to do something, unlike this poor man.

Then there's the entire drama with the Guild's decision to destroy Yokohama. Where do I even begin...

First of all, Fitzgerald has no way of knowing that Atsushi is going to come to Moby-Dick to fight him. Poor guy is the Guild's primary goal and has already gotten himself captured once, so it would have been safe to assume that the ADA decided to hide him somewhere and not send him on any dangerous missions for the time being. That basically means Fitzgerald could have burned down not just Yokohama, but also the only person, who could actually help him find his precious Book.

But if we're to ignore this, let's also go with Wikipedia then~

"Yokohama is the second-largest city in Japan by population and the most populous municipality of Japan. It is the capital city and the most populous city in Kanagawa Prefecture, with a 2020 population of 3.8 million. It lies on Tokyo Bay, south of Tokyo, in the Kantō region of the main island of Honshu. Yokohama is also the major economic, cultural, and commercial hub of the Greater Tokyo Area along the Keihin Industrial Zone."

..........................

Good luck making up for the destruction of THIS, Fitzgerald 🖕

And if this in itself wasn't bad enough, most people, including me, tend to forget that all Guild members are actually big shots in the American government, which I think is very sad. Because first of all, can you imagine any of the Guild members actually working as politicians?!! The sheer idea makes me hysterical avshbgj. Like, just consider Lovecraft working as a senator or something. This eldritch horror of a man leaves the ocean once in three years at best LMAO. Second of all, I have a feeling, that the destruction of Yokohama at the hands of influential politicians from a foreign country would have resulted in an international conflict or two~ Like as if random deranged rich Americans arriving in Japan, wreaking havoc over there and destroying the second largest city in the country wasn't bad enough, these Americans just HAD to be super influential businessmen and politicians. Louisa, my dear, I understand that it wasn't your intention, but it's as close to a declaration of war as it can get, you know? Fitzgerald may be ready to do anything to resurrect his dead daughter, but I'm not sure, that the execution of himself and the rest of the Guild at the hands of the Hunting Dogs is something he'd like.

(And here's another funny thing that stems from them being politicians 🤭 As @originalartblog wittily pointed out, Fitzgerald wasting all his money fighting sskk has probably resulted in a market crash and recession over in the USA)

I also have some other questions in regards to this entire plan, such as why did they have to waste Moby-Dick just to destroy Yokohama? Yes, it works in the short term, but in the long term they loose a super powerful fortress with the stealth mode and as the practice shows, you better have a safe base, unless you want another lemon freak to blow it all up. I mean, you could just ask Lovecraft to destroy everything for free. Or, if the device is the only way to stop the giant whale from crashing, why didn't Fitzgerald just take it to a far away bunker or something and waited things out there without the need to spend millions of dollars just to survive the explosion? (And it would have been extremely funny, if during the fight with sskk he just threw the device overboard) But I think I have already rambled for long enough already atxhghbgv XD

The Guild is an even bigger mess than the DOA and I think that's glorious 🙌

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my Professor I dislike what my group members did for our final project?

I (20F) was in a group with four guys of unknown ages. All around my age or older. For my degree I had to take this management class. Our final project was to analyze this case study, give our opinion on what their new strategy could be, etc...

First day of the project (a month into semester) we get in our groups I sit around for a few minutes waiting for one of them to take charge or just say something (I figure they're all business majors of some kind). No one does so I do. I start to ask who wants to do what and say how I think we should break down the tasks. Two of them laugh.

For reference, I'm short, fem but visibly queer, and the school I go to is in the south. I don't know why they laughed. At the time and still I attribute misogyny but IDK I'm not in their minds.

For all of the following meetings I did the same thing: I would wait then take charge. They started to ask me all of their questions. Flash forward to the week it is due. I set a due date a day before the actual one (we do not meet that and finish an hour before the actual due date) and they ask me a bunch of easily answerable questions (on the syllabus or in class material). I did my part on time and read through their stuff. And in my opinion it just wasn't good. It was a lot of repeating the same information over and over again and didn't really follow the prompts of what we were supposed to do. Between that and how much they had yet to do I had a panic attack. My roommate urged me to email the professor. She replied to write up a thing explaining my issues w/ sections of the paper and include it when I uploaded my individual components.

I care about the grade so much because it is a large component and I receive funding for school from wealthy relatives based on how I do. It's not paying for my college but $200 here or there is a lot to me.

We got everything done on time and edited. I still gave my paper my all and helped with other sections and edited. I think it improved but still wasn't where I'd want it to be. So I did the thing she told me to and created the document. When I sent it to her I included that I don't want anyone to get a lower grade and I don't think anyone did a bad job (I don't think anyone was lazy).

I still feel like I might be an asshole because what I did could result in her lowing their grades.

[nicolesainz]

Within The Limits (Ben Chilwell x Jenson Button x OC) Chapter 7

Author's note: Happy Belated Birthday to baby boy Jenson (he's 44 years old) Wish him nothing but the best!!

Warnings: none

If I had the balls to drive all the way to Manchester, I would. Or in this case, if Mason hadn't prevented me from doing so.

I really wanted to comfort Chelsea after what Mason told me had happened. Jenson really followed her all the way to the other side of England, only to offend her? What a joke of a man he is.

I wanted to call her as well, but that may had been a stretch given that, I wasn't her boyfriend, a close friend of hers, or anything else that could possibly explain why I was so worried about her.

I decided to settle for a small text, given it was the only option that wouldn't make me look like an annoying asshole or an obsessed man.

Me: Mase told me what happened. I wish I could've been there as well to help you. I am here if you need anything.

Simple, friendly and caring.

I put my phone on the nightstand before switching off the lights when suddenly there was a notification from my text messages. To my luck, it was Chelsea.

Chelsea: Thank you Ben, this means a lot. I will be better don't worry. And this goes for you to, I am here to listen to you if there is anything concerning you.

A smile softened my worries with Chelsea's sweet reply. She managed to make a thing that was concerning her, turn 180 degrees so she could let me know that my concerns were hers as well.

Now this was a girl worth falling in love with.

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

It was one of the first few days that I woke up feeling good and not worried about anything. I wasn't thinking about Jenson or guilty about what I said to him. I had finally gotten everything I wanted to say to him out of my chest.

I grabbed my phone and went through all my emails regarding either Formula One or my upcoming commentary for Manchester United. I giggled at the email Crofty had sent me, asking if he could get a signed jersey with all of West Ham players signatures on it. Best part of it was the little PS at the end:

'If you could get Declan's as well, I would be thrilled. Will miss you in the commentary box Chels.'

I was getting very emotional about leaving the Formula One world behind even if that was for two years. I grew up loving this sport more than anything else. I do love football as well, I am not going to lie, but motorsport is my true passion.

I would be leaving behind my friends, the rest of the commentators, Lissie, Natalie, Ted, Crofty, Martin and some of the drivers as well, especially Lando, Alex and George.

I drove to the Sky office in Manchester where I met with Gary who wanted to give me a few updates on the squads, injured players, possible transfers, comebacks. I needed to get my notes ready for tomorrow's game.

"Onana and Amrabat are on AFCON, one of them coming back sooner but will be benched. Maguire still out, Mount is back in the main XI with Martinez as well and Marcus. All clear?" Gary asked whilst looking into his notes for anything else I should be aware of.

"Yes, all clear. Worry not, the game is gonna be a good one." I am lying to myself and probably every other Manchester United fan is as well. Team hasn't been to its best form but they are trying to get back on their feet.

"I will take your word for it little Chelsea. If there is anything else you want to ask, give me a call or Roy. He may be available more often than I am." He advices me as we walk out of the office together.

"How does it feel to be a full time football commentator now? Excited?" Gary kindly asks, even though he may secretly know my answer already.

"Full time may excite me more than part time given that 99% of the time I was jet lagged. If I have you with me then I am sure that things will be better. Plus, it will be easier for my father to tell me to ask the players about autographs so he can cherish in his office."

Gary was one of the first people I got to meet when I became a part of Sky's team. Him and Ted who had been lifelong commentators. Both sports welcomed me wholeheartedly.

At that moment, a white Porsche drove up to us and parked at the side. I instantly recognised it, being Mason's, that he was going to drive us all the way to London for Ben's first game back after the injury.

"Already found friends, didn't you Chelsea?" Gary nudged me playfully. “Those F1 drivers are gonna come for your ass, Mount.” He said to Mason as I was getting on the passengers seat next to him.

“Not for my ass. Maybe a friend of mine’s” Mason winked at me as we both waved goodbye to Gary and drove all the way to London.

During the entire ride, Mason and I mostly talked about football. What were my views on the team’s season, what would happen now that England qualified for the Euros and how is their loss at the 2021 final going to affect them or maybe how the new entries will enhance the dynamic of the team.

Then out of the blue, my phone started buzzing in my bag.

It was Jenson.

“Does he not know what the phrase ‘I need some space’ means?” The Manchester man said in an irritated manner, as we were entering London’s main road.

“It’s complicated. I think I was too harsh on him the other day when I left him. I mean, before he followed me back to my house.” I had a reason to get upset. He basically said I’d be an easy target for all the horny footballers.

“So, my question is, are you boyfriend and girlfriend? Cause I’ve seen the way you look at him during the post race analysis and trust me, but that’s the eyes talking when someone is in love.”

Is it that apparent that I am in love with Jenson? I haven’t had any of the other commentators comment on that. I mean, yeah, Lissie knows what’s going on between me and him but other than that, the rest may believe it’s pure admiration for such a figure. He was a world champion after all.

“Two years ago, I admitted to Jenson how much I admired him and I spoke very highly of him during an interview. Like you said, the way I was looking at him wasn’t the friendliest of all and given that he used to be my father’s favorite driver alongside Mark Webber, Jenson started flirting with me very intensely. I didn’t hesitate to flirt back and after the Canadian Grand Prix, when Jenson had forgot to book a hotel room, I let him stay with me. One thing led to another and now we are here.”

Mason was stunned with what he had just heard. He was trying to say something but he couldn't find the words to phrase it. This made me worry even more with how my relationship with Jenson could evolve soon.

"It sounds so odd. It looks like he was trying to get something out of you. Like he wanted you to be this close to him. I can't really explain it."

Mason could actually explain it very well, he just had to say it as it was, but he didn't want to hurt my feelings. I had to found out myself to eventually realise what was going on.

"My relationship with Jenson has always been a bit bumpy. I think you could tell from how possessive he was acting around me and you with Ben."

"He was so worried that we would seduce you and take you away from his grasp. I get that footballers don't always have the best of reputations and we are labeled as the 'playboys' but we don't want to steal other's girlfriends. Plus, Ben isn't the type of man that would hit on a woman so coldly. He is too nice to act like a dick."

