#it’s like herding cats man

[malcolm-reeds-pineapple]

Being the only diagnosed and medicated member of your intensely ADHD/autism family is so fucking funny cuz it’s like

Me: hey guys what’s up?

My mom, who has been cooking lunch for three hours because she keeps forgetting that she is cooking supper because she is still hyper focused on the craft she was making before she started cooking and keeps going between the craft room and the stove, she is blasting a Facebook livestream about crafts: HELLO!!!!!! I was just researching [xyz] and i learned… wait, your glasses are filthy let me just… [takes my glasses off my face and cleans them] anyway I need your help I’m stuck on my craft [drags me to the craft room, my eyes lingering on the fucking pot that’s boiling over. I will end up cooking lunch undoubtedly]

My 80 year old nanny who was given 4 years to live 8 years ago and is baffling the medical world by continuing to live, scrolling the obits in between Wordle guesses, adding names to her “outlived list”, she has an entirely rooster themed house and if she doesn’t have lunch at exactly 12:13pm her day will be thrown off entirely, but she didn’t have all this autism stuff back in her day: Maureen died, [mom’s name] do you remember Maureen Smith? She was the church secretary in 1973? She died, the funeral is on Wednesday.

My brother, who has been making feats of engineering in Minecraft for the last 6 hours, coming in from his daily wake and bake he does to self-medicate for “whatever’s wrong with him”, the same man who built his first PC entirely from YouTube tutorials at age 13: [Infordumps at me about Warhammer lore or Minecraft while I pick up where mom left off making lunch while the chaos unfolds]

My dead Grampy who was a civil engineer who collected hobbies and hoarded building supplies and Weird Shit like it was a full time job who also could not cook without dirtying every single dish in the house, haunting the house he built as a fucking side quest in 1993: [dirties a pot from the beyond somehow]

My dad, 4 hours away who started a business because he was so fucking bored after he retired who used to call me out of school if my grades were good so we could hang out and collect rocks at the beach: [texting] hey this is the red hot chilli peppers song I was talking about a month ago, also, here is a link to a video about space that I thought was really really cool that I want you to watch so you can also think it’s cool! Also just finished season 6 of Stargate, was hoping to call to discuss after work.

My step mom, 4 hours away: [knitting a the sweater The Dude in the Big Lobowski wears without a pattern at lightning speed because my dad mentioned, in passing, that he has a cool sweater this morning. It will be done by 3pm. She is also monitoring a dashboard she coded to link up her numerous excel spreadsheets that run an entire city on her iPad while she knits. She is avoiding making a phone call. She has invited me to join a social media platform exclusively for knitters to share projects and patterns. I do not knit but she is god to me so I join. She is an influencer on the platform]

Me: yeah don’t know what I expected

[the-crooked-library]

what I learned from season 2 of IWTV is that a distressingly large amount of people cannot tell the difference between a consensual BDSM dynamic and assault/abuse, nor do they know anything about how kink actually works

it’s not unhealthy for Armand to be submissive or delve into maître/slave kink dynamics. in fact it’s something people do to explore and get past their traumas all the time irl. additionally, he is like five times older and more powerful than Louis, he wasn’t being forced to do anything, nor could Louis ever actually force him. the kink was probably the healthiest aspect of their relationship, what fucked them over was a jumble of commitment issues, a lack of trust, and eventual murder - which is something that would cause problems in any relationship ever, no matter how vanilla.

the Point of the tragedy is that they were on the precipice of something happy, but Louis hesitated for too long and Armand couldn’t recognize when he was loved, and the kink had nothing to do with it, for fuck’s sake. Louis wasn’t abusive and it’s not bad or wrong for Armand to want to be a sub -

[ratatatastic]

"We got a road trip. If you're late for the plane, you gotta pay for the cab."

[fire-eyed-raven]

Usually I'm all for not treating two characters as a one inseparable unit. I'm all for exploring them separately from each other or considering some interesting rare pair options for them.

But not with Madara. I love Madara very much but I'm sorry his canon obsession with Hashirama can't be ignored by me. I can't separate it from him. Their bond with Hashirama is completely something else. It's a very integral part of who Madara is.

He wants his attention even if it will be in a fight he wants everything Hashirama can give him. He'll recognize him in any situation. He'll be happy to see him even if the last time they have seen each other Hashirama killed him. He talked about uniting Ying and Yang and clearly meant Hashirama as Yang to his Ying. He ended up merging a part of Hashirama into himself in a most literal sense. He can't shut up about Hashirama when we see him as himself and not an impersonator (obito) or through other's memories.

