#and she equates good grades with good behavior and when i don’t live up to her standards it’s seen as misbehaving and she will scream at me

[johnhardinsawyer]

Be Good

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

7 / 10 / 22

Deuteronomy 30:9-14

Luke 10:25-37

“Be Good”

(Living the Law of Love)

“Be good.”  “Be.  Good.”  I don’t know how often these two words have been said to you over the years, but they do carry some expectation with them – you know, that someone wants us to actually “be good.” “Be good,” you may have heard, going to visit grandparents or elderly relatives.  “Be on your best behavior, be respectful, and polite, and don’t jump on the furniture, and don’t spill anything on anything, and don’t touch anything or breathe on anything either.”  “Be good,” you may have heard from parents, or teachers, or supervisors, or other folks who expected good things from you.  “Be a good student, be good at your job, be good at sports, or at the piano, or at cooking, or at working differential equations, or teaching, or surgery, or whatever.”

“Be good.”  These two words carry a lot of weight, don’t they?  There’s a lot of pressure to be good, isn’t there?  And for good reason, too!  If we’re good, then we will be rewarded, right?  We’ll excel in life and our careers, we might even make a little more money.  At the very least, we might just stay out of trouble.  

It can be so hard to “be good,” though.  Sometimes, we just don’t measure up, no matter how hard we try.  And sometimes, being bad just feels good.  

I might have told this story before, but I can remember walking down the hall in fifth grade, headed toward my classroom.  One of my classmates – a girl – had been sent out of the room for not being good and she was waiting in the hallway – leaning against the wall right under one of those red fire alarm switches.  As she leaned there, she lifted her arm and her hand touched the switch.  I don’t know if I’m remembering this clearly or not, but in my imagination, I can almost see the girl’s mind working in the moment:  “Hmmm. . . this switch feels kind of nice.  I wonder if it actually pulls down.  I know I’m not supposed to, but. . .  I wonder what it would feel like if. . .”  The girl locked eyes with me.  And, staring right at me, she slid slowly down the wall, pulling the alarm and causing an unofficial fire drill.  It was not good.  She was not good.  Maybe I was not good for not trying to stop her.  But it was kind of cool, in the moment – an act of unparalleled fifth grade rebellion.  I wonder whatever happened to that girl. . .  She may have run for Congress.

There is a key component of our own Reformed theology in the Presbyterian Church about being good.  Basically, according to the way that the early Reformers like John Calvin and John Knox interpreted the scriptures, there is no way for human beings to be good – at least, not on our own.  Instead, we human beings have fallen victim to “total depravity.”  Basically, ever since the Fall of Adam and Eve, human beings are subject to “a radical corruption or depravation of our whole nature, so that apart from [Jesus] Christ we can do nothing whatever pleasing to God.”[1]  Now, whether or not you buy this line of thinking or not from Calvin and Knox, I wonder if you might agree that there are times when we want to be good so badly but we’re bad at choosing to be good.  Sometimes, this is just the way it is with us.  Being good can be so hard.

There are large portions of the Bible that are concerned with the concept of being good.  In the books of Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, beginning with the 10 Commandments, God sets before the people a whole system of laws that God’s chosen people are to keep to help maintain their relationship with God and one another.  Just prior to today’s reading from Deuteronomy, Moses has gathered all of the people together at the end of their forty-year journey through the wilderness.  They are on the cusp of entering the Promised Land and Moses retells the story of all that has taken place from the time that God led the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt to freedom through the Red Sea, and how God has led them up until this moment.  God wants to make a covenant – to establish the people of Israel as God’s people and to establish the God of their ancestors as the people’s one and only God.[2]

And then Moses says, basically, “if you observe all of God’s commandments,” – if you are good – then. . .  

[T]he Lord your God will make you abundantly prosperous in all of your undertakings, in the fruit of your body, in the fruit of your livestock, and in the fruit of your soil.  For the Lord will again take delight in prospering you, just as God delighted in prospering your ancestors, when you obey the Lord your God by observing God’s commandments and decrees that are written in this book of the law, because you turn to the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.   (Deuteronomy 30:9-10)

Notice the “if-then” nature of this arrangement:  “if” you observe all of God’s commandments, “then” you will be prosperous – you, and your household, and your livestock, and the soil in your fields.  You will be blessed if you are good and follow all of the commandments.

