#it's like one of the best lines from boston legal

[zmediaoutlet]

Happy WW! I have to pick your brain about established relationship wincest, because I agree it has a lot of untapped potential. Like, other the years how much does “brotherly-ness” go down, and “romantic partner-ness” go up? When was The Moment that they realized there really wasn’t going to be another outside relationship, that it could be them until the end? On the flip side, with canon, how much does Sam wonder "it could have been different with us"? Bc thinking about Dean II makes me so sad!

happy wincest wednesday!! (we enjoy wincest on all the days, it's fine)

So -- I'm taking a slightly different tack at this, but I think that with a lot of married/long-term romantic partners, the sibling-ness goes up a lot over time. Once you're out of the fresh lovey-dovey stage when flowers stop puking out of the beloved's eyes every time you look at them, it's like -- okay, so you have a long-form relationship with this person where you know a ton of their background and secrets; you've been together long enough that you act like each other in certain ways and share lots of in-jokes and common language; you find each other irritating in some ways but also fun in others, and you tease each other about some stuff and joke about some stuff and some stuff you just have to ignore/roll your eyes about for the sake of the house (unless you're those shitty siblings who insist on picking fights about every little thing). And like... that's Sam and Dean.

Now, adding in actual romance of course makes it different, but the thing is that they're starting pre-equipped with all of the intimacy and long-worn grooves of knowing each other that a married couple doesn't get until they've been married twenty years -- but Sam and Dean have that already! In the new-relationship era I can obv see a jitteriness destabilizing them some -- let's imagine for the sake of argument that they aren't hatefucking to start and instead it's a relatively nice coming-together (and coming, together) -- and so maybe there's a little period where they kind of don't know what to do with each other. But then Sam still farts in the car after a burrito and Dean still sings warbly and off key in the shower and they know each other, so the fact that they're also learning about each other's dicks can't wreck all that history. And, honestly, on the "romance" side of things -- while they maybe can be softer with each other, show a more tender side, get the benefit of lowered-barriers that pillow talk etc might bring -- I absolutely 100% cannot see them, like, "dating." Sam's not gonna pull Dean's chair out at a fancy restaurant they've inexplicably gone to, and Dean's not going to ask Sam to go on the ferris wheel except as a joke. They're going to keep doing the things they always did, because they are brothers and they aren't somehow awkwardly shoving that relationship into a romcom box -- they're gonna go on a hunt and to a pie fest and to the movies, and they'll act just like they always did, but maybe with handjobs after. That's what makes it *interesting* that it's an incestuous relationship, you know?

As far as The Moment -- that obviously depends on how you're writing the incesty bits, but in honest to g canon I think it's at very different speeds. Honestly, I think Dean's there about midway through s1, but it's obviously cemented after the thing with Lisa blows up (with the caveat that I'm not sure he believes Sam can feel the same until s10); for Sam, I think it takes until s11, really, because he's always looked outward -- asking Dean if he ever considers anything else, and then not arguing when Dean blows off the question -- and really sitting there in his life like, yeah. Yeah, I think this could be it. And it feels like a peaceful realization, and that point, and not the curse he might've considered it in s1 or 3 or 9.

(Sorry, I can't quite parse the last question w/r/t Dean II etc, but hopefully that's enough wincest to be going on with.)

[strawberryblondebutch]

Draft thoughts

Obligatory disclaimer: while I watch a lot of college hockey, I have not had the opportunity to watch the European leagues heavily, and my 'scouting' of Euro prospects is limited to international competition. My first round recap is here.

Boston: Boston took my two favorite players in the draft, for very different reasons. Out of everyone who went right from college to the draft, Bilka is the best-prepared to adjust to the professional level. Her game-breaking speed will help a relatively slower Boston team. Hadley Hartmetz - hey. Just vibes. Gotta support a Main Line girlie. Bard won't get you any goals, but she can block shots and make plays.

Minnesota: I mean, what do you want me to say here? They shit the bed. Britta Curl thoughts are here. Thompson over Barnes was ill-advised. Hymlárová over Boreen borders on malpractice. Brooke McQuigge is the one pick I like - she dragged Clarkson back to relevance this past season, but she has some injury concerns.

Montreal: I'm not going to say that Monreal got lucky. What they did is they didn't overthink their picks (which is funny, considering they were the only team to use those five-minute timeouts). Best player available whenever they came up. Barnes was the best D available in the draft. They swiped Boreen not just from Minnesota but from every other team. Saw their chance with Kessel available. Wilgren was solid for UW -- high floor, low ceiling player. You need some of those.

New York: I mean, if you get to go first in every round (before the pick trade), you pretty much have to knock it out of the park. I hope Fillier can get back to form and take more risks. She works best when she's loose and not thinking. Elle Hartje is an underrated pick - she was the only Yale Bulldog to declare, and they've been climbing up the ECAC Hockey ladder. Persson is also a three-time defender of the year in the SDHL, which legalized body checking a couple years ago, which means she knows how to play gritty, physical defense.

Ottawa: Shrug. I'm not thrilled with their picks, especially with how high they were in the draft order, but they did commit to the overall plan: get bigger and get meaner. Gwyneth Philips will make a great tandem with Masch, who I expect to slump this year (call it the Cole Hamels problem: newborn at home = not sleeping = there goes your command). I wouldn't be surprised if Sandy went back to Europe to get more playing time (as of writing, she has an offer she hasn't accepted from OTT).

Toronto: I said in my first-round recap that Toronto mostly has to tread water until Spooner comes back, and although that gives them the opportunity to make big swings, they played it pretty safe. Gosling is a solid bottom-six. Izzy Daniel slipped pretty far for the incumbent Patty Kaz winner. Sure, her numbers weren't great, but look at her team. No one else was doing shit. Raygan Kirk as Ms. Irrelevant would be the steal of the draft if I thought Troy Ryan had any intention of playing her, but he's probably just going to run Soupy into the ground and waste her talents.

[fannyyann]

Aleksander Barkov's impact on the Panthers, and how he's taken the mantle as best two-way player in the NHL Dimitri Filipovic

Patrice Bergeron’s departure from the NHL this past summer obviously left a massive opening atop the Boston Bruins depth chart down the middle that would be difficult to fill, which they’ve remarkably done one heck of a job of patching together thus far. 

But it also created a void every bit as glaring atop the Selke Trophy conversation as well. He’d won the award in each of the past two seasons quite decisively, totalling 187 out of 196 possible first-place votes last season. Even as he crept into his late 30s, he truly cemented himself as the gold standard of two-way excellence, consistently operating at a level that was simply unmatched by his peers. 

His retirement created an opportunity for someone from the current crop to step up and take that mantle though, and if the first 30 games or so this year are any indication, that role appears to have been filled rather admirably by Aleksander Barkov.

It’s certainly fitting that it would be him, considering that he’s the last active player to have won the award, but the heights he’s taken his game to in doing so are still awfully impressive.

What he’s doing right now would make even Bergeron blush, distancing himself from pretty much everyone else at his position much like his predecessor had made a habit of doing. The on-ice numbers Barkov boasts right now are downright staggering. In his 323 5-on-5 minutes, here’s how the Florida Panthers have fared:

Goals: 23-5 differential

High Danger Chances: 74-46 differential

Shots: 60.5 percent share

Expected Goals: 61.0 percent share

To put his dominance into even further context, he’s already scored six times himself, which means that he’s currently scored more goals than he’s allowed all of his opponents to muster combined. It’s also worth noting that without him out there, the Panthers are getting outscored 38-29. How they play with him on the ice and without him are two entirely different things, which speaks to his impact. He does it with the degree of difficulty ratcheted all the way up, chewing up heavy minutes against the other team’s top players while shouldering an immense amount of responsibility. 

And despite all of that, he’s still taken just three penalties (while drawing six of his own), finding a way to artfully poke and prod constantly with that pole vaulting apparatus he calls a hockey stick without ever crossing the line. It’s legitimately impressive that he can legally challenge puck carriers with the sheer volume of stick checks that he does, considering how much the league has mandated cracking down on anything even remotely near the hands. It allows him to craftily execute takeaways, while still staying on the ice, which is doubly important for a Panthers team that takes a bunch of penalties otherwise. That seems like a small perk in the grand scheme of things, but it actually ranks as one of my favourites about his game.  

He’s spent the majority of the season with Sam Reinhart and Evan Rodrigues on his flanks, and that trio has been the best line in hockey. In just under 200 minutes together, they’re up 19-3. Rodrigues has been underrated for years, and it’s great to see him finally find a long-term fit this season in Florida. Reinhart is tied with Kyle Connor for fourth in goals, currently on pace to score 50 times. The timing of his spike in shooting percentage couldn’t be better in a contract year, but he’s been so good for so long now, that he deserves to be rewarded for it. Plus, he’s such a smart player that I could see him aging quite gracefully into his 30s, the way that someone like Joe Pavelski has.

I love both players, so don’t take it as diminishing their contributions when I say that the reason all of it is possible for Florida is because of Barkov. His skill set is so unique, and such an enabler for everyone in his orbit. 

The two things that the Panthers have become synonymous with as an organization during this run of success have been a) their supremely aggressive forechecking, and b) their uncanny ability to keep bringing in castoffs from other teams and immediately juicing their production beyond what we had any reason to believe they were capable of at this point.

What they’ve been able to pull off to start the season almost surely hasn’t received nearly enough nationally. The team started the year without having Aaron Ekblad and Brandon Montour available for the first 15 games, who are clearly two of their three best defenders (you’ll see them referred to as their two best, but that’s Gustav Forsling erasure and we don’t stand for that here). Yet they’re currently 17-9-2 on the season, sitting in a tie with the Colorado Avalanche for eighth in the league in points percentage, with the sixth best goal differential. And despite those early absences, much of that success can be directly attributed to the team’s defensive performance. 

