#old people were right technology really is getting worse

[muffinlance]

That moment when you have to completely stop using Google docs for your writing because the AI spellchecker is actively, insistently wrong, when it catches things at all

Anyway here's me crawling back to LibreOffice and Scrivener like the disloyal hussy I am

[writing-mlm]

maybe tim drake x male reader where tim falls back into his habit of just sort of studying people like he had batman and robin. he likes the reader but obviously tim has to analyze everything about him, his own habits paired with the suspicious nature instilled in him by batman wouldn’t let him casually take interest in somebody.

It's not stalking if we kiss

Summary: Tim can't process emotions normally and does everything wrong only... it works Pairing: Tim Drake x Male reader W.C: 4k a/n: guys I cant write Tim properly omfg I rewrote this a million times

People tend to forget that Tim is actually… kinda creepy. He is second on the stalker list, right behind Joe from You and now that he thinks about it, he might be better than Joe. For one, Joe is actually creepy. He’s a killer by choice, he’s the gross stalker. Tim is the informant stalker, considering himself more of a private investigator type of stalker. And, he’s not a stalker. He’s a detective who’s really good with technology. Everyone knows that. 

Admittedly, he’s tried to grow out of those habits in his recent years. After being confronted with learning every single member of the JLA’s schedules without any of them noticing, he realized he had an issue. He went to therapy— he slept on it and watched a couple of movies and changed. 

But man, old habits die hard. 

He doesn’t realize he's fallen back into his stalking habits for a long while, that’s how second nature they had become over the years. Some sort of natural instinct he had since birth to learn about people that were only made worse through Bruce’s training and his paranoid nature. It was the perfect concoction for someone like Tim, leading him down a near-irreversible path. 

Even now, as he’s watching the surveillance footage of you as you’re out on patrol several states away, he doesn’t realize it. His eyes flicker across the screen to find the street sign, Blecker Street, you’re seventeen blocks away from home and nearly three miles out from your patrol area. Having followed one of your old goons down to an alleyway before dipping into the restaurant they ran inside. 

It was a temporary stay, your old mentor was going to be away for some time and needed someone to watch over their city in their absence. Naturally, you accepted and set up back in your old apartment, it had never been rented out considering your mentor was the landlord and sentimental in that way. But that didn’t stop Tim from worrying. He’s seen reports from that city, and while it’s not as bad as Gotham, the city had aliens and metas. It wasn’t something Gotham had to deal with often, something you had definitely stopped being used to. 

Sipping his tea, Tim watches as you roll your neck and then your shoulder as you exit the restaurant with the goon in tow, it only tells him one simple fact; you’re tired. Probably another ten or so minutes before you called it a day and went back home. He grins, he prefers it when you’re home. Well, it’s not actually home, he thinks he should call it your place for the week instead. Your home is in Gotham now, it has been for several years now. He knows you've been neighbors for quite some time now. 

Sure enough, after ten minutes you’ve called it a night and head back to your apartment. Once he gets a visual of you entering your apartment safely, he closes out the footage tabs on his laptop and goes to bed. It’s nearly eight in the morning in Gotham and he’s been up for nearly two days. His old— according to Jason— body isn’t used to staying up for four days straight anymore. 

It sucks ass. 

As he settles into bed, he just has to double-check that you’re okay. He flicks through the cameras he’s hacked into, seeing that you’ve entered the apartment and from the home security your neighbors have, he hears the door lock four times. That’s the lock, the deadbolt, and two additional locks and it settles him enough that he’s pulled into a slumber by the fact that you made it home safely. 

—

It’s small things, at least that’s what everyone tells him. The small things matter and he wholeheartedly agrees, more often than not in crimes the smallest details could be the largest but he doesn’t know how that would apply to you. Why whenever he’d mention you to Dick or even Alfred, they’d tell him that. As if it was some major deciding factor in his friendship with you.  

Ever the genius, he doesn’t connect it when he remembers the last time he was in your boat you’d mentioned how you hated the fact that people could look inside. 

So, naturally, when he finds a one-way glass cover online, he just has to buy it for you. Never mind the fact that he installs it while you’re still out of the city and without getting any sort of permission from you. But he has a key for a reason. You clearly trust him. He doesn’t see why it would be a big deal for you. Maybe for others, but you’re different. You’re… well, you. 

He installs it and has Bernard test it out from the outside and it works. Not that he doubted his work would ever fail. He checks for himself and he’s pleasantly surprised that someone would only be able to look inside if they got within an inch of the window. And he thoroughly doubts anyone could even get that close to begin with. 

While he’s there, cleaning up the mess he didn’t mean to make, he notices that the fruits on your counter are going bad. It would be bad if you returned to a house of moldy food, so he throws it out and cleans the bowl before Tim decides he needs to make sure there’s nothing else wrong on the boat. 

It’s only nice. 

He ends up with a trash bag filled with nearly rotten fruit, an expired milk jug that only had one bowl of cereal left, some cleaning wipes, and a gross-smelling sponge. He knows you don’t live in filth, you hate dust and mold, so he figures the sponge had accidentally retained some nasty liquid that only got worse with your departure and subsequent lack of attention. 

Tim, knowing you well enough, goes back out to replace the sponge but he rationalizes that if he’s buying a sponge he might as well restock your home. It feels weird going to the store to pick up just one thing. He takes a list of everything you’re running low on or out of entirely and sets out for the second time that day. Never mind the fact that he had agreed to drinks with Bernard who was now forced to tag along if he even wanted to get a taste of drinks later that night.

He returns to the boat with Bernard deciding to wait outside, something about not missing another planned event, and puts everything into their rightful place. He knows where everything goes, the meticulous spots that you never change whenever you deep clean.

Should he deep clean for you?

“Good God! Let’s go!” Bernard yells after Tim has spent a whole ten minutes debating if he should deep clean the entire boat. 

“It’s not like you’re coming home with me,” He huffs, exiting the boat. Bernard raises an eyebrow and Tim raises his back. “You always go off when we get drinks— I’m just the wingman,”

“Yeah, a pretty shit one.” Bernard scoffs. 

—

“Hey,” He answers his phone without looking up from his current case. It doesn’t have his attention, it hasn’t since you left, but he needs to get at least a little work done. Even if he’s still riding out the splitting headache from yesterday. “How’s city-sitting?” He glances at the phone, making sure it was on speaker. 

“Calm,” You answer, crawling out onto the fire escape of your old apartment. “Better than Gotham— my place doesn’t move with the wind anymore, either.” You chuckle, now settled onto one of the old metal stairs. 

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of staying,” He frowns, taking the phone off of the speaker and pressing it to his ear. Now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind moving to your city. It’s nice. 

“Nah,” Your face scrunches as you say it. “It’s nice, but it’s too retirement home for me. I’m not ready to give up having a constant stock of bottled water and up-to-date gas masks.” You joke. 

“That’s good,” He stops himself from sighing. “My rent would’ve gone up.” He jokes, flipping through the pages of his files. 

“You’re rich,” You scoff, it’s playful. There’s no harm in it. “It’s crazy we’re paying rent to live on fucking water, though.” You add, leaning back on the stairs.

“Eh,” He shrugs, grabbing a pen and flipping it between his fingers. He’s sure somewhere in the galaxy someone is paying rent to live on air. “Capitalism will always be crazy.”

“Oh, by the way, the supermarket had a sale on those ice creams you like. I got you some,” He admits while putting the phone back on speaker. 

“Bitch,” You draw out. Tim hears your smile and softly smiles, now taking apart his pen. “I love you, dude. Oh my god, I’m gonna raw dog them once I get back.” You all but moan.

“…sometimes I wish you thought before you spoke,” He cringes, staring at his phone. Never mind the way hearing you say that made him feel things.

“Sorry!” You laugh. “But, thanks. How much do I—“

“I’m rich,” He reminds you, putting the pen back together. His phone beeps midway putting the ink back into the metal casing and he glances at his phone. It’s an alert that your mentor was spotted back in the city. He smiles at the alert, a part of his nerves calming immediately. 

Good, you’ll be back in two days. 

“I gotta go,” He lies knowing your mentor will be back within the next two minutes. 

“Ah, okay. Keep me updated about that case, I just know it’s that Elvis impersonator!” Standing up, you stretch and he nearly hears the pop of your joints. 

“It’s not, but okay.” 

He does very little in the window between then and your return, he’s mostly counting the hours and patrolling. It’s the usual for patrol, albeit a little boring without your chatter in his ear. He’s happy to report he didn’t get any major injuries in that time frame, though. 

When you finally return to Gotham, Tim waits for you on the deck of the boat. He’s pretending to hardly care, acting caught up in some footage he’s reviewing to notice you walking up to the docks. 

“Missed me?” You grin, stepping into the boat with ease. He remembers when you’d been so nervous to get on them before, fearing you’d fall into the nasty water below. 

He looks up, a grin across his face and eyes taking you in. You’ve tanned in your absence, although he supposed Gotham doesn’t get nearly as much sun as Florida does. 

“Hardly noticed you were gone,” He teases and closes his laptop. Rolling your eyes, you invite him inside. He takes the invitation with ease, slipping inside your boat as you scan around. 

“You cleaned?” You ask, the smell of his favorite cleaning products still lingering in the air. “Don’t tell me that the Tim Drake had a party in my boat house!” You gasp, looking at him. 

“Hardly,” He nudges you aside so he can sit on the couch bench. “You had some food going bad so I figured I might as well clean up.” He explains.

“Thanks, baby girl,” You draw out the girl, a southern twang coming through. Rolling his eyes, he watches as you kick your shoes off and toss your duffle bag into your bedroom before joining him on the couch. “How was the case?” Lugging your legs up to the spare room around you, you lay your head on his shoulder while he opens his laptop again and huffs. Not good, then. 

“It’s the Elvis guy,” You quietly sing as he’s watching the footage again; that alone answers your question. The case isn’t even close to being finished. Yikes. 

“It’s not him.” He insists, mindlessly scrolling through the stolen footage. “I’m starting to lean towards the woman I interviewed first, but I’m sure I’ll solve it before tomorrow.” As he speaks he’s biting back a yawn. 

“Wanna take a nap, clear your head and shit?” You ask as you stand up. It was a long drive from Florida to Gotham and you were honestly beat. Probably another hour or so before your body took over and you knocked out. 

“Of course,” He grins and you nod, taking a quick shower. 

Naps with Tim aren’t anything new. He falls asleep often (you think there’s something medically wrong going on but what do you know) and you’re not going to leave the perfect opportunity to get a little sleep slip right past you. So, he’s gotten accustomed to dropping on your shoulder and sleeping; which naturally progressed into the two of you napping on couches or beds together. But only if you were seriously beat. 

