#my advisor told me to start just by writing about myself and how I got to this point as a way of figuring out what's important to me

[diamondsandtoads]

Project Update

Fellas!!! I finally started writing!!! LET THIS WRITER'S BLOCK AND IMPOSTER SYNDROME BE VANQUISHED!!!!!

[keyboardsmashess]

The Siren, or The Heart of the Matter

Chapter Thirty : The Note, or The Thesis Defense from Hell

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, canon-typical violence, smut MINORS DNI. A/N: My bbs! We're nearing the end of this story - I'd say maybe five chapters to go, give or take 😭 Until then, though, enjoy the insanity of my fully unleashed Bucky obsession now that Cleo's feelings are out there 😘

Summary: The morning after our heroes' big moment takes a very unexpected turn.

Chapter Directory

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed against the sound, wondering for a moment if he’s got a leak somewhere in his apartment. If he does, then Stark’s really getting sloppy. He’ll have to give the guy some shit for that. These Tower apartments are supposed to be state-of-the-art everything, or at least that’s what he thinks Stark said - he wasn’t really listening when he got the grand tour.

But wait, Bucky thinks, shifting in bed. Since when do I have silk sheets? He listens to the sound again, realizing that it sounds an awful lot like the tapping of a shoe.

Before he even really registers what he’s doing, Bucky’s standing in his boxers with a gun pulled on the stranger.

“What the hell, Barnes? Also, when did you stash a handgun in my nightstand?”��

Bucky releases a lungful of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding and lowers the weapon.

“Also part two, what the shit did you guys do to my bedroom? If I have to hire cleaners, I’m billing you,” Meg says, arms crossed and tapping her foot.

Bucky sets the gun down on Meg’s nightstand, finding his pants on the ground and pulling them on self-consciously. His shirt is nowhere to be found, and he suddenly remembers Cleo putting it on after… 

After the best damn night of my life.

Speaking of. “Where’s Cleo?”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Sure, just ignore all of the very valid questions I’ve just asked you, no big deal.” She hands him a piece of notebook paper. “Your lovely lady has written you a note. Don’t worry, I’ll pretend I didn’t read it.” She winks.

Bucky accepts the paper with a small smile. “Sorry about this,” he says, gesturing to the mess of a bedroom around him.

Meg waves a hand. “It’s fine, really. I mean, I am for sure billing you for the cleaning, but it’s not like I didn’t expect something like this when I graciously removed myself from the premises for the evening.” She kicks off her shoes into a pile in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna go make some coffee and leave you to collect yourself.”

Bucky nods gratefully, unfolding the piece of paper the second Meg closes the bedroom door behind her.

James,

I can’t possibly wake you up, considering how handsome you look sleeping so peacefully (and how rarely you sleep at all), so I’m heading to my defense alone. Don’t panic when you read this - my advisor already told me I wasn’t allowed to have guests in the room, so you’re not missing anything but a boring hallway.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head at how well she knows him, realizing his heart had already started racing at the thought of missing her big moment. 

I’ll come back to Meg’s the second I’m done and tell you all about it, promise. And then I’m pretty sure someone said something about taking me back to the Tower to celebrate? I have some new ideas for what that celebration might look like, just saying.

Bucky bites his lip as he reads, already reacting to Cleo’s words.

Speaking of that, last night was… everything. I’m shit at mushy stuff, Buck, but it was probably the best night of my life thus far. And I don’t know if you know this, but Meg and I went to a Kassie Cantor concert once and I actually got to meet her, so you’ve passed a pretty high bar. (Since I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about, she’s a pop singer who I’m going to force you to listen to on the way back home.)

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m writing all of this in a letter like I’m going off to war or some shit, because I’ll be back soon and could tell you all this in person, but what can I say? It’s easier to write some things than speak them out loud. To that end, I’m sorry for not being able to reciprocate the thing you said last night. I want to, and I should have, but I’m a fucking coward and emotionally stunted and just sort of a general mess, so… yeah. I should probably save the rest of this conversation for when I get back, because you deserve that.

He blows out a huff of air. When he’d told her he loved her, he knew it was something he wanted to tell her - needed to tell her - regardless of whether or not she said it back, but he can’t say he isn’t relieved to read that she apparently feels more than she let on at the time. 

Fuck, I really am bad at this, aren’t I? Whatever. You’re great, last night was great, and I can finally tell you that I think your ass is great, too. Like really super great. Okay, I’m going to go stand in front of a bunch of grumpy white men in suits and ask them to give me a degree. Bye!

xoxo, Cleo

P.S. Like spectacularly, phenomenally great.

Bucky folds the letter back up and carefully tucks it into the pocket of his jeans, resolving to save it forever. 

He stands suddenly and checks the time, an idea popping into his head. He pokes his head into the kitchen long enough to tell Meg he’s going to take a quick shower, grabs the overnight bag he’d left in her living room, and runs to the bathroom where he takes one of the fastest showers of his life.

Clean and dressed, Bucky darts into the bedroom to grab and holster his gun, then rushes toward the front door. Meg is waiting for him, a disposable travel mug of coffee in her hand and a smirk on her face.

“Cleo told me you couldn’t go into her defense, but I figured after reading that note - the note I absolutely didn’t read myself, by the way - you’d want to do something romantic like wait for her in the hallway. I already texted you the building and room number.”

Bucky grins and accepts the drink. “Meg, you’re the best.”

She waves a hand. “I know, I know. By the way, you’re going to pass a market on your way to campus, just around the corner from here. They sell flowers and Cleo’s favorite is forget-me-nots. Hey, what a fun little irony!”

He eyes her, speaking before he can think better of it. “Come visit us at the Tower sometime, there’s someone you should really meet.” And with a grateful smile, he’s out the door.

******

If Bucky’s calculations are correct, he’s arrived in the hall outside of Cleo’s defense with about ten minutes to spare. He paces the hallway for a few moments to calm himself down after the sprint to campus, then leans against the wall directly across from the door Cleo will be walking out of soon. He’s got a slightly windblown bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, a sweaty right palm, and a nervous but eager grin. He’s ready. 

When ten minutes passes with no sign of Cleo, he tells himself that it’s probably normal for these things to go a little long sometimes. After fifteen, he’s doing his best not to worry. At twenty five minutes past the stated end of the defense, Bucky decides that he’s willing to risk embarrassing Cleo and himself by opening the damn door. Taking a deep breath and preparing his excuse (they’ll buy him as a student in the wrong room, right?), Bucky hides the flowers behind his back and tries the handle.

It’s locked.

Fair enough, he thinks. They probably have security protocols in place, you know, to avoid the exact thing Bucky had been planning to use as his excuse for intruding. He knocks instead, deciding he doesn’t actually care about embarrassing Cleo at this point. When nobody comes to the door, he knocks again and presses his ear to the wood, listening closely with his serum-enhanced senses. Not only is nobody coming to the door, but he’s fairly certain nobody is in the room at all.

Fully aware he’s probably overreacting, Bucky lets out a huff of air, looks up and down the hallway to make sure nobody’s coming, and grabs the handle with his metal hand. With a little grunt, he breaks the handle and forces the door open. 

No Cleo. No committee. No one at all. 

Bucky frowns and pulls out his phone, double-checking the building and room number in the message from Meg. When he confirms he’s at what should be the right place, he paces into the room, hoping to find a note or schedule or something to clue him in to what’s going on. The room is frustratingly empty, though - empty chairs arranged behind a long conference table, an empty lectern facing them…

Bucky sighs and calls Cleo, potential interruptions be damned. Immediately, he hears a buzzing sound coming from the lectern. A sick feeling brewing in his stomach, he crosses the room and peers behind the lectern, seeing Cleo’s phone on one of the shelves lit up with the selfie she’d taken of the two of them in the home goods store. Next to it are several wrinkled notecards and a half-empty bottle of water. He ends the call, dread coiling in his gut.

Stuffing her phone in his pocket, he picks up the notecards and starts flipping through them. They’re clearly reminders she’s made for herself of the main talking points of her thesis, but when he flips to the last one, a small piece of cardstock falls out. Bucky bends down to pick it up, noting the unfamiliar scrawl in red ink.

Soldat - 

Only the dead have seen the end of war. As long as you are living, your war is not over. 