[technicoloranimalviolence]

so, between cuddles toothy giggles & lumpy. who hates Kyle the most and who hates him the least? and the two in between?

FINALLY i can GET TO THIS ONE. lets go on a sliding scale of "thinks he's stupid" to "thinks he's an asshole."

Lumpy thinks he's just kind of an idiot. he believes Kyle is well meaning, but is fumbling through life blindfolded with his hands behind his back, in need of a little guidance.

Toothy thinks Kyle just isn't the brightest and needs some guidance as well, but also thinks he can be unfair and a little rude.

cuddles thinks he's paranoid and pushes it on other people. in his mind, kyle is actively stopping people from doing things that could be dangerous, with no real proof that they are.

giggles thinks he's sometimes purposefully obtuse. what shes SEEING has to be on purpose. shes smart enough to recognize that he's acting with deliberateness. but hasn't quite picked up on the rhyme or reason.

for the most part they are all, of course, entirely wrong.

[songofwizardry]

so I had the summer (in reality, like… almost three months) off from one of my volunteering roles and I’m 20 minutes into my first meeting back and I am already so irritated and angry. maybe this is Not A Good Sign.

[poppinelle]

It’s very telling that all of the Democratic fundraisers are still using images of Obama in their solicitations.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

second one of getting to last light inn. i am turned on by an old woman, scorned by a naked cat, and almost start a bar fight with a devil.

[jewishbarbies]

a dumb bitch on tiktok literally pulled over by a fucking farm pasture and stole a cattle dog because it ran up to her looking excited. she lies in the video she posted about having “overgrown nails, fleas and ticks” when she actually shows his nails in multiple clips and they’re not overgrown at all, and his bath she gave him showed no fucking fleas or ticks. she claimed because he wasn’t microchipped that means the owner didn’t care about him, and he didn’t have a collar so she gets to keep him. working dogs often don’t have collars depending on their tasks so they don’t get fucking strangled in the brush. anyone from a rural area can see she’s stolen someone’s dog. the thing had to be COAXED into her house. I’m so fucking mad.

[mysdrymmumbles]

I need Blizz to release an age chart for all the black dragons. This is vitally important.

[gayabeilles]

favorite people at the farmers market this morning, in no particular order:

guy banging out the shire theme on the xylophone

the most exhausted looking person I’ve ever seen in my life with crocs the exact shade of red as the frame of their power chair

someone had just brought a spinning wheel and was camped out on a bench making yarn??? iconic

person walking in front of me telling their friend that their farm is currently being taken over by kittens

The Bees

least favorite people:

person walking their bike through the market

cop swarm?????

[dilemmaontwolegs]

You Came, You Called || LN4

Summary: when strangers follow you from the nightclub there’s only one person you want to call.

Warnings: angst, threatening behaviour, fluff

WC: 2.4K

Lando stirred at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. There were few people who could get past the ���do not disturb’ setting that came into effect after midnight. With bleary eyes he reached for the phone and cringed at the bright light in his face but the sight of your name chased away his exhaustion.

It had been 162 days since you last spoke to him. It had been 162 days since he had ruined everything. He regretted his foolishness for every single one of those days and his stomach flipped at the thought of hearing your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, a flinch following as his voice cracked from lack of use while he slept. He quickly cleared it before trying again. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.”

Alarm bells rang in his head and he sat up straight. Had you called the wrong man? That thought soured in his mouth.

“I’m on my way home.”

It wasn’t your unsteady voice he was focused on but the male voices that sounded far too close for his liking. “Aw, don’t call your boyfriend. We only want to talk.”

“Where are you?” Lando was already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing the first shirt he came across. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you whispered with a tremble in your tone. “I miss you.”

“Tell me where you are, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”

“Come on, gorgeous, it’s just a bit of fun,” a man called out and Lando saw red when he heard you choke back a sob. He knew the sound because he had been the reason for it before, and it had haunted him ever since. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“I’m heading towards Chocolat Boutique, please hurry.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” Lando was already racing down to the garage and jumping in his McLaren. The engine roared loudly in the underground space before he tore out onto the street. “Keep talking to me, okay?”

The small store would have closed hours ago, but it was down the street from Jimmyz nightclub which was where you probably had been. He didn’t even know you were in town, and he didn’t have a right to know your whereabouts anymore.

“I’m scared, Lan.” The pain echoed around him as his phone connected to the car and played in surround sound.

“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. I’m almost there, I promise.” He didn’t care about speeding tickets or running red lights. He flew through the narrow streets as he was forced to listen to the cat calls.