"Hence why we fought. He thinks one of the footballers I will be engaging with, will flirt with me and I will instantly end with him on bed."

Mason's grasp around the wheel got more tight and his knuckled turned white as each word was leaving my mouth.

"I missed the opportunity to knock him out when I was by your house. He's so pathetic to even think that. Chels, I have seen you around the flirt tricks of footballers and not even once you flinched. Always stayed professional. Couldn't he tell by the post game interviews?"

"Also another reason why I stopped being part of the post game interview squad. Jenson was scared I would break in the end and flirt on public television with one of them. Now he can't do anything about it. I will be full time around the players."

"Karma is a bitch they say." Mason laughed and I followed him along. It felt so cathartic to finally get out of my system everything that has happened. I needed to vent to someone and I am more than thankful Mason was willing to listen to me.

"Enough talking about the grandpa. Now it is time to enjoy some Premier League football." When the blinding lights of Stamford Bridge started becoming brighter, my heartbeat rose as the realisation hit me that for the first time I would be in the guest box alongside a world famous footballer.

Mason guided us through the back entrance and was greeted with love, despite being a former player for the club. We made a small stop to the changing rooms, although I wasn't allowed inside. The door was half opened, and peaking would be rude and invasive, so I just stayed at the corner before the entrance to the box.

When the door opened, Mason was carrying a shirt on his hand and a few seconds later, he handed it to me with a massive smile plastered on his face. I took it and opened it wide, only for the name 'Chilwell' and the number '21' to be presented in front of my eyes.

"It was only fitting you took Ben's number since I am no longer in the club. Also he is captaining the team today so it will be an honour wearing his name and number." Mason said with such pride, talking for his former club which was his home for so many years.

I didn't say a word and threw the shirt on, adjusting it against the one I was already wearing. It was the perfect size and Mason's eyes were glued on the name of the shirt.

"He will love it" he softly murmured hoping I wouldn't listen, but yet I did.

"What was that?" I said to catch him off guard, even though I heard what he said clearly.

"Nothing dear. Well, shall we take our seats? The game is about to start." He scratched the back of his neck nervously and guided us to our seats. From where we were sitting, you would have the best view of the Bridge. It was beautiful. The atmosphere was magical and despite the team having another difficult season, the fans were always present to support them.

Crystal Palace was an easy opponent given that Chelsea hasn't lost to them either home or away in years. It would be three easy points to clench and celebrate. Although the nervousness was apparent on the player's faces, besides Thiago's.

Thiago was the saving grace from PSG that decided to follow along Thomas Tuchel and lead Chelsea to ultimate success. He was the defender that would complete the defending duo of Ben and Reece.

"Come on Chelsea!!!" I screamed as loud as I could, even though the male screams were louder than mine. Mason was startled with my scream but eventually got along with it and started singing chants as well.

"I am assuming you are a fan of the club then?"

"Hence the name. And otherwise I would be buried outside of the Emirates."

The camera was always pointing on Ben and a smile would instantly form on my lips whenever my eyes focused on his figure. He deserved to be captaining the team and I was sure the night was going to be successful!

I took out my phone and took a picture of Ben on the pitch from the big screen on top of the stadium. I was giggling like a teenage girl who was stalking her lifelong crush. It took me long to realise that I had a pair of eyes watching my every move next to me which person happened to be the captain's best friend.

"Oh no please, don't let me stop you from admiring good old Chilly. I think he will need all the good luck he can get tonight." Mason gloated and teased me at the same time, earning a devilish eyebrow raise from me.

The game went by pretty smoothly. It was indeed an easy win for the team given that two goals were scored in the first half, with Ben assisting twice and even though Palace draw one goal as well, this didn't stop the team from scoring again and this time, Ben wasn't the one who assisted but instead threw the ball behind the net.

My cheers were indescribably loud and my excitement was off the charts. After an injury and to perform like that was more than incredible. Ben played fantastically and both me and Mason were extremely proud of everyone but most Ben.

After the game finished, the players stayed on the pitch to applause the audience along with Pochettino to thank them for the support and hoping the enjoyed the game. When the stadium started emptying up and the players were still on the grass, I started shouting Ben's name so he could see who else was in attendance.

"Chilwell" I screamed at least 5 times before I left Mason unable to hear from his left ear and finally caught Ben's attention. When he notices it was me and Mason, his eyes widened and a smile formed that expanded all the way from his mouth to the tip of his ears.

Mason took my hand and led us to the dressing room with the entire team and went to congratulate everyone as I was waiting once again outside. This time, when the door opened, it wasn't Mason who's showed up, but the man of the match instead.

I instantly wrapped my arms around his neck and took him in into a tight hug, despite him being all sweaty. His body was warm and I would've loved to stay into his arms for an eternity.

"Congratulations on a wonderful game Benji. I am so proud of you. What a game from your side." I had witnessed a lot of brilliant games and Ben deserved all the recognition tonight.

"Thank you darling. This was all your doing. I sensed your positive energy in the audience and was ready to push. Hope I was entertaining." He wined playfully at me and within seconds butterflies started forming inside my stomach and fluttering around.

"If I could give you all the awards of the world, I definitely would. And maybe luck on indeed on my back tonight." I said cryptically before turning around to unveil the number that was plastered on my shirt.

"From now on, you are my official lucky charm. I will be needing you in attendance to all my games." He joked, although Ben was sounding very serious, which I took seriously as well for a moment. If I was being honest, I would try to attend as many of his games I could. If I had the chance, I surely would.

"I can't promise anything Mr. Chilwell, although be sure that I will be carrying around your number for good luck wherever I go. No matter the game or stadium. Trust me." I was being truthful. If Ben performed so great tonight, I was sure that this good performance would continue in the following games.

[sodacansculptures]

I started following you on Facebook some years ago, and then apparently forgot all about your stuff. It just popped into my head randomly and I wanted to see if you're still active and if you're still making soda can sculptures?

Hi, I apologize, I have no idea when you sent this since Tumblr (at least mobile) doesn't have time stamps, and for whatever reason, I don't get notifications about messages. You're the first person I've heard who has migrated from my Facebook page to my Tumblr, so thank you for joining the blog! Way more commentary here than there where my mom can see.

To answer your question succinctly: I am alive, and that's about the best I can say I've been since covid. 

(I have donation links at the bottom, if you feel moved to want to help me.)

The extended director's cut answer:

After I made the Eevee sculpture, grad school ramped up and I figured I'd return to sculpting after I got my degree and settled into a job. However, I graduated in Spring of 2020, so the job I had lined up was withdrawn, and with all the budget cuts and layoffs in my field, I was competing for jobs with people who were trying to reenter the field and had decades more experience than me. 

I did 100+ applications (I lost count at 120-something), dozens of interviews (including getting to the final round of all that had such a format--which is a stupid format. You don't need to meet me in a formal pretense 3 times, ask me riddles, have me take multiple hour-long aptitude tests, plus make me travel on my own dime just to tell me "no" and not even send like a "2nd Place Loser" gift basket or accept my LinkedIn request or anything). I got super stressed and super depressed. 

I was so busy with trying to find a job and trying to deal with the breakdowns of not finding one. I tried applying in all the fields I was capable of at all levels: executive, mid, and gruntwork. I was turned down from entry level, no-talent-necessary jobs because I was overqualified. I was turned away from the others because of the lack of experience and unprecedented level and caliber of competition.

I was (still am) unable to pay my bills and, when not having breakdowns, I was calling, emailing, filling out applications, etc. for any and all financial aid. It was very arduous work and tedious with all the documentation they wanted from me, hold times on the phone, etc. 

I had a non-profit (ADVOCAP) laugh at me when I asked for rent help because apparently they were overwhelmed and I wasn't going to get anything as I didn't have a job or kids and was considered a non-priority. Later when I was working with the ADRC, I asked if my case manager (I applied for disability, but I'll explain in a bit) if she knew of any rent help. She basically scolded me for asking and told me that it was unethical of me to seek that because "that's for people who actually have a chance." People who have jobs, she means. She explained that that money wasn't meant for me, and that was a whole unexpected slap in the face with a bag of dogshit. Didn't realize we had devolved into a utilitarian society quite that quickly.

I started working with FSET (my state's employment training and search help program. I was literally trying everything. Like I had also called my college and emailed all my professors asking for job help, and they had no answers other than like, "look online"). After months of no luck, FSET eventually convinced me to sign with a temp agency.

I worked 2 temp jobs that treated me like garbage (worsening my depression) and also paid me as such. I had lost all my savings to trying to stay afloat and my free time was non-existent, unless you count the hours I'd spend in the middle of the night just walking around my neighborhood listening to music--in an attempt to stop what seemed like endless crying--while I cried.

I tried selling plasma but they rejected me because I couldn't ever get my heart rate low enough, as my antidepressants increase heart rate. I tried going off of them, but I was on them for a reason, so I need to go back on.

When I graduated, I had bought myself a PS4 as a graduation gift to myself. I could afford it and thought I earned it. All the atmosphere of rejection and failure the pandemic created for me and my link to survival (employment should not be tied to survival. I was doing everything right and the system was failing me direly while virtually no one else who shared my experiences understood why I couldn't get a job when "everywhere is hiring" and "nobody wants to work anymore") and I started to hate myself for stuff like gifting myself the PS4. I felt undeserving, like a waste of resources, etc. because those were the messages I was constantly receiving directly and indirectly.

I eventually landed a job in my field and was hired on the spot. I felt like I had hit the jackpot and finally was going to be okay. Surprisingly to everyone in my life, the job made my life even worse.

I signed an NDA due to being horribly abused for the 10 months I was there, so I can't say much more than I just barely paid off my credit card, still had no free time as I was salary and worked nights and weekends in addition to my scheduled hours because the real reason they hired me instantly was not because I impressed them but rather because they were collapsing and desperate for anyone with some level of responsibility and capability. I hated that job, was bullied and abused extremely badly by coworkers and bosses and HR was no help, and when my performance review came back with negative impressions of me when I was sacrificing so much to keep the employment entity alive and functional, I completely broke.

I ended up hospitalized for months for suicide, and part of the NDA included resigning. I never fully recovered and don't think I ever will. I think I've seen and experienced too much to return to the idea that I could be the trailblazer my professors projected me to be (I now think professors don't actually provide an accurate representation of the field and encourage with no basis for their optimism). 