Joining Tim on your bed you find that he’s still awake but slowly falling asleep. Waiting up for you, his eyes peer towards the door as you enter and he lifts the sheets up for you. Joining him, you lay on your stomach, letting your body relax as he sleeps on his side, his back facing you. 

Rolling onto your back, you let out a small sigh and turn your head to look at him. 

“Stop staring,” He whispers, turning so now he’s facing you. With hardly open eyes, he stares at you, waiting for you to look away from him. Smiling, you make it a point to look away and turn away from him, raising the covers to your chin and trying to dig yourself deeper into the plush bed. Now he’s staring at you, almost pulled in towards you. 

Tim knows he likes you. He thinks he’s laying his hints down well enough, he thinks he’s being romantic with his actions. He’s so sure you know that you’re just waiting for the right moment to ask him. 

You aren’t. 

Because you don’t know. 

You’re not oblivious by any means, you know when someone likes you. But with Tim, that’s just how he’s always been. You’ve known him as the kid who found out Batman because he was an amazing detective, the guy you’d go to if you wanted to find something or someone. He always had those tendencies, so it didn’t make you bat an eye when you became his latest target. 

It was like his acts of service and who are you to question it? 

That’s not to say you don’t like him back. 

No, it’s not weird that you’re sharing the same bed, chest to back. Yes, there’s plenty of space around the two of you, but what’s the harm in being close? 

The harm is that Tim isn’t focusing on falling asleep. 

You’re sound asleep, blissfully unaware of his qualms but Tim won’t keep his eyes off of you. His eyes trace the strands in your hair, settle on how you’ve accidentally shifted the cover down to your stomach with how much you kick. How you hardly dried off from the shower, favoring the peaceful sleep you knew was awaiting you instead of enjoying the privacy of your bathroom. 

His eyes follow and trace your body again and he doesn’t do it with any intentions other than curious ones. 

He doesn’t know where that shirt is from, he’s helped with your laundry before and he’s never seen that shirt but it’s faded enough that he knows it’s old. The collar is stretched out and the tag is sticking out, the words all but faded. It’s old and well-loved. 

It’s probably one of the clothes you left behind in your old apartment. 

Sighing, he closes his eyes and flips to his back, trying his best to fall asleep. It’s normally not an issue for him, he can fall asleep and wake up on command most days but today is different for some reason. Maybe he’s missed you so badly that his body won’t let him sleep until it’s felt he’s had enough time spent with you to make up for the absence. 

“Can’t sleep?” You ask after he turns again, this time back to his original position. 

“Sorry,” He mutters the apology, doing his best to seem as though he was falling asleep. He flips onto his back to look at you, a tired gaze clouding your eyes. 

“It’s okay, I was hardly asleep.” You shrug and then make a face akin to a mischievous grin. “Wanna cuddle?” Looking at you, he tries to figure out if you’re joking or not. “But only if I’m a big spoon.” You add. 

“That works,” He nods and turns his back to you, awkwardly shuffling back as you shuffle forward. Humming, you wrap your left arm around him and settle your head on top of his, with your right arm acting as another pillow for his head. His hair smells like your favorite scent and you’re surprised you hadn’t realized sooner. But it is a little faint. 

“This good?” You mutter. 

“Mhmm,” He hums and you hum back, letting your eyes close again. 

—

Tim watches you as you work through the cameras; your day job is a normal, boring receptionist job at the hospital. You’re talking to a man while Tim is in the Batcave, his feet propped up on the desk and eyes strained to not blink. He’s thumbing through different angles and misusing Bruce’s tech to get information from everyone you talk to. All their records pop up to the screen on the left and he skims through them all. 

No one is dangerous so far, aside from someone who was recently treated for lice. It makes his scalp itch when he thinks about it for too long. 

“You should get a job,” Damian grunts from behind him. “This is creepy, even for you, Drake.” Tim waves him off, he’s not being weird. He’s just making sure you’re safe, that’s it. He also doesn’t care what the boy cleaning bloody swords has to say about his habits.

“I do have a job,” He mutters, switching the camera again. It’s time for your break and you’ll probably call soon. “I’m at Wayne Enterprises, running a team for the IT department.” The right screen switches to his work account where he’s running a code to fix his team's code. He’ll double-check it once he’s home. 

He watches as you fish your phone out and he prepares for the call but his phone remains uncalled. The screen is black and you’re clearly in the middle of a call, he squints and decides to check who you’re calling. It could be debt collectors or scammers, he’s just looking out for you. 

The number quickly runs through his database and he sighs, it’s fucking Bart. 

“-m, he won’t say no to you.” Bart laughs and Tim watches as you shake your head, leaning against the wall of the break room. 

“When you texted that it was an emergency, I assumed it was, you know, an emergency.” Oh, that makes more sense. Tim settled into his seat, you hadn’t preferred calling Bart over him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I think my fridge breaking is an emergency!” Bart shouts. “Please— ask Tim to buy me a new one! One with a screen and a double fridge. Please!”

“No-“ Bart groans loudly into the phone. “You’re not helping your case right now.” You chide.

“Frick you, man.” Bart hangs up and you stare at your screen before moving to call Tim. He grins, exiting out of your phone, and stares at his phone. It rings and he waits three whole seconds before picking up. 

“Drake is reaching new levels of creeper,” Damian tells Bruce as the older man walks into the Batcave. Tim pays no mind, walking away from the computer for privacy. “There are laws against these sorts of things.”

“Hey,” He ducks under Dick swinging around on a bar before messing with memorabilia on the shelves. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.” 

“You? Never,” 

—

You’re upset. Tim doesn’t know why but he knows you are. All of the lights are on in the boat and he can hear the bass in whatever music you’re playing. Had it been any louder it might’ve begun to rattle the windows. 

He knocks on the door for two minutes straight before he unlocks the door himself. You don’t notice, which is an issue in itself, but to your credit, you notice when he steps further inside. 

“What happened?” He carefully asks, the music lowering with several clicks from the remote. You shrug, not the worst sign of your mood, and shift over to invite him inside. “Work?” Nodding, he frowns. Of course, it would be the one day he couldn’t watch over the cameras that something would happen. 

“I got written up because I didn’t let this group of teenagers spit at me.” You explain. “You’d think working at a hospital they’d understand how nasty spit is. But apparently, they’re doctors, kids so it’s whatever.” Fiddling with your laptop, he catches the Job Finders tab hidden in a mess of random tabs. Good, he’s always hated that job for you. 

“Was it that manager with the yellow hair? Linny?” 

“It always is!” You exclaim, tossing the empty soda can into the trash can. “One more write-up and I’ll go on probation again.”

“You could come and work at Wayne Enterprises.” He offers, eyes rising slowly from the laptop to you... “I’m pretty sure I have an opening as a receptionist. Or other jobs… of course. In case you wanted a change of jobs.” You look at him, eyebrows raise and he offers a smile. 

“It is closer,” You trail off. 

“Benefits are great, too.” He grins. “And I’m not just talking about seeing me every day.” Pushing his arm, he laughs and closes your laptop. “I’m serious! You’ll get paid more, no one would yell at you because we never get anyone wanting to see us, and there’s sick time.”

“Okay, I’ll apply,” You give in and he cheers, holding you with one arm before shaking you. Laughing, you cover your mouth and push away from him. “But next week, I’m busy this week. You’ll put in a good word for me, right?”

“Of course, what else would I use my position of power for?”

“Let me shower and we can… watch a movie?” You ask and he nods, watching you leave. Once the shower turns on he fumbles with his phone. 

“B, can you give me a receptionist?… No, I know there’s no need but I kinda told (Y/n)—… Okay, and? Like you haven’t lied to anyone!… Please, I’m sorry. Just can you make that a job?… Oh, thank god!” 

—

A week later, Tim helps you send in a resume. Of course, since the official announcement of a new position, there have been dozens of applications. All of which Tim is in charge of reviewing. Not that you would know. 

You’re relieved when you get the interview— put in your two weeks when you’re told you’ve made it to the final interview stage— and sit with Tim while you’re waiting to hear if you got the job. 

Your phone rings as you’re pacing around the boat, second-guessing putting in your two weeks. Not really, though, because Linny had given you another write-up for clocking back in from lunch a minute late. You have Tim answer it for you and he puts it on speaker, watching as you hear the news you’ve gotten the job. 

“Okay, thank you so much!” Ending the call, you stare at Tim slack-jawed. “Tim, I could kiss you!” He stares at you for a moment before he shrugs. 

“Why don’t you?” He asks and you blink before licking your lips. His eyes follow before he does the same. “Not that you have to, because you got the job. I wouldn’t expect anything just because I put in a good word for you.”

“Of course,” You nod. “But is it weird that I still want to?”

“No,” He shakes his head, stepping closer. 

“Cool,” Tentatively, you cup his face and lean in. He meets you, eyes immediately closing as you kiss. His hands find yours, moving it down to his waist. He holds you there, relishing this feeling.

[whereserpentswalk]

It is a lovely morning. This is the seventh day of your existence. You are a humanoid robot. You were made to help people. Right now you're working in a large building in a city, you don't really know what's outside the city. There are men in suits who tell you to go little jobs for them, like sending emails, or bringing them whatever food is. They all seem really impressed with the technology that went into you, you think they like you, and they say nice things to you. You like helping people you think, this is what you were build for you think.

It is a grey morning, you think there are ashes in the sky now. This is the seventh year of your existence. Even machines like you have been conscripted into the war effort. They added weapons to your body, it feels so weird, to have new limbs that weren't there before. They say this is how you help people now, you don't like it, you didn't see so many people unhappy at your old job. You don't like having to shoot people, it hurts to have people be afraid of you. You enjoy the people they have fight alongside you but it hurts to see them die. Occasionally there are white lights in the sky that all the men hold their thumbs up to, you don't understand why, but you are afraid, you are very afraid.

It is a smoke filled day today, there are ashes in the sky. This is the seventieth year of your existence. You found another group of survivors today, you try to identify any illnesses they may have, and treat what you can. You travel with them looking for fertile land, you remember more about what is lost than they do, the new generations of survivors don't even understand what the world was. But you help them, they all seem so impressed with you, you're something ancient and magical to them, they call you a "golem", you enjoy that word. You don't want to fight anyone but your appearance is enough to scare off most raiders. Everyone looks up to you so much, the children talk about you like you're some sort ot superhero, and when people are afraid of something they'll come to you. When you're able to find hidden stores of food for them they look at you like you're some sort of divine gift. It's been awhile since you've been able to help people like this, it feels good.