“I didn’t know who to call,” you admitted as you tried to walk faster but your heels hindered any escape. The three men were getting closer but they were in no hurry as they prowled both sides of the street to herd you along.

“You can always call me, love,” Lando swore, taking the last turn fast enough for the tires to squeal in protest. “And I’ll always answer.”

He found you on the footpath clutching your phone to your ear, hand cupped over the microphone as you spoke to him. Fear had widened your eyes and your normal stature cowered under the gaze of the men behind you.

Twisting the steering wheel, Lando skidded to a halt beside you and threw the door open. You had seen him angry before, when races don’t go his way, but this was beyond anger. Waves of rage rolled off him as you leapt into his arms, your trembling form finding itself molding perfectly back into his body. Two puzzle pieces slotting back together.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he soothed as he cradled the back of your head and glared over your shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

He might not have been the most imposing figure but you knew Lando was strong and regularly had boxing lessons for training. You had no doubt that if anything escalated he would use every lesson to protect you, but the cowards shrank back into the shadows of the shops.

“Let’s get you home.”

You were in such a state of shock that you didn’t see Lando wince at his mistake. You hadn’t called his apartment home for 162 days, not since you packed your bags and left. But right now you longed for that place where you had felt so safe and secure, tangled in his sheets and he curled his body around yours.

He opened the passenger door and reluctantly stepped out of your embrace to guide you into the seat. The doors locked as he started the engine and you exhaled a heavy breath of relief when the street was left behind.

Tearing your eyes away from the tinted window, you looked at Lando properly and saw his disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I’m not.” He took his eyes off the road for a second before reaching over to take your hand. “You’re freezing.”

He couldn’t tell if you were shaking because you were cold or if it was the adrenaline leading to shock. Dropping your hand he reached behind your seat to grab a hoodie that was always left in the car. The material was soft and smelled like him as you pulled on, inhaling deeply at the familiarity of the scent.

“I miss stealing these,” you whispered as you buried your cold hands into the front pocket.

Lando chuckled at the admission. He missed seeing his hoodies on you and asking if you knew where his favourite ones were. You would lie and he would smile at how terrible the attempt was.

“You can steal that one, if you want. I have too many now that they don’t mysteriously disappear.”

The car pulled into the garage and you found the space where your car used to park now filled with a pretty Lamborghini. A new sense of sadness hit that of course everything could be upgraded and replaced. “You can take me to my hotel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you probably have company.”

His lips turned down at the thought and he shook his head. Lando understood why you would assume that, after all it was the reason you had left. What he had thought was harmless flirting had wrought destruction on his relationship with you. He knew he should’ve deleted the messages as soon as they were received but a moment of weakness when he was away from you led him to reply.

He betrayed your trust and he had regretted it ever since.

“There isn’t anyone,” he said as he parked. “There isn’t anyone ever, just to be clear.”

You mulled over his words as you stepped out of the car and accepted his hand, trading the warmth of the pocket for his palm. You kept hearing the insinuation echo with each step in the empty garage.

“Did you go out alone tonight?”

You shook your head. “Ana felt sick so she left. I should have gone with her.”

“So why did you stay?”

You weren’t ready to admit there was a slight hope you would see him so you just shrugged. It was Saturday night in Monaco and Jimmyz was the place to be - especially for a handsome, single man like Lando. You hadn’t wanted it to be this way though.

“I stopped going there after…a couple of months ago,” he said as he unlocked his door.

“Why? You loved that place.”

“I loved going with you,” he corrected. “I got to hold you and dance, show you off to everyone. When I went back, everyone just wanted to use me.”

You could imagine the women fawning over him and the men trying to be his next best friend. Sex or money, it was all they wanted from him.

“I’m sorry, Lan.”

“Lan,” he chuckled, following the light down the hall to his bedroom. The blanket was tossed aside and his charging cord was half hanging from the wall, a testament to how quickly he had left his bed to rescue you. “No one else calls me that anymore. It’s always Lando Norris, full name, so fucking weird. It’s Lando Norris getting out of his car. Oh, look, it’s Lando Norris scratching his nose.”

You laughed at his impersonation and sat at the edge of the bed. It was such an innocent thing but it brought back a million memories made in this room and he was seeing them all too as he stood frozen.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Lando Norris?”

His eyes traced your lips that mocked him before he shook his head of the thought that entered his head. Going to his wardrobe, he grabbed a loose shirt and tossed it to you before turning his back. “That’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than your dress.”

You laughed to yourself as he turned away, despite intimately knowing every inch of your body, until you found his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His tortured eyes dared you to tell him to look away, but they begged you all the same. Maybe you were feeling grateful for the rescue, or maybe it was just an old habit that you held his gaze as you rose to your feet and let your dress fall to the floor with his hoodie.

