#this was a nice distraction from thesis writing

[lixenn]

♡ 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒. ♡ Tag 10 followers you’d like to get to know better

TAGGED BY @dreamieparadise

TAGGING. @childe-of-saulot @dontknow-willaddlater @tangomagnolija @moonlit-mystery-writer @cloudvaria I ain't tagging 10 people that's too much effort, also no pressure in doing this btw and if anyone else wants to participate go for it!

✧. ┊ 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬 : Lisa (don't mind sharing that because do you know how many people exist with that name? I can recall meeting at least ten in my life like dude this name is so fucking common in Germany)

✧. ┊ 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑺 : Lix but that's just my most common nickname, I'm taking this oppurtunity to share my nickname collection:

Lixxie

Lixxy

Buddy (@myrmyrtheorca exclusive)

High Priestress and Name Bringer (@childe-of-saulot exclusive)

Gremlin

Lili (unlocked by @dreamieparadise)

Phoenix (also unlocked by momo but not often used)

Your Highness (unlocked by @rebo-chan though also not often used)

There might be more but those are the most common or unique I suppose >.<

✧. ┊ 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 : Mystery! I don't fucking know what it is and I have no plans of finding out so my gender will stay unknown for me and the world lmao

✧. ┊ 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑵 : capricorn

✧. ┊ 𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 : 170 cm

✧. ┊ 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑻𝒀 : Like my gender this one is also a mystery! I'm some sort of queer as in not straight as in trying to define my sexuality gives me a headache. I'm probably also wandering around like a lost lamb on the aroace spectrum so yeah... I join Momo in being perpetually confused.

✧. ┊ 𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷 : Ummm... varies greatly? If I have a good run and it's during week days than somewhere between 7 and 8 hours. If I have an insomnia spell than it's between 4 hours and nothing. If I'm on holiday it's 8 hours or sometimes nothing when I hyperfixate on something. Me and sleep have a difficult realtionship.

✧. ┊ 𝑫𝑶𝑮 𝑶𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑻 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵 : Cat person, their smug and dumb aura compels me.

✧. ┊ 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑲𝑬𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 : Ummm it's a blanket? Like a regular ass bed blanket, I ain't really special with blankets. It's currently my thinner one becuase it's summer. I do have more blankets, but I only ever sleep with one unless i get super cold and even then I often end up covered in just one when i wake up.

✧. ┊ 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴 𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑷 : Trip across to world to visit my online friends. I wanna go visit Japan with @unwrathful, I wanna chill with buddy at the beach in Italy, eat lots of food with @nxmimochi in Korea, hang out with my liege in Denmark and lots more! Unfortunately I kinda get major anxiety when I think about travelling alone especially via plane so I will need to overcome that first.

✧. ┊ 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑬 : 2020 but no clue about the month

✧. ┊ 𝑾𝑯𝒀 𝑰 𝑴𝑨𝑫𝑬 𝑨 𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑹 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮 : I really don't remember, maybe because I wanted to follow my favourite fanfic authors? Or because I basically had so many tumblr screenshots saved on pinterest I thought at this point I might just as well join. But honestly could be some completely different reason too it's been four years my memory isn't that good lmao

✧. ┊ 𝑼𝑹𝑳 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : it's based on one of my irl nicknames. Breakdown: Lisa -> Lischen (-chen suffic in german often indicates something cute and small but it can't be applied to every name and object it's a bit complicated) -> Lischenn (the additional n comes from me fucking up the nickname in put in a DS game and it stuck) -> Lixenn (replaced the sch with x because Idk it looked cool? once again I can't remember)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dirty words are politically potent

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

Making up words is a perfectly cromulent passtime, and while most of the words we coin disappear as soon as they fall from our lips, every now and again, you find a word that fits so nice and kentucky in the public discourse that it acquires a life of its own:

http://meaningofliff.free.fr/definition.php3?word=Kentucky

I've been trying to increase the salience of digital human rights in the public imagination for a quarter of a century, starting with the campaign to get people to appreciate that the internet matters, and that tech policy isn't just the delusion that the governance of spaces where sad nerds argue about Star Trek is somehow relevant to human thriving:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/10/04/small-change-malcolm-gladwell

Now, eventually people figured out that a) the internet mattered and, b) it was going dreadfully wrong. So my job changed again, from "how the internet is governed matters" to "you can't fix the internet with wishful thinking," for example, when people said we could solve its problems by banning general purpose computers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

Or by banning working cryptography:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/09/04/oh-for-fucks-sake-not-this-fucking-bullshit-again-cryptography-edition/

Or by redesigning web browsers to treat their owners as threats:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

Or by using bots to filter every public utterance to ensure that they don't infringe copyright:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/09/today-europe-lost-internet-now-we-fight-back

Or by forcing platforms to surveil and police their users' speech (aka "getting rid of Section 230"):

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

Along the way, many of us have coined words in a bid to encapsulate the abstract, technical ideas at the core of these arguments. This isn't a vanity project! Creating a common vocabulary is a necessary precondition for having the substantive, vital debates we'll need to tackle the real, thorny issues raised by digital systems. So there's "free software," "open source," "filternet," "chat control," "back doors," and my own contributions, like "adversarial interoperability":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Or "Competitive Compatibility" ("comcom"), a less-intimidatingly technical term for the same thing:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/competitive-compatibility-year-review

These have all found their own niches, but nearly all of them are just that: niche. Some don't even rise to "niche": they're shibboleths, insider terms that confuse and intimidate normies and distract from the real fights with semantic ones, like whether it's "FOSS" or "FLOSS" or something else entirely:

https://opensource.stackexchange.com/questions/262/what-is-the-difference-between-foss-and-floss

But every now and again, you get a word that just kills. That brings me to "enshittification," a word I coined in 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

"Enshittification" took root in my hindbrain, rolling around and around, agglomerating lots of different thoughts and critiques I'd been making for years, crystallizing them into a coherent thesis:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

This kind of spontaneous crystallization is the dividend of doing lots of work in public, trying to take every half-formed thought and pin it down in public writing, something I've been doing for decades:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

After those first couple articles, "enshittification" raced around the internet. There's two reasons for this: first, "enshittification" is a naughty word that's fun to say. Journalists love getting to put "shit" in their copy:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/15/crosswords/linguistics-word-of-the-year.html

Radio journalists love to tweak the FCC with cheekily bleeped syllables in slightly dirty compound words:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/projects/enshitification

And nothing enlivens an academic's day like getting to use a word like "enshittification" in a journal article (doubtless this also amuses the editors, peer-reviewers, copyeditors, typesetters, etc):

https://scholar.google.com/scholar?hl=en&as_sdt=0%2C5&q=enshittification&btnG=&oq=ensh

That was where I started, too! The first time I used "enshittification" was in a throwaway bad-tempered rant about the decay of Tripadvisor into utter uselessness, which drew a small chorus of appreciative chuckles about the word:

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1550457808222552065

The word rattled around my mind for five months before attaching itself to my detailed theory of platform decay. But it was that detailed critique, coupled with a minor license to swear, that gave "enshittification" a life of its own. How do I know that the theory was as important as the swearing? Because the small wave of amusement that followed my first use of "enshittification" petered out in less than a day. It was only when I added the theory that the word took hold.

Likewise: how do I know that the theory needed to be blended with swearing to break out of the esoteric realm of tech policy debates (which the public had roundly ignored for more than two decades)? Well, because I spent two decades writing about this stuff without making anything like the dents that appeared once I added an Anglo-Saxon monosyllable to that critique.

Adding "enshittification" to the critique got me more column inches, a longer hearing, a more vibrant debate, than anything else I'd tried. First, Wired availed itself of the Creative Commons license on my second long-form article on the subject and reprinted it as a 4,200-word feature. I've been writing for Wired for more than thirty years and this is by far the longest thing I've published with them – a big, roomy, discursive piece that was run verbatim, with every one of my cherished darlings unmurdered.

That gave the word – and the whole critique, with all its spiky corners – a global airing, leading to more pickup and discussion. Eventually, the American Dialect Society named it their "Word of the Year" (and their "Tech Word of the Year"):

https://americandialect.org/2023-word-of-the-year-is-enshittification/

"Enshittification" turns out to be catnip for language nerds:

https://becauselanguage.com/90-enpoopification/#transcript-60

I've been dragged into (good natured) fights over the German, Spanish, French and Italian translations for the term. When I taped an NPR show before a live audience with ASL interpretation, I got to watch a Deaf fan politely inform the interpreter that she didn't need to finger-spell "enshittification," because it had already been given an ASL sign by the US Deaf community:

https://maximumfun.org/episodes/go-fact-yourself/ep-158-aida-rodriguez-cory-doctorow/

I gave a speech about enshittification in Berlin and published the transcript:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

Which prompted the rock-ribbed Financial Times to get in touch with me and publish the speech – again, nearly verbatim – as a whopping 6,400 word feature in their weekend magazine:

https://www.ft.com/content/6fb1602d-a08b-4a8c-bac0-047b7d64aba5

Though they could have had it for free (just as Wired had), they insisted on paying me (very well, as it happens!), as did De Zeit:

https://www.zeit.de/digital/internet/2024-03/plattformen-facebook-google-internet-cory-doctorow

This was the start of the rise of enshittification. The word is spreading farther than ever, in ways that I have nothing to do with, along with the critique I hung on it. In other words, the bit of string that tech policy wonks have been pushing on for a quarter of a century is actually starting to move, and it's actually accelerating.

Despite this (or more likely because of it), there's a growing chorus of "concerned" people who say they like the critique but fret that it is being held back because you can't use it "at church or when talking to K-12 students" (my favorite variant: "I couldn't say this at a NATO conference"). I leave it up to you whether you use the word with your K-12 students, NATO generals, or fellow parishoners (though I assure you that all three groups are conversant with the dirty little word at the root of my coinage). If you don't want to use "enshittification," you can coin your own word – or just use one of the dozens of words that failed to gain public attention over the past 25 years (might I suggest "platform decay?").

What's so funny about all this pearl-clutching is that it comes from people who universally profess to have the intestinal fortitude to hear the word "enshittification" without experiencing psychological trauma, but worry that other people might not be so strong-minded. They continue to say this even as the most conservative officials in the most staid of exalted forums use the word without a hint of embarrassment, much less apology:

https://www.independent.ie/business/technology/chairman-of-irish-social-media-regulator-says-europe-should-not-be-seduced-by-mario-draghis-claims/a526530600.html

I mean, I'm giving a speech on enshittification next month at a conference where I'm opening for the Secretary General of the United Nations:

https://icanewdelhi2024.coop/welcome/pages/Programme

After spending half my life trying to get stuff like this into the discourse, I've developed some hard-won, informed views on how ideas succeed:

First: the minor obscenity is a feature, not a bug. The marriage of something long and serious to something short and funny is a happy one that makes both the word and the ideas better off than they'd be on their own. As Lenny Bruce wrote in his canonical work in the subject, the aptly named How to Talk Dirty and Influence People:

I want to help you if you have a dirty-word problem. There are none, and I'll spell it out logically to you.

Here is a toilet. Specifically-that's all we're concerned with, specifics-if I can tell you a dirty toilet joke, we must have a dirty toilet. That's what we're all talking about, a toilet. If we take this toilet and boil it and it's clean, I can never tell you specifically a dirty toilet joke about this toilet. I can tell you a dirty toilet joke in the Milner Hotel, or something like that, but this toilet is a clean toilet now. Obscenity is a human manifestation. This toilet has no central nervous system, no level of consciousness. It is not aware; it is a dumb toilet; it cannot be obscene; it's impossible. If it could be obscene, it could be cranky, it could be a Communist toilet, a traitorous toilet. It can do none of these things. This is a dirty toilet here.

