#for legal reasons i am required to tell you this is a joke

[wyervan]

happy holidays!! I hope u had a lovely day :3 (i just rewatched willy wonka & the chocolate factory......... the vibes seem Right, Somehow)

Thought of @/bluerasbunny’s comic immediately

[deepseaspriteblog]

Yooo, homestuck 2024 reboot? How are we feeling about the Homestuck: Rescratched early look redesigns?

...for legal reasons I am required to tell you that this is a joke, don't worry. It's just been thinking about a hypothetical reboot with updated designs and how that would look. I'll probably be messing around with these designs a bit more, make them look cooler.

[finniestoncrane]

Do you think Arkham Riddler would ever feel weird about the idea of dating a younger subordinate? Like, I know it wouldn’t be an issue legally, dating someone in their 20s or 30s. But I wonder if he ever feels guilty knowing that he still is capable of holding a certain power over them, in age, employment, finance. I know Edward *enjoys* power. But for some reason, I feel like the idea might make him feel guilty for once in his shameless existence.

ok anon i have thought about this EXTENSIVELY since my self-insert oc for self-shipping purposes is obviously my age, 30

so in general, i don't think eddie ever thinks about it. for someone like him i think he's so dead set on not being into anyone and not needing a partner that when he finds himself liking someone, he just goes along with it because obviously they offer him something. and he requires so much care himself he's able to be vulnerable with them, which offers a little bit of equality!!

for me personally, my wee noggin is rife with daddy issues and a need for attention and praise from an older figure, plus i just wanna fuck old men so bad, so it's like... super sexy the idea of him being in control and dominating and all that power play. i literally want to live like that "what's the economy" "don't worry about it baby" "ok yay!" meme like i'm sorry

BUT i like to imagine it fills him with SO MUCH guilt lmao but only when he realises it, like only when it's staring him in the face. most of the time he'll be like "oh that's just my partner, an ageless being that i tolerate" but i've written little scenarios before of him patronising her, and when she responds with "i'm a grown woman, i'm 30 years old" he's jsut dumb struck, eyes wide, face pale like "oh good god you are a child" because in my mind, he is 55 and no one can tell me any different

of course it also leads to very pleasant interactions between them like him realising that the last time he had sex was round about when connie was born (he was busy, ok?) and when she makes a joke about him "waiting for her" he has to go sit in silence and think about his life for a while

so yeah sorry to make that about me and my oc lmao but i think he wouldn't ever really think about it, but the moment he did, he'd be like "oh. am i? another cradle snatcher with a young girlfriend? like sionis or cobblepot?" because they are the arm candy boys to me

[1tsjusty0u]

ackshually. how does knighthood work. is link's whole journey into knighthood same as canon or are there any changes? how did he feel about it

ALSO MILITARY TRAINING GROUNDS

knighthood….

alright so. this will be kind of uh. silly? but to me knighthood/Being A Knight is like. School. except instead of paperwork its training. get up at 5 am with 4 hours of sleep because 7-8 hours of your day was work with a 30 minute lunch break and either legally or socially your expected to/Have to go there and youre treated lesser than the instructor and can be punished for reasonable things and have to jump through hoops/use fae trickery to have sick days or not go in but still get like. the required credits/required training thingies due to broken bones or Really Bad sickness. just sucks ass. itd probably get more bearable the more ranks you go up, and the akkala citadel is probably the best possible place for knights to be honestly. i can imagine rooms being there and also im pretty sure the fort is for like. ships and stuff. so how much work actually goes on there is debatable. though im pretty sure theres a map of it in age of calamity i! have not played it nor emulated it yet </3 so i cant say how accurate this is. also im having guards only really be at like. castle town/posts like the east post ruins not hateno or lurelin. maybe guard the entrances as time goes on/if danger grows/link simply books it but Thats It. knights as well they only really follow the princess/do things around royal hylian buildings. its probably weird to specify but. yeag

i think it is? for canon he gets the mastersword at 13 and from zeldas diary hes only appointed as her knight like. recently/at 16. before then he was affiliated with it due to his father (miphas diary?). so probably. for wreath i dont think he ever actually becomes a knight/is in the royal army until 13 (which if he was for forced into it i think he Wouldnt be happy about it initially/his dad scared him by telling him about it.) so up until that point his dad basically just Visited from time to time and he got to hang out and do sword things which he didnt really think about besides “YEAAAAH SWORD FIGHTINF :D” until hes actually in the army. when he Is in the military if he didnt hate it before he does now!! if he could quit with no repercussions he would the second he could, but he views it as ‘theres no other options for me + my futures shit and fucked on if i dont do this/leave illegally’ so. yeah! and his dad really does Not help at all. how military-y any of this actually is is very debatable, and truthfully i could probably make this more accurate (my. sighs. my brother joined the actual military because free healthcare. hes not in like. the fighting department but hes still trained for that. the first weeks were at some fort and it was Hell for him. like he had to sit in close to genuine freezing weather with no actual cold gear besides his uniform and his orders kept getting mixed up constantly??? different sargents all said different things and gave them different orders. like once he got past that point/fort my dad joked that he probably felt like nothing could be worse than that. so theoretically i could make it like that for link. will i is the question. sorry for the . not infodump but personal dump).

the training grounds!!! i personally think thats how he got into the lost woods but the actual amount of times hes been there is sparse (until hes knighted). he probably viewed it as a playground as first but when he has to do actual training there he would despise it so badly. but this is where drills and such happen and i think itd be sectioned off (because if i recall correctly theres like. terraces? of mud? like theres different sections of mud and buildings) for different drills. knights probably go there daily while guards Dont. i think itd just pain your muscles. also the mud was probably always there and not after the calamity. i dont think thered be any monsters in there? just because it would cause collateral not because the royal family/army is against putting up soldiers and monsters against each other. otherwise nnot much to say? link would get muscle cramps constantly probably he does Not know any stretches. but yeag. i like how gaffen is born in rauru settlement and while im not doing that for wreath link i Do like the idea of rauru settlement being connected to the military/military training grounds. itd probably be where knights stay at first maybe? or it could be be unrelated which would be kind of funny considering noise complaint possibilities. trying to sleep but these stupid knights keep clashing their stupid swords

[officeobject]

New "lawyer" needed, because my last one got mad that I insisted my unconventional friendship with someone, was still a friendship.

(Full context at the reblog thing before this aka https://www.tumblr.com/officeobject/767340263580499968/im-unsure-how-old-you-are-but-your-fixation-on?source=share , but),

If you wanna basically role-play as a lawyer but it's serious and like a job but you also don't get court cases or paid, then this might be for you!

My last "lawyer" basically quit (unrelated to "lawyer" stuff though), so I'm gonna need a new one, who won't quit on the personality with a unique brain, that they have to defend!

I'm not good in any arguments at all, and I'm emotional, so if you wanna answer questions about why people are the way that they are sometimes, or how I should respond, or even generate an answer, then GOOD, because holy shit I'm bad at social interaction, but maybe you're bad in a good enough way! You might need to look at stuff, step in instead of me, or tell me I should've sent you the case a long time ago, because personal conversations that turn weird, might be your life now!

You might have to tell me what to do, and generally speak for me, trying to make the person see MY point of view or shut the fuck up, and when you're done saving my fragile confused self, you can enjoy compensation in the form of absolutely nothing, or a "thank you"!

Sudden cases and spending time with me in a non-real job with a spontaneous and unspecified schedule as you try to tell me that wishing the worst things upon me is indeed overreaction - is indeed possible, with EXCITING additions, such as: different ages that matured less than my local 9 year old, nonsensical sentences, overly rude people, extra curse words, AND, people being ableist (and whatever else), for no fecking reason!

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! Tell me what to do with armchair-diagnoses and people calling me all kinds of things for believing in ghosts (might be a reoccurring thing)!

WAIT ... THERE'S MORE! Get funny moments where I say stuff like "wait 'til I tell my lawyer about this!" Or something.

THERE'S MORE! You get to tell me what the feck a "lawyer" is called.

AAAAAAND, NO AGE-LIMIT! I don't unironically know who would sign up for this, and I don't know why, and yes I trust a fecking teenager to handle this stuff over me -

*Insert variation towards end of commercial*! This is legal (I think), and not a job so you won't have to deal with money, and you will have something to spend time on anyway!

Deal with obnoxious people NOW, and get a FREE "what the fuck?!"-included sentence!

SOW HAT WHARE YOU WAIRING FOR?!

Message NOW, and get an additional judgement towards you as a person, and a lot of confusing questions asked, along with the opportunity to meet ME! Start your free Tumblr-lawyer legally not legal not-job today!

Friendship not required or guaranteed.

(I'm posting this as a joke because funny commercial joke "who the feck would actually want this?!" Thing, but I do genuinely need this, and this DOES have genuine information, and I AM genuinely looking, and it's for my autism, so it gets the autism tag).

[st-juliet]

Utmost Merit, Part II

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: 18+ for suggestive language (breeding kink is the star of this fic) and smut, specifically our heroine being fingered sort of in public (indoors and uninterrupted), and frank discussion of pregnancy.

Notes: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. And hello, I’m back!!! I lost this whole chapter in a computer disaster, and then was occupied writing for my work, but I thank you for your patience, and for all the absolutely hear-soaringly lovely comments and reblogs on Part I of this story! Most especial thanks to my darlings: @crazybutconfidentaf  @inlovewithhisblueeyes  @donutloverxo  @ghotifishreads​

Previous Chapter: Part I

The necessary legal and social arrangements are made with your brothers’ assistance, but when it came to the logistical matters, you and Sherlock had been left to your own devices, which in this particular instance meant that you invited him along for one of your early morning walks, on a beautiful sunny day, to discuss the particulars of your wedding.

"This is very peaceful,” he remarks, and you note with a pang of undeniable tenderness that he has matched his pace to yours, slowing his long strides to match your smaller steps. “I confess I am not always up before noon unless a client calls, but I���m beginning to see the appeal of the sunrise. I hope you will not cease this practice once we are married.”

“Not when it is half the reason we will be married in the first place!” you laugh. “I hope you will find some occasion to join me, when you wish to. And I think when the baby comes—” Ah, how easily that phrase has slipped into both of your vocabularies. “—I might have a little companion to perambulate with me.”

“You certainly shall. And we must spend summers on the estate—there you may walk for leagues in the woods and fields. I hardly know the extent of the grounds myself. And we might honeymoon there, as well.”

“I would be honored, Sherlock.”

“But we must of course set the date. When would you be married?”

“I see no reason to delay,” you reply, hopeful that he will not think your enthusiasm too bold.

“Excellent.” He nods approvingly. “Let us see: in three weeks’ time the reading of the banns shall be completed, so perhaps the ceremony could be held on the following Saturday? Will that give you time to caparison yourself as you prefer? I wouldn’t want to deny you the joy of your bridal provisions.”

“My gown will certainly be completed by then…and if I am a few handkerchiefs or nightgowns shy of a full trousseau, I’m sure you will not cast me aside!”

“I will not. Nightgowns are welcome…but by no means required.”

He casually glances away from you, then cuts his eyes back with a somewhat suggestive smile. Your careless joke has sparked a flirtatious tone in him that is a complete revelation to you. The Great Detective, flirtatious? Moveable by a nightgown? He had professed himself anything but a romancer, but in this moment, you thought he might not know the extent of his power…nor neither of you the extent of yours. But all these thoughts—of how you might move him yet further, of how your heart whispered that this was not just lust, not just the chance of a child, but something more, that draws you to him—are dispersed by the sensation of his hand brushing against yours, the gentlemanly offer of his arm, which you accept, bringing you a little closer together as you walk.

“Rosamund, let us endeavor to be entirely honest with one another.”

“A fine foundation for marriage,” you concur, trying to breathe deeply, but not obviously, to still your racing, reckless heart.

“Indeed. And upon that foundation, will you tell me if you are aware of the manner in which a child is conceived and borne?”

“Yes, I am. In theory. My parents were quite…quite bohemian in some respects, and thought it best I were properly, scientifically educated, for my own protection and my wellbeing in marriage.”

“I am very glad to hear it. And if you—well, should you have questions about anything which I might answer more specifically or, as you say, scientifically, than your married friends, I entreat you to ask. We have nothing to be ashamed of between us.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” you say, emotion welling behind each word. You walk in comfortable silence for a moment, before remembering your purpose:

“Oh, and—pardon me, if we might return to the day of the marriage proper—I was distracted—“ You laugh a little, hoping you are not so flushed in the face as you feel. “I would like to host a wedding breakfast at my—my brothers’ home, for my friends and for yours, if you do not object. A farewell to my childhood home, and a way to bring the old and new together.”