His eyes darkened and he groaned, but the sound woke him up from his stupor. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

“Wait.” You took a step towards him as he stepped towards the door. “Please stay.”

He heard the fragility in your tone and the residual fear from the evening creeping back. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t find the words to voice them as he gripped the door handle.

You watched his fingers release their tight hold before he nodded. “But please put the shirt on,” he pleaded as you tested his self restraint.

It was summer and the air still held warmth despite the early hour, but you dutifully pulled it over your head and climbed into the sheets. Lando waited until you were completely covered before he walked around to his side of the bed and curled up at the edge.

You both lay in silence, back to back, watching the shadows on the wall as the minutes ticked away. Lando was like a heat seeking missile and he was fighting an internal battle to keep from rolling over and curling his body around yours. You had always loved physical contact, it was comforting to be wrapped in his arms.

You knew he was awake and uncomfortable.

He knew you were awake and uncomfortable.

A few more minutes passed and you could no longer pretend he didn’t exist, or that you didn’t want the comfort he could give. “Lan?”

“Yeah?” His response was instant and you felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back.

“Stop being weird and just cuddle me so we can get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You giggled and reached blindly for him. “I am already.”

Your hand found his arm and he shimmied across the space until it curled around your waist. His knees tucked behind yours and his breath warmed your neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know you hate me, but-”

“I don’t,” you interjected, twisting your neck to look at him in the dim light. “I did, I really did. But I don’t anymore.”

“You should. I hurt you so bad. I deserve your hate.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked away as you admitted aloud what you had known for a while. “I can’t hate you, Lan, not when I still love you.”

Lando froze still behind you and you weren’t sure if he was even breathing. “You still love me?” Disbelief, wonder, hope - it was so saturated in that question.

“I thought something terrible was going to happen to me tonight so I called you in case it was the last time I could. I didn’t want ‘I hate you’ to be my last words to you.”

Lando’s gut clenched at the thought and his arms tightened around you, crushing your back to his chest. “I wish you called sooner, I would come day or night to get you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said sadly. “Every weekend for the past five months I wonder if you are out drinking and clubbing. I know it’s not my place, and I lost all right to know where you are, but I need to know you safe, sweetheart. It kills me to think that there might be someone else looking out for you, because that was my job. It should still be my job, to protect you, because I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”

You squirmed in his arms but they were too tight to move. “Lan, I need you to let go of me,” you murmured.

“I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t give up on us.”

“Lan.”

His breath was shaky but he released his tight grip on you, despite his desire to keep you close. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

He started to pull away but you finally had room to move and followed. “Lando! Come back, you muppet. I just wanted to see your face without breaking my neck,” you laughed.

He paused, a little from appearing between his brows. “Let go…oh…” His eyes lit up even in the dark room and he bundled you back into his arms. “Muppet is my word.”

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I stole it too, like your hoodies.”

“I was a muppet so you can have it this time.” He pulled back so he could find your eyes. “Where does this leave us?”

“You broke my trust.” You felt him deflate at the words. “But when I needed you, you came.”

“You called.”

Your chest felt light with emotion those two words brought and you combed your fingers into his dark curls. “I don’t know where this leaves us but what I do know is that I really want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Now? Are you sure? It might just be the adrena-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Lan.”

He didn’t need to be told a third time.

[magicmagica]

And now that I have cometh out, radio silence

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[ddejavvu]

Hiii! Could you write a Spencer Reid x fem reader who are dating & she’s super drunk, he needs to take care of her and she’s all “no I have a boyfriend who I love so much” and goes on a ramble about Spencer, not releasing she’s talking to him & he’s all heart eyes and giggly at her whilst trying to take care of her? Lots of fluff? Thank you!

The minute Spencer tries taking your hand to help you down from the booth you're squeezed into, you push his hand away, "No."

"No," You repeat, shaking your head with all the coordination of a baby deer, "Nooo sir. I am not going to be partaking in anything with you, because I have a boyfriend," You announce, your voice spanning over the entire table, even reaching Rossi who's at the head, "And I love him, and you're- just- fuck off."

Spencer's mouth falls open incredulously at your expletive, though a laugh escapes it rather than one of his own. "Oh, really? You've got a boyfriend?"

"Mhm." You nod proudly, settling back into your seat and burrowing away from his waiting hands into Emily's side, "He's tall, and he has a gun, so don't-" You choke on what Spencer presumes is a hiccup, but could very well be a belch, "Don't mess with me."