The human mind is very easy to manipulate with propaganda, and I didn't catch myself being in a sort of “main character syndrome” and thinking that because I was Valedictorian of my graduating class and that I had so many national and international recognitions, awards, accolades, and qualifications that I was, for lack of a better term, pulling myself up by the bootstraps and going to be rewarded with a promising future where success is not just viable but imminent. I knew the world wasn't fair and that some people could do all the prescribed “right” steps and fail, but the operating paradigm (that had been ingrained in me since childhood from teachers who saw me as bright) I had held told me that I was far too talented and hard-working to fail. I had very little doubt that I wouldn't be successful. I was an ideal, hypothetical model of a pre-successful American worker.

So anyway, I didn't expect to have all the trouble that I faced finding a good job. At the end of the first summer of covid with nothing but rejections and employers affirming to me that there was nothing I could have improved on to get the job other than have prior experience, I was a discouraged worker who didn't even try anymore. 

That's when FSET convinced me to do the temp agencies (who dropped me because one employer who was inhumanely abusive and ironically an HR department) gave a bullshit reason about me violating a protocol so they wouldn't have to make good on their promise to hire me after the temp period. 

(I had allergies and it was literally the exact week in September when allergies were at their worst. A coworker, who hated me for some reason I never figured out and can only assume was jealousy, reported me for having a runny nose and I was immediately escorted out for bringing covid symptoms into the building. If I didn't go to work any day I had a runny nose, I wouldn't go any day. I take allergy meds literally every day of my life. My parents kept me too clean as a baby or something and didn't let me eat enough dirt, so an allergy panel showed I was allergic to every single common indoor and outdoor allergen).

Back to my suicidal hospitalization: I could say so much on the inpatient part. Suffice it to say I was never given my meds and there were no groups because they were understaffed and constantly wound up/pissed because of the uncooperative patients, so it was like prison where you had to argue with staff to get your basic needs met, and no soft surface existed and the water was always freezing, so it genuinely felt like being locked in a concrete box with no sunlight, no one on your side (they lied and said they called my psychiatrist and therapist. They never did. They also lied about ordering my meds), and no contact with the outside world. It was like a cruelly-designed Mr. Beast challenge with no reward in the end. 

My friends said I was messed up for 2 weeks after and scary af because I was in survival-fight mode that would not turn off. I also was too overwhelmed by the outside world when I got out and could only eat pre-packaged snacks for a while because that was all I was used to/comfortable with.

Part of the agreement to let me leave inpatient was to do an intensive all-day outpatient program. I was actually dropped from that by insurance because I had undiagnosed ADHD among all my other issues and couldn't show up on time or sometimes at all. I still don't have my ADHD figured out because I had to convince my psychiatrist to refer me to a neuropsych who booked out for months to test me. I did it and got “Yes, much ADHD. All of the ADHD. Very wow.” So my psychiatrist finally believed me and agreed to start me on ADHD meds.

My psychiatrist and I are still working to find an ADHD med that would work for me. Vyvanse helped for a time, but my body metabolized it too quickly, leaving me with only around 6 functional hours in the day. I'm currently on extended-release Adderall, but so far not much help and there are too many other variables that could be fucking with it, like that my sleep-wake cycle is extremely unpredictable and I have a million appointments every day, so I am constantly sleep-deprived and am actually busier now than I was in grad school or any 8-hour job I worked.

The breakdown I had triggered me to develop fibromyalgia, so that has been a whole ordeal. I'm constantly in pain, it again took many months to see any doctor about it, and the meds take so long to start taking effect that we've been trying since June to find something that works.

The crucible that was my pandemic experience didn't refine me like fire refines gold or whatever the saying is but rather left me burnt, and not in the way that you can scrape the charred parts off of toast but like BURNT burnt (I can't think of an example. Maybe a popsicle. You're not getting that back once you take a flamethrower to it. Plus the stick would crumble into ash. RIP popsicle).

My life lately is a lot of appointments I often miss and have to reschedule, arguments with various agencies and even my doctors, breakdowns, and driving for Uber Eats because no one can fire me (but it pays beans and I get flack from restaurants and customers AND Uber because somehow the driver is the scapegoat for any issue that arises. I was so proud of my delivery aptitude and quality service until the tip-baiters and people being assholes for no reason started hitting me as common and daily occurrences). 

A lot of people don't understand how UberEats works, but Uber doesn't even pay their driver enough to cover gas or depreciation on their vehicle for the mileage, much less the value of the driver's time and physical efforts. Tips are literally ⅔ of my income and my income does not cover my bills despite all the time I put in and algorithm I set up for myself that determines which trips to accept/reject for the most profit. It's a very toxic and unprotected form of employment. A lot of people lie that I didn't give them their food so that they can get a refund, but that comes back on me and risks my account being deactivated. It's virtually a fear-based system with some tricky artificial competition that Uber likes to throw in from time to time to convince us to drive for less and less pay. 

I've looked into all the alternatives like GrubHub, Spark, DoorDash, etc. but I've been on their waiting lists for years, including GrubHub booting me off their list even though I was always quick to respond to their periodic question of if I still wanted to be on the list.

Between depression and ADHD, I can't work a normal job. I no longer have the capacity to keep a routine and can't show up to things with any level of reliability despite how badly I want to. I also don't have the spoons to deal with working with others or being accountable for tasks that feel--idk how to articulate it, but like--stupid to my autism. If something seems inefficient or not progressive (like not helpful to humanity) to me, I can't get my brain to do it. And with ADHD, if it's not interesting to me/something I am passionate about (I was extremely lucky that learning and receiving the praise from teachers I never got from my parents was my passion that got me so far and through multiple degrees), I can't get my brain to let me do it. Sometimes I just can't do anything, including things I want to do, and simply end up stuck. I wouldn't last in any job that wasn't self-directed and only happening when I have the spoons to be available. My options are very limited. And Uber can be slow. I've had times where I've waited 13 hours and not gotten a single request that wasn't going to cost me money to run.

Uber has some personal difficulties for me. In the summer, I found it a little bit fun, but now that it's cold, my Raynaud's is painful and I don't enjoy having to watch out for people who got their licenses from cereal boxes and don't know how to drive in the snow. It's an unpleasant sensory experience for me to work and honestly risky safety-wise. People don't turn on their porch lights for some reason (I have a headlamp now) and don't salt their walkways, and I'm uncoordinated because my dad didn't throw a ball at me enough as a kid probably, so there's ice, the treads on my boots are shot (and I can't afford to replace them), and I get banged up from falling on concrete. 

I have a chiropractor and physical therapist, and they each said even before this that they could see me every day and still have something to work on with me. It's affirming, at least, to hear that professionals can physically feel how in pain my body is and that it's not just me being a baby. Part of it, I'm sure, is that I have PTSD (including from the traumas of my various pandemic experiences) and have horrible nightmares every night where I jerk around a lot in my sleep. I wake up every day feeling like I got hit by a bus, which is also partially why I don't get places on time. 

On my own time, I'll spend 2 hours trying to get out of bed both overcoming the pain to move and convincing myself to get the willpower to. It's so much easier to just lie there and accept it, especially when I don't look forward to having to do another day. I don't feel rested because I spent the night working my body and brain, so I'm not sure I ever am rested. I need so much more sleep now, too, with fibromyalgia. This adds to my stress of outpacing my bills and just keeping up with the maintenance of myself and my apartment because that's less time I have to get things done.

I have 4 alarms (phone vibrating plus noise, an earthquake pillow one, my Fitbit vibrating on my wrist, and a Pavlok going all out screaming, vibrating, and shocking me with electricity), and it's still possible for me to sleep through all of them or somehow turn them off while half-asleep and go back to sleep. There are also times where I will be like, “Okay, getting up now,” and then I black out and it's 4 hours later and I missed 3 appointments that will take weeks to reschedule, if the clinic hasn't dropped me for the tardiness and absence. I'm running out of clinics to go to.

On a mental level, I am in a near-constant state of overwhelm that holds me inches from a full-blown, all-day breakdown at any given moment. Something about being so stressed with no relief for years on end has rewired my brain, I think, to make the adrenaline pathway so reinforced and the stress part of the brain overlit/overactive. I don't know how to relax. Doctors keep telling me I need to, especially with fibromyalgia, but I physically cannot seem to do it. I can't focus on anything like movies. Nothing is fun when I have always-present and terrorizing (by threatening my survival) pressure from all these stressors (mainly money. I'm in a constant race against my monthly bills, and each month, they creep closer and closer to outpacing me). I'm never happy to wake up and I'm always low-key scared. I'm desperate for security in any form.

I was so unable to do tasks after my suicidal breakdown that even though my psychiatrist, therapist, and general physician were begging me to apply for disability. I had hoped I just needed a few months of R&R and would be right back to being willing and able to work. That never happened, and it was extremely difficult for me to accept the fact that I was disabled. When I finally did, I begged for months for people to help me fill out all the forms (they were overwhelming me, which is, y'know, kind of a key feature of my disability) and no one did, so I lost months of time there. I eventually just had a moment of conviction or indignation or something that I was able to force myself to do them. I'm still kind of mad at everyone who didn't help.

My therapist actually did her best to help and, when the outpatient hospital ousted me because insurance refused to pay for it anymore, referred me to the county's CCS (Community Care Something-or-other) program. They gave me a worker who allegedly had some psychology- or human services-related degree who would help me function for 1 hour a week. I think the whole program is a farce and despite spending hours on this program, we accomplished absolutely nothing.

The first CCS worker I had was supposed to come over to my place (which had become a mess. I was a messy person before, as my apartment was a graveyard of unfinished projects due to my ADHD), but with my extended burnout, I wasn't cleaning and organizing on the level I used to. So I texted my CCS person a warning that my kitchen table was cluttered. I mean it to mean, “It will take me a minute to clear the table once you get here for your laptop for you to finish the unreasonably long entry paperwork on me, and I haven't gotten the energy to declutter it yet and won't until you get here because my ADHD needs a body double right now. She, for reasons I still don't understand, canceled the visit and never came. When I confronted her about what I meant, she was like…embarrassed to the point of not being willing to work with me anymore. There was a communication breakdown that I couldn't get her to communicate with me and she was somehow scared of how much and how articulated or something I communicated that she shut down. 

I understand I “overcommunicate” from the perspective of allistics and neurotypicals [I had a bad childhood and was invalidated and wrongly blamed for things a lot, so I give as much explanation as possible to avoid any misunderstanding and articulate to the point that there won't be any ambiguities and thus can't be twisted into reason to punish me when I've done nothing to earn punishment. My caretakers as a child had their own mental issues that led them to being unreliable/unsafe to me and didn't offer me any feelings of security in relationships, perspective of reality (them taking their anger out on me and telling me everything, including their personal problems, was my fault), and ultimately everyone seems to say they want transparency and communication, but from my experiences and perspective, they don't want that. I have no idea what they really want. I give the level of communication I would want someone to give me and hope that they will just discard the parts they don't need/want, and apparently that's me being a burden or something and a “bad” quality. 