“Excellent; I should enjoy that as well. And on a similar subject: there is the matter of our own home. We have spoken already of the estate, of course, but my business will keep me in London most of the year.”

“Then we will stay with you. You should not have to take a train to see your children.”

This brings out a particularly beaming smile. Who in the world could have ever thought this man—this vibrant, capricious, thoughtful, witty man—to be an automaton? Does he even know, you muse, how dearly, wonderfully human he is?

“I presently reside in lodgings at Baker Street, and will maintain the flat to serve as my office—for the sake of your safety and privacy—but I mean to purchase a home, perhaps in Belgravia, that would be more suitable for our family. In fact, I will be viewing a house this very afternoon and have some hopes it may prove ideal.”

“May I accompany you?” you ask, and he smiles in surprise, and evident pleasure.

“But of course,” he answers. “Forgive me—I ought to have asked you to begin with. I did not mean to exclude you from the decision.”

“Not at all. It is something new for both of us—to think as part of a pair and not simply for oneself. We will both need to get accustomed to it.”

“You make it very easy to do so, Rosamund.”

Somehow, it is this simple, unromantic compliment, even more than his allusive comment about your nightgowns, which truly makes you blush, and your heart sing in your breast.

He makes it easy, too.

That afternoon, you arrive together at the house, met by the current proprietors’ solicitor who takes you on a tour. Sherlock rigorously inspects floorboards, delights in a magnificent marble fireplace, and scoffs at the gauche, bird-covered wallpaper when the solicitor isn’t looking, which makes you laugh. You feel as though you learn a dozen new things about him by virtue of what he seeks in a home, and he is granted the same insight to you: he loves the color red but cannot abide purple, you love when floorboards creak because it reminds you that you are not alone in an empty home, you would both be inclined to convert the greenhouse in the garden to a music room, neatly solving the Problem of the Midnight Violin.

On the second floor, you are introduced to an especially sumptuous library. It still bears the mark of the previous occupants; though the books are gone, chairs, settees, and a substantial desk remain.

“They have yet to cart this furniture away,” the solicitor explains. “But if you like it, we might be able to arrange to purchase it with the house?”

“It is a little old-fashioned, perhaps but there is something picturesque in the antiquity,” you offer.

“I agree,” Sherlock answers. “And it would save us a good deal of trouble, to have some furnishings already provided. Sir, will you make your inquiry? The cost is not of consequence.”

“Of course. I’ll return—please do make yourselves at home in the meantime!”

The man departs, and as his footsteps down the stairs fade, Sherlock paces about, examining the library as thoroughly as if he were searching for clues.

“It is all very dark and dusty,” he observes. “I don’t mind the former and we can easily set right the latter—but I wouldn’t want to condemn you to the shadows.”

“These windows face the West,” you note, and with an easy tug, you pull aside the curtain to reveal an exquisite sunset, painting the drab room anew with lovely, light colors. “We may have light or dark as we choose.”

Sherlock comes to stand beside you in the streams of fading light, and you are struck again by his handsome features. It always takes you off guard, how his magnificent eyes, curving lips, and sharp jaw affect you. This is meant to be a matter of business, of family, of providing a good man with a deserved heir…but still, you find yourself somewhat giddy, playing house with your husband-to-be, and seat yourself in the chair by the window, even daring to raise your arms in imitation of cradling a baby. “And here, Mr. Holmes…a more complete picture for your consideration. What do you think of it now?”

“Well, this is in all ways ideal,” he avers, smiling at your pose, and—seemingly without thought, on a sudden impulse, he kneels beside you, looking first into your eyes, then letting his gaze wander to your posed arms with their imaginary child, and down further still to your skirts spread about you. Almost transfixed, he fingers the lace at the hem of your light walking gown.

“Sherlock…”

“Allow me to say that I have always appreciated the way you dress,” he states, his voice low and deliberate as he continues to trace the trim…and then his hand slips beneath your skirt. “It becomes you so well…soft and simple and fresh…”

His fingertips brush your ankle, your calf, your knee and you smother a gasp, but you cannot possibly pull away. Such an intimate touch sets your skin aflame through the silk of your stockings, and you find yourself pressing against his touch, encouraging the caress as his hand climbs higher.

“Tell me, has your scientific education found any practical application?” he asks, his voice calm but intent as he strokes maddeningly gentle, light circles on your thigh through the fabric of your drawers. Your blush deepens.

“As I have said before, sir, I am…curious…” you manage, and you nearly shatter in an instant as he boldly, shamelessly finds your most sensitive place and begins to circle that bundle of nerves, guided by touch alone beneath the many layers of cloth that still separate you. He huffs in satisfaction as your hips move in time with his hand, seeking more friction, more heat, more closeness.

“My god, I can feel you—you’re wet for me—why, Rosamund, was it me you thought of in your curiosity, hmm? Have you wondered what it will feel like, when I take you to my bed?”

“Yes, oh, Sherlock,” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand and glancing furtively at the door, terrified that at any moment, the gentleman may return…and not for fear of your reputation, you realize, but because it means Sherlock would stop. And he cannot, he must not stop—it is too, too good—

“You want this, don’t you, Mrs. Holmes?” he murmurs, and your heart swells at the sound of your soon-to-be name falling from his lips. His sharp, keen eyes are fixed on yours as he moves his hand faster, more urgently. “You want to yield to me, want to come for me, like a good, obedient wife…“

You want it. You want it more than anything.

And in mere moments, you do come for him, just as he says, pressing your hand tighter against your mouth to stifle the absolutely indecent sounds that threaten to reveal your compromised state. He works you through your peak, whispering, “Good girl, good girl…”

And then, reality returns.

You stare at each other for a long moment, both of you crashing down to earth even as you tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Hastily, but not at all ungently, he withdraws his hand and stands, putting distance between you as you tidy your clothes and rise from the chair, both of you breathing deeply.

“Please, Miss Marlow, I must ask you to forgive me. I let my…my inclinations run away with me. I meant no disrespect—“

“I think there can be nothing to forgive!” you reassure him at once. This is a side you have not seen of the man you are to marry: he is uncomfortable, apologetic, almost shy as he glances back at you over his shoulder. “You yourself said we have nothing to be ashamed of between us, and you seek to satisfy my understanding of my own body, not any prurient or selfish desire.”

“You think very well of me,” he replies doubtfully, but his posture eases and his voice is a little less constricted.

“I have reason to, sir,” you state firmly, and this truly seems to touch him. “And it will facilitate our purpose, will it not…for me to…feel as I have just felt?”

“Yes, I have it on medical authority that it will,” he says, returning to stand beside you, all tension melting away into a your usual, familiar ease. “The Watsons are expecting their third.”

“Then there is utmost merit in practice.” He laughs softly, and you cannot help but tease him a little further: “Even under such daring circumstances.”

“I am somewhat wont to run into danger,” he admits.

“Then I will simply have to run after you. Sherlock.”

He inclines his head, and you tilt yours up to meet his kiss—

“You can keep the furniture!”

A voice in the doorway, the eager solicitor, interrupts you, and you draw apart, assuming a more respectable distance at once.

“Well, what do you think of it, sir?”

Sherlock glances down at you and pulls out his chequebook.

“We’ll take it.”

<3<3<3 If you liked this story, please do comment, reblog, or visit my masterlist! And here’s Part III!

[venomous--fics]

Anon asked: maybe a continuation of the peter b parker kid thing where they finally confront the mom and get the readers things back 😩💞💞

a/n: ask and thou shall receive! this spent so long in the drafts bc i felt so insecure about it tbh, so any feedback is appreciated! I love seeing messages about what you guys think! really keeps me motivated! also, requests are open

Warnings: mentions of past abuse

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, constantly looking at the clock. It was almost 5pm, you were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. Yes, he keeps track of everyone's schedules, yes he knows the exact second you should be walking through the door. He's already texted you, but maybe you had detention. Nah, you were a good student, he highly doubted you'd have to stay after school.

His phone finally rang, and he was way too quick answering it.

"You okay?"

"I need some help."

"What is it?" he was already out the door.

You sighed, knowing he was probably going to give you an earful later.

"Well, it's a really long story, right.. But my mom showed up after school-"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I think. Anyways, we got into it on the way home, which is no- Not normal." you adjusted how you were sitting, "And since she was dragging me back to the house, I figured I'd just get my crap and come home, right? Makes sense, saves us the tri-"

"She took you without permission?"

"Technically she is my m-...Parent. I guess, y'know, legally she can do whatever- But..Okay." you began to feel bubbles of anxiety and pain and even resentment form deep in your core, "She locked me out." You rubbed your neck.

"Are you," he paused, looking around at all the faces passing by him, "Still there?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Don't apologize, you didn't do anything."

"I keep causing problems for everyone."

"Not for me. Or Mj."

It was quiet on your end.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there in like ten minutes."

"You probably shouldn't."

"Nah, nah." He said, having a sudden wave of anger rush over him, "Let me take care of this."

And true to his word, Peter was there in ten minutes. You hopped up from your spot on the porch as he made his way up to the door and knocked on it as hard as he could. He gave you a reassuring pat on the back.

The door swung open, and your mother seemed awfully surprised and confused to see some random man just standing there. Peter held no emotion has he looked her dead in the eye, "Can we come in."

She opened the door wider so that way you two could step in.

"Go get your stuff." is all Peter said to you.

Wasting no time, and not wanting to be in the middle of a potential argument between the two, you skedaddled to your room. It almost felt like too much to be in there. It looked so empty and barren compared to your room at Peter and Mjs place. Seems really dull. Lifeless, almost. Dust covered every surface, which meant that nobody had ever even bothered to see if you were even still in there.

You heard their voices from the living room, but they seemed so distant, seeing as all you could focus on was every shitty thing that woman put you through.

You remember the day that you got bit. It made you deathly ill, and you just thought you were dying from some sort of allergic reaction to the spider bite. You tried to get her to take you to any doctor or anywhere that could help because all you could seem to see were stars.

Everything then was so loud. Everything was so bright. It was all too much, and you were certain that the reaper was waiting for you. What did she say?

"Suck it up and stop pretending. Everything has to be so dramatic with you."

Or that time you forgot a single item on the shopping list. You got this whole speech about how stupid you had to have been. To forget one item. It was the world's most useless item.

Everything else seemed to play all over again, all at once. Like a waterfall. It should've made you sad. It should've made you cry, or scream.

You recounted all the times you wanted to fight back, or just run away. Leave everything behind and just run until your legs gave out. But you never did. You always found some reason to linger.

The conversation was growing louder where Peter was.

"You aren't going to do this to them ever again. Sign the papers."

You nearly dropped your last belonging on the floor as you scrambled to your door. Papers? He wasn't serious. Well, obviously he was. He just said it.

"Fine. It's not like the-"

"Zip it. Sign the papers."

"Who are you anyways? The law? If so, whatever they've told you is a b-"

"Listen, lady. I didn't ask for any attitude. I told you to sign the papers." he seemed to huff in annoyance, "That doesn't require talking."

"I'm a good mother."

"And I'm the king of France."

"Really. I gave them a good home. I have fed them and kept them warm-"

"Really? You think you did all that? Or are you convincing yourself that you did all that?"

"I am-"

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Ye-"

"I've never said this about anyone, ever. I don't like speaking to or about anyone like this.. Ever, but, you? I think you're a piece of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, look. You finished signing the papers. I'll take those. Thank you."

Realizing that it was your time to go, you stuffed your blanket into your duffel bag and rushed out the door and down the hall. Peter looked at you, expecting to see at least three bags. But he only saw the one.

"Where's the rest of your stuff."

"Uhm," you shuffled around, pretending as thought you dropped some, "This...This is all my stuff."

"That can't be ri-" He laughed a little, and noting the expression on his face, you saw that he was NOT happy. "That? That single duffle bag is all you have? That's it?"

"Yes..." you took a step back, "This is all.."

"I can't believe it." he said, "You're joking! One bag worth of stuff?"

He turned his attention back to your mother, who, for the first time in your life, actually looked like she got caught red handed, "You're pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

"But they're so u-"

"No! No, you don't get to talk anymore. You've done enough."

You awkwardly shuffled behind him, in the event that you two had to make a mad dash out the door. That and you needed to not be seen as you tried to hide your almost evil grin.