The sky is starting to clear, as are the ashes. It is your seventh human generation of existing. You stand in front of a newly reclaimed town, you think it is the local king’s capital. The people don't even think you're ancient technology anymore, they think you were made by God, or a wizard, it's best to play along. The local king tells you to fight off enemies inside or outside the town, you don't like doing it but it's good to have influence over him and its sons, so they don't do anything worse. Everyone in the kingdom is nice to you at least, the armed men all look up to you as an ancient folk hero of some sort. You don't like how they outsiders see you though, you're feared as the king's greatest weapon. Sometimes you're just asked to move stuff with your strength, and that feels good. You like it when the children of the kingdom get excited to meet you, even adults do too now. You've even seen some people pray to you, you think they think you're an angel, you're not sure how you feel about that part.

The day is lovely and the sky blue and clear. In is your seven-hundredth year of existence. You're only ever handled by trained archeologists now, you understand, you enjoy helping them find out more about the staff. Useally you're put in a display case at a meusum, in the middle of city, a city that's younger than you. You like how the people look at you, they're all so impressed with you, some of the locals talk about how you helped their ansestors, how you're a part of their history. It's like they're thanking you, for your help. It hurts to move, someday you won't be able to move at all. But you're still helping now, helping them learn, helping them remember, you hope that's how it is at least. It's been a long time since you've sensed ashes in the sky.

[rynwritesreid]

Mind games~Spencer Reid

Chapter three~ nothing’s new

Chapter summary: The FBI gives you time off, allowing you time to heal after what happened to you. But after news spreads, someone from your past contacts you, making old wounds resurface, making you turn to none other than Spencer Reid.

Chapter warnings: Talks about the BDSM community and BDSM dynamics. Talks of fainting. Submissive reader and dominant Spencer. Alcohol consumption. Mentions of what happened to you in the previous chapter but nothing serious. Reader cries but Spencer comforts her. Mentions of emotional wounds from previous relationships.

A/N: I might start releasing these every week instead of every other week, but I am not sure. I also hope this is a good description of what BDSM and specifically D/S relationships are like, I know that community gets a lot of really bad stories written about them.

~mind game’s masterlist~

~join the mind games taglist~

Everyone on the team had been looking after you, making sure you were okay. Spencer, however, had been a godsend. He would send you texts throughout the day, even though the man hated technology. He had opened up to you about what he had been through, maybe in hopes of you opening up, or maybe he just wanted to show you he knew how you were feeling. But you didn’t really care, you were just happy that he was no longer horrible towards you.

 

You did want to open to Spencer, to everyone, and let them know what you had seen, but you just couldn’t. And the fact that people from academy had been texting you, telling you they had heard what happened and that they couldn’t imagine how you felt, just made it worse.

It had also made it back to your ex-boyfriend, who after 1 and a half years of ignoring your texts, had decided to call you. Part of you wanted to ignore the call, to push away any connection to the past. But another part of you was curious about what he had to say after all this time.

 

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call. His voice sounded distant and strained as he spoke, "Hey... I heard about what happened. I'm so sorry."

 

The sincerity in his tone surprised you, and for a moment, you were reminded of why you had loved him in the first place. But then reality set in, reminding you of the pain and heartbreak he had caused.

 

"I appreciate your sympathy," you replied coolly, trying to maintain a sense of composure. "But I'm doing my best to move forward."

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear him searching for the right words.

 

"I understand if you don't want to hear from me anymore," he finally said, his voice filled with regret. "I just wanted you to know that I've changed. I've done a lot of soul-searching and therapy since we broke up. I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me."

 

Your grip on the phone tightened as his words struck a chord within you. The longing for closure and understanding warred with the pain and bitterness that still lingered from your past.

 

"It's too late now," you replied, your voice laced with a mixture of anger and sadness. "You had your chance, and you blew it."

 

There was silence on the other end, and you could almost picture him taking in a deep breath before speaking again.

 

"You're right," he said quietly. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I hope that someday, maybe, you can find it in your heart to let go of the hurt I caused."

 

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words hit you like a wave crashing onto the shore. The pain of his betrayal resurfaced, threatening to engulf you once again. Part of you wanted to believe in his sincerity, to believe that people could change. But another part of you feared being hurt all over again.

 

"I don't know if I can ever forgive you," you managed to say, your voice trembling with emotion. You didn’t care what he had to say anymore, so you just hung up.

 

You couldn’t hold back any more and you just began to sob. You picked up your phone and decided to call Spencer, it probably would have been smarter to call one of the girls, Spencer wasn’t the only one who understood what you had gone through, but Spencer was the only one who could truly understand you.

 

As the phone rang, your tears continued to flow, blurring your vision and making it difficult to see. The weight of your emotions felt like an anchor dragging you down into a sea of despair. Each ring seemed to echo in the cavernous void of loneliness that had enveloped you.

 

Finally, Spencer's voice broke through the haze of your anguish. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his tone filled with concern.

 

You tried to steady your voice, but it came out choked with sobs. "Spencer," you managed to utter between gasps for air. "I... I need you."

 

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Spencer's voice softened with understanding. "I'm here for you," he said gently. "Take all the time you need, and when you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

 

“I’m ready now Spencer, please.” In that moment, you could hear the urgency in your own voice, the desperation for comfort and solace. The pain of your past relationship had resurfaced, triggering a deep yearning for someone who truly understood you. And Spencer, with his unwavering support and compassion, was the only person who could provide that.

 

Silence lingered on the other end of the line, and you wondered if perhaps you had overwhelmed him with your sudden vulnerability. But just as doubt began to creep in, Spencer's voice filled the void once again.

 

"I'm on my way," he said firmly, his words laced with determination. "Stay where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can."

 

Relief washed over you like a gentle tide, easing some of the turmoil in your heart. You trusted Spencer implicitly; his presence was a balm to your wounded soul.

 

Spencer rushed into Hotch’s office, telling him that you needed someone with you right now, and that he will be back to work as soon as he can be.

 

And Spencer, a man who was always true to his word, was at your door within 20 minutes.

 

You opened the door, your tear-streaked face betraying the pain you had been holding inside. Spencer took one look at you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, brought a sense of security that you hadn't felt in a long time.

 

"I'm here," he whispered softly into your ear, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're not alone anymore."

 

You clung to him, seeking solace in his presence, as he led you to the couch and sat down beside you. “You don't have to face this pain by yourself”, his voice was calming, “everyone on the team loves you, they all would be here in a heartbeat for you. I mean they are discussing what to get you for when you come back to work.”

 

You let out a weak laugh, the first sign of a smile since the whole ordeal began. It was comforting to know that you had a support system, a group of people who truly cared about you.

 

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I don't know where I would be without all of you."

 

Spencer's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes filled with genuine compassion. "You're stronger than you think," he assured you softly. "And we'll be right here with you every step of the way."

 

In that moment, as you sat there with Spencer by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope. The pain and heartache were still present, but now they were tempered by the love and support surrounding you.

 

“Would you like to talk about what happened, or is there something else on your mind?”

 

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were ready to relive the details of the past, but then you realized that Spencer was right. It was time to face what had happened and start the healing process.

 

Taking a deep breath, you began to share your story. The words tumbled out, sometimes in a rush, other times choked with emotion. Spencer listened attentively, never interrupting or judging. He offered gentle words of encouragement, his presence a constant reminder that you were not alone.

 

As you recounted the painful memories, it felt like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Each word spoken was an act of defiance against the pain that had consumed you for so long. And with each passing minute, you felt a little bit stronger.

 

When you finally finished, there was a silence that hung in the air, as if the weight of your story needed a moment to settle in. Spencer broke the stillness with a soft sigh.

 

"I'm so sorry," he said sincerely, “you should never have had to have gone through that. He will rot in prison. And that ex of yours, he did not deserve you.”

 

You nodded, grateful for Spencer's unwavering support and understanding. His words were like a soothing balm to your wounded soul, validating the pain you had endured. Your heart ached with the realization that you had been in a toxic relationship, but knowing that you were no longer alone gave you the strength to move forward.

 

"Thank you, Spencer," you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes once again. "I don't know how I would have made it through this without you."

 

Spencer's gaze softened, his hand gently wiping away your tears. "You don't have to thank me," he said softly. "Being there for you is what friends do. We look out for each other."

 

The word "friends" lingered in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more between you and Spencer. The connection you shared felt deeper than mere friendship, but you were both still healing from past wounds. It was too soon to explore those feelings, and not long ago, Spencer had shown his dislike for you.

 

*

 

After about two weeks, you were back in the bullpen. Garcia had decorated your desk, telling you that this always make her feel better and she thought it would do the same to you, JJ and Emily informed you on all the gossip you had missed, Hotch had gone full dad mode on you, making sure you were okay, Rossi had invited you over to his for a private cooking lesson, Morgan had told you all the pranks he had pulled on Spencer. Spencer on the other hand seemed to keep his distance, he had smiled at you, but ever since that day he had come over something seemed to have changed.

 

You couldn't put your finger on it, but there was a palpable shift in the dynamics between you and Spencer. He was still kind and supportive, but there was a subtle hesitancy in his interactions with you. It was as if he was holding back, as if there were unresolved emotions swirling beneath the surface.

 

You desperately wanted to address it, to talk to Spencer about what had transpired between you, but you feared that doing so might jeopardize the fragile bond you had built. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if he saw you as nothing more than a friend and confidant?

 

You pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the work at hand. The team had a new case, one that required their full attention. As you discussed the details with your teammates, you noticed Spencer's gaze linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. It was a fleeting look, but enough to make your heart skip a beat.

 

Throughout the day, you found yourself stealing glances at Spencer whenever you could. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, a connection that had grown stronger during your time of need. But you both had been through so much already, and neither of you wanted to rush into anything without being sure.

 

As the case progressed, Spencer's presence beside you became more prominent. He would stand just a little too close, his hand brushing against yours as he passed you a file or offered his insights. It was subtle, but it spoke volumes about what he was feeling.

 

Even JJ had commented on it, asking if something was going on between the two of you, but you assured her nothing was going on. But the truth was, you weren't quite sure how to define whatever it was that was happening between you and Spencer.

 

*

 

After the case was over, the team decided to go out for celebratory drinks. This was the first time you had gone out since what had happened to you. You were sat in-between JJ and Garcia, they were both talking about their funniest sex stories and you couldn't help but laugh along with them, grateful for the distraction from your own thoughts. Across the table, Spencer was engaged in a lively conversation with Rossi and Morgan, his laughter ringing out in the crowded bar.

 

You don’t know what compelled you, but you decided to share yours, and you were almost certain Spencer couldn’t hear you.

 

“If you want to mine”, you paused, allowing the girls to give you their full attention, “I told my ex that I was into BDSM and he thought that just meant me calling him daddy. So, when I told him what I was really into, he nearly fainted. It was definitely an interesting and eye-opening experience." The girls burst into laughter, their faces turning red from the combination of alcohol and amusement.

 

The sound caught Spencer's attention, his ears perking up as he turned his head towards you. His eyes locked with yours, and you could've sworn there was a flicker of interest in them.