Hail HYDRA.

Bucky’s vision narrows to a singular point, blood draining from his face. He stumbles backward into the table and grabs it with his metal arm for support. He doesn’t even register the crack of the wood as he grips it too hard.

Ears ringing, he pulls out his own phone and dials the first number that comes to mind.

“Hey, Buck, how’s everything go-”

“They have her, Steve,” he chokes out, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wait a second, what are you talking about, Buck? Who has who?” Steve asks, voice growing serious.

“HYDRA,” he bites out, the word feeling like poison on his tongue. “HYDRA has Cleo. The Philosopher must be working with them and I don’t know how, Steve, but they found her and they took her.”

He hears rustling and then rapid footsteps from the other end of the phone. “Hang on, Buck, I’m going to get Stark. We’ll find her, okay? Bucky, I promise we’ll find her.” Steve’s voice is calmer than it has any right to be, in Bucky’s opinion, but he trusts the man more than almost anyone else, so he stays on the line.

While he waits, he frantically searches the room for any clues to Cleo’s whereabouts, tossing chairs to the side and upending the table, but he comes up empty. Stark’s voice brings him back to the present moment.

“Barnes, what was she wearing today?”

Bucky gives a disgusted scoff. “Christ, Stark, what the hell is wrong with you? I don’t think now -”

“Barnes,” Tony cuts him off, voice cold and serious. “Just trust me for one second and answer the fucking question.”

Bucky wants to kick himself when he realizes that he can’t - that he didn’t wake up in time to see her off. “I don’t know,” he says, voice small. “I - I was sleeping when she left.”

Stark sighs. “It’s fine, we’ll just track it anyway and hope for the best.” Bucky makes a sound of confusion, speech nearly impossible in his sheer panic. “I retooled her suit a bit,” Stark explains. “Used nanotech to fit the entire thing in two little shell pins she can wear on her shoulders. All she has to do is tap them and the suit comes out. Plus a pretty slick helmet that comes out of her glasses. Ruins whatever she’s wearing at the moment, but you win some, you lose some.”

“Focus, Tony,” Banner shouts in the background.

“Right,” Stark says. “The pins have a tracker embedded in them, just in case, and the HUD in the helmet does, too. If she was wearing them this morning, we can figure out where she is.”

“Got it!” Banner calls out. “Er, I think I got it. This doesn’t really make any sense.”

Before Bucky can ask what they’re talking about, he hears Steve’s voice cut in, sounding weary with resignation. “It does if you know HYDRA.”

******

When I force my eyes open, I’m nearly blinded by the pounding in my head from just the dim, exposed lightbulb hanging overhead. I try to moan at the pain and move to wipe at something wet just above my eye, but I can’t do either.

No. Fuck. NO.

My hands are bound behind the back of the hard, metal chair I’m sitting in, and my legs are as well - one duct-taped to each of the front legs of the chair. And, worst of all, my mouth is taped shut. 

I flick my eyes wildly around the room, moving as much as my restraints allow, but there isn’t a lot to see. I’m in a small space, no windows, with that single exposed lightbulb dangling above my head. Curiously, it’s all metal - the walls, ceiling, floors - everything. That’s the only remarkable thing about the room, though, and it doesn’t give me much of a clue to my whereabouts.

I try to think back over the events of the last few hours, mind still fuzzy.

I woke up next to Bucky after the most incredible - nope, no time to focus on that, Blake.

I got ready for my thesis defense, passed Meg on the way to campus and apologized for the state of her bedroom. 

I got to the English building, went to room 12C, and…

Oh, that fucker.

It all comes back to me in a crushing wave - the empty room, save for Dr. Sapros. His laughter at my confused look. Anxiously chugging half a bottle of water. Him thumbing through my notecards. And the look in his eyes when he reached out with that current of red electricity and fucking knocked me unconscious.

Just as I’m squeezing my eyes shut in frustration, the metal door to the tiny room creaks open.

Speak of the devil.

Sapros is wearing his usual professorial attire, except with the new addition of that red cape I’m all too familiar with from my fights with The Philosopher. He’s abandoned the Greek tragedy mask, though - I suppose he no longer needs it now that I know his identity.

“Cleo,” he croons, voice disgustingly smug. “Finally awake, I see. Did you have a nice nap?”

All I can do is narrow my eyes at him in a glare, with my mouth taped shut and hands restrained. Nat had been pushing me to practice more, to learn how to manipulate the strings of frequencies without using my hands or voice, but I hadn’t made the time with my defense coming up. The defense that never fucking happened.

“It seems you’re finally speechless. In all my time as your advisor, I never thought I’d see the day where Cleo Blake had nothing to say. Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” Sapros grins widely, and I mentally kick myself for not putting it all together sooner - that cadence in speech, that ridiculous smugness - of course The Philosopher sounded familiar to me - he’d been my teacher for three fucking years.

“I’m terribly sorry your defense couldn’t proceed as planned, but there were more important things to be dealt with - you understand, right? After all, patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”

I roll my eyes, hoping he sees. That was Aristotle, you stupid dick.

“Some of my… colleagues, I suppose you could call them, are hard at work trying to determine how we might extract that little beauty,” he says, pointing to my crystal. “However, until then, you’re serving another purpose here. Of course, you’d see for yourself soon enough, but I know how you despise surprises so I’ll just let the cat out of the bag, as it were. My colleagues and I lost a very important weapon some time ago, and we believe you are just the thing to draw him back.”

Him. Sapros said ‘him,’ not ‘it.’ That means…

My eyes go wide with realization and I fight against my restraints, crying out futilely from behind the tape across my mouth.

“Oh hush now, Cleo, no need for such dramatics. Though you always were a feisty one, weren’t you? It took everything I had to convince you to drop your Atlantis research in favor of something more ‘mainstream.’ Lucky for me, you were more desperate for belonging than you were to follow in your father’s footsteps. Once I threatened to remove you from the meager little community you’d scraped together at Culver, I could have demanded anything and you’d have given it.”

I freeze, eyebrows knitting together at the mention of my father. I never once told Sapros where my passion for Atlantis came from.

He smirks at me. “Are you just realizing that I mentioned your father? Nothing if not sharp, you are. Yes, I am well aware of your father’s little pet project. And, as it turns out,” Sapros says, tapping the crystal in a gesture that has me flinching away from him, “he was far closer to the truth than we gave him credit for.”

I blink at him, mind reeling as I try to piece everything together - every past-tense word, every mention of my father’s work - hoping none of it means what I’m starting to dread it might.

“It’s tragic, really, that he’ll never know just how close he was. He’ll never know that the crystal chose precisely who he suspected it would, despite my best efforts to find it myself and keep you as far from it as possible. How ironic that I was in the middle of the Mediterranean, following your father’s final theory, while you were stumbling upon the object of my desire in a dusty, second-rate library at little old Culver.”

I make a squeak of indignation when he calls the library ‘second-rate,’ but it goes ignored.

“By the time I returned,” Sapros growls, growing angrier as he monologues, “you had already been snapped up by the gods-damned Avengers. Tell me, Cleo, is Rogers still as self-righteous as he used to be, or has he lost some steam in his old age? And how is my favorite weapon enjoying the droll mediocrity of the fight for justice?” He pauses, sneering at me, before releasing a dark chuckle and bringing his palm to his forehead dramatically. “Of course. I’m terribly sorry, how could I forget I’ve finally managed to render you speechless? And thank the gods for that - your incessant prattling is nearly as irritating as your father’s was.”

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. Sapros must be toying with me, attempting to rattle me or wind me up. Maybe he’s trying to make me emotional to see if the crystal will react in some way. Whatever he’s doing, he can’t possibly be telling the truth - he can’t possibly mean that my father had been working with HYDRA, or that my father is now gone. 

Sapros looses another chuckle. “Of course, you must be simply exhausted after preparing for your little thesis defense. I’ll just leave you to rest for a bit. You’ll need your strength, after all, if you’re going to give me that crystal.”

I hear the click of his footsteps on the metal floor followed by the slam of the door, and only then do I allow the tears to roll freely down my cheeks.

******

“I’ve just sent the coordinates to your phone so you can meet us. But Buck, we’re an hour out at best. I know you’re closer, but I’m begging you - wait for the rest of us to get there,” Steve says, voice pleading.