Meanwhile, I WISH people would communicate and be transparent with me more. I think I am an understanding person who has done enough work on themselves to not repeat toxic patterns and be a healthy relationship to others. I don't listen to judge but to understand so I can work with the other person to fix any problems and work with what we got, not devalue them and distance myself or abandon them. Everyone on dating apps says they want this, but I've yet to meet someone who does. I think it's that people see this as an ideal but are unskilled at the time to play their role in the situation–both in offering and responding. I think I've put so many years of therapy and introspection into working on myself that others just haven't, so we're simply on different levels. I know I'm not alone in my experiences, but it's very isolating when you don't meet people who have done the same work.

Anyway, I got assigned a new CCS worker and she did not do all that work I described. When I was told I would be assigned to someone else, I specifically asked for one who has seen some shit and that nothing I do or say will move them. They did at least give me someone older with more experience, but she either over- or under-estimated me (I can't discern which). She, working in the same building as my therapist and being basically in at least a good bit of communication with her when I wasn't around, knew that I had a lot of crap going on that I needed more therapy/support/help unraveling and making sense of and peace with than the 45 min/week I got with my current therapist. So she offered to be like a second therapist and said I could tell her absolutely anything.

As the pattern of this narrative likely already cues, it turned out I could not tell her absolutely anything. I was a few months into my transition and no one prepares you for some of the changes. My endocrinologist had only told me, “You might go bald.” I thought my years of research and consulting with transmen in my life had encompassed all I needed to know. However, we sometimes do not know what we don't know and thus don't think to ask the questions we need to ask. As probably an autistic/abused person trait of mine, I speak very clinically and technically. At the time, I had recently been speaking with my therapist about anatomical changes that triggered emotions I was not prepared for. I attempted the same sort of conversation with my new CCS worker, but she yelled me for being inappropriate. Not just scolded but legit yelled, as if I wasn't a full grown adult capable of reason and discussion.

I was confused on what I did wrong, since I thought I was just taking her up on what she willingly offered. I am also a firm believer in the Mister Rogers quote about how anything that is mentionable is manageable (which goes back to why I don't listen to judge but rather to collaborate and also why I see disagreements as us vs. the problem rather than me vs. them. I do not feel the need to yell at someone unless it's like an emergency of some sort and there's a threat that yelling can somehow address and be beneficial to the situation). 

From my perspective, I was being shut down and punished/shamed for asking for help with a problem that legit scared me and that I was willing to be vulnerable enough to share. I consider that sort of thing sacred and not something that can be trusted in everyone's hands. But the way she responded, to me, reinforced that I was a person unworthy of help: a message received from my childhood caretakers and all the people who were supposedly there to help me during my pandemic crises. 

I couldn't bring myself to trust her anymore or even want to see her again. I'll admit that's a bit of my Emotional Dysregulation Disorder weighing in, but I didn't want her in any intimate spaces I'd need to let her into in order to serve me in her CCS capacity. I had had too many things go wrong lately in that time to not shut myself down to prevent more hurt by simply refusing any future opportunity for more hurt to occur. I was well beyond my limit and it took much convincing from my therapist for me to even give CCS a chance to help me.

Still, I asked to be reassigned to another CCS worker, this time knowing that I could not trust what they claim to offer and just keep the things we work on surface-level functioning--like cleaning my oven or going through the pile of mail I hadn't opened in weeks because their potential contents paralyzed me with fear.

I was denied my request and let go from the program as they felt I had burned through 2 workers and thus proven that I am not a good candidate for the program. I still don't agree with this and argued, but after weeks of (a reasonable number of) periodic emails and voicemails, I never got an email or call back. In hindsight, I maybe should have reported to the county what happened, but it's been like a year.

That mostly brings us back to the present. I have been back in FSET since Spring but just focusing on staying afloat with Uber/working on whatever I can handle. I had a whole researched and designed pitch asking them to fund the several hundred dollars it would be for me to become a mobile notary, but they denied my request as they lack the funds. They also denied my request for new boots for the Uber hazards because they felt it was a fashion thing and not a need. Agencies, or honestly anyone with any power over me, not understanding me even with my articulate, crystal-clear explanations isn't surprising to me anymore. And counterintuitively, more explanation (even from different approaches) does not help and just makes me think I'm weird, which somehow is taken as more cause to not grant whatever request it is I am making in the first place.

So I Uber, I argue with doctors and agencies to try to get my needs met, and I have breakdowns despite my efforts to not. I have always had a massive list of more sculptures I want to make. I do want to get to a point where I can make them someday. I've been waiting on disability for an answer for nearly a year and done all I can to bolster my case with getting doctor testimonies, giving my testimony, noting clinic visits so the person assigned to my case can view the findings of them, getting an ADRC contact to guide me (though looking back, she didn't help at all and it was me searching out and discovering everything on my own while all she did was forward what documentation I had to the state for me)... All I can do is try to survive until they say “yes,” but they usually say “no” first (which is why an alarming number of people file bankruptcy and/or die waiting for a disability decision), especially since mental health reasons are the hardest ones to get approved, and my ADRC contact has been using language such as, “This will make it easier for next time,” and I'm not prepared to hear her tell me she thinks we'll have to file another claim and wait another year, so I don't ask 

I feel terrible that I've not been sculpting or posting. I miss engaging the Tumblr community and sharing my art with people who appreciate it (and not tell me it's garbage. Wtf, Grandma). 

The fact that I couldn't actually bring myself to commit suicide and still don't even though the extremely-difficult-to-survive--particularly with multiple debilitating ailments--and high cost I incur daily to myself trying to keep my head above water as long as I can, tells me that there is a life better than this that I want to live. I can't fathom for myself anything other than what is current, and I am putting all my chips into believing that I could be wrong and there's a chance all my striving will eventually meet stable ground to rest upon, where I can return to myself and make art again. I hate to think this wreck is who I really am and want to believe this is just who I am under a stupid-amount of pressure that no human should ever have to endure. A lot of people have been quick to point out all the resources, but I guarantee I've pursued all of them hard and received some help but not nearly enough. It's hard to wrestle with the feelings of not being enough to live or not being worthy of living because it's such a struggle for me to throw enough money at bills/expenses to allow me to live. It shouldn't cost someone all of themselves to try (and imminently fail) to earn the allowance to live.

Things like the ACP and student loan freeze (I owe $80,000+ because college is an overpromising, commercialized thing that is more gamble than guarantee) are ending soon (or maybe have ended and I just haven't opened my mail to know), and I'm deathly afraid. Uber isn't enough and on down-times with them and when my various ailments aren't being debilitating, I work on selling things to try to make enough for the month. Obviously I'm eventually going to run out of things to sell. 

I'm also fearful that my estimated disability check, if I get one, is only going to be $900/month, because I didn't get enough work experience to be allowed more. I genuinely don't know that that's going to be enough, especially since the price of everything like rent is inflating. I don't know how long I can financially sustain my means of survival. But I'm still doing everything I can. It's jarring to go from decorated Valedictorian to…whatever exhausted mess this is. 

My parents stopped asking me months ago how things are going because they know it's never good. They don't have the means to help me as my mom got laid off of work, my dad has dementia and doesn't work, and if I have to live with them again, I would essentially be signing off on my own death certificate because even spending a few hours in that home, with those people, is enough to completely drain me, trigger so much PTSD, grind my mental health down even more with whatever new dynamics and energies they decide to inject in our interactions. I wasn't free to fight the battles I needed to until I moved out into my own private space, and since it is the cheapest option in the entire city and so necessary of a component to my mental health, my therapist identified keeping my apartment as my number one priority. With my mental health, I wouldn't do well at all or be able to get back on my feet if I was homeless.

This turned into a lot more than I intended, but I'm really satisfied that it explains my situation and makes it known that you can do everything right and still lose. The system will cannibalize you if you don't have money to start with and don't have the means to keep it coming. Poverty charges interest and there are no days off, especially if you're disabled. There are no real safetynets and the ones that exist are overwhelmed, underfunded, underpowered, and essentially only serve to make the ones who don't need them feel satisfied (and aren't outraged and pushing for changes) being sold the lie that those who need help have it available to them. Having an inside view of what the experience is, I am apalled at how little systemic support or consideration there is for the disabled, especially since it is the largest minority group that anyone can join at any time.

Some days suck worse than others, like when the weather is so bad that I cannot Uber or when my pain or mental state has been aggravated and I haven't made enough time for self-care so it has decided for me when self-care must be attended to. I wish I could give myself the self-care my mind and body need so I can be healthier, more resilient to setbacks, and feel less pain, but honestly some nights I don't even go to bed because there isn't enough time/I can't afford to not be working or selling things. Society likes to frame self-care as a luxury and only recently (since covid attacked everyone's mental health) did self-care start to be widely accepted as a need. It's just too bad all that rhetoric amounted to is awareness without action. Capitalism still demands and glorifies the nonstop grind, even if it kills us.

Obviously some days are better than others and it feels incredible when I feel a genuine smile spread across my face. I wish it wasn't so foreign of a feeling, but the fact that it is makes it more impactful. I try to give my attention to hope, even if I have no practical basis to believe it exists. 

Receiving this ask did ultimately bring a smile to my face because it means I'm still cared for in a world that kicks me to the ground daily and says I don't deserve care. It is so hard for me to even care about myself a lot of the time, with all the negative messages I've internalized from my dominatingly high ratio of experiences that are rejection or failure in some form. Ultimately, we all just want to be loved. Thank you so much for reminding me that pain isn't all there is for me (it's easy to get sucked into that mindset after years of nearly everything gutting me. I often fail to even notice myself falling into it and being consumed by it). 

I know I don't owe anyone an explanation for my absence and that no one is mad at me or blaming me for it that I would need to provide some sort of justification. But I wanted to communicate with you all because I love you. I genuinely mean that. 

I still think about this from time to time and I still want come back to making and sharing sculptures and just having fun hearing all the things you have to say about them and how delighting, inspiring, or entertaining you find them. I consider the ability to do that and this Tumblr page to be one of my greatest things I've made. I don't care about money and despise that money dictates virtually every aspect of my life in the worst way. Community, creativity, and self-improvement motivated by joy/love rather than profit/fear are of infinitely more value to me. I'm still pursuing that dynamic in the end through all of this.