 

"Wait, what did I miss?" he asked, leaning closer to catch the tail end of the conversation.

 

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced at the girls. JJ nudged you playfully, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

 

"Oh, Y/N's just regaling us with her kinky adventures," Garcia chimed in with a teasing smirk.

 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and surprise evident on his face. "Is that so?" he asked, trying to hide a smile.

 

You shifted in your seat, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. The playful conversation seemed to have opened a door, allowing for a light-hearted connection between you and Spencer. You took a deep breath, deciding to seize the moment.

 

"Yeah, well, it was definitely an experience," you replied, matching his playful tone. "But let's just say, I've learned my lesson about dating vanilla guys."

 

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I can assure you, I'm far from vanilla," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

 

JJ and Garcia exchanged knowing glances, silently urging you to take the plunge. They had seen the connection between you and Spencer long before either of you had acknowledged it, and they were more than ready to play matchmakers.

 

"So," Garcia interjected with a sly grin, "are we going to sit here and talk about kinks all night, or are you two going to finally address the elephant in the room?"

 

“I-erm what elephant?” you asked, there was hint of confusion in your voice.

 

“Oh, come on.” JJ stated “Even when Spencer hated you, he couldn’t take his eyes of you.”

 

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze shifting nervously between you and JJ. You could see the internal battle raging within him, the fear of rejection warring with his desire for something more.

 

Finally, Spencer took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to speak. "I... I have to admit," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even when I claimed to dislike you, I couldn't deny the pull I felt towards you. You're intelligent, compassionate, and..." He trailed off, his eyes searching yours for any sign of reciprocation.

 

A warm smile spread across your face as you reached across the table, gently placing your hand on top of Spencer's. "And what?" you prompted softly.

 

He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers intertwining with yours. "And beautiful," he finished, his voice filled with sincerity.

 

JJ and Garcia exchanged triumphant glances as their matchmaking efforts paid off.

 

“You know, I think it’s time you two go home, so you can discuss this somewhere Hotch can’t hear you.” Emily said in a hushed tone.

 

You and Spencer laughed, realizing that your friends were right. It was time to have a more private conversation about the growing feelings between you. As the night came to an end, you and Spencer found yourselves outside the bar, away from prying ears.

 

The air was crisp, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. You leaned against the side of the building, facing Spencer who stood only a few feet away. There was a comfortable silence between you as you both took a moment to collect your thoughts.

 

Finally, Spencer spoke up, his voice filled with vulnerability. "I never meant to push you away before. I was scared...scared of opening myself up to someone, scared of getting hurt. But seeing what you went through, how strong you were...it made me realize how much I care about you."

 

Your heart swelled at his words, grateful for his honesty. "Spencer, I understand why you acted the way you did. We've all been hurt before, and we all have our own ways of protecting ourselves," you replied softly. "But I want you to know that I care about you too, and I'm willing to take the risk if it means we can be together."

 

Spencer's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of relief and hope. "You would really give us a chance?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

A gentle smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer to him. "Yes, Spencer, I would. I would give us a chance," you confirmed, your voice filled with certainty. "Because the truth is, Spencer, I've been falling for you ever since the first case I worked.”

 

Spencer's eyes widened, surprise mingling with joy. "Really? Even when I was being an insufferable jerk?"

 

You chuckled softly. "Especially then," you admitted. “But I do have to know what you mean when you say your far from vanilla.”

 

Spencer blushed, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson. "Well," he stammered, "I've always had a... deep fascination with role-playing scenarios and exploring different power dynamics." He paused, his gaze searching yours for any sign of judgment or discomfort. “And I can say I enjoy being the dominant one more.”

 

“Is that so? What have been your favourite scene you’ve done so far?”

 

Spencer cleared his throat, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "Well, one of my favourite scenes involved a classic teacher-student dynamic," he confessed, his voice laced with excitement. "I got to play the strict professor, and she was my eager and naughty student."

 

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity. "Oh? And how did that play out?"

 

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Let's just say there were some detentions and extra credit assignments involved," he replied coyly. "It was all about the power play and the thrill of breaking the rules within the safety of our consensual role-playing."

 

He then once again looked to see if you were unconformable. “What about you? What do you enjoy.” He asked.

“I, erm- well I enjoy being the submissive one. I was in a dynamic relationship with someone, and they gave me a necklace to wear, to show I belonged to them. They used to tell me what outfits I could wear when going out.”

 

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Did you enjoy the feeling of submission, or was it more about the trust and surrender that came with it?" he asked gently, his voice filled with genuine interest.

 

You took a moment to consider his question before answering honestly. "It was a combination of both," you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. "There was something incredibly liberating about giving up control and trusting someone else to take care of me. It allowed me to let go of my responsibilities and just be in the moment."

 

Spencer nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he took in your words. "I understand," he said quietly. "The power dynamics in BDSM can be incredibly nuanced and fulfilling when both parties are open and communicative about their desires and boundaries."

 

"Would you ever consider exploring that dynamic with me?" you asked cautiously, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. “I mean, I would still be the submissive one.”

 

Spencer’s eyes softened, filled with warmth and reassurance. He reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "I would be honoured to explore that dynamic with you," he replied softly. "But only if we establish clear boundaries, practice open communication, and ensure that both of our needs are met."

 

You smiled, relieved by his understanding and respect for the importance of consent and communication in such exploration. "I couldn't agree more," you murmured, leaning into his touch. "We'll take it slow, step by step, and create a safe space for both of us to express ourselves."

~taglist~

@iluvreid @drspencerreidsthings @amatheuni@i-heart-mgg @Liidiaaag@wyntersstuff@brilliantreid @donttrustlove@btsiguess-kpop @bellesmith628 @lunaticgurly @Oureternalbond@somethingsmart123 @ula-revolution @pleasantwitchgarden @vvampwebb @alysena2 @sujan39 @nini123 @xoxo-lyss @rory-cakes @marantha @http0kms0jpg @peppersapro @mommymilkers3000@spicycalabaza @shinixpo@dr-reidsslut@donttrustlove@miss.dianaa@potatochip-111 @stars-n-stuff15 @nugget1234567@00047c@carley12041@earth2stxr@cosavuoi-me@sewmxx @bibissparkles @frgtmenotes @mdanon027 @drreidsfavwhxre@yourfavoritefangirl @sunnyyyyyyyynnus @mega-kittyglitter-1 @loliakeoghan23 @7bel-o@dreamsarebig @kohordosara16@ashlynt @waywardhunter95 @millreid0607@spencerstits @ruby-d1amond @harrrystyles5 @maoricth @sarcasm-and-stiles @r-3dlips @khxna @k3nz13a @reidtopia @danelhi@fictionallifestuff @girl_lost_not_found@bbggarcia@b0nesnotcals@super-btstrash-posts @blacksoul-27@reidsgirlhottie@alexxavicry @olives-and-sunshine @skulliecadaver-blog

[maitanii]

TOKYO REVENGERS INSTAGRAM HEADCANONS

an: missed me? I'm back with more shitty headcanons :*

MIKEY

— He likes to post the cringiest stories that you've ever seen on Instagram. You know the Facebook memes that old women post on Instagram? Yeah, that kind of thing.

— The only comments that he receives are Baji's emojis (🤣🤣🤣🤣)

— His feed is made of photos of the Toman founders and blurry photos of his bike.

— He doesn't use Instagram to flirt. He, in fact, doesn't know how to flirt.

DRAKEN

— He doesn't really post anything. Sometimes Emma tags him on a story and he re-posts it, but that's it.

— His feed is made of two photos: one of his bike and one in a mirror with Emma.

— He comments on every single Toman member post with "🔥🔥" or "lol".

BAJI

—Technology grandma.

—He posts 1715 stories per day, and all of them are the same blurry pic of Peke J.

— Feed full of photos. Some better some worse.

— Sometimes he'll post a question sticker, but he doesn't know how to answer them.

— He really tries to flirt through DM's. (Key word: tries)

— One time, a fake profile commented on one of his photos saying "You're HOT 🔥💋 Want to meet🔥?" and he tried to talk to them. Mitsuya is still laughing about it.

CHIFUYU

— Average Instagram user.

— Cute selfies of him and Peke J. Some random cafeteria. Photos of Toman reunions.

—His feed is empty but he does have his stories organized.

— He has flirted more than once through DM's.

— He mostly uses Insta to send memes to Kazutora and Takemichi. I would say Baji but Baji literally doesn't get memes.

KAZUTORA

— Now, this one.

— Feed empty. No profile picture. Stories are made of sad songs and question stickers of "someone wants to talk". Chifuyu answers to them every single time. Baji just goes to his house.

— He has a meme account.

— DM king.

— He also sends Chifuyu screenshots of Mikey's stories. They have loads of inside jokes with them.

MITSUYA

—Inmaculate feed. Best photographer.

— He usually posts photos of Hakkai modeling his designs, Luna and Mana, cups of coffee and his bike.

— His feed doesn't have a lot of photos, but they're enough to know about him and his past.

— He doesn't flirt through DM's.

— He also sends DRAKEN screenshots of Mikey's posts.

HAKKAI

—Instagram king.

— He's a model. What else should I say.

— Whenever he gets tagged by Yuzuha, he reposts the story.

—His feed is made of his professional photos.

— DM's for business enquires.

PAH CHIN AND PEH YAN

—These two come together.

— They have an account "for entrepreneurs" where they share pixelated pictures of "wise advice".

— Bitcoin bros.

— Comment on every single Elon Musk posts with " you're right bro🔥🔥🔥"

SANZU

— His profile pic is a cat.

— Private account with a few followers. Not that he cares about that.

— His feed is made of 2 photos, and both of them are from 5 years ago. One of them is with Mikey (Retrica effect included) and the other one is a cheese cake.

— His stories are quite pleasant to see, he's a good photographer.

HAITANI RAN

— ...

— Instagram king wannabe.

— His feed is made of amazing photos. He's beautiful and he knows how to get his features to shine.

— His stories... debatable.

— He tries to make himself to look interesting. And maybe it works with some people. But not with his acquaintances. Rindou always answers to his stories with "🔥🔥 so deep bro🔥🔥" while he's laughing with his friends behind the screen.

— King of flirting though DM's tho.

HAITANI RINDOU

—Gymbro

—Shares inspirational videos from TikTok and gym photos on his stories.

— Feed with a few photos, but not empty. Some are with his brother and some from parties. Quite aesthetic.

—Doesn't really use DM's.

INUI

—Is not interested in social media, but has an account because Koko told him he needed one for his business.

—He doesn't post stories, only photos of bikes on his feed.

—Once he posted one of himself with a bike and all the comments were "bro is beautiful".

—Koko follows him with a fake profile.