"You tell'im," Emily laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and rubbing the chilly skin beneath the cutoff of your sleeves, "Do you want me to call Spencer for you, sweetheart? Have him come pick you up?"

"Yeah," You nod easily, your eyes set greedily on your friend's drink now that yours have been downed, "Can you tell him to bring me a blanket, too? I'm cold."

Unbeknownst to you, Penelope herds Spencer away to the edge of the patio your team is seated on, and there's a lingering smile on his face as he listens to what she whispers in his ear.

"I have a blanket in my car," She tells him, "It might have some cat hair on it, but you can totally take it! Go get it, and you can come back like we called you."

"Okay," Spencer's eager to take Penelope's keys from her when she shoves them into Spencer's hands, "Thanks, Garcia. Just make sure she doesn't drink any more, okay?"

A quick glance back at your table reveals Emily holding her glass to your lips, helping you tilt it backwards to dump the concoction down your throat.

"Uh- any more than that." Spencer clarifies. Penelope nods, rushing off to make sure you don't find Rossi's scotch.

Spencer returns barely two minutes later, discreetly dumping Penelope's keys back into her purse. Hotch and Morgan share a knowing smirk when Spencer pats you on the shoulder, and JJ pinches your side from across Emily to get you to notice the man standing beside you.

"Hi angel," Spencer croons, and your face lights up, shining brighter than the fairy lights strung above you, "Emily called me, she said you wanted me to come get you?"

"Spencer!" You cheer, and Emily shares her strength with you to hoist you into his arms where you cling to him like a koala bear, "Spence, you're here! There was this guy, and he tried holding my hand, and-"

"Oh, no," Spencer scrunches his nose, unable to stop himself from laughing when you take it as an invitation to smear yours against his own, "Not a guy! Are you okay, angel?"

"Mhm," You hum, tucking your face into his shoulder, "You're here now, Spence. And you brought a blanket, just like I asked."

"Of course I did," He beams, wrapping his arm tightly around your back as you settle over him like dead weight, "Uh- guys, can we get a bill?"

"Just go," Rossi waves him off, patting his pocket where you all know his rather thick wallet lies, "Take her home now, so that she can't run up my card with any more drinks, and I'll pay for the ones she already had."

"Thanks Rossi," Spencer grins awkwardly at him, flashing the man a strained thumbs-up before he has to use that hand to support the backs of your thighs once more, "Okay, honey, ready to go?"

You don't answer, and Derek leans sideways to peek at you.

"She's out," He snickers, "Pretty boy, make sure she's still breathing when you get home, alright?"

"Got it," Spencer chuckles breathily, "Okay, uh- bye guys."

There's a chorus of send-offs, and Hotch tilts his glass at Reid with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, "Make sure you're both on time Monday. Hangovers don't excuse you from duty."

[raptorific]

I have this really weird pet peeve in comics fandom, which you can't really Talk About without it being mistaken for opposition to those headcanons in the the way certain Spider-Man fans were so opposed to a black Peter Parker that the writers invented Miles Morales about it, with the way Diverse Headcanons form, become popular, and occasionally even become mistaken for canon.

A lot of the time these headcanons are built on a combination of ethnic stereotypes and an outright refusal to engage with existing characters who actually have those identities in a way that generates the money that gets those characters further official content

The core example is the common headcanons about Robins prior to Damian-- the most popular headcanons about them are that Jason is Latino and Tim is Asian. And, like, I'm not necessarily opposed to them being Robins Of Color, and I'm not even necessarily opposed to those headcanons, but their popularity largely comes from unexamined biases and ethnic stereotypes about Latino and Asian men. The aggressive, hot-headed, violent Robin who came from a poor neighborhood must be Latino, and the well-off, nerdy teacher's pet Robin who's known for being good at computers must be Asian. I've seen Bat-fans balk at the suggestion of headcanoning Tim as Latino, or headcanoning Jason (or god forbid Dick) as Asian, often saying the quiet part loud: "it just doesn't fit their personality." They cast a black actor as Tim on Titans and I actually saw people who bill themselves as progressives complaining about it, because it ignores the popular Asian Tim headcanon

And the thing is, there actually are a fair number of fun Latino and Asian characters in DC canon! They're nowhere near as prominent, but, when you ask these same fans to maybe pay some attention to them, they make excuses and hem and haw and stick to making comic panel edits "correcting" the skin tones and facial features of their favorite canon white dudes to align with their headcanons. But if you ask them to make fanart or talk for even a second Jaime Reyes or Renee Montoya or Cass Cain, it's like herding cats