By no means is anyone obligated to donate to me, but if you can afford to and want to, I'll post my payment platform things below (some may still have my birth name attached). Any amount helps and Lord knows I dove for a penny on the ground last week.

If you can't donate but still want to help, reblogging can help no matter how little reach you feel your blog has, and I also would appreciate words of encouragement or support. I also just want you to know that if you've been reading this far, I really appreciate that you care enough about me to do that.

All of my love,

Stan 

(They/Them)

PayPal:

@Stanwagner09

Venmo:

@asclw7643

Zelle:

Stan.wagner09@gmail.com

[mariana-oconnor]

The Boscombe Valley Mystery pt 2

Not part 3... yet. I didn't check my email until after both parts had been sent, so I managed to do these in the right order. Woo!

A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.

Another flattering description. Although I must say, 'leather leggings'?? We were robbed. I have never seen a version of Lestrade wearing leather leggings and a duster. He sounds more like he's LARPing than investigating a crime. It's so steampunk of him. Like... this is the kind of thing people wear as a steampunk outfit and other people say it's not Victorian.

If leggings were a different thing back then Do Not Tell Me! I want to live with this image forever.

"It is entirely a question of barometric pressure." Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said. "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a case-full of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night." Lestrade laughed indulgently.

Is this Holmes' long-winded way of saying that he doesn't need the carriage because it's not going to rain? But then he's also saying he's not going out because the sofa is so comfortable. (Coming up: S Holmes' monograph on the relative comfort of differing couches and their proxximity to the countryside).

Also, Lestrade is just... 'I tried to be helpful' and is soundly rejected, but just laughs it off.

He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.

Well, Watson thinks she's hot. 😂 Little bit of a different description from some of the other characters he's met. This is practically indecent. Lol.

"Mr McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet."

That is... not the way round I was expecting. So he wanted them to marry and the kids didn't. It's unclear here whether they didn't want to marry because they consider each other as siblings or if he specifically didn't want to be tied down so young. Fair, either way, but a bit of a surprise. I was expecting parental disapproval.

"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?" "No, he was averse to it also.

Ah, there's the parental disapproval. But only on one side. So it seems a bit like McCarthy is trying to marry his son to his 'friend's' daughter in order to get something from the exchange, but his 'friend' doesn't like that idea.

"Ha! In Victoria! That is important." "Yes, at the mines." "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr Turner made his money."

Ah, there's a gold mine involved. That seems like it might be a motive.

"I must go home now, for dad is very ill..."

Really jarring to see 'dad' in use here. I never think of that having been used in the 19th century. It made me do a double take. I know that 'dada' is hugely wide in usage by children, going back probably millennia, but to see an adult in a Victorian story refer to their 'dad' is just... huh.

Also, Mr Turner being sick and bedridden feels like it might fit into this jigsaw somewhere? Is it a ruse to give himself an alibi?

"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

I love the throughline in this that both Mary and Holmes seem convinced that Watson is incapable of entertaining himself. Mary sends him off to stay with Sherlock when she's away and Sherlock here is worried that Watson won't have enough enrichment if he leaves him alone for a couple of hours.

He's a fully grown man, not a puppy. Lmao.

But then again...

I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room...

Holmes is apparently right. I mean, I completely understand the mood. I just find it amusing that it only takes less than a couple of hours without Holmes for Watson to deteriorate from aimlessly wandering the streets to throwing books across the room.

Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head.

SCIENCE!

This is... kind of adorable. I mean, if it wasnt a description of deadly wounds on a corpse.

"He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."

(I believe this is James Purefoy playing the part of James MCCarthy in the granada series, but this being the internet, I cannot be sure.)

Seriously, though. Confirmed Himbo Young McCarthy. Pretty and well-meaning but not very smart.

"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?"

LOL I shouldn't laugh, but... but yeah. Lolololol. Oh Young Mr McCarthy, this makes so much more sense. And it reads like the plot of an Austen novel. It practically is the plot of Sense and Sensibility. Except at least in that one they're only engaged, not full on married.

It does kind of suck, though. Where is his wife? Did she seduce him? Or were they both just swept away in it all?

Does Mr Turner know about the secret wife and is that why he's against the marriage? But you'd assume if he knew he'd tell Mr McCarthy (the dead one, not the himbo). So I've got to assume that Mr Turner doesn't know.

"Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them."

...

Bahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Oh this is hilarious. I just... I can't remember this from the Granada series. This is just a comedy. I mean on the one hand he's accused of murder at a time the death penalty is still in use in the UK. On the other hand, at least he's no longer trapped in a marriage he doesn't want to be in! Always look on the bright side.

I feel like I should be trying to take this seriously. A man is dead. But I just can't.

"One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned."

And as our research last time informed us 'cooee' originated in Australia and therefore leads to the conclusion that he was meeting someone from Australia. Either Mr Turner or someone else who has come from Australia unbeknownst to us.

"And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."

Do we know who George Meredith is? Has he come up before. I do not remember the name.

"He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

There is a distinct whiff of blackmail upon the air.

SO theory - someone else found the gold that Mr Turner made his fortune on, but he claim jumped them and left them for dead and now years later, that person has turned up for REVENGE.

But then why is the dead person no the person who ended up with the gold mine?

... Be-cause... Oh, because Mr McCarthy was the person who did Mr Turner's dirty work. So he 'murdered' the person who originally found the gold on behalf of Mr Turner, and since then Mr Turner has been keeping him quiet and paying him for his service. But it turned out the original gold finder wasn't really dead - or he had a relative? - and now they are back.

But that would require there to be another character we...

THE OLD WOMAN, I knew I was suspicious of her. Random unnamed old woman just happens to be walking around and witnessing things? Pah. She's the dead man's widow who has hunted Turner and McCarthy across the world on her quest for VENGEANCE!

Yes, I am now only doing this as an excuse to post Percy gifs. I regret nothing.

"Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

Yes, a distinct stench of blackmail does abound. McCarthy definitely had something on Mr Turner.

"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies." "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts."

Burn. Wow, that was cutting.

However, the whole repartee here. Lestrade winking at Watson and echoing back words that are similar to ones we've heard Holmes say himself. Then the fact that Lestrade replies to that insult at the end there 'with some warmth', it all takes it from being an exchange of insults to old friends teasing each other. I love the flow of all of this.

We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points...

Are we in a time before police officers thought to examine footprints? What a revolutionary idea!

Although surely the police have been tramping all over the crime scene by now, you'd think. I get that Holmes has been very specific about it not raining, but crime scenes get all sorts of people walking over them. If the police really didn't think to examine them, then any murder prints must be buried underneath, or entirely indistinguishable from the prints of everyone else who has walked over it.

Then we get a lengthy description of Holmes. So lengthy in fact I'm not going to copy it here in its entirety. Here are some highlights:

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase...

Very animalistic descriptions there for a character usually described as reserved. And very vivid, too, but we know Watson likes his vivid descriptions.

Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous

This doesn't really vibe with what we've been seeing of Lestrade up to this point. He hasn't been contemptuous, I wouldn't say. More indulgent and amused by the whole situation.

He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

And another animal description a bit later on.

"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it."

Yeah, I mean. What did you think it was going to be like, Holmes? Did you think that the policemen hovered like the Gentlemen from Buffy? Gliding along as they search for murder weapons and pick up bodies?

"Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots!"

Very impressive tracking abilities. You know who this made me think of?

"And the murderer?" "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search."

So... not the old woman then? Unless she was secretly a man in disguise?

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."

I mean, I agree Holmes hasn't given you any evidence to indicate the existence of such a person, just told you that they exist. But you did agree to have him work with you and you have worked with him before. So maybe listen to him? You were doing so well, Lestrade.

And I guess we already have part 3... so that will be coming shortly.

Is the old man with the limp disguised as an old woman who is secretly a gold miner from Australia?

Probably not. But it's a fun theory.

[annabelle--cane]

on the one hand, it was scary. I had trouble leaving my dorm the whole following week, I tried to change up my habits as much as possible in case he was still around and knew my class schedule, and I tried to coordinate walking to meals with friends. he wasn't even meant to know what school I went to but he managed to hand-deliver a note and bouquet to the front desk of my building. not even mailed, hand-delivered. on the other hand, it wasn't even a real front desk, it was just a booth that wasn't even staffed on week days, it was only pure coincidence that my friend saw a bunch of flowers, took at peak at them, and called me when she saw my name on the envelope. by the time I even knew anything had been left, all the time slots for meetings he'd suggested in his letter had already passed. I very easily might have never known he was there, did he even want me to? it's not like he doesn't have my email. and evidently he had my exact address, I'd have gotten a notification if he'd sent something by post. I might even have already left for the day by the time he managed to conga-line his way through the front door. it was the least likely way to see me, he only offered times to meet for that same day, and it was also the least likely method to reach me. half of me thinks he just wanted to be able to slink home and tell his friends "I'm such a wretched soul, I went to all this effort to reach out but got nothing" and half of me thinks he wasn't thinking at all. he likes doorstepping people, and he didn't really consider that it would be different at a dorm building vs an individual house. it's just so weird that he traveled 3000+ miles for such a pathetic attempt that I almost didn't even notice. dude.

[pettyrevenge-base]

Rude buyer threatens me with a chargeback, then loses both the item and her payment.

A woman bought a designer handbag from me online, then about a week later sends an extremely rude message, claiming it had damages and smelled funny. She wanted her money back IMMEDIATELY, and demanded I send it to her on Venmo (against policy and massive red flag for fraud) or else she would file a chargeback (threatening sellers with chargebacks is also against policy). Being as it was the weekend, and her language was really abusive and gross, I decided not to interrupt my weekend and waited till Monday morning to respond, which is within the TOS.   

She was really aggressive, and sent me more rude messages demanding I relent and pay her off site "or else". I checked her feedback and at least one other seller reported that she also tried to coerce them into an off site refund with a chargeback. Buyers have enormous latitude in online sales, and tbh, I just didn't want to deal with her anymore so on Monday I responded offering her a full refund in exchange for a free return, and though I did not believe she was being honest, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and said maybe it was damaged in transit. I fully expected her to return the wrong item, but after I gave her a free return/refund option, she filed then a chargeback anyways claiming the item is not as described, then left very negative feedback. Both the feedback and existence of a chargeback claim harms my presence on the site and hits me with fees and an automatic refund for her, taking money out of my account automatically and messing with my budget. There's a reason why most sellers will do most anything to avoid chargebacks, it really is inconvenient and damaging for us.  