“Sure,” Bucky responds flatly.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is stern, warning. “I’m serious - we don’t know what we’re going to find, but it’s HYDRA, so it can’t be good. Don’t do anything stupid.” Bucky hears footsteps, and when Steve speaks again, his voice is a whisper. “We haven’t figured out how to break your trigger words, Buck. You can’t just go running in there.”

“Got it,” Bucky says, voice void of emotion. “Of course.”

Steve sighs. “We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just hold tight.”

“Absolutely,” Bucky says, setting the flowers next to Cleo’s note cards on the lectern. Forehead creased with anger, he hangs up his phone and memorizes the coordinates before tossing it in the trash on the way out the door. He stalks out of the building and into the parking garage, doing a quick sweep of the vehicles before his eyes land on a motorcycle.

Perfect, he thinks. It takes him all of a minute to hotwire the bike, and then he’s speeding out of the garage, headed for the nearby coast. He has a submarine to catch.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

As per the poll results, we are giving Damas stress via Just Plain Silliness. It builds character. Not that I needed an excuse to Inconvenience Characters in the first place 😆 it's become my favorite way of writing anything. Not Angst or Adventure, but Aggravation of Character in ridiculous ways 😂

This falls into the Trespasser au (last "episode" of that found HERE) a bit before the second Arena fight in the game.

The king of Spargus, Jak decided, was a killjoy.

For a city where strength and survival were supposed to be the most important traits, he sure didn't like any of Jak's demonstrations of strength or survival.

"You can't race Leapers in the middle of the market."

"Don't swim over the reef."

"Stop antagonizing the monks."

"You can't race Leapers on neighborhood roofs, either."

"If I told you not to swim over the reef, why would you assume I'd be okay with you feeding the sea monster?!'

It was like he was vehemently opposed to the mere concept of fun.

Jak folded his arms and tried not to roll his eyes while Kleiver complained about the scuffed up suspension and undercarriage on the Dune Hopper. Sure, he'd cut it a little close on the broken bridge, but he'd gotten away with the artifacts and left the Marauders in a two car pile up, so who was the winner, here?

Not Jak, apparently.

Damas listened to Kleiver yell about how he'd have to redo the entire suspension -- a gross exaggeration -- and how there was half a metalhead stuck in the undercarriage. Now that, Jak hadn't known about. When had he run over a metalhead?

"Hey! We didn't do that!" Daxter protested, "How do we know you didn't put that there last time you drove?!"

"Because I don't take the Hopper if I plan to do a run down Turquoise Canyon!" Kleiver snapped.

Damas steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and examined the damaged vehicle.

"One of these days, kid, I swear to Volcan-"

"What?! I got the job done, didn't I?" Jak protested indignantly. "Did you want the Marauders to get their hands on a functioning power cell?"

Damas’s jaw tightened so much that his mouth appeared to be folding inward. He inhaled slowly, and let it out again, ears twitching while he was very obviously counting to ten.

"There are no jumps in the canyon," he said slowly, "So how did you manage this?"

Jak shrugged nonchalantly. "The 'rauders chased us out to the ruins," he explained, "Ran out of turbo, so I had to get creative with the jump."

Kleiver started swearing very creatively under his breath. Damas turned an interesting shade of red.

"That does it."

The king grabbed Jak by the channeling ring and near dragged him out of the garage before Kleiver could clobber someone with a wrench.

"One more stunt like that out of you," Damas threatened, "and I'm entering you into an apprenticeship. Let's see you foment chaos with an actual structure in your day."

"You're not gonna do that," Jak scoffed.

Damas’s eyes narrowed. "Try me."

Jak did not take this nearly as seriously as he ought to have. In fact, he seemed to regard the threat as more instances of Damas "worrying too much". Damas did not worry too much! If anything, he wasn't worried enough about the insanity this young unknown relative had brought into his city! More than one advisor or guildmaster had been privy to the king muttering darkly, "I'm either going to kill him, or start training him myself. I'll let you know when I've figured out which."

And of course, Jak kept being Jak. Climbing the Arena walls because he saw a Precursor orb someone had dropped. Messing around with some kind of evil alien satellite on the beach. Inciting other inhabitants of the youth barracks to join foot races in the barrack halls in the dead hours of night. And he seemed to regard all of this as perfectly normal behavior. It was like all the impulses he'd had to shove down in Haven, all the ways he'd had to be perfect to fit under the yoke of that terrible word, hero, everything came crashing down in Spargus. He had almost no limits here, and that kind of freedom seemed to awaken a wildness that was above the paygrade of the dorm supervisor.

It came to the point where Damas was actually allowing the kid to go out into a sandstorm, just to get some of that boundless energy out! It wouldn't have been his first choice. Or even his tenth. But the storm rolling in was much larger than anything else they'd seen that summer. And for all his recklessness, Jak was their fastest driver.

"Four scouts have not reported in," the king told Jak and Daxter. His face was grim. "Two just set off their emergency beacons. At the rate this storm is going-"

He shook his head, cutting off his sentence.

Daxter had worried that Spargus would be another Krew situation at first. But here was the king of the cranky lizard-riders, flipping out because a handful of scouts -- one of the lowest ranks in the city -- weren't accounted for before a deadly storm.

In Haven, their absence wouldn't have even been noticed until roll call.

The old timers in the market were right, weren't they? "King's eyes see all." This guy watched everyone like a hawk, didn't he? Daxter wasn't sure if that bothered him, or if it just reminded him of Jak.

He supposed that was fitting, considering the two were probably related, no matter how in denial Jak seemed to be about being an Heir of Mar.

"Where's the Crawler right now?" Jak asked.

The mobile sandstorm shelter wasn't invincible, but it could take a lot. That would be the scouts' best bet.

Damas looked out the windows, glaring at the dark clouds as though he could hold the storm back by sheer force of will. It took a moment to hear his voice over the water.

"The Crawler is in the steppes at the moment. She's not a fast vehicle, Jak. I need you to get those scouts to either the Crawler or the city."

"I will."

Damas turned a stern look on them both.

"No stunts. These are people's lives we're talking about."

"I know!" Jak sputtered, a little offended. "And I won't bust the car up this time, so Kleiver can give it a rest."

"No. I'm serious, boy," Damas warned, "If it comes down to abandoning the car for shelter or trying to drive in the storm, you leave the car. Do you understand?"

Jak huffed. Damas had seen him outrun sandstorms before! What was so bad about a slightly bigger one?

"I got it, I got it," he grumbled.

Damas glared.

"No. Stunts. You get back here in one piece."

"Okay, I got it already!" Jak groaned.

"Jak-!"

"I know, Dad!" Jak complained.

An instant later his eyes widened.

The water suddenly seemed much louder than usual.

Daxter wasn't even sure any of them were breathing.

Three pairs of dramatically widened eyes darted back and forth between them as silence built up like steam under pressure. It was going to erupt sooner or later, the question was how.

Damas made a very small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Jak snapped out of his moment of horrified realization.

"Uh. I'll let you know when everyone is accounted for!"

He pivoted and bolted for the elevator before Damas could see his entire face burn crimson.

A guard at the back of the chamber opened his mouth to comment and in one rushed tangle of syllables Jak hissed,

"Youdidn'thearanything!"

Damas didn't blink for a good two minutes after Jak had left.

He didn't move for a good two minutes.

He stood exactly where he'd been, staring blankly at the empty elevator shaft.

The captain of the tower guard, an older man named Cephus, left his place by the windows to lean into Damas’s peripheral vision. He waved slightly, and the king finally blinked.

"Are you alright, sire?" Cephus asked.

Damas made a curious wheeze before speaking through a groaning inhalation.

"Oh no."

"Hm!" Cephus stroked his long beard. "Guess the wild one imprinted on you! Do I offer congratulations or condolences?"

Damas nodded slowly and stiffly.

"....help."

There could not possibly have been a worse time for the monks to finally send him the results of the blood test.

[cereuvell]

Irene: Why are you still here?

Isaac: Hm?

Irene: Aden and the council has sent countless of advisors, but all of them left. All of them thought Cereuvell was a hopeless case. And despite the rumors I’ve heard about you, you’re… far from what they say. I know for a fact you don’t want to do it. You could find a better nation, with more potential, and yet..you stay.