Only the Vegas Golden Knights, Winnipeg Jets, and Vancouver Canucks are giving up fewer goals than them at 5-on-5, and they’re sixth in fewest goals against surrendered on a per-minute basis overall. According to Sportlogiq, here’s how they grade out in all of the key categories we care about:

Expected Goals Against: 3rd

Slot Shots: 2nd

Inner Slot Shots: 5th

Offensive Zone Possession Time Allowed: 2nd

By any important marker, they’ve graded out as one of the best defensive teams in the league. Which almost seems impossible based on the aforementioned injuries, and the personnel they’ve largely leaned on along the way. Their top four players in total 5-on-5 ice time so far are Forsling, Niko Mikkola, Oliver Ekman Larsson, and Dmitri Kulikov. The three latter names were free agent signings, who they were able to bring in this past summer for a combined $5.75 million. So how exactly are the Panthers able to keep churning out these types of results then?

Every possible explanation keeps circling back to Barkov, because he represents the throughline that ties everything together for them. The reason why everyone they bring in thrives is because they get to play such a simple, fun brand of hockey. All they’re required to do is to keep unapologetically plowing ahead aggressively, and relentlessly, over and over again. 

The wingers are asked to forecheck as hard as they can, closing off walls and forcing the other team to try to make plays up the middle. That plays right into Barkov’s waiting hands, where his range allows him to cover ground like a ball-hawking safety in football. The defencemen get to pinch down the wall and try to extend plays in the offensive zone, knowing that Barkov will be there to cover them with support because he religiously stays above the puck. 

Barkov's 10 goals and 28 points in 25 games are obviously fantastic, and 99 percent of players in the league would kill to have that stat line. That said, it feels like he's capable of so much more offensively because of how much raw puck skill he possesses. And he honestly probably is, if he were wired differently. But whereas some of his peers may cheat for offence and stay deep in the zone until the last possible second to see possible scoring plays through to their conclusion, he instead circles back to get into the right position defensively proactively.

It's a calculated sacrifice on his part, and it's because of those choices he routinely makes that the scales get tilted in his teammates' favour. Regardless of who you are, because of his habits you now get to freely move forward and attack. With such a simplified decision-making process, everyone that comes to Florida gets to tap into the physical tools that helped get them to the NHL in the first place, without having to worry about some of the other complexities that might’ve inhibited them in their previous stops on other teams. 

The result of creating that sort of infrastructure is a massive competitive advantage for the Panthers. They’re able to routinely shop in the bargain bin, and squeeze value out of sources that might not be as readily available for the competition. That’s turned into quite the luxury for a franchise that hasn’t exactly had a lot of financial flexibility of late, having to turn over the roster and find a way to make the cap figures work creatively. 

Everyone involved deserves their fair share of the credit for creating an environment where that’s possible, but none moreso than Aleksander Barkov. Great players make those around them better, and that’s exactly what he’s done in Florida. By doing so, he's cemented himself as the preeminent two-way center in today's game.

[rueitae]

Season 2, Episode 7: the crackle goes kiwi caper for @csweekly

AKA, one more week until Stockholm. Get pumped.

This opening is so cool. Love how it’s so seamless from the previous episode. We were promised Moscow and that’s what we get. There is a nice tension to the scene too that Player doubles down on. He’s glad to hear the IDs worked, which means they weren’t sure that they would.

Hello Mr Rhys Darby nice to hear your voice again. I would support your promotion to Faculty.

Dr Bellum has SEVEN uncles. And she hates figures of speech. I love??? These moments?? The Faculty are evil but also silly and completely human. It’s these moments that humanize them. Give them depth.

It is. SO cool to see Shadowsan vs Neal here. Maybe it’s because they’re in disguise, and Neal is an older operative, and they’ve got history, or maybe because it we get to see Carmen and Shadowsan really slickly working together on a caper. Up until now they’ve all been mostly improv. We are in the thick of it now.

Love the sibs getting to work on the warehouse and make it like home. Its productive for them! Look at Ivy’s smile! Zack’s sandwich!

OH yes! Okay Shadowsan is able to confirm for Carmen that Bellum wiped Gray’s mind. I love this moment because team red now has the most complete picture of the whole situation now that Shadowsan’s with them. And Player. Is so funny. He says “fair enough” with his eyes closed, finally surrendering the idea that Crackle is a sleeper agent. Listen, this kid does not like Crackle one bit and this scene just emphasizes it.

Also! Cool that Bellum just always has a project and wants to solve things. She’s a true mad scientist.

The enthusiasm with which Zack looks up to Shadowsan absolutely kills me. Shadowsan never speaks about ninjas in a particularly positive light because that’s what he is, and he knows it’s dark. But Zack puts a positive spin on it. He’s in awe of this man. He wants to learn. ~~he wants a dad~~

Zack. Ivy. nO.

Player what.

WHAT IS THAT GESTURE? Who is gonna sign him (and Carmen and Zack and Ivy) for drama club?

“Player has wicked awesome gamer reflexes” how many rounds of Mario Kart have you lost, Zack? Tell me.

Player offering to use Crackle? Interesting. Must be fully convinced he’s clean then.

Also I appreciate that Carmen says “we can’t pull him back into the game”. Nice little nod to the CS PC games. And that was a 90s Carmen theme too.

But also this episode makes me so mad, just get Player a plane ticket and sell the story to his parents. It’s okay. I’m fine.

The way Gray barely looks at her and is all “you’re late”. Magnificent.

Okay but Shadowsan waiting for the cable guy is an important job.

Okay. Take one moment to appreciate how pretty cool and unique this caper is.

Listen. LISTEN. how funny it would be if “Peter” were actually Player’s legal name. He’s using his legal name as an ALIAS. That's next level crazy. That’s gotta be worth it’s own fic or at least a plot point in one. I’m totally cool with continuing to find fun ways to keep referring to him as Player in fics but this is one instance I might be moved to actually use a non canon name, because there are so many ways to take it.

My “Player has a grudge on Crackle” agenda goes berserk in this episode. They literally talk to each other and have NO idea. My mind is buzzing. Player does it for Carmen but how many times is he thinking about the “my best SCHOOL friend” line. (Not much because he’s comfortable and confident in his friendship but these kids are petty let me live)

So, Gray, what you’re SAYING, is that you wouldn’t mind doing the lighting for Boston.

The way Carmen dances to the music while doing her thing this caper is so cool.

Was. Was Neal the one Black Sheep stole the belt from in her flashback? I wonder that sometimes. It’s so interesting to hear the perspective of an older operative who watched her grow up there.

The panic Player has at the change of plans. Nice show of multitasking too he’s literally typing and not looking.

I love this entire near miss. Bellum, Neal, Gray could have all seen each other so easily this entire part of the episode.

And here’s what I love about Carmen. Between finishing the mission and keeping Gray safe, she doesn’t hesitate.

AH that moment he USES the crackle rod and Carmen is HOLDING her breath if he’ll remember but he doesn’t!

ULTIMATUM!!!! I love a good ultimatum. I don’t think this series has had one yet like this? Like this is super big stakes. I love Bellum. She’s kooky mad scientist who wants to solve problems and the next SECOND she’s like “let’s destroy the rice and starve a whole population” and “let’s cut the power to hospitals and air traffic” like. The others want valuable objects but Bellum’s solo capers are just??? Actual life or death???? It’s chilling. And I just love it when a character is told to surrender or else it’s one of my favorite tropes. VILE is still wanting her alive at this point.

I’m actually fully convinced, that, if given more seasons, there would have been a time travel episode courtesy of Bellum as a nod to the 90a series. This episode further lays the groundwork for her wanting to solve scientific mysteries

Love the parallels to Casablanca here.

Haha. Carmen crashes with her glider two episodes in a row. (I am salivating over next week already)

Carmen is SO relieved that Gray wants to be one of the good guys.

“I do provide a service and it is secret” lol

Player found his bank account lolol not the first time he’s found and tampered with a bank account

VILE never laid eyes in Gray! Player double checking what Carmen wants to do about him, making sure she feels safe since he saw her doing her thief stuff. Carmen’s at peace that he doesn’t remember VILE…

Which ACME is about to COMPLETELY ruin.

Next week, Rue goes feral over the amount of angst and whump in one episode for EVERYONE. But particularly Carmen. I could watch it all day.

[jimmyspades]

Random very rambling Boston Legal finale thoughts bc I’m bored some sorta spoilers obviously

Sometimes I think the writers forget Alan is a widower lol (like that scene earlier in 5x09 when he says "I was lucky enough to stave off the evil that so ages men... marriage.") but then 5x12 he says "I always thought, if I were to get married again..." so. I guess they remembered !

I'd always pictured Alan coming from a relatively well-off family, in large part bc of those episodes of The Practice season 8 where he goes back to his hometown of Dedham and his best friend is from a wealthy family, wealthy neighborhood, and also his general tastes and almost patrician attitude and things. But after noticing that line from the Thanksgiving episode—"I grew up in a very estranged, unhappy house. Most Thanksgivings my mother spent serving dinner in other people's homes"—which makes it clear they were not rich and perhaps the opposite? But nevertheless, keeping that fact in mind when Alan says he's always dreamt of opening a legal aid firm to help poor people who can't afford it...... sweet man. He’s done so much good and he’s only getting started

On a similar-ish note. Something about Alan remembering everything that’s ever happened to him—every wrong, every pain, every cruel word from his father, every time he was used. He’s been cursed with a steel-trap memory, it’s why he keeps people at arms length. But now that’s the one thing his best friend is losing, his mind. And as Denny’s legal partner and eventual caretaker, Alan’s curse becomes a blessing—he can remember for both of them. He’ll always be there to remember everything Denny forgets, to reassure him for the rest of his life. Ohhh man. Soulmates.

Still waiting for John Larroquette to share an autobiography someday because I would loveeee to hear his thoughts on the show generally/working with James specifically. On Night Court in the 80s, John and Richard Moll had some issues working together for the very same reasons I imagine John and James would not exactly mesh (work style/approach to acting)... but blegal is a much different show in style and format that I thiiiiink would negate some of those potential problems. But fascinated to hear how they got on!