Now being as this used to be my profession, I know that it's considered fraudulent to file a chargeback when the retailer has offered a full refund. So naturally, I appealed the case and it was decided in my favor, and her refund was reversed. I blocked her and moved along. Fast forward about two weeks, and the original item shows up on my doorstep, returned, and without any of the damages that she complained about. Now. I realized in this situation I have no legal obligation to refund her at all, but better still, is that when I went to the seller dashboard to try, I don't even have the option to refund her because the case SHE OPENED was closed and decided in my favor. I still felt a little funny about relisting, so I emailed the site for more direction.  

Apparently, when you file a chargeback you are forfeiting your right to seek a refund directly from the retailer in favor of seeking a refund from your financial institution. She had apparently messaged the site and modified my feedback to demand a refund after the chargeback failed, and sent them the tracking number of the item she ultimately returned, saying that since she had a tracking number they had to refund her. But a failed chargeback is final in this case, and because her behavior was deemed fraudulent, the website itself is not able/willing to refund her anymore either. The only way I could give her her money back was if I unblocked her, exchanged info, and sent the refund on venmo or paypal, which are linked to my personal email and phone number. Given how rude she had been I have no interest in opening up any unmediated communication, and I'm certainly not going to give her my personal contacts of any kind.  

So by following through on her coercive threat to file a chargeback against me, she managed to lose both the item and her money. A chargeback is not the silver bullet people often think it is. If she'd been even reasonably polite, I'd have had no issue communicating with her directly to give her money back, even if she had filed the chargeback. 

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[tallulahneale]

Title: Who really lives their dream?

Summary: Vince as a pharma tech, alternate reality!

A/n: This is a fluffy wuffy story.

Part Five

Over the next 4 days, he teaches Lula everything about the operation. By day 5 she is pretty much a pro, checking through the online forums for new clients, pin pointing new drop off points and keeping an eye on the stock.

“Are you ready?” Vince asks her.

“Wait, I don’t think I can go through with this” she starts to ramble “I mean, we can wait for anoth-“

“Lula. No. The longer we leave it the riskier it is”

“I know but wh-“

“We have to do this. Stop talking”

She takes a deep breath, staring at him, hands shaking. He gives her a burner phone with a random sim, “call this number at 7:47am on Tuesday, no earlier no later. Throw it away and break the sim once you’re done.”

“But we have work that day! Vince I’m not sure anymore”

“Stop it Lula, your nervous energy is rubbing off on me”

“…sorry”

“It’s fine. Just call the number, make yourself sound extra white. Y’know, like a Karen”

“Yes yes, I got it”

“Cool. You got this boubout” he smiles at her. She smiles back nervously. Giving him a tight hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Stop all that, you’ll see me in no time. My Mom said you can drop by her house if you need help or if you just want to chill” he said as he embraces her.

They stare into each other’s eyes, is this that moment? they think simultaneously. She let go, giving him a kiss on the cheek then resting her head on his shoulder “Fight hard nigga.”

——

Tuesday morning was tense. She made the call and headed straight to work. She did her best to keep it altogether till the end of the work day but she was on edge.

9am, no Vince.

10am, still a no show.

11am nothing.

A nosy little coworker walks towards her, he’s probably the one Vince was talking about, Lula says to herself.

“No Vince today?” The short stout man asks. Mockingly, she looks around the pharmacy “Huh?”

“It’s almost lunch time and Vince still isn’t here. Quite unusual if you ask me.” He responds curiously.

“Awww you must really care about your coworkers wellbeing” she says sarcastically “that’s sweet.” He looks at her before walking away, realising that he’s got the right one today.

The rest of the day runs smoothly and Lula heads home. She freshens up, makes a prayer for Vince and drifts of to bed.

Friday morning she wakes up to 10+ missed calls, an email and the work group chat blowing up.

“Fuck. It’s really happening” she whispers to herself. She reads through the email;

‘Following the court case, a verdict of guilty has been reached. Mr Staples will been removed from the register, have his license revoked and jailed for a period of 12 months for selling $35,000 worth of controlled substances.’

“Fuck. That nigga is hella smart” Lula says to herself, “Vince knew all of this would happen and came up with an ingenious plan.” She checks the group chat and it’s going off! Baptiste, the branch manager, sends a brief but condescending message;

‘I am sure you all received the email and heard the news about one of our hardest working staff. It truly saddens me to see this. However, let this be a lesson for those in other branches. Thanks, Baptiste.’

“Shut the fuck up, yall didn’t catch him! Slow ass mfs” she says to herself getting ready to leave for work. “Today’s gonna be a long day” she adds.

——

After a busy, annoying and frustrating work day, Lula heads to the operation apartment. She did agree to manage the operation while he’s away, There’s no time like the present, she encourages herself as sets up a new plan. Vince didn’t leave her with a guide on how to get through the 12 months without him. So she comes up with her own; drop offs will be 3 days a week instead of daily. The payments will be made prior to drop off with an increased fee. The news was basically publicity for ‘Painless-Pills’ she giggles, “free marketing!” Technically, is wasn’t free, the cost was Vince been away but hey, he was prepared. Lula updates the forum, sent a message to old customers and the 175 new ones that popped up since Tuesday. The clientele was growing and the stocks were running low. She still goes to pharmacy to keep up appearances, but she couldn’t get stock from there anymore.

Within a week, Lula was able to cut a deal with three wholesale manufacturers. This included changing the custom logo and brands of the meds to a ‘p-p’, “That name is corny af” she laughs. She informs new and future clientele of the change to avoid confusion and states:

‘All referrals must pay at fee of $2700 before being accepted into the p-p system. Present clients must make a payment of $1500 if they wish to continue with p-p’

Going through the list of clients she knows they are willing to pay for legit medical-grade pills. Plus Vince showed her the books and boiiii did she see some questionable names on that list!

She heads to work at the pharmacy like normal, after she sorts the new guide and updates the forum.

“Today is going to be a good day” she smiles softly.

Part 5 1/2 link.

~~

Translations: (n/b not fluent in Creole)

Sweetheart = boubout

~~

[raviniaraven]

If you're disabled in MN read this post

If you are in Minnesota, specifically Hennepin and Anoka County, and get contacted by an ICS (Integrated Community Support) service called Premiere Services, run by a woman named Muna Ali, DO NOT USE THIS COMPANY. DO NOT TRUST HER.

I started working with Muna around last October. I moved into an ICS unit where she paid half of the rent and I paid the rest. This is already a situation that should not have been the regular arrangement for ICS, as the program paying my rent leaves me in a vulnerable place where I can't end services for fear of not being able to pay rent.

She regularly misgendered me, talked down to me, and showed very little respect for me as a person. She got offended if I said that she was misgendering or talking down to me. She briefly worked with another of my friends that is on this site as well, I don't want to dox him but if he says it's ok I'll link his experience later. She made it very clear that she did not know how to work with neurodivergent individuals, and when I called out this behavior a few weeks ago, she yelled and swore at me. I called my case manager in tears and we ended her services.

Before this point, whenever I had so much as discussed changing her hours, she would bring up that since she paid part of my rent, if I ended services I would end up getting evicted. She even at one point called the landlord and asked about terminating the lease as a power play against me changing her hours. She claimed that I was her only client, and thus she couldn't afford to follow MN law and continue paying her portion of the rent--even after we had been having this discussion happen on and off for nearly 6 months.

After I cancelled services, she first sent my case manager a letter transferring the lease to me; my case manager sent it back without signatures and explained that this is not the proper procedure and I should have at least 60 days warning of any rent payment change, even if the ICS is cancelled, because of the MN law I already mentioned. Today, I got an email from the landlord saying that I need to vacate my apartment by the end of August.

I called my landlord immediately and left a message, then sent an email to the landlord trying to explain that I had not terminated the lease agreement and I was working with Hennepin County to get Housing Support, as well as mentioning that this email is far under the amount of warning I am supposed to receive for an eviction. I asked to meet with the landlord and explained what had been going on with Muna. I've yet to hear anything back.

The ICS company Premiere Services financially exploits vulnerable adults, and I'm about to lose my home because of it. Do not work with her.

[lover-praxis]

im being ghosted by my fucking manager for a program i volunteer with and someone's gonna eventually gonna get mad about the lack of progress on my case and they're gonna get mad at me even though i sent like five follow up emails for this one thing she told me she needed to do that i didn't have clearance for

[little-diable]

A secret to hold, a secret to share –Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 6/?)

Chapter six, here we go! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, full on smut (finally), oral, piv, some tension

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.7k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Seven

“Have you all read the email I sent you Friday evening?” Aaron Hotchner’s voice echoed through the room, eyes searching the crowd of students, actively avoiding (y/n)’s gaze. A sigh threatened to leave her, wondering if he’d ever go back to treating her like he had done the morning they had spent in his bed before the situation had escalated into whatever it was now. 

Since most of them shook their heads, not daring to look at the frowning professor, he let go of a deep exhale, clearing his throat to start speaking once again,  “Next week we will start with our presentations, you can choose any case, active or historic. The case will also be the topic of the paper you’ll have to hand in at the end of the semester, so choose something you’ll find enough literature and information on. I don’t think I need to tell you that you need to focus on profiling and how the cases should be worked with.” 

(Y/n) couldn’t stop the wave of excitement from flushing through her, no matter how awkward things were between her and Aaron, she wouldn’t allow their back and forth to stop herself from being excited about researching and presenting something she loved to focus on. Giddiness shook through her system as she scribbled down notes, barely listening to him reminding his students that they needed to email him their topic and their preferred date for their presentation. 

Aaron was once again cut short by the fleeting time, ending the class with a loud “I’ll see you next week” leaving him. The second the words left him though, his eyes snapped towards (y/n), finally, tilting his head towards the door to wordlessly ask her to meet him outside. It felt like a déjà-vu, reminding her of the awful conversation they had shared the last time she had been in his office.

Nervousness guided her every step as she met him outside the room, following him through the crowd of students to find their way to his office. Nothing had changed since the last time she had been in the room, plopping down on the black couch that felt all too comfortable. 

“I need to apologise for the way I spoke to you at the BAU, (y/n). I have to admit it took me a while to see through this mess, but the team is quite fond of you, they know how to guide me whenever needed.” A surprised huff left (y/n), barely audible, yet loud enough to draw a low chuckle from Aaron. “It’s not my intention to play any games, as you called it. But being around you confuses me, I meant it when I told you that I can’t understand what you’re making me feel. It’s wrong of me to have these desires, you’re my student, and you’ll probably join the BAU fairly soon, adding another line I shouldn’t, can’t cross.”

“So, where does that leave us?” (Y/n) whispered her words, eyes snapping down to her hand as Aaron’s big one found hers, fingers slowly interlacing themselves with hers. Silence engulfed the two, slowing their racing heartbeats, and relaxing into the couch they were sitting on.