Isaac: ..For years, I advised all sorts of people. Most of them at the top, such as kings, queens, prime ministers, public figures.

..And you know what I learned?

People of high class are happy with their life; maybe even obsessed. They don’t want anything to disrupt that, so they’re willing to do anything to make sure it doesn’t change.

These people… never wanted my counsel. They wanted me to be a pawn in their game. Instead of letting me suggest practical solutions, I helped them speak on empty promises. They relied on me to write fabricated speeches for their campaigns. It was never for a good cause.

Irene: ….You’re talking about Ashe, aren’t you?

Isaac: *sigh* Not just Ashe.

Irene: …

Isaac: I was young and clueless, so I thought I was doing the right thing. I actually could have left anytime,but I thought that it was a necessary step for my growth. There was this one time I spoke up, but they accused me of questioning their authority. They threatened to take my license away if I brought it up again.

So I was quiet. I did what I was told for a long time. But the more I did it, the more disgusted I was at myself. That voice in my head, it kept nagging at me. So I spoke up again. Just like that, I was out.

Irene: Isaac…

Isaac: And like they promised, they didn’t do it quietly. They spread lies, called me corrupt, and accused me of offering ‘illicit’ advice.

Irene: That’s.. so cruel.

Isaac: To be fair, it wasn’t entirely off base. I was still involved. But in result, I wasn’t wanted anywhere.

Irene: .. Until you met me. So that’s how you ended up in Cereuvell.

Isaac: *silence*

Irene: … So you were stuck with us.

Isaac: ..I’m glad I was.

Irene: What?

Isaac: I chose being an advisor because I wanted to..be part of something good. To make at least some parts of the world better. But because of what happened, I started to lose hope that it was possible.

Staying here…it was the first time I felt like I was part of something.

I thought you were just like everyone else, but you proved me wrong. And despite the.. many argument between us, you still listened to me. I gave my input, you gave me yours. You trusted me.

I witnessed you accomplish things more than anyone I’ve worked with. You made life changing decisions even if it was inconvenient for your position. You sacrificed so much, for so little; even nothing. You put your people first. You even put me, an outsider, first.

I have never seen anyone so open to change. And that.. got me to hope again. For the first time in my life, I was the one who wanted to learn from someone else.

And the fact that I was able to be part of it, gave me hope for myself. I am capable of helping. You made me feel like what I have been doing all this time wasn’t for nothing.

You asked me the reason why I stayed?.. It’s because I believe in you.

[i-like-loserz]

Hi! I'm the Prince San anon 🙂‍↕️🙌 I didn't expect you to write a drabble about it. OMG!? I'm so shy but I love it!!! For your question, it's a Sleepy! San fic (sorry, I didn’t mention that in my previous ask but yes, I did mean it’s a recent San fic! And you're so right!!! ALL sub!San fics are GOOD!!! 😫) I just had to share my dream with you since it's your Sleepy!San was the last thing I read before sleep 🤭 I was hesitant to share it at first cause I thought it might be too much or weird, but you deserve to know you’re an amazing writer who brought San to life...well in my dream 🤭

The dream, as far as I remember, it started at the airport. Of course, he had to greet his people, and I was with one of his trusted bodyguards somewhere else from the public. Once San was in the waiting lounge, he quickly hugged me and asked if I was okay, looking at me with a worried look and a pout 🫠 Then shifted to a countryside I'm guessing it's our little getaway where San and I sat by the river. He laid his head on my lap, reading a book to me while I played with his hair and massaged his head. He smiled at me, a blush on his cheeks, and looked at me with love in his eyes (STOP, my heart 😭)

We moved into a room after that, and we danced. Gurl... I don’t even know how to describe the spicy smut part, but let’s just say things got too hot there!!! Whine needy sub!San!!!! AGSHDKRLDJFJJFIT 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

Of course, there was also a deep conversation about everything about my life, and how he wishes he could hold my hand proudly in public and say I’m his or what it's like to be just a normal person for once. beautiful and deeply emotional in there. But of course, there’s always a sad and drama part. His royal advisor, a man that hates me so much, kept saying I wasn’t worthy of San and the royal family. He tried convincing San to be with a more suitable woman, one with noble title and a pure korean blood (yay! A forbidden romantic lmao) and there's a woman, she's beautiful and tall from a noble family who wanted to be part of the royal family and wants San to herself (why am I not surprised? The dream was too good!) That woman was the people's favorite to ship with San, but San sees her like a sister, and he gave me an apologetic look. The woman smirked at me while the crowd and photographers cheered for them. I just stood at the back hurt.

It felt so real? I felt kind of bad for myself lol I stayed in the hotel all day while San went to an event, but he came back shortly after the after-party. He told the people at the party that he was 'tired and needed energy' for tomorrow’s flight. Then he quickly hugged me tightly, telling me how he wants me to stand proudly next to him and show the world his love for me. He told me to be patient with him because he truly loves me, but he needs time. (Important question in my dream: does his family know about me???) and the dream ended by my alarm 😐😐😐

That's all I remembered from my dream 🙂‍↕️ hope you have a lovely day and week 💜🥰

your dream is like a whole fic 😭 -- like the several scenes (including some spice) and everything! but PLEASEEE sannie sounds like such a sweetheart here, comforting you and making you feel secure with the relationship 🥰 omg and the bit of angst at the end (honestly you should just transcribe your dreams into a fic bc the story building!!)

first -- let me just say how jealous i am of your amazing brain for coming up with this!! THE THINGS I'D DO TO HAVE SANNIE IN MY HEAD AGAIN... and second -- thank you so much for sending this in so i can live vicariously through you <3 (also sorry for responding so late!)

[toasttheinkling]

So what if I started posting my writing here?

-TEEF POV-

Teef followed the odd old man into the sewers, why? Good fucking question. They’re hard to read even for a watcher like myself. 

“The- The the- THE OCTARIANS ARE COMING!!” Cuttlefish began. “AGAIN!” he shouted after a pause.

“Oh, uh, hi... Did we do this once before? The ol’ noggin ain’t what it used to be.” Seeming to only notice Teef now.

“Anyhow, the name’s Cuttlefish. Senior advisor to the new squidbeak splatoon, at your service!”

He glanced at him, an odd-looking man, very old- sun-dried with crazy eyes. “That look in your eye… it’s the look I’ve been lookin’ for!” Teef narrows his eyes what the hell does that mean

“The Great Zapfish that powers Splatsville has been squidnapped! It's the octarians again. You can bet your bottom sand dollar on it! See, the Great Zapfish has gone missing before. Twice, in fact! And those octojerks were behind it both times.”

Teef assumes he's talking about octolings. What does he have against them, anyway? When Teef was growing up octos, inklings, and other creatures were all seen as equal, but as soon as he moved to the splatlands people seemed to have something against them… he's told it's even worse in the Inkopolis area. He knew that the peninsula of anarchy bay was cut off but really what had he missed? 

“I’ve been keepin’ an eye on ‘em even though I'm technically retired. And with eyes like these, there ain’t much that escapes me!” Teef believed that his eyes were honestly worrying.

“But they still made off with the Great Zapfish. And now WE’VE got to get it back. … Right?” Teef narrowed his eyes at him

“So, uh…”   “… that was a job offer kid. The pay is… zero but you might just save the world. You’re in, right? RIGHT!?”

“Uh-” Teef spoke for the first time, he didn't talk much almost ever but with how much this ‘cuttlefish’ was talking 

“Course you are! Starting today, you are the new agent 3 of the new squidbeak splatoon! “This is your brand-new hero suit! It’ll help you fight the octarians” 

Cuttlefish held out a jacket, shoes, and some kind of earpiece that Teef took and put on over their ragged clothes a rain jacket lined with a soft fabric, that had surprisingly good airflow even in the heat of the splatland deserts with a built-in ink tank, attaching the earpiece that glowed once it was attached and nicely bouncy shoes that seemed good enough for… well whatever this guy wanted him to do. The next thing he pulled out was a gun, handing it to Teef who took it after a moment of hesitation.

“Now let's go get those octoclowns! You got it buc- OH!”