"The hell is wrong with you? You have this amazing kid, and THAT'S all you've ever gotten for them? And you sit there and call yourself a mother? Absolutely, without a doubt, bullshit. I'd be ashamed of myself to call myself a father if that's all I've provided for my kid. Don't even get me started on you as a person, we made that clear."

It almost felt cursed to hear him swear, seeing as he made it a point to tell you to not swear. Every time you did, you have to give a quarter to the swear jar. Mj was always on your side, though. She'd say a swear that was much worse and have to pay a dollar. Each word had a value.

"Maybe we should just go." you suggested, tugging on the sleeve of his arm, "She's not worth it anymore."

"She was never worth it, it seems."

You finally made eye contact with her, and the look in her eye. It's like she understood, but was choosing to not do anything about the situation. She could look sorry all she wanted, but you knew she wasn't.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. You know that right."

"That means nothing to me."

"I can change."

"If you can change now, that means you could've changed then. You just chose not to."

"But I'm your mother, you should realize how I feel. You should want-"

"You're not my mom. You stopped being my mom the first time you-" You turned towards the door and started walking towards it, "Whatever. You mean nothing to me."

You practically kicked open teh door just to leave, and Peter was right behind you, shouting about how he'd make sure to egg her house everyday, just to piss her off.

"Do you really think I'm amazing?" you asked, the walk home feeling rather quiet.

"I think you're more than that. Just can't put it into words."

"Did you really mean it...That we could egg her house?"

"You want to? There's a store right on the way home."

"How about tomorrow."

"I'll have to clear up my busy schedule. See if I can work in a drive by egging. Well, swing by egging."

"You promise?"

"You kidding? I haven't egged anyone's house since college."

You had so much more you wanted to get off you chest, but you opted to just talk about it at home, with everyone present. You wanted to talk about how you felt about everything, and the papers. Whatever those were. But you were, for the moment, busy laughing about Peter's story about how he used to Egg this one reporters house. Someone named Jonah.

You wonder if Jonah ever put two and two together.

[korasonata]

Joe and Cleo model streams extended cut Part 2! (Streams 3 and 4)

—

STREAM 3

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Be careful with that thing” Im very careful with knives. Except for that time when I wasn’t.

—

Cleo (in response to chat asking about her friend Corpse): Corpse is not my husband. Ok? And they wouldn’t be anyway. Because they.

—

Cleo: I’m very confused Joe. I don’t know how to feel.

—

Cleo: Ok. I can do that. We can do that chat! I believe in you and myself…I- I don’t. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t.

Joe: That’s why you got me here to believe in you!

Cleo: Awww, thanks Joe!

Joe: You’re welcome Cleo!

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Black beer or clear beer?” No beer! I don’t believe in beer, it’s fictional. That’s just how it goes.

Joe: Yeah. Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.

—

Joe: One of my viewers asks “are you and Cleo real life childhood friends?” Yes, obviously as you can tell from our accents—

Both: We grew up—

Joe: On the same block—

Cleo: Yeah.

Joe: Uh, along the Thames there—

Cleo: Yes.

Joe: You know, we took different paths in life. Cleo obviously went to university and perused geology and teaching, whereas I ended up with an asbo and a bunch of weird telekinetic powers and things just kind of went wild from there.

Cleo: Yeah.

Joe: But now we’re back together again.

Cleo: Yeah! I mean— I mean after you saved the world a few times. It’s, ah…it’s necessary it— it felt right. To come back together.

Joe: Yep. It’s just— it’s just…it was time.

Cleo (reading chat): You thought Joe Hills was from Glasgow? Oh no no no no no no. No no, same— it’s a cockney accent, can’t you tell?

Joe: Yeah, that’s why I’m so good at rhyming.

Cleo: *snickering* I don’t think they believe us.

—

Joe: What is the British equivalent of a coffee shop?

Cleo: Umm…a coffee shop.

—

Joe: It looks like piece 3/4 will make sense at some point in the future.

Cleo: But today is not that day. And to be honest, tomorrow’s not looking great either.

—

Cleo (reading chat): *laughing* Joe thinks everyone is as well adjusted as he is!

Joe: Oh, I’m terribly adjusted! Do not adjust your Joes! It won’t help, we’ve tried!

—

Joe (reading chat): “You all heard Cleo say Joe would look good in shorts right?”

Cleo: *heavy sigh*

Joe: I mean, I’m gonna say, I’m not getting as much exercise as I used to, so it’s- don’t get your hopes up Cleo.

Cleo: I- I-…I mean, there’s only one person I wanna see in shorts and it’s not you, so we’re all good.

—

Joe (in British accent): Spot on.

Cleo: Better. You’re getting better at that you know. You’re not great, but you’re getting better.

Joe: Yeah. Well the thing is I need to be able to blend when I’m there. You know I don’t wanna call attention to myself in my accent.

Cleo: …Joe?

Joe: Yeah?

Cleo: Nothing you ever do is blendable.

Joe: …That explains why I’m so bad at painting. And making margaritas. Just kidding, I’m great at making margaritas. The secret is to get real Cointreau.

Cleo: I…Don’t— I’ve never really had a margarita.

Joe: WHAAAAAAAAAT??!!?!

—

STREAM 4

—

Joe: So, I’ve got to cut up the last couple pieces from my fourth page out of 17.

Cleo: Is this where I tell you I’ve got about 6 pages left on the dot?

Joe: Out of how many, though?

Cleo: Out of about…14?

Joe: Wow, so you’re like, halfway there.

Cleo: Well, literally the instructions say I’m halfway there. Although—

Joe: Oh really? They congratulate you on that?

Cleo: W—no, they—they—……thanks Joe…

—

Joe: I bet whoever makes those models, now that you and I are getting them back in vogue, it’s like “oh no! If only I hadn’t sold the last one to Cleo, I could sell 1000 of these today.”

Cleo: I mean, I don’t think anybody in the stream is going to go out and buy one when they’ve seen what it’s done to us. And our souls. Or lack thereof.

—

Joe (reading chat): “If Joe is Jar Jar and Cleo is Padme, who’s Bail Organa?” …I dunno, VintageBeef.

Cleo: *laughing* Just—Just VintageBeef.

Joe: Just VintageBeef.

Cleo: It just is! You and I both know that, so you guys need to know it.

Joe: Yeah, cause like I don’t think Bail Organa had any kids.

Cleo: Yeah he did, he had Leia.

Joe: Well, but he adopted Leia.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: And VintageBeef seems like, of all the Hermits, the one to most likely actually have the capacity to take on that sort of responsibility? I don’t know…

Cleo: No no, I can— I’m just running through the Hermits in my head, and I’m just like yeah that—that reads. That reads pretty well.

—

Joe (Dude bro voice): Has your heart even been weighed by Anubis, bro?

Cleo (dude bro voice): *laughing* Do you even lift? (Regular voice)…or no. That’s the opposite of what you want to do with a heart…

—

Cleo: I threaten to murder people all the time. One might say it’s part of my brand.

—

Cleo (reading chat): “Death threats are Cleo’s love language” *laughing* You’re not wrong.

—

Cleo: I’ve made plenty of mistakes! Learn from me! Like plenty of mistakes, which is why I’m doing this in my 40s. Joe just made his mistakes faster, that’s why he’s doing it in his 30s.

SILENCE

Joe: …Most of the jokes I wanna make about that, I—just in case my kid is tuning into the stream I’m gonna not—

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Because I am legally required not to disparage my ex-wife in front of her.

—

Cleo (in response to someone saying Joe’s hands are sufficient): No, my hands are sufficient. Joe has dexterous, wonderful hands. Get it right chat.

—

Cleo (about her Garrus mug): Next stream I shall use this for my beverage which I shall pretend is coffee. Which is what I used to do to the children at school.

Joe: Wait, you would pretend you were drinking coffee? What were you actually drinking? Rum?

—

Joe: My best is still the same, but my worst is getting less bad.

Cleo: That’s depressing and accurate. All at the same time.

Joe (tiredly): Yay! I strive for accuracy in all of my depressing statements. Cause it makes it harder to rebut them.

Cleo (softly and with care): I know.

—

Cleo (mocking people who push boundaries): If you were a PIN, what would you be?

Joe: *laughing* Like a PIN number?!

Cleo: Yeah!

Both: *laughing*

Joe: If you could be any PIN code—

Cleo: If you had an—what—what was your favourite PIN code, for example?

Joe: What’s your favourite 4-digit number?

Cleo: *laughing* What’s the 4-digit number you remember most in the world?

Joe: What’s the easiest to remember 4-digit number?

—

Cleo: I’m not going to get sushi from the Asda!

Joe (voice steadily getting higher): Oh my gosh, I am so glad that my face camera is off when we do those collab streams with Xisuma. Because like *laughing through the pain* a lot of them are just me screaming internally, but I’m not pushing to talk. And the reason I’m not pushing to talk is I’m also kind of screaming externally? And it’s just like, it’s just— *very high pitched incomprehensible gibberish*

Cleo: You—you do wonder sometimes with, with—with him. *laughing* See, thing is sometimes I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not, so—

Joe: If he says that he buys sushi at the Asda, I’m like 99% confident that he’s being serious.

Cleo: *laughing* He’s adorable and needs to be protected from this world.

[grace13star]

“Look, there’s a reason why you are not the president and never will be.” - Wilbur Soot (Am I The Villain?, 05:36)

Hi guys it’s me, Grace, with another mini essay about c!WIlbur Soot. Assume every name is about the character and not the real people. 

So there’s this scene that a lot of people use as evidence that Wilbur is “evil” or “manipulative” to Tommy in Pogtopia. If you ask for evidence of abuse or manipulation, this is a scene they point to first. 

Its literally the worst example they could give.

I’m sure you all know the scene. Wilbur and Tommy are arguing, and Wilbur tells Tommy that he’ll never be president and that they can’t trust anyone. 

So we’re gonna talk about this scene and lay out exactly how you’re wrong using critical thinking skills. We’re gonna talk about context. We’re gonna talk about quotes. We’re gonna talk about mental illness and ableism in this community. 

Strap in.

So first of all, the context. 

In the scenes leading up to the speech, Wilbur and Tubbo are exploring the tunnel system Tubbo has built under L’Manberg that leads to Pogtopia. He specifically shows him a false path he’s built so that if Schlatt ever comes down, he won’t be led straight to the rebel hideout. 

Surprise, surprise, Schlatt and Quackity show up. 

Tommy is also there at that point, and when Tubbo and Wilbur try to get him to crouch and hide so he doesn’t reveal their location, he ignores them and starts destroying the wall that is hiding them as they try to get him to stop. “Tommy, fill in the gap. (Tommy starts breaking more) No! Tommy, fill in the gap!” -(Am I The Villain?, 4:28)

Wilbur then gives in and lets Tommy have the path open, but he tells Tommy that he doesn’t want him at Schlatt’s decree because of how irresponsible he’s being. Tommy argues, and this is when Wilbur first says “This is why you are not the president and never will be.” Harsh? Maybe, but Tommy is doing things that are risking not only his and Wilbur’s life, but Tubbo’s as well. 

Schlatt and Quackity almost follow the path to Pogtopia, but luckily, Schlatt turns back to make his decree. 

The declaration of the Manberg festival is the first time Wilbur’s point of view is questioned. He has a very black and white viewpoint throughout the entire storyline.  “It was Dream, he’s kinda the bad guy. Yeah, we’re the good guys, we’re the good guys here.” - (Wilbur’s Niki joins L'Manberg: 22:28) The festival isn’t evil and doesn’t seem like some nefarious plan (we know later that it’s just a front for Tubbo’s execution, but it’s unclear whether that was planned from the announcement or if it was added later). 

This shakes his whole worldview, and the way he reconciles what he thought with what he knows now is deciding he’s the villain. Objectively, this isn’t even close to true. Schlatt was a tyrant who over taxed and imprisoned his citizens if they spoke out against him, and Wilbur’s government never really did anything. It’s worth noting as well, that one of Wilbur’s justifications is that Schlatt was elected legally. However, a lot of tyrants and dictators in history were also elected legally. Its the actions of the governing force that make them a bad leader, not whether or not they got their power legally. 

Wilbur’s response to realizing the world is a lot more morally grey is immediately the most extreme response. He thinks they should blow up Manberg and completely raze it. 

While Wilbur, in this video, claims that its because he can’t have it, he truly believes that Manberg is what caused conflict, and if he takes out Manberg, the conflict will disappear. This is confirmed by a Reddit analysis post that Wilbur reponded “Any truers” too.  Wilbur also says this directly in the video. “Do you know what would happen if we get L’Manberg back, Tommy? More blood would be shed.” -(Am I The Villain?, 18:56)

Now we get to the part that people claim is manipulation. 