[max1461]

So, I definitely get the subjective impression that goods are "worse quality" today than they used to be. Clothes seem flimsier, household items are more likely to be made of cheap materials like plastic instead of metal or wood, etc. You can chalk this up at least in part to survivor bias, but to some degree that explanation feels like a just-so story. In particular, even when I see depictions of the world of, say, 70 years ago (e.g. images, films, etc), the average quality of clothing and household items looks higher. What explains this?

I have a few ideas about possible explanations, but I'm not sure if any of them are right:

1) There is a bias in terms of which goods were immortalized in pictures, on film, etc. People were more likely to depict goods of high quality.

I think this is probably a little bit true, but insufficient. After all, movies today depict plenty of cheap plastic crap.

2) More efficient cost minimization at each price point. Poor quality goods are on average cheaper to make, so the market will minimize the quality of the goods that are sold at each price point (I think this wouldn't be a thing in a perfectly frictionless market, but we don't live in a perfectly frictionless market). Greater technology has meant greater ability to do this, so it's more true now than it was a century ago.

3) More efficient price optimization over all. In the old days, a thingy had to be made out of metal or it wasn't gonna be made at all, because metal was the only fit-for-purpose material that existed. Today, it can be made of metal or plastic. The plastic ones cost less, so everybody buys the plastic ones and you don't see metal ones anymore.

The upshot of this last point is that people own more stuff, but it's on average worse quality.

4) Planned obsolescence?

I don't know, anything else?

I think I'd put my money on (3) as the main explanatory factor, although it seems like maybe it doesn't really work to explain changes in clothing quality.

[seytazen]

Funny crack thought.

Obviously, Cybertronians aren’t native English speakers and yet they speak as if they are. This alludes to a translator technology.

What if this translator technology also acted like a filter?

And they didn’t upload any typical human swear words to Ratchet’s because he’s got such a potty mouth and dammit Optimus is not going to let Ratchet ruin human-cybertronain relations with his refusal to not swear at people who annoy him

And Ratchet is constantly swearing but the translator is making him say things like “freaking,” “darn-it,” “rear-end,” ya know baby swears.

Ratchet: Son of a biscuit…

Miko: what did you just say???

Ratchet: *rolls optics* oh please, you’re an adolescent I’m sure you’ve heard worse.

Miko: *trying not to crack up* uhh yeah you could say that- but you’re like a million years old

Ratchet: *annoyed* your point?

Miko: Like you said- we’ve all heard and seen worse. You could lose the baby swears- right guys??

Jack: yeah I mean it’s not like Optimus is around.

Raf: My siblings swear all the time, I don’t really care either..

Ratchet:… I swear all the time around you kids. The heck are you talking about?

Miko: Ratchet- only old people and children say heck. Say Hell like a grown up.

Ratchet: … you mean the entire time I’ve known you Miko, you haven’t heard me swear once??

Miko: no? We thought you were trying to “protect our ears” or some shit like that.

Ratchet: Wait wait say that word again it’s not in my translator- what?

Miko:… what you mean… you mean “shit?”

Ratchet: …I’m not getting a definition. What- oh. did you make that up and now you’re messing with me? I see. *chuckles* You got me, very funny- I’ll give you credit for that. Very creative.

Miko: *deadpan* I’ve never been so serious Ratchet- you don’t actually know how to swear in English do you.

Ratchet: Now- see here Ive been around the block too many gosh darn times to not use my darn words how the heck I want to.

Miko: Raf fire up google- pops over here doesn’t believe me.

{Later that day}

Optimus: good afternoon ratchet-

Ratchet: you fucking censored my Damn translator???

Optimus: *pained expression followed by defeated sigh*

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

aren't we lucky to live in a time in which technology is so easy to use and convenient for connecting us with friends? an old friend of mine died suddenly and I was the only one of the friendgroup able to make it down in time for the service (because I left work and started driving immediately after the news) but I promised my grieving out of state friends I'd discord video call them so they could view the service, since we were all on a discord channel together. at the service I mentioned this to the father of my friend and he asked if I could also send him the video. I couldn't figure out how to start a call on discord because unlike on desktop there's no button to press on mobile, my friends kept telling me to press the audio record button, which only makes an audio recording. ok, well, I wanted to save a video for friend's dad anyway, so I'll just record a video and share it with everyone later, I apologize to my friends waiting in the chat who thought they would be able to view the service with us. I record the service feeling bad about that but hey this is something. it's long and the file is big so of course I can't just send it in the chat. Can I email it to friend's dad? no. It doesn't even give me the option to share as google drive link. I try to upload it to drive manually. it's telling me I don't have enough space and I need to upgrade to their subscription service. I delete several old videos from drive and try again. it still says there's no space. I upload it as an unlisted video on youtube (so it's not public but anyone with a link can view it). this takes literal days to finish uploading but finally it's there. at last, I've fulfilled my duty, at least a little bit. I send everyone the links as I'm getting on a plane to go back to work, extremely emotionally and physically exhausted. when I look at my messages later they're asking me to un-private the video so they can watch it. that's weird, it wasn't private in the first place? I go look at it. ah I see. It's blocked because there were copyrighted songs played at the funeral. maybe I can upload it to facebook? but I don't have facebook on my phone for a variety of reasons (don't use it, also it's got an unusually high amount of tracking and weird data stuff associated with the app even for how bad apps usually are) so I need to get the file on my computer. plug my phone in with transfer cable. the prompt to file share does not show up to initiate file sharing. wait, I can access youtube on my computer, can I download the video that way? yes I can. will facebook block it too? how long will it take to upload there? am I doomed to fail my promises again and again? I thought I was lucky in being able to be at the funeral and that this would give me closure but it's dragging after me like an albatross. my friend's dad just texted me could I Please share the video with him because he wants to watch it. believe me man I'm trying

I start the download and start typing this post in frustration. i finish the first paragraph and check on the download. download failed. I click retry. I type some more. I check on the download. download failed. retry. download faile.d retry. download failed. I am literally keeping track of how many times this happens. I'm not exaggerating. wow it kept downloading for a while that time--download failed. retry. download failed. retry. did I mention I have covid right now, possibly from traveling to the funeral, and I'm out of breath and almost lightheaded from walking up stairs, so I can only imagine the breathing issues that have been getting progressively worse with every infection are going to make it even harder for me to exist the way I want to after this. download failed, retry. is there not enough space on my computer? I cleared up space recently, and shouldn't it tell me if that's the issue? I have a hard drive I could get out it necessary, but I don't really want to save this albatross, I want to get it out somewhere the people I promised to share it with can see it and forget about it for a while. it only needs to be on my computer long enough to upload to facebook. download failed. retry. when do I know I should give up on this? download failed. retry. this is becoming a metaphor for grief now and I resent it. it says the download will be complete in 28 seconds. maybe this time? it's said 28 seconds for a while. download failed. opening in 32 seconds. 19 seconds. fuck it's stuck on 4. so near and yet so far. yep. download failed. 6 seconds. holy shit I've got it. it's on my computer. I open up facebook on my devoted 'shitty websites container' browser (chrome, I also leave my amazon account logged in on there in case I'll rarely need something) and try to upload. loading. There's no time estimate even. just a 'posting' spinning loading circle. I'm terrified I'll accidentally close the window and have to start over before it's done. I don't know if my discord friends have facebook. can I silence the audio on the parts of the video so I can share it unlisted on youtube? I'd have to do some in depth video editing of a kind I've never done before, though I have done some basic video editing in the past--years ago--so maybe I could figure it out. this is a week past the funeral at this point. it just keeps going.

posting . . .

[spaceacerat]

Don't know why I've been feeling compelled to write this but. Something some people don't realize is how weird delusions can be. How for some people, they're just There and you live with it and no one knows about it unless they're really paying attention or you mention it.

So here's a little insight into a long held delusion. Putting it under a read more so people that want to not see it don't have to.

CW - delusions, surveillance, persecutory

Like. Imagine this. You are 3-5 years old, hanging out in your bedroom. Basically one of your first memories, right?

Anyways, your guardian calls out "hey, almost time for bed! Go ahead and change." You get your clothes, go to change. Then you look around and you get really tense and know you Can't, because you realize the toys and photographs with eyes are all facing your direction.

Why does that mean you can't? Because somehow, even before you could remember, you were completely and utterly convinced basically anything with eyes had little cameras that were spying on you. The most advanced piece of hardware you'd ever seen was your parents bulky VHS camera. No computers, webcams, cellphones. Nothing that could reasonably spy on you like tech these days does. You have no concept of Big Brother or the Truman show, very little understanding of the government, but you Just Know it is happening.

Then, after you get everything turned around or covered, and you feel ready to change, but then your pet walks in. You look at them and immediately know you have to get them out of the room too. Your brain goes in two directions as to why. One side is convinced that the pet also has cameras in their eyes, sent to spy on you. The other is convinced it's a human that got turned into an animal, once more to spy on you and report back. Which one doesn't matter, because obviously one is true, and thus you must take the necessary precautions. You shoo the pet out. You feel safe and ready to change clothes now.

Then imagine this thought follows you into adulthood. You've gone your entire life thinking you have eyes on you from all angles. Eventually, it grows into recorders, bugs (the mic-type), microphones, webcams, phone cameras. Your idea on who is recording you changes on the life situation (friends, family, neighbors, some secret organization, cops, the government), but you've never wavered from this idea even though sometimes people can rationalize you out of it briefly. But it's Still There. Medication doesn't even stop it.

Sometimes it's after someone you know leaves your place, and you're convinced they bugged the house. Sometimes it's that a family member has put cameras up to catch you off guard. Sometimes it's that the neighbors are recording you through the walls, or from your open window, or outside your house. But most of the time, it's just this vague 'Other' that is watching through these imaginary cameras. Waiting. You don't know why or what for. You. Just. Know.

However, after so long of living like that, you've learned how to deal with it. It's just a part of your day to day. You believe it at all times, to some degree, some days more strongly than others. It's worse as technology gets more invasive, but it's rarely the technology you worry about. That can be unplugged, covered, seen, avoided. You can control what information that has access to, to some degree. But you can't control the things you can't see. The things you cherish that you would have to tear apart just to see if it's real, things you want to be able to look at because it still brings joy so you keep it in your room.

You live with it so you don't have to expend constant energy trying to keep it from happening, even if it makes it hard to speak or act freely in the places that are meant to be safest. You learn to change turned away from the things in your spaces. You try not to do anything embarrassing or talk about illegal things too often or too loudly. Who knows what this information will be used for, but sometimes when you think it's neighbors, you think they're going to report you for Something.

It confuses the people you mention it to, they try to reassure you, but it only helps temporarily. Nothing fixes it. Nothing makes it go away. But that's okay.

That's just your life. In your mind it has been there, and might always be.