How it feels thinking 100x harder about these TV lawyers than the writers did. Specifically being so mad about Alan Shore I want to analyze him like a bug I love him so deeply he’s such a wonderfully complicated character—while knowing it was just James’ day job for a couple years ago and probably means nothing to him on any deeper level and he hasn’t thought about him since 2008:

[stairhoppermovers-boston]

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[hookahfreakblog]

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In recent decades, smoke shops in the USA have undergone a remarkable transformation, reflecting broader shifts in societal attitudes towards smoking and the legalization of certain substances. Once primarily known for selling traditional tobacco products, today’s smoke shops are vibrant hubs catering to a diverse clientele interested in a wide array of smoking accessories and alternatives.

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Originally, smoke shops in America were synonymous with tobacco—a place where smokers could purchase cigarettes, cigars, and pipe tobacco. These shops served as community fixtures where locals gathered to discuss current events over a pack of cigarettes or to enjoy a leisurely smoke with friends. Over time, however, societal perceptions of smoking began to change, prompting smoke shops to adapt their offerings.

The Rise of Cannabis and Beyond

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Today, walk into any smoke shop in the USA, and you’re likely to find an impressive assortment of smoking accessories catering to every taste and preference. From classic cigars to the latest dry herb vaporizers like the best dry herb vaporizer 2024, these establishments have embraced technological advancements and changing consumer preferences. For those seeking a more exotic experience, smoke shops also offer shisha lounges, where patrons can indulge in flavored tobaccos through hookahs served with various types of hookah charcoal.

Embracing Innovation: From Rolling Papers to Vaporizers

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Despite these changes, smoke shops remain integral to their communities. They continue to serve as gathering places where enthusiasts can exchange tips on where to buy waterpipes or find the best shisha lounge near me. Whether seeking a unique smoking experience or simply browsing the latest innovations in smoking technology, customers rely on smoke shops for both products and camaraderie.

Conclusion

The evolution of smoke shops in America reflects broader societal changes towards smoking and substance use. From their humble beginnings as tobacco purveyors to their current role as purveyors of diverse smoking accessories and alternatives, smoke shops continue to play a vital role in communities across the country. Whether you're in search of rolling papers, exploring smoking alternatives, or simply looking to buy waterpipes, today's smoke shops offer something for everyone, embodying a blend of tradition, innovation, and community spirit.

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Conclusion

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[theultimatefan]

Bernthal, Weller, Charmed Duo, Parrilla Added To FAN EXPO Portland Celebrity Lineup, January 12-14

Jon Bernthal (“The Punisher,” “The Walking Dead”), Peter Weller (RoboCop, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension), the “Charmed” duo of Holly Marie Combs and Rose McGowan, and Lana Parrilla (“Once Upon a Time,” “Spin City”) have been added to the celebrity lineup at FAN EXPO Portland, set for January 12-14, 2024, at the Oregon Convention Center.

The five join the first wave of stars announced earlier this month that includes Danny Trejo (Machete, The Book of Boba Fett), the "Daredevil" tandem of Charlie Cox and Vincent D'Onofrio, Peter Cullen (Transformers) and Jason Lee (Vanilla Sky, Almost Famous).

Bernthal played the lead “Frank Castle” in the Netflix Marvel series “Daredevil” after a popular run as “Shane Walsh” in the AMC hit drama “The Walking Dead.” The classically trained Bernthal most recently starred in last year’s “American Gigolo” on Showtime and has appeared in such large-scale productions as World Trade Center, The Pacific and Rampart, and has had guest roles on top TV series like "CSI: Miami," "Boston Legal," "Without a Trace" and "How I Met Your Mother."

Accomplished actor, director, voice over artist and occasional professor Weller’s amazing career has taken him from the mean streets of old Detroit to the final frontier of space. He has appeared in more than 50 films and television series, notably in the title role in 1987’s RoboCop and its sequel RoboCop 2 and as the title character in the quirky 1984 sci-fi cult film The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.

Combs starred in "Charmed," which ran for eight seasons and has adopted a huge, loyal following since, as "Piper Halliwell," one of three witch sisters fighting evil in modern day San Francisco. That followed her breakout role in 88 episodes of the hit series "Picket Fences" and later led to appearances in more than 30 series and movies and a long run as "Ella Montgomery" on "Pretty Little Liars."

Her “Charmed” co-star McGowan played long-lost sister "Paige Matthews" for the final five seasons of the series. The Italian-born actress first caught major attention for her role as "Tatum Riley" in the horror blockbuster Scream (1996) opposite Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox and David Arquette. She has appeared in more than 60 films and shows as an actress and is also an accomplished producer and director.

Parrilla appeared in 156 episodes of the ABC hit fantasy/adventure series “Once Upon a Time” between 2011-2018, for which she earned several awards, including TV Guide’s Favorite Villain, and numerous nominations. She has had recurring roles in hits “Spin City,” “Boomtown,” “24” and “Windfall,” and co-starred as “Lana Trammell” in this year’s Netflix release of the second season of “The Lincoln Lawyer.”

FAN EXPO Portland features the biggest and best in pop culture: movies, TV, music, artists, writers, exhibitors, cosplay, with three full days of themed programming to satisfy every fandom.

Single-Day Tickets, Three-Day Passes, and Ultimate Fan Packages for FAN EXPO Portland are available now. Advance pricing is available until December 28, 2023. More guest news will be released in the following weeks, including line-up reveals for comic creator guests, voice actors, and cosplayers.

Portland is the second event on the 2024 FAN EXPO HQ calendar; the full schedule is available at fanexpohq.com/home/events/.

[lord-radish]

I made a Boston Legal watchlist a couple years ago, it covered season one. I've been rewatching the show and I just finished season two, and I'm thinking of doing a watchlist of that sometime soon.

This ultimately leads up to season three, which is the nadir of the show and where the "men behaving badly" schtick crosses the line into unwatchable sleaze. Starting with the last episode of season two, where a celebrity is forcibly kissed by an older man who approaches her with multiple unwanted advances beforehand, the show gets really, really slimy and it becomes gross to watch.

And yet, one of the best episodes of this show is in season three. The show recuts one of William Shatner's first movie roles as his character's first court cases, and in the present, he's made to re-try the case at gunpoint as he flashes back to the case via cuts of the original movie. The episode is a masterpiece.

Earlier in the season, that same character has a sex doll custom-made to look like one of his co-workers, who finds out about it and is disgusted. It gets really sleazy, and it's hard to watch.

The watch list is kind of intended for season three, because that's where the show enters choppy waters. But somehow the show course-corrects in season four by introducing a new lawyer, and she offers a bit more light and levity to the show along with the most hardcore sleaze significantly cut back from that point on. Katie Lloyd is one of the best things that happened to the later half of the show.

[shamisxgentile]

Australia Accuses Airbnb Of Misleading Clients On Value

Florence additionally referred to as for individuals to induce lawmakers to assist address the issue. "Even if we can’t get any action from Airbnb, which would be disappointing, we’re hoping this brings consciousness to many. If we can’t depend on firms to prioritize safety for its customers, we've airbnb lawsuit to make sure we do it for ourselves." Since her initial posts, speculation in regards to the incident has continued, with some doubting how actual the scenario was. Some have claimed that she is posing as one other individual, claiming to have discovered pictures of her ‘real’ self.

The suit was filed as New York City is within the grip of a tight housing market, with critics blaming Airbnb for the squeeze by reserving models exclusively for tourists. AIRBNB has filed a lawsuit in opposition to the company that owns Niido, a neighborhood that encourages brief airbnb lawsuit time period rentals. The law local proposed within the settlement would require quarterly reporting for a certified group of short-term rental users, instead of month-to-month reporting for all customers.

This means that you'll want medical documentation detailing your accidents. If you don’t have this documentation, it is going to be challenging to prove an accident brought on your injuries and win your case. Palestinians who wish to establish an impartial state taking within the West Bank have welcomed Airbnb's move. Most world powers view Israel's construction of settlements on occupied Palestinian land as a violation of international law, and Palestinians say it's mistaken for corporations to profit from them. Dispute is the best & most correct small claims platform with reasonably priced methods to resolve each dispute. Finally, write in plain language that you'll go to small claims court if necessary.

I am also would be thinking about listening to about other hosts experience with Airbnb. Aimed to assist Insurers stop, prepare and prevail In adjudicating complicated claims, negotiating settlements and profitable circumstances. Our Team Account subscription service is for authorized groups of 4 or extra attorneys. Each lawyer is granted limitless entry to high quality, on-demand premium content from well-respected college in the authorized business together with administrative entry to simply manage CLE for the complete group. With this subscription you will receive limitless access to prime quality, on-line, on-demand premium content material from well-respected faculty within the authorized trade. This is ideal for attorneys licensed in a quantity of jurisdictions or for attorneys that have fulfilled their CLE requirement but must access resourceful information for their apply areas.

A month and a half after the ordinance was passed, Airbnb sued the county. Four months later, Airbnb sued the city, alleging the rules—which went into effect January 1—violate state and federal laws. Wu says the city modeled its ordinance after San Francisco's, which Airbnb complies with. The Boston lawsuit—much like others just lately filed by Airbnb—only challenges requirements that platforms take away illegal listings and share information with local officials to help enforcement. The suit seeks an injunction against elements of the law, and town has agreed to not implement those sections till a decide guidelines.

Attorney L. Chris Stewart announced the families' intention to file a lawsuit against Airbnb during a press conference in New Orleans, citing the company's failure to implement a mandate for carbon monoxide detectors at all rental properties. After an Airbnb damage, a claim could be filed in opposition to the host or the corporate itself (Airbnb supplies $1 million insurance coverage policies airbnb lawsuit for injury claims). But without the assistance of an experienced DLG lawyer, Airbnb’s high-powered legal team will undoubtedly do everything they will to decrease liability and place you at fault (and therefore liable for any medical payments, misplaced wages, and so forth.).