First thing I’d like to say is this: look up what manipulation means for the love of god. Stop using buzzwords you don’t know the meaning of. 

This has become a problem with the meme “gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss,” where people joke about serious topics like manipulation and abuse and confuse it with completely normal things to do. I’ve seen so many people claim something is gaslighting only for it to be a character saying their opinion. It’s tiring, guys. 

Anyways, with this specific scene, people point to the part where Wilbur says “Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side? They’re lying to us! Tubbo? He’s lying to you, man!” - (Am I The Villain?, 20:27) 

This is not manipulation. 

This post explains it in a lot more depth (check it out, it’s very well written, thank you @the-redeemed-anon​), but to sum it up: manipulation requires coersion, intention, and withholding of truth. While Wilbur is trying to coerce Tommy, he does not lie to him, and that makes this persuasion and not manipulation. 

This scene, in my opinion, is just an extremely stressed, paranoid, and self deprecating man lashing out at one cause of his stress. Villainizing this scene and calling a perfectly normal emotional response manipulation and evil is not...great? Yes, he hurt Tommy. Yes, it was unfair of him, but I’ve had responses like this in real life and I didn’t have the stress of almost being killed hanging over me. It’s honestly surprising he didn’t lash out further. 

So how is this ableist?

Wilbur is a character with clear mental illnesses. He is paranoid, depressed, self-deprecating, and suicidal. There are no mental health resources on the server (at the time), no therapy or drugs, or anything that could help him. Even before exile he was under so much stress that any time he was alone he would scream and cry into his pillow. 

During L’Manberg, he kept all the bad parts of himself to the times when he was alone. Then, he was exiled and couldn’t hide it any longer. He starts lashing out and reacting in the only way he knows how, in the only way he can. 

The villain narrative only started appearing after this. 

There’s a stereotype in society that is especially prevelant in this community of calling mentally ill characters who don’t react in “good” ways insane or crazy. I see it literally every day. “Wilbur went insane and blew up L’Manberg.” “Wilbur was crazy.” Even the characters in roleplay call him that. I’ve even seen people claim that he is “a psychopath.”

It’s just plain and simple ableism. 

For one, using the terms “insane” or “crazy” especially in analysis is a good way to show you don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re too vague for actual analysis, and don’t actually describe anything about the character. Not to mention all of the stereotypes caught up in those words. Basically all of modern media uses it as a synonym for evil, especially horror movies. 

People seem to villainize Wilbur to an extreme degree all the time, even more so then other villains of the story. 

Dream, is a character who started most of the major conflicts of the server (Disc War, L’Manberg War, exile, Doomsday), blackmailed a neighboring country and threatening to imprison their people unless they exiled Tommy, abused and manipulated Tommy into almost committing suicide, planned to steal people’s things, pets, and even Skeppy so he could hold it over their heads and control them, and many other things, is excused because “Tommy was annoying” or because “we just don’t see his perspective.”

I personally don’t see Technoblade as a villain, I’m putting him on the list because he’s done much worse than Wilbur and he’s not called a villain most of the time, which shows the double standard people have for Wilbur. While Wilbur just blew up a country with only some property damage, Techno spawned multiple Withers, and then went out of his way to kill people, chasing after them and stopping them from killing the Withers. He then also helped Dream when he blew up L’Manberg again, with a lot more property damage than Wilbur’s explosion.

So why have people who have done worse things been excused while Wilbur has been villified?

You know why. 

People constantly make Wilbur worse than he ever was. I can’t tell you how many “Abusive Wilbur Soot” tags I’ve seen. People make up headcanons where he hit Tommy. Artists draw him looming over Tommy, being physically imposing or creepily touchy-feely. People make up claims that he manipulated and gaslit people. 

And the name “Vilbur”. Why. 

Too many people have tried to use Vilbur to seperate Wilbur from his Pogtopia self. They say he has “versions” of himself. They try to make them seperate people. Even Phil does this in rp, saying he wants his “real son” back. Wilbur is Wilbur. His mental illnesses are a part of him. He’s not a fake him for acting on his emotions. He’s not a different person. Like I don’t see how people don’t see that it’s ableist. 

Wilbur was not a great guy. He was an antagonist He made a lot of bad decisions that affected a lot of people negatively. But he’s not a bad guy. He’s not a villain.

Stop it. 

Sincerely, a tired psychology student

(Thanks to @kateis-cakeis​ for your amazing quote post, ily you’re doing god’s work)

[brokenbutnotquiting]

Say My Name

A Nace Oneshot where Nancy *really* loves the way Ace calls her name. (Because Alex Saxon makes it sound so damn enticing that I couldn't help myself)

I had always liked my name. Nancy Drew. Not so much Drew anymore, but it sounds better than Nancy Hudson. Or maybe that was just my habits talking.

In any case, I like my name. Nancy.

With the ever-growing confusion regarding my last name, it suited me better to opt for – what I call – the Ace option. Just casually dropping my last name until and unless it's an official or legal requirement.

For the very common folk of Horseshoe Bay, I am Nancy.

Just Nancy.

It was only after I realized and accepted my intense feelings for my best male friend – my partner-in-investigative-work – Ace, I often found my heart skipping a beat at my own name.

Purely because of the way he called it. Nancy. With that adorable lilt at the second 'n'. He probably never even realized that he did it, which made it all the more enticing.

But I would never tell him that.

__________

I ignored the screaming soles of my feet as I locked up the Claw. It was date night for George and Nick, and despite my best hopes, I was the one left in charge of closing up the seafood restaurant.

How had I ended up here tonight, I wondered sarcastically before a face flashed in my mind.

Ace.

How was it that most of my stupid impulsive decisions nowadays were because of him? 

He had opted to lock up for the night, claiming to be happy to do it only if George allowed Amanda to stay with him.

"We haven't seen each other much since we returned from our road trip, and she has been asking me if we could just talk for a while without either of us running off for something or the other," he had said with a shrug.

Now, normally I am not a goody-two-shoes. Or a masochist. But seeing Ace with that utterly adorable little pout made my heart melt, and I jumped in to sacrifice my sanity to let him leave early. To be with his girlfriend, no less. 

What can I say? Sometimes, I am just that much of an idiot.

Bess had side-eyed me so hard when I chimed in, I wondered how transparent I had become regarding my feelings for Ace. How did no one else notice?

But then, maybe everybody had noticed it at some point in time and had chosen not to comment on it.

Everybody except Ace. A sigh heaved out of me at that particular thought.

Ace was blissfully unaware. And thank God for that. I didn't need him to hate me for ruining his chances with Amanda. As much as I had rolled my eyes at his dopey smile that first time he had accepted his crush on her—almost endangering George in the process—I did want him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.

Even if watching him fall for her tore my heart out every time, I thought about it.

Even if I was wrecking myself over him. Every. Damn. Day.

I looked around aimlessly. I only had to mop the floors one last time, and then I could leave. So I got the mop and the bucket— put on some music, and let my mind daydream about a life where I wasn't the girl one-sidedly crushing on her best friend as I let my body move on autopilot.

I didn't even realize that I wasn't alone until I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, pulling me out of the daydream just before I got kissed.

I whirled around towards the door leading to the locker room to find him standing there.

Ace.

He looked angry. Really angry. 

"Ace? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" I asked worriedly. Was someone in danger? Was there an accident or something?

"What's wrong is that I cannot fucking stop thinking about you," he snapped, his soft blue eyes flashing with barely concealed anger.

"What – what are you on about?" I stuttered with surprise.

His nostrils flared delicately. "There I was, with my girlfriend, finally spending some much-needed time together, and my mind kept reminding me that she is not you. That you are you. And that you are here. And I was so distracted by the thought of you being here alone with no one to protect you, should something happen, that I completely missed her telling me that she loved me."

He strode over to where I was standing, grasping onto the mop as if my life depended on it. The weight of his words, the complete and utter disaster of it all hit me at the same time he stopped barely half a foot away.

"Ace— ” I started and stopped. What was I supposed to say? Was there anything I could say that would help? Anything at all? It didn't seem so.

"There she was, looking all hopeful as she told me she loved me, and all I could think of was whether you were safe. Whether I would see you tomorrow." His voice held an undercurrent of fear. And I understood that.

After the Aglaeca and the Wraith and Everett Hudson and the threat of the Road Back still lingering, all of us felt overprotective of each other.

"I am not a marshmallow, Ace. I can take care of myself. At the very least, not drop dead while locking up the Claw," I joked half-heartedly. I admit that I might have intentionally ignored the part where he said he barely paid attention to his girlfriend. Or how my heart skipped several beats at it. I didn't need him more antagonized over my feelings for him.

"That's not the point, and you know it," he snapped. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he continued, "my girlfriend told me she loved me, and not only was I distracted enough to miss it, I couldn't even say it back."

He shook his head, eyes still closed, as if he could somehow forget everything that happened. I understood that feeling as well. Sometimes, I wished the same.

"Why?"I asked him softly because I knew that was the part he wanted me to stress on. I knew him well enough to know his cues. I could play along.

He opened his eyes at my question.

"Because, as much as I like Amanda, I don't love her. At least not as she wanted me to. I tried, God knows I tried so damn hard, but I just couldn't," he explained.

I didn't ask him the question on the tip of my tongue again. I merely kept staring at him. Ace knew my cues as well as I did his. If he wanted me to play along, he could as well.

Why? 

"She broke up with me, rightly so. She deserves someone who isn't already in love with someone else," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music, "what kind of a pathetic person does that?"

Even then, my heart beating fast enough to rival that of a marathon runner, I stayed silent.

"Nancy." He whispered almost pleading, for what I didn't know.

"I love the way you say my name, "I whispered back as if in a thrall. Completely inappropriate? Perhaps. But a kernel of truth nonetheless.

He raised his hands, cupping my face so softly as if afraid that I would break under his touch. He touched his forehead to mine, his eyes closed again.

A slight tremble shook me at his touch. His breath ghosted over my face. "Say my name again," I whispered to him.

"Nancy."

He shifted his face a tiny bit and kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes at the onslaught of feelings his adoration elicited.

"Nancy," he whispered before kissing my other cheek.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my chin.

"Nancy."

A kiss on my forehead.

"Nancy." 

A kiss on my brows.

"Nancy."

A kiss on one eye, and then the other.

"Nancy." 

A kiss on my nose.

"Nancy," his voice took on an almost worshipping quality as he whispered my name but didn't lower his mouth to mine.

Tell him, I chided myself. Tell him that he isn't wrong in his feelings for you. Tell him that if he felt condemned about his feelings for you, then you shared the damnation with him.

"I love you, Ace," I said, tears escaping me, my throat raw with emotion, "I have loved you for a while now." 

There was so much I wanted to tell him and couldn't. So much he needed to know. Another day, I reasoned with myself. I would tell him another day when we were both far more clear-headed than we were at the moment.

"I know, Nancy," he said softly, nodding his head, "I love you too."

And then he closed the gap between us.

His lips were soft against mine. Unhurried. Moving with a languid assurance that he knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to claim it any longer. I played along with him, slow and steady, our form of normalcy until the heat growing in my body took over.

The kiss turned frantic as soon as I bit on his lower lip. His tongue was in my mouth, claiming me. He wanted everything, and I wanted to give it all to him. My tongue followed his, teasing him to a sensual dance of their own.

His hands, which were previously cupping my face, slid lower until one of them was grasping onto my neck – positioning my head as he wanted – the other grabbing onto my waist, pulling my body closer to his.

I let go of the mop, and it fell on the floor with a clang. I placed my hands on his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, if not galloping at a faster pace, under my fingertips. I moved my hands on his body, feeling his muscles flex subtly until one of my hands took a life of its own and decidedly wandered over to his hair, tugging on it as if he could come closer than he already was.

I don't particularly know how long we stayed like that, devouring each other like the last meal, but when we did eventually come up for air, I knew I wouldn't be able to let him go, and I told him as such.

His chuckle was like music to me. I opened my eyes just in time to see his smirk, "after a kiss like that, I should hope not, Nancy."

"Jesus Christ, Ace," I swore, "the way you say my name is my favorite thing."

His used laugh vibrated through me at that, warming my core but you know what? I didn't care.

"That's all?" Ace asked me playfully. No more stoicism. It was almost as if he had pulled back another layer of his surprisingly dazzling personality. I smiled at him in answer.

His answering grin almost knocked me right out. Damn! I really did love this man.