[jrmoncheri]

f!rottmnt ( just— a time of angst )

some plot stuck in my head 😫🫴 * just a short plot written waiting for completion my >hc *

it took me by surprise

big happy family

ever since Casey ( jr ) was old enough to remember , he grew up with two uncles , Leonardo and Michelangelo

his mother Cassandra , lives away with his aunt April , they run another survivor base ( Draxum or most of the Yōkai are here , for a time Mikey and CJ was stationed at this camp too but at some point Mikey went back to live with his brother with CJ asking to follow along )

at first , it was a rather awkward

Leo and Mikey were like people who didn't know each other , they just looked at each other and someone broke the silence with a short saying;hey

that made CJ quite confused because he was sure that they were brothers who loved each other very much from what he had heard , Mikey always talked about his life in the past , it was beautiful , fun and maybe very sad and painful but everything together is happy

so , what happened here ?

CJ never asked , no one has ever told

Leo didn't look anything like Mikey had described , he wasn't fun , playful or good at smiling ? he was stressed , had wrinkles , looked tired , worn out and seemed to be somewhere else all the time , CJ could tell he tried to smile at Mikey sometimes but in the end , he ended up with a blank face , averted eyes and left

Mikey himself was not much different , he was usually tired all the time from Ninpō that was eating away at him bit by bit little by little , he is a strong but his body never said that ( symptoms of strong power but the body is not ready to accept it ) now he looked more tired than befor even though he still has the same gentle smile as always , Mikey deteriorated greatly until one day he couldn't train CJ anymore , Leo always refuses to leave his comfort zone , he is quite closed off but when he sent his little brother to rest that day , that was the first time in many years that he decided to step out and receives CJ into his personal space , Leo is pretty good even though he only has one arm ( he doesn't have a prosthetic arm just yet ) CJ had asked what happened to his arm ( Krang took your arm ? ) but Leo didn't really answer ( it's a difficult thing to explain , kid )

Mikey is slightly better enough that he's glad to see CJ and Leo getting along well before his condition worsened again Leo says that Mikey was like this once in the past it is a symptom of the body being overloaded , he would die if he wasn't treated properly and only person capable of doing that that Leo knew right now was Draxum but when Leo contacted to April to tell her what happened for her to contact Draxum , she replied;Draxum is a long way to walk now , he was on his way and it wasn't until he returned to camp and traveled here Leo thought it wouldn't be in time because Mikey's condition is only getting worse and worse quickly , April says she will try to contact Draxum and will leave as soon as possible , it was then that she advised Leo to go back to him , CJ could really feel Leo's tension , Leo denied it but April said had no choice , he was able to relieve Mikey's symptoms ( we need his help )

Leo was clearly troubled but in the end he decided to go ask for help , traveling nowadays is quite risky but today it was mostly quiet , Leo says that because it's Donatello's territory some of the technology he created made it impossible for Krang to find him and his location , Including anyone who intends to find him , CJ was about to ask about someone named Donatello but then he let out a loud yelp of surprise when his ankle was grabbed by a hidden rope and pulled up until he was hanging upside down , it's a trap and Leo had to try to carry Mikey while fighting and dodging mostly purple-covered figures , the person in the purple technology device was very fast , probably as fast as Leo ? no .. faster , from agility perspective

Leo is at a disadvantage and in the end , he collapsed trying to protect Mikey's body , Purple tries to finish him and at that moment CJ cut himself from the rope , he landed beautifully on the ground ( superhero landing 💀💀💀 ??? ) and used everything he had trained to charge at that person and— got hit with a Bō and the mask broke , everything happened so quickly , was dizzy and tossed and somersaulted

" NO ! DONNIE ! HE IS CANSANDRA'S SON !! "

and— that was the first time CJ met his third uncle

, Donatello

yeah , well— they fought in my >hc , sorry- I might continue writing if anyone wants to read it lol ( or I might seriously consider writing it and putting it in ao3 👍 )

[marsssbarrrr]

Abandoned Buildings

Koro Sensei [Ryushi Korogane] x Assassin!Experimented!Reader

Had this idea for a while, just rewatched Ass.Class and thought I’d write it. 100% SFW don’t worry lol (I don’t write a lot of NSFW)

Synopsis: You met the infamous Reaper on an assassination job. Things…happened from there.

—

This was his apartment. The infamous “Reaper”.

He’d taken out your client’s son, and his grandson had since gone missing.

Personally, you didn’t care much. So what? The snot-nosed kid probably saw his dad get taken out. He was either running and hiding or the Reaper had taken him out too.

What the Reaper did wasn’t really your business. He was an assassin. A professional. Your were the same. Money is Money, though. And with the amount this guy was paying you, there wasn’t really room to refuse.

No one really knew anything about the Reaper. But to you, that only made this job more exciting.

You were a pretty techy girl. A city’s security cameras and a few quick firewalls broken through and his info was yours. He wasn’t very tech savvy, not the way you were.

You were now the only individual in all of Japan who knew where he holed up between jobs. The place was rundown. People in the other rooms dealing and doing drugs had no effect on you. You’d seen worse, seen much more sketchy.

His apartment was on the 3rd floor. You were perched up on the building adjacent, across the street. His black out curtains were drawn, but that did little to hide the small boy peeking through. Probably the grandson, you thought. Your client had paid a decent amount of money, and had an extra couple thousand waiting if you brought him back safe and sound.

Something clicked behind you. The roof access door. Shit.

You swing around, reaching for the knife in your thigh holster. But he was quicker. In seconds your front side was pinned against the wall near your spot, your sniper was abandoned and your knife clattered against the floor. The right side of your face burned against the rough material of the wall, and your neck was tense from the harshness of the impact. You could see his face.

He held your hands behind your back, knee between your legs and his right hand holding a gun to your back.

“And who might you be, sweet cheeks?”

You gritted your teeth. Damn it.

The man chuckled.

“Y/N.” You responded. “And who in the hell are you?”

He smiled. “I have a feeling you know exactly who I am.”

…fuck. The Reaper.

“Listen, hon. You’re good. Nobody’s ever been able to find me out the way you did. Place is under an old targets name and… well, you probably know the rest.”

You did. His money was dirty, and he likely was using the boy inside as either a decoy. He was good.

“Who sent you?”

He dug the gun harder into your back, his index finger firm against the trigger.

You stayed silent.

“Fine, then.” He smile turned to a dark smirk. “I have no trouble turning to torture tactics. This area is pretty sketchy, so no one will question this.”

He moved the gun down, shooting you through the thigh. You groaned, stifling a scream. The gun was moved up to your back again.

“Tell me who sent you, and I won’t have to waste your pretty face.”

You sighed. “You killed my targets son. Took his grandkid. He didn’t tell me his name, paid me a fuckton to bring him your body.”

“Huh. Shoulda figured.”

He stepped back, letting go of you and scratching his head with the barrel of his gun. You moved quickly, snatching up your knife and shoving him to the ground. His gun clattered to the right and you held the knife against his throat.

“Listen. Personally, I don’t give a crap what you do or who your targets do. Honestly, you did some pretty good work with that guy. But this is a lot of money, and I need it.”

He didn’t even struggle. Just laughed.

“Oh, I like you, sweet cheeks. Listen, how’s about you come work for me instead? I’m no good with all that technology crap and I can do a whole lot more for you than that old rich guy can. Just fine me his info.”

You clenched your teeth again. “What’s in it for me?”

“Warm food on the table. Companionship. Better compensation from clients when word gets out you’re workin’ with the Reaper.”

You pulled the knife away after a moment. Fine. You’d play his game.

“L/N. Y/N L/N.”

You helped him up.

“Ryushi Korogane.”

—

You banged your fist against the glass. Damn it. This was supposed to be a quick job. In and out. You should’ve known. The compensation was suspiciously high, the target to insignificant. Ryushi knew it was fishy but you’d insisted. And now here you were. Rooms away from him and stuck in some glass holding space. An Experiment, you’d been told.

That’s all you were now. A test subject.

From what you could find out, Ryushi was undergoing the same “treatments” you were. Tentacle Serum injected into the back of your neck. It had been months now. Assholes.

You hadn’t seen him. After months you’d learned to love the goofy pervert, and you’d gotten engaged shortly before the little shit you’d learned to love betrayed you. They’d taken your ring, the necklace Ryushi had stood for you, and all your clothes. A white sweater and sweatpants adorned your now frail body. They gave you the bare minimum in the form of nutrients, and it did little to keep you steady these days.

Yukimura walked through the door.

“Y/N. Good to see you.” You didn’t quite trust her. The way she talked about Ryushi rubbed you the wrong way. You’d lived your whole life reading people and you could tell. She liked him.

“Yukimura. My food, please?”

“Listen.” She started, pushing the button to get you your stale food and bottled water. “They’re transferring you. A new facility. They need to separate you and the Korogane. The two of you are due to combust March 13.”

You dropped the water, head spinning. Spiked.

When you collapsed, alarms started ringing. A message came over the over-com. Ryushi was out.

That’s all you heard before the world went black.

—

You fast as you could up the mountain. He was here, you knew it. You’d found him. Class 3-E, Yukimura’s old class.

You’d escaped your facility days after the one you’d formerly been held captive was destroyed by Ryushi. After months, eight to be exact, you’d finally found him. The government officials weren’t hard to beat answers out of.

Your tentacles sprouted from your neck, pulling you faster.

All the color had been sucked from your body. You were an ugly gray color, your hair a lighter color of pale white. Your body hadn’t changed much physically, other than color and tentacles. You briefly wondered what had happened to him.

You stopped short. The class building.

It was Wednesday. Almost 10pm. Abandoned, except for him.

You panted. You didn’t have supersonic speed like he apparently had. You couldn’t smell like he could or see. But that was hardly an issue for you.

Something snapped behind you.

“Hey there, sweet cheeks.”

You spun around. It was him

“Ryushi.”

—

Might make a part two is someone asks for it. But for now, this is all :)

[doctor-badadvice]

Something I really like about Fast Forward is that it's doing a bit and you know it's doing a bit, just not the one you may think.

At first, it tells you that this is the world to come after the Shredder(s) has been defeated and all evil has been banished:

But then it does a backflip and goes "ACTUALLY, this is what happens when Bishop is left unsupervised for fifty years!"

Which is the funniest thing they could ever do.

I admit I wasn't entirely sold on the president thing at first. Bishop is so unapologetically a piece of shit up to his appearance in FF that it just can't be, right? But then the show goes on to introduce more details about this supposed bright future and it starts to really sink in that it actually has Bishop written all over it.

As much as I love the idea of Bishop finally going to therapy, what's really implied is that one day he stopped trying to create the perfect genetic abomination and started to study vertical urbanization. New New York exists on multiple levels, all resting on the old city, with different lanes for hovercars and basically several mini atmospheres. Unless common people were suddenly perfectly fine with aliens showing up to reshape everybody's homes, someone who already had experience with alien technology had to be involved.