“The rational decision would be to leave whatever there may be between us in the past.” With a hum leaving her, (y/n) squeezed Aaron’s hand, hoping that the touch may encourage him to keep on speaking, to mention another way out of the mess they were tangled in. But he kept quiet, momentarily allowing her mind to wander, focusing on the thoughts she had pushed away for the past hours.

Ever since she had received the text, (y/n) had been wrecking her head, trying to figure out who could be the one that had messaged her. She hadn’t told anybody about it yet, not wanting to take away the team’s attention from more important tasks. But even though (y/n) tried to distract herself, she couldn’t shake the anxiety sticking to her. An anxiety only Aaron could eventually free her from, she was sure of it. 

“I don’t want to leave this behind, Aaron.” His free hand found her cheek, watching her move closer with a soft smile growing on his lips. The sight had something almost unfamiliar to it, a sight she hoped she’d never forget. “But I guess we can opt to meet in the middle. I won’t be your student much longer, and then I’ll not be your student or your team member, at least for a few months. Enough time to figure out where we want this to go without any rules or laws holding us back.” 

“This isn’t fair on you, (y/n).” The soft smile on Aaron’s lips fell as he spoke his words, tongue darting out to wet his lips, thumbs stroking her knuckles. Only the humourless laugh leaving (y/n) managed to force his eyes to snap back up to meet hers. 

“I think it’s on me to decide what’s fair and what isn’t. Don’t take that choice from me, please Aaron.”

……

(Y/n) couldn’t stop her laugh from rumbling through her as she watched the chaos unfold in front of her, wide eyes focused on Spencer and Derek. The scent of freshly made pasta filled her with warmth, hand wrapped around her glass, feet placed in Penelope’s lap. She hadn’t been able to shake off her excitement as Dave had invited her for his pasta night, grateful for the somewhat fatherly love the man shared with her. 

“When did you start working for the BAU?” (Y/n)’s question forced Penelope’s eyes away from Derek, watching him lift Spencer off the ground as if the man had no weight to him. It took her a few moments to reply, mind racing, unable to think through the tipsy fog she was trapped in.

“Years by now, but I’m so grateful about working there, it’s the family I always looked for.” The smile widening on Penelope’s lips had an addicting effect to it, making (y/n)’s smile grow even wider. Deep down they wouldn’t see through the walls she had pulled up, needing to ask questions they’d instantly get suspicious of when they were sober enough. 

“And did you build all the software and stuff yourself, or does anybody share these with you?” Ever since she had received that text (y/n) had tried to figure out who had sent it to her. But even though she knew that it hadn’t been one of the team members, she couldn’t help but wonder if any other agent was behind all of this. 

“Of course I did.” A tipsy laugh left Penelope, fully turning her body towards (y/n). The blonde woman studied her friend for a few moments, leaving (y/n) panicking, wondering if Penelope saw through the questions all too easily. “It’s my baby, of course, I don’t share it with anybody.” Another laugh left her, a laugh (y/n) tried to mimic, drowning yet another sip to let go of her uneasiness. 

Whoever had sent her the text must have managed to hack into the system without Penelope realising it, and follow (y/n) around without her knowing about it. The thought of having a pair of unfamiliar eyes on her left her shuddering, needing to bite down the need to cry about this. 

“I’m about to head home, do you want me to drive you back?” A big hand was placed on (y/n)’s shoulder, eyes drawn from Penelope’s glistening ones to Aaron’s coffee-coloured ones. She shot him a soft nod, rising to her feet before she pulled Penelope in for another hug to say goodbye. Aaron studied her every move, watching (y/n) hug the others before she followed him out of the mansion, cuddling into her jacket to shield her body from the cold evening. 

Ever since their talk in his office, the two had tried to adjust to their new situationship, if one could call it that. While they had settled on the fact that they couldn’t put a label on their relationship till she’d graduated, neither of them was ready to let go of the other, forced to give in to the confusing pulls they felt. 

With one hand placed on (y/n)’s knee, Aaron began to drive them back to her apartment, enjoying the comfortable silence wrapping itself around the two. Even though her thoughts were still racing, trying to figure out who was toying with her, she couldn’t help but feel giddy next to Aaron, grateful that they could finally be honest with their emotions, their longings, and perhaps even their desires. 

“Do you want to come in for a few?” Her soft voice filled his car, watching Aaron ponder over the question before he murmured a soft “Of course”, following (y/n) into her apartment. The second they crossed the threshold, the door fell shut with a soft thud, his lips were on hers, pressing (y/n) against the door. With her hands in his dark hair, she kept him close, struggling to keep breathing as her adrenaline thumped through her veins. 

No words were needed to be spoken as she parted from him, heavily breathing. She took his hand, and led him to her bedroom, squealing as Aaron pushed her down on the mattress. His laughs made her heart skip beats, silently thanking her lucky stars for allowing her to feel whatever she was currently guided by. 

Their lips met once again as his hands tugged her dress down her frame, settling between her thighs with his knees pressing into the mattress. Both tried to drown out their thoughts, fully focusing on one another and the feeling of their bodies searching for their closeness. Within moments (y/n) found herself wearing nothing but her underwear, dilated pupils watching Aaron undress, exposing his scars to her, scars she reached for with trembling fingers, softly tracing them.

With a loving smile widening on his lips, Aaron tilted her chin up, eyes finding hers as he kissed her, pushing (y/n) back down with his hands working on her bra, lips instantly finding their way to her hardening buds. Her moans echoed through her bedroom, urging Aaron to use more pressure, hands fisting his dark roots to hold on before she’d slip away into the new dimension he was about to push her into.

“I have pictured this moment so many times, and yet it had never felt this good.” His confession drew another moan from her swollen lips, hands letting go of his hair to pull him even closer, legs finding their way around his waist. She could feel his hardening cock, begging to sink into her, to feel her walls flutter around him as Aaron fucked her hard, forcing her to forget her name with the intense waves of pleasure swapping through her. 

“Me too, fuck, so many times.” Aaron shot her a smirk as he kissed his way down to her panties, eyes wordlessly asking for permission before he pulled them down her legs, groaning at the sight of her dripping heat. No further word left the tall man, head buried between her thighs to let his tongue explore her dripping heat. 

(Y/n)’s moans reverberated through the room, growing louder, and stronger with every flick of Aaron’s tongue. His name rolled off her tongue as he buried two fingers in her cunt, forcing her walls to adjust to the unfamiliar touch, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d touch her like this. She tried to watch him, tried to keep her gaze focused on the excitement burning in his pupils, but the second his fingers found her swollen spot, her head rolled back, giving room to yet another moan. 

“You taste so sweet, baby, my perfect girl.” His praises shot shudders down her spine, making her heart skip beats with her lungs aching to cling to some much-needed air. Within a few seconds, Aaron managed to push her closer to the edge, watching pleasure tug on (y/n)’s features with a satisfied grin glued to his lips. “Let go for me I’ve got you.”

She came on his tongue with his name leaving her again and again, riding out her orgasm. Her pants filled the room, slightly groaning as Aaron let go of her, rising to his feet to get rid of his clothes, eyes not breaking contact once. “Are you sure that you want this?”

“God, Aaron, if you don’t fuck me soon I’ll throw a tantrum, I’ll promise you that much.” His chuckles bubbled out of him as he watched (y/n) reach for a condom, stretching it out for him to take. For a few seconds, they were engulfed by silence, allowing the two to momentarily relax as he positioned himself, fingers interlacing themselves with hers before he pushed into her.

Both moaned in unison, eyes fluttering close to relish in the shared closeness, wanting to soak up every passing second. Aaron took his time with his thrusts, not wanting to rush anything, needing to feel her flutter around him, wordlessly telling him how much she enjoyed this. 

“More, please.” Her whispers left Aaron smiling, adding more speed to his thrusts, staring down at her with adoration swimming in his pupils. Both were taken up by their emotions, the need to feel their highs flushing through them, the insatiable need for one another neither of them could shake. 

She sneaked one hand between their connected bodies, circling her pulsing bundle to give her the last needed push, calling out his name as her orgasm flushed through her. He followed (y/n) down the edge a few moments later, groaning into the crook of her neck. Neither of them dared to move, staying connected, limbs and hearts, souls intertwined by the love thumping through their veins.

“How about a shower?” Aaron murmured the words against (y/n)’s lips, pressing a kiss to them before he let go of her, rising from the mattress to get rid of the condom. She could only nod, kissing him once again, allowing Aaron to pull her to her feet. Slowly she guided him towards her bathroom, freezing in their step as the sound of her doorbell ringing echoed through the apartment. 

“I’ll take care of it, you can start the shower.” She watched him leave her side, momentarily disappearing to put on some clothes, but (y/n) didn’t move, body taken up by a weird sensation. Her heart stared racing, mind catching up with the secret she had tried to keep from him, eyes growing wide as Aaron opened the door, eyes wandering down the hallway before they focused on a small wooden box placed in front of her door. “Did you order something?”

“No.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him frowning, eyebrows furrowed as he reached the box out for her to take. Her fingers started shaking, teeth forced into her lower lip. Without needing to open it, she could tell that it was yet another warning, struggling to undo the tight bow that had been wrapped around it. Her heart started pounding as she slowly placed the box down, taking off the lid with a shaky exhale leaving her. 

“I should have known you enjoy playing games, (y/n). Let this be my last warning, I always win.”

Aaron read the words out loud, eyes finding her glassy ones as he reached for the picture that had been attached to the text. Another picture of her and Aaron, drawing a sob from her trembling lips. 

“(Y/n), what is that all about?”

[gu887yihjjjbjoku]

^ I tried telling her not to contact me further. I attempted to say she had hurt me badly and tried to repeat the things awful things she said about me, and got hit with a "I never said that" "I said you're BEAUTIFUL, SMART, INTELLIGENT, don't you remember Ana? You're scaring me. You're a SCARY PERSON, Ana." and suggesting medication and hospitalization.

and these deranged messages afterwards.

A lot of conversations have gone with her saying "I never said that, YOU DID" or "You need INTENSIVE HOSPITALIZATION TO MANAGE YOUR BREAKS FROM REALITY" and "You're IMAGINING THINGS" followed by a string of insults.

I don't even know how she got the impression I was trying to pull her back in when I had explicitly tried ending things with her.

I finally gave up and downloaded audio recording software in case she tried calling me again.

Our final phone call is the only one I was able to record. After she sent the messages above, she called me again.

Here is the phone call.

She made me bawl my eyes out when she was screaming at me during our final calls, which is the "disgruntled state" she's referring to.