 Teef began to walk in the direction he pointed before Blabo scuttled at the old man“You’ve already got another agent there with ya, huh? Well, I'm fresh outta hero suits, unfortunately…” Teef blinked at him before holding out his hand for Blabo, who went into the pocket between their ink tank and jacket, which was conveniently smallfry-sized. “Ah, but it's a salty li’l scamp ain’t it- it’ll do fine.” “Now, where was I… oh, right! Let's go get those octojerks! I’m countin’ on you, bucko!”

[cheolism-archive]

for me, i was always aware of kpop but no groups really caught my attention until mamamoo but i didn’t really follow up with them until i got into ateez and started finding about more groups

the testing went okay, there were news reporter at the place i was taking the test and was praying they won’t ask me about how it went cuz i’d probably bawl my eyes out. the results don’t come out until the 27th which is pretty nerve wrecking but i think it’ll be fine, after that (hopefully) the next time i send an ask i’ll be a uni student woohooo honestly why’d no one ever say about how hard it is to choose a major 😭😭 losing my mindddddd

HOW DO YOU DO IT

OMG!! i was wondering abt you!!! i'm happy to see you back !!! <3

i didn't really know abt kpop until 2016. i'm not sure if i even knew it existed?? that's so cool that ateez was your first group!!! what was your first comeback w them???

and omg!! yay uni!!!!! i hope for positive results omg!!!!!! i wish i could tell you that there's no use in worrying because that won't help, but ik that's just a load of bullshit and you'll worry regardless lmao

i also applied to a uni!!! and i'll also reveal some of my backstory lmao so!! at 18 i chose a program that would open doors to a job that offered job security and good money and healthcare and all that jazz!!! but the program!! fucking made me extremely mentally ill. the time i started writing on tumblr was one of the darkest points in my life, and it was. very bad! i won't go into details!! but i tried to stay in the program because, at that point, i had put two years into it and i knew my family really wanted me to go through with it. i knew it was the best option for me and my skills.

but during july a few things happened. my grandpa fell and broke his hip and that like. idk? snapped something into me? and it made me realized i needed a job where i felt fulfilled as a person, where i was able to do the things that i love. so, without telling anyone in my family, i dropped out of my program and got with an advisor and made plans to switch into the liberal arts department and focus on getting an english diploma. i told my family everything after i had solidified the plans (don't do this!! i didn't do this on impulse. i did tons of research on the requirements for an english bachelors and the best way to do it and what everything i would need to do, etc. i don't do big steps impulsively, no matter what it seems like). and this spring i will be finishing up one half of my degree and come autumn i will be at uni beginning to do the second half of my english bachelors and getting a teaching certificate!!! i'll also probably try to do a minors in history.

all this being said: you don't know what you want to do. at 18 i went into the first program knowing i didn't want to do it but trying to bear it because it was the best path to try and get myself into a better financial and social standing than my parents. but it wasn't until literally four months ago? that i knew for sure that i couldn't do the program and i wanted to do something i loved.

i don't know how college works in your country!!!! and idk if you've already been going through college!! but i strongly recommend just getting the general things out of the way before you even think about worrying about what you want to do. through doing general coursework you can get an idea of what you like to do and what you're good at. i really believe in getting all the facts of something before you make a decision, and i recommend getting all the facts about who you are, what you like and what you love, before trying to commit to something that'll last a lifetime.

[marbrnv]

Writer's block

or is it?

I just can't do it. I can't. I know exactly what to write, I have made extensive notes, I have every aspect covered, but I can't put it into fucking words, let alone coherent sentences that make sense together and deliver the point. I just can't. I'm sitting here and I want to scream. And cry. And punch something.

At the same time, I can't NOT write it. It's been way too long, my advisors are waiting for this goddamn chapter. A month ago I told them I'm wrapping it up, I have the bulk written, but there are a few sections that I really struggle with. Yeah, ok, not untrue. I don't know why I struggle with them, those aren't even my own research sections - just context analysis based on the scholarship that's already there. Why is this so difficult? How can I feel like I know what to write, but at the same time like I don't have a faintest idea?

I thought to myself, ok, it's just a minor section, write it like a usual course paper, 2-3 thousand words, I've done that a hundred times, piece of cake. I didn't care if it made perfect sense, I just had to write it, so I did. I didn't frankly care about the grade that I'd get - at a doctoral level you need to really mess up to produce a B quality paper. We know our shit at that point. And even if it's not great, in the end it always does make sense. But now when it's my dissertation (god, that damn word!), I feel like the same total amateur undergrad with the only difference being that back then I did not have the awareness of being an amateur. When you're 20, every word you write seems like a stroke of genius to you. At least it did to me; but judging by 99.5 percent of my students, this is not uncommon. And you savor it - even if years down the road you shrug at the thought that you could write something so stupid.

In some less grave cases, giving it a little cry helps. This is only partly a joke. But in situations like this one today, not even tears come out. Total and complete paralysis. Texted my phd-student friends from my program to ask if this is what experience sometimes, too. Their answers were king of vague. Yes, no, not the same way.

That made me realize how little we, the grad students, share about the actual pain of doing what we do. The constant, excruciating self-doubt, very often no or very little support because nobody can really relate, especially if your family and friends have nothing to do with academia (my case), and especially if you come from abroad (also my case; don't even get me started on writing as an esl). Nobody takes you seriously, you're just an overgrown student, you don't really make a living (even though I think it's wild that we get paid anything at all for just reading a bunch of obscure stuff and writing some even more obscure stuff for 5-6-7 years). You're kind of at the very bottom. Nobody says it like that, but it does very much feel like it. Not the greatest motivator.

And among ourselves, we kind of play it cool, don't we. We joke and complain about the "hard" things - getting grants, doing research in archives around the world, connecting the dots of our narrative, editing - but not that. Not the fact that most of the time you feel like a child that was left alone in a crowded place, not knowing how they got there or how to get home. Standing there, holding a stupid pink cotton candy in one hand and thinking this is it, now you live on the streets.

Jesus Christ, will this ever get easier.

[lanci53]

Hey, get a job!

O.K. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need my couch, thanks.

If you just graduated, you’re Gen Z and being blamed for killing industries that millennials already killed, unemployed or like me underemployed, then you’ve come to the right place-- a little corner of the Internet that’s not LinkedIn and doesn’t take itself seriously.

First, I must tell you about this cool other website to spend half your day on whenever you’re not on Tumblr:

http://www.wtfshouldidowithmylife.com/

You got that? It’s going to help you in your journey from being a recent grad, (Tim Robinson voice) a piece of shit or just a normal human being experiencing the ebbs and flows of life as it unfolds with or without a job already-- ready to throw caution to the wind and begin something new.

As such, I’ve already hit the button 25 times and will now humor you in whether or not you or I could succeed in our new roles.

First up...

Fashion blogger? Are you kidding me? Have you seen my closet? It’s just a bunch of hockey jerseys, which I mean, I guess is cool for a certain demographic but I do not know the rules of fashion beyond what’s in and what’s out among home, road, alternate and throwback jerseys.

I have some experience in a way since I once attended a “take your kid to work day” and got to play the role of an advisor in some sort of The Price is Right/Deal or No Deal mashup that they had us kids play. I told them to take the money and run, limit their risk or whatever. What’d they do? They probably didn’t listen to me. I don’t remember. I hope their business failed (the kid’s, not the company that was nice enough to have us skip school for the day).

I am not Eminem. Nor am I Post Malone. I’m sorry.

Is this what they mean when they say “Meta is hiring”? Does this mean Mark Zuckerberg needs a friend in the Metaverse? Am I going to be paid to be his friend?

Sounds expensive and like more school would be required.

Seems unrealistic. Don’t even get me started.

Also sounds expensive, but if we could ultimately be half as good as A24 then we’re onto something. In that case, we might try our hands out at being a distributor first and go from there. Oh it’s just for commercials? Commercials are cinema too!

Insert “bisexual barista meme” here. A little too on the nose don’t you think?

And for my next trick, I’ll move to Maine! That doesn’t sound so bad, actually.

I have no idea what this is, yet I’m intrigued as someone who likes a good road trip minus a cracked windshield and all the other things that could go wrong. Have you seen how people drive on highways these days?

Jamie Tartt do do do do do doo

Sounds like a lot of liabilities and paperwork involved.

Would be great until I inevitably write about Coldplay too many times for everyone’s liking. If anyone knows Chris Martin, though, please let him know I’d like to be friends.