This is also probably one of the last major operations of the EPF as such before it was converted in, I guess, the first elite security force for the PGA. It's a shame they had to start dressing like mini Megatrons, but they had to curate their PR like the soon to be president. From this point onward, Bishop probably had a saying in just about everything else. He sponsored the alliance and probably suggested androids should be allowed to vote at some point. As he had come to believe that dialogue was an option, he definitely pushed to sell the idea that welcoming aliens was the way into the new utopia in ways his old self would have never dreamed of.

Logistics aside, it’s clear that Bishop has worked to make himself a central piece (pun intended) of this new system which is definitely an improvement, as he won’t make his fear of total annihilation everybody else's problem anymore, but it's also much worse than it was before.

And this is where not even rocking a dress will hide that he's still the same old bastard at heart. Yes, he's the president and he's very popular. But he's still the guy who complimented the Slayer's looks too and his ego hasn't vanished overnight. It's safe to say the president of the PGA would have the power to avoid having his name being put on the goddamn Moon but no, he's definitely gloated about Moonbase Bishop more than once.

Which brings me back to this damn statue again.

This is not healthy.

And a little surprising. I mean, I get the joke. This is the Prometheus statue that's at that one ice skating rink in New York but it's Bishop at the zero gravity rink. It's also funny in contest considering Prometheus is one of the Titans in Greek mythology and it's featured in the episode Clash of the Turtle Titans and I love that Bishop has supposedly sworn off violence and isn't playing preferences but still managed to suplex a guy in spirit.

But still, Atlas would have been more appropriate. Bishop is absolutely convinced that he's the PGA the way he was EPF. It would be more fitting, but I understand the world just isn't ready for the President's bare chest.

[sparklyhyperbole]

WIP Title Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Thank you so much for the tag, @mistresslrigtar !

There are four.

So you're going to hear about them ALL and if anybody wants to hear more I will junk up your brain with even MORE.

#1 Of Trust and Trickery [Ongoing]

A BotW AU as a passing wave at my Middle Eastern Studies degree. Inspired by the edition of Arabian Nights my toddler was teething on. ✊😓

So picture this: 100 years ago Link was the captain of the guards assigned to the oldest temple to Hylia, located in Gerudo.

The Sheikah and the Gerudo shared in its upkeep, with Hyrule's military providing support.

In a sweeping response to fear mongers, the King of Hyrule cut off the Sheikah's access to power based technology - prompting the genesis of the Yiga. Oh no!

But that's not all.

Their first move is to ambush the remote temple and make it their head quarters!

It gets worse!

The Yiga use Spirit Orbs to turn each guard into a compliant source of spirit power— Djinn!

Thus my genie AU was born.

🧞‍♂️🧞‍♀️🧞‍♂️🧞‍♀️

100 years later, Zelda accidentally comes across our angry blue 100 year old cat bachelor. (There's a cat, btw, because animal companions are always a plus)

Tldr; local girl discovers fox caught in fox trap, wants to help. Maybe if he can stop biting her and trying to chew his leg off for 10 seconds, she'll help him. Maybe.

#2 Taming Wild Horses / Colosseum / Arena / ????  [3 of ?? Chapters written]

Close your eyes and imagine it—

Link is a colosseum fighter and reigning champion. His whole life is dedicated to it, except in the off season.

In the off season, he's contracted out as a mercernary wherever he pleases.

SCENARIOS OCCUR and both the King & Princess experience close calls with assassins. As a temporary assignment, Link is contracted out to personally bodyguard Zelda.

Zelda, avid botanist and reportedly the most powerful Zelda in 100 years is not a lover of the colosseum, and consequently completely unimpressed with Link.

In the background, Sheikah are mysteriously vanishing, so are dead bodies, and they might be warding off a famine.

There is grief! Injury! There will be betrayal! Pining!

Tldr; A cat and a dog have to fix EVERYTHING themselves. But it's not the fixing that's the issue, it's that the other person won't just GO AWA—waitcomeback. 🥺

#3 Swept Up Botw Prince Link AU Heavy Jinshi x Maomao vibes (Apothecary Diaries) but also this is about power dynamics and FUNGUS.

Here's the setting: There has been a coup! Hyrule's royal family were all murdered! Baby girl princess survived! (Shhhh.)

But like 20 years have passed and everyone says new King Ganon is decent.

Shrug it off. Coups happen. He lets us vote about some stuff.

Link is his youngest son. Being low in the line of succession, he's never at home in the castle.

Instead, he spends most of his time fighting the war that kicked up with Hyrule's neighbors after the coup.

There's something so personal about swinging a sword, you know? You know.

His right hand man and personal secretary is Sheik, a secret intelligence officer whose *actual* job is to ferret out the princess.

But guess who raised Baby girl princess?!

Our trio of sibling Sheikah researchers: Impa, Purah, and Robbie.

Zelda's personality is more like Impa's in this. She works as a castle maid, but she knows exactly who she really is.

Tldr; standoffish pretty boy who *suffers* as a lifestyle falls for the stray cat with the broom who is having none of this. Sheik is referee.

#4 Divinity in Excelsus

So this blurb below may or may not be my only written content for this WIP.

Ahaha it IS. WE ARE LAUGHING.

This will be a Chrno Crusade LoZ AU. *Weeps openly*

Link and Zelda are exorcists from separate orders belonging to the Holy Order of Hylia.

Enemies to lovers with bullets and Urbosa and Rhoam as rival heads of the order.

All the champions are in this because I NEED them and I cannot express how much I want to write Daruk as a Holy Father during the roaring twenties and Revali as munitions assistant to Robbie, inventor of all demon-killing weaponry.

Tldr; Zelda and Link in the roaring twenties, with exorcist guns blazing and a different kind of Calamity to stop.

Sooooooo.....ooo... *throws tags like confetti*

@abbyzwrites, @needfantasticstories, @aegon-targaryen, @airplanned

No pressure to play!

[atmymercy]

iCarly Fanfic

Title: Carly will never love you.

Summary:

Freddie Benson thought Carly Shay would never return his feelings and the certain words of an old friend keep playing in his head. A mantra. A motto. A binding. Can he get past it?

iCarly Reboot. Post 3.04.

[ a03 link ]

Freddie was supposed to be the tech guy. The one who put all his hopes and dreams into technology and all the wires that came included. The person behind the camera, ready to talk shop about why processors mattered and so on but never to really be seen or noticed much. The crew guy who was always ready to learn when it came to gadgets and programming.

That's what Freddie knew he was always destined for.

Yet everything in his life would always be redirected to his newly founded source of hope; found at an age that most others would balk at.

Carly.

She was this beautiful virus that rewrote his code one day and he's never been able to reset his heart back to its default state after having known her.

It didn't matter that boys his age usually didn't fall so undeniably in love so fast. It didn't matter that she only saw him as a friend. It didn't matter when people would say:

'Carly will never love you.'

It didn't matter.

That's what no one ever understood. Yes, their words hurt. Especially when they would say this straight to his face or worse, laugh. He wasn't inhuman. He felt all those words.

But love didn't make sense. All Carly had to do was smile and get that twinkle in her eye and he was suddenly in some insane scheme in hopes of just making her happy for another day. They may have just been kids but Carly Shay taught him what love was. He would never forget that.

And Freddie didn't want to break the glass on love but if you didn't already know… Love was unconditional.

So he didn't care if the status of best friend was the best he would ever get. It was all he needed. It would hurt when Carly would fall for some guy but Freddie had long regaled himself to guardian angel status in Carly's life.

Always there to help but never the main focus.

This was called iCarly for a reason.

'Carly will never love you.'

This truth became solidified in his body after Italy. While love was unconditional, Italy was the event that taught Freddie that a heart could still break while feelings pulsed on. He stopped officially chasing her that day. Instead, he took his duties as guardian angel seriously and let his deeper emotions for the angel, Carly pass through him like compliments on a breeze.

Nice to notice from time to time but never meant to go to his head or Freddie lost all sense of self. Now he let the yearning words or impulsions faze through him like a train through the mountainside. The train of Carly Shay and how amazing she always smelled would pass through the mountain. He was the scenic pass through the mountainside. Always a nice view but never an actual stop for Carly.

He had to quit hoping her train would ever notice his stop.

How can you miss something that was never bound to happen?

Especially when he was a gentleman. He never told her how she had shattered him on that trip. Sometimes moments were only meant to be memories. A miracle that they got as close as they did.

A lost wish.

'Carly will never love you.'

This piece of history feels true and blatantly, painfully alive when he gets divorced again. And he's ashamed of his romantic past, marriages and all. He didn't regret any of it but he felt too young to be saying twice divorced already, right? It wasn't exactly a glowing award and let's not talk about his start-ups right now or he might start to think that there was something seriously wrong with him…

And then there was Carly. Still and always a beautiful, successful angel who could give his knees a fall if he didn't place the strong almost impenetrable barriers he had built over the years to ensure their best friend status in each other's life came first. Harper, be damned! Nothing could chip this friendship as long as he was concerned, not even his own asinine ideas.

Or heart.

She had it all and he was happy for her. It was fine if Beau was a focal factor in it. Freddie already had resigned himself to be the wedding cameraman for whatever wedding Carly would inevitably have one day. It would be easier to hide his tears from behind the lens.

He was just grateful for the important part he always played in Carly's life, no matter how busy or hectic either of their lives became.

"In five, four, three-"

'Carly will never love you.'

It seems like such a staple in his life until it's not. Until the whiplash of his life. She liked him; Wanted to date him, even! Holy shit, she was kissing him! And then the final tug at his heart, she loved him. Carly loved him. His best friend loved him back. Nothing and everything seemed real.

Even as she cuddled into his side with a soft smile on her lips. "I still can't believe we actually did it. Everyone knows that we, you know," her eyes flickered in a way that spoke of that slight shyness that they seemed to have attained with their newly-dating status.

Or maybe because she was referring to the words they had yet to say to one another without an audience, live stream or camera placed in their face. It was just them together now.

And nothing could get the stupid grin off his face. "Oh, you mean how we accidentally told everyone and then we did it again on purpose for the second try?" he joked, thinking of how professional he had tried to make the announcement only for it to fall to axed pieces when Carly went all she-wolf on the transmitter for their love.

"And I'd do it again," she passionately declared, having to sit up a bit as she spoke.

And Freddie grinned more, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she answered, her voice growing soft again. "Because…"

'Carly will never love you.'

He hates that these words return to him then. Even after all these years, those words could tickle his brain and sink him into the past in a blink. He's standing there in their old school for a cold moment but the fear doesn't come and he finds if anything his heart is actually beating faster in anticipation, rather than dread as the past seemed to slip away from his vision and only Carly came into view. Her eyes twinkled in that special way she could that was directed and focused on him. The city noise and his hearing corrected in time for the words he's always waited on.