The "severe symptoms of complex trauma" I spoke about during that call were what she kept calling 'my breaks from reality'. She had made me apologize to her for telling her she was making me uncomfortable and for 'hurting' her with my 'delusions' about her.

I sounded really upbeat in this recording but only because she got weird and predatory when I was crying. In the past when I had broken down over the phone, she had tried inviting me over to sleep at her house and "enjoy her company". I didn't mean a word I fucking said to her about being a good therapist, I knew she was just fishing for compliments and I wanted her off my back. I wish I recorded the other conversations but I didn't think to, because, why the fuck would I have thought it was necessary to keep my guard up around a fucking therapist Wendy was close friends with and who was Jeffrey Young's protege?

After screaming at me that she regretted working with me, that I was "deeply disturbed, dangerous individual" for politely informing her how uncomfortable she had made me and "was imagining her saying things she never said" and that I was trying to "latch onto her a pull her back in" when I tried telling her how badly she hurt me, she offered to keep talking to me for free and tried re-inviting me back to her practice. Weirdo.

She tried following up later.

Still can't help but note how her last message to me was a little guilt trip , and not any expression for my concern or well being.

She's done this before and she's going to keep doing it.

Probably the most infuriating thing is that I accidentally introduced her to a population of people she could exploit. After I emailed her, she lifted the wording from my email ("I am a member of the LGBT community") to add it to her schema therapy bio.

When I called to ask her about her availability, she encouraged me to look her up.

She added the bit about working with culturally marginalized communities when she found out about my family's racial background.

She proceeded to be creepy, fetishistic and openly racist towards my family. Sorry to whatever dyke who survived paternal abuse is gonna be taken advantage of by her.

Don't tell Wendy or anyone else about this shit, I cannot emphasize enough that she's an predatory opportunist and the absolute last thing I want is to be reinvolved with her in any capacity. I'm someone who misused illegal drugs , definitely has several personality disorders, and a extensive history of misconduct. I will absolutely not humiliate myself by coming forward when I am the easiest person imaginable to discredit. I refuse to put myself in harm's way and don't have the emotional bandwidth to deal with it. Keep this between us.

here's some stuff with seraphina if you want to look at it. it's less than 1% of the shit but whatever.

[riewiggles]

Little Damn Rant

I Need a new job.

I had a SUCCESSFUL interview yesterday and they want to do number two but they filled up all the roles at the moment, and are waiting for a client to open for me. The Acquisition manager said she is going to keep me updated and sent a follow-up to me with an additional screening to fill out.

I'm on FTO but I have so much anxiety feeling like I'm going to come back to a mess and get yelled at for it even though I laid out in my email everything that needs to be done and how to do it to the best of my ability to make it as seamless as possible. I'm drowning with this job and it's messing with my mental health.

I have FBD and PCOS and I'm experiencing a LOT of pain with both. My implant is no longer working and I'm having issues with my hormones again, and I have three large lumps that are potentially bigger than the one I had the original lumpectomy on previously. One is on the left side next to the removal incision spot, two on the right side. I don't want to take my chances and get a MRI right now because United Healthcare is a joke and I have two bills in collections currently because I got screwed on coverage for the original MRI's I had at the beginning of the year for them to tell me "WE CAN'T EVEN TELL HOW MANY GROWTHS YOU HAVE BUT NONE ARE BIG ENOUGH FOR CONCERN RN!"

That was January. Now I have three that are alarming and I'm having massive pain.

To add on to it I had that sharp pelvic pain again when I had dinner with my BF's family a couple weeks ago which is a sure fire way of saying "HI, I'M AN OVARIAN CYST!" again.

UHC doesn't cover crap which is partially why I'm looking for a new job. When I had Aetna, they covered EVERYTHING. I made significantly less but Aetna took really good care of me. I'm drowning right now. I don't know what to do.

And now I feel like no matter what my job security is on the line despite my team tells me I'm doing a good job because I'm being treated otherwise by one person. I'm not okay. I'm really, really not okay. I'm trying to conserve all the money I have just in case. I'm looking for a roommate to take one of the bedrooms because I'm even broadening to a paycut just to get out of this.

[sadtraumatizedlonely]

Chapter 3—Why do I attract Toxic Bosses/Authority Figures?

I’m a serial job jumper. In almost every single workplace I’ve been employed, I have somehow ended up having a professional relationship with and/or working directly for a covert narcissist.

According to Google, narcissists thrive in more “boastful” or important jobs, such as academics, finance, and (you guessed it) law. I have worked in the private law sector for a year, and lamented over the incompetent and narcissistic behaviours that were present in management, but never actually encountered an actual lawyer with this issue.

However, when gaining my employment with out local Legal Aid office, I was shocked to find out that my direct-report lawyer, (a Family law lawyer at that) displayed narcissistic behaviour.  I would not have expected this from a Legal Aid lawyer, hence why my ambition was more geared toward the “helpful” and not “money hungry” sector of my profession. However, this seems not to be the case. 

If someone is a narcissist, it is almost like they release a pheromone to which I become highly triggered, even when something problematic has not really occurred, I get a deep seeded feeling in my gut that something is off. Although it somewhat feels like home to me, it is an intensely troubling sensation. I get feeling of always being looked at and studied, like she is waiting for me to make a mistake. She wants to control everything I do, and if something doesn’t “look right” I do not get the adequate feedback I need in order to fix the problem. Instead, the goal post keeps zigzagging, making her impossible to please.

Lately, there has been a string of problematic behaviours and actions from her, including her blaming me for a mistake that SHE (as the lawyer) has the final obligation to notice and fix if necessary. It is clear that from this incident (which occurred within my first few months of employment) she has harboured a deep seeded resentment towards the work I do, and doesn’t trust me. She takes no responsibility for this, and it is agonizing, as she is ultimately responsible for the work product that leaves our office. 

We had an instance of friction when my other boss (who thinks I do a stellar job and basically brags about my hard work and competence to my other colleagues) took me out for a celebratory lunch with my colleagues to network and to have a good time on a dreary Thursday afternoon. I came back to a passive-aggressive email about how something wasn’t done within a “timely” manner for her (I was planning to complete this task as soon as I returned) and she chastised my willingness to go to lunch when we had this “ultimately important thing that must be done ASAP”.

That urgency was never communicated to me, in fact, the due date for this LETTER (a single letter) was the EOD of the following day. She had known about needing to write this letter for over a week, but decided to only start at the end of the day on Wednesday, a mere two days before it was due. Somehow, that urgency became my problem, and I froze.

What was I supposed to do? My colleague Cee-Cee came over and read the email. Her jaw dropped at the sight of it. Rude, blamey, and unprofessional. I forwarded the email to my manager and walked into her office weeping.

After reporting the incident to my direct reports, a week later she calls me into her office for a chat.

Her:

“What was soo awful about that email I sent?”    

“I would prefer if you keep our issues between us, and not involve other people”

“In my 30 plus years of working for this company, you are the most resistant assistant I have ever encountered. You do not follow instructions, have weak attention to detail, and I cannot approach you/ give you tasks without getting pushback”.  

Gives bull-shitty example of me setting a boundary/ defining my scope of work.

“I get to determine what is and is not a priority, even if it does not make sense for you”

“I own a block of your time, and I get to determine what you do with that time. If I want you to act outside of the scope of your job duties, you must do that”.

“Chatting with your co-workers is problematic when you are supposed to be working, I can hear you from my office”

“Remember, you are on a 12-month contract and you are only 6-months in and still on your probationary period”.

“When I was busy one day, I saw you having lunch and I take great issue with that”.

Me:

“The message wasn’t inherently awful, however the tone was off and hurt my feelings. You can ask for help without using blamey language”

“I’m covering my ass, I need to protect myself”.’

“I’m shocked to hear this, as you have said nothing about this before, can you give me an example of a time I was resistant?”

“I apologise if my tone was off, however, I never said that I wouldn’t do that for you, just that that day it was a waste of my time, as I had other things to do”.

“I work for two other people besides you. I cannot go off site and be a courier when I have other responsibilities to attend to”.

 No response.

“I’m entitled to breaks, and I can chat and work at the same time”.

No response.

“I’m entitled to a lunch break.” I apologise again if my tone was off, and assure her that I am dedicated and can be trusted.

End of conversation.

So, as a trauma survivor, what are my options?

Flight: I should just quit, obviously. I can’t do anything right and I never could. Maybe I was not cut out for this job anyway and I should go back to working in food service jobs.   

Fight: I can’t believe she said those things to me! I should go tell her off. She is treating me like shit and being unreasonable. Who does she think she is treating me this way? We’re on the same team and I’m working my ass off!

Freeze: I should just stay at my desk and do nothing until its time to go home. There’s nothing to criticize if there is no work done.

Fawn: But this behaviour isn’t inherently wrong right? Some people are just picky. I just have to work harder and ask her more questions. She’ll see my value once I prove myself.

To her face, I fawn. Behind her back, I fight and plan for my flight if the fighting does not solve the problem. It is a vicious cycle of not being fully able to stand up for myself and call out her toxic behaviour.

She waived my job security in front of my face, and ultimately, she is in control of 25% of my workflow (I work for her and two other lawyers at my firm) and thus has a portion of control over my reputation.

What is so bad about having a less than stellar reputation?

We’ll, my inner child relies on being “good” for my overall survival. If I’m not “good”, I’m worthless. As a former scapegoated child from narcissistic parents, not being good resulted in the following:

Getting yelled at, belittled, and shamed;

Having my personal property taken away;

Being grounded; and

In my younger years, physical abuse. 

My therapist would advise me to check in with that inner child part, and to reassure it that being “good” is not inherently a part of my survival anymore. That good is subjective, and determined not by your mistakes, but by how you respond to making a mistake.

What’s not good is blaming other people for your mistakes.

What’s not good is shaming people for their mistakes.

What’s not good is lashing out at others when you are stressed or overwhelmed.

What’s not good is belittling the 25-year-old new employee because she refuses to do work that is outside of the scope of her responsibilities, especially when you are over the age of 50. Reminding them that YOU are in control and THEY are just supposed to do as they are told without asking questions. 

So, how do I move forward? 

 It’s so easy (and Fawnish) for me to take the blame in attracting these people. Unfortunately, they just exist everywhere, especially in my field of work. Fawning to their face may be the only option if all else fails. However, taking steps to report this abuse to trusted (and safe) individuals is a good start.

Maybe, if all else fails, this career path wasn’t meant to be. However, only time will tell.  The bottom line is that trauma survivors have the right to a stable career with good pay, without having to be triggered all of the time.