I discovered a beekeeper on a Live TikTok one time while scrolling through my “For You” page and sat there for the next 30 minutes just watching him go about his job. I would 100% be down for this. Also I’ve never been stung by a bee, so I’d have no fear going into it.

I have actually done this before and you should hire me for it (for real).

I play guitar, so... ...I’m looking for a drummer myself.

That’d mean I’d have to acquire a bike first, which if we’re looking to keep this at a minimum upfront cost, well, I have some news for you. It’s not happening.

This would be a lot of fun, but again the whole cost of moving, you know...

Don’t think that I haven’t already thought about doing this. Life could be so much simpler. You’d also live in a desert, but simpler nonetheless. Plus Salvation Mountain is right around the corner and normally I rag on folk art, but this is the one folk art I am willing to accept (not, like, as a religious thing-- just from an art perspective).

Seems like you’d have a hard time getting any Federal job after this, though.

I already am. I perform concerts daily in the shower. Tickets are hard to come by however.

I would absolutely do this for the free food and shit, but I need some lines so I’ll get paid and residuals.

I could maybe do this. Would request one log cabin with great Internet access to make it work.

Watch me turn $0 into $0!

When in doubt, you can always just go home and do less of the things you’d really like to do for fun because your parents are around, but on the rare occasion that they’re away for the weekend you can call all your friends who, by now, have moved far, far away and get them together for one last party if any of them show up. On the plus side, you’d have access to all your favorite streaming platforms or whatever and you probably wouldn’t have to pay for your Internet access to keep reading Tumblr (though you could always just steal Dunkin’s WiFi for that).

Remember, nothing matters. Everything is made up. Eat Arby’s. Eventually someone will hire you and you’ll prove people wrong, which is always a great feeling (not that anyone was doubting you). Now hand me the remote, please.

[annibtj]

26th august 2022

hello! how have you all been? i know it’s back to school season for a lot of you - i hope you’re taking care of yourselves and enjoying the start of a new semester!

i wanted to come on here and just have a chat, it’s been a while...

i feel like, while i may have posted the occasional photo here and there, i haven’t actually been very present, and while i post on instagram and youtube a decent amount, i always find myself missing this space.

i do feel like it’s hard for me to post here, a place where i used to document my studies and my productivity, now that i am no longer studying/a student/being productive in the ways that i used to. 

in case you missed it - i graduated end of 2020 and started a masters in the first half of 2021, but dropped out because it wasn’t the course for me (my advisor literally told me to drop out and save myself the money. lol)

while i do think i still want my masters (maybe in english, instead of creative writing specifically) and so i hope to return to academia at some point, you might be wondering what i’ve been up to for the past year.

2022 has been more crazy than 2021, where i was working a hospitality job trying desperately to recover from academic burnout and my anxiety that had been running mostly unchecked while i was studying. my anxiety has got significantly worse before getting better (and i still think i have a ways to go before i have somewhat of a handle on it) and my hospitality job demanded way too much of me physically, actually.

really, i’ve spent the first half of this year riddled with anxiety attacks and back pain, which hasn’t been that great.

but in june i moved house, quit my job, and have been focusing on building my mental and physical strength back up since then - i am so lucky to have a partner who not only has a well paying job but who is willing to support me and in fact, encouraged me to quit my job and focus on myself for a bit. words cannot describe how blessed i have felt to take this break and kind of ‘sort’ my life out.

but as i’ve said, i’ve been missing this blog, i’ve been missing ‘being productive’ in an odd sense, and most of all, i’ve missed writing. if you’ve followed me since i was studying for my undergraduate degree you would know i majored in creative writing and also got a minor in english studies. and while i obviously am no longer studying, i have always wanted to talk about what i love - books, and writing, and writing my own books.

essentially, when i dropped out of my masters last year, my academic burnout was creative writing burnout. i have barely done any writing over the past year. and i’ve been patient with myself, even though the itch to be doing something, the itch to get back to what i love, has been hovering over me for months, i am finally feeling up to scratching that itch, and getting back to it. and not only that, but sharing my work as well.

i would love to write for a living - novels are my dream, and will probably be what i talk about the most, but there isn’t really an income in novel writing (if you’re like me, with no signed book deal to go off) but my partner has been pushing me to start a patreon, which is something i would honestly love to look into, a way to share my writing with you all but not totally fall into the starving artist stereotype. patreon is something i need to plan more, and will probably be something i talk more about, but in the mean time, i’m excited to start sharing more writing related content with y’all. this is how i’m going to be being productive, this is what’s going to be taking up my time, and this is going to be my future. 

i’m looking forward to bringing y’all along with me x

[slayolay]

Life Goes On

November 24th, 2022

5 years since i’ve forgotten that I have a tumblr acc, I’m back.

I just remember that I have this acc 10 mins ago when I needed to vent about how my mom got mad at me for not lending her money to buy her stuff for when she travel tomorrow, well I do have friends that I can talk to about this but they’re busy and I don’t want to bother them. And my therapist told me to write a journal about my day or how i feel, but as much as i like to write on my book i don’t want people at my house found out about it. So the next best place to do that is tumblr, since no one irl knows me here, and i know that the people that follows me don’t use their acc anymore.

Lets start with how my day started.

I woke up at 8 feeling anxious as usual because i should’ve text my advisor to talk about my thesis but i’m to afraid and very anxious about it. Why? because i really hate doing it, if there’s any way i can do to avoid it then i’ll fucking do it, i don’t know why i hate it so much but i really don’t wanna do it. I know that i should, people in my year have already finished theirs, but i haven’t and i hate myself for that. But i just can’t bring myself to do it. Guess i’ll just do it tomorrow, lets see.

I’ve been having mixed feeling this past month. Anxiety, fear, excitement, numb, sad, confused, all sorts of things. I can’t explain it and it’s been bugging me so much. I wish i still have my meds and could afford to go to therapy again.

The day went buy just like that. Until tonight my mom ask me if she can lend me money to buy some stuff for her travel tomorrow. Money has always been an issue for us and it’s really tight these days. I do have a bit left but i don’t really want to spend it unless it’s emergency. I didn’t give her an answer the first time. Then a few mins later when i’m about to go out to buy dinner she asked again. I don’t really want to lend her some because she rarely pay me back eventhough i needed the money and have never asked her for money if i want to buy something for myself and i’ve been the one that paid the bills this month. But i’m still trying to be a good child so i said i’d lend her half the amount she asked. Then suddenly she got mad. And when i tell her the reason why i can’t give her the full amount she yelled at me to shut up and don’t want to hear me talk. Man  i was baffled, felt mad and upset at the same time. Then i went to out to buy food and cried on the way because i’m that kind of person that cries when something upset me. Then it got me thinking, was i selfish for not lending her money? am i really that weak for crying? is she really mad at me? am i a bad child?. All sorts of thought came into me, and its not the good kind. And now i don’t know what to do. She’s at the kitchen now and i’m here in the bedroom where me and her share a bed. 

With the feelings i’ve been having these days, and the situation i’m having, disappearing into thin air or be dead doesn’t sound too bad right now haha.

Anyway despite what happened, thank you for staying alive. You did great today:)

Song recommendation

Langit Abu-Abu by Tulus

https://open.spotify.com/track/2FaquTc3FYvNm7RuO1gD6O?si=dd2af22eac3f4688

[newtonsheffield]

Molly I have this crazy what if in my brain that needs your opinion…In the ACUPOP universe, what would’ve happened if Edmund got sick when he was little ( I’m talking 3 or 4, and like long term hospital sick) and Kate needed Anthony’s financial assistance? Who would’ve called him for help, her or Mary? How would the reconciliation go then with a sick child? Sorry I needed to get this out of my brain😂love you and your writing!

Okay okay okay, I like this idea, and I did tell myself I was going to refrain from writing AUs of AUs but here we go…

I have taken a few liberties with your idea, hope that’s okay 🐝🐝🐝 (he’s going to get Edmund)

It had never really sat well with Mary honestly, that Edmund’s father lived a 25minute drive from her.Living his life as though nothing had ever happened, while Kate struggled and struggled across the ocean. She’d tried so many times to get Kate to talk to him, when she was first pregnant and then now.