I didn't know what my face showed him, but the grin dropped off his face as he asked, "what's wrong?"

Ah. I must have been emoting the pent-up sadness I had repressed for so long.

I shook my head at him, smiling again. I combed through his hair with my fingers and let all of my affection pour into my voice as I said, "I didn't think I would ever get to do this again."

"Touch my hair?" Ace asked amused, quirking an eyebrow.

"Just be with you. Touch you without having to worry about offending anyone," I explained.

He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, pulling me into a hug, "You never really had any sense of personal space when it came to being near me, Nancy. That was just so you, I never really questioned it further. I was so scared of you putting up defenses against me that I purposefully ignored all the signs. Even when they were glaringly obvious." 

He kissed my cheek and said, "I shouldn't have tried as hard as I did to deny my feelings creeping up on me for over a month. And I definitely shouldn't have chosen the easier way out with Amanda."

I shook my head at that. "You did what you thought was right for you," I said, somewhat sadly, "I remember your smile. You told us that she made you bloom."

"She did. For a while."He said. There was a trace of sadness in his voice. It would take time, I knew, for him to stop blaming himself for everything that happened with her.

"Take your time before you move on, Ace. Both of you deserve that respect," I told him.

"I will," he said, a small smile gracing his lips again, "but not tonight." I nodded my acceptance of his decision. Whatever he needed.

"Nancy," he whispered my name in my ear a heartbeat later.

The groan that escaped me was obscene, and I rightfully snapped, "Stop saying my name like that, Ace, if you want to keep your clothes on."

His answering kiss made my blood heat up and my toes curl in my shoes in an instant. I kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands started roaming, and I gasped into his mouth as he cupped my ass. He chuckled in response. A challenge.

Very well, I thought to myself. I dropped my mouth, kissing his neck softly before biting on it. An obscene groan escaped him. I smirked.

Two can play this game, Ace. And I barely got started.

I licked the spot I had bitten.

"I won't be able to even see straight if you keep doing this," his warning rang. I ignored the moan accompanying the statement.

I took half a step away from him and said playfully, "You need some space, Ace?"

"Nancy," he almost growled before yanking my body flush against his again and dropping a searing kiss on my lips.

Dear God, in the heavens above! I loved the way he said my name.

Nancy.

[nonbinaryeye]

Divorce Number What?

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 1 - Divorce

Another day and another divorce papers signed. It hardly means anything anymore. If it ever really mattered...

Read on AO3

…

When Peter enters the institute Elias knows he has about five minutes before his husband arrives in his office. Of course if Peter took turn right he would only have to take one set of stairs and he would be right in front of his office. However Peter never takes the right turn. He claims it to be because of the unnerving look of the painting of Jonah Magnus hanging right next to the stairs. Elias would be offended but he must admit that the painter really gave the picture a somewhat menacing look. Which might or might not be the reason why he lets it to be one of the first paintings being seen upon entering his institute.

Alas this silly behavior always means Peter gets lost immediately and ends up in variety of places which are not his office – everything from the library, research department to artifact storage or occasionally even archives.

At least it gives Elias enough time to prepare for his arrival. He has been in the middle of his lunch break so he has no real work to busy himself with but Peter can hardly tell difference whether he is going over the budgets or just staring at a blank excel page.

Five minutes and forty three seconds later Elias hears steps approaching his office and a bit of fog sneaking into corners of the room. He turns his eyes (at least the pair he has currently in his head) to his monitor, away from the doors. Just in time for the doors to be barged through.

“Elias! Divorce! Now!”

“Why, happy afternoon to you too, husband dear,” Elias starts to click random keys pretending he is writing something, “What brings you to my institute at this hour?”

“I just said it.”

“No, Peter, you just chanted three random words. Use a full sentence if you wish to tell me something.”

His husband looks like he is considering grabbing him by the neck and rather than with divorce ending their marriage with ‘till death do us apart’. In the end he does as what he has been asked for as he always does.

“I want a divorce.” Elias looks up at him with his best expression of shock.

“May I inquire why?”

“You know goddamn well why!”

For a fact Elias does not know. It could have been a number of things. Peter might have discovered some of the hidden eye imaginary he carved on Tundra. Or maybe he stumbled on some of his old correspondence containing few words exchanged with few of Peter’s ancestors which seems to be still a bit sensitive topic to him for some reason. Or it also could be about forcing him to attend whole two social events this year so far. Or maybe he simply feels they were married for too long.

“You’ve donated money in my name to a cause of saving… some fish!”

Ah. This thing. Elias would almost forget he has done that.

“Ah yes the rescue fund for Atlantic Halibut. Fascinating fish indeed. Do you wish to know more about it?”

“NO!” Peter slams his hands on the table and leans closer. Elias does not show any signs of being bothered by it. “Why did you do that?”

“You are all about stopping extinction aren’t you? Every little thing counts…”

“They send me a letter of gratitude Elias. They said they put my name on top of the list of donors on their page… whatever that means!”

“It could have been worse. I passed the opportunity to let them name a fish after you…”

“Elias,” Peter lower his voice to dangerous level and very well then. He might indulge him then. He takes a key out of an inner pocked of his suit and unlocks the middle drawer of his desk. It is full of pre-filled divorce papers. He takes one set of them out.

“I see something about my actions seemingly upset you. If you are certain you do not want to discuss it and save our marriage-…”

“I am very sure!” Pater grabs the papers out of Elias’ hand, steals one pen out of his pen jar and makes few unreadable scratches which are probably supposed to be his signature. “And also make them put my name down! Wherever it is!” Elias probably won’t bother knowing how vague Peter’s understanding of internet even is. He takes papers away from him.

“Don’t you want to read them?”

“It is not the first time I am holding divorce papers in my hand Elias.”  

“And yet you have never read what all does it say.” Elias points out as he is adding his much more elegant signature next to his soon-to-be-ex-husband’s. Peter does not seem to be interested in prolonging their interaction in any way. He takes off his wedding ring and turns his back at him; disappearing into the Lonely without a word of farewell or a goodbye kiss.

“Enjoy a single life them,” Elias calls after him, “or at least the illusion of it…” he adds with a more quiet voice. He takes freshly sign ‘divorce’ papers, carefully folds them and throws them into a bin next to his table.

Elias picks up Peter’s ring and takes of his own as well. He takes stash of his fake divorce papers revealing a little box and marriage certificates under them. As soon as rings are safely closed in the box and hidden under fake documentations he locks the drawer again.

He sometimes wonders if Peter is really that much out of reality to think one scribble on a paper is all required for process of getting legally divorced or if he is in on the joke their divorces actually are. Not that it changes anything…

They got married in 1997 and have stayed ever since. Only three more years and it will be twentieth anniversary. How lovely! And he is not even counting the wedding they had when he was still James…

Elias does not really care about their marital status. One could easily read more romantic reason behind it but he is just being pragmatic. After all he managed to get Lukas tied to him like this. He can amuse him with little game on marriage and divorce but he is not that naive as to let him go legally. It would be too complicated and overall not worth at all. What is the point to go through the whole legal process when Peter will propose again in matter of months?

Plus… what if he one day decides not to? Elias is realistic. Sooner or later Peter gets bored of the game and tries to let him go as a good servant of Forsaken. That day will come, he has dealt with enough of the Lonely avatars during his long lifetime to know what to expect. And in such a moment nothing will bring Elias more joy than to inform Peter in that moment they are still tied together by law.

So it is just him being practical. Realistic. In inevitable case of their last divorce he wants to be the one to have the last word! That is all…

[binderclipdocs]

Hello! I’m wondering what your take is on Dear Friend (and especially “I’m in love with a friend of mine”?) I find the song a little confusing, and I’ve read a lot of different interpretations. I really love your films and I know you’ve done a lot of research, would love to know what you think. Thanks!

Thanks for your appreciation, anon!  I love Dear Friend and am happy to share my thoughts on this haunting, mournful, mysterious song!

I’ll be the first to admit the lyrics are confusing (like so many McCartney songs!), mostly by virtue of the fact that Paul uses “friend” twice in a row.  Are there two friends, or only one?  By using the word “friend” on top of each other as he does, it suggests either a single friend (the titular “Dear Friend”) in two situations OR two friends, in separate/competing situations.

Dear Friend, throw the wine 

I’m in love with a friend of mine 

Really, truly, young and newlywed

Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, interpretation, fantasy, etc.  and no one but McCartney himself can definitively declare precisely what he meant with this song.  But it’s my opinion that Paul was saying the latter; that he is in love with his friend and new wife, Linda.  This is my conclusion after having deeply researched this period extensively for TWO documentary series (McCartney (2020) and Understanding Lennon/McCartney), an opinion that obviously no one is required to entertain and anyone is free to discard.  But for those who are interested, I’ll share my reasoning below.

Firstly, this is NOT an attempt to disprove that Paul was ever in love with John or vice verse.  They both used this term publicly and therefore probably/possibly did privately with each other as well.  But Paul’s statements in April, 1970 pretty clearly spell out the situation:

“Personally, I don’t think John could do the Beatles thing now. I don’t think it would be good for him.

John’s in love with Yoko, and he’s no longer in love with the other three of us. And let’s face it, we were in love with the Beatles as much as anyone.”

So John and Paul were “in love” (with each other as people, or the Beatles as a concept, or Lennon/McCartney as a team, etc) for a long time.  But by 1970, they both have new spouses and new lives and are following different paths.  Here’s a brief recap of the events that led to this statement:

In a now-famous meeting in September 1969, John told Paul that he was leaving the Beatles and wanted a divorce.  Whether this was an idle threat designed to scare/hurt Paul, or a real desire on John’s part is open to interpretation, but Paul, for his part, took it seriously.  

Allen Klein asked John not to go public with his decision to leave the group and John happily and uncharacteristically agreed to sit on this “news” indefinitely.  Paul subsequently disappeared for 6-8 weeks, mourned the loss of the band privately in Scotland, and then began working on his first solo album. Communication between John and Paul fell apart at that point, and John began a campaign of maneuvers - possibly engineered or facilitated by Klein - to bring Paul back into the Beatles’ fold and force him to submit to Klein’s management and John’s leadership. Backed into a proverbial corner by John, George, Ringo, Yoko and Klein, Paul played the last card he had: he quit.

In April 1970, Paul made the split official (deliberately or accidentally? YMMV) with the release of his first solo LP, and attempted to finalize the divorce with an uncooperative John for the remainder of the year. As is pretty well-documented, Paul tried for a quick and amicable split, requesting a release from the Beatles’ contract. But after John was unresponsive and Allen Klein advised him to set duplicitous legal traps that would prevent Paul from separating from the Beatles, Paul (as advised by his lawyers) decided to sue for divorce by the end of 1970.

By 2020, even the most casual Beatles fans know two basic truisms: 1) that Paul loved John always and 2) that Paul didn’t want the band to break up. Of course there’s more to the story than just that. We have also been told repeatedly that John “left Paul,” but this is not the whole truth either.

Essentially what John did was yell “I’m breaking up with you!” and then block the door every time Paul tried to leave.

As late as September, 1971 John is still saying publicly that he hopes Paul will return.  

Int.: Let's talk a bit about Paul's aversion to Klein. From what we've read it seemed as if this wasn't there in the beginning, even though Paul wanted the Eastmans to run things. But it came on later as things progressed. And yet despite this, we gather that Klein was still hoping that Paul would return to the group.

John: Oh, he'd love it if Paul would come back. I think he was hoping he would for years and years. He thought that if he did something, to show Paul that he could do it, Paul would come around. But no chance. I mean, I want him to come out of it, too, you know. He will one day. I give him five years, I've said that. In five years he'll wake up.

[Narrator voice: Paul did not came back.]

Yes, Paul loved John.  No, Paul didn’t want the Beatles to break up.  

But when John said he wanted out, Paul took him seriously, respected his decision, never made a single attempt to woo John back and showed up 6 months later with a moving van and divorce papers.

When you hear Dear Friend out of context -knowing only that Paul loved John and was sad after the breakup- it’s not wholly unreasonable to think maybe Paul was declaring his eternal love for John here:

I’m in love with a friend of mine really, truly, young and newlywed

But when you experience Dear Friend in the proper context, that interpretation sounds less and less likely.  Here’s Paul:

April 21, 1970

“I’m not blaming her. I’m blaming me. You can’t blame John for falling in love with Yoko any more than you can blame me for falling in love with Linda.