Nobody can offend you by telling a dirty toilet story. They can offend you because it's trite; you've heard it many, many times.

https://www.dacapopress.com/titles/lenny-bruce/how-to-talk-dirty-and-influence-people/9780306825309/

Second: the fact that a neologism is sometimes decoupled from its theoretical underpinnings and is used colloquially is a feature, not a bug. Many people apply the term "enshittification" very loosely indeed, to mean "something that is bad," without bothering to learn – or apply – the theoretical framework. This is good. This is what it means for a term to enter the lexicon: it takes on a life of its own. If 10,000,000 people use "enshittification" loosely and inspire 10% of their number to look up the longer, more theoretical work I've done on it, that is one million normies who have been sucked into a discourse that used to live exclusively in the world of the most wonkish and obscure practitioners. The only way to maintain a precise, theoretically grounded use of a term is to confine its usage to a small group of largely irrelevant insiders. Policing the use of "enshittification" is worse than a self-limiting move – it would be a self-inflicted wound. As I said in that Berlin speech:

Enshittification names the problem and proposes a solution. It's not just a way to say 'things are getting worse' (though of course, it's fine with me if you want to use it that way. It's an English word. We don't have der Rat für englische Rechtschreibung. English is a free for all. Go nuts, meine Kerle).

Finally: "coinage" is both more – and less – than thinking of the word. After the American Dialect Society gave honors to "enshittification," a few people slid into my mentions with citations to "enshittification" that preceded my usage. I find this completely unsurprising, because English is such a slippery and playful tongue, because English speakers love to swear, and because infixing is such a fun way to swear (e.g. "unfuckingbelievable"). But of course, I hadn't encountered any of those other usages before I came up with the word independently, nor had any of those other usages spread appreciably beyond the speaker (it appears that each of the handful of predecessors to my usage represents an act of independent coinage).

If "coinage" was just a matter of thinking up the word, you could write a small python script that infixed the word "shit" into every syllable of every word in the OED, publish the resulting text file, and declare priority over all subsequent inventive swearers.

On the one hand, coinage takes place when the coiner a) independently invents a word; and b) creates the context for that word that causes it to escape from the coiner's immediate milieu and into the wider world.

But on the other hand – and far more importantly – the fact that a successful coinage requires popular uptake by people unknown to the coiner means that the coiner only ever plays a small role in the coinage. Yes, there would be no popularization without the coinage – but there would also be no coinage without the popularization. Words belong to groups of speakers, not individuals. Language is a cultural phenomenon, not an individual one.

Which is rather the point, isn't it? After a quarter of a century of being part of a community that fought tirelessly to get a serious and widespread consideration of tech policy underway, we're closer than ever, thanks, in part, to "enshittification." If someone else independently used that word before me, if some people use the word loosely, if the word makes some people uncomfortable, that's fine, provided that the word is doing what I want it to do, what I've devoted my life to doing.

The point of coining words isn't the pilkunnussija's obsession with precise usage, nor the petty glory of being known as a coiner, nor ensuring that NATO generals' virgin ears are protected from the word "shit" – a word that, incidentally, is also the root of "science":

https://www.arrantpedantry.com/2019/01/24/science-and-shit/

Isn't language fun?

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/14/pearl-clutching/#this-toilet-has-no-central-nervous-system

[slutforsilverfoxes]

ok i dont know if you do requests or not but this is just something thats been ricocheting around in my head for days and i need to get it out before my brain completely rots. whether or not you want to write it is up to you i just really needed to share this with a hotch lover.

nonbau!reader knowing that the team have a really tough local case their all working overtime on and deciding to try to cheer them up and destress them a bit so she spend a few hours cooking this amazing delicious meal because she knows they'll probably just get takeout. so she swings by the bau around 6ish with the food and the whole team flock around her and around hugging her and thanking her and immediately digging in.

hotch notices from his office and comes down looking way grouchier than normal and hes like "excuse me we have a case to work on im not sure why youre all standing around when theres work to be done. and r why are you here distracting my team they need to focus" before going back into his office and the team is shook bc aaron has NEVER spoken to you like that before. and youre highkey offended like ?? i spent hours of my time doing a nice thing and im getting bitched at like im his subordinate??

but then you slam your purse down on jjs desk, take your earrings out and put your hair up in a ponytail and youre like "give me 15 minutes and ill have that attitude sorted put no problem." before marching away into hotchs office locking the door and drawing the shades and derek and emily are crying laughing cause they know exactly whats about to happen but reid is confused like ??? is she gonna fight with him? why did she put her hair up? whats so funny? and pen and jj have to explain that you went up there to give him a bj and hes just like?!?! AT WORK?!?? and rossi is just watching the shenanigans unfold like 🤭🤭

and you do eventually come back down from his office wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and your hair is significantly more ruffled than before and hotch looks subdued and even a little embarrassed and he just mutters a quiet apology to the team before grabbing a plate of the food you brought (which is actually his favorite meal of yours) before kissing you and thanking you for coming to see him.

My oh my, do I love the way your mind works 😈 Thank you for this request (& for your patience as I took 84 years to write it)! I hope you enjoy 🖤

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

(-indicates reader's texts)

__________

A rapid series of buzzes on the table beside you has you pulling your attention away from the sizable dent you’ve made in the stack of thesis papers to be graded for your class. You exchange your favorite pen for your phone, unlocking the screen to find several texts from your closest friend sent in quick succession:

5:49pm SOS

5:49pm (Save Our Stomachs)

5:50pm Pls we’ve been going in circles on this case and he’s in a Mood

You can’t help but smile at the he in question, your stoic, stalwart husband- and your friend’s unit chief. You fire back a response:

-5:50pm Em :( Is he holed up in his office?

5:50pm You know it

-5:51pm Classic 🙄 Lucky for youuuu I’m already making dinner for my favorite people!

The oven timer beeps as if to punctuate your statement, and you rise from your spot at the kitchen table while typing out another message.

-5:51pm Scratch that- it’s ready. Be there asap rocky

-5:51pm Be brave little soldier 🫡

5:53pm You’re my fucking hero

You gather enough plates and cutlery to dish up dinner to the team of agents, then pack them up alongside the foil-covered Pyrex container fresh out of the oven. Deciding against changing out of your yoga pants and your boyfriend’s old law school t-shirt, you pluck the pencil out of your bun that was holding your hair up and toss it onto the table, snag your keys, and make your way out to the car.

The drive into the city is a relatively short one, given that most of the traffic is heading in the opposite direction at this time on a Friday evening. You navigate your way into the parking garage, then head upstairs with your precious cargo.

“Evening, Mrs. Hotchner,” your favorite security guard greets you as you step out of the elevator, and you flash him a smile with a greeting in return. “Come grab a plate when you’re done your rounds,” you call over your shoulder, and his answering grin tells you he’ll be patrolling the floor a little faster than usual tonight.

Four heads pop up from their desks at the sound of the glass double doors opening, shoulders sagging with relief when they spot your bright smile and the telltale bag in your hand that means dinner is served. Derek’s quick to jump up and help you with the heavy container as Emily, Spencer, and JJ follow the two of you into the round table room, animatedly filling you in on their day. JJ’s fingers fly across her screen, and Penelope is rounding the doorway from the back hallway by the time you make it upstairs and start setting up, arms outstretched to pull you into a hug while declaring, “You’re my favorite Hotchner, did you know that?”

“We both know I come second to Jack,” you joke, and Emily lets out a happy groan as she digs into her meal, professing, “You’re at least tied now.”

A pair of solid hands lands on your shoulders from behind, and you feel the familiar scratchiness of Dave’s beard pressing kisses to your cheeks in greeting. “What would we do without you?”

With a laugh, you turn to offer him a helping and answer, “Simply perish.”

Your heart swells as the team settles down around the table enjoying the home cooked meal, but there’s one very obvious absence. A glance at your husband’s office reveals the door is still closed, the room dark save for a glow through the open blinds that you know is from his little desk lamp. Deciding to give him a few more minutes of solitude before barging in and demanding that he take a break to eat, you join your friends at the table to tell them about the senior prank your students recently pulled in an attempt to give their minds a reprieve from their current case.

“I bet you Morgan did stuff like that all the time,” JJ accuses amid catching her breath from laughing at the story about the two chickens released on the top floor, cleverly labeled one and three.

Derek smiles back, ready to take credit, but Emily cuts in with, “A psychological prank like that sounds more like something Spence would do.”

“C’mon now, pretty boy wouldn’t want to inconvenience his teacher,” Derek teases, eliciting a pout from the youngest of the team who counters with, “Hey, I won that prank war against-”

“What’s going on here?”

A hush falls over the room at the sound of Aaron’s voice, the question itself seemingly innocent but its intention clearly to reprimand. Five pairs of eyes drop downward, leaving only you and Dave making eye contact, the older man mouthing an empathetic, Busted, in your direction.

Unbothered, you swivel in your chair to meet your husband’s gaze with a cherubic smile, your voice positively dripping in honey. “Mom’s feeding the kids because Dad forgot that sustenance is important for your brain and body. Now c’mon, take a break and-”

“Does it seem like I have time for that right now?”

Your eyebrows shoot up at his tone, and you drop the teasing lilt to your voice. “Aar, I just wanted you guys to-”

“Go home, Y/N, please,” he requests quietly, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose with a soft exhale. “We can’t afford to be distracted right now. Everybody finish up and get back to work.” He turns on his heel and returns to his office without so much as a hello or goodbye or thank you, my love, for being so thoughtful and taking care of us directed your way.

Once his footfalls have receded, the entire group releases a collective breath as if they’ve just escaped being chewed out by the principal- at your expense. When you turn back around, you’re met with expressions of shock that reflect your own, like the kids literally just witnessed their dad being mean to their mom for the first time.

“You know how Aaron gets with a case,” Dave tries to soothe your ruffled feathers, and JJ jumps in with, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to come off like that, Y/N, he’s just-”

“Stressed?” you finish her thought for her. You rise abruptly from your chair, dropping your purse on the table with a resounding thud before digging through it to find a spare hair tie. “I know he is. And I also know my husband did not just say that to my face,” you grumble under your breath, combing your fingers through your hair to pull it into a quick ponytail while continuing your tirade. “After I spent hours making a meal between doing my own work? No sir, uh uh, SSA Hotchner. That man needs to relax.”

Spencer leans over to Derek while you carry on quietly cursing their boss for his attitude and asks, “Should we be concerned?”

Derek lets out a snicker before answering, “Maybe for Hotch’s di-”

“Dignity!” JJ cuts in with a sharp look at her colleague, trying and failing to suppress her own smile.

You pause in the doorway, squaring your shoulders before turning back to the team to say, “You guys eat. Enjoy. I’ll take care of your boss.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily snorts out, clearly amused. Laughter, applause, and a distinct wolf whistle courtesy of Derek follow you down the carpeted walkway to your husband’s office.