[workers-compensation-lawyer-ma]

Bellotti Law Group, P.C -  Workplace Injury Attorneys

Despite progress, workplace injuries remain a serious issue. If you're ever injured on the job due to your employer's negligence or lack of appropriate safety measures and are denied compensation for recovery time, don't hesitate - get legal advice right away!

If you’ve been injured due to the negligence of another person or entity, it can be difficult to know where to turn for justice. That’s why you should consider the Bellotti Law Group, P.C., a highly experienced team of Boston workers compensation lawyer. Let’s take a closer look at how we can help you get the compensation you deserve.

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Have you recently been injured in an accident? Is the insurance company giving you a hard time? Are your medical bills piling up and making it impossible to make ends meet? If so, chances are that you may be considering seeking help from a personal injury attorney. But before taking such action, it's important for anyone contemplating legal recourse to understand when the need for an attorney is warranted - after all, understanding and researching all available options beforehand is always recommended. In this blog post, we will cover some of the tell-tale signs that indicate hiring a personal injury lawyer may be necessary. Read on if you’d like to learn how to determine if or when you might need one!

If you think you may have a case against someone or an entity for causing your injury (whether directly or indirectly), then it may be wise to speak with a qualified lawyer who specializes in personal injury cases like those handled by the Bellotti Law Group so that you can get some clarity about your legal options moving forward. While it may seem intimidating to seek legal counsel after an accident or injury; doing so could actually be important not just for ensuring that your rights are protected but also for making sure that any potential settlement is fair and just given your unique circumstances surrounding your case.

We understand how critical it is for workers to be compensated in full when they suffer a job-related injury or illness. Whether it's due to an occupational hazard, repetitive motion stress injuries, medical negligence, or anything else covered by workers compensation insurance laws in Boston, our firm has the expertise and experience necessary to protect your rights as an employee and get you the financial benefit you deserve. Our team of professionals are dedicated to providing compassionate yet effective representation when dealing with insurance companies who may attempt to deny legitimate claims. If you have been injured on the job or filing for disability benefits from lost wages due to a workplace accident, contact us today for more information on workers compensation Boston!

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 What sets the Bellotti Law Group apart?

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Conclusion: If you have been injured while working in Massachusetts, contact us today at Bellotti Law Group, P.C.. Our experienced attorneys will provide you with personalized service tailored to your individual needs throughout your case—from filing initial claims right through negotiating settlements—so you can focus on healing while we handle all the paperwork for you! Contact us today for a free consultation!

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch.3: o come, all ye faithful

summary ↠ part 3 of good doctor kreizler // on christmas eve, as you and your new husband prepare to host your friends, there's a drastic change in plans, and the sudden need for an extra place setting. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 5.6k warnings ↠ explicit language, smut, oral (f!receiving), sexual content involving a pregnant woman, explicit descriptions of childbirth (and everything that goes along with that), mentions of medical procedures, abduction a/n ↠ finally here it is! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The rustling of the bedsheets was a comfort to hear. Laszlo often woke up earlier than you did in order to prepare for his day at the Institute, and he tried his best not to wake you up. Your doctor had advised that you rest as much as possible, especially in the coming few weeks; as you learned, you seemed to have inherited your mother’s “weak womanly constitution”, as the doctor called it. You had to scale back your help during the investigation because of your weak stomach and over-eager emotions. It broke your heart into pieces when Laszlo finally told you that you were off the case entirely, but you understood his hesitations. At least, you considered, your husband knew better than you.

Not a day went by that you didn’t revel in your new title. The ceremony was a quiet affair, hardly even reported in the society papers, and you had just the most important family there. Sara served as your maid of honor, John as Laszlo’s best man, Marcus and Lucius as the legal witnesses. Laszlo had managed to secure a ring for you, and it glittered on your left hand every single day. The wedding, if you could call it that, had happened on a Saturday morning, and, when you went into work on Monday and had to alert Commissioner Roosevelt to your name change, Teddy had given you a warm smile that secured in you the thought that you would never truly be alone ever again. And you liked it.

You gave a soft moan and threw your arm behind you to capture your husband before he rose from bed. “Las,” you mumbled. In an instant, your hand was filled by his, and Laszlo was pressing his mouth to your cheek. “It’s still dark out.”

“Yes, my beloved, I know,” Laszlo said softly. “But I need to get an early start today.”

“Do you need to?” you groaned. “It’s awfully cold, sweetheart, I’ll freeze up if you leave.”

Laszlo gave a soft coo and kissed your cheek again, and he whispered, “I must get the house ready for dinner tonight.”

“For… What?” you mumbled.

“We’re hosting dinner tonight,” Laszlo explained slowly. The old wife’s tale of pregnancy brain seemed to be a certifiable malady in your case; you were constantly forgetting dates and appointments and misplacing things that you had in your hand. There had been more than one occasion where you had torn apart a room looking for the eyeglasses that you had perched on your nose. Laszlo, in his never-ending loveliness, was patient with you, and he would repeat things as many times as needed for them to stick. “Sara, John, Marcus, and Lucius are joining us.”

“Oh, God,” you huffed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas dinner,” Laszlo said. His hand rested gently on your hip, his thumb making soft circles on your skin, and he nuzzled his beard into your neck. “I suppose, for Marcus and Lucius, it’s just dinner.”

“Oh, damn!” you murmured. “I forgot! How could I forget about Christmas?”

“You’ve had quite a lot on your mind lately,” Laszlo chuckled. “Please, my love, go back to sleep. You can’t help me with this anyway.”

“Why not?” you asked. You struggled to sit up, and Laszlo put his hand on your back and aided you upright. By you and your husband’s calculations, you were about eight months along, and you could feel every moment of it. Your back was constantly aching, and you had headaches that were so awful that you could feel your brain pulsing inside your skull (migraines, Laszlo called them, but you didn’t give a damn what they were called). All of the aches and pains meant nothing, though, when you felt your son kick up into you. Yes, Baby Kreizler was an active one, and, more often than not, you found yourself being woken up in the morning by his movements and kicks.

Laszlo placed his hand gently on your swollen belly, and his palm was met with a nudge. “It involves your Christmas present,” Laszlo told you. “And I can’t very well have you spoil your own present.”

“You—!” you began. “I thought we said we weren’t doing presents! Oh, Las, I have nothing to give you!”

“You must be joking,” Laszlo said. The room was dim, only the dull flame of a gas lamp lighting the bedroom, but you could see your husband’s glittering dark eyes as easily as if it were in the daytime. “You are giving me the best present that I could ever ask for. I could never ask you for anything more.”

You pouted, but drew Laszlo into a kiss. You often forget about your husband’s stubbornness, and, while it had made him the successful man he was, it was rather difficult to try to surprise him with anything. You had told a little fib when you said that you hadn’t gotten him a Christmas gift. The small leather-bound book was stashed in a drawer under your stockings, a neat ribbon around it, the front page reading a personal inscription from the author itself. Laszlo had a habit of reading literature that made you sick to even think about, and he had grown fond of an author that was published in a Boston newspaper, a man named Poe. You had acquired a collection of Poe’s stories and sent him a letter, explaining your situation, and he had sent it back with haste. You had peeked at the inscription, and you smiled just a bit at the words “you and your work are an inspiration, Doctor Kreizler”. Laszlo would like that, you were sure of it.

Laszlo moved his hand from your belly to your cheek, and he held your face as he deepened the kiss. You gave a soft laugh at his boldness (you supposed, though, that a husband’s need for his wife was hardly bold), and you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck. In an instant, Laszlo abandoned his need for being early, and he pressed a line of fluttering kisses down your jaw and neck. You let your fingers run through his hair, still mussed from sleep, and Laszlo pressed a sweet, open-mouthed kiss to your breast. That was another surprise of pregnancy; not that your breasts would grow as your milk came in, but that Laszlo would form an odd attachment to them. If it were anybody else, Laszlo would have looked at the behavior as codependent and perhaps leaning towards neglect from one’s mother, but, since it was him, you knew that he didn’t think about it. The moment your beautiful and eloquent doctor had one of your breasts in his mouth, he turned simple-minded.

So simple-minded, in fact, that he hardly seemed to notice the way his hand slid and crept up your thigh. Or perhaps he was aware of it, and was being coy for your sake. Either way, you keened up into his hand, whimpering just a bit, silently pleading for him. You two had become experts at reading each other, and Laszlo knew what you wanted without you having to utter a word. You didn’t want his hand, he knew that. He gave one last kiss to your hard nipple, then continued to trail feather-light kisses down your body. His hand tangled in your nightgown and rucked it up past your hips, and he gave an open-mouthed kiss to your hip. Your hands clawed at your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head to free your body completely, and Laszlo took a departure from your hip to lavish your belly in kisses. The skin had been permeated with light marks where your skin had stretched to accommodate the baby, and, while you didn’t quite care for the look of them and worried if they would persist, Laszlo never stopped for one second to consider them anything but beautiful.

“Laszlo,” you whimpered out. “Please, my love.”

Laszlo kissed down your hips to your thighs, and he pressed your legs open and pulled them over his shoulders. Then, finally, mercifully, he pressed his mouth to your cunt. He wasted no time, placing open-mouth kisses all over your sensitive skin, and your fingers closed in his hair. You tugged a bit, telling him to go further, and Laszlo licked a stripe up your waiting cunt. You gave him a satisfied little moan and your hips jerked a bit when he gave a harsh suck to your clit. “Las!” you squealed, and you felt him smile against you. “Fuck, more.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Laszlo mumbled, looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pressed his mouth against you again. The sight of it had you whimpering, and you felt your release close at hand. That was how it seemed to go, as of late; Laszlo hardly had to stimulate you, and you were a wet, spent mess within minutes. He said it was the baby, and you didn’t know enough to dispute him. Laszlo detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his hand to stroke your throbbing clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Taste so good… How could I ever have lived before you?”