We tried writing together a few more times, but I think we both decided it would be easier to work separately.  I told John on the phone the other day that at the beginning of last year I was annoyed with him. I was jealous because of Yoko, and afraid about the break-up of a great musical partnership. It’s taken me a year to realise that they were in love. Just like Linda and me."

Summer 1970

Paul writes John a 12-page letter requesting that they “let each other out of the trap.” John’s response was a picture of himself and Yoko with a balloon drawn above his head saying “How and Why?”

Paul responded: “How? By singing a paper that says we hereby dissolve our partnership. Why? Because there is no partnership.”

April 16, 1971

PAUL:  “We used to get asked at press conferences, 'What are you going to do when the bubble bursts?' When I talked to John just the other day, he said something about, 'Well, the bubble's going to burst.' And I said, 'It has burst. That's the point. That's why I've had to do this, why l had to apply to the court. You don't think I really enjoy doing that kind of stuff. I had to do it because the bubble has burst-- everywhere but on paper.' That's the only place we're tied now.”

Nov 11, 1971

MM: But John said to me that what you’d done in bringing the [court] trials up and everything was what they all wanted, that you’d just done it a lot earlier than they would have done.

PAUL: Well if that’s true, well… well, come on! That’s – see, I’ve told you… The joke is, though, that we don’t have to do trials. It’s not necessary. If the four Beatles signed a bit of paper, or even ripped the old contract up and said, “This contract is no longer valid, we all hereby said it, we all legally direct the shareholders…” the whole thing, to wind it all up, we could do it. And if that’s really what he wants, he could do it this minute. [snaps fingers]

Furthermore, Paul was deeply in love with Linda during this period, as reflected by: the songs on both McCartney and RAM, the testimony of those around them at the time and by Paul’s own recollections.  The first few years of Paul and Linda’s marriage was their honeymoon period, their era as newlyweds.  It was certainly an awful time for Paul in many respects:  the business battles of the Beatles were excruciating and extremely stressful and the loss of his three best friends was heartbreaking. Furthermore, the rock press had largely turned against him (sometimes viciously so), and John & Yoko (and Allen Klein) were painting him as a traitor to the counterculture and a villain for destroying the Beatles with his granny music, giant ego and overbearing personality.  Paul and Linda were extremely isolated, partially by choice and partially by force.  

But even though this was a terrible time for Paul in many respects, he was extremely happy with his new family.  He later described this period with Linda as one of the happiest periods of their life. Paul has said numerous times Linda (along with nature and horse-riding) brought him out of depression after the Beatles ended and gave him the strength to push forward with his solo career, at a time when many were rooting against him (and a literal cult was forming that claimed he was DEAD and had been replaced by an inferior imposter- let that sink in for a moment!).  He has been consistent about it over the years, and reiterated it as recently as 2020:

UNCUT: Tell me about the guy in the photo n the McCartney sleeve.  He looks happy. 

PAUL:  I was really happy, yeah.  The Beatles had become such a business machine, and with the arrival of Allen Klein the whole thing, every day was very unpleasant. 

UNCUT: So there you were on the farm, finding solace in a new family... 

PAUL: Yes. I had a little place in Scotland.  So we just went out there. “It’s so remote, no one can be bothered trekking all the way up here for a meeting.” It was a good period. We grabbed our freedom- you know what, we seized the day! Also, I had a new baby; I’d not been a father before, so I was very happy.

In December of 1970, John gave his infamous Lennon Remembers interview to Rolling Stone.  According to the liner notes of the Wildlife reissue from 2018 (and confirmed by the timing of the demo), Paul composed Dear Friend in reaction to John’s comments in that interview (not How Do You Sleep, as is commonly believed).  But he sat on the song for awhile and didn’t record it until late 1971 (for inclusion on Wildlife).  Judging from the tone of Too Many People and other songs on RAM, Paul’s initial sadness, confusion and disappointment gradually morphed into (or perhaps swung back and forth between) anger and defiance, accompanied by a taunting and/or gloating tone.  Having gotten Dear Friend out of his system, it seems it simply didn’t fit thematically on RAM. Perhaps after the release of HDYS, Paul was deflated and despondent enough to return to Dear Friend?  Perhaps Jealous Guy tempered or calmed Paul’s anger?   

Or maybe it was just a genuine attempt to turn the heat down.  We know that immediately following its release, John and Paul agreed (seemingly at Paul’s insistence) to quit bickering in public.

In any case, Dear Friend is a complex songs with a spectrum of emotions. Unlike Jealous Guy it is not apologetic; it’s mournful but also incredulous and slightly accusatory.  Paul appears to be calling John’s bluff:  Do you really believe all the bullshit you’re spewing?

Are you a fool, or is it true?

The John Lennon of Lennon Remembers is without hope or faith, denouncing everything he ever believed in and everyone he ever trusted -with the notable exceptions of Allen Klein, Phil Spector and Yoko.  Paul clearly loves John and hopes to salvage their relationship, but Dear Friend was written at a time when John was being manipulated and exploited by people he later admitted were misplaced “daddy figures.” While Klein and Spector turned out to not be the most reliable friends to John, Paul certainly seems to know and understand John’s vulnerabilities and motivations better than most.  As he sings in the demo:

Are you afraid?  Or are you blue?

So why does Paul mention that he’s newlywed and in love with Linda? Firstly, because he is, and he wants to celebrate with his best friend. We know Paul’s desire was for the two couples to make peace and be friends.  Pour the Wine.  Clink glasses and celebrate their new marriages together.

PAUL: Dear Friend was to do with John, a bit of longing about John. Let’s have a glass of wine and forget about it. A making up song. (July 2001).

This is precisely what the two couples did in December of 1971, immediately following the release of Wildlife.  

JOHN: We were both nervous, the four of us were nervous. I hadn’t seen him for a long time. I’d spoken on the phone [with him]. Uh, it was alright, you know. It was alright.

This is precisely what happened again throughout 1974 (with John & May Pang this time around), which John affectionately called their “Beaujolais evenings.”   

Admittedly, It may seem odd for Paul to mention that he is happily married (and in love with another “friend”) in a make up song to John.  Until you think about the romantic tension between John and Paul and Paul’s bold public recognition of it with this statement:  “It’s taken me a year to realise that they were in love. Just like Linda and me.” Paul acknowledges here that John is in love with Yoko and wants John to acknowledge his love for Linda as well.  

In Dear Friend he’s communicating that there is nothing to fear; they are secure in their respective marriages, there is no need to be hurt or angry or jealous anymore.  We’re no longer partners, but we can still be friends.  “Let’s have a glass of wine and forget about it.”  A softer, gentler version of: Wake up, John. It’s over. Sign the fucking papers already.

So I think of Dear Friend as an olive branch, but not the groveling type some apparently do.  And I most definitely do not think it was a signal to John that Paul was still in love with him, despite being newlywed to Linda. 

I suppose it might seem a bit brutal for Paul to be singing about loving someone else in a song to John (although he’s done it before and I think John has done the same).  But I honestly think it is something Paul believes John needs to hear and accept at this point; that he is “really, truly” in love with Linda and that he’s not about to divorce her or run after the first “blonde with big tits” as Allen Klein so charmingly suggested. 

By September 1971, John still hasn’t seemed to accept Linda, or Paul’s relationship with her:

John: Paul always wanted the home life, you see. [... long, rambling story about being terrified when Paul got a job in 1961 and for a second looked as if he might abandon John and the group] 

 All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He's in Scotland. He told me he doesn't like English cities anymore. So that's how it is.

Int.: So you think with Linda he's found what he wanted? 

John: I guess so. I guess so. I just don't understand . . . I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted.

With comments like this John seems (IMO) to be twisting himself into knots trying to rationalize Paul’s choice of Linda, practically wondering aloud what could she give him that I couldn’t?  He still seems unwilling to face or accept what Paul begrudgingly accepted and admitted years before: that his partner fell in love with someone else.

Here’s 76 year old Paul reminiscing about this tender, bittersweet time in his life, happy and in love with his wife and young family and simultaneously in deep pain over losing his dearly beloved best friend:

I remember when I heard the song recently, listening to the roughs  in the car. And I thought, ‘Oh God’. That lyric: ‘Really truly, young and newly wed’. Listening to that was like, ‘Oh my God, it’s true!’ I’m trying to say to John, ‘Look, you know, it’s all cool. Have a glass of wine. Let’s be cool.’

“Let’s be cool.”  Not “Please take me back,” not “Ignore my just-for-show marriage, I’m still in love with YOU.” To me, Paul is saying “I’m really, truly in love with my friend and new wife, can we please just be happy for each other? It’s all cool.” And for the record, I don’t find this sentiment any less loving on Paul’s part because I don’t think Paul being in love with his own wife (which he was), detracts from his love for John in any way. Again, I agree that the lyrics are slightly ambiguous, and perhaps this is meaningful too.  It could be that the lack of hard boundary between the two friends (John and Linda) reflects how much Paul loves them both; they certainly aren’t positioned as opposites (i.e. I love her but I hate you). Instead they’re both part of the imagined celebration; Paul wants them all to share the wine together- and he wants them to tolerate (love) each other. 

I think the traditional narrative doesn’t account for all of this because the traditional narrative does not acknowledge that John has any feelings for Paul in the first place. How in the world could Paul be asking John to “be cool” and accept the new situation when John didn’t even care about Paul in the first place and had been trying to get rid of him for years?  This perception - of John gleefully blasting Paul with HDYS and Paul replying that he’s in love with John - has taken hold in many minds and has picked up a lot of steam in recent years with so-called “jean jackets” because they fundamentally believe that Paul’s love for John was one-sided. They cannot comprehend that Paul would ever tell John to “cool it” or back off in any way (even in 70-71) because they take the surface story at face value:  John dumped Paul for Yoko and heartbroken Paul spent the rest of his life desperately trying to win John back. This is the narrative depicted in virtually every book I’ve read. My analysis is based on my own research, not this narrative.

I would invite readers of this post to watch (or re-watch) ULM (particularly volume 3 ) for a more comprehensive study of John and Paul’s relationship.  

Lastly, after doing my own independent research for McCartney (2020), I found that the Paul McCartney described by the musicians and collaborators in Paul’s life was dramatically different from the person depicted in books like Man on the Run. My films are free from narration and commentary; I rely on first-hand interviews and information from the people involved, and in my opinion there is a great deal to be learned about Paul from the way he relates to others, especially through music. And although the McCartney series is about his solo career as opposed to his Beatle career, I would definitely recommend it to anyone who is interested in Lennon/McCartney for the insights they could gain. 

Thank you very much for this ask- hopefully there aren’t too many typos!

[ladyblogger-margie]

Permit Pending - Part 1

Pairing: Will Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader

Summary: All Will Miller wanted was a park permit for a VA fundraiser, what he got instead was an unscheduled afternoon exploring different parks with F!Reader.

Word Count:  3890

Rating: G (smut to come in chapter 2!)

Warnings: Course language. Eventual smut in future chapters. 

a/n: My first time writing reader insert and for Will Miller AND for Triple Frontier, so any feedback at all is appreciated. No Y/N. 

Series Master List

3-2-1, Will Miller counted down to the ring of his morning alarm clock. Just like every single day his phone blared a monotonous alarm sound at exactly 05:42 and Will shut it off. He spent the next three minutes practicing mindful breathing and preparing for the day ahead. At 05:45 he rose and changed into his gym clothes. 

He shook together a protein shake as he rode the elevator down to the surprisingly decent gym in his building where he did exactly 30 minutes of cardio followed by an hour of weight training. Today was back and chest day – his favorite – so of course he decided to listen to a podcast instead of a playlist of high tempo motivational music. It was easier to be motivated for something you already wanted to do after all. The podcast today was about finding a balance between order and relaxation, something his therapist had recommended he do before his insurance ran out on therapy sessions and he opted out of continuing the process.

After the gym he returned to his apartment and started the coffee maker. After a quick shower and some facial hair maintenance, he dressed in one of his branded polo shirts and drank his coffee with his breakfast. He had two talks scheduled for the day before lunch, then an errand to run after lunch. Later that evening he would meet up with Benny for fight training. Today could not be any more normal for him - exactly the same as the day before, and the day before that. 

Or so he thought. 

You woke up groaning when your alarm went off at 7:15am. You snoozed it. You also snoozed your 7:22am, 7:31am, and 7:40am alarms. You finally rolled yourself out of bed at 7:50am in time for your quick 30 minute yoga routine before you got ready for work. 

You breezed into the parks and recreation office at City Hall at exactly 8:57am. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the office machine knowing that if you got up at 7:15am as planned you would’ve had time to stop at Starbucks on your way into the office. 