-----(Read Behind Closed Doors here!)-----

When you return to the round table room several not-so-subtle minutes later, you’re greeted by a bunch of giddy smiles, a knowing look from Rossi, and Spencer’s pink-tinged cheek since he’s refusing to make eye contact with you. “All better,” you announce proudly, dropping into a chair before tugging the hair tie from your now slightly tangled locks and combing your fingers through a few persistent knots. “Everybody good and full?”

“Some more than oth-”

You cut your sharp gaze over to Derek and he mimes zipping his mouth shut, a smirk still playing at his lips.

“What he means to say,” Pen huffs, slapping his shoulder, “is thank you so much for dinner, sweetie.”

“It was my pleasure,” you answer genuinely. “You know I love taking care of you guys.”

“And we’re very lucky you do,” your husband’s baritone voice rumbles from the doorway behind you. You turn to find a sufficiently chastened Aaron entering the room, and you offer him your cheek when he places his hands on your shoulders and bends to press a kiss to your smiling face. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize for my earlier-”

“Temper tantrum?” you offer, and Aaron squeezes your shoulders in warning before continuing, “Outburst. I let the stress of the case get the best of me and neglected my duties to prioritize the health of this team. Luckily, my darling wife is always there to make up for my shortcomings.”

You catch your best friend’s eye and shoot her an exaggerated wink at your husband’s word choice, forcing Emily to cover up a laugh with a cough. Aaron’s hand slides over to the nape of your neck, and you know you’re in for it once this case is over.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

__________

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies @callm3c0nfus3d

[0o-junebug-o0]

OH OH OH how about a coffee shop/bookstore date like reader is new to town and Spencer decides to take them out to his favorite book shop and coffee shop (gn reader if possible:3)

Ways to Say "I Love You"

thank you so much for the request! I had a blast writing this

spencer reid x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

cw: nothing, just pure fluff

wordcount: 2.6k

You pace in circles around your living room, avoiding the boxes still piled up along the walls. You’ve been here two months already, but starting as a new professor and researcher at Georgetown has kept you so busy you simply haven’t had time to finish unpacking. You suppose you could do it now, a distraction would probably help your nerves, but you’d rather continue with your circles. 

You check your watch. You have six minutes until Spencer will be here. He always arrives exactly on time, never early or late if he can help it. You take a deep breath. “It’s just a date,” you whisper to yourself. “No expectations. Just have fun.” You know you will but your heart is beating so fast and hard that you can feel it in your chest. 

To be honest, you don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve known Spencer for years. You met at CalTech in your freshman year of undergrad while he was finishing up his third PhD and you’ve kept in touch through letters and occasional visits ever since. He even flew out to watch your thesis defense. 

You’ve loved Spencer for nearly as long as you’ve known him and the fact that he asked you out is like a dream come true but you can’t help but worry that he’ll realize he made a mistake.

A knock at the door startles you from your thoughts and you almost trip over a box. You glance down at your watch. It’s two o’clock exactly and you can’t help but wonder how long Spencer waited outside your apartment door before knocking. You take a deep breath and run your hands down the front of your shirt, smoothing down any wrinkles in the fabric, before making your way to the door.

You will your shaking hands to be still as you unlock the door and pull it inwards. Your jaw nearly drops at the sight of Spencer. He’s dressed how he usually is, looking as good as always, but he’s wearing his glasses and smiling softly at you, a nervous flush on his cheeks. He holds a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. The bouquet is made of three types of flowers. You recognize the sunflowers and daffodils, but not pale purple, pinwheel-like ones.

“Oh, Spencer, thank you!” you say, taking the bouquet as he hands it to you. You bury your nose in the flowers and smell them with a smile. “This is lovely! Come in while I put these in some water.”

You step aside and Spencer slips awkwardly into your apartment. 

“Ignore all the boxes,” you laugh. “I’ve been too busy to finish unpacking.”

He nods, looking around your apartment as he follows you into the kitchen. He seems twice as nervous as you are. 

“Can you hold this for me for a moment?” you ask, holding out the bouquet. He nods and takes it from your hands. You turn around and climb onto the counter to reach the empty vase you’d placed on top of the cabinets once the housewarming flowers your parents sent you had died. You slide off the counter and head over to the sink to rinse off any dust. 

You dry the outside of the vase with a dishtowel before filling it halfway with water. You set the vase on the small dining table pressed against the wall. “So, where are you planning on taking me?" you ask, taking the bouquet from Spencer and slipping it into the vase. 

“There’s a nice little bookstore and coffee shop right next door to each other not far from here. I was thinking we could go there if that’s alright.”

You smile at him, his obvious nervousness making yours fade. “That sounds great,” you say. “But first, now that our hands are free, can I give you a hug?”

Spencer nods and pulls you into a tight hug, resting his face in the crook of your neck. You’ve always loved his hugs, they make you feel safe and loved. And knowing that you could probably count on your hands the number of people Spencer feels comfortable hugging makes it feel that much more special.”

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

“We saw each other last week,” Spencer says, sounding confused.

You chuckle and end the hug. “I know, but it still feels like it’s been years.”

Spencer’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m just saying that because we saw each other so rarely before I moved here I still feel like I haven’t spent enough time with you now that I am here. Like I need to make up for it. I can still miss you even if I’m close by,” you tease.

“Oh, then I missed you too.” 

You chuckle lightly and pat him on the shoulder. “Alright then, Spence, take me to that bookstore.”

________________

The walk wasn’t a long one and with the nice spring weather and catching up with Spencer, it almost felt like it went by too fast.

“This is it,” Spencer says, stopping in front of a cafe. 

You look at him confused. “I thought we were going to the bookstore first.”

“We are,” he says with a smile. He reaches his hand out toward yours and after a brief moment of hesitation, takes your hand in his. You can feel yourself blush and wonder if you're as flushed as Spencer. 

He guides you toward a small alleyway about three feet wide with a cat sleeping on a book painted on the ground and leads you down it. The alley curves to the right and then back to the left and at the end is a little courtyard and an old brick building. There are stacks of books on and under a wooden table at the side of the courtyard, shaded from the sun by an awning that extends from the wall of the neighboring building. Along the back of the cafe are three small tables with two chairs each and along the third side is a small garden filled with wildflowers native to the DC area. 

A large window covers the front wall of the book store and there’s a classy-looking decal of the same image on the alley floor a sign that says “Alleycat Books”. The view inside the store is mostly blocked by stacks of books but through the gaps, you can see shelves stretching along the walls from floor to ceiling and multiple shelves in the middle of the room, all filled to the brim with books.

You look around the courtyard in awe. 

“Spencer, this is amazing!”

He smiles at you, his nose scrunching up adorably. “I’m glad you like it. But the inside is even better.”

You laugh as he leads you to the door and opens it for you with an awkward little bow. He’s right, the inside is better. It looks almost magical. Floor-to-ceiling shelves cover every inch of the side and back walls. About fifteen feet away from you, halfway across the room, another floor-to-ceiling shelf with gaps on either side acts as a divider. Two rows of three shoulder-height shelves with gaps between each of them fill the ten-foot width of the room in front of the dividing shelf and based on the line of sight you have through the gaps of the divider, the same seems to be true on the other side. A woman greets us from a small desk in the corner as we enter and Spencer waves awkwardly at her as you nod your head in greeting. 

“The sci-fi section’s over here,” Spencer says, leading you to the back half of the room. “I know it’s your favorite genre.”

You laugh and nod, tilting your head to read the titles of the books. Spencer laughs softly as you start to tilt your whole body to read the names of the books on the lower shelves. 

“I’m going to look in the poetry section,” Spencer says. 

You nod in response, your upper body still tilted almost horizontal. You hear his footsteps retreat to the opposite side of the divider. You stand to see where he ended up and can’t help but laugh when you see his hair poking over the two rows of books on the divider. 

“What?” Spencer asks.

“Stand on your toes,” you say with a laugh. 

His head rises as he does what you say and you stand on your toes as well to see his eyes poking over the books.

“I can see you,” you tease.

“Yes.” You can hear his smile in his voice.

You laugh and return to browsing the books. Your gaze brushes over a copy of DUNE and you pull it from the shelf to look at the cover. “Spencer!” you call, running around to the other side of the shelf. He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You hold out the book. “There’s no sticker! I love this book and I’ve been trying to find a copy without the sticker for so long! I hate the stickers.”

“They do ruin the covers.”

“Well, that’s it. I just wanted to show you. I’m going to keep looking.” 

You both spend almost an hour looking around the store and by the time you’re both satisfied, you’ve found three books, including the copy of DUNE, and Spencer has read two collections of poetry and found a vintage copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

Spencer tries to convince you to let him pay for your books and after a brief and silly argument, he relents to only paying for one of them. You make sure to pay first so he can’t try to tell the cashier to put all of your books on his card. He pouts slightly when as you pay, but you won’t let him guilt you into relenting. You smile and pat softly on the shoulder as he sets his book and the third of yours on the counter to pay.

Once he’s finished, he holds his messenger bag open and you slide the books inside. Ever the gentleman, he holds the door for you again on the way out. “What kind of stuff does the cafe have?” you ask as you lead the way through the alley back out to the street.

“They have hot chocolate, so that should make you happy,” Spencer says. You step out of the entrance and turn around to watch him emerge. “They have really good pastries too. And toast with butter and honey.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll get that and a hot chocolate.”

“The toast? You nod as he opens the door for you. “Okay, I’ll order while you grab us a table.”

You look around the room for the perfect spot as Spencer heads to the counter to get in line. There’s a small table for two in one of the corners by the window and you slip into one of the chairs to claim it. 

You can’t seem to take your eyes off Spencer as he waits. He’s just so beautiful. His hands clutch the strap of his messenger bag and you can see his fingers tapping slightly. When it’s his turn he shifts his weight from side to side as he orders. He’s never been able to keep still the entire time you’ve known him, but that’s just another thing you love about him. You smile and wave at him as he turns around and a flush lights up his face. He holds up a small stand with the number twelve on it and sets it on the table as he slides into the seat across from you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Spencer asks, embarrassed. His cheeks are still bright red.

“No reason,” you say. “You’re just pretty.”

Spencer’s face gets impossibly redder and he hides his head in his hands. “Y-you’re pretty too,” he mutters, his voice muffled behind his hands.

You reach across the table, gently grabbing his sleeves to tug his hands away. He stares at you with wide eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can a waiter comes with the food and drinks and Spencer shuts his mouth again. 

You thank the waiter and Spencer mutters a thanks as well. You slide your hot chocolate and toast over to you and Spencer moves his coffee and croissant to his side of the table.

“What were you going to say before our food came?” you ask, spreading the butter and honey onto your toast.

Spencer’s blush, which had started to fade, comes back in full force. He lowers his eyes to his coffee as he tears open a couple of packets of sugar and dumps them in.

“That I’m really glad you’re here. In DC,” he says awkwardly, stirring the sugar into his coffee with a wooden stir stick. “I’ve missed being around you. And I like that you’re so close now.”

Your face heats and you know that you’re blushing now too. 

“I’m glad, too, Spencer,” you say softly. He raises his head to meet your eyes. “I really like being around you. And I’m really glad you asked me out. I’ve liked you for years and now that I’m here and we can actually see each other I would’ve done it if you hadn’t.”

Spencer smiles widely at you, his nose and eyes crinkling and his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth.

You and Spencer stay in the cafe long after you’ve finished your food and drinks, just talking about anything and everything. You tell him about your research and invite him to come to some of your lectures and he tells you about work and his team. Eventually, the conversation slows and you and Spencer walk back to your apartment in a comfortable silence only occasionally interrupted by Spencer voicing a thought because he knows you like to listen.