You hardly had the brain to wax lyrical at the moment, but, if you did, you would have said that perhaps he wasn’t truly living before you, just as you hadn’t before him. The world had changed with him, and you could never want anything else except him for the rest of time. “Las,” you gasped, the pleasure he gave you making your legs shake. While his hand worked, his mouth went to your thigh, and he placed wet kisses all over the skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you writhed under him, and you moaned and keened at him. “Las—” you gasped. “I-I’m gonna—”

The wonderful and heady relief washed over you before you could even finish your sentence, and you basked in it for a long while. Your chest heaved as you smoothed down Laszlo’s hair, and he stood up with a soft grunt. “Gosh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you mumbled, sitting up on your elbows; you hadn't meant for him to kneel down on the hard floor, but he didn't seem to mind it much. His robe had come undone during the act to show his chest and stomach, and you worked yourself fully upright so that you could wrap your arms around him. Your head landed on his chest and you kissed over his heart, and Laszlo gave a quiet little sigh. “You grow lovelier every day,” he whispered, and he landed a kiss in your hair.

You smiled into his chest. But you felt as if something was off. Yes, your muscles and fibers had relaxed with the orgasm, but there was still an odd tightness in your core. It felt almost like the cramps you had to endure monthly, or, at least, the onset of one. “Oh, no,” you mumbled. You knew what that feeling was.

“What is it?” Laszlo asked.

The contraction finally landed and settled fully in your core, and it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God!” you yelped, drawing your husband closer to you. “Las— I’m in labor.”

Laszlo didn’t seem to fully process your words, because he looked down at you with a sort of bleary-eyed confusion. “Labor?” he repeated. “As in…?”

“As in labor, Laszlo!” you cried. “As in I will give birth sometime in the next few days and it’ll be your head on a pike if you don’t get the doctor here now.”

Laszlo stepped away from you and looked around the bedroom, a little frantic. Finally, he clenched his jaw and tied up his robe, and he went to the door of the bedroom and threw it open. “Cyrus!” he yelled. “Cyrus! Ring the doctor! Y/N’s gone into labor!”

You heard Cyrus respond to Laszlo, and suddenly his hands were on you again. The pain, while not awful, was certainly unpleasant, and you moved slowly as Laszlo helped you back into your nightgown. His hand was shaking almost as badly as yours were, and you grabbed his hand and drew it to your mouth for a firm kiss. “I love you,” you whispered. Your eyes watered, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t see Laszlo’s eyes wetting as well.

“I love you too, my beloved,” Laszlo said softly, laying you back amongst the pillows. “The doctor will be here soon. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

You bit your lip at an onslaught of pain that rocketed down your spine. “Get me Sara,” you said.

“S-Sara Howard?” Laszlo asked.

“She’s practically my sister,” you said. “Please, Las, I need her.”

“Of course, of course,” Laszlo said quickly. “Can I get you anything else?”

You gave a shuddering sigh as the pain died down, and you mumbled, “A glass of water?”

John took the steps into the house two at a time. He had just been sitting down for breakfast with his grandmother when their telephone had sounded. While his grandmother raged at the thing, he answered it and had the briefest of conversations with Laszlo that went something like this: “She’s in labor. Come quick.” “... Now?” “Childbirth waits for no man, John, and I intend for my child to meet his uncle as soon as possible.”

The energy inside the house was an odd one. The place was done up with garlands of holly, obviously having been prepared by the little motley family of Laszlo, Y/N, Cyrus, and Stevie, to stand as a lovely locale for Christmas dinner. It should have been so cheerful— chattering and laughing— but there was just silence. “Laszlo?” John called, looking upwards from the base of the stairs.

“Top floor!” He heard Laszlo call back after a moment. Usually, the doctor would have greeted him at the door, and now he wasn’t even coming down to debrief the situation. John steeled himself and prepared for the worst.

Thankfully, the top floor wasn’t a tragedy zone. Laszlo stood in the hallway, pacing restlessly, mumbling to himself in every language he spoke. “John, Mein Gott,” he sighed. “Thank you for coming quickly.”

“Is she really in labor?” John asked.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied. “We woke up only a few hours ago and… Her water broke. The contractions have been ebbing and flowing ever since, but she is insistent that a doctor get here.” After a moment, and noticing John’s trepidation, added, “A real doctor, she said. Someone who has experience with delivering children.”

“That’s probably a good call,” John said. “Is she in there?” He gestured at the closed door that he could only assume was Laszlo and Y/N’s bedroom, and Laszlo nodded.

“Sara’s in there as well,” Laszlo said. “Comforting her.”

“Why are you not in there?” John asked quickly. “I mean, my God, Laszlo, this is your wife and son!”

“I know,” Laszlo snapped. “I wish I could be, but… I can’t bring myself to. The numbers of women who die in childbirth… And most of the time, there’s nothing to be done to stop it… I-I would only blame myself. If I were in that room, with my knowledge, and she died, and I couldn’t help, I would blame myself.”

There was a sharp yelp from inside the room, like a hurt animal, followed by muffled shushing; the mother and Sara, John supposed. “Where’s the doctor?” John asked.

“The one we chose to schedule when we would go to wellness checks was booked until this afternoon,” Laszlo said. “He’ll get here when he can. Until then, we… Wait. I will allow myself to go in every so often and check dilation, but it’s getting to the point where… The sight of it makes me ill.”

John didn’t know much about childbirth, but the word dilation helped him figure up enough of an image to make him a little ill as well. “Can I get her anything?” John asked. “Something from the shop on the corner?”

“She says no,” Laszlo said. “She’s only asked for water. A kiss, every so often, but I feel that’s less vital and more encouragement.”

John nodded in agreement, and he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “How long do we wait?” he asked.

“However long it takes,” Laszlo said with a shrug. “For some women, it’s mere hours; others, days.”

John sighed and took up a place leaning against the wall, and he mumbled, “I guess dinner’s off, isn’t it?”

Laszlo finally cracked a gentle smile, and he leaned next to John. He wore the beginnings of an acceptable outfit, pants and a buttoned shirt with his suspenders, but no vest, no cravat, no jacket. This was a worried man, an expectant father, a ready doctor. “I’m sure we can find a way to have dinner,” he said. “Perhaps, if the timing’s right, we’ll have to put out an extra place-setting.”

John still could hardly believe that, out of their entire group, Laszlo was the first to have a baby. Just meters away, behind the door, Laszlo’s wife was in the beginning stages of bringing new life. On Christmas Eve, no less. “Did you ever think you’d have this?” John whispered.

“No,” Laszlo replied after a moment. He looked down at his boots and wrapped his arm around himself, and he chewed on his thoughts for a moment. “Even just last night, as we were going to bed… I watched her enter the room, and the lamp lit her up… Her body was silhouetted against the lamp through her nightgown. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’ll never forget the sight. If I had any artistic inclination, I would have captured it. The memory might be greater than any piece of art, though.” He took a moment to savor the image, and he gave a short sigh. “But I have done my share of worrying. Every day, every moment, I was terrified. I have never known greater fear, truly. When she was at work and the Institute would get a phone call, I felt physically ill until I could answer it. Every day, I woke up and asked myself… ‘Is this the day where we lose him?’. It’s not a good way to live, John. But every night, after another successful day, when I would get her in my arms, it was the most perfect thing. It is unbelievable. Me, a father?” He scoffed. “I just hope he looks like her.”

“Why?” John asked.

“I don’t want him to be plagued with my visage,” Laszlo said. “If he resembles me, people will know he’s mine, and he won’t ever escape my reputation. I know the name Kreizler is an unusual one, but he can deny relation. If he has my name and face… There’s no denying it.”

“And you’re ashamed of that?” John asked. “Laszlo, there is nothing but pride to be had in your name. Kreizler is… You’re a man of science, a world-renowned alienist. You are intelligent, smart as a whip! You are dedicated to your work and your family, and you treat people with the utmost respect… Well, you treat your patients with the utmost respect.” John paused to dig his elbow playfully into Laszlo’s ribs, and Laszlo gave a little huffing laugh that held no true humor in it. “And you’re kind. You’d give your life for the people you love. A man can only ask for a friend as loyal as you. And you’re quite handsome, Laszlo. A child with any resemblance to you is a blessed one.”

“Alright—” Laszlo started plaintively.

“No, truly,” John said. He cast a glance at the door, then added, “May I confess something?”

Laszlo gave John a sideways glance, then nodded, and John took a deep breath. “I promised the good Mrs. Kreizler to keep this secret, but I feel it’s past time to tell you. The day you two met, when Sara brought her from the police station to the Institute, I heard her and Sara speaking as they left. I heard her say ‘That Kreizler fellow is quite handsome’. I confronted her on the basis of light teasing a few days later, and she implored me to not tell you. Got quite emotional about it, in fact. She said that she… She wanted to prove her place in the job. She said she didn’t want to be one of those women who joined a man’s work and fell in love and become some subservient housewife. She wanted to be a detective. But, before your wedding, she admitted to me that she was glad that what had happened had happened. She told me she couldn’t see any other life that didn’t have you in it. She told me that she had even considered naming your son after you, but she knew that you would fight her tooth and nail about that. She loves you, Laszlo, and she’ll make sure that your son does too. Hell, he’ll be proud to carry the name Kreizler. All the more so if he looks like you. Don’t be ashamed of who you are or your past. The future has yet to come and, from what I can tell, it’ll be a good future. Don’t waste it by worrying about if your son is proud of you or himself, because, frankly, that’s a fucking ridiculous thing to worry abut. He’s your son, Laszlo; the part you should worry about is how to shrink that ego that he’ll have.”

Laszlo smiled once more, and he drew John into a tight hug. The men were quiet, and John gave Laszlo a few firm pats on his back. “Thank you, John,” Laszlo said softly. “Those are kind words.”

John shrugged. “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “I suspect that you’ll wear divots on the floor if you keep pacing, though.”

“Can you blame me?” Laszlo asked. “Just beyond that door… It kills me.”