You spent your morning as you usually did - catching up on your passion projects which were the youth sport organizations. You ensured all the public teams had access to the necessary fields and confirmed with the greens team that they were all in working order. You loved your mornings at work even though you weren’t necessarily a morning person. 

After lunch was another story. After a series of poorly timed budget cuts, your department was forced to cancel the internship program. That meant you were drafted into working the permit desks in the afternoons. You knew that it wasn’t actually the worst thing in the world, it was just so boring. The applications were longer than they had any right to be and filled with confusing language. This meant nearly every single application required a specific follow up that never fit one of the many form responses you’d been accumulating in the hopes of streamlining the process. 

Of course you wanted your community to take advantage of the awesome parks in your town, but apparently the legal department didn’t. It put you in a difficult spot where sometimes you were forced to give the park permits to corporations instead of individuals and it drove you crazy to do so. It also locked you to a desk unless a specific permit issue arose that required an in-person follow up which never happened. Which is why after lunch you went off campus to get yourself your favourite Starbucks order because the permit desk on a Monday required the heavy artillery to survive. 

Or so you thought. 

After a few hours of pouring over pages and pages of documents, the most handsome man you had ever seen walked into the office. He had blonde hair and soft eyes which you noticed right away but immediately after you were drawn to his strong chest tightly wrapped in a blue polo with some logo you didn’t recognize over one of his firm pecs. 

“My name is William Miller, and I’m hoping you can help me with a park permit,” the man said, holding out his hand to you. 

You composed yourself as quickly as you could and introduced yourself in return, shaking his hand. “I’d be happy to help you with that,” you said as you let go. His hands were firm and from the callouses you could tell he worked out, though his general physique already gave that away. 

He smiled at you and you felt something stir inside you that was not exactly professional, “Did you have a specific location in mind?”

“No, actually I was hoping to get your opinion. I’m helping to put together a community fundraiser, a BBQ actually, to help support the local VA, but I’m not exactly sure where would be the best place to set something like that up,” he replied. 

You knew exactly where to send him. There was a perfect location you often recommended for huge family reunions, outdoor wedding receptions, and concerts. But as you looked down at the desk for the correct application form you saw the huge pile of pages still left unread taunting you and you got an idea, “Why don’t I give you a tour of a few different locations to help you make your decision?” 

“That’s a service you offer here?”

“We aim to please” you said, desperate for an excuse to get out of the office. 

Will hesitated as he fiddled with his keys for a moment. 

“I could drive if you like,” he offered.

You smiled as professionally as you could, trying to contain your glee. 

“Thank you, let me just check out with my boss and I’ll be right back” you darted away before you could blow your composure. 

You stuck your head into your boss’ office. “Hey, I’m stepping away from the desk. Some guy is insisting I help him pick a park location for his permit request. I’m on my cell if there’s an emergency” you said, not stopping to hear their response before darting off. 

You grabbed your coffee off the desk and landed in front of Will. “Ready,” you said as he smiled warmly at you. He held the door open for you as you left the office, and your boring afternoon, behind.

He led you to his truck in the parking lot and held open the passenger door for you which made your heart flutter though you tried to control it and you reminded yourself that this was a professional outing, not a date. 

He climbed into the cab beside you and started the truck before he turned to you and asked, “Where to?”

You gave him directions to a park you know wouldn’t work, but it did have a couple of soccer fields, and you wanted to check the nets there for holes and figured you could push your luck a bit more today. 

He pulled into the park parking lot and looked around with a slight purse of his lips and a furrow in his brow. He cleared his throat before asking, “I did explain it was a BBQ, right? I don’t really see a place for that,”. 

You suddenly felt guilty, thinking he probably had somewhere else to be today and you derailed him for your own selfish reasons. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you. I just had to get out of the office, and I took advantage of you. If you’ve got somewhere to be, leave me here with your information and I’ll get everything arranged for you at the perfect place,” you said, avoiding eye contact.

To your surprise he smiled at you, “You should’ve said, I’ve got nothing going on this afternoon, I can help you play hooky.” 

You smiled back at him, relieved that he was on board with your scheme. 

Will watched as you inspected the soccer nets for tears and he felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t since his fiancee, who had left him after the incident at the Publix. You were really nice and he could tell you were passionate about your job, at least parts of it, especially hearing you explain exactly what your job was while he drove you both to this destination. Plus there was no denying that he found you incredibly attractive. 

You returned to his side at the edge of the field after completing your inspection. “Thanks for waiting, there’s a middle-school tournament here starting tomorrow and I wanted to make sure everything was set,” you said to him and he knew he was in trouble. 

“Ready for park number two?” you asked. 

He nodded and led you back to the truck. 

When you arrived at park number two, Will realized this had to be the place you intended for the permit and he was a bit disappointed. He had been hoping to stretch out his afternoon with you a little longer. Before he could ask if you needed a ride back to City Hall he heard you let go a soft, sad sigh. He looked at you but you were gazing out the front window at the park. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked. 

“I’m going to kill the guys in City Planning,” you muttered upset. 

Will tried to figure out what it was you were looking at, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with the park. It looked like the perfect place for a fundraising BBQ. 

You turned to Will hopeful, “Do you have tools in this truck, or is it just for show?”

He smiled at your joke, “I’ve got a box in the back. What’s the problem?”

You gestured to a park bench, “City Planning keeps installing anti-homeless architecture in my parks and I’m not going to let them get away with it,” you said with a sly smile. 

Will knows for sure now that he definitely has a crush on you. He gets out of the truck and grabs his modest tool box from the bed and follows you over to the bench. He sees a metal arm rest in the middle of the bench, obviously installed to ensure no one lays across it. He checks the back to see how it’s attached and scoffs at the simple way it’s been bolted in and opens his tool kit. 

“Am I going to get arrested for this?” He jokes as he gets to work. 

You laugh, “You’re with me, I’ll protect you”. 

You smile at this; you could get used to the idea of having his back. He gets the bar free and you take it from him. He gestures to another bench a few steps away and he gets to work on liberating that bench too. You happily follow him as you ask, “So, you work for the VA?”

“Yeah, I mostly just run my mouth though,” he grunted as he loosened the much tighter bolt on the second bench. 

“Were you military?”

“Yeah,” He rolls up his sleeve and shows you a tattoo on his forearm, “Delta Force”. 

“But you’re retired now?”

“Something like that,”.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be retired?”

He paused and handed you the second detached metal arm. 

You felt self conscious, maybe you were being rude? “Sorry, it’s none of my business,” You said nervously. 

He shook his head, “You’re fine. It’s just not something I’m necessarily proud of though”. 

“You don’t have to explain, it’s none of my business,” You said, as you led the way to the third bench. 

“I had some trouble, and I was told my services were no longer needed in the field,” he explained getting to work on the third arm, “But I found a way to be useful, stay involved”. 

You nodded, “That couldn’t have been easy,”.

He shook his head, “There are good days, and bad days,” and he handed you the third arm. 

He looked around and didn’t see any more pieces of hostile architecture so he turned to you, “Do you need a ride back to City Hall?”

You looked at him and felt bold. “This is obviously the best park for your event, but if you’ve got nowhere to be, did you want to make one more stop and see my favorite park?”

He smiled at you and nodded his head. You led the way back to his truck where he put his tools away and took the arms from you and dumped them in the bed. 

“I can’t wait to drop those off at the City Planning office tomorrow,” you giggled triumphantly. 

You and Will loaded up into the truck and you directed him out of the parking lot. 

Park number 3 was your favorite place in the entire world, though to be fair you hadn’t actually travelled much so you couldn’t really compare it to anywhere else, but still. To you the lakeside beach next to the tree covered green grass was a slice of heaven. You’d go there on the weekends with a podcast lined up or an old book and spend the whole afternoon on a bench with a coffee and some fresh air. 

When Will pulled into the parking lot, you suddenly got nervous. You had lost some of your earlier boldness that suggested you open yourself up like this to a man you just met. But there was something about him, a warmth and a vulnerability that made you want him to know you, and you to know him. 

You both got out of the truck and the sun was starting to get low in the sky as you walked him to a bench that bordered the beach and the grass. You took a seat and he sat next to you, your thighs gently brushing. The contact sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that brushed through the leaves above your head. 

Will looked out across the lake and around the park. He felt the warmth of your leg against his and the urge to lean over and brush your cheek with his thumb nearly overwhelmed him. You were so close, it would be so easily for him to just kiss you. But he wasn’t sure you’d want that. You wanted to play hooky from work, and share your love of the parks. He couldn’t let himself think that your enthusiasm for the day had anything to do with him. Instead of holding you under his arm and against his chest, he folded in on himself and looked at you.

He was about to ask what you were thinking about when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and noticed Benny’s name on the caller ID and cursed under his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he said to you as he answered, “I’ve got to take this.”

He stands and walks a few paces away and you watch him leave, disappointed. You thought maybe he was about to ask you on a date, and tried not to let yourself be too upset that he didn’t. You watch as he rubbed his forehead and shook his head as he talked on the phone to someone you couldn’t hear and didn’t know. 

He hung up the phone and turned to look at you, and you turned away, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. He walks back to you on the bench but doesn’t sit down again. 

“Thank you for showing me this place, it’s beautiful,” he said softly and his sweet voice drew your gaze to his lips as he spoke. You felt the electricity surge between you all the way through to the tips of your fingers and your toes. “I hadn’t realized how late it’s gotten, I’m supposed to be at the gym, training my brother,” he explained. 

You nodded and stood up next to him, so close you had to look up to meet his eyes. “That’s fine, I can call an Uber or something back to City Hall” and you pulled out your phone. 

He put his hand on your arm, “Don’t be silly, I’ll take you back. Plus gotta make sure those city planning guys get their gift.”

Your breath hitched when he touched you and you couldn’t contain your smile as you nodded. “Are you sure? I’ve already taken so much of your time” you said, unable to tear your eyes from his. 

“I want to”.

He walks you back to the truck and opens your door for you again and you hop in both flustered and excited. 

The drive back to City Hall is more quiet than you’ve been all day. Your previous trips were full of chit chat about sports and books and random small talk. Now all that existed in the truck was the electricity and tension between you. You wondered if he felt it too, or if the surprising infatuation was a one-sided affair. 

Will gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. He had spent most the afternoon with you and he failed to buck up the courage to ask you out. You took him to your favorite place and basically hand wrapped a romantic moment, and he blew it. He didn’t know if you noticed the potential romance of the location, or if you intended to entice him so completely, but you had. And he blew his shot. 

Back at City Hall he handed you the metal arms from your adventure and you stayed by the truck. You were hoping he’d ask you out before he left. 

“Thanks for the ride, and the impromptu bench liberation, and the excuse to get out of the office,” you said with a smile, lingering longer than you needed to. 

He smiled back, maybe he could ask you now and he could still pull off the romantic gesture. “I had a great day, which I hadn’t actually expected when I went in earlier looking to fill out boring paperwork,” he said leaning unconsciously closer to you. 

He took a deep breath, ready to ask - when his cell phone rang again. He silenced it and tried again, “Hey-“ and the phone rang again and he answered it. “I’m on my way, asshole. Start with cardio,” he said, frustrated, “you don’t need me for that”.

He hung up and looked at you embarrassed by his outburst, absolutely believing that he had blown it for sure now. But you just looked at him amused, not annoyed. 

“Friend of yours?” you asked, stifling a laugh. 

“My baby brother. He’s a fighter and I’m his trainer, which I do for free by the way, but he loves to act like he’s my boss”, he explained. 

“Sounds like a character.”

“He is something that’s for sure. He’s also really special, really talented. He deserves a better lot than what he’s got”, Will's voice trailed off as he thought bitterly about how Benny left service when he did and the guilt he carried, unspoken, about that ever since. 

Will leaned back, “Do you need a walk to your car?”

“I’m alright, thank you. I better head back up to the office first anyway. Thanks again for today. Maybe I’ll see you around”, you forced a smile, abandoning all hope of a date and retreating into the building. 

Will kicked himself mentally all the way to the gym. When he got there he was in a bad mood. 

“Finally!” Benny shouted at him when he walked in.

“I have a life outside of you, you know that right?” Will spit towards Benny.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Benny asked.

“I told you I was on my way, what was so important that you had to call me again and nag me?” Will asked.

“You’re never late, I was worried,” Benny admitted. 

Will paused. He hasn’t thought of it like that. He was never late, it was so unlike him. It was actually kinda nice Benny worried, even if he was an ass about it.