________________

Once back inside your apartment Spencer holds open his messenger bag so you can take out your books and set them on the dining table to put away later. 

Spencer gently runs his hand over the bouquet in the center of the table.

“Vinca minor,” he says softly, pointing at one of the purple flowers. “The lesser periwinkle or dwarf periwinkle. It’s a member of the dogbane family and is native to central and southern Europe and southwestern Asia. In the language of flowers, it means early and sincere friendship and tender memories.” He points at a daffodil. “Narcissus jonquilla. Commonly referred to as Jonquil or Rush daffodil. It’s native to Spain and Portugal and represents desire or returned affection. Helianthus annuus. The common sunflower, it’s native to the Americas and represents loyalty and adoration. But I mostly just included them because they’re your favorite.”

You can feel your cheeks warm with a blush and you smile big and wide at him, enough that your eyes close partially. “Spencer?” He looks up at you and you take a few steps forward until you’re right in front of him.

“Y-yeah?” he asks, stuttering slightly.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widen and he nods. You reach up to cup his cheek and kiss him softly. It’s full of love and care and words that should have been said years ago but are finally being shared now. You pull away with a smile and chuckle as he chases after you slightly. You drape your arms around the back of his neck and look him in the eyes. “I love you too, Spencer.”

[noodyl-blasstal]

Pretty huge Doughnuts

The word count's droppin', but I'm not stoppin' - @taznovembercelebration day 15. Prompt "baby"

Read below or on Ao3. Missed yesterday's catch it here.

-

“You’re doing what now?”

“Planning Lup a baby shower.”

“Lup’s pregnant?” Barry’s voice is doing something high pitched and weird and Taako’s unsure exactly what the fuck is going on, but someone’s forgotten they have like 8 PhDs.

“Wanna think that through, Barold? Do you think that maybe she might have told you if she’d cracked that one.”

Barry looks less panicked. “Yeah… fair. Uh.”

“Anyway.” Taako ploughs on valiantly, he’ll pull this one out at a later date, once Barold thinks he’s forgotten. “I’m planning a baby shower for her.”

“If she’s not pregnant…” Barry starts.

“Which she isn’t.” Taako adds, helpfully.

“Yeah. Uh. Which she isn’t.” Barry looks pale still, poor, sweet idiot. “... then why are you throwing her a baby shower?”

“It took her more than nine months to birth the thesis” Taako says, he shrugs because it’s obvious, obviously. He doesn't know why literally no one so far has understood. They're definitely the problem.

Barry’s still scrunkling his face up like Taako's being irrational. The joke's on him because Taako's never irrational.

“She’s had a tonne of appointments.”

“Uh huh.”

"She brought new life into the world."

"The necromancy thing isn't part of the main thesis after, you know, the legal issues."

“I meant the concepts, not the zombie. Anyway the university are cowards for not embracing him." Before they get into the ethics of free education after reanimation Taako diverts Barry again. "She had to do that scan.”

“What scan? Wait, Taako, do you mean the MRIs she did for the data collection?”

“Now you get it.”

“I…”

“Cha’boy found this banner.” Taako unfurls it dramatically and holds it up, it’s gold and spangly and far too much, which is, of course, the perfect amount.

“Congratulations, it’s a…” Reads Barry.

“PhD!” Taako replies. “I’m gonna write it in and add flames. It’ll be great.”

“She’ll love the flames.” Says Barry, probably trying to tactfully dissuade Taako from the rest. Optimistic fool.

“I made a game for us where we have to guess the circumference of her thesis. There's prizes.”

“Is the thesis measurement bound or unbound?” Asks Barry far too fast. Oooooh, Taako has him on board now. Suddenly he loves BaPhD showers.

“No can do, Bluejeans, you wouldn’t want to cheat, would you? Wouldn’t want to ruin Lup’s special day by making it all about winning?”

“No.” Says Barry, unconvincingly.

“No cheating, Barold!”

Barry doesn’t say anything. Taako never should have taken Bluejeans under his wing, he’s created a monster.

“What’s a baby snack?”

"Mush?"

"No, like, for this."

“Are you asking what a baby thesis would eat?” Barry sounds more delighted by the concept than he should be.

“Baby researchers, I assume.” Chews them up, spits them out, not that Taako’s bitter. He’s fine. He can come back any time. Any time the police get round to officially clearing him. Not that it’s a problem, he’s not bothered about his degree anyway. He’s peachy. It’s not weird to see Lup get her doctorate before him when they were supposed to do it together.

Barry seems to realise he’s triggered some kind of horror even though Taako's definitely doing an incredibly normal face. He's going to try sand be nice about it.

“What are PhD snacks?” He asks before Barry can say anything kind.

“Pretty huge doughnuts.” Barry replies without hesitation. Taako knew there was a reason he kept him around.

Taako makes a note in his phone. Giant doughnuts mean giant frying, mean big oil, mean big pan.

“Why’re we making big doughnuts?” Kravitz asks, cracking the door to his room.

Of course it was food discussion that summoned him from his regimented work schedule (ignoring what he needed to do because he got distracted by other things and then panic typing up everything for his deadline.) It bodes well for Taako’s ongoing wooing, the stuff about hearts and stomachs was true probably, but Taako was also hoping to make his way to Kravitz’s di…

“Taako’s throwing Lup a surprise baby shower.” Barry cuts through Taako’s wandering thoughts. “We’re planning the menu.”

“Oh.” Says Kravitz. “For her PhD? Neat!”

-

Hey, hey, enjoyed that? Find the next prompt here!

[teabunnee]

i would like to ask you to write anything with Cassadee! that cute nerdy girl has invaded my brain

Cassadee

I loved how she reacted when she realised her idol was right in front of her. She’s so cute. I'm going to assume she's at least 18, but to be safe, no NSFW for her.

Nerdy girl absolutely reads romance books to try and understand how to be a good girlfriend, but it just confuses her more. 

Library dates, study dates, magic lab dates…Cassadee is always torn between having you with her or having you around. On one hand, she gets sad when you aren’t around, on the other hand, she gets distracted when you are around. Poor Cassadee. :(

She tries to make sweets for you but…well she tries. They look cute too, 

You likely have to force her to stop studying, she can’t help it. This magic circle has to be perfect-! 

Cassadee really appreciates should you support her research, give her a drink and a kiss on the cheek, or getting books for her and she blushes a pretty pink, squeaking out a thank you and hiding her face. 

She knows she rambles sometimes especially about her 50 thesis, and should you tell her it’s fine, she gets very happy and smiley. It lights a fire in her, actually, and gives her motivation to work on her magic. 

She gets so happy should you actually read her thesis, though probably a bit embarrassed should you read her older ones, the ones she wrote when she was six. 

She’s always willing to answer any question you have about magic, and if she goes too technical, she can reign herself in and explain it to it better to you 

If you know anything about magic, and initiate a discussion with her, she’s absolutely thrilled. You could spend hours just talking about the nature of magic and she’s living it up. 

Her favorite dates are either the ones where you are sitting next to each other, cuddling and cozy with a nice drink in hand, or one where she’s able to use her magic to her full extent, to show you a new spell or a new method of magic. The look of wonder on your face is something she treasures deeply. 

On the days where everything doesn’t seem to be working, she needs to be pulled out from her desk and taken outside. She puts her head on your shoulder, as she rambles about her frustrations. 

When she finishes a thesis, her reward is always a date with you. Your reward is her giving you her thesis to proofread. It’s a big sign of trust, and any input you have will be listened to and considered. 

Cassadee always turns to find you should she make a discovery. “Look! Look!” Or “I did it! I did it!” With a big hug. The way her face sparkles as she talks is beautiful. 

Cassadee also loves to give you gifts, enchanted magic items she created personally! Don’t worry, they’re safe. Probably. 

Sometimes the dolphins and fish that appear when she casts her spells will magnet themselves to you, at first she was terrified they would hurt you, but they mostly nuzzle you in a very familiar, very embarrassing way. Cassadee blushes at the sight. Well, magic is always influenced by the caster…

[captainsophiestark]

Star-Crossed Agents

Grant Ward x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Grant's SO is part of SciTech, which means they have to sneak around a little bit to hang out, and with the end of their Academy careers approaching it's harder than ever to find time for each other

Word Count: 1,485

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I took a deep breath in and then let it out, slow and heavy in a massive sigh. I'd been staring at my laptop for what felt like an eternity, and I was about to truly and completely lose it.

I snapped out of my thousand yard stare at the screen two feet in front of me at the sound of my dorm window sliding open. I shot up from my desk and whirled around only to find my boyfriend, Grant Ward, hanging out of my window.

"You gave me a heart attack," I said by way of hello as I rushed to the window to help him the rest of the way through. He had takeout containers in one hand, which I immediately took to make sure he wouldn't drop them. I turned to set them on my desk, and by the time I returned to Grant, he'd made it all the way through my window and stood in the middle of my room with his hands on his hips.

"Really? You went for the food before me?"

I just shrugged and grinned at him. "You're a Specialist in the top of your class. I figured you'd be able to handle it, especially since you've done it a thousand times before."

He sighed, but didn't waste another second before crossing the room to kiss me either. His arms wound their way around my waist as he pulled me to him, and I brushed one hand against his cheek before gently pulling back.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I don't think I'm gonna be a very good date tonight. Between trying to finish out the SciTech-Ops prank war and my final thesis project being due in just a few months, I'm probably going to have to mostly do work tonight."

"I don't mind helping you with SciTech pranks, if that's what you're working on," said Grant as we walked to my desk together, sitting shoulder to shoulder. "Why don't you open up your notes on that, and let me see all the things you have planned."

I scoffed. "I thought Specialists were supposed to be better at getting information out of people than that."

Grant fixed me with a look and put his hands on the arms of my chair, slowly leaning in until his face was inches from mine, effectively pinning me to the spot.

"I bet I could get you to give up some secrets if I tried."

I leaned in, closing the distance between us until our lips were barely a hair's breadth apart. Then I smiled.

"Nice try, but I'm already betraying my entire school by dating you. No way I'm giving the Ops kids an edge in the prank war. And no way I'm letting you distract me, either, I have work to do."

Grant sighed, but when he leaned in for a kiss it was just a quick peck before he sat back in his own chair.

"Fine. We don't really need your help to win, anyway. We've got this in the bag."

"Mhmm. And you just keep telling yourself that, Superspy."

Grant and I shared a grin as he dished up our food and I reluctantly turned back to my laptop. Leaning against Grant and having him here, especially with some of my favorite food, made trying to work less frustrating. But it didn't magically spark any inspiration or ideas like I'd hoped it would.

After we finished dinner, Grant crossed the room to kick back on my bed and cracked open a book while I kept trying to make my brain work. I stared at the computer screen, just trying to get some kind of brainstorm to start. I felt a headache coming on with every passing moment, and my brain started to feel literally heavy, like thick fog was just sitting up there, weighing me down. My eyes squinted against the glare of the screen, and still I didn't move, scanning over my notes like they might magically add some insight that they hadn't before.

I jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder, then turned with bleary eyes to find Grant had returned to sit next to me, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you alright? You were starting to look like a zombie over here."

"Yeah, yeah, just... waiting for inspiration to strike."

"...And how's that going?"

"Uh. Not well."

Grant huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile as he pulled me a little closer to his side.

"Then I think it's time we take a break together."

I sighed and leaned my head against his shoulder. Truly all I wanted to do was spend time with him, without anything SHIELD-related hanging over our heads, but final tests were coming soon and I really didn't have a moment to spare.

"I don't think I can, Grant. Everything I've been working for since the day I got here all comes down to this project. I have to make sure it's perfect."

"Right now you're not going to be able to make anything perfect."

I pulled back, mouth dropping open as I glared at him, but he just stared right back with the frank appraisal of a Specialist that I both loved and hated.

"Your brain is clearly fried from working on this for too long. Anything you put down now is just going to be something you have to go back and fix later. I've seen it before, from new Ops recruits and from you. You need a break. If you take one, odds are you're going to have a much easier time brainstorming and working things through after you spend some time not thinking about this project. It'll be faster and better than anything you might manage to force out now."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That... actually kind of makes sense..."

"I know it does. It's because I'm right." I scoffed, but Grant ignored it, instead leaning forward and resting a hand on my thigh. "Besides, the next month or so is going to be hell for both of us. Between your final projects and all of my practical exams before we graduate... I'm barely going to have time to see you. So we should enjoy the time we have now, while we still can."

I sighed, leaning forward and raising one hand to rest at the nape of Grant's neck, gently touching my forehead to his.

"I don't like to think about that," I admitted. "Or about how much harder it's going to be to stay together when you're out in the field and I'm in the Hub or the Triskelion doing work."

"I know. I hate thinking about that too."

We fell into silence for a few moments, the uncertainty of both of our futures hanging over us. Grant's grip on me tightened slightly, and I sighed. He was right. I needed a break, and I needed to enjoy every moment I could get while it was just the two of us like this.

"You know what? I think we'll be fine," I said, straightening up enough to meet Grant's eyes. "If we can make it work as two people from rival SHIELD schools dating each other? Like a more intense version of Romeo and Juliet? Then I think we're gonna be just fine, no matter what the rest of the world tries to throw at us."

"...You know Romeo and Juliet ended pretty badly for both of them-"

"I know! I was just trying to make a point, we're from aggressively rival groups and we're finding love anyway. Just... ignore the ending."

Grant chuckled. "Alright. So does this mean you're going to take a break with me?"

"Yes, it does. Come on, let's watch some terrible tv and eat the chocolate I keep in the bottom drawer of my desk for emergencies and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist."

Grant smiled, catching my chin before I could move away and pulling me back to him for a long, deep kiss. When we finally broke apart, I was breathing hard and grinning like an idiot at the man before me. I really, really loved him, even though when he finally spoke he said:

"Anything but Love Island."

"What! Grant, come on. We were almost done with the last season! We have to get caught up before the new one starts."

"No way. I'll watch anything but that."

"...Anything?"

He sighed. "This is gonna be a long night, isn't it?"

I just grinned at him. It was fun to give him a hard time, but at the end of the day, I was happy doing anything as long as I got to do it with him. And I knew he felt exactly the same way. We'd make it work, from picking a tv show tonight to whatever our futures might have in store for us after this.

*****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @songbirdcannabe @infinetlyforgotten @coinsublime @sagesmelts

If your blog is crossed out, it's because Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason

[bakathief]

I'm a little shy! But I would like to express my amazement and admiration! A while ago I found your Shadow Chase art, I loved it and became a fan, you create very funny stories and your art is beautiful, but that's not the point, I started following you because of that, but then I realized that you have many others projects and You are also very busy with your personal life. My question is how is everything organized and planned to advance a project despite academic/work responsibilities? I've seen that you even have collaborations with others and I keep thinking "this person is great." As a final note, I just want to leave my good wishes and hope you have a nice week. <3

Gosh, so many compliments in one ask, I‘m still a little loss for words. Thank you so much for reading my work and looking into my other projects, collabs and art! I hope you‘ve been enjoying them. ❤️ 

I think there is no denying that I need to organize myself a little bit to make everything work. I think I‘ve always used drawing, especially drawing comics, as a way to breathe and when I started uni I promised myself I would continue drawing somehow. The first semester was hell, but I finished all the way. 💪 And I had the same mindset for working, so when I started this year I was very motivated to draw. Lol I think it also helped that I had several different projects to work on so when I wasn’t in the mood for black and white I would move to something colorful. Comics also offer the possibility to work on different parts. Do I want to work on the story, on the storyboards, on the actual drawings or just editing…? A lot of options. And this is something which I heard on a video on AI but artist and creative people in general don‘t create in other to have more content but to get something out of their head and feel the satisfaction of creating a certain idea and I felt that very much. And then there is the joy of collabs and while there were unfortunately more failed attempts at collabs I’m very glad for those which eventually resulted in great projects. ❤️ I might have to take actual breaks from drawing when I get back to my thesis. I finished all the work but need to write the discussion part and wow, how much I don‘t wanna work on that. 

Currently I use my time on commutes for drawings digitally or making storyboards. In the evening I finish private stuff and when time is left I work on traditional art. Shadow Chase is the only project where I try to have an overview on how many pages I have done and want to finish before the next upload. Other works can usually go up once finished. When I create something for fan projects like zines, bigbangs, etc. I usually just try to finish said project right away. I don‘t like procrastinating (except my thesis I guess) and rather have stuff than can be finished done right away and focus on my other projects again.  Shades of Tourmaline was definitely my biggest collab project yet and with the amount of art planned it took like 3 years to finish because that was something I couldn‘t get done right away. 😂 fortunately clef was very patient with me (and kept me distracted with new collabs, oops). 

The short answer would be I try to draw as much as possible because it is just a lot of fun with the additional bonus of entertaining a few people. ❤️ 

[player1064]

If you're still doing prompts: I just saw the rooney pic set and the beckham with carra and just either of Carraville being a hot commodity? Other people having crushes or being into them? And maybe them being obvious because they only have eyes for each other or so? Or being possessive

alright lads I am BACK (the essay uh. dont even worry about it.) I've been distracted from drabbles with a) my beville wip which is getting. long. and b) making a gary character thesis statement video which is also getting. LONG.

Anyway I was gonna do a Gary half to this (w/ Stevie and Michael Owen) but it's already at like 1.2k words with just the Jamie ones so if anyone wants me to write the Gary half u will simply have to send more asks adksjfkjdasfsvdsa...

---

Wayne is young, and excited, and he’s scoring a lot of goals.

England is fantastic, it’s a break in the routine, a chance to play with new people. A chance to prove to the whole world that he’s the best there is, that there’s more to the buzz around him than just talk. And there’s so many United players in the squad, there’s no fear of feeling lost or out of his depth.

Except, the United players are all senior United players, that little gang of Phil, Butty, Scholesy, and of course their ringleader Gaz.

Gaz is great, but Wayne has to put up with him every day of his life and he’s not sure he can stomach spending his free time at England camp listening to his ranting when he could be doing literally anything else.

The first time he’d been called up he’d still been with Everton, and being the only player at the club to get in the squad he’d not known anyone when he got to training camp. The Liverpool lot – or rather, Jamie Carragher and his less enthusiastic mates – had adopted him, but now just a few months later everything is different, because now he plays for Manchester United.

It’s stupid, really. The club rivalry stuff. The ‘stick with your own teammates’ stuff. David Beckham doesn’t play for United anymore, but he’s still sat at their table every day, saying stuff that’s not even that funny but that makes Gaz do this stupid over the top laugh that Wayne never hears at any other time.

Gaz’ll have a go at him for it, but he’d rather go sit with Stevie and Carra.

They’re sat at a small table in the canteen, just the two of them and Mo. Except Carra’s not sitting next to Mo like he did last season, there’s no easy banter flowing between any of them. Wayne ignores the tension, or maybe he just doesn’t notice it, and he takes the long awaited opportunity to sit right next to Carra.

Gaz likes to complain about the Scousers, and about Carra in particular. He can’t stand him, thinks he’s after his position in the squad or something, like anyone would want to be a right-back. Last time they’d played Liverpool, Gaz had sat in the dressing room moaning about how Carra was a ‘pathetic little whiny bitch’ and how ‘he’s the most miserable looking footballer I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting’.

Wayne’s not sure where Gaz is getting that from, he’s always thought Carra was quite nice. Friendly, even.  And he smells nice, which is unrelated but feels like it’s worth mentioning.

Even now that Wayne’s at one of his club’s biggest rivals, he still gives him a little smile and an “alright, Wazza?”

There’s a little flutter in his chest, and he grins back. “hiya, Carra. How’s things in Liverpool?”

Carra squints at him. “Did Neville send you over to spy on us?”

*

David is under a lot of pressure.

This was meant to be his last tournament, one last chance for him to finally do it, and now he’s sat in the dugout and every newspaper in the world is asking what his job is meant to be, exactly. He’s not a coach, his latest injury ruled him out of the squad months ago, but he’s still here, and everyone is still watching.

It’s weird, to be away with England and not have Gary by his side. He’s in a hotel in South Africa and he should be going out, enjoying the fact that for once he doesn’t have to be fit to play, but instead he’s staring at the door wishing Gary would walk through and complain about something.

It’s probably not fair to say that he misses Gary (you’re the one who left, you prick), but well – he does miss Gary. He always misses Gary. It’s a world cup, he should be here.

If he’d known, four years ago – if he’d known. He’d’ve done better, tried harder. But what thirty year old thinks they’re at the end of their international career?

So he’s here, now. He’s not a player, not a coach, he’s just David Beckham. Apparently that’s enough. The squad is changing, shifting into something unrecognisable. The senior players don’t bother with the club rivalry thing so much anymore, there’s not enough of them from each club to really justify it. So at lunch he sits with Frank and JT and Gerrard. And Carragher, who’s not got enough caps to really be a senior player at England, but who’s too old now to count as anything else. He’s always around, anyway – sticks to Gerrard like his shadow.

And sometimes – sometimes, David finds himself looking.

He’s all alone out here. He’s under a lot of pressure.

It’s been years, since he’s done anything like that. Four years, in fact. And it’s not that he’s just substituting one defender for another, but he sees a lot of Gary in Jamie. Always cross about something, always moaning. Always pushing himself in training as hard as he possibly can, always pushing the others to do the same.

And he’s not bad to look at, either. Though David’s not sure if that’s a point in his favour or not, he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for the awkward, ugly ones. Or maybe just for that one specific awkward ugly one.

He’s not quite sure how to broach the subject, spends a few days agonising over it before deciding to just get on with it and go knock on the man’s door.

Carragher squints at him when he opens the door. “Does the manager need me for somethin’?” he asks cautiously, like maybe he’s not sure what David’s job is meant to be either.

“Nothing like that, just wondered if we could talk.”

Carragher doesn’t respond, just crosses his arms and waits for David to talk.

“Um, I was thinking more like – in your room?” he says, trying to load as much meaning as he can into the words since Carragher seems a bit slow on the uptake.

Carragher waves him in and he walks ahead to sit on the end of the bed.

“If this is about that fight I had with your mate a few weeks ago, he’s the one who fuckin’ started it.”

“I – what?”

David’s not quite sure when Jamie would have had opportunity to fight any of his mates, or even which mate he might mean – they don’t exactly run in the same circles.

“I swear, he’s always in the referee’s ear, mouthy cunt.”

Ah. Gary.

He wonders when the last time United played Liverpool was. He wonders when the last time was that he asked Gary how a game went.

“We have nothing to do with the referees,” he says automatically, before remembering that he’s not really part of the we anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

“Yeah, yeah. Well tell your little boyfriend that if he still ‘as a problem he can say it to my face, but it was his man who dived, not mine.”

“That wasn’t why I – you know what, never mind.”

[slytherinshua]

LETTERBOY

genre. fluff. subtly vintage/older time period. college au. ft. minji and hanni of newjeans. warnings. kissing. i wrote this on an airplane and its not proofread lmao. pairing. riwoo x fem!reader. wc. 1.7k. a/n. this fics marks at least one fic for every member of bnd!!

You could only think of one word to describe Riwoo. Adorable. With his blue messenger bag that he was always clutching as if it was his emotional support. The way his cheeks flushed whenever you threw him a compliment or the little smile that never left his face after you accepted a cup of his homemade sweet tea. And, of course, his catlike eyes that went wide whenever he was embarrassed. Everything about the boy was absolutely adorable.

You were one of the top students at Hana’s Academy for Girls and the only reason you even knew Riwoo was because he delivered the mail. You got a lot of mail, most of which you didn’t even bother to open. Job offers and special apprenticeships were the contents of most of the letters— the thought of which bored you to death.

There was always at least 1 letter that you looked forward to in the batch, though. It was usually a faded blue colour and sealed with a simple and old fashioned wax seal. Inside were messages from a secret admirer. 

Well, it would be secret if you hadn’t figured out exactly who was writing the letters a couple months in. Riwoo had a charming way with words, you couldn’t deny that. Everyday there was a new letter you found yourself falling deeper and deeper for the boy.

Due to your advanced classes and strict curfew, you didn’t have much time to go out and have fun like the other girls. You had 3 extra honours classes on top of your regular ones, and while the rest of your roommates went shopping or out on blind dates, you stayed in the library writing your thesis.

You were distracted amongst your notes of the lectures you had attended and some resources of studies by renowned professors when you heard an unmistakable rhythm of knocking on your table. You glanced up, already expecting the faces of Minji and Hanni. They had just gotten back from dress shopping downtown. 

“I’m a bit busy right now.” You mumbled out, flipping to the next page of your textbook.

“Y/n you need to see the dresses we found! They’re perfect for the upcoming dance!!” Hanni said excitedly. Both girls were used to your disinterest in events or dressing up since you were so focused on your studies, but they knew you were still listening to what they were saying even though you were writing on your paper.

“I found a yellow summer dress that will go perfectly with the heels my aunt sent me last month-” Minji continued.

“But when we were looking in the store, the yellow dress came in matching colours. We couldn’t just get the yellow one, so we ended up getting all 3. I’m going to wear the pink one. Y/n you have to wear the blue one to the dance— we’ll all be matching!” Hanni insisted. Minji had walked over to the window, peering out of the glass. The sky was darkening as it got later.

You sighed and placed your pencil on top of your open notebook, “I’m not going to the dance, I don’t have a date.” 

“We can find you a date-”

“Speaking of dates, I think your letter-boy is here.” Minji interrupted with a teasing tone, pointing to the window. You froze, attempting to stretch your neck to see out the window from your seat, but it was too far away.

Minji opened the window a crack, “Hey!! Mail boy!” Minji shouted. Riwoo looked up, eventually spotting the open window. “I’ll send her down, there’s still 4 hours before curfew! Take her somewhere nice, she hasn’t eaten dinner yet!” All this was said with a sneaky wink from the girl and your jaw fell open a bit.

Riwoo flushed and then shouted back, “A-alright!”

Once you were certain the window had been shut again, you panicked. “I don’t have anything to wear, why would you ask him to go out to dinner with me?!” 

“You can borrow one of my dresses. We’ll make sure you look like the prettiest girl in South Korea before he sees you.” Hanni assured. 

6 minutes later they had shoved you back into the dorm room, picked a simple pink dress from Hanni’s closet and fixed your messy hair. Minji somehow managed to do your makeup in less than a minute, and by the end of it, you actually looked quite pretty.

“If you don’t ask him to be your date for the dance, then I’ll ask him to be your date for you and say you were too embarrassed to do it.” Minji warned, pushing you out the door. Hanni and Minji exchanged a gleeful high-five at finally getting you to step out of the dorms, that too with a boy.

The air was chilly. That was the first thing you noticed as you walked down the steps of the dorm. It was a pleasant chill, though, and the air smelled fresh. The library felt stuffy in comparison to the cool breeze you felt on your skin.

Riwoo sat at the bottom of the stairs in a brown jacket that you hadn’t seen on him before. He turned at the sound of your footsteps and stood up, a shy smile gracing his face.

“Did you get a new jacket?” You asked, slipping your hand into his.

“My grandpa got it for me after my old one got too weatherworn.” He said with pink cheeks.

“It looks nice on you.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze since you could tell he was nervous. I’m nervous too, it’s okay. It seemed like he got your message, though his cheeks turned a shade brighter at your compliment.

“I hope you’re okay with soup bread bowls?” Riwoo asked anxiously.

You smiled, “That sounds delicious.”

“I know the grandma that owns a soup shop near here. Her chowders are the best I’ve ever tried.”

The night was all stolen glances and contagious smiles, all because you were with him. Riwoo didn’t lie about the soup being good. You chose a slightly spicy tomato stew in a fresh bread bowl and it was one of the best dinners you had ever had.

After dinner you walked around the streets hand in hand, talking about whatever came to mind. You hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time with Riwoo in the past. Most of your interactions didn’t last more than 20 minutes. He always had more mail to deliver and you had classes to catch.

But all those usual obligations were the last thing on either of your minds. For once, you were living in the moment. You weren’t thinking about your future or any upcoming exams or presentations. You weren’t thinking about all the times you had messed up in the past and what could have been had the circumstances been different.

No, the only thing on your mind was Riwoo. You focused on how his hand felt holding yours, the smile that was on his face (though it had never left from the moment he saw you), the warm butterflies in your stomach and your racing heart.

He was animatedly telling you about the pet kittens he had adopted when he was little; a small black one named Charcoal and a grumpy orange tabby called Persimmon. Everyone in his family had adored Charcoal for his clingy and loving personality, but Riwoo had personally taken care of Persimmon and had developed a close bond to her.

“I always wanted a cat, but the dorm won’t allow pets.” 

“They’re all grown up now, but maybe sometime I can show you Persimmon and Charcoal. They’d like you.”

“I’d love to meet them.” You replied, and then shivered. The night was even chillier as it got later.

“Oh- here.” Like the gentleman he was, Riwoo swiftly slid off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You mumbled a small thank you, feeling flustered.

There was a silence and neither of you knew what to say. You suddenly remembered Minji’s threat earlier. You had to ask Riwoo to be your partner for the dance.

“Would-“

“Y/n-“

Riwoo laughed and motioned for you to go first.

“There’s a dance coming up at the dormitory. It’s a special event cause the girls fought for it so hard. I don’t have a date to it, so I was wondering if-“

“Yes. I’d love to.” He cut you off, knowing you were stalling out of awkwardness. 

“What were you going to say?” You asked.

“Well, it was less saying…” He mumbled, cheeks burning.

“Huh?” 

“Run away if you don’t want me to.” He stalled, fiddling with his fingers. His eyes went back and forth on your face. Lips, eyes, lips, eyes.

You nodded, giving him the last bit of courage he needed to finally press his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet and soft, but mostly it was way too short.

Riwoo frowned, “That wasn’t…” 

“Enough?” You offered.

“Yeah.” He breathed out.

You laughed, hand cupping his cheek because he was so damn cute. You kissed him again, and then again, and even more after that until you were both satisfied.

“What will you wear to the dance?” Riwoo asked, lying down with his head in your lap, your hand gently playing with his hair. It was dark and only a streetlight illuminated the park.

“Apparently Minji and Hanni found cute dresses. Mine’s blue. What about you?”

“I’ll borrow my dad’s suit. I don’t have anything better. I hope it’s okay.”

“You look amazing in anything, don’t worry.” You kissed his forehead.

“When is your curfew…?” Riwoo asked suddenly. Your heart dropped.

“10 pm. What time is it now?”

“10:30.”

“Shit.”

Riwoo chuckled at your hushed swear and sat up.

“I’ll walk you back.” He offered out his hand and you grinned, lacing your fingers with his.

“Will I still get letters from the mysterious ‘R’?” You asked, swinging your arm back and forth.

“You knew?”

“Wasn’t that hard to figure out, sweetheart.”

He flushed at the nickname and nodded, “W-we’re here.”

“So we are. Saturday at 5 pm, okay? Don’t be late or I’ll break up with you.”

“I won’t.” He assured you and you smiled.

“Thank you for the soup and everything.” You kissed him one more time before scurrying up the stairs, leaving him with a thumping heart and giddy smile.

↳ boynextdoor taglist: @rizzshimura,, @captivq,, @icyminghao,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @metalchick529,, @schmocolateschmchip,, @kpoprhia

[lixenn]

Crochet corner

I'm back with my yarn babbling again, this time because I want to distract myself from thesis writing OTL

My current scarf project is still ongoing and I left it at home so I can't show any progress pictures since I'm in my dorm again (and I forgot to take some when I was still at my parents place), so I will talk about my past projects.

And when I say past, I mean past, as in I will go back to my crochet roots. You're getting my fiber artist history hot off the keyboard folks, so strap in and enjoy the ride.

Back to the beginnings

My crochet journey started way back in primary school, where tiny baby Lix made a small square creature in craft class. Basically we crocheted a square (easily done with single crochets, can be achieved by tiny people) folded it in half, sewed together the edges, stuffed it with cotton fluff stuff and sewed it shut. Put on some eyes, a nose and mouth plus fake fur as hair and hurray you made a square creature! I actually kept that thing for years, it was chilling on our radiator like a wonky guardian until it eventually got lost or thrown out (I can't remember which). I remember that the stitches were surpisingly neat for my age, which past Lix apparently couldn't replicate for years. Primary school me had talent... (unfortunately I don't have a picture of the wonky square creature or I would have showed you guys)

Deco for the win

While I did try once or twice to get back into crocheting again it never really worked out until! My mum found this website: Drops-Design. A German (?) website for knitting and crochet patterns (and lots of other stuff). She showed me some cute cupcake and coffe cup coasters and asked if I could make them. Past Lix - like current Lix - was filled with false confidence and answered with: "Yeah, sure I can try." So, my mum ordered the yarn over the website and my crochet adventures started from anew.

Fortunately for my sanity the patterns my mum asked for had video tutorials attached, otherwise I would have been utterly fucked, since I have never read a crochet pattern in my life. With the help of the video, the coasters were relatively easy to make even when I was confronted with unknown stitches and multiple colour changes. The end result didn't look nearly as nice as what the website showed but for my first few tries I was satisfied.

Once again I have no pictures available but if you want to take a look at the pattern it's here. There you can also see the finished product.

From this point onwards I started going nuts with making deco shit. All differnt kind of flowers, stars, snowflakes and bunnies. That site opened the crochet door for me and I was happy as a clam.

Granny square madness

However, times were changing once again, when my dear friend got me some yarn for Christmas.

200 g of yarn.

With colour transition.

I only ever used solid coloured yarn before and was at a loss of what to do with this gift.

And what else to do when lost in the yarn world, then look at youtube for help. Spoiler: Youtube helped tremendously as it introduced me to the glorious invention that is granny squares.

Granny squares are fun shit, they come in all kinds of different patterns and colours and you can make lots of things with them. I watched a simple tutorial on youtube and got hooked. I used my friends gift to make granny squares only to be confronted with another dilemma: What to do with those granny squares? I got max 20 squares out of these 200 g and let me tell you my dudes, that's nothing for a bigger project.

So I simply went absolutely batshit crazy, for I decided to make a patchwork granny square blanket.

Please let me remind you people that before this lapse of judgement I only worked on small projects aka things that I made in one day tops.

Once again I follow my motto: Go big or go home and ohhh boy did I go big. I went gigantic and here is proof:

That badboy is the definition of patchwork because it's made up out of FOUR different types of yarn, since I have run out of yarn SO MANY TIMES IT WAS RIDICULOUS! I needed to rebuy yarn at least five times, I was going insane. This project took me over half a year if not longer and weaving in the ends- *shudders* horrible, dreadful, hated every minute of it.

But I like the finished product, it's now chilling on my coach at my parents place, not really used all that often but still pretty.

I didn't stop with the granny squares after that clusterfuck though. Nooooooo sire~ I made a shitton of other granny square projects since I like to suffer (none of them as big as my blanket however, thank the outer gods).

Well, I certainly rambled enough for one post, I will be back with other projects in the future!

Toodles~

[hasanthehung]

The Meeting

It was late.

My eyes strained at the computer screen after the word-count completed. 70,000 words. "Only 50,000 more to go" I sighed. I removed my glasses, stretched my now permanently arched back and raised my hands above my head, letting them fall limp by my side, before standing up for the first time in hours.

I was in my final years of a Political Science PHD at Princeton. It was tough going - you just had to take a glance at my tiny apartment, the curtains constantly drawn to limit the presence of the outside world, the stacks of books and piles of paper strewn on any available surface and the boxes of take-out tentatively placed in the kitchen sink to guess.

Writing this damned thesis was just the tip of the iceberg. As a PHD candidate I had lectures to give, as well as being an advisor to 3 undergrads who were more interested in extra-curriculars than in anything the oppressed PHD students could offer them. I couldn't blame them -Christ, I had BEEN them just a few years ago. Those long-gone days of waking up with a constant hangover, arriving late to lectures and usually sleeping through them had been the key to the student bodies morale, after all.

I checked my phone. 4:35 AM. Shit.

I had a meeting at 9 AM with a new undergrad I would be advising, but wasn't too bothered about it. Knowing how these advisory sessions usually went, this student would turn up late and only because they had to, with nothing prepared and probably concealing a hangover.

I needed to sleep. Like, now.

The phone buzzed. 8:45 AM. Shit.

I leapt out of bed, quickly showered and dressed in my usual fit; an oversized black hoodie, baggy jeans and baseball cap - The hood pulled up over the cap to hide my identity from the faculty or any other passers by that would - for the billionth time - ask with the best of intentions, "How's the PHD going?"- That dreaded question again.

I jumped on my bike and landed outside the PolSci building late. I ran up the steps, through the corridor and swung the door open to find, with true astonishment, the student actually sitting patiently at my desk, his head bent, scrolling on his phone.

"Hi, sorry I'm late"

"Oh hey, uh," He stood up and turned towards me, quickly parking his phone in his back pocket.

"No problem, uh, I'm Hasan, nice to meet you"

I was immediately worried.

Why? Because this guy was so freakin hot. He was tall enough to play for the NBA, broad enough to play for the NFA and the way he played with his short dark hair nervously as he waited for my response was adorable.

I didn't need any more distraction in my life. I had 2 years to finish this PHD, for Christs' sake.

It took a moment for me to come to my senses. I pulled my rucksack from my shoulder and approached him, offering my hand.

Those eyes.

"Intense" was the word I'd landed on. Dark and brooding.

And on closer inspection, he was much older than the usual undergrads were- He looked like he was my age- in his 30's, at least.

"Hey Hasan, I'm your advisor. I haven't seen you around, you've just arrived at Princeton?"

"Uh, yea uhm...I've got a degree in Political Science and was hoping to do a PHD here, I was told you could help me get the lay of the land?"

"Oh, of course!"

I obviously hadn't prepped for this meeting at all, as I never do- the students usually don't give a crap.

Much later on, I'd check my emails to realise this meeting was supposed to be an overview of the PolSci faculty, a de-briefing of what to expect as a candidate, and that this potential student was one of the top political commentators in the U.S.

This was all news to me. Especially the part were the man standing in front of me was famous and a major player in shaping the minds of millions politically.

PHD students are known to be "out of the loop" in general. We're too busy to keep up with the culture. But man, did it ever make sense.

This guy was made for the worlds eyes to look at him, and as he continued to speak, with his precise and deliberate choice of words, not to mention his deep beautiful voice, was made for millions to listen to.

Realising that this wasn't the usual boring check-in with an undergrad, I began;

"Well, in that case, lets get out of here. I'll take you on a tour of the campus and I know a great place for coffee that's empty around now, and to be honest, I need one. That cool?"

"Uh..totally, thanks"

After playing tour guide for less that 15 minutes, it became clear that this wasn't the usual prospective PHD student. Every undergrad that passed by took a double take, their eyes widening in disbelief and I could hear them whisper his name to eachother;

"Hasan! it's HasanAbi!"

"No, it not!"

"Dude, it freaking IS Hasan!!"

Hasan noticed this, too. He pulled a cap out of his back pocket and fished a pair of sunglasses out of his boldly coloured shirt pocket, pulling the collar up over his chiselled jaw and bending his head low. Not that it helped much - he towered above everyone in the vicinity.

"Wow, people seem to know you. Are you famous or something?" I asked.

"You could say that, I guess. In certain circles."

He shifted his feet uncomfortably and spent a little too long fixing the position of his cap over his dark locks. I knew not to press further. He obviously didn't want to get into the details just then.

"... Do you want to get out of here?"

"That would be great, thank you"

"Well there's my place, It's just up ahead, if you don't mind the mess? You'll get an honest idea of what your life will look like if you choose to take on a PHD, at least."

He smiled and lifted his head a little, relaxing. "I spend a lot of my time inside as it is, it'll feel just like home" He said.

We arrived at the run-down apartment block and as I fumbled with my keys, I could feel him standing behind me, waiting for some privacy. There was a heat... An electricity that seemed to buzz between him and I...Or was I just imagining it?

He switched position to lean his broad shoulders against the wall beside me as he waited, he seemed to be checking me out, cocking his head to the side and tipping his sunglasses down a little, watching me with a smirk on his face.

"Here, let me take your bag for you" He offered.

He moved closer to me, gently touching my arm as he took the strap of my rucksack and swung it effortlessly over his shoulder.

Was it me, or did his large warm hand linger a little too long on my body? I could feel my arm tingle as if my body knew before I did that something magical was happening.

He didn't move away. He stood behind me again, one hand holding the strap of the rucksack on his shoulder, the other hand reaching over my shoulder and landing on the wall in front of me, supporting himself. His breath touched the back of my neck, making me shiver. I imagined in that moment him enveloping me between those strong shoulders, feeling his breath all over my body.

The door opened and we entered. I was trembling. Trembling because of what had just happened, and also in anticipation of what could happen.

Now it was my turn to feel nervous. I didn't know who this guy was, but he was obviously famous, he probably owned some giant mansion somewhere in a tax haven, and now he had to sit in my little shitty studio apartment.

I mumbled something like "eh..just move those papers and take a seat, drop them anywhere."

The apartment was dark - as usual I had neglected to open the curtains. I quickly turned on the two lamps I possessed, then moved to the window and began to open them, suddenly his hand landed on top of mine and he said "I prefer it dark."

I couldn't speak, let alone turn around. His hand lingered on mine, then slowly moved downwards to my wrist. He grasped my wrist and swung me around to face him. Our eyes locked. Those intense, dark, brooding eyes. He smiled, then let my wrist go and bent his head, stepping away, embarrassed.

He began to move around my apartment, taking it in in the dim light cast by the lamps. He took off his cap and tousled his hair, his gaze landing on the many political posters I had precariously plastered on every available wall - all of my heroes were represented - Chomsky, Finkelstein, Reich, along with my favourite slogans "Tax the Rich" and "Capitalism is Voluntary".

He laughed.

"Your a Socialist?"

I didn't know how to take this. He was obviously famous, so obviously rich. If he was a political scientist, his views probably landed more to the right, I assumed. Most likely a talking head on Fox News and a Trumpian, at that.

"So what if I am?" I affronted.

All at once, his demeanor changed. He looked at me from across the room, a desire in his dark eyes that startled me. He began to peruse the many piles of books that scattered the floor of the apartment. He picked one up then sat down on the couch, thumbing through the heavily ear-marked and highlighted pages.

"Michael Albert is a hero of mine..." He was holding Parecon, my most cherished text.

I didn't think I could be more surprised by this man.

"You've read it? It's not on any degree-level reading list I know of..."

He lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch, tilted his head to the side, biting his lower lip. He moved his eyes from mine, to my mouth, to the curves and edges of my body, and didn't say a word.

I had never felt more vulnerable in my life.

He looked shy all of a sudden. He let my copy of Parecon fall to the seat, stood up and moved towards me.

"I...I'm a socialist too." He whispered. His voice had such an effect on me. It lulled me into a state of total desire.

He stood in front of me, his eyes filled with dark passion, but seemed unsure of himself.

"I...I'm a little..." He muddled, but never finished. His shoulders slumped, he looked away for a moment, his head lowered, defeated. Then, in a moment of hope, perhaps, looked into my eyes again, through the mass of black hair that had fallen over them.

I moved closer to him. The heat wasn't imagined.

His breath grew heavy. He pulled me into his arms, he bent his head and devoured by neck, ripping open my hoodie. I felt his hands moving down my back, edging me closer to him. I folded my arms around his neck after working my hands through his dark locks, our mouths saying everything we couldn't.

It happened right there on the floor, in between the piles of books in the dim lamp light, with Chomsky, Finkelstein and Reich watching over us.

Later, when he had left, I opened my laptop. I typed his name gingerly into the search engine. Maybe he made it all up to get an easy lay. Maybe he was another centrist cog in the machine. Who reads Parecon these days, anyway?

Maybe he had been lying.

He hadn't.

[broadwaybalogna]

Zutara Last Five Years AU (pt. 9)

Read part 8 here

-

Katara was back at the meeting room, surrounded by advisors and cabinet members appointed by Zuko.

Katara finally felt like she was making progress.

She would wake up every morning at six; the same time as Zuko, and plan out her theses. Before even entering the meeting room, she would have to wait for hours before her appointed time. Since she was the person advocating for a cause, she had to wait to meet with the cabinet like every other person visiting the palace.

There were dozens of men and women waiting around the meeting rooms. Most would be waiting for hours. Katara had only arrived five minutes before she was to speak. She looked around the main hallway at the different people before her, dresses in formal attire much like hers and drinking tea, wine, or other alcoholic beverages to help sooth their anxiety. Katara grabbed a small cup of tea. Perhaps she would also advocate for better scheduled meetings in the future.

She watched a few men and women enter and leave an assortment of different rooms until she is finally asked to enter one of the larger rooms.

As she walks in, she takes note that there are only men sitting in the circular table in front of her. She takes a deep breath and greets the men, thanking them for allowing her the time of day to speak her concerns.

She didn’t truly have gratitude for them. She had hoped that when she married Zuko, she would be best able to mend fire nation ties with both water tribes. Alas, Zuko needed to prove to his nation that he took no bias in his decisions and would leave many up to her own cabinet. Katara was upset that no one of water tribe decent wished to join his cabinet, not even Sokka, who instead insisted on living with Suki on Kiyoshi island.

Katara knew she was selfish for assuming such things. She would stand with Zuko no matter his decision and understood him on all grounds. And Sokka was married, she would never force him to give up his happiness for the sake of politics.

She begins her speech from memory, telling the story of the fire nation and water tribes and how they used to be close, trading often and happily accepting tourists.

Katara feels a tickle in the back of her throat itching to be let out. She holds it in as she continues to speak, a slight rasp coming from her vocals. At one point, she stumbles over her words and internally slaps herself. She needs to be perfect if she wants them to consider her policies.

She looks over at some of the various men to see few writing down notes. She turns to another man who is looking down at his pants. Why was he doing that? There was another man staring directly at her face. She the internally criticized her lack of makeup capabilities.

Why did she pick this makeup? Why did she pick this thesis? Why did she decide to engage in politics? Why—

If all goes to plan and she gets out on time maybe she can go shopping with Toph, it would be nice to spend some time with her, though she would still prefer to spend her afternoon with her fiancé. Zuko needs time to speak with his cabinet too, however, and Katara would never intrude on his personal time. Since she’s very clearly a horrible, annoying distraction to him. Tui and La, what will he be like when they have kids?

Why is she speaking so passionately? These men couldn’t care less if she cared about the water tribes. They didn’t personally see the Fire Lords fiancé as someone with any true power until she was Fire Lady. Agni, she’s terrible.

Then finally, she finishes, and the men tell her they will consider her proposal, just like they always do.

Katara walks out of the room and then out of the castle.

Katara will not be the girl that is just Fire Lady to carry the Lord’s child. She will not be the girl in the sensible shoes, pushing to be heard by her husband and missing any clues about their relationship he might be giving her. And she will not be the girl who gets asked how it feels to be waking beside ‘the best Fire Lord the nation has ever seen’. She will not be the woman who requires a man to get by in life.

-

The next day, she prepares her next thesis.

[nerice]

////////////////////

maybe if i had started strength training earlier, but i was in so much pain. maybe if i had quit my job earlier, but i needed money for the japan trip i didn't wanna go on anymore and that only made me worse. maybe if my first physio hadn't just slapped tape on it, the painfree-ness of which only made me overextend. maybe if the first doc had not told me work couldn't possibly be the cause, after i explicitly asked. if i had not walked around with tendonitis for a month, but atrocious wait times for all docs that are not gp. if i had just seen any doc... but i got covid and it was xmas holiday season. if i hadn't overplayed hades and nuked my wrist, but the underlying issue was alrdy there. maybe if i hadn't been addicted to genshin, but i was coping with thesis. if i had not given myself a heart issue if i had not tried to medicate my adhd if i had not sought a diagnosis if i had never tried to ask for help it goes back and back and back rows of docs recommending me down the line to Someone Who Can Definitely Help and was even more incompetent, did not listen to me, thesis looming, shit job but money is nice, yes there was a pandemic but that was the least of it for me. if i had quit the first time i was in pain, years and years before, but coworker friends. if i had distanced myself, suffering, suffering, social situations i don't wanna be part of that distract me that i cannot be trusted with i'd rather be writing and drawing but i have friends now i have social obligations i want no part of this is all too complicated. if i had never....... but i wanted to play dnd. i should never have. if there hadn't been a pandemic the dynamic would have been different. if my last term paper had not made me seek out adhd assessment, starting this whole damn rodeo. it is january 2, 2019 and ive just come back from a three month study trip in japan. i was in love with a married woman. i was fluent in a language i adore. i was getting into dnd in a theoretical sense, baby hyperfixation. i was burned out, then. 2018 was the high point of my life, 50k a week, screenplay madness, finishing my japanese minor, going to japan, a dream come true............ 25k for nano in a couple of days. and then the homestay situation, the [friend drama to this day i still don't understand (autistic, a thruline)] losing it spiraling not writing anymore and it hurts me but im high on japan!! [redacted] was the most beautiful woman i ever saw and she kept smiling at me, my game designer buddy who was so easy to talk to. the high points. the hikone date. we could have pulled through. january 2, 2019. i should have taken what happened as indicator that i am fundamentally not meant for (irl) friendships, i should have distanced myself and focused on what i love and my studies. instead i pulled together an irl friend group, i pulled together a dnd party, i utena swordpull'd myself. good job, idiot

[ineffableword]

Hi hi!

For the lovely good omens ask game :D

Queen ~ turtleneck ~ fly ~ bathtub

hello ❤️

thank you for distracting me from not being able to get into writing a fic, it's a nice break!

Queen - top 5 favorite bands/artists

it's always a difficult question for me because i usually find myself more drawn to songs than everything from the artists! but looking through what i've been listening to most often lately, i'd say it's måneskin, aurora, scene queen, the wombats and froukje (who really surprised my, because i was simply looking for something in dutch to practice my skills but i do enjoy her quite a bit)

turtleneck - show us (or draw) your hottest outfit

can't draw and most of my photos are sadly not really showing much of my outfits but i can show y'all that time i randomly went for emo clown aesthetic on accident lol

fly - tell us a secret. shh it's okay we won't tell anyone (except all of tumblr)

alright, so how much do i want to embarass myself?

i didn't realize i had a hazelnut allergy for, uh, let's just say way more than 20 years of my life. i just thought it was normal for them to burn your throat as you eat??

i'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, alright

bathtub - if you could get away with murder only once, would you use that chance to take out someone? who?

oh, there are too many candidates

(kidding)

(mostly)

no, probably i'd go for someone really terrible, like my aunt's extremely abusive ex?

the /funny/ answer is my promotor so i wouldn't have to finish my masters thesis 👀

or i'd just love to kill my adhd. it's a true asshole.

if you'd like to distract me as well, my askbox is always open!

[hikennosabo]

trimax volume 6 random thoughts

chapter 1:

oh, hey, it's the guy from the 98 anime!..... or not?!

i'm not keeping track of this TOO closely, so there may be other instances of this that i missed, but the guy from 98 episode 1 also showed up in trimax chapter 7. it makes me wonder if nightow provided character designs/ideas to the 98 team, or if it's the other way around and he decided to incorporate anime-original characters into the manga. either way: neat!

HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE MERYL, BY THE WAY.

i love the bits of characterization we've been getting for her. she (and milly) are our tie to humanity, after all

i must say it is nice to have a goofy fight after... all that in volume 5. and before... the rest of volume 6.

chapter 2:

aaaand now we start the next chapter with wolfwood's nightmare/flashback! hurts just a little bit! (the trio IS kinda serving tho ngl... when you have a fashion show at 7 but need to terrorize the orphanage at 6)

^ completely and 100% unironically, they were in love here.

i just... ugh. this is such a vashwood chapter. the absolute trust and fighting together completely seamlessly, they are just. ugh. ughhhhh. this kind of trust just GETS to me.... sorry. i'm normal about them. i'm NORMALLLLLLaauughghghgh

ANYWAY. chekhov's table made me laugh

i am physically restraining myself from going crazy over vw again as i reread this chapter to write this post.

anyway anyway. ww calling himself "nicholas" is cute :)

just kidding one more vw comment as a treat

HE'S SO IN LOVE. FUUUUUCK.

chapter 3:

legato continues to be fascinating to me. i'm observing him like a bug in a jar. which is appropriate, considering...

WHEN I CALLED HIM A BAGWORM IN THAT ONE POST I WAS JOKINGGGGG I WAS JOKING!!! THIS MADE ME LAUGH FOR LIKE 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT WHY DID SHE HANG HIM FROM THE CEILINGGGG IT'S SO FUNNY

this is actually making me fucking cry.

...i got so distracted laughing at bagworm legato that i almost forgot to say literally anything else about the chapter, but anything else i have to say mostly boils down to "wow, legato is such a freak (affectionate)"

also, whenever something that was in tristamp is brought up i feel like the leonardo dicaprio pointing meme. like "oh hey, i know this!" going into this manga with prior knowledge from stampede is... an interesting experience. all that being said, i can't WAIT to see more of the manga version of double fang. oh nightow we're really in it now

chapter 4:

oh, finally, FINALLY!!! last volume i asked where the knives nuance was and now we're FINALLY getting some knuance, thank god. seeing knives react to just how badly humans treat plants is SO effective. and we're not even up to the juicy part yet. it makes me want to eat glass.

speaking of eating glass.

i thought something like this might've been the case, but still... this hurts to read.

i want to eat glass!!!! fuck!!! this reveal is so insane, it's like monkey's paw of "this is a way knives can be defeated, but by the same method, vash is closer to death than knives is." WE don't want vash to die, and neither does knives, and this chapter is the first (and possibly the only, idk) time the reader's feelings and knives's feelings are... well, aligned. at least in a sense.

chapter 5:

this chapter is really something, because it starts off almost seeming like another lighthearted "we're in a random town fighting a goofy enemy of the month" romp much like the early chapters were, heck like chapter 1 of this very volume. but it's just wearing the skin of that. which is, y'know. the thesis of this entire chapter. smiling to hide the pain and all that.

i don't think i can really... articulate anything of substance. the chapter just kind of... speaks for itself, i think.

although i DID laugh at ww trying to enjoy his noodles and failing, and also the phrase "needle-noggin-isms." thanks for providing some levity, we actually really do need it.

chapter 6:

ohhh boy we are REALLY in it now!!

i enjoy seeing knives ponder like this. legs crossed, arm slung over his face... i don't know. maybe it's because i myself sometimes lounge in this pose.

what exactly is he thinking about, i wonder. that in awakening/forcing vash to use his powers, he unintentionally pushed him closer to death? maybe? i don't know. either way it's very on-the-nose for what their relationship has been like.

and then of course we cut to this shot of vash, looking in a mirror created by knives's slice

this shot is making me think a lot and i'm reading too much into it, but- obviously the reflection puts vash's beauty mark on the opposite side, so there's the knives resemblance, so also, i suppose vash must see knives every time he looks in the mirror, right? also vash looking at his reflection featuring his own black hair- which we're all still thinking about... i dont know. i dont even know if this is anything LOL. i feel like i have the dots but i'm failing to articulate the connection. anyway

this made me laugh. thanks for the levity again, wolfwood :)

BECAUSE WE'RE GONNA NEED ALL THE COMIC RELIEF WE CAN GET, BABY!!!

maybe i'm just insane for this because it's Generic Party Imagery but the specific combination of rem flashback + party popper + funny glasses makes me think of the similar scene in 98 when the seeds crew celebrates finding planet gunsmoke. like is this another instance of nightow nabbing stuff from 98 or am i just making things up.

the twins are so cute and baby knives smiles so much, i want to microwave myself.

knives wants to believe in humanity. man. MAN!!!!!

what comes next... i'm absolutely carrying my prior stampede knowledge into this, but fuck, man. fuck. even then, i know that stampede didn't show everything, so i don't even fully know what to expect. which is fun! but i can't believe the volume ends right in the middle of the flashback, MAN!!!