Just then, there was another cry of pain, and John heard you cry out: “Laszlo! I need you!”

Laszlo couldn’t have moved faster if he were shocked by electricity. He flew from his place on the wall and opened the door, and he was instantly by your side. John hesitated for a moment, seeing your nakedness and open legs, but Laslzo beckoned him in. John entered slowly, taking in the smell of sweat and blood, and then he really examined you. The bedsheets around you were dark with birthing fluid, your nightgown discarded on the floor. Sara sat next to you, undressed down to her underskirt, with her sleeves rolled to her elbow, holding your hand and giving you soft encouragement. Your skin was shining with strained perspiration, your hair matted to your forehead. Your bottom lip was nearly bitten raw, and your hand clambered out for Laszlo’s. Your chest heaved as you tried to breathe slowly, and Laszlo pushed your damp hair from your face. “You’re doing great,” he whispered and planted a kiss on your temple. “John, come here. Hold her hand while I check her dilation.”

The two men switched places, and you gave John Schuyler Moore a smile. “Glad you could make it, John,” you said, reaching for his face and drawing him in to put a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Christ, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” John said gently. “But you’re being so strong. I’m proud of you.”

John looked expectantly down to Laszlo, examining you, and, when he looked at you, his eyes were tearing up. “It’s time, my beloved,” he said, and you gasped. “You need to push.”

“What? No!” you cried. Fear radiated through your body, and you sobbed. “No, it’s too early! The doctor isn’t here yet!”

“There’s no choice,” Laszlo said. He was firm, his jaw set, but you could see the emotions welling behind his eyes. He was scared too. He was as unprepared as you were. Sure, he was a doctor, but he hardly knew how to deliver a baby. “He’s coming now. Sara, run to the kitchen and get water, a clean rag, a large empty bowl, and a pair of scissors; a sharp knife would be sufficient.”

Sara nodded and, before she left, she gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “You can do this,” she said. “I believe in you.”

You could hardly focus on your husband’s words, telling you to relax as much as possible and push when he said. The sensation of pushing was an odd one, your middle cramping with the force of it, and a whimper fell from you. You held John’s hand tightly, so tightly that your brief moments of levity from pushing had you apologizing for it, but the contraction would return, and you had to push again. Sara returned after the second bout of pushing, bearing all the tools required, and Laszlo quickly dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them. For the moment, he was bearing the dual responsibility of father and doctor, and he wore both roles on opposite sides of his face. His eyes were steadied and focused, using his Harvard-granted education, but his mouth was screwed up in concern. His forehead shined with sweat, and he paused in-between the fifth and sixth round to roll up his sleeves. Sara and John picked up the familial slack, encouraging you and helping you where they could.

Your vision grew spotty after ten rounds of intense and strenuous pushing, and you gasped out, “Las, I-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t—”

You wished that you hadn’t looked down. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have seen Laszlo’s white shirt spotted with blood, the stuff caked under his fingernails. The sight of it made you sniffle and hold back a gag. The wrinkles in your husband’s forehead were deep, but they dissipated when he looked at you. “Yes, you can,” Laszlo said firmly. “You’re too far along, there’s no stopping now, my love.”

“Laszlo, I can’t,” you croaked. “I can’t, I— I can hardly breathe or see, I-I cannot do it anymore!”

Laszlo paused, studying your face for a moment, and he stood up from the floor in front of bed and leaned forward to capture your chin in his hand. “You have to,” he said firmly, pressing his forehead against yours. “He’s nearly halfway out, coming feet-first. You need to finish what you’ve started, my dear. Goddamn it, finish this, for me, for you, and for him. Do you hear me? Fucking finish this.”

You nodded, gritting your teeth. Under any other circumstances, you would have slapped him outright for being so harsh with you, but you needed to hear it. You had no idea that you were that far along, and the thought that perhaps you were a few minutes away from holding your son gave you the strength you needed. You took a deep breath and readjusted your grips on Sara and John’s hands, and you waited for Laszlo to tell you to push. And you did. You felt a popping in your ears and a fierce snap in your hips, and the culmination of what felt like eons of work made you give one, hoarse, exhausted, gut-wrenching scream.

And then… There was another. But not your screams. They weren’t coming from your mouth, tearing up your throat what felt like beyond repair. No, no, they were coming from—

The soft snip of scissors interrupted the air of high shrieks, and then the weight of an even six pounds was settled on your chest. You looked down through spotted and tearful eyes, and you found a small being laying on your chest, wailing his little lungs out. All pink and wrinkled, still covered in little flecks of blood and other such stuff. He had a small swirl of dark hair atop his little head, and his mouth was like a rosebud. He had a tiny nose and, when you looked at Laszlo, you saw the same one. “Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly putting your hands on your baby’s back. “Oh my God! Hello there, baby. Oh my God, Laszlo—”

Laszlo took up John’s place at your head, and you looked to see his shirt splotched with your blood, tear tracks shining bright on his face. You had never seen him smile so big. He placed a gentle hand on his son’s back, touching him as if he would disappear the moment contact was made, and he swallowed thickly. “Welcome to the world,” he said softly, and he leaned down and settled a kiss on his son’s head. Almost instantly, he stopped his crying, devolving into quiet coos and whimpers, and you laughed.

“God, of course he loves you more,” you laughed. “Oh, Las… Oh, he’s here.”

“What’s his name?” Laszlo asked.

You didn’t have to think. You had been pondering ever since you found out you were pregnant, and you had come up with the perfect name. “Friedrich Wolfgang Kreizler,” you said.

“Nietzche, Mozart…” Laszlo mumbled, stroking his beard in wonderment. “Yes, that’ll do quite nicely, I think.”

Laszlo settled down on the bed next to you, and you carefully passed Friedrich to him. He held him in the crook of his left arm, and his heart nearly stopped when his son looked at him. Dark brown eyes, with a small dark birthmark just at the top of his left cheek. Just like Papa. “A spitting image, eh?” Laszlo chuckled lightly.

“Chip off the old block,” John chuckled. Sara moved to pull the blankets up over your body, and you captured her and pulled her into a tight hug. You whispered a “Thank you” to her, and she smiled. Sara was always so supportive in her own way, and the smile meant the world to you. “Congratulations are in order, Kreizlers.”

Kreizlers. Plural. There were three of you now, a full family. Mama, Papa, and baby. “Thank you for your help,” you told John. “I truly couldn’t have managed it without you.”

You let your head fall back on your pillow, and you glanced at the window. The sky outside was painted with ink, the smallest pinpricks of silver coming through; it had taken all day and into the night. “Is it past midnight?” you asked, and John quickly looked at his watch.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s Christmas Day.”

You laughed, and looked at Laszlo. “You did say he was the best present you’d ever gotten,” you told him.

“I did say that,” Laszlo agreed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Friedrich since you had given him to him. You could hardly place the emotion he had in his eyes, but you knew that it was some form of love. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“I love you,” you told him.

Laszlo finally looked at you, and he saw an entirely new woman. He thought that the whole spiel about a “mother’s glow” was a myth, a way to make women feel beautiful after the strain of giving birth, but he saw it more clearly than anything. You were radiant. Your skin was sparkling and your eyes were bright, and your smile could have lit up a thousand street lamps. Motherhood suited you. “I love you too,” he said. He leaned over to kiss you, and even that felt new.

Finally, Laszlo broke the kiss, and he said, “Let me take him to get clean. You rest up, my beloved; I’ll have Cyrus bring you something to eat.”

You nodded. You had no qualms about Laszlo taking Friedrich. He was his father, after all, and you knew that Laszlo would sooner burn his library than hurt his son. “Can I have a moment alone?” you asked.

“Of course,” Sara offered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You should go hold your nephew,” you said. “That is, if Papa Bear will release him for long enough.”

The four of you laughed, and Laszlo stood up from the bed. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Laszlo could only gaze down at Friedrich as he carried him into his nursery. The place was decorated with images of animals, per your request, and John had managed to paint a collection of birds that lined the top of the walls. He took special care to wipe Friedrich clean, tilting his head as he listened to his little man’s curious vocalizations, and he chose a blanket that Lucius Isaacson had knitted to swaddle him in. Laszlo had done the stereotypical practice, tormenting the small bags of flour that sat in the kitchen, and he had gotten quite good at doing it with his one arm. He slowed to a stop, though, and he looked at his right arm for a moment. He looked back at Friedrich, seemingly asleep in his warm wool swaddle, and he took his arm by the wrist and guided it to his son. Carefully, he pressed his cheek into his palm, and his heart swooned at the feeling of his warm, soft skin against his fingers. He nearly felt like he would pass out. He loved you, yes, but he could never love anything more than the boy in front of him.

The moment was shattered, though, when, down the hall, Laszlo heard you give a clipped shout of his name. “Las—!”

“John!” Laszlo called, and John took his place with Friedrich as he raced to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he expected the worst. He expected pools of blood, perhaps a corpse, his wife and the mother of his son to have succumbed to an unknown complication in the time it took him to clean Friedrich.

He didn’t expect an empty bed and an open window, the thin curtain rustling with the breeze. He didn’t expect a small slip of paper amongst the stained sheets. He didn’t expect to read the page and grow so angry that he let out a howl of anguish: Mother Mary has delivered. She must repent. Happy Christmas, Doctor.

[terrainofheartfelt]

Dair prompt please! Decision

Dair + Decision

Blair sits at her desk in her home office nook, staring down at the legal pad in front of her, no longer seeing the words scrawled on the lines, all the hypotheticals, the possibilities, the pro/con lists. 

“Hey,” she hears Dan over her shoulder, “how goes it?”

She makes a noncommittal noise as he comes up behind her, bends to press a kiss to her temple. At the touch of his lips, her shoulders drop, she wasn’t even aware of the tension she was holding until after it leaves her body. 

She taps the end of her pen on her desk. Well, it’s Dan’s pen, she stole it from his home office because her good ones were all at the museum. At least once a week, the classic line of what’s mine is yours is used in their household to justify some grand office supply larceny.

“I think…” she starts, willing herself to speak it, “Yale.”

“Yeah?”

She turns to glimpse Dan’s face, gauging his reaction. “I know it's not in the city, but it's a better program, and it's definitely closer than most of the others. Like, I want a doctorate, but I don’t really want to have to go to Boston to get it.”

Dan snorts, cracking a smile, shaking his head slightly. 

“And,” she continues, “I could get most of the work done from here, except for the teaching, but we can work something out –”

“Of course we can,” Dan insists, sincere. “Lizzie’s in school now, so that’ll help.”

Blair arches an eyebrow. “And Sam?”

He shrugs. “He’s easy, just water him and face him towards the sunlight.”

She rolls her eyes, but refuses to laugh, it’s too easy. 

“We have a deep bench of backup,” Dan adds, slightly more serious. “We can absolutely make Yale work, if that’s what you want.”

She casts an eye to the stack of promotional material they’d gotten in the mail. She’d thought universities had moved strictly to email, but Blair guesses some things never change (though Dan had offered to print every one of her acceptance letters: Harvard, Bryn Mawr, Penn, Toronto, Princeton, even Stanford and Berkeley—even though she abhorred the idea of moving to California). 

“Yeah,” she declares after a deep breath. “Yeah it is.” 

He drops down next to her, meeting her eye level, like she’s their daughter coloring at the kitchen table. “But?”

Blair shoots him a sidelong look, but he knows her too well. “Do you think maybe it’s too…” she trails off, waving her pen in the air. 

He nods, knowing what she means without her having to finish the thought. “It’s not like that,” he says, soft but firm. “This is what makes the best sense for you now, and all that happened back then has nothing to do with it.” He taps a finger on the notepad in front of her, color-coded and organized to class size, faculty, and course offerings. “All the lists you’ve made are proof of that.”

Blair huffs out a laugh, pulling up one knee to her chest, propping her foot on her desk chair. “It may be about that,” she turns to meet Dan’s eye, and holds up two fingers, pinched together, “just a little bit.” 

He smiles. “So what if it is?” He settles onto his knees, scooting up right next to her. “I know – losing out then hurt you, but you’ve already been accepted. And now, you have the chance to go back and rub all the success you’ve had since right in their face.”

She bursts into laughter, her head dipping towards the desk in front of her. “And you?” she asks suddenly, turning back to him, not having to add any more words for him to understand their meaning. You were hurt, too. 

Dan reaches out, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “If it’s right for you, it’s right for me.” 

She reaches for him, runs her fingers through his hair. “You have quite a bit of success to rub in Yale’s face too, Dan Humphrey.”

He laughs into her hand, twisting around to kiss her palm. “Hey,” he says lowly, “as far as I’m concerned, I’ve won.” 

She grins, teeth digging into her lower lip. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, solemn. “Mmm-hmm. After all,” he kneels up, bringing his face right in front of hers, “I’m the one who’ll be married to the hot doctor.” 

Blair laughs, giving in, kissing Dan back, knowing that whatever else happens, there’s at least one choice she got right.  

[strawberryspence]

when death knocks on your door

Angst/Fluff [18+] | Spencer Reid x FEM! BAU! Reader

Summary: Some trauma tears people apart, while some brings people together. SSA Doctor Spencer Reid and SSA Doctor Y/N Y/L/N is brought together by the death of SSA Emily Prentiss.

Word Count: 3,13k 

Warnings: based on the Ian Doyle/Emily Prentiss character arc so some spoilers for s6-s7. talks about death (a lot of it), mention of drug use, allusions to depression, attempted suicide (nothing graphic), mention of cancer & car crash, a few curse words, description of smut, its very vague (one part only), mentions of therapy, HAPPY ENDING (i am not a monster)

Writer's Note: Hello! A bit of a heavier topic on today's fic! I picked apart the whole Emily arc and this is written basically in the reader's perspective. I love writing angst but I can never end it with sad endings. So I hope you enjoy this, I am very proud of how it turned out! 💛

GIF is made by yours truly. Its surprisingly hard to find "purple shirt + sweater vest spencer reid" gifs.

Death.

Death.

Death comes in different shapes and forms.

For Spencer, he has seen it up close with Haley and Hotch, but never with someone in his family or close group of friends. He sees death in the form of abandonment, in ways when people leave him and a part of him goes with them.

For you, you were familiar with death. Death looms over you. You’re father dying when you were younger and then you’re mother in your teens. 

Death comes when your father was killed in a car accident involving a drunk driver. It was fast, in a blink, death sweeps him and takes him. All her father’s life and dreams gone in a second, with a crash.

Death comes when your mother was diagnosed with cancer. Cancer, the fucking bitch, takes her time. It was slow, like it was enjoying the pain. It takes and it takes till its taken everything and the last thing it has taken is your mother.

And death comes when it takes Emily Prentiss. This was your best friend, partner in crime and roommate. Her death wasn’t fast, it wasn’t slow, its painstakingly in the middle while you try to get her blood off your hands while sobbing in the SUV as Derek drives way past the legal speed to get to the hospital.

In her death, you find yourself being swallowed by something that you were not. Something bigger, something you can’t describe. The team sees this weeks after she has been buried. You were the same person, and you were a different person, all at once.

One night, when death was about to knock on your door as you hold a knife to your wrist, ready to meet Death, ready to tell him off, it is then when chance knocks on your apartment door.

Spencer is at your door, a sobbing mess with three bottles of dilaudid clenched in his hands. He stumbles in your new apartment avoiding the piles of boxes unopened. You just moved, not being able to sleep in the apartment you and Emily shared.

“I am sorry. I-I am sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know where to go. JJ was... busy and I am so close... so close.” Your heart softens at how desperate he looks, Spencer doesn’t know how strong he is to you, being able to ask for help when you were just about to end it all.

You take the bottles from him, setting it on the counter as you guide him to your couch. He clings to you as you both sit on the couch, crying and sobbing.

“Death is among us. Avoiding him is what makes us stronger." You whisper to him and he cries harder.

Something is so bitterly comforting when someone shares the same pain you are suffering. It hurts, but in a funny way, it hurts less when some shares it with you.

So you cling to Spencer as he does to you and you let it all go. You cry as much as he does as he holds you and as you hold him.

You both wake up the next day, with a full 8 hours of sleep, something you both have not had in weeks.

“Thank you.” Spencer whispers and you smile, stroking his hair, “Thank you.” You say it back at him.

You were sure that Emily is laughing at her grave. I had to die for you to finally make a move on your crush. You shake her voice off your head. Now is not the time for silly crushes.

It becomes a routine, finding comfort and safety in each others presence, Spencer almost lives in your apartment. His toothbrush sits on the cup besides yours in the bathroom counter, his clothes takes up half of your closet, his books scattered on the shelfs and his cups on the kitchen counter.

You tell yourself its platonic. Spencer tells himself its platonic. The team doesn’t say anything, only thankful that you were reverting back to your old self and Spencer is getting better.

You want more. It was hard to admit to yourself. But you wanted more with Spencer. Your little crush now growing into something bigger than yourself. You wanted futures full of him and what you have right now is not right. Shared trauma is not love.

Three months into the set up of him basically living in your apartment, you suggest therapy for both of you. You are a Doctor of Psychology and you know the percussions of what you’re doing.

Spencer is shocked but he understands. This was your territory, Spencer knows that this was the right thing to do so he agrees. You lay out all the options to Spencer, all the therapy and how both of you should change your routines more often.

It works. He stops sleeping on your bed every night (he still comes tho, just on the harder nights where he needs to hold you to remind himself that death has yet to take you).

You have breakfast together every morning, using it to comfort each other rather than sleeping together every night. It works.

The therapy helps you both as you both move on from Emily’s death. That is until seven months later.

-

Declan was missing. You’ve let the Emily case go but Derek has not, you know this and you let him. Every time you want to do something to help Derek catch Doyle, your doctorate that hangs above your couch stares back at you, like it was taunting you. You studied this, moving on was the better choice and you know it. No amount of killing Doyle would bring back Emily, no amount of it would make you feel better.

That is until Hotch gathers the team on the conference room.

“Everybody have a seat.” Hotch instructs. You all look at each other. Spencer looks at you as if asking if you knew what’s up but you only shake your head.

“Why?” Morgan asks, looking around.

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilize her—“

“What?” You squeak out. Hotch holds his hands up, asking you to hear him out first.

“She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need-to-know and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

Spencer can see how your face pales. He reaches for your hand under the table and gives it a tight squeeze. You return the squeeze, finding comfort in his touch.

“She’s alive?” Penelope asks, tears now forming in her eyes.

“But... we buried her.” Spencer says, like its a fact. Like its the solid truth. Your hand clamps down harder on his.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone had any issues, they should be directed to me.” Hotch says and all you can do is look at him, not able to believe anything he is saying.

“Any issues? Yeah, I got issues!” Derek’s loud voice now looming over the room.

“Oh my god.” Penelope squeaks making the whole room turn around. You turn around and you see Emily walking to the room. Your hold unto Spencer tightens, as if checking if he is real, you want any sign that this is not a dream, that this is real.

“I am so sorry. I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to...” Emily explains.

Death comes and it takes, and it takes, and it takes but never has Death give someone back to you.

Emily was standing in front of you. The woman whose blood stained your hands for days, the woman you buried, the woman who’s grave you cried on for god knows how long that Derek had to physically carry you away from her grave and here she was breathing and hugging the team.

She comes in front of you and you still haven’t let go of Spencer’s hand.

“Y/N?” She says, it comes as a whisper. A whisper, coming from the ghost that has been haunting you for months. She opens her arms for a hug and you let go of Spencer to hug her.

She was real, she was solid and she’s hugging you back. So why, in the mountain of emotions you are feeling, why is happiness in the bottom of the pit? Why is anger the one screaming in your heart?

You pull away, and she hugs Spencer but as soon as she lets go, Spencer captures your hands again. Emily sees this and smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

“There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will. I promise. But right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan.” The team continued to discuss Declan and Spencer holds unto your hand like its his life line. You only break apart when the team has to work again.

He gives you one look as he separates away from you, “I got you.” He says, kissing your temple before leaving to go to the interrogation room.

That was enough to calm you down.

-

The team gets Declan back safely and after all the trials, you finally had a moment to breathe.

“Hey, you doing good?” Spencer asks. You nod. He looks good, he looks like home in a purple shirt and sweater vest.

“Do you want to go home?” He asks you. You want to shout but you’re my home! You nod and he takes your scarf from your desk and wraps it around you.

“Let’s go?” You smile at him as he wraps it around you. It felt so domestic, so familiar.

You walk together to the elevator, leaving the BAU and all the piles of emotions that you’ve been through this past few days. As you both stand in the silver tin box, you see your reflection with him standing beside you, his arm around your waist and your head on his shoulder.

You wanted to scream how much you love him. But the voice in your head screams back, he doesn’t love you! It’s shared trauma! You shake your head and Spencer sees this.

“You okay? How are you feeling?” You smile up at him, as he looks at you with all the worries that a person can hold for another one.

“Yes, I am good, Spence. How about you?” He smiles and kisses the top of your head. “I am good. I just need time to process some of the things that has happened.”

Spencer drives you both home. Spencer doesn’t take the word hate lightly but Spencer hates driving. He still drives tho, for you. Holding your hand while he drives with the other, while you were staring out of the window, just watching the places blur by.

Death waits on your door and when the right time comes, it will knock. When it does, you can’t turn it away or send it away. When it knocks, it sweeps you off your feet, leaving no time for goodbyes or regrets. Ironically, Spencer walks you to your door, opening it for you and even taking your scarf off for you.

Your heart almost grows twice its size and you can feel yourself bursting in its seams. You find yourself closing the door, as if trying to block Death away from him. He smiles at you and something bursts inside of you.

“I love you, Spence.”

He drops your keys on the bowl on your hallway and he smiles, teasingly. “I love you, too, Dr. Y/L/N.” You smile but you shake your head.

“No Spence, I love you. With my whole heart... I mean, of what’s left of it. W-we need to stop, if this is only a shared trauma for you. I can’t be that... because... I love you and I want futures with you. Any kind of it, as long as you are there, every morning with a cup of hot coffee for me. If that’s not possible, we need to stop. Because my heart...” You hold unto the edge of the table for strength.

“My heart... is not strong enough to lose you and love you at the same time.” Spencer stares at you, confused with a certain spark in his eyes.

“W-why are you saying this now?”

“Because death is at everyone’s door. Emily is lucky. But what if it takes me tonight, or tomorrow? I don’t want to die without telling you that I love you.” You say, bracing yourself for the impact of the rejection.

Spencer walks to you, holding your waist to steady you.

“I love you, more than anything in this world. I have love you even before Emily died. This isn’t shared trauma, it’s been love way before that. If it's anything, it made my love for you grow deeper. You... helped me heal. You pushed me to go to therapy. You made me stronger, Y/N.” Spencer holds your face and brings you into his arms and you clung unto him as he hugs you.

“I love you... I love you so much.” You whisper to him and he hugs you as close as humanly possible.

Spencer lets go of you but cups your face to lift it closer to his face. Spencer kisses you like it was the last time you can ever kiss him. It felt like a fever dream you once had. The fire of the kiss fills in the cracks in your heart, slowly but surely healing it all at once.

Life, the direct opposite of death, has always been hard to describe. Death was easy to describe for you but Life? it was a struggle. But with Spencer kissing you, as he holds your hand and your face, so tenderly like you were going to break, you finally realize what life is supposed to be. It felt good being alive, it felt good to be breathing.

You and Spencer sleep together for the first time that night. It is in one word, unbelievable. It was as if the universe has planned it all along to teach you what it felt to be alive, as he pushes himself inside you, whispering nothing but sweet praises and promises of futures together in your ear. You wake up, hours after making love, tangled with him and the bed sheets, with you in his arms.

“I love you.” You whisper to him, brushing through his hair as he sighs to your touch, snuggling more to the crook of your neck.

-

The morning comes in a breathe. Easy and fast. You wake up earlier than Spencer, untangling yourself from him to make him his daily morning coffee.

A knock comes and it almost makes you drop his mug. Looking up at the clock, it was only 7 in the morning. The thought disappears as another knock comes. You open the door and today life offers you Emily Prentiss.

“Hey, good morning.” She says with a smile, you give it back, still not used to seeing her, alive.

“Hey.” You smile looking at her as you let her enter.

“Pen said you had my boxes.” She looks around on the apartment. “Its not here. Its on the garage downstairs. Do you want it right now?” She nods. “Oh. Uhm, the team actually helped me move it there, its a little heavy...”

“Okay... I’ll get the team to help me later.” You nod but don’t say anything and the silence is so loud, it’s deafening.

“Can we talk?” Emily asks, in a gentle voice. Almost like she’s talking to a toddler. You shake your head. “We can, but not today... I need to process some things first and I need help with it. We can talk this weekend, after my therapy.”

“Therapy?” She repeats. You nod. “Therapy.” She bites down her lips, you know Emily enough to know that she feels bad about it.

“I know it’s not your fault, Em. I understand, but I just... need time. I... buried you. I cried on your grave and for months, I had to accept the fact that you were... dead.” Emily nods, opens her arms for a hug and you gladly accept it.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need. You are my bestfriend and I love you.” You nod and hug her tightly, reminding yourself that she was alive, and that was what’s important.

The hug was cut short when Spencer comes out of your bedroom half naked.

“Spencer?!” Emily almost screams as she pulls away from the hug.

“O-oh... I-I didn’t know you were here...” He says as he slowly backs up the door and picks up a shirt to wear.

“When did this happened!?” Emily is definitely losing her mind now.

“Uh... Last night?” You said, not exactly sure as to when it started. Emily’s mouth drops in surprise and Spencer can only smile at her offering her a cup. “Coffee?” Spencer says with a smile and a shrug that makes both you and Emily laugh.

Emily doesn’t stay long after that, opting to leave the two of you to spend some time together. Spencer and you end up in the couch, huddled together in a huge blanket you both knitted together with cups of coffee in hands.

“So... Are you officially moving in with me?” Spencer looks down at you. The steam of the coffee colouring your cheeks a bright pink colour.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, smiling at you. Spencer loves you, in ways he didn’t know he possibly can and he’d give you anything you want. You could ask for the stars and Spencer would build a rocket just to get a few to give to you (even if he knows it was impossible because, well, stars are made of gas.)

“I want you everywhere. You... are my home.” You say softly, as your hands caress his cheeks.

“Then, I am moving here, love.” He says as he kisses your forehead and you lean unto him as you wrap the blanket tighter around each other.

“I love you.” He says as you lay your head on his chest and he brings you closer to him. You smile and whisper it back. “I love you more.”

Most people say that time heals pain. It, truthfully, does not. Love does, love in the corniest way possible, mends your soul in ways that are not physically possible.

When Death knocks on your door it will be in different shapes and forms, but so will love and for you, love came in the shape and form of Spencer Reid.

-

[leo-blackwoodrp]

Good Investments || Open Starter

Utopia was a thriving community, the low crime rates, the financial status and job opportunities combined with an idyllic look of modern and homey made Utopia live up by its name as many people found the dream home in this Southern California land. Over five years ago, Leo Blackwood moved from Boston looking for a new opportunity because his hometown had too many disappointments for him to bare if he stayed around to feel them. Running away from his ghosts, the man took whatever could fit in his car and travelled across the country hoping to find a little bit a peace, and with time… the man did. He put his money and best efforts to build something from the ground up. Growing up, the man was incredibly social which was a contrast to his best friend Jackson who usually was a little more reserved than he was; Leo enjoyed going out with friends and often was the one to know which places were worth going to despite lines and prices. Even though he had become more reserved after finding the truth of his roots and going through a painful relationship, the man’s dream was to have a bar, a nice place that people would enjoy drinks and even food, a place filled with laughter and music… a place where sadness was the last thing people could think about.

Sadness was impossible to avoid though, as many of his regular clients came to the Honey Rooftop often to drown their sorrows in hard liquor and attempt to forget whatever pain they were carrying in their chest even if it was for a little while. Clients like Camila Grey whose bright smile had toned down in the past couple of years and seemed more rehearsed these days. Clients like Lorenzo Torres who was close enough to leave Leo without any inventory on some occasions because of how much he drank, the extremely antisocial man repealed anyone who could ever be close to talking to him every time with his personality and usually angry responses; many assuming he was just bitter and crazy but the bar owner thought of the possibility that he had simply been through too much to be “normal” anymore, he didn’t like to judge him, god knew he wasn’t worthy of judging anyone. But even so, there were other people who brought laughter and joy to the place, like the Kwon siblings who were very much known for being the life of the party any day. That night a large group of friends came in with two people who were like Utopia royalty as they were Olympic athletes who had made into the history books and brought the community’s pride even higher.

Wiping the counter with a cloth the man looked over at the sea of people the filled up every corner of his bar that night, there were suddenly a lot of college aged student which was a bit rare. Sure people of all legal ages visited Honey Rooftop but he couldn’t remember seeing that many Gen Z customers before. “Spring break already passed right?” He mumbled to himself before looking at his watch thinking he needed a break if he was going to survive the night.

“Hey, ten-minute break. I’ll be outside if you need anything.” He said to two of his employees before putting the cloth away and the moved from behind the bar and headed towards the entrance. Once outside, the man looked up at the sky for a second as he took a deep breath to enjoy the fresh air before he moved away from the door and rested his back on a wall as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and light it up, inhaling the smoke and holding it for a moment only to realize it a few seconds later.

“Well I guess this means I invested in the right thing.” He said as he looked at line that was still forming, waiting to be able to get inside his bar. “That’s insane.”