“Well I’m here now, let’s get to it”, Will shrugged and he climbed into the ring opposite Benny. 

After training they grabbed some food together. After scarfing down most of his meal without breathing, Benny asked Will, “Why were you late? You didn’t say.”

Will cleared his throat, “I was trying to get a park permit for the VA BBQ”.

“I thought you did that right after lunch?”

“It took longer than expected,” Will said vaguely. 

Benny squinted his eyes at his older brother until the metaphorical lightbulb went off. “Oh shit!” he said, “You were with a girl! Fuck, I never would’ve called you away if I knew, you’ve been alone for so long!” 

Will threw his used napkin at his taunting brother, “Fuck off.”

“Seriously,” Benny said, not laughing anymore, “I hope I didn’t blow it for you, I want you to be happy.”

Will sighed, “I didn’t get her number, and I didn’t ask her out.”

Benny gave him a sympathetic smile, “At least you got the permit for the event.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fuck, I completely forgot to actually get the permit.”

Benny smirked at him. “You know what that means, right?”

“No,” Will groaned. 

“You gotta go back and see her tomorrow.”

Will leaned back in his chair, his mood dramatically improved. 

The next morning you dragged yourself out of bed after your third alarm and skipped yoga, just not in the mood. You hoped stopping at Starbucks would get you out of your funk, but even your favorite coffee didn’t have its usual effect. You felt so stupid for feeling like this today. You literally knew Will Miller for all of one afternoon, it shouldn’t ruin your whole week that he didn’t ask you out. 

You walked into the office ready to be grumpy for the rest of the day when you noticed Will stand up from the chair in which he was sitting. 

Will had been waiting for you since the office opened. He was there long enough to wonder if what he was doing was creepy or sweet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt about his plan. Though once he saw you, his resolve formed and he stood to greet you. Any insecurity he had melted away when he saw how you smiled at him when you noticed him there. 

“Hey,” he started, finding his voice. 

“Hey,” you replied, breathless. 

“I never did fill out a permit yesterday, I got distracted by someone way more interesting than paperwork,” he said, unable to contain a grin. 

You felt something deep in your center as you too failed to contain a beaming smile. 

“I can help you with that,” you walked behind the permit desk and he met you on the other side. 

You handed him the paperwork and helped him fill everything out. The entire time neither of you could contain your ear splitting smiles. When he finished you stamped his form and returned his copy. 

“You’re all set, Mr. Miller,” you said, “Will there be anything else?”

He looked you the eye, “Are you free Friday night? I’d love to take you out.”

You nodded eagerly, “I’d like that.”

PART 2 

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[pawjamas]

hey..i’ve been back from my stay at the residential facility for several days now and A lot happened, which i’m putting under a a readmore bc it’s potentially triggering (warning for mentions of s*xual abuse/gasl*ghting/etc) my life is basically being uprooted, so much happened in the month of June and is currently still happening, which i’ll explain below

i was admitted to the residential facility on June 9th, it seemed super promising, there was an abundance of 4-5 star reviews from patients online. my friend who currently is working in the mental health field researched about the facility and also confirmed that it seemed a lot better than most places are. the first day was kind of rough and i knew getting adjusted would be difficult but could never have expected what happened the following several days to happen. i made friends pretty quickly, my roommate on the first day there was very kind to me, she told me if i ever needed someone to talk to that she’d be there for me, we also shared the fact we were both nonbinary/just a lot of things we had in common so it was comforting to know her on the first day there.

i spoke to my psychiatrist the next day who told me i could get off “close observations” which is why i was in the room i was, the label is basically something you get put on if you’re at risk for s*lf h*rm/etc and need a staff member w/ you at all times. so since i was taken off of that i was switched to a different room with a different roommate. she was a 60 yr old woman who was in the other program offered at the facility (mine was mental health related and hers was for substance abuse/addiction) i didn’t feel too comfortable around her the first night, she complained about every single thing, she never participated in the groups offered at the facility, she told me over and over again how much she hated being here. the next few days were a blur and are still very fuzzy, my mind is still keeping all the memories locked away which has happened to me many times before w/ trauma where everything’s vague and not fully there.

basically, over the course i was roommates w/ this woman she groomed me and manipulated me into doing anything she wanted me to do for her, she physically/s*xually assaulted me multiple times, and caused my mental health to plummet even further than i thought was possible. i eventually did get to switch rooms, and i only recalled (again, vaguely) what happened those nights about a week later and reported it to the staff where half of them treated it like a joke. i went to the hospital the night i reported everything to get examined and ended up calling my mom on my friend’s phone (she drove to the hospital and stayed w/ me the whole time) and my mom was probably the worse to take my trauma/situation out of anyone. she told me i should’ve spoken up sooner, asked why i didn’t defend myself from this woman, basically the whole phone call was her blaming me for not doing anything about my assault. when i hung up my friend even told me that what she said wasn’t okay, and was victim-blaming.

i left the hospital and got back to the facility around 1:00 am, and the following days i spent there i was continuously getting worse because being in the environment my trauma had happened was preventing me from healing, plus i literally had to be in the same rooms as the person who had assaulted me and seeing her was extremely triggering. she continuously would call me crazy and delusional and that i made the entire thing up, i had difficulty telling what was real and what was not because of how bad i was treated by her and the staff. i’m thankful i met some really kind patients there that became my friends, they helped me the most out of anyone there. at one point a nurse had pulled me into a room and told me how i should never have spoken up about my abuse, how i should consider how it makes my abuser feel, and stop talking to the friends i made about it. but i’m glad i had people who would actually listen.

i mentioned it once but again, my mom was probably the worst person to talk to when all this was happening, at one point one evening when phones were available i called her and told her i needed to leave, i wanted to come home because this all of this was affecting me so badly, and she screamed over and over that i can’t come home and i have to stay, that it’s too bad that happened but continuing to do the program was more important. at that point i broke down and cried, begging her to let me come home and she screamed repeatedly for me to shut up and then hung up on me.

after that evening i knew that i wouldn’t be taking any shit from her any longer, i called my friend who lived nearby about her the following day or so, asked if i could stay with her at her apartment, which didn’t end up happening because we both worried my mom being as spiteful as she is would take legal action if i did leave w/ my friend instead of my mom. i ended up talking to a couple of the friends i made there that i was having bad intrusive thoughts, and that evening i was baker acted (involuntarily hospitalized) and transferred to another facility, which could’ve been because of the staff or me being reported for the thoughts i was having, but regardless i was away from my abuser and didn’t have to see her again.

the hospital i stayed at was...a lot worse than the other place, i barely got to speak to the psychiatrist/therapist during my entire time there, people would joke about how little time you got w/ them. they ended up keeping me there longer than the required 72 hrs, which i asked multiple people why and never got an answer, at one point my mom wanted to make sure i was sent back to the residential facility of which i had to explain would be detrimental to me and my health, but as usual when she had her mind set on something she won’t listen to reason or anyone who explains other (more beneficial) options.

i ended up calling my friend that lived back in the town i live in, told her the whole story and what’s been going on, and ultimately asked if i could move in with her because her and her family had already offered to let me. she was more than happy to have me move in, so that’s what i ended up planning on doing when i got discharged, was have her pick me up instead of my mom. and i called my mom to tell her that i’d be moving out, all the reasons why it’d be beneficial to us both, she took it horribly and told me if my friend picks me up i can never ever come home again and that i’m kicked out. i told her that’s fine, even though it hurt so badly when she said it.

finally, the following monday i was discharged, my friend from back home picked me up along w/ her husband, and we made sure to get all my things from the residential facility (my clothes/shampoo/makeup/etc) before heading back to her house, which was about an hour and a half drive home.

so now i’m staying w/ her, i still feel out of place and disoriented and uncomfortable but her and her family have been very welcoming. i’m trying to get all my stuff from my mom’s but it’s been a huge struggle to get anything from her because she loves to overcomplicate anything and then make it seem as if it’s all your doing and she’s the biggest, kindest saint ever to grace your life. my friends and i all think she has undiagnosed/untreated bipolar, and i definitely think she at least needs therapy and meds too but she doesn’t believe in either for herself. i just want my stuff back, and i do miss my room a lot and jazzy but there’s no way i’m getting either back, i’m also worried how my mom is treating jazzy because she hates him and i’ve witnessed first-hand what she’s done to him before.

i might post my p*ypal / v*nmo (censoring bc i think tumblr is weird abt posts that have these keywords or smth) because i don’t have any income rn...thank you if you read all this lmao i still didn’t even cover half of the other stuff i went through at the place i was baker acted but essentially my life has been turned upside down and i’m having to figure out how to keep going despite it all

[the-nwrt-librarian]

This is in response to the post made by @throwaway-account66​ and in response to some of the comments I’ve seen getting thrown around lately...

To be honest, I don't think it's fair to say his gf was stirring the pot with speaking out about this. I think his gf broke up with him because she found out he continually manipulated her and took advantage of her trust. He lied to her and said he would stop engaging in sexual messages with fans. He didn't. We as listeners know how easy it was for him to deceive people. He was doing all of this deceptive bullshit without any of our knowledge. Todd deliberately went out of his way to cheat in a very secretive and shit way. He got a second phone so he could continue messaging fans behind her back. He made a secret Snapchat so he could sext these women. Todd was even messaging two of his previous exes. He knew exactly what he was doing and he didn’t care.

Also, the reason he ghosted was because some of the people he'd hurt were privately messaging him telling him what he did was wrong and then he left cause he didn't want to take accountability. He didn't decide to leave “just because” and then a bunch of people saw this as an opportunity to shit on him. He originally chose to hide from the truth getting out. To say that his gf let all of this happen is very unfair. His gf didn't know what he was doing at the time but what's important is that she felt the need to speak up after she learned. We know firsthand how easily this guy could smoothly talk his way into getting people to trust him. His gf spoke up about all of this because people deserved to know he used people and deceived listeners. Now I'm not saying he was a predator or any of the other outlandish claims but Todd had a certain level of responsibility to uphold. As a fairly big content creator (by GWA standards), he gained the trust, respect, and financial support of his audience by claiming to be someone who followed certain ethics. People respected his decision to not be in private contact with listeners cause it opens the door to unhealthy attachment and parasocial relationships. After finding out he lied about that, people are understandably upset.

Now I don’t fully disagree with what you have to say about DM-ing a total stranger. There are risks to that of course and you should be cautious. But let's take a moment and imagine you were one of the people Todd sexted with: You know he made public statements saying he didn't DM listeners. But he continued to message you after saying that. You might think your relationship was becoming something more serious if he was still choosing to keep communications with you. You don't know he's talking with other people or even has a gf. To your knowledge, you are the only one he still speaks to. I can certainly understand how that might give someone mixed signals. So of course, when you find out he’s a liar and using you to cheat, you might understandably feel manipulated.  Also, one of the people Todd messaged had started speaking with him at the age of 18. And even though that is perfectly legal, from a moral standpoint I find it weird and very stupid. Even though 18 is of (barely) legal age, there is some common sense required to acknowledge that a teenage is still incredibly vulnerable to being manipulated especially by someone who's most likely in their late 20s/early 30s. I’m only in my early 20s but I am personally very uncomfortable with the idea of being sexual with someone that young. An 18 year old is just graduating high school. Meanwhile the person who’s in their late 20s/early 30s is a full fledged adult who pays bills and works a full-time corporate job. And it's also weird because Todd talked with this fan for the longest out of anyone else (4 years). She has deleted all her public statements about Todd but in her own words, she said that he was abusive and manipulative. Like guys, he literally made a joke about leaking her nudes in case people found out he was still talking to fans on the DL. That is not the kind of shit you joke about and if that had been me, I would’ve been scared out of my fucking mind. It takes a lot of courage to speak out against someone who hurt you. Especially a really big creator like Todd who has fans who would defend him no matter what just because they miss the audios. It is not easy to say the things that people will inevitably attack you for saying. So I don't blame people for not being able to come out and say something sooner.

Ngl I'm getting annoyed with people who keep saying his gf should've known better or done more. We don't know the full extent of his manipulations. We don't don't know the exact details of their relationship nor do we deserve that info. I think it's really easy for people to judge and make criticisms when they didn't actually experience what she went through. Being an outside observer of a toxic relationship is so different from actually living it. Can we please stop acting like the gf or any of the fans he messaged are the ones who should be taking all accountability? Todd was the actual cheater who started all of this. He was the one who ruined his relationships with people (his gf, his friends in the audio community, listeners) by building them off of lies. So then why are people still choosing to criticize the victims of his fuck-ups?