In today’s first reading, Jesus meets a man – a lawyer, who knows a few things about keeping the commandments and what it takes to be good.  This lawyer, who has been raised in the “if-then” culture of following the law in order to be blessed, asks Jesus a big question:  “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25)  “What must I do to receive an eternal reward?”

Jesus asks the man about the commandments, “Well, sir, you’re a lawyer.  What is written in the law?”  To which the lawyer replies, “I do actually know all of the laws – all of the commandments – and the greatest one is:  ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.’”  (Luke 10:27)[3]  Just in case you’re wondering, the lawyer is quoting, here, from Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18.  The dude knows his Bible.  These two laws – Love God and Love neighbor – are a summary of all of the other laws (even the weird laws like “Don’t eat the rock badger,” (Leviticus 11:5) and “Call a priest to bless your house whenever you clean mildew,” (Leviticus 14:48)).  “If I love God and love my neighbor, then I will be good, and I will be rewarded,” the man is thinking.  

There’s just one problem here – because this is where my Presbyterian brain starts thinking. . .  Does anyone ever follow the law completely?  Don’t we all make mistakes and fall short?  In the laws of Moses, God sets an impossibly high standard.  Jesus sets a high standard, too.  At one point, in his Sermon on the Mount, he says “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect.”  (Matthew 5:48)  Be perfect?  Sorry Jesus, but that might not happen today – or ever.  Besides, as Calvin, and Knox, and others were so good at point out, there is nothing we can do – no good that we can do on our own – that will earn us any kind of heavenly reward.  We cannot do good or be good on our own.  It is God, alone, who is good and offers salvation as a gift.  We cannot earn it by anything that we do.  So, what should we do?  Should we even try to be good?  

Jesus tells a story – the story that we often refer to as “The Parable of the Good Samaritan.”  Now, the people who hear Jesus tell this story – the lawyer and those who are with him – would have never thought that any Samaritan could be good.  Samaritans were considered less-than – less than faithful, less than worthy, less than good in the eyes of people like this lawyer.  And yet, you heard the story:  the Samaritan is the only person who does the right thing – the good thing – by showing mercy to the man who has been wounded and is lying in a ditch.  Were he not wounded and lying in a ditch, the man who is helped by the Samaritan would likely not have wanted to encounter the Samaritan or even be touched by him.  But sometimes, you’ve just got to accept the help that is given.  And sometimes, you’ve just got to love your neighbor, no matter who they are.  “Go, and do likewise,” Jesus says to the lawyer (10:37) and to us.  “Go, and show mercy to someone who, under other circumstances, likely would not give you the time of day.  Go, and show mercy to your enemy. Go, and be compassionate.  Go, and help someone who needs it. Go, and give the gift of grace.[4]  And be. . . good. . .”

You might remember from today’s second reading – back in Deuteronomy – that Moses stands before all of the people and says, “Be good.”

Surely, this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away.  It is not in heaven, that you should say, “Who will go up to heaven for us and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?”  Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, “Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?”  No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe. (Deuteronomy 30:11-14)

“The word is not far away.  The word is very near to you,” Moses says.  He is speaking of the law that is written, not on stone tablets, or even in some book, but on our hearts:  “Love God.  Love your neighbor.”  These are words that can be chewed upon and savored and spoken about and internalized.  Earlier in Deuteronomy, when Moses talks to the people about the law of love, he tells them to keep these words in their hearts:  

Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise.  Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.  (Deuteronomy 6:6-9)

If you do this – if you practice remembering the important things – then you just might do them.  You just might live them and offer them when they are needed most.  You just might internalize them, with the help of the Holy Spirit, and have them rule your heart and mind and – in the end – your actions.  Perhaps it is in the practice of doing and living in a certain way that we, in the end, may not necessarily be blessed, but that we may be a blessing to others.  

I don’t know whether or not the Samaritan practiced the law of love in any other moment of his life, whether the word of God was in his heart, but he lived this word – the law of love – when it counted most.  

Little does the lawyer who stands before Jesus know that he is looking at the very Word of God – the embodiment of God’s goodness, the living example of love for all time – the love that did not stay far away (up in heaven or across the sea) but came near to restore the goodness that God placed within us when we were made. . .  the goodness of God’s image that has been tarnished and marred by sin, but made right and whole and new again because God has shown us mercy. . .

“Go and do likewise,” Jesus says, “even though you won’t always get it right.  Go and do likewise, because this is what you are called to do – who I am calling you to be – vessels of mercy and grace in a world that needs mercy and grace.”  

I’ll close with this –

When I sit down with families to plan a funeral for a loved-one, I will always ask the family to describe the person who has died.  I’ll usually get some version of “She was the perfect mom,” or “He had a great sense of humor.”  Once, though, I was asking a widow about her husband and all she would tell me was, “He was just a good guy.”  “And?” I asked, hopefully, trying to get a bit more from her.  “He was just a good guy,” she repeated.  “He was just a good guy.  He was just a good guy.  He was just. . . good.”  

There are worse things to be, especially because goodness doesn’t exactly come naturally.  

Friends, God has been – and continues to be – so good to us, in the mercy and grace and love and hope and wholeness and healing that God gives us so freely.  May we go and do likewise, that we may live.  

Even though it can be so hard to remember, at the heart of who you are, you are good.  God made you and called you good.  So, be good.  Be. . . good. . .

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

--------

[1] F.L. Cross and E.A. Livingstone, ed. The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (New York:  Oxford University Press, 1997) 1633.

[2] See Deuteronomy 29:2-3, 10-13.

[3] Paraphrased, JHS.

[4] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1979) 249.

[theydreamtheydream]

I just need to rant about my manipulative parents and how my life sucks we love a good family drama self hatred moment🙃

#rants #my parents literally have me in a choke hold and are living through me #i thought moving out and going go school would change that but it hasn’t #everytime i get a text or a call even slightly related to school from my mom i have a crying panic attack #because ever since i was 7 i have never been good enough apparantly #and she equates good grades with good behavior and when i don’t live up to her standards it’s seen as misbehaving and she will scream at me #about how i’m a slacker and never study and want to make everything harder for myself and punishes me for bad behavior #she knows i have undiagnosed adhd #she knows i’m anxious #she knows i’m chronically ill #but i still manage to have one of the top scholarships from my state and have some the best grades a student can get in my year #but i’m not doing great in my math class and she knows how hard i’ve been trying this semester and have told me she’s proud of me #but then she found out about my grade #and have a screaming fit at me about how i’m an awful student who hasn’t touched the textbook the whole semester #anyway this is probably why I have a raging ed because I have no control anywhere else in my life #i have no idea when she’s letting go of this chain around my neck and i’m scared shitless #i literally cried on the phone in front of my friend bc my mom called me and screamed in such a demeaning way #and made me answer rhetorical questions #anyway she makes me feel like the dumbest idiot in the world #and i’ve told her how this makes me feel and she just says #no you make yourself feel that way #or #then stop feeling that way #no wonder my first reaction when i get overwhelmed is to bite my hand until i have indents #bc i used to have to hide my panic attacks in the shower #and now it’s a habit #my hands are so fucking sore bc of it #moral of the story is that when your mother lives through you your child is terrified of you #and she starves and hurts herself bc she doesn’t know how to cope with it #bc she’s been struggling since single digits

[waitimcomingtoo]

Simple Addition

Pairing: Shy!Peter Parker x Reader

Request by @satanswitchings : reader asks a very shy Peter to help her with her math homework. They become close, but Peters feelings get hurt when reader won’t admit they’re friends in school

Masterlist

“Hey, wait up.”

Peter stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice from behind him in the hallway. He turned around slowly just as you caught up to him. You gave him your million dollar smile and ran your fingers through your hair, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“It’s Peter, right?” You asked, but you knew the answer. He’d sat in front of you in math half the year and though he never raised his Ahmed or participated in class, he aced every test. The same, however, could not be said for you.

Peter gulped and nodded rapidly, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

“Cool.” You smiled. “So, I have no idea what we just learned. I paid attention and took notes but it still doesn’t make sense to me. I um, I saw you got a 100 on the test. Are you good at math?”

It took Peter a minute to process what you had even said. He was focusing so hard on listening that he didn’t listen at all. He blinked a few times and forced himself to nod, internally kicking himself for being too shy to speak.

“Well, I’m not. Like, at all.” You sighed and shifted your books in your arms. Peter’s eyes clocked the math test on top of your notebook with a failing grade. “I was wondering if you could help me out with the homework? Logarithms for right over my head.”

Peter made sure to listen this time and wordlessly took off his backpack. He went into his red math folder, because math is red, and handing you his completed homework. Your eyes widened in surprise at how easy it was to get it as you looked over the sheet.

“Oh, thanks. I’ll see you-“ You looked up to thank him but he was already gone.

“-later. What a little weirdo.” You chuckled to yourself and put his homework in your folder.

“Who was that?” Your friend Gwen came up to you to ask as she squinted her eyes in Peters direction.

“I don’t know. Some boy in my math class.” You lied. “He gave me his homework though.”

“Nice. I love getting nerds to help me.” She nudged you teasingly with her elbow.

“You’re such a bitch. I love it.” You teased her back as you walked to your next class.

You were walking by the library the next morning when you spotted Peter inside, sitting alone at a table. You went in and took the seat across from him, chuckling a little as he slowly looked up at you in disbelief. A blush spread from the bridge of his nose all the way down his neck as you smiled at him.

“Hey. Thanks for letting me copy it.” You greeted him as you gave him back his math work.

“N-no problem.” He stammered, not looking at you as he put in back in his folder.

“Ahh. So you do speak.” You commented, pleasantly surprised to hear his voice for the first time. He gave you a weak smile and quickly looked away, eyes going back to his Spanish homework. You noticed what he was doing and furrowed your eyebrows. His homework was barely done and it was due later that day. You knew because you were in the same class and breezed through it the night before.

“Is that for Señor Kuhn’s class?” You nodded towards his paper. He looked at you quickly and nodded as he toyed with the cap of his pen.

“You know it’s due today, right?” You asked just to make sure he knew.

“Spanish isn’t my speciality.” He said softly as he brushed some hair out of his eyes.

“Really?” You wondered. “I thought everything was your specialty.”

You knew Peter was a smart kid, some might even call him one of the schools nerds. It surprised you to hear he also struggled with schoolwork.

“I, um, can’t really figure things out without an equation.” He was barely audible but you still heard him. He was painfully shy, and that made him all the more endearing to you.

“Well, Spanish is kinda like an equation.” You told him. “You add the subject to the verb to get the conjugate. Like, this is your homework and you didn’t do it. No hiciste la tarea. I did do the homework. Hice la tarea. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” He smiled a little. “Kinda.”

“Here.” You took out your Spanish homework and handed it to him. “You can copy mine. I owe you one for the math homework.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look at you as he accepted the paper, but his tone told you he was grateful.

“You can look at me, you know.” You chuckled. “You won’t turn to stone or anything.”

Peter’s face flamed red again as you acknowledged his shyness. As much as he wanted to talk to you, he didn’t know how. The words came to mind but died in his throat, leaving him speechless.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” You asked softly, but not meanly. Peter shook his head as he slowly looked at you, a sheepish look on his face.

“Not really.” He mumbled.

“Thats okay.” You shrugged. Talkings overrated. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around?”

Peter nodded eagerly at you as you stood up from the chair. You waved at him, and he weakly waved back. As soon as you were out of sight, he banged his head on the desk a few times out of embarrassment. The girl he’s been crushing on since third grade had finally noticed him and he couldn’t hold it together long enough to speak to her. He picked his head up and sighed, eyes flickering over to your Spanish homework. He smiled a little at your unmistakable handwriting before picking up the paper and copying the answers down.

This was the first of my many homework trade offs. He’d give you the math homework and you’d give him the Spanish, an arrangement that benefited the both of you.

“Peter.” You came up to him the following week. “Did you happen to do the math homework last night? I got up to number 7 and my mind shut down. It was totally lost on me.”

Peter silently handed it to you, already having it ready since he knew he’d run into you between classes.

“Thank you so much.” You sighed in relief. “I have the spanish, if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Peter mumbled as he took the Spanish from you. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You called after him, but he had already run away.

He came to your locker the next morning with the math homework in his hand, wordlessly holding it out to you.

“Oh my God, thanks.” You took it and slipped it into your folder. “Stay here, I’ll get the Spanish.”

Peter stood there in silence as you began to rummage through your locker. He peered inside, smiling to himself at all the pictures of you and your many friends you had hanging up. Your lives couldn’t be more different, but this single thread tied you together.

“Are you on the Decathlon team?” You asked suddenly as you took out your Spanish folder. Peters face flushed as he nodded, too shy to speak. You got the homework out but didn’t give it to him just yet, knowing he’d run away once you did.

“Is it fun?” You asked. “I almost signed up freshman year until I found out you have to take a bus all the way to Washington DC every year. I get crazy motion sickness.”

“It’s fun. I- I like it.” He stammered, surprised at you making small talk with him. Though you’d never admit it to your friends, you liked Peter. You liked him a lot, in fact. He was far better than the jocks you had pinning after you. You appreciated his help with homework, but you wanted more from him. Despite his obvious shyness, you were determined to get a conversation out of him.

“That’s cool. Do you do any other clubs?” You kept the conversation going just to keep him there.

“Marching band and robotics.” He told you, speaking a little louder now.

“Wow. So you’re like a total nerd, huh?” You joked as you shut your locker. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His ears turned pink as he struggled to talk to you.

“Relax. I’m just teasing.” You assured him as you squeezed his arm. “I think robotics are cool. Have you built one yet?”

“I’ve built a few.” He nodded. “It’s probably not the kind of robots you’re thinking of, though. It’s mostly machines that can complete basic tasks.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak at once.” You smiled happily. “Here’s the Spanish.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled through a smile as he took it. “Uh, I’ll see you later. Bye.”

And with that, Peter bolted away without another word. You laughed to yourself at his odd behavior before one of your friends came up to you.

“Hey girl.” She greeted. “Who was that?”

“No one.” You lied again, wondering briefly why you even did it. “Let’s go to homeroom.”

In a slight change of events, Peter was the one to approach you the following week. He spotted you in the library and had every intention of minding his own business when he realized you were crying. He couldn’t be totally sure because you had your hands over your face, but your body language told him you were very upset. He took a deep breath and smacked himself on the cheek before walking up to your table.

“Hey.” He said softly, startling you a little as you looked up. You quickly wiped your face free of tears and gave a weak smile, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Hi.” You nodded, averting your eyes so he couldn’t tell how glassy they were.

“You okay?” He asked as he slid a packet of tissues towards you. You laughed sadly as you accepted the packet, quickly taking one out to dry your eyes.

“This is so embarrassing.” You sniffled. “I cannot understand this math for the life of me. You know I got a 67 on the last test? I’m gonna fail this class.”

“You won’t fail.” Peter assured you. “You just need to practice.”

“I try to but I get frustrated when I can’t understand the problem and then I stop. How is it so easy for you?” You asked desperately.

“The same way Spanish is easy for you.” He said. “Different people have different skills.”

“But math is a basic skill that we learned when we were five. The teacher told me if I fail one more test, I’m gonna go to summer school. I’m so stupid.” Yoh began to cry again, turning your face so he wouldn’t see. Peter felt a strong urge to walk away due to his inter hatred of awkward situations, but he felt a stronger urge to comfort you. He got out of his seat and took the one beside you instead, placing a gentle hand over yours. You turned your head sharply in his direction at the unexpected contact, eyes flickering from your hands to his face.

“You’re not stupid.” He said at the loudest you ever heard him.

“Then why can’t I get this?” You whispered.

“Um, I…I don’t…” Peter struggled to find the words to say to make you feel better. He frowned and shook his head, cursing himself for being shy.

“It’s okay, Peter.” You said suddenly. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I’m sure you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need me to burden you with mine.”

“You’re not being a burden.” He found the words this time. “Doing the homework is what helps me remember how to solve the equations. Since you’re just copying my work, you’re not getting the extra practice.”

“You’re probably right. Actually, I bet you’re exactly right.” You sighