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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 13 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer finally meets Reader’s roommate while the two prepare for a picnic. After Spencer lectures Reader on the dangers of the outdoors, the two face a different kind of danger at the bank.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Gun violence mention Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST

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Although I’d been inside (Y/n)’s apartment several times now, I couldn’t say I’d ever actually looked much at my surroundings. It felt strange to admit that, mostly because I felt like I was doing something wrong; like I was a traitor to my job.

But then again, it felt worse to try to profile her. The few times I had made it obvious, she had made it very clear it was unappreciated. I could understand why.

So, before we even got to her door, I tried to quiet the voices screaming in my head, telling me to look for clues to all the unknowns about her. It wasn’t because I was expecting her to be hiding anything; I just wanted to know everything about her.

I could simply wait for her to tell me, though. We had all the time in the world, right?

“Laura, I’m home!” She called out immediately after breaching the entrance, following the exclamation with a very hurried request. “Spencer is here so please don’t be weird!”

The response was a calm, steady series of footfalls down the hall. The girl stuck her head around the corner, peeking at the two of us with a devilish grin.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Reid.”

I told myself I probably shouldn’t be this nervous. If she was friends with (y/n), she was most likely a decent person. But let’s just say women around that age had never been particularly kind to me. They brought to the surface a lot of memories I’d tried very hard to bury.

She didn’t put her hand out to shake, which told me they’d already probably talked about me more than I’d have liked. ‘Wait,’ I thought to myself, ‘Is it okay to profile her roommate?’

“I’m going to go get a basket together. Wait in the living room, my kitchen is a disaster.”

Before I could argue, she had already disappeared, leaving me stranded in the hallway with her roommate who looked ready to cause trouble. I just hoped it wouldn’t the kind that revolved around me.

She waved a hand in front of her, motioning for me to make my way into the living room. Once we were there, she immediately took a seat, but I remained standing. Felt better to be able to escape.

The silence was awkward and suffocating. I could feel her staring at me, but she wasn’t saying anything. It felt wrong to look back.

“She says you read people for a living.” Her voice had a hint of skepticism in it I’d grown used to. “Sounds kind of like what psychics say.”

“Yeah, we use a lot of the same strategies, too. They just aren’t as honest about it as we are.”

“What do you see here?”

That was what got me to turn around and face her. She looked so comfortable, curled up on the couch.

“Pardon me?” The question caught me off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. I’d heard it so many times.

“What does our apartment say about us?” She asked, clearly not understanding why it was an inappropriate thing to ask. Or more likely, just didn’t care. Curiosity is a powerful thing.

I cleared my throat before looking back away and saying, “I agreed not to profile (y/n).”

“Well, can you at least tell which stuff is hers?”

I’m sure she was just checking to see if I was legitimate or just scamming her. Maybe she was checking to see if I was too good at it.

She didn’t need to worry. (Y/n) could handle herself. She wasn’t tricked easily. In fact, most of my intrigue and concern surrounding her unknowns was just how good she was at hiding things.

It wasn’t until I had registered that question and was staring at her walls with a newfound sense of purpose, that I realized how little I knew about her past. Then again, I don’t really care about her past.

It had made her who she was today, and that was the woman I loved.

My fingers brushed over old, cracked plastic on DVD cases displayed on a shelf beside the console center.

I didn’t even notice I was smiling at first, realizing that she’d kept the physical cases despite all the streaming services. She clearly still used the discs, too.

“These... are hers.”

“How can you tell?” The response in the form of a question told me I was right, and only made me feel even more deeply. Despite my greatest efforts to not look so excited by something so silly, I turned back around with my lips still curled in an awkward smile.

“Educated guess. Adrenaline.”

“What?” The confusion in her voice reminded me that she wasn’t aware of one of my deepest personality flaws.

“Research shows that only about 10% of the population are so called ‘adrenaline junkies,’ people who enjoy roller coasters and horror movies. It’s more often men than women, but it’s hard to tell because of the way we’re socialized.”

If I had turned around to face her, I probably would have seen the dead stare she was giving me during my rant.

“Regardless, people tend to either love horror or hate it. So, I considered the fact that (y/n) seems to enjoy things like... sneaking into bars with fake IDs and… other risky behavior.”

Well, that was close.

“But what really gave it away was the fact they’re not dusty, which means they’re still being used despite all of these movies being available on streaming services I know for a fact she uses. Considering how patient she is with my own Luddite tendencies I just figur—“

“Wow.”

The word cut off my train of thought, and I realized that I had barely breathed since I’d started. Wincing in response to the dumbfounded look on the poor girl’s face, I gave a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A little bit,” she said with her own little pity laugh. I’m sure (y/n) had told her enough about me that this wasn’t that big of a surprise.

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” she said like it was the easiest advice in the world, “You’re right about her, you know.”

Staring down at my feet, I wondered why the confirmation from her roommate meant so much to me. I hadn’t been actively trying to figure out things about my girlfriend — it felt wrong. But for whatever reason, knowing I had the ability to figure it out meant more when it was about her.

Laura laughed again, craning her neck to look around the corner before she quietly spoke. “She says it was the other way around, but she’s the one who convinced me to streak the lawn.”

Ah, the age-old tradition of UVA students. It was so easy to picture her stripping down to nothing in the dead of the night to prance down the length of manicured grass. My own personal little pixie.

If it was just an attempt to calm my nerves, it was working. Putting the focus back on (y/n) was a surefire way to bring out the best in me. She just had that effect on me.

“I am entirely unsurprised by this information,” I said before walking over to the other side of the room, noting the distinct lack of pictures of family among the shelves that clearly belonged to her.

Don’t read into it, I told myself, she might just keep them somewhere else.

“She also drank an entire water bottle of vodka during a full day of classes one time, just because I bet that she wouldn’t.”

I scoffed at the image of her drunk. It’d been a while since I’d seen her like that, and both times had been remarkably unique. She’s a dead giveaway; I was surprised she hadn’t been caught.

“I can’t say I relate to that,” I sadly admitted. Sometimes it was hard to realize that if I’d known her at the same age, we probably wouldn’t have gotten along. I used to hate people like that.

Granted, they had usually also hated me.

“She did mention you were a genius or something. I kind of figured. That’s her type.”

Well, that was information I couldn’t just gloss over. I furrowed my brow with a disbelieving smile, finally looking at the girl who was avidly watching my every move.

“Is it? I always pictured her with someone with more… Kinaesthetic intelligence.”

She gave me that look people give me when I said something weird, but continued nonetheless, “I don’t really know what that means, but she takes school pretty seriously. Honestly, probably a little too much. Part of why I dared her.”

“It’s strange to imagine her in class.” I hadn’t meant to say it, but once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back. And I was glad I couldn’t, because I was very curious about the answer.

“She’s the girl who knows all the answers and shuts down all the stupid guys trying to talk over her.”

I knew that those behaviors weren’t exactly favored in classrooms, having myself been the one at the brunt end of the bullying that followed.

“It’s pretty impressive.” She was being genuine when she spoke, and I was inclined to agree. At the same time the thought crossed my mind, I found a picture of her perched on the lap of the Thomas Jefferson statute.

God, I loved that girl.

“I bet she is.”

Almost on call, (y/n) poked her head into the room with wary eyes, looking at me as I awkwardly waved before looking back to her roommate.

“Laura, are you being weird?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to me like it was my question to answer. Afraid to spoil any tenuous, newly formed loyalties, I shook my head no.

“Okay…” She only barely accepted my answer, “But if you say some dumb shit and get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.”

Briefly sticking out her tongue as she walked past me, she continued on her way. I couldn’t help but give that lovestruck, idiotic grin I always gave when she was around. If you’d told me I would’ve ever felt like this about someone who felt the same about me, I wouldn’t have believed you. Part of me still didn’t believe she could ever love me the same as I loved her.

Turning back to the girl cringing at the blatant intimacy shared in a simple glance, I immediately became awkward again.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring my handcuffs.” I joked, showing my hands in a strange display of innocence.

She… took a different approach.

“I know for a fact she has a few pairs in her room if you need one.”

A high-pitched whine nearly escaped my throat at the casual mention, and I cleared my throat and turned to look at her with a very unconvincing laugh. “W-what?”

“You have to know it’s impossible for her to keep her sex life a secret,” she droned with a bored expression, “I live one room over.”

“Right,” I nodded.

There was an extended, never ending silence as she just let me stew in my own discomfort. It didn’t seem to bother her one bit, because the longer I avoided her eyes the more she seemed to smile.

“I’m uncomfortable.” I finally admitted, and she just shook her head, running her hand through her hair before giving me one final hard look.

“You’re sweet. You make her happy. I appreciate that.”

My mouth scrunched in a humble half-smile, my hands finding their way back into my pockets as I tried to consider the reality I’d found myself in. Of all the infinite possibilities, I got to exist in the version of the world where I loved a girl who loved me back.

“It’s all her,” I finally said with a voice that crackled far too much for my liking, “I don’t do anything. I’m just the lucky one she decides to keep around.”

Laura flashed an approving grin, but then got up when she heard the familiar, happy feet beating down the hallway. (Y/n) burst out from around the corner, her arms full with a picnic basket and a blanket she clearly owned for just these occasions.

“Ready to go, babe?”

“Lead the way.”

I’d have followed her anywhere.

——————————��——————

It was the perfect time of year for a picnic, despite Spencer’s insistence that there was no such thing. Once we were in the park, his whining dramatically decreased. Maybe it was the sunshine, or maybe it was the smile on my face, but he was certainly in brighter spirits.

He even let me rest my head on his lap, his legs crossed underneath me while he alternated between staring off at the trees slowly losing their color to autumn and my quiet contentment as I nibbled on an assortment of fruits.

There was no awkward silence or hidden darkness in this day, and even the sweetest strawberry couldn’t be more refreshing. To be here with Spencer, soaking in the late Summer sun, was all I could ever ask for.

But I was also eager to take advantage of the uncharacteristic softness between us. It wasn’t often we could share moments like this. Between his job and all our problems over the past few months, I wasn’t sure when we could be like this again.

“Let’s talk about something fun.” I blurted out, earning an intrigued look from my boyfriend. He readjusted his position, leaning back on his hands so he could look down at me easier.

“Okay, like what?”

“Don’t make fun of me…” The way he was looking at me gave me no hope he would actually listen to me, but I continued anyway, “I have conversation starters I looked up.”

He snorted while trying to suppress his chuckle. “Of course you do.”

Dropping my mouth open, I reached up to lightly smack him on the face for immediately doing exactly what I had asked him not to.

“What? Like you’re the epitome of sociable, Dr. Reid?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop the laughter that kept bubbling in his chest over something that was decidedly not that funny at all. We were just that stupid kind of happy where everything was wonderful.

“I’m just not surprised!” He reminded, then nodded for me to continue, “Go on, tell me one.”

“Tell me something you’re scared of.” I shot back, excited to hear the answer.

“The dark.” It was the most anticlimactic, stereotypical answer I could have imagined. It was my turn to scoff now, hardly believing the answer to be real.

“Seriously? You’re an FBI Agent, Spencer.”

“You told me not to make fun of you, but then you make fun of me? Unfair. I didn’t sign up for this scrutiny.” His legs started to move under me as he pretended like he was about to dump me from his lap and leave me here.

“Fine!” I shouted, reaching my hands up to grab his face. Although they fumbled awkwardly from my strange position, he took the time to lean to the side and kiss my palm lightly. “Favorite memory of the two of us.”

He blew out a long breath, his eyes squinted like they always did when he was in deep contemplation. But something told me something actually jumped straight to his mind, but he was holding it back for some other reason.

“That’s not fair. There are too many.”

I wasn’t falling for it. I flicked his nose before pulling my hand back, smiling at the way he jerked away like it actually hurt him. Giant baby.

“No cop out answers, old man. Favorite one!”

Spencer just sighed, letting his head fall back as he actually thought about what he was about to say for once in his life. I took the brief moment without his scrutiny to reflect on just how lucky I was to be able to see him like this.

“Okay. So, remember when we went to the bakery in Downtown?” He asked like I could have forgotten.

“Pauls? Yes, I remember.”

They’re legends in the area, but a total pain to try and get. You have to get there first thing in the morning and wait in a ridiculous line. But they were always worth it. Spencer had told me he’d never been, and I just couldn’t let such an injustice stand.

“While we were waiting in that ridiculous line, I remember looking at you and just seeing how excited you were for a donut, even at 7 in the morning.”

“That’s objectively the best time for a donut.” I interrupted with the most matter-of-fact tone I could emulate.

“Right,” he laughed, recalling how I kept reminding him of that fact while in line, “Well, we got to the front and before I could even talk, you had already ordered one for me.”

It took me a second to remember exactly what had happened. So much had happened since then, the memories were becoming muddled in my mind. But once I did remember, I smiled.

“Chocolate frosted with sprinkles. For the child in us all.”

“That’s it.” His voice had gotten soft so quickly, his hand brushing over my cheek while he played with the strands of hair blowing back over my face. “That’s my favorite memory.”

If I didn’t make a joke of it soon, I was scared my heart would burst.

“Really? That’s your favorite memory? Of all things?” I asked with a playful grin, clasping both of my hands around his and holding it against my chest.

“Yes.” For a man of so many words, it meant so much more when he spoke so little. You could feel the truth in the way the sound hit your ears.

Even as I bit on the inside of my cheeks to withhold my excited giggle, he was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Spencer, that’s so lame.”

In that way he always did, he so charmingly replied, “How fitting for us.”

“Rude,” I muttered, finally finding the strength to sit up from my position on his lap. The world only spun for a second as I reoriented myself. He seemed equally grateful, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“What else do you want to make fun of me for?” Spencer said with a smile, watching as I reached into the small basket and pulled out a small clementine. I ran through the questions in my head, trying to decide which one to spend our limited time on.

“Okay,” I decided, “What did you think the first time you saw me?”

His face scrunched up with the leftover embarrassment from our very first meeting, during which the first thing he had ever done to me was lie. It had been a flattering one, though.

As I popped a section of the small citrus fruit into my mouth, I noticed the way he licked his own lips. The sight caused butterflies to flurry in my stomach, and I wondered which was more appealing to him; the mouthwatering scent of oranges or the idea of slipping something else between my lips.

“I thought... that you were beautiful and intriguing. And I was right.”

I got my answer to my preceding thought, because he had quickly wrapped his hand around the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss with crushing force. For someone who wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection, he certainly didn’t mind kissing me like this.

Despite how deep and hard it was, it ended far too quickly. I sucked on my bottom lip as he left, staring up at him with wonder and devoted attention.

“Why was I intriguing?”

He clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead, probably hoping that the kiss alone would distract me from asking any more questions about that night. Unable to get out of it now, though, he just shrugged with a nervous chuckle, “You... were looking at me?”

My laugh, on the other hand, was full bodied as I pushed him away from me with just enough force that he actually almost toppled over.

“That was it? Because I looked at you?”

It seemed so silly, but I could tell by the way he responded that he meant it. He had told me before, on that night actually, that he wasn’t used to women showing him attention. But surely, he must just be missing it. He was an amazing man.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about you.” He paused between his words, taking a deep breath before attempting to work through his thoughts, “Like... like things just revolve around you. You have this intense gravitational pull that just told me that I had to get closer to you or I wouldn’t be able to survive.”

Fighting back the blush quickly forming on my cheeks, I struggled to maintain my typical aloof nature. I couldn’t have him getting a swelled head just because he could string together a couple cute sentences.

“Are you calling me a star, Dr. Reid?”

“I guess I am, yeah.” He hit me back with that confidence he rarely displayed outside of our play. I loved to see it like this. It made me feel like I was actually with him, rather than any manicured person he’d created to suit the needs of the current situation.

“If you felt that strongly about it, then why lie and say you weren’t checking me out? I could’ve left, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been a couple of times during that night that I almost cut my losses—admitted that we were just too different to ever be compatible. Thank god I’d ignored that flawed instinct.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. Have you looked at your boyfriend? I’m so weird.”

The ease with which he flouted his eccentricities brought a smile to my face, and I shook my head as I tried to fight back in his defense. “You’re not that weird.”

“Are you joking? Look at yourself. You’re—You’re normalcy personified! No, actually, you’re not even that. You’re this... beautiful, smart, talented young girl and I’m just an old man who’s hoping to keep you around long enough that you forget you have better options out there.”

The longer he spoke, the more my jaw dropped open. Eventually, I had devolved into a fit of laughter.

“Dr. Reid, you can’t seriously be telling me that you think I am out of your league!”

“I mean—!” he started, but I wasn’t going to allow him to even entertain the thought. I clapped my hand over his mouth, nearly climbing onto his lap to hush any noises he attempted to make.

“No way!” I shouted, “Shut up!”

Instead of trying to wrench my hand away, his hands came to rest on my hips. I could feel the smile spreading across his cheeks under my fingers.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Spencer. Fucking FBI Agent with three PhDs. Get out of here.”

He began bouncing his leg under me, and when I looked down to see what he was doing, I was shocked to feel a wetness on my palm. Ripping my hand away, I looked at my hand to see the swipe of saliva over the skin.

“Did you just fucking lick me?!” I screeched, unable to comprehend what had just happened, staring at my boyfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I touched the ground with this hand! What are you doing?!”

“Yeah, I’m definitely going to rinse my mouth with bleach when we get home. But it was worth it, to see that look on your face.”

He went to wipe his own face, but I still couldn’t get over the fact my hand was fucking wet. So I took my hand once more, wiping the residue of his own spit back over his cheek. Surprisingly, he just let me do it, laughing as he only slightly tilted his head back.

“Nasty old pervert,” I joked, rolling my body off him and sitting on own once more.

“You’re very mean when you’re nice to me.” Spencer pouted.

I was distracted, trying to get my hair to stay out of my face and mouth as the wind started to whip through the park. Still, I managed to say a few very important words of warning.

“Yeah, well, get used to it, bud.”

Taking pity on my obvious distress, he reached out to grab my arm, tugging me back over to him. “Come here, little girl.” he instructed while I crawled over on all fours to sit between his legs.

I was going to ask him what he was planning when I felt his hands begin threading through my hair. I sat patiently, recognizing the pattern he was weaving.

“... When did you learn how to braid hair? Did your mom teach you?”

“My mom has short hair.” It was an evasive, but truthful answer, so I didn’t press it. I was sure I would find out more about his family as time went on. I just had to keep reminding myself that we had all the time in the world to get to know each other.

“I never learned how to braid hair specifically. I’m just applying the same pattern I would with a knot or a puzzle.”

“How romantic.” I gasped, tucking my hands between my legs as I enjoyed the way it felt for him to play with my hair.

It was always bizarre, to consider the way he could be so soft in moments like this. Or rather, that he could be so far the opposite at other times. In my heart, he was always the kind, goofy man I had met that night at the bar.

But I’d seen him angry, depressed, and in pain. I’d seen him desperate and scared. Basically, the only way I hadn’t seen Spencer Reid was however he was at work. Part of me wished that I could; it was obvious he was good at it and, to a certain degree, enjoyed it.

Then again, when I know he does things like get shot at, it makes it a little bit harder to be interested in. I couldn’t imagine getting that phone call one day while they loaded him into the back of an ambulance... or worse.

“Ah, the things I do for love.” His calm, smooth voice tore me from the destructive thoughts and back into his warm embrace.

“Hey, Spencer, I have a serious question.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.” He joked, holding out his hand for my hair tie, which I happily gave him. I hated to admit that he did a better job at braiding my hair than I’d ever done. Freaking stupid genius stuff.

“When do I get to say it back?”

I swear, I felt a chill spread through the air between us. His entire body froze, his hands stuck mixed with the elastic as he tied off the braid.

It was an intense, unwelcome flashback to the second night I’d spent with him, when we had talked about things too serious, too soon.

Terrified, I immediately cut off anything he might have been able to say, muttering, “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Letting my hair slip from his fingers, he let his hand drag along my spine. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I didn’t dare turn around.

“I’m sorry.” He said after another moment of silence, and it physically pained me the way the words fell from his lips.

“Don’t apologize,” I said in the cheeriest tone possible, trying to lighten the mood, “I just wanted to test the waters.”

With that, I spun around dramatically, noting the way his face lit up once it saw the smile on my own. “And they are frozen solid!”

He laughed at the enthusiasm I displayed, swiftly throwing his arms around me in a tight embrace.

“Well, I’ll just have to warm you up, then.” My whole body in his arms, he yanked me off the ground and onto himself. I struggled playfully under his arms, not paying any attention to the other people in the park watching our childish antics.

“Hypothermia is very dangerous, after all,” he lectured, “Let me take your temperature.” Burying his face in my neck, I felt the familiar overstimulation that accompanied frantic, light touches of my sides.

“Stop!” I burst with laughter, “You’re tickling me!”

The movements all halted, but only to be followed with a terrifyingly devious tone of Spencer’s voice. “You’re ticklish?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I love this information.” And just like that, he began his onslaught. His fingers danced over every inch of my sides, his lips pressing quick, frenzied kisses against the underside of my chin. The harder I laughed, the more he continued.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” I screeched like a banshee, trying to slip from his hands or turn around—anything to get the upper hand again.

After nearly wrestling him, I managed to get both hands on his shoulders and shove him back against the blanket. The force with which we hit the ground knocked the air from his lungs, and he groaned at my body weight on his chest.

“Okay, okay! You win!” He yelled, holding his hands in front of me while struggling not to touch the ground with his head. “I’m not risking more surface area of contact with the ground to fight you.”

“(Y/n) emerges victorious!” I grabbed hold of both of his hands, shaking his arms with all my leftover adrenaline while I cheered myself on.

“Dork,” he muttered under his breath before he grabbed my sides, laughing at the way I instinctually jerked. I threw myself off of him to avoid the potential tickles, landing clumsily next to him. And Spencer, being the genius, recognized it as the perfect opportunity to pin me against the ground.

Wasting no time, he pressed the same instruments which had begun the great tickle war against my own lips. My hands found their way to his cheeks, pulling him closer as his tongue easily found mine. Just like it always did with us, it felt like the world was disappearing around us.

All I could feel, smell, taste, think, was Spencer Reid. His love and admiration flowed from him with ease, and I was happy to take it in. After a few minutes, we had to break apart. We might like a little bit of exhibitionism, but I was pretty sure neither of us actually wanted to tear the other’s clothes off in a park.

Could you imagine if people knew he was an FBI Agent? I was sure they already thought our age gap strange. But I didn’t care what they thought. Because right now, we were happy.

“I’m the dork you love, though.” I whispered against his lips.

“Indubitably,” he mumbled back, starting to laugh at the way the word sounded in our teenage love-like delirium.

“Now who’s the dork.” I teased as I smoothed my hands over his shoulders.

“Hm. Still you. And a little bit me, too.”

Laughter was bursting from me again.

“You have grass in your hair, idiot.” Before he could do anything about it, my hands were all over it, ruffling his hair wildly out of place. He just squeezed his eyes shut, letting me ruin any semblance of maturity or control from his appearance.

“Wow. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” I chirped, accepting the small peck he gave me before he started to retreat from his spot above me.

“You ready to head home?”

“Yeah, just about,” he sighed like it was a terrible thing to do. He hadn’t even wanted to come on this picnic!

“I promised to check you for ticks, after all.”

Ah, the real thing we were both looking forward to. Although, I was sure he was going to take it way too seriously for a few minutes before we devolve into sex on the bathroom floor.

“Mmm. I’m thrilled.” I replied honestly, struggling to sit up now that my body had already slipped into Spencer Reid is on Top of You mode. It was one of those rare moments when I wondered if there really was a female version of blue balls, because I was almost certain I had it.

“I have to stop at the bank first, though. I’ll go throw this stuff in the car and we can just walk over.”

“Sure thing, old man.” I huffed as I stood up, holding the much lighter basket while he collected the blanket. Once he took it all from me, I glanced over at the nearby bench with a pout.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re cute,” he smiled, kissing my cheek like it were a more serious goodbye, “I’ll be right back.”

While I waited for him, I cautiously watched the large, dark clouds rolling over the horizon. They threatened to swallow the sunshine that we’d basked in less than hour before. I tried not to think anything of it.

It wasn’t a metaphor; it wasn’t an omen. It was just the weather.

Spencer must have seen the anxiety, because when he came back, he gingerly placed his arms around me from behind, resting his head on my chin.

“I guess we have good timing. It looks like it’s about to storm.” I absently spoke, my eyes still fixed on the sky.

“Yeah, typical finicky Virginia weather, I guess.”

I wasn’t sure if I actually heard it in his voice or made it up, but I swore Spencer was also trying to stop himself from thinking something of the rain. I was probably just being paranoid. It was just a storm. They happened.

“Well, let’s get going so you can cash your check in person like an eighty year old man.” I joked, grabbing his hand and dragging him back towards the exit to the park.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. There are other people my age who don’t trust cell phone banking transactions.”

“Are there, though?”

He just shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth it to get into it with me. Typical young kids, he must have thought, so irresponsible. But he didn’t say it, just held my hand on the short, quiet walk to the ornate building on the corner of two busy streets.

I swung our hands dramatically back and forth, earning an unamused, but still playful, glare from him.

“Your age is showing,” he pointed out before licking his lips and avoiding my eyes. I glared right back before responding, “Your stick-in-the-mud-ness is showing.”

“Not a word. Not a phrase. Not a thing.”

He stopped our hands dead in their tracks as he crossed the threshold, and for a second, I thought he was going to seriously be a spoilsport. But right when I least expected it, he swung our hands again and I nearly smacked into another person.

We both laughed, with me blurting out a frantic, “I’m sorry!”

“So immature,” he chastised, shaking his head with disapproval.

“I can’t believe you. You are such an asshole!”

The familiar hum and beeping of the metal detectors threatened to dislodge memories from the back of my mind, and I shook my head to try to get rid of them again. Spencer glanced over with concern but didn’t mention it.

I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. Once we had passed security, he settled into the line like he’d done it a million times before. But me, being a normal person who used my banking app to cash checks, felt strangely out of place.

Figuring it might be a minute, and that the ride home would be significantly longer, I decided to go get any residual dirt and grass out of my hair. After all, it would get in the way of our tick searching activities.

“Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere.” I pointed an accusing finger at him as my arm slipped from around his. His hand followed me until he couldn’t hold on any longer, an innocent, lovesick smile on his face.

“You know I could never leave you behind.”

As cheesy as it was, it still made me smile. My heart ached with the saccharine sweetness of his affections. I’d gotten so used to them so fast; I couldn’t even imagine a world without them anymore.

“Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.”

“You know I will, little girl.”

That storm cloud feeling was brewing in my chest again as I pressed a kiss to my fingers, blowing it across the ever-growing distance between us. Why did he feel so far away so suddenly?

I tried not to pay it any mind, humming You Are My Sunshine and imagining Spencer’s terrible singing voice instead. Looking at my reflection, I realized why my cheeks had been getting sore. Because there, staring back at me, was a smile on a neutral face.

I don’t even know when it happened, but it hit me in that bathroom of a bank at 12:47pm on a Saturday that I had fallen madly in love with Spencer Reid. And it suddenly made sense, why he didn’t want me to say it yet. Because I hadn’t realized it yet.

But now I had, and it filled every cell in my body. The blush on my cheeks was evidence of just how much I needed to let it out, to scream it from the rooftops, or at least in the lobby of this old bank.

There were so few things that could overwhelm the emotions I was feeling and rob me of this moment. My brain rioted against any sign of darkness or despair, clinging to the hope that I would be able to tell him soon.

So, when explosive booms rang through the bank, for a long second, I tried to convince myself they were thunder.

But they weren’t. The storm had indeed come, but it wasn’t responsible for the sounds that caused my heart to tear in two and shatter against the floor. The people outside the room were not screaming at the wrath of God, displayed with lightwork in the sky.

It was not thunder.

They were gunshots.

—————————————————

| Part 14 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #reid request #spencer reid request #fluff #h2m

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milfjinart · 3 years ago

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Hi there!

I keep forgetting to make a little intro post, but now that I have more followers on here I figured I should get around to it! especially since I’m kind of a luddite and I can’t be assed to figure out how to make a caard or whatever.

I’m Heidi (she/they), and up until like February of this year I was mostly a traditional nature artist. But to get myself out of a long ass artblock, I taught myself how to draw people/clones and now I’m a Star Wars fanartist! I also do some writing on the side, including poetry, creative nonfiction, and fanfiction, but I haven’t published any of my fics here or on ao3 yet.

You can find my art on this blog (milfjinart) under the #my art tag, or on Instagram @/milfjaster (previously nejohaasketches).

My favorite Star Wars subject to draw is the clones, especially Cody and my boy Fives. I have a few ocs but haven’t done much art of them yet (again, because i only started drawing people/fanart in February and i’ve been super busy with work recently so i don’t have as much time to draw as i’d like). I also love drawing Togrutas and incorporating landscapes and plants into my fanart!

My inbox is open if y’all wanna talk to me or ask me anything, but since I’m so busy i am not currently doing art trades or commissions at all :(

Fun facts about me:

I collect Star Wars pins and love to talk about them

My favorite sw characters are Fives, Ahsoka, and Jyn Erso, and basically all sw milfs :)

I have several types of synesthesia - chromesthesia, grapheme-color, spatial sequence, and number form.

my favorite animals are goats and my favorite color is green!

I have been vegan for like 5 years and I love baking and cooking! if you want tasty recipes hmu

I love reading poetry! some of my favorite poets are Joy Harjo, Simon Ortiz, Sasha Banks, Diane di Prima, Mary Oliver, Emily Dickinson, and Rebecca Elson.

related to that last point: feel free to send me an ask if you want me to share one of my favorite poems with you! I keep a google doc of them + I have a bunch of books of poetry and i love sharing :)

Besides my terminal star wars brainrot, I enjoy:

The X-Files and Lucifer (which you can find a hodgepodge of on my main blog, 1998scully)

Astronomy (NOT to be confused with astrology dear god please). I used to teach astronomy programs at a science center I worked at, and I currently work part-time for a local astronomy tour company and love it!

All things outdoors - hiking, river running, slacklining, camping, backpacking, etc.

Gardening and foraging for wild edible and medicinal plants!

Lastly:

I’m anticapitalist, antiracist, antifascist, and politically aligned with anarchism.

Black lives matter and we need to return Indigenous lands to Indigenous people.

I do not under any circumstances take shit from TERFS, homophobes, islamophobes, ableists, or whitewashing apologists.

If you have a problem with any of this, a) rethink your life, and b) if you engage with me in bad faith i will block you.

be kind to people and the earth. it’s not that hard. <3

#personal #idk how many people will actually read this but i figured i might as well make it!#hello everyone :-)#welcome to the shitshow

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doctor-jon-crane · 4 years ago

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written for @jovialjuggernaut-draws and their recent art

now i’ve never written nygma before except in rp so you can be brutal if need be

i’ve also never written riddlebat but there’s a first for everything i guess

I can only speak so slow, idiots. [Riddlebat]

Edward Nygma had met a lot of stupid people. Living in Gotham it was almost an inevitability. He swore the citizens got stupider by the day, although it could be the amount of lead and toxins in the water causing their braincells to flee to Metropolis. Last he checked online there was a Joker fan club with almost an alarming amount of people in it. The henchmen seemed to get stupider too, although that was most likely caused by the amount of brain damage caused by Bruce connecting his fist to their skull. The villains seemed to manage avoiding whatever was creating the lack of intellect in the city, but that wasn't saying much. For God's sake, there was someone who's theme was based around condiments, and Valentin doing whatever he did in that disgusting basement of his. Truly, there was no intelligence in Gotham, and every day he saw examples of people being morons.

This, however, was the stupidest thing he had seen to date.

Someone had dared to capture him. He would have loved to learn who to pay them a visit when Bruce wasn't looking later, but it seemed these morons barely knew what to call themselves either. They were even doing the cliché tactic of keeping one light pointed in his face so he couldn't see, all while attempting to deepen their voices in a rather pathetic display.

"Tell us what we want to know!"

Edward rolled his eyes for what felt like the 100th time this night, although one throbbed from the forming black eye. They had done a number on him, but it was nothing worse than what he used to get. If anything it was like they were going easy on him, although they probably thought they had him scared shitless.

"And I keep telling you morons I don't even know what you want!"

They kept demanding information on Batman but they wouldn't even go into specifics. They just kept growling 'tell us about Batman' like they were wild animals with no other way to communicate.

"What do you want to know about him, pray tell? His identity, what gadgets he stores, the size of his dick?"

"Yes! Wait, no, I mean - " He couldn't see much past the light but they were all looking at each other slightly confused. "Just tell us about the Bat!"

He was going to write Crane a strongly worded letter about poisoning the water supply again, this was getting too much to bare.

"Oh, it's like shouting into space. Let me explain this to you all in a way your small, near nonexistent brains can comprehend. I don't know what you want to know about the Batman, and even if you did manage to crack open a dictionary and find more words than the select few you seem capable of speaking tonight, I would not tell you. Not because I don't want to, because at this point I would happily tell you anything you want to know so I didn't have to deal with your painful stupidity, but because I simply don't think you would understand. You brainless monkeys probably don't even understand half of what I'm saying and I'm trying to use the smallest words available to drill through your thick skulls."

"Shut up!" The leader of the group stepped forward and hit him smack across the cheek, head turning from the force as he winced, blinking in pain, face flushed from the blood rushing upwards.

"Well, am I supposed to shut up or am I supposed to tell you Batman fun facts?"

The man grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him up off the ground, chair following along with as the two entered a glaring match. "You talk way too fucking much."

"Isn't that what you wanted, you moron?"

The oversized idiot let out a snarl of rage, prepared to do something to surely show how much he needed to compensate for, before the familiar sound of shattering glass caught the attention of all involved. The leader clearly couldn't focus on two things at once, dropping Edward back on the ground as he turned and watched a bat-shaped bastard fly though the window. He would have loved to watch what would happen next, but unfortunately his chair didn't prefer being dropped and tipped over, taking the genius with it.

He sighed, his everything hurting as he heard the familiar sounds of fighting and Batman shattering bones. That sound used to be so exhilarating, because then he knew his match had finally arrived. Now it was simply annoying because he just wanted to be let out of this damn chair.

The fight died out quickly to no one's surprise, and the chair was being righted with careful grace, Edward following familiar hands as they cut the ropes with a batarang.

"Sorry I couldn't be here sooner. I didn't realize you were gone until after I finished clearing out the warehouse by the docks."

Edward resisted the urge to roll his eye simply because it hurt to do so, standing on his own despite Bruce's offering. "Just take me home. I need extra strength everything to deal with the headache these jackasses have given me."

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow at him, and Edward was very tempted to hit him, if he knew Bruce wouldn't catch his hand. "Get a smarter fan club next time."

Bruce just smiled that awful, annoying smile that Edward swore up and down he hated, at least in the moment, and reached out to grip his forearm reassuringly. "I'm glad you're okay, Eddie."

Edward scoffed, but he didn't move to push the oversized bat off. "Yes, yes, you can pamper me and apologize for you negligence when we get home. For now I just want a very fast ride in your car."

He paused, frowning. "And some paper and pens."

"Why?"

"I have a letter to write to a luddite who still doesn't own a phone in this day and age about putting too many chemicals in the watering hole of Gotham."

#riddlebat #riddler #batman #bruce wayne #edward nygma #doc writes

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gascon-en-exil · 3 years ago

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Assuming money was not a factor, what kind of dwelling would you live in and how would you decorate it, if at all?

I've never seriously thought about it. I suppose at most I'd be able to get a upper story boudoir in the Vieux Carré. The street wouldn't be terribly important, although I have my preferences for the rue Toulouse (where Créole gentilhommes traditionally kept their mistresses...and I am both), the rue Chartres (once New Orleans's Wall Street equivalent, where the first in my paternal line to emigrate from France kept a cotton brokerage), or the rue Dumaine (the last residence of my locally famous great-great-great uncle, who died alone, probably gay, and in poverty as his photography was not discovered until years after his death).

I should fill it with whatever family antiques I could salvage, colored in the lurid pastels Creole townhouses and plantations are typically known for and set in the fashions of a century and a half ago to better fit the image of a noted eccentric. Tourists love those - and tourists like to throw away their money in this city. Obviously with all the modern amenities as well because I'm not a Luddite and I would never live here without air conditioning, but I've never been good at integrating things like computers and game consoles into my aesthetic sensibilities.

#Pointless rambling

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

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Warning: a longpost

Tensions between the social effects and "imperatives" of technological developments and elements of our human natures are not new — people have been debating it as far back as Diogenes, Confucius, and Laozi. But in recent discussions, I note a rather stark polarity.

On the one end, you have the people for whom the human must be subordinated to the technological. Issues created by technology cannot be fought, only individually adapted to, mostly via more technology. The people who will admit — or even go on at length — about the toxicity of social media… and yet for whom the idea of actually doing anything about it — other than individually tuning out if you can — is anathema, and they react with horror when you raise the possibility. People whose response to widespread obesity, particularly among the poor, as a result of modern lifestyles is pushing bariatric surgery (like some doctors friends and family have dealt with). Or at further extreme, singularitarian or singularitarian-adjacent ends, the people who look at our society's increasing difficulty producing future generations, and say either that it's no biggie because Any Day Now™ we'll cure aging and no longer need future generations, or it's no biggie because Any Day Now™ we'll figure out the tech for mass-manufacture of future generations like Brave New World or Battletech's Clans. At the furthest, you have the people who take the Marxist arguments about the "inherent contradictions" between industrial "capitalism" and human flourishing… and say 'so much the worse for humanity; time to start engineering the AI corporations to replace us dumb monkeys' like Nick Land.

Then you have the people at the other end, who go Luddite. Again, you can go back to filthy hobo Diogenes for this one. You've got the "environmentalists" who see anything more advanced than being a hunter-gatherer as the "rape of Mother Nature" and who unironically quote Agent Smith. Then there's the Right-wing primitivists who note that preindustrial societies cannot afford much leftism, and therefore argue that giving up electricity, indoor plumbing, medicine that works, etc. (let alone escaping this small, fragile planet) are all a small price to pay to Own the Libs.

But Confucius, while acknowledging that the creations of the Sage Kings, in bringing us from the "Greater Harmony" to the "Lesser Peace," created a certain tension between societal requirements and our human nature, pointed out that such things, like buildings, and clothing, and fire, and agriculture, and writing, et cetera, are worth the trade-off as opposed to a more natural lifestyle as naked cavemen. But, accepting the trade-off doesn't mean we can't do things to ameliorate those tensions and try to reduce the negative impacts.

Tyler Cowen posited his future Average Is Over dystopia of the vast majority of the population relegated to being impoverished, packed into overcrowded favelas eating beans and bugs, pacified by VR, drugs, and omnipresent government surveillance and enforcement… and when confronted about the undesirability of such and how we might avoid it, simply proclaims it inevitable: the Economy has spoken, and we humans can only obey its dictates. Whatever happened to the idea that our tools and our economy exist to serve us, and our human needs, rather than us existing to serve their needs? Okay, probably most people who held that view from a secular perspective likely ended up embracing Marxism as the means of doing so, and then Marxism failed. (This links in to my unwritten potential post about how Wokism is neither Marxist nor postmodern, despite drawing partially from both.) And those who did so from a religious perspective ended up divided by their various specific sectarian views and given to "solutions" that boil down to unsupported individual piety — or else, being the Amish.

There's that whole bit about "unless you're over 60, you weren't promised flying cars. You were promised an oppressive cyberpunk dystopia." And plenty of people have covered this ground before, about how our visions of technological progress used to be about how it would make our lives better and allow us to better pursue our various human ends, but now are all about how it will make our lives worse and force us to pursue its various inhuman ends. Even the few "optimistic" visions are hyper-individualist, and when confronted about man's nature as a social animal, either insist that said needs will be met through "relationships" with individualized AI surrogates (the whole "2d > 3d," yay sexbots view), or else that the need for human connection will prove yet another "flaw" to be engineered out in whatever manner of "posthuman" creatures replace us.

I look back on those more optimistic visions. At what past societies considered a better future, before we gave up on it. And I note how even the utopian visions of 19th century socialists are, compared to our day, rather spectacularly un-Woke — and definitely better than 'soypunk dystopia, but at least with rainbow flags and nobody being misgendered while they toil for Amazon.'

And, of course, if you go further back, you eventually end up before any serious ideas of progress. Then, ideas about a better world were not speculations about the future, but about the afterlife. I recall a couple of discussions about Bleach, Soul Society, and the average Tenth Century Japanese peasant's idea of Paradise; or (IIRC, prompted by some terrible "humanity curbstomps the invading Legions of Hell who are wielding Bronze Age weapons against modern militaries" story on SpaceBattles) what a Bronze Age goat-herder would consider Heaven?

Are subordination to technological imperatives or Luddism really the only two choices? Are we really left with either the poor afflicted with starvation or the poor afflicted with obesity? For those of us who find the society "progress" has created increasingly alienated, and who prefer older visions and modes of living more attractive, is total renunciation and "going full Amish" really the only alternative?

I look at writers like Chesterton and Lewis and Tolkien, and their ideal social structures, and I think, isn't there some way that technological progress can be channeled towards allowing us — or, at least those of us who want to — to achieve a better, more comfortable, more broadly-available, less labor-intensive version of the Shire Hobbit lifestyle, rather than better digital circuses to numb us while we all eat bugs in our dorm tubes in Scat Francisco?

Or, for those of you so inclined, a better, more comfortable, more broadly-available, less labor-intensive version of the Oscar Wilde lifestyle? After all, I note that a perennial condemnation of aristocrats has been about what big, degenerate perverts they are behind closed doors — that de Sade got in trouble, more for atheism, but also for the "writing publicly about it" part? I mean, aside from maybe @ponteh2dhh1ksdiwesph2tres, where are the people trying to work out, instead of "Fully-Automated Luxury Gay Space Communism," how we might create "Fully-Automated Decadent Space Aristocracy"? Where are the people trying to use computers and AI to create a better version of the Imperial court of Elagabalus without all the slavery and need for foreign conquest to pay for its orgies?

Is there even a term for this idea, of using technology to create better versions of the past, rather than simply letting "progress" take us wherever it will, and all negative consequences treated as simply things we must each individually struggle to avoid and cope with, with all of us in competition against one another to become one of those chosen few ultra-rich tech overlords wealthy enough to escape living in the favelas, the few powerful enough to avoid ruination should one end up on the wrong end of Twitter cancelation?

Wow. Look at me, gloomy pessimist that I am, actually calling for some optimism and hope for the future. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have even bothered with the effort of writing this post. Because of course the only possible futures are all terrible.

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simtrospective · 4 years ago

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congratulations on your follower mile stone! I only recently started following your blog but I love that you share your thought process behind your sims and your posts. I really enjoy reading them! can I hear more about your inspiration to do a historical-vintage blog? what are your favorite time periods to recreate with the sims and why?

Thank you so much @wirefiish!

First, a little tangent: I started playing this series 20 years ago. There have been some gap years since then: my computer couldn’t handle TS3 when it came out so I only notched a few hours of total play time before sticking with TS2; I’d heard bad things about TS4 and myself wasn’t wowed by the base game so I put it aside for a long while. I’ve never had a simblr before this year (I started one in March, almost immediately deleted it, and then resurrected this account in May after someone on reddit asked me for a download + CC list of a sim I’d shared there; I needed somewhere to put all that info and so…). I never had any account for simming no matter which platform was popular: no Livejournal account, nor a Dreamwidth account, nor a GoS account, nor an MTS account, on and on and on. I only ever lurked the community though I felt like I knew everyone in it! But this year, I wanted to keep track of other simmers on tumblr who I liked, and I needed a quarantine distraction from work + panic, and so here I am. Operating this account has been an exercise, too, in managing myself and self-esteem: not letting myself fall into some of my kneejerk behaviors like trying to please others, apologizing (for nothing; for “me”), putting myself down, comparing myself to other people who I imagine are all perfect and talented and objectively better. My inclination, when I write wordy posts or give “too much information” about my sims is to delete and keep it simple, and that certainly gets me more notes, but… this is who I am. Not that it’s that deep! But it’s good to have perspective and behave accordingly: it’s just a blog with pictures of sims. It’s just a game. I felt like writing, it’s my little blog, who cares? I’m not doing it for notes or likes or whatever. What do I have to apologize for? What do I have to fix?

All this to say thank you that you are enjoying reading about my process. I enjoy writing about my process, whether mundane or not. I enjoy treating this blog like a blog when I feel called to do so.

Now, to your questions!

Can I hear more about your inspiration to do a historical-vintage blog?

Sure!

If you’d like to read more about my save and my plans for it, I have a link to that featured in my navigation menu. It is HERE for any and all who are interested and includes references and pictures I’m hoping to use as inspiration for world-building and character creation.

Basically, why I’m doing this is very simple: I like old stuff. I like vintage stuff. I like retro stuff. I love old photographs, old furniture, old music, old clothes, old movies. I love references and inspirations and art. I hate the internet. I hate my sims taking out their phones every two seconds and stuntin’ for the ‘gram and whatever else. I am forced to use too much internet and social media at work but in real life I have this blog and a neglected Pinterest account and a neglected reddit account and that is it and that has always been it, with the tumblr and reddit accounts only begun this calendar year. I’m not a luddite; I mindlessly scroll more than I should and I have favorite Vines (RIP) just like the other girls and how else can I stuff my game with CC if not over WiFi, but really, there’s so much of the *NOW* in TS4 that takes me out of and away from what I love about this series because it’s so invasive. This is where I could go on another tangent about how--through what EA, et al purports is endless gameplay possibilities--TS4 actually gives us less choice when it comes to overall gameplay but that is not the question I’m answering.

Beyond wanting to return my sims to a simpler time in terms of technology and their personal interactions, I’m totally doing it for the aesthetic. If I had my way, if I could choose the world’s aesthetic, the world’s advances in terms of, again, the technology in our pockets, it would span between 1920 and, like, 1995 and how exciting that I actually can build a little world that does just that. I can dress my little dolls exactly how I want and make some of them use the washboard! I can’t curate planet earth but I can make damn sure that all the teenage girls in Brindleton Bay wear circle skirts to the diner.

Also, related to doing whatever I want, I get to have the things I love, the world and gameplay I love but apply more progressive values to it. Yes, all the teenage girls in Brindleton Bay wear circle skirts to the diner but the teenage girl who prefers to wear a mechanic’s jumpsuit isn’t going to be looked at askance or be isolated or teased or made to conform or beat up or, best case scenario, need to shoulder the burden of trailblazer or need to shoulder the burden of being The Girl Who Wears A Mechanic’s Jumpsuit even if everyone thinks it’s cool, she’s just… herself. And yes, the world looks like 1955 but it isn’t 1955, or, it’s a parallel 1955. This girl wears a jumpsuit but her girlfriend wears a circle skirt and none of my sims bat an eye.

I also love, love, love looking at other simmers’ historical stories and gameplay. They’re consistently so clever with both CC and in-game content that it’s impossible not to be inspired, and that got my wheels turning.

And, lastly, I’m a CC addict. Limiting my aesthetic and applying rules to my save goes a long way to cull my collection and to keep me from going on a tear that might make my computer explode. It’s much easier for me to delete a bunch of dresses that aren’t appropriate for the parameters of my game than to delete a bunch of dresses because I “should,” because I have “too much stuff.”

What are your favorite time periods to recreate with the sims and why?

I’m partial to the 1950s because it is the easiest. It seems that so many creators make a lot of content that--even if it’s only described as “vintage”--is from the 50s. I mentioned circle skirts above. How many times have I done a broad search for vintage or retro and got circle skirts back? The 1950s isn’t my favorite time period, though; again, it’s just so easy to recreate. Lately I’ve enjoyed making a range of 70s sims and hope I can find a home for them all. I like, too, trying to fit content that I don’t usually use or which I think I don’t like into my version of a particular decade’s or era’s look because it often changes my opinion of the content (especially non-CC) so that I see it with new eyes/better appreciate it, and this practice helps me to hone my abilities and increase my comfort and familiarity with whatever time period I’m working with.

In real life, although I had a long art deco phase, my absolute favorite design aesthetic is mid-century modern. I’ve always loved it, and that love intensified and deepened a few years ago when I started writing my novel--not to sound like a jerk, but it’s true!--which is set in the mid-to-late 1960s. I started doing research and putting together inspiration boards which included, in part, house plans and interior design and for my tastes, I’m sorry, mcm just cannot be beat. I cannot get enough! TS4’s art style is so complementary to the mcm aesthetic that it’s impossible not to fall in love with how it looks in the game, whether it’s CC or not, so that’s my favorite in-game decorative period.

When it comes to clothing and fashion, I have a little bit that I like from every era, really, but if we’re speaking generally and I’m being forced to choose, I (think I) like best male/masculine looks and styling from the 1950s to about… 1963? 1965?, although I prefer a slimmer cut to the suits and pants; and feminine/female looks and styling from the 1930s and 1970s. I perceive a similar combined sensuality, ease, and sportiness in the 30s and 70s silhouettes as well as the prevailing attitudes and approach to fashion that speaks to me. I just love it--but I need more of it for my sims, so I can’t say it’s necessarily my favorite to try and recreate. Yet, anyway.

Thank you again for this question and thank you to all who read this entire answer!

#sims 4 #ts4 #200+ followers #ask #user: wirefiish

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jadbalja · 4 years ago

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#oldprofilerants

pity the poor fool who pens a polemic for his dating profile. whatever could he be thinking?

well, i am thinking about the death of love (and the love of death, as Bataille would connect it) but let's get to that in a minute, shall we? for a second, it's useful to examine this construct of the dating website profile, the self-summary, the whole project of rendering one's identity fit for strangers.

how hopelessly we fetishize the idea that there is an essential self to project, one that can be communicated and is contained in some sequence of words! it seems seductive, doesn't it, that we could hope to find a partner in this jungle by rendering to words our singular mating cry; that we could find that some stated interests, some potted history can trace the arc of our life. but such belief should come as no surprise. our culture glories in brevity, the precis is an art form, and you can say more by not saying it at all.

if you ask me, there is no one I know less than myself, lacking so obvious a tool as objective self-examination. in fact this is why i admire those women here who have never bothered to fill out their profile with words, who have continued, though perhaps only for a period, with just a self-image. images, i.e., photographs of the person, are also lies, but they are so in an honest way. especially when you can see where the filter was applied, where the cropping was done, and how an airbrush was aesthetically used. in their nakedness, these subterfuges are endearing, and almost selfless in their earnestness to beguile.

in responding to such profiles without words, we show our most honest side. are we not told in civic lessons to speak truth to power? this is where we speak the truth to the power of a beautiful object (your picture), and the truth is the statement of our lust.

in the end all profiles get written, though not to the same archetype. some are terse, while others are bravura examples of wit or unwanted, unwarranted theorizing (like this). however long or truncated, all profiles have several levels of meaning. the primary level of meaning is mechanical - the narrative you've concocted, the facts as you've stated them. thereafter, a profile has symbolic value, and the value is that of a brand.

a commercial brand at its most banal intends to convey certain memetic perceptions: security, comfort, pride, hunger. the 'profile brand' deals with similar needs that we subconsciously exchange with one another in the Hegelian sense of mutual recognition, but also in hope that we spark affinity, comfort, tribal bonding, and acceptance. we write profiles to sell. we write our life histories (I am a recent transplant in DC by way of Gomorrah) with the use of approachable, digestible ideas, because we would expect to read and consume the same. the more profiles you read, the more the dominant profile brands are entrenched. as such, reduced to symbolic content-the native, the nerd, the traveler, the sensualist, the three words that 'best capture your unique sense'-we package ourselves to be consumed and remembered. the brand that sells here gets to have sex, and in its most basic Darwinian sense, the fittest memes replicate.

Love is Dead

sounding the death knell of romantic love is certainly fashionable, and doing so in the context of online dating seems a form of common, reactionary triumphalism. luddite tom-toming of the attenuation of the Romantic Ideal in the era of the Internet seems just the copy-paste of prior paranoias. after all the classical imagining of romance in prior eras was considered under threat too, variously by girlie magazines, speakeasies, 'female liberation', suburbia, or any other of a dozen modish threats.

what is dead more irrevocably now in this cycle is the pursuit of love - I think we can finally say we've killed off the practical pursuit of romantic happiness. there is an interest in something, or else we wouldn't be here, but let me argue that it isn't what we think as love. our profiles are here to sell, but what we are buying isn't you as the One, but something more modular, replaceable, consumable, and eventually, recyclable.

#okcupid #dating profile profiletext

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rhosyn-du · 4 years ago

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Title: A Wonderful Institution Artist: @bidnezz Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, various background pairings Word Count: ~53k Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, discrimination against Downworlders, reference to rape, Clave-typical homophobia, implied character death, minor character death Summary: Magnus doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Warlocks are disappearing in New York City—five people in less than three months—and Magnus is determined to find them and protect the rest of his people from whatever took them. He doesn’t have time for politics, and he certainly doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense the Clave is proposing about marrying a Shadowhunter to a Downworlder as part of the new Accords. He doesn’t really have time for a pretty Shadowhunter who’s surprisingly kind to warlock children, either, but, well, he’s always been good at multitasking.

Alec always knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, but he’s spent the nearly four years since the newly-appointed Consul recalled his parents to Idris without explanation making the best of what he can have. When life suddenly offers up almost everything Alec actually wants on a silver platter, he can’t quite bring himself to trust it, especially when it comes with a million caveats and a side of impending disaster. But he knows how to handle disasters, even if the return of the Circle on top of Clave secrets that could destroy the Accords is way beyond the disasters he’s used to fielding. Hope, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter One

Magnus should have taken it as a sign when, instead of sending the information he asked for, the Spiral Council insisted upon an in-person meeting. He should, at the very least, have rescheduled cocktail night, but he wasn’t about to let politics or the headache that had been building behind his eyes all day interfere with standing traditions. If nothing else, he desperately needed someone to drink with.

“How is it,” Catarina asked as she slid into their usual booth, “that I just finished a ten-hour shift at the hospital, and you still look more worn out than I do?”

Magnus shook his head, raising his glass. “Drink first, my dear. Then talk. This is not a conversation anyone wants to have sober.”

“Cheers, then,” Catarina said, lifting her glass. “No Raphael tonight?”

“He’s overseeing the integration of a new fledgling. Ragnor also sent his regrets.”

“Ragnor has sent his regrets every week since 2003,” Catarina muttered into her cosmopolitan.

“And will continue to do so for years to come, I’m sure,” Magnus said.

“We’ll see about that. Come here.” Catarina motioned for Magnus to join her on her side of the booth.

Confused, Magnus joined her. “What are we��? Are we taking a selfie?”

“We,” she answered, smiling up at her phone, “are showing Ragnor how much fun we’re having without him, so he’ll be jealous and forced to show up for cocktail night sometime this decade.”

Magnus held up his drink, toasting the camera as Catarina snapped a photo, then frowned. “Since when does Ragnor have a smart phone?” he asked, watching Catarina tap out a text. “Or any kind of phone, for that matter.”

“Last month, I think?” she answered. “Raphael got it for him. Said texting was more convenient than fire messages, but honestly I think he just likes to give Ragnor a hard time about being such a Luddite.”

“But now I can’t tease him about still being stuck in the nineteenth century,” Magnus complained. “Also, how do you have his number and I don’t?”

“I’m guessing the same reason you look like you haven’t slept in the past month. You’ve been a little hard to get a hold of recently.”

Magnus made a noise of grumpy agreement.

“You want to talk about it?” Catarina asked.

“Why don’t you tell me about your week first?” Magnus suggested. “I’m still not ready to think about mine.”

Magnus was on his third bourbon on the rocks when Catarina finally got him talking about his own day and the disastrous meeting with the Spiral Council.

“Five warlocks missing in less than three months, and they brushed it aside like it’s nothing,” Magnus told her. “They called me there like they actually had information, but no, just ‘we haven’t heard anything, we’ll keep an ear out’ and then straight into this absolute nonsense with the Clave.” He drained the last of his glass and conjured another, too worked up to bother walking over to the bar to order. “As if it’s not suspicious enough that they want to renew the Accords years earlier than scheduled, as if marrying a Downworlder to a Shadowhunter as part of the terms isn’t among the most terrible ideas in the Clave’s grand library of terrible ideas.”

“Let me guess,” Catarina said. “They want you to be a part of the negotiations?”

“Oh, no,” Magnus said, waving his glass in a way that would, in anyone else’s hand, have sent the drink sloshing over the sides. “If they wanted that, it would be annoying enough, but they actually had the gall to suggest I should put my name in for consideration as the Downworld representative in this disaster-in-the-making political marriage.”

Catarina made a strangled noise that might have been outrage but might also have just been choking on her drink. “They actually…” She shook her head. “The Spiral Council wants you to marry a Shadowhunter? And they think this will prevent war with the Clave?”

Magnus shook his head. “No, no, they don’t actually want me to marry anyone. They just want my name on the list. Something about how much it would mean to have such a visible sign of my support. Which they will not get, because, as I explained to them repeatedly and at great length, I do not support any of this. And that’s not even getting into my lack of confidence in their assurances that I wouldn’t be chosen.”

“They’re probably right about that,” Catarina told him. “Rumor is the Clave is putting forward one of the Lightwood children, and I can’t imagine a world where Maryse and Robert Lightwood would allow one of their offspring to marry you.”

“Somehow, the council failed to mention that part.” Probably because they knew how Magnus would react. This lunacy was bad enough without the Clave deciding the child of two former Circle members, one of whom was rumored to be the Consul’s personal enforcer, was the best person to make a political alliance with the Downworld. “That’s a bullet I’m more than happy to have dodged.”

“What, you don’t see yourself having a mad, passionate romance with a Lightwood?” Catarina teased.

Magnus wrinkled his nose in distaste. “As amusing as it would be to see the look on Maryse Lightwood’s face if I did, no. I would rather marry a Ravener demon.” He took a long pull of his whiskey. “I would rather marry Lorenzo Rey.” He drained his glass, setting it down on the table with a resounding thump. “I would rather see acid wash jeans as the height of fashion for the next three and a half centuries.”

“Only three and a half?” Catarina laughed. “Not four?”

“Even a Lightwood couldn’t be that bad,” Magnus told her. “Another round?”

“That’s all for me. I’ve got another shift in the ER tomorrow, and the last thing I need is a hangover to go with it. I’m happy to keep you company, though. Seems like you could use it.”

“Your company is very much appreciated, as always,” Magnus said. “I’ll just—”

Magnus’s train of thought as well as his sentence were effectively derailed by the arrival of a fire message. He plucked it from the air with a frown that only deepened as he read.

“It looks like that’s the last drink for me, as well,” Magnus said, gathering his coat from the seat beside him.

“Anything I can help with?” Catarina asked, nodding toward the paper in Magnus’s hand.

“I’ll certainly take it if you’re offering,” Magnus answered slowly. “This could be very bad.” He couldn’t, after all, think of any good reason Iris Rouse would be calling him for help.

“Alec, you aren’t listening to me.”

Alec took a deep, calming breath, focusing on fastening the buckles of his thigh holster rather than how very done he was having this conversation for the hundredth time.

“I am listening, Iz,” he said, sliding the last buckle into place. “I just still disagree with you. And since this is my life and not yours, my opinion is the one that matters.”

Izzy grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “This can’t actually be what you want. If Mom and Dad are pressuring you into this—”

Alec snorted. “Trust me, Mom and Dad aren’t pressuring me into anything.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They weren’t pressuring him into this, not really. His mother made her disapproval quite clear, for all that she’d also said this marriage was necessary for the updated Accords.

Izzy’s eyes told him she wasn’t convinced. “I know Mom has said some things about how you should be looking for a wife,” she said.

“I’m pretty sure Mother meant I should marry a nice Shadowhunter girl,” Alec said. “Come on, Iz, do you really see our parents pressuring me into marrying a Downworlder? Even for the Accords?”

“Then why?” Her hand on his arm was a gentle pressure now, cajoling rather than demanding. “You keep saying this is your decision, but you won’t tell me why you’re making it.”

Alec sighed. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, not even with Izzy, but it was clear she wasn’t going to let it drop until he did. “Because someone needs to do it, and I at least won’t resent it.”

“Are you sure about that, big brother?” Izzy’s eyes were intent on his, and Alec both loved and hated how she could always see his deepest doubts and fears, even when he’d pushed them down so far he could almost forget them himself. “You deserve to be happy, Alec. You deserve to fall in love with someone who loves you just as much. And I think that’s what you want, too.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said, shaking off her hand. “This is what I’ve chosen.” This was what he could have. At least in an explicitly political marriage to a Downworlder, no one would expect him to act like he was in love with his wife or ask questions if they didn’t have children.

If he were very lucky, maybe his future wife would be open to adoption.

“But you can still make a different choice!” Izzy insisted.

“Isabelle,” he said. “Drop it.”

Izzy opened her mouth to speak again, but Alec cut her off. “Come on, we’ve got a mission.”

He stalked out of the room before Izzy could say anything else, but her irritated huff of breath as she followed him to the ops center told Alec she wasn’t anywhere near as done with the conversation as he was.

They picked up the trail of Ravener demons just east of Prospect Park. Signs indicated maybe six or seven in the pack, which was worrisome since the original sighting was of more than twice that number.

“I can trace the trail back, see if it splits,” Jace suggested. “You guys follow this one and I’ll catch up with you.”

“All right,” Alec said after a moment’s hesitation, “but if it does split, call the Institute and have them send another team, then catch up with me and Iz. Do not go after the other group on your own.”

“Obviously,” Jace said, completely at odds with the hint of a smirk that told Alec that was exactly what he’d been planning to do.

Alec just barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

A quarter mile on, the trail split again, and Alec nodded to Izzy, indicating he’d follow left and she should follow right. He didn’t bother telling his sister to be careful. She might not always be exactly prudent, but she was very good at gauging what she could and couldn’t handle in a fight and had significantly better self-preservation instincts than Alec’s parabatai.

Alec made it another three blocks before he caught sight of one of the demons, darting from behind a dumpster to slink down a dark alleyway. Activating his night vision rune, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and turned down the alleyway after the demon.

There was no movement in the alley, no sound to be heard over the ambient noise of the surrounding streets. Alec scanned each dumpster that lined the alley, each pile of debris, searching for the place the Raveners had to be hiding. Ravener demons were fast, but not fast enough to make it to the far end of the alley so quickly.

A small sound drew Alec’s attention. It wasn’t the scuffling he expected, but instead something that sounded almost like a tiny, muffled sob. He focused on the area it came from, arrow nocked and ready.

It took Alec a few seconds to really register what he was seeing, sticking out from behind a pile of broken-down boxes. The toe of a small shoe. As he watched, the shoe retreated behind the boxes.

Alec lowered his bow as he moved toward the pile of boxes. Not all the way, because there was still a Ravener around here somewhere, but enough that he could approach without pointing it directly at the hiding child.

He debated speaking, which might put the child more at ease, but could also attract the attention of the Ravener, and any of its buddies that might be hanging around. He didn’t know who the demons were hunting, either. With so many at once, it was almost certain they’d been summoned by a warlock to track and probably capture or kill someone, and Alec couldn’t begin to imagine why someone would go to that kind of trouble for a kid, so they probably weren’t the target, but he didn’t want to take the chance that he was wrong, especially since the kid was clearly hiding from something.

Splitting the difference between the two options, Alec dropped to a crouch when he drew even with the pile of boxes and spoke in a soft voice.

“Hi there.”

He waited a beat, and when no reply seemed forthcoming, continued. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to, but this isn’t a safe place to be right now.”

Still, nothing.

“Okay, well, if you don’t want to come out, is it okay if I come back there with you for a minute? I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Again, silence. Alec waited.

After at least a full minute of silence, Alec heard movement behind the pile of boxes, and suddenly he was faced with a terrified-looking little girl. She looked to be maybe six or seven years old, if Alec had to guess, and even though fear was evident in her eyes and posture, she met Alec’s eyes without flinching and there were tiny blue flames flickering across the fingers of one small hand.

Alec forced himself to keep a relaxed posture, even as he kept alert for any sign of the Ravener demon. It was just barely possible that the Raveners were after a warlock child, although Alec still couldn’t imagine who would send a pack that size after a kid, even a warlock kid.

“That’s a good hiding place,” he said conversationally. “I almost didn’t notice you.”

The girl regarded him with somber eyes.

“Can I walk you back home to make sure you get there safely?” he asked.

This time, she shook her head emphatically, but the flames around her fingers died, which Alec took as a good sign.

“Okay,” he said. “We can stay here for a while if you want, but I need you to promise that if anything happens, you’ll get behind me, okay? There are some scary things out here, and you don’t have to face them by yourself.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, considering, then nodded.

“Cool gills,” Alec commented, nodding at the girl’s neck. That got him a tiny, shy smile. “I’m Alec.”

The girl chewed her bottom lip, then said softly, “I’m Madzie.”

Before Alec could respond, a Ravener sprang from the shadows of a nearby dumpster, heading straight toward them. In one smooth move, Alec turned on his knee, placing himself squarely between the girl and the demon, and let an arrow fly.

He didn’t bother to watch the arrow find its mark—he knew it would—already turning to loose another arrow at one of the two demons approaching from the other direction. The second demon was too close to use his bow by that time, so Alec pulled his seraph blade from the sheath along his thigh and rose from his crouch to drive the blade straight into the demon’s chest. He felt a faint, sharp pain in his knee, probably a rock or piece of broken glass he’d kneeled on. He’d deal with it later.

A sound from the mouth of the alley had Alec spinning again, seraph blade abandoned in favor of his bow once again. He had an arrow nocked and ready before he properly registered what he was seeing. The man standing in front of him, watching him with open curiosity and something else that made Alec’s breath catch in his throat, was most definitely not a Ravener demon.

The door to Iris Rouse’s home stood open several inches when Magnus and Catarina stepped out of the portal on her front stoop. It hadn't been broken down or torn from its hinges or apparently forced open in any way, which Magnus might have considered a good sign under different circumstances. Given the recent disappearances, however, the door hanging peacefully ajar seemed ominous.

The two warlocks entered cautiously, but the house was eerily silent and apparently empty, with nothing to indicate that even a struggle had taken place. It was an all too familiar scene.

Magnus swore softly. It wasn't just a missing warlock this time, though. There was also the matter of Iris's message. Please, you have to save the children.

“We’ll need to search the house,” he told Catarina. “Not that I expect to find more here than I have anywhere else.”

“You never know,” she said. “Today could be your lucky day.”

“Seems unlikely, given how the day has gone so far.”

They decided to search top to bottom, and both agreed that splitting up would be a terrible idea. The first two rooms yielded nothing, exactly as Magnus expected. The third door, however, gave the first sign of something out of place. For one thing, it held two sets of bunk beds and a crib, plus a number of stuffed animals and a toy box tucked away in a corner. For another, the window stood open wide, white lace curtains fluttering in the breeze.

Catarina looked over the room, eyebrows raised. “Did you know anything about Iris raising kids?”

Magnus shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Iris Rouse in over two centuries. I knew she was living in Brooklyn, obviously, but we were never exactly friendly, and we’ve been happy to keep right on avoiding each other. I guess this does give some context for her message, though.”

Catarina made a noise of agreement, kneeling to examine a stuffed rabbit that lay on the floor.

Magnus turned to look out the window, where a tree branch bobbed lazily in the wind. It wasn’t sturdy enough to hold his weight, but he thought it just might have been sturdy enough for someone smaller to grab a hold of and shimmy down, if they were determined enough.

“I think—”

A faint sound caught Magnus’s attention, causing him to pause mid-sentence. Catarina nodded, and gestured toward the closet. She’d heard it, too.

Magnus made a motion for Catarina to stay behind him as he approached the closet door. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he used his magic to fling the closet open, but it definitely was not the mundane woman who launched herself at him, teeth bared and fists flying.

Magnus stepped back, raising a hand to restrain her with magic. For a moment, the house was still and silent again. Then, the silence was broken by the unmistakable wail of an infant.

“You can’t take him,” the woman snarled, struggling against her magical bonds. “I won’t let you.”

It was a ridiculous thing for her to say. A mundane woman—barely more than a girl, Magnus realized, now that he was really looking at her—didn’t have a chance against two warlocks. But there was no doubt in Magnus’s mind that she meant what she said. If he and Catarina tried to take the baby nestled among the blankets at the bottom of the closet, this woman would do everything in her power to stop them.

“We’re not here to take anyone,” Magnus said in his most soothing voice.

“We’re friends of Iris’s,” Catarina added. Not exactly true, but close enough. “I’m Catarina, and this is Magnus. We’re here to help.”

The woman still looked suspicious, but when neither of them made any move toward the closet, she stopped fighting the bonds. Magnus released her as soon as she looked like she wasn’t in danger of trying to commit violence upon him. She immediately ran to the closet and scooped the infant up in her arms.

“I’m Leigh,” the woman told them, rocking the baby as its cries subsided. “They took Iris, and the children, too. I hid Noah, and I think Madzie might have gotten away, but I don’t know. There were just so many of them.”

“Who did?” Magnus asked. “Who took Iris and the children?”

Leigh frowned, her face going slightly vacant. “I don’t know. There were so many of them. They weren’t there, and then suddenly they were, but…” She looked at him, face all confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Which, of course, it wouldn’t, to a mundane. Except this mundane was apparently living with a warlock. Or at least babysitting for one. So, when the kidnappers dropped the glamor that kept them hidden, it seemed to her that they appeared out of nowhere.

Magnus had been paying more attention to Leigh than to the child, listening to her confused explanation, but he caught Catarina’s pointed look at him, then at the baby in the woman’s arms. She, at least, had been paying attention to the child.

Magnus glanced at the infant. At first, he didn’t see it, but then the baby blinked, and a second set of eyelids, like those of a raptor, closed across its eyes. The infant was a warlock.

“You’ve been through something very traumatic,” Catarina said, slipping into the voice Magnus had heard her use with patients. “It’s normal to be confused. Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”

“I…” Leigh still looked dazed. “Yes, thank you.”

“You said the people who came here took Iris and the children,” Magnus said. “What can you tell us about the children? It could help us locate them.” Not that he had high hopes, if they were warlocks like the baby. He hadn’t been able to track a single warlock who had disappeared. He couldn’t even sense their magic, which meant they were most likely dead, although no bodies had turned up.

“Madzie is the oldest,” Leigh said. “She went out the window when those things—” She stopped, shaking her head. “When the people broke in, and we saw them grab Dierdre and Indra. They must have broken in. I wanted to go, too, but I didn’t think the tree could hold my weight, and anyway I couldn’t climb down with Noah, and I couldn’t leave him.” Her voice was climbing, becoming more panicked.

“So, you took him and hid in the closet,” Magnus finished for her. “It was a good plan. You said Madzie escaped out the window?” he asked, latching on to the one piece of information that might be useful. If a child had escaped, there was still a chance he might be able to find her.

Leigh nodded. “I heard them come into the room after. I thought for sure they were going to find us, but they never came near the closet. I heard them follow Madzie out the window.” She frowned. “Except, that doesn’t make sense, either. Because an adult shouldn’t be able to climb down that tree, so maybe…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Adult humans, no. But demons? There were plenty of demons small enough to climb down that tree. Hell, there were plenty of demons that could scale the side of the building, and several varieties that could fly.

“Can you show me something of Madzie’s?” Magnus asked. If he had something of the girl’s, if he wasn’t too late, he could track her. He might even be able to find her before the demons did. Or at least find the demons.

“Something of— Why?”

“Something familiar to comfort her when we find her,” Catarina lied smoothly.

“Oh,” Leigh said. “Oh, of course. There,” she said, pointing to the stuffed rabbit Catarina had noticed earlier. “That’s Mr. Flopsy. He’s Madzie’s favorite.”

“Thank you, dear,” Magnus said, grabbing the stuffed toy. He looked at Catarina. “I’m going to look for the girl. As soon as she’s recovered enough, take them back to the loft. They’ll be safe there while we figure out what’s going on.”

“We’ll see you there,” Catarina answered. Then, when Magnus hesitated, “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Magnus had no trouble at all picking up Madzie’s trail, which was on the one hand convenient, but on the other hand meant the demons probably weren’t having much trouble tracking her, either. The one solely good piece of news was that Magnus was able to recognize the girl’s magic from the residue on the toy, and he could still feel its echo out somewhere in the city. If the demons chasing Madzie had found her, at least they hadn’t killed her, yet.

It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail of the Ravener demons following Madzie, either. A warlock had scrubbed all sense of their presence from Iris’s house, but the trail popped up clear as day at the end of the block. Which suggested that whoever was controlling these demons hadn’t gone with them after the girl. They must have gone with Iris and the other children, wherever they’d taken them.

The trail led him half a mile east of Prospect Park before he heard the distinctive growl of a Ravener about to attack. Magnus ran toward the alleyway from where the sound had come, magic ready at his fingertips, only to stop dead in his tracks when he rounded the corner just in time to watch a Shadowhunter neatly dispatch three Ravener demons in rapid succession.

The man’s movements were fluid and efficient, arrows hitting their marks dead on before taking down the final demon with a seraph blade in a move that looked almost effortless even as his forearms flexed in a way that Magnus couldn’t help but appreciate. More impressive than the man’s skill at taking down demons, though, was the way he did so all while keeping himself between the threat he faced and the young girl behind him. The young warlock girl.

Shadowhunters were pledged to protect the world from demons, and even the most repugnant ones Magnus had the misfortune of meeting seemed to take that job seriously, but he’d met precious few who would put forth even the slightest effort to protect a warlock, not even from a demon.

Then the Shadowhunter was turning to face him, and Magnus found himself struck once again, because the man was stunning, with bright hazel eyes, full lips, and a jawline that could cut glass. He also had an arrow trained straight at Magnus’s heart.

Magnus searched frantically for something to say. Something witty and flirtatious, perhaps. Or something dignified and professional, as would befit the High Warlock of Brooklyn under such circumstances. Or just something that would reassure the Shadowhunter that Magnus wasn’t a threat.

What actually came out of his mouth was, “Who are you?”

For the briefest instant, Magnus thought he could see the hint of a bewildered smile on the Shadowhunter’s lips, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” the Shadowhunter countered. Then his eyes flickered to something behind Magnus, and Magnus whirled around to face a truly staggering number of Ravener demons pouring into the mouth of the alley just as an arrow flew past his shoulder to hit one of the demons in the chest.

“Kill demons now, introductions later?” Magnus suggested, tossing a ball of fire at the closest demon.

“Sounds like a plan,” the Shadowhunter agreed. “Stay behind me,” he instructed the little girl. “Keep your back to the wall.”

They fought surprisingly well together for two people who hadn’t even known each other long enough to exchange names. Without discussing it, Magnus handled the demons who managed to get into close range of their little group, while the Shadowhunter took down those further back.

“You know,” Magnus said as he watched another demon burn to a satisfying crisp, “normally I’d ask what a guy like you is doing in a place like this, but I get the feeling you might just be a killing demons in dark alleys kind of guy.”

“Not as many dark alleys as you might expect,” the Shadowhunter said. “And usually not this many demons at once.”

“Or with quite such charming company?” Magnus suggested. Only two left. “Because I certainly don’t.”

“Well, you’ve done a pretty decent job of proving you’re not the one who summoned the demons, at least.”

The Shadowhunter’s arrow hit one of the remaining two demons just as his own flames took down the other.

Magnus gave the Shadowhunter a sidelong glance. “Glad to know being in mortal peril helped with my credibility.”

Magnus turned to face the little girl, who was clinging to the leg of the Shadowhunter’s pants and crouched down to her level. She shrunk back from him, and after a moment’s hesitation, he unglamored his eyes. “Hi, my name is Magnus. Are you Madzie?”

The girl eyed him warily, then nodded once.

“Iris called me for help when the demons attacked your house, but I didn’t get there before you left. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.” He pulled the stuffed rabbit out of his coat. “Leigh said you’d want Mr. Flopsy when I found you.”

The girl grabbed Mr. Flopsy and watched him shyly. “You know Nana?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Can you take me to her?”

“I’m sorry, sweet pea,” Magnus said, “but I don’t know where your nana is right now. I’m going to do everything I can to find her, though. And I can take you where Leigh and Noah are now if you want. My friend Catarina is taking care of them.”

Madzie looked at him for a long moment, then up at the Shadowhunter. “Are you coming?”

The Shadowhunter’s face showed a flicker of surprise before melting into a soft smile. “Yeah, I can come. I just need to let the rest of my team know where I’m going.” He glanced at Magnus, still smiling, and oh, Magnus was in trouble. “Where am I going?”

“My loft,” Magnus answered, too aware of the answering smile he had absolutely no control over. “In Brooklyn Heights. I’m Magnus, by the way.”

“Alec,” the Shadowhunter answered, his smile widening and making him somehow even more stunning. “I’m gonna,” he gestured over his shoulder awkwardly, eyes never leaving Magnus’s.

“Right,” Magnus said. “Call your team.” Finally, when it was nearly over, his day was starting to look like it just might make up for a little of the shitshow it had been.

“Yeah,” Alec said. And then his legs buckled beneath him.

Acting on instinct, Magnus reached out to steady him. Alec fell against his side, unable to get his feet back under him, and Magnus very intentionally pushed the way Alec’s back muscles felt beneath his hand to the back of his mind with a mental note to revisit that later, preferably not in the middle of a crisis.

“Sorry,” Alec muttered. “Sorry, I can’t—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Magnus told him. “Are you injured?”

“Left knee,” Alec said, wincing. “Thought I cut it on some glass. Just need to—” He pulled out a stele and activated his iratze.

Nothing happened.

“I’m going to wager a guess,” Magnus said, leading Alec to lean against the nearest wall, “that it was not glass. Let me take a look.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Alec protested. “I just need to get back to the Institute.”

“Nonsense,” Magnus waved him off. “I’m right here, and it’s less effort to just heal whatever is wrong with you than portal you back to the Institute.” Probably. Maybe. “Besides, I owe you for rescuing Madzie.”

Alec’s voice was sharp when he answered, “You don’t owe me for that. She needed help and I was here. And it’s my job,” he added, an obvious afterthought.

“Then,” Magnus said, crouching down to examine Alec’s knee, “consider this my way of saying thank you.”

It didn’t take him long to find it: a small wound just beneath Alec’s thigh holster. Madzie crowded in beside him, and he let her look, hoping the small size of the wound would ease her fears that Alec was seriously hurt.

“Demon venom,” Magnus concluded. “Not much or you wouldn’t still be conscious, but it’s been in your system too long for your iratze to help. I’ve got a potion that will take care of it back at the loft.”

It was a testament to how badly the venom was affecting him that Alec just nodded instead of arguing. Or maybe he really did take Magnus’s line about a thank you at face value. Either way, he let Magnus put an arm around him and help him off the wall.

Magnus was about to open a portal when two more Shadowhunters dashed into the alley.

“Alec!” the dark-haired woman cried, rushing toward them.

“‘M fine, Iz,” Alec mumbled, very clearly not fine. “I’ve got everything under control,” he explained, before promptly passing out on Magnus’s shoulder.

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fanfic

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sunsetmaiden · 4 years ago

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God are you ever just like "maybe im the l'm the problem?"

I think the #1 thing i struggle with generally that i have noticed that other people have zero concern for how loud they are? like just with their movements and general existence?

I never noticed before living with someone how much I try to make myself as small as possible. I turn the door knobs carefully so that they don't click and shut the door so gently. Always walking softly. I developed a thing where I wouldn't ever want to watch things I liked around other people or ever listen to any music I liked around people. And that's??? not normal??? and it sets me off to be around other people with their lack of concern about it at times. When I think back on it, when I think back especially on the August night. Talk about a trauma response. when people think about triggers or talk about them....do they realize it can be stuff like that? I can't be the only one. I didnt even realize thats what that was for me. and why do I have to be so quiet. even in my apartment all alone I feel afraid that I'm bothering my neighbour's that I'm being too loud, that they can hear everything in here. Which is stupid because I can't hear them living their lives. But I have to actually remind myself!!!!! that they aren't being extra quiet!!!!!!!!!! its just that I can't hear anything because neither can they hear me!!!!!!! Why am I like that. This is why I broke up with my therapist because whenever I said something like that she'd be like "you need to continue to work on forgiveness. and pray."

I think criticism makes me feel so small. Any moment of feeling stupid at all, any gap of knowledge or instance where I somehow didn't think it all the way through to every possible outcome, I feel genuinely like a complete idiot. Like a lot of my perception of myself is me thinking I am actually stupid. Literally. Not exaggerating. My cheeks burn just writing that. Like I spend a lot of time thinking I'm actually like mentally incompetent even though I know I'm not? Like I do know a lot of things? I write and speak well, I can do math, whatever. not that that matters I don't know i just mean I am a competent person with many skills why is my self perception so skewed? I dont want to attract attention by not being perfect at any moment and one step ahead or on track or prepared or having it all together. whatever that means. the least inconvenience.

Probably I just need more therapy. Or one of those sad lights. Modern human society is really not intune with the natural rhythms and syncs of nature as we used to be, and apparently that's a big thing about it all. Makes sense to me. I wish life was simpler. Maybe I'm just some kind of luddite but I hate it all. social media, the apps, the ads, the whole thing. Our artificial lights and living out of sync with nature's time. Great and terrible. So much is just not right in our world. Glaring obvious defects and issues. Needless suffering. Etc. The human condition.

I'm going to cry more and then meditate and hopefully, fall asleep. I drank a pot of coffee late so I could do some cleaning and because I knew I couldn't sleep anyway with family court tomorrow. I wish things weren't like this. But that's a waste of time and I need to have acceptance.

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scotiaeire · 4 years ago

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JUST THINKING OUT “LOUD”.

I’M AN OLDER WOMAN, WHO GREW UP IN THE TIMES WHEN IF YOU HAD A TELEVISION YOU WERE CONSIDERED WELL OFF. VIDEO RECORDERS HADN’T BEEN INVENTED YET. MOBILE (CELL) PHONES WERE THE STUFF OF STAR TREK AND SCI FI. THE NET? WE’D NEVER HAVE IMAGINED IT, EXCEPT IN STORIES.

AND HERE WE ARE. THE AVERAGE SMARTPHONE HAS MORE TECH IN IT THAN IT TOOK TO PUT ARMSTRONG ON THE MOON.

FEW FOLKS WATCH TV NOW, BECAUSE EVERYONE HAS “A DEVICE”, NORMALLY THEIR PHONES, TABLETS, WHATEVER THEY CALL THEM NOW. AT THE LEAST, A LAPTOP (ME. I’M A LUDDITE. I TOLERATE THE LAPTOP BECAUSE, GOING BLIND, I CAN’T *SEE* ANYTHING SMALLER)

AND WATCHING ALL THIS TECH COME INTO BEING, FOLKS OF MY GENERATION HAD OPTIMISM..IT HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL. ALL THAT POWER, THE CAPABILITIES. WOULD IT HELP HEALTH BE DIAGNOSED OR TREATED EASIER? WOULD IT HELP FAMILIES SCATTERED ACROSS THE GLOBE KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ONE ANOTHER?

WELL, AYE, IT DOES BOTH OF THOSE THINGS.

BUT LOOK AT WHAT ELSE IT DOES...

IT ALLOWS HACKERS TO STEAL FROM THE BANK ACCOUNTS OF VULNERABLE OLD OR POOR PEOPLE. AND EVEN IF IT’S NOT CASH THEY WILL STEAL, IT’S INFORMATION, A LOT OF IT INTIMATE AND PERSONAL, PRIVATE. AND BY “HACKERS” I’M NOT JUST MEANING SOME GUY IN A BLACK HOODIE SITTING IN A DARKENED ROOM IN A BASEMENT SOMEWHERE. GOVERNMENTS AREN’T ABOVE WATCHING YOUR EVERY MOVE ONLINE EITHER, FROM WHERE YOU SHOP AND WHAT YOU BUY TO READING YOUR EMAILS, FOLLOWING YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA (SOME POOR BUGGERS IN GOV OFFICES MUST HAVE HELLUVA BORING JOBS, REALLY...)

IT ALLOWS NARCISSISTS OF ALL AGES, TYPES AND MINDSETS TO CREATE “BRANDS” OF THEMSELVES..LITERALLY, SELLING THEMSELVES...BY SETTING UP ACCOUNTS THAT ARE CAREFULLY CURATED, CAREULLY STAGED, ALL TO PRESENT A LIFE THAT IS *NOT* THEIR REAL, ACTUAL LIFE, BUT MORE OF A WISHLIST.

IT ALSO, BY DEFAULT, HAULS MASSES OF FOLKS INTO SITTING ON THEIR ARSES, SPENDING HOURS SCROLLING THROUGH PIC AFTER PIC, POST AFTER POST, IMAGE AFTER IMAGE, JUST STARING AT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THEY DON’T KNOW AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL, ARE DOING.

WHAT A WASTE OF TIME AND ENERGY....

IT ALLOWS US TO BE TARGETED LEFT RIGHT AND CENTRE BY COMMERCIAL CORPORATIONS SEEKING TO SELL US JUNK, WHETHER WE NEED IT OR NOT. AND FAR TOO MANY FALL FOR THAT, WHEN THEIR CASH COULD BE SPENT MORE PRODUCTIVELY.

IT CREATES ENVY, AS THOSE WHO FEEL THEIR LIVES LACK EXCITEMENT OR ADVENTURE LOOK AT THE FAKE LIVES OF “INFLUENCERS” (THAT IS SUCH A LOADED WORD BTW) AND SO CALLED “CELEBRITIES” (WHEN I WAS YOUNG, TO BE A CELEBRITY, YOU HAD TO HAVE *DONE* SOMETHING OF WORTH OR AT LEAST, BE A HALF DECENT ACTOR, NOT JUST A PRETTY FACE) AND THAT ENVY IN TURN CREATES DEPRESSION AS FOLKS REALISE THEY’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO OBTAIN THOSE MAKE BELIEVE LIFESTYLES.

AND IT *IS* MAKE BELIEVE. TRY IMAGINING, FOR A MOMENT, YOUR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY SITTING ON THE TOILET. PICKING THEIR NOSE. LAZING AROUND ON THE SOFA WITHOUT A SCRAP OF MAKEUP, CONTOURING OR THREE INCH THICK EYEBROWS, READING TRASHY MAGAZINES.

IT ALLOWS “CYBER BULLYING” WHERE ANONYMOUS SHITTY PEOPLE THINK IT’S OK TO RIP TO SHREDS THOSE WHO ARE VULNERABLE, FRAGILE AND UNABLE TO FIGHT BACK.

I’M AN OLDER WOMAN WHO NEVER THOUGHT THIS TECH WE USE ON A DAILY BASIS WOULD EVER COME TO PASS. YET GOVERNMENTS ALLOW US THE USE OF IT, BECAUSE IT KEEPS US DISTRACTED FROM REAL LIFE. LIKE A DRUG FOR THE MASSES, AS THEY USED TO SAY TELEVISION WOULD BE. (THEY WERE RIGHT THOUGH...)

IT HAS BECOME, ALMOST, A NECESSITY AS, MORE SO IN THESE TIMES, FINANCIAL TRANSACTIONS SUCH AS PAYING BILLS, BUYING GOODS ETC, CAN ONLY MAINLY BE PERFORMED ONLINE NOW, AND TO DO THAT YOU *HAVE* TO HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT WITH CARDS, AND THEY REQUIRE NOT ONLY THOSE DETAILS BUT YOUR PHONE NUMBER AND IN MANY CASES, YOUR NAME, DATE OF BIRTH AND MORE.

THEY’LL WANT YOUR DNA NEXT BEFORE YOU CAN BUY A LOAF OF BREAD....

SEE WHAT THEY’VE DONE?

YES, THE NET HAS IT’S GOOD FACETS. BUT IN MY OPINION (WHICH DOESN’T COUNT FOR ANYTHING BUT HERE I AM, ON SAID SOCIAL MEDIA, GIVING IT ANYWAY) THE BAD OUTWEIGHS THE GOOD.

YOU’RE SPIED UPON. HACKED. BULLIED. ENVIED OR WILL ENVY. CONSTANTLY PAYING BILLS ONLINE. BUYING JUNK YOU LIKELY DON’T NEED ONLINE DUE TO CONSTANT ADVERTISING OF SAID JUNK.

WORSE, WE GET THE NEWS FROM ALL AROUND THE WORLD AS AND WHEN IT HAPPENS.

BUT NOT THE GOOD NEWS, OH NOPE. WE GET THE WARS, KILLINGS, RAPES, VIOLENCE, SHITTY POLITICS, FEAR-MONGERING PLAGUE STORIES AND MORE. AND MOST OF US ARE NOT IN A POSITION TO HELP CHANGE IT OR DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. THAT’S THE SIMPLE TRUTH. ALL DESIGNED TO KEEP US IN OUR PLACE....RIGHT WHERE OUR RESPECTIVE GOVERNMENTS WANT US.

SO KEEP ON BEING DISTRACTED BY ALL THE PRETTY PICTURES. THE LOVELY PEOPLE. THE CAREFULLY STAGED LOG CABIN INTERIORS. ALL THE LOVELY STUFF YOU DON’T ACTUALLY *NEED* FOR SALE. SIT AND RAGE OR COWER OVER HOW “AWFUL” THE WORLD OUT THERE IS WITH THE INCOMING CONSTANTLY BAD NEWS, WHILST FORGETTING THAT EVERY DAY SIMPLE ACTS OF KINDNESS AND SMALL BUT IMPORTANT *GOOD* THINGS HAPPEN TOO. THEY’RE JUST NOT REPORTED IN MAINSTREAM MEDIA.

BUT DON’T FORGET, THERE’S A REAL WORLD OUT THERE. AND A LOT OF THIS GENERATION CAN’T WALK ALONG A STREET AND DARE TO LOOK ANOTHER PERSON IN THE EYE, IT MAKES THEM SO UNCOMFORTABLE.

NOBODY SMILES AND SAYS “HELLO” NOW. IT’S ALL HEAD’S DOWN AND SCROLLING.

IN EXILE IN BELGIUM, I ONCE SAW A TEENAGE GIRL LITERALLY COME WITHIN INCHES OF BEING RUN DOWN BY A TRAM BECAUSE SHE WAS CHATTING TO HER BOYFRIEND ON HER PHONE. I WAS ON THAT TRAM. INCHES.....

HEAD DOWN, GIGGLING AND LAUGHING. TRAM DRIVER HONKED THE HORN AND YELLED AT HER. SHE NEVER EVEN LOOKED UP. NEVER EVEN BLINKED. DID NOT DEVIATE FROM WHAT SHE WAS DOING...FLIRTING ONLINE WITH HER FELLA. AND SHE ALMOST DIED.

*THIS* IS WHAT MODERN TECH IS DOING.

DO I ADVOCATE WALKING AWAY FROM IT ALL? NO. BECAUSE IT *DOES* HAVE A GOOD SIDE. BUT I DO, AND ALWAYS WILL BELIEVE, PEOPLE HAVE TO FIND THE HAPPY MEDIUM..WHERE YOU USE ONLINE LIFE AND MODERN TECHNOLOGY AS A TOOL ONLY WHEN NECESSARY.

AND THAT YOU DON’T LET IT RULE YOUR LIFE TO THE POINT WHERE IF YOU HAVE A NET-LESS DAY, YOU FEEL EVEN FAINTLY ANXIOUS ABOUT IT.

THERE’S AN AWFUL LOT OF SHIT ONLINE. FAKE NEWS. LIES. DANGEROUS STUFF LIKE PORN AND PAEDOPHILIA MASQUERADING AS INNOCENCE. BAD POLITICAL AGENDAS. STUPID ONLINE FEUDS. EMPTY HEADED MEDIA (ASK ME IF I GIVE A F*CK WHAT ANY ONE OF THE BRITISH ROYALS EVER DOES OR WEARS....) AND AN AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE FALL INTO THAT HOLE AND NEVER DIG THEIR WAY OUT.

BUT SOME ARE WAKENING UP. SOME ARE ADVOCATING TECH FREE DAYS. SOME ARE SAYING JUST WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING (WELL, MAYBE WITHOUT THE “WHEN I WAS A GIRL” BECAUSE THEY’RE MOSTLY YOUNGER FOLKS AND NOBODY LISTEN TO OLD PEOPLE ANYMORE, IF THEY EVER DID)

ANYWAYS, AFORE I SIGN OUT, HERE’S A FEW TIPS:

THAT INFLUENCER YOU’RE FOLLOWING? FAKE.

THAT CELEBRITY YOU ENVY? FAKE.

99% OF THE NEWS YOU’RE HEARING? IF NOT FAKE THEN SERIOUSLY MANIPULATED TO SUIT WHICHEVER GOVERNMENTAL AGENDA IT FOLLOWS. AND BY DOING SO, YOUR OWN MINDSET.

AND HERE’S A VERY SPECIAL TIP. IF YOU LIVE ANYWHERE NEAR TRAFFIC, LEAVE YOUR PHONE IN YOUR BAG/POCKET/WHEREVER. DON’T TAKE IT OUT AT ALL. AND ESPECIALLY NOT WHEN CROSSING ROADS/TRAMLINES/BUSLANES.

ABOVE ALL, TRY WALKING AWAY FROM IT FOR A WHILE ON A REGULAR BASIS AND TAKING AN ACTUAL LOOK AT LIFE AROUND YOU. THERE’S PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO AREN’T EVEN ONLINE. MAYBE THEY’D LIKE TO BE FRIENDS? TRY SEEING NATURE WITHOUT A CAMERA LENS...GO SMELL THE AIR, TOUCH THE LEAVES, WALK THROUGH THE SCENE YOU’RE TRYING TO SHOOT THE BEST OF. SIT A WHILE AND DRINK IT IN. EXPERIENCE IT FOR REAL.

(JUST HALF AN HOUR AGO I SAW A BEAUTIFUL IMAGE OF A YOUNG GIRL SITTING ON A DECK BESIDE A LAKE. BEAUTIFULLY STAGED, BUT I CAN TELL YOU FROM HARD EXPERIENCE, SIT THE WAY SHE WAS (BACK ARCHED TO LOOK SLENDER ETC) AND YOUR ARSE WOULD BE HURTING, YOUR SHOULDERBLADES GETTING SPLINTERS FROM THE WOOD FENCE AND YOUR TEETH FIRMLY GRITTED. JUST SAYING.)

I USE VIDEO CAMERAS TO TAKE IMAGES AROUND MY HOME. WHY? BECAUSE I’M ALMOST BLIND. I USE THE CAMS AS TOOLS. I TAKE FOOTAGE (WHICH INVOLVES AIMING IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION AND HOPING I’M ACTUALLY FILMING WHAT I WANT TO SEE) THEN I UPLOAD IT TO MY LAPTOP AND VID CHANNEL SO THAT, THROUGH A LARGER, CLOSER SCREEN, I CAN ENLARGE AND *SEE* WHAT MY EYES NO LONGER DO. IT’S THE ONLY WAY, NOW, MY EYES CAN SEE THE LANDSCAPE THAT SURROUNDS ME IN ANY DETAIL.

THOSE ARE TOOLS. THAT’S A GOOD WAY TO USE THEM.

I’VE SEEN SOME HORRENDOUS USES OF TECH OVER TIME. FROM THE GHOULS TAKING PICTURES OF ROAD ACCIDENTS OR PEOPLE BEING BEATEN (WHEN THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN GOING IN TO HELP) TO THAT GIRL AND OTHERS ALMOST BEING KILLED, SO INTENT ON WHAT WAS ON THEIR SCREEN THEY WERE, IGNORING THE *REAL* WORLD AROUND THEM.

DON’T BE A SLAVE TO YOUR TECH. BE IT’S MASTER. AND COME BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AT LEAST ONCE IN A WHILE.

#THOUGHTS #TECHNOLOGY #SLAVES TO IT #MOST OF ONLINE *LIFE* IS FAKE...#CONSTANT NEWS IS HARMFUL #WATCH OUT FOR TRAMS FORGODSSAKES!

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