“He has some responsibility here, Kate.”

“I’m already the stupid girl who followed him home from holiday and thought he loved me, don’t make me be this as well. Besides, I don’t want him to get fed up with being a Dad in a few months, and then I’m right back where I started.”

And she’d thought about doing it herself, thought about showing up at him door, and demanding he take responsibility for the son they shared. But every time she’d gotten close, Kate’s sobs had echoed through her mind and the way she’d seemed to cry for days, until Mary was sure her own heart was broken as well. And she stopped.

And she kept stopping herself, until Kate called her, inconsolable, her breath coming in panicked gasps as though she’d run quite some distance, sobs obviously wracking her body

“Edmund got stung by a bee. Um… and that’s how Anthony’s Dad died and I-.”

Mary’s heart clenched, the image of her tiny grandson, just 3 laying somewhere forced into her mind “Katie where are you?”

She took a shuddering breath, “We’re at the hospital, and I think he’s going to be okay, he seems fine but they want to watch him and run some tests, and they’re asking me about family history and I don’t know what to do, I’m really scared, Mary.”

And suddenly Mary’s mind was made up. “Katie, I’m coming to stay. I’ll get a flight tonight, I’ll bring your sister.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m coming.”

She’d called Edwina’s school, left a message that she was to come home immediately, and pack their suitcases, and then she marched out of the house.

“Viscount Bridgerton is very busy, ma’am, I can’t just adjust his entire schedule because-”

Mary sighed, cutting across his receptionist, very little patience now that she’d made her decision, her fingernails drumming on her arm impatiently.

“Tell him it’s his mother in law and if he doesn’t come out this instant-”

“Mary?” Anthony had appeared looking like he’d seen a ghost, his hand raking through his hair. “Is everything-? Is Kate here?”

“She isn’t, but you’re coming with me. It’s time to take responsibility Anthony.” Mary said firmly, tugging him from the office, a harsh sigh escaping, her lips. “Anthony, i understand that perhaps when you married Kate, you didn’t realise how deep her feelings for you were, or would become and it’s alright to change your mind but-”

“I don’t know what you think happened, Mary, but Kate left me because of my responsibility to my family, in a letter. She broke my heart, not the other way around.”

Mary froze, her mind whirring, there was no way this had been true, Kate had said, his advisor had come, he’d told her Anthony wanted her to leave, she was sure she had, clearly there was investigating to be done, but she didn’t have time for that.

“Anthony, clearly, something has happened, here, but we don’t have time for this. What I have to tell you might be difficult to hear but Kate needs you, now.”

His eyes widened, his fists clenched, nodding a little desperately already, “anything, Anything she needs.”

“Anthony, Kate has a son, Edmund, he’s three years old.” There was no point sugarcoating it, and no real time.

“Kate has a boy… , my boy?” His eyes were wide, his voice a little awe filled and it tugged at her heart, this man who so clearly still loved Kate.

“She does, and he’s so beautiful, Anthony. But he’s been stung by a bee, and he’s going to be fine but Kate’s worried and I think she wants to see you.”

“Where is she? America? She went there?” He was desperate, his hands already grappling with his phone.

“Yes, New York.”

“Pack your bags, Mary. We’re going.”

And before she knew it, she was speeding towards the airport

[armenelols]

There isn't enough appreciation for Elrond's and Isildur's friendship.

I think much of this comes from the movies, where our only image of Isildur is his 'no' and Elrond yelling 'Isildur!', and then we see him die because he dives into the river while running away from a battle because the One Ring falls from his finger. Sure, there is some scroll Gandalf reads, but it only makes Isildur seem even more obsessed with the Ring than he already seemed. Add to that Aragorn's rambling about how he and Isildur share blood and weakness and you've got the perfect receipt for evil Isildur and 'cast it into the fire' memes.

Movie!Elrond's 'men are weak' really isn't helping.

So to start with, I think it is necessary to say that I am talking about book!Elrond and book!Isildur here, and while I don't recall either of them calling the other friend, it's a headcanon I have and it is to some extent supported by the books.

In the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields in Unfinished Tales, Isildur shares a few exchanges with his son, Elendur, that I would like to show here.

Elendur went to his father, who was standing dark and alone, as if lost in thought. 'Atarinya,' he said, 'what of the power that would cow these foul creatures and command them to obey you? Is it then of no avail?'

'Alas, it is not, senya. I can not use it. I dread the pain of touching it. And I have not yet found the strength to bend it to my will. It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen. It should go to the Keepers of the Three.'

And later in the chapter:

'My king,' said Elendur, 'Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all cost bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!'

'King's son,' said Isildur, 'I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.'

Earlier in the chapter, we also get this passage talking about Isildur:

When he at last felt free to return to his own realm he was in haste, and he wished to go first to Imladris; for he had left his wife and youngest son there, and he had moreover and urgent need for the counsel of Elrond.

Nearer to the end of the chapter, when talking about Isildur's death, Tolkien writes this:

There suddenly he knew that the Ring had gone. By chance, or chance well used, it had left his hand and gone where he could never hope to find it again. At first so overwhelming was his sense of loss that he struggled no more, and would have sunk and drowned. But swift as it had come the mood passed. The pain had left him. A great burden had been taken away. There he rose up out of the water: only a mortal man, a small creature lost and abandoned in the wilds of Middle-Earth. But to the night-eyed Orcs that lurked there on the watch he loomed up, a monstrous shadow of fear, with a piercing eye like a star. They loosed their poisoned arrows at it, and fled.

And last from this chapter, this bit about the Ring itself:

It was little more than two years since it had left his [Sauron's] hand, and though it was swiftly cooling it was still heavy with his evil will, and seeking all means to return to its lord.

So what does this tell us? And in addition, where was I coming to with Elrond & Isildur friendship?

1. For all of Isildur's refusal to give up the Ring after the war ended here:

'Alas! yes,' said Elrond. 'Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast then into Orodruin's fire nigh at hand where it was made. But few marked what Isildur did. He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-galad only Círdan stood, and I. But Isildur would not listen to our counsel.

' "This I will have as weregild for my father, and my brother," he said; and therefore whether we would or no, he took it to treasure it.

- The Council of Elrond, Fellowship of the Ring

Isildur realized he was wrong. The Ring was still at its most evil, and it wanted to corrupt him, it wanted to go back to Sauron, yet Isildur resisted enough to be able to almost give up the Ring willingly or at least consider it.

When he was slain, he was already taking the Ring to Elrond. Whether he would have the strength to do it later, he resisted the Ring enough to at least consider it. How many would be able to do so? Of course, there was the factor of the very touch of the Ring paining him, but compared with the Ring's will, that's hardly enough to convince a man to give it up.

And at last, when the Ring slipped from his finger, he did not dive after it. He gave it up, and swam away; and even as the orcs killed him, they killed him a free man.

2. He was bringing the Ring to Elrond. At the very beginning I said this post is about Elrond's and Isildur's friendship, and finally, I am talking about it.

It should go to the Keepers of the Three, Isildur says of the Ring - and for that, he would have to know who the Keepers are, or at least know of someone who knows. And it is said repeatedly that he seeks Elrond's counsel, that he goes to Imladris; did he know Elrond has Vilya?

The location of the Three is one of the greatest secrets kept from Sauron, and it is said many times that almost no one knew of it. Did Isildur know, suspect? In addition to this, Elendur seems to have the same knowledge, which, as he is repeatedly called Isildur's greatest confidant, isn't much of a wonder.

All in all, Isildur either connected the dots well enough to realize that out of all high elven lords, it is Elrond bears a ring of power (and Isildur is clever, this is a possibility); or Elrond was not careful enough and Isildur figured it out from his missteps (which, considering Elrond's experience with cursed jewellery isn't very likely); or Elrond gave him hints on purpose; or he just. Straight up told him.

The last two options seem to be most likely to me, which brings me to Elrond trusting Isildur enough to reveal such a secret to him, which leads me to my Elrond and Isildur are friends agenda.

Should the first option be true, props to Isildur for figuring it out by himself without any clues from Elrond other than him being important. Should Isildur be bringing the Ring to Elrond in hopes that Elrond knows who the Keepers of the Three are, without knowing Elrond is one of them, it still shows Isildur trusted Elrond enough to bring him the Ring even for temporary keeping.