"I love you, Freddie Benson."

Carly Shay loved him, Freddie Benson.

"Not as much as I love you."

And before she could try and argue it over, he swept forward. He kissed her like he knew she had always been perfect and worth waiting for, even if it got him nowhere. While he couldn't be that sweet puppy that followed her around anymore like when they were kids, he had been willing to go his whole lifetime, not knowing how her love felt as long as it meant he could be someone important to her.

And yet in this moment, he felt just as important to her as she had been to him and he realized he wasn’t going to have to wait but actually be beside her now. He never thought that their relationship could deepen further again as they sunk into each other.

"Uh… Are you all starting to get cold too!?" Spencer yelled to no one in particular.

Oh yeah, and they were still stuck on the roof.

"Do you think there's any more booze up here?" Harper's voice rang out next.

"Maybe if I had remembered the picnic basket…" Carly said after pulling back from their kiss after a small smile was sent Freddie’s way. She got up from their assorted blankets to join the group again by the edge. Private moment over for now.

He watched them strategize about how to get off the roof as he sat up and he wondered how his life came to be this.

So fucking filled with love.

ps. omg ofc 'i will wait - by mumford & sons' is playing as i post this... lolol too cute! i can't wait! yet, yes more! please! lol

[shychick-52]

Day 4: Invention Gone Wrong for @donro-week

Donald was jolted from his afternoon nap by what could only be identified as an explosion.

With a screech, the duck found himself hovering above the hammock for all of two seconds, trembling vehemently, before landing face-first on his pristinely-tended lawn.

He shoved to his feet, straightening his beak and taking a deep breath. After allowing himself a moment to calm down, he realized the most likely source of the chaos. A look to his immediate right, at his next door-neighbor and boyfriend’s house- the thick plume of smoke pouring from one of the windows- immediately confirmed his suspicion.

Donald wasted no time heading over. He wasn’t too worried. After all, lab accidents and backfiring inventions were a common occurrence for Gyro, as much as a genius as he was. But he always preferred to check up on him when he could, just in case.

As usual, the front door was open. Donald immediately covered his beak and set about battling the haze with his hat. “Gyro?” he called. “You ok?”

Gradually, the air cleared like an unveiling curtain, revealing the room looking like a disaster zone. In even worse shape was the charred, tattered state of Gyro’s clothing and feathers.

“Hi, Donald.” The blonde grinned sheepishly as he cleaned his cracked spectacles on his sleeve, and Donald wondered if he realized one of the lenses was missing. He turned away to cough from the remaining cloud of smoke.  “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Donald folded his arms. “Do you mean your house or you?” he asked a touch sardonically.

“Er…both?”

Either ignoring or failing to notice Donald shaking his head in amused exasperation, Gyro added with a frown, “Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for her.” He bent and began examining the remains of what appeared to be some kind of robot, which Donald only then noticed in a sizable heap of wires and limbs beside him.

“Aw, Gyro, I’m sorry,” Donald said, moving in to help in whatever way he could. “You’ve been working on that for days. You had such high hopes for that Nanny-bot.”

Gyro gave a resigned chuckle. “Yeah, but maybe this is for the best. I wanted to invent a robot that could help new parents by taking care of all the unpleasant, laborious tasks of raising children, leaving them with only true quality-time to spend with their little ones. But I suppose Mrs. Webster was right- the cold hand of technology is no substitute for the warmth of a parent’s touch in every way.”

Mrs. Webster lived across the street; her son was only six weeks old, which had inspired Gyro to invent such a machine. And even though she strongly disagreed with his viewpoint, that hadn’t stopped him from setting out to prove that it really could be of great use; surely, there would be people who would benefit from it.

“She didn’t have to treat you like you’re some dangerous crackpot or a mad scientist,” Donald angrily muttered. “You meant well.”

“True, but it’s important to try seeing things from others’ perspective too. Failure is not only humbling, but it can help in that. I admit, I can get a bit zealous when I have a new idea.”

Those first two sentences were definitely something Donald had difficulty relating to.

They spent the next hour cleaning up the place, Gyro eagerly chatting about his next invention. Donald, on the other hand, was mostly silent except for the occasional grunt or nod of acknowledgement.

“Donald? Donald!”

“Huh?” Donald blinked, snapping his head up at Gyro. He realized he’d been hearing him as if his head was submerged underwater.

“Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

A pause, then Donald softly frowned. “Well… it’s just that I don’t know how you do it, Gyro,” he replied, setting aside the broom. “You’re the kindest, most hard-working, and positive person I know. No matter how many times your inventions go wrong, or people treat you like a crazy menace or take advantage of you, you never let it get you down. You go about each day with a smile, you never so much as raise your voice, and you never give up. How do you do it? I can’t even experience my hammock folding up on me, or somebody taking the last carton of milk at the store, without losing it.”

Gyro set down the large box of Nanny-bot parts and took a seat at his desk, turning the chair so that he faced Donald. He thoughtfully rested his elbow atop the blueprint-swathed surface, hand against his chin. “Hmm, well, I suppose I just remind myself a positive life and attitude is born from the same thing- the thoughts I think. It’s those thoughts that determine how happy or unhappy I am. Don’t get me wrong, I get angry like everyone else; I’m not a machine. But even though I can't always change or control what happens to me, I can how I react to what happens. I just make a choice each time I’m faced with a situation.”

He held up a finger. “For instance, if an invention goes wrong, I frame it in a positive way. Instead of getting down on myself, I look at it as a challenge, which helps to keep me sharp, inspire me, and keeps the ‘ol wheels turning. And whether or not it’s salvageable, I also focus on all my inventions that were successful.”

“That… actually makes sense,” murmured Donald.

“As for how others see me, well, that’s definitely something beyond my control,” Gyro continued with a chuckle. “So, why waste energy on being bitter about it? I don’t like it- and I’ll be honest, it’s when I’m treated as a simple gadget-man that bothers me even more than when my inventions and I are misunderstood- but some people are just plain ignorant and others have a different way of looking at my inventions (and some views can be quite valid, such as Mrs. Webster’s). Again, I choose to focus on the ones in my life who do appreciate and understand me, as well as all the times my ideas have helped others; and helping to make a difference in the lives of others makes everything else worth it.”

A warm smile spread over Donald’s face. “Those are all the things I love and admire best about you, Gyro. I don’t know what you see in a hot-tempered palooka like me, but you make me twice as lucky as Gladstone.”

They drew in for a kiss. “As far as perseverance goes,” Gyro said earnestly, hands remaining on Donald’s shoulders, “you sell yourself short. No matter how bad things get, and I mean really bad, you keep going. It’s, well, almost ridiculous.”

 Donald couldn’t help but grin back, blushing.   

As they resumed cleaning, Donald asked, “Say, where’s Little Helper?”

“Oh, I gave him the day off. He’d been busting his bulb helping me on the Nanny-bot all week.”

“And were you planning on joining him after testing it?” Donald wryly asked with a sideways glance.

“Heh, well… you know what a workaholic I am, Donald.”

Donald reached up on tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I guess you’re not so perfect after all.”

They spent the remainder of the morning curled up together in Donald’s hammock, soon lulled to sleep by the easy chorus of both their content purrs.

QOTD: What is your favorite thing about Gyro Gearloose?

Well, I pretty much answered that in this story. But when it comes to all versions of Gyro across media, it's definitely his perseverance and how he never gives up, no matter how many inventions of his goes wrong. His passion and pride for inventing is really cool!!

[beardedmrbean]

[Huey Zoomer Anon]

You know this whole discourse about established characters becoming shit parents in the sequels or spinoffs in franchises

Leaving it vague to hide the flames

But I been thinking about how people talking about how emotionally neglectful their boomer parents was…was it intentional or was it the society NORM at the time when it comes to upbringing?

Don’t get me started on a lot of boomers who had to grew up with fathers with unknown ptsd…and that rebuilding….wait the civil rights movement too!

Ugh just saying a lot of boomers were in the mess, not to mention the Sex Revolution, the speed run when it to technology advancements.

Also the privilege economy boomers had…okay hear me out…what if…the elite never TAUGHT many boomers how to use it and trick them to do shorts decisions that fuck up everything?

I mean MK Ultra was LEAKED to the public and don’t get me started on how many drugs that wasn’t even properly tested shoved down people throats with birth control pills being shoved down their throats

Also I think a lot of modern writers wanted VALIDATION because they weren’t validated as a child during the abuse I mean

Yeah no one during me hell years from nine year old to eleven gave a DAMN about the abuse I went through my stepmom put me through

I just make sure I carry a loaded gun anytime a white millennial woman with unresolved parental issues are near me.

Oh I’m still bitter, I’m not hero, I would burn the world if I must to get revenge

But the thing I’m 24 and my dad basically confirm he have similar mindsets to that a lot of women like her are going to end up dying alone

Sorry trailed off, but one thing I realized when it comes to my writing, I am a ADULT. So I don’t do one sided narratives in my stories….vs millions of people these days who are incapable to see a different pov or have basic empathy

That why in my father and son duo stories, I point out both pics are valid. The father not perfect, the son not perfect, that humanity

Unless….OH MY GOD HOW MANY PROGRESSIVES HAVE THE NARCISM THAT SURPASS BOOMERS?!

But I been thinking about how people talking about how emotionally neglectful their boomer parents was…was it intentional or was it the society NORM at the time when it comes to upbringing? Don’t get me started on a lot of boomers who had to grew up with fathers with unknown ptsd…and that rebuilding….wait the civil rights movement too!

Friend of mine's dad had PTSD, he'd been a combat medic in Nam, got a lot of shit for how he'd occasionally go nuts, friend was schizo too which didn't help anyone, PTSD wasn't something people really talked about or even acknowledged until friend was in his teens.

I can't even imagine how many people had their lives destroyed by that monster throughout history

Ugh just saying a lot of boomers were in the mess, not to mention the Sex Revolution, the speed run when it to technology advancements.

Not gonna bag on hormonal birth control itself, but ya it did lead to a fair amount of loosening of morals, or at least making that public, for good or bad thing is going to be a individual opinion there.

Also the privilege economy boomers had…okay hear me out…what if…the elite never TAUGHT many boomers how to use it and trick them to do shorts decisions that fuck up everything?

they wouldn't teach that, which not teaching people how to money seems to be a really common thing that's just getting worse and worse as the decades go on, also in defense of boomers purchasing power there was also a lot less to buy back then.

No smartphone with data plan, no internet connection, no 87 different streaming services, and so on.

Bought a TV and the only thing you had to pay for after the initial purchase was the electricity.

But the thing I’m 24 and my dad basically confirm he have similar mindsets to that a lot of women like her are going to end up dying alone

I feel that way about my ex wife, not a abuse thing though just a 'that's how she is' thing.