(there is also the matter of whether Isildur knows the other Keepers of the Three, as he mentions them a few times, but never enough to indicate if he knows who they are)

3. Parallels. It is said that Elendil and Gil-galad, the two high kings of their people are friends. Is it really so unlikely that Elrond, Gil-galad's herald (and possibly heir, even though he took no crown), and most trusted advisor besides Círdan; and Isildur, the heir of Elendil the Tall and his second in command, would strike a friendship?

The Isildur we are presented with is both bold and wise - he saves the fruit of the White Tree of Númenor alone because it needs to be done, and then he does it again, and he does it because it's the best for his people. He takes the Ring, and tries to make it listen to him, and realizes he made a mistake; he tries to fix it, and wants to bring it to Elrond.

The Isildur we are presented with has courage, and wisdom, and hope.

Do you know what does this remind me of?

Edain. Their ideals. The reasons why they got the gift of Númenor, greater wisdom, longer lives.

They resisted the evil, no matter how strong; they were loyal, true to their beliefs, brave and courageous.

Elros was chosen as the king of the Edain and really, I highly doubt Edain would choose him as a king just because of his heritage, or because someone told them to do so. Sure, someone could have pointed out Elros to them and say 'hey, look at this dude, he could be a nice king, what do you think?' but in the end, while they might start following Elros because someone else told them, I doubt they would let themselves be led by someone who wasn't the best representation of them. In Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Andreth does not shy away from telling Finrod her beliefs, the beliefs of her people. And I don't think that changed with time.

What am I trying to say? I think Elros and Isildur were both similar in many ways, in ways that made them the leaders they were - and that in a way, Elrond saw Elros in Isildur, as well as himself; for Elrond still connected strongly with his mortal kin, and as I mentioned earlier, their political positions were similar.

And while Isildur was his own person and had done things neither Elros or Elrond would have done, and had his own good and bad qualities, it doesn't erase the similarities.

4. Aragorn was raised in Rivendell, by his mother and Elrond and his people. Of all the people there, it is easy to see which ones would influence him the most: Gilraen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir. It is repeatedly shown how close he was to them. To some extent we may include Glorfindel, for they were friends, but not as much as the above mentioned four.

Now, as Estel, he wasn't aware of his heritage. He is shown to be proud of his heritage, of his descend from Isildur; and yes, this could be a simple pride in one's ancestors. It could have been that he simply liked Isildur as a historical legendary figure and it became greater after he learnt of his descend from him. Or it could have been that he was told many tales of Isildur, of his deeds and personality, and his family, and decided I want to be like him, and like Elendil, even without knowing he was in any way related to them.

And really, when it comes to the above-mentioned people, who would be the most likely to tell him stories of Isildur? Gilraen who only knew him from stories, or Glorfindel who was never mentioned around Isildur in the books, or Elladan and Elrohir, born after Isildur's death, who could have any number of first-hand stories about hundreds of Aragorn's cool ancestors but not Isildur himself?

All I am saying is there is a potential for Elrond to be telling stories of his old friend Isildur and Elendil and Gil-galad to Estel, and Estel loving them.

There is also the fact that in the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, Elendur, Isildur's son, is said to be very similar to Aragorn. And I love the idea of Elrond's and Isildur's sons paralleling each other, in a strange way, thousands of years apart.

5. In the books themselves, we do no see Elrond speaking about Isildur much. (I checked almost every mention of Isildur in most of my Tolkien books. So yeah.) On the Council of Elrond, Elrond talks about Isildur the most, but it is mainly in historical manner and 'the Ring should have been destroyed that day' manner, as you can see in the passage from the book I mentioned above in point 1.

This doesn't tell us much about their relationship, much less their friendship - and thus as a source for my image of them as friends, I give the place to The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, thinking they would make a good duo, and the potential of how Isildur's death may have had affected Elrond.

Isildur's death was unexpected. No one expected the road not to be safe - there is a reason why Isildur and his men were unprepared for a battle. They were simply journeying on a familiar road, to Rivendell and then Arnor. Not even the Orcs that ambushed them knew of the Ring. In Rivendell, they learnt of what happened only thanks to Ohtar, Isildur's squire who survived; and even then, the specific circumstances of his death were not revealed until Aragorn found Elendilmir and the chain which bore the Ring among Saruman's things.

In all honesty, I don't think even Elrond knew Isildur planned on giving him the Ring. I do not doubt he expected him, for his wife and youngest son were in Imladris - but I found no reason as to why he might know of Isildur's plans with the Ring.

That could give him a reason to speak ill of Isildur, couldn't it? Yet when he speaks of him, he only speaks of facts and what should have been done - he doesn't call Isildur too weak to give up the ring, or power-hungry, or proud - and by the latter, Isildur calls himself several times (as can be seen here, in the passages I used above)

It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen.

And here:

Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.

And yes, it was a formal Council - Elrond had no reason to speak of his personal feelings towards Isildur. Yet I think the little he said reflects his thoughts well. He might have felt some bitterness towards him, especially as he later learnt what the Ring's nature truly was; and especially as he had no knowledge of Isildur being willing to give the Ring to him, for better or worse, whether he would find the strength to do so or not.

Still, once Elrond learnt of the Ring's Nature, I think he might have understood Isildur better - especially as he himself did not dare to even touch the Ring.

[lorkai]

🍷 Title: Heather

🍷Pairing: Lucifer x reader

🍷Summary: Lucifer's wedding is finally taking place, a true miracle for someone as serious as he. But MC wants to express their thoughts.

🍷Notes: This Oneshot is told in first person, I hope you like i ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

🍷 Edit: Part two can be found here.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

It's been about thirty years, but I still keep that book full of our best memories, I couldn't get up the courage to throw it away even after so long.

I still remember how, when we got close and became friends, we watched the stars in the sky, so bright and small, holding hands. Or how we danced in your garden while the flowers we loved gave off that scent in the air. Intoxicating. Unique.

I still have pictures of all our shameful challenges, and I find myself looking at that picture on my last day of the exchange. This photo always stayed in my living room as a reminder of who we were. I thought I couldn't go through with all my problems, but there you were to cheer and motivate me in your weird and even dangerous way, threatening me when I intruded too much.

And then the exchange program started and I caused you a lot of trouble. Like that truth or dare we played with Asmo, Levi and Satan where the challenge was for us to kiss, but it wasn't too embarrassing since we were drunk and we blamed it on drinking the next morning.

I have our picture on my birthday where we toast with Diavolo and Barbatos, a successful adult life, that's what we said. I went my way and you yours. Separated, as we said we would never be, because I was your safe haven and you mine.

You told me I changed you and your brothers for the better, but I feel like we lost our connection.

Years later, you called to tell me that you were officially Diavolo's advisor, that he was crowned and now king. I was so proud that I wanted to hug you and know more about everything that happened to you during the period we were not together, but with a aching heart I also learned about your fiancée. So I was there to support you, even though I had a lot of anger and pain in my chest.

I couldn't hate her if I tried, she was like an angel. Heather always smiled and brightened up everyone's day, even mine, which sucked with her by my side, robbing the guy I always loved. But I never managed to say anything because I saw love welling up in both of your eyes and I wouldn't be selfish to the point of trying to end the affection you felt. I was never a person who cared about my feelings, although you tell me to think about me more often. Sorry to disappoint you. Sorry for being a coward.

Deep down it's my fault for having been so embarrassed and shy, I love reading, I love writing, but my statements wouldn't be pretty or cute. I know I would stutter and blush, and you would think I was playing a prank and laugh at me. I just didn't want to lose your friendship and leave things awkward between us. And I also know that you deserve someone to love you, even if it's not me. Because I don't know if it would be good enough for you.

Don't get me wrong, I still love you so much, but now as a friend and someone who has surpassed you, my dear Avatar of Pride. But I send you this book of our best memories so you can decide what you want to do with it. It's your wedding gift, enjoy.

Our last photo was when Mammon invited us on a boat ride, I hugged you along with Heather and we smiled like nothing was wrong. But you knew I was different, I didn't act or smile like I used to, but you thought it was stress and didn't try to ask me why.

With love,

MC

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

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Smutty bit is now here!

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More CM fic here! 

[hangovercurse]

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.  

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

 You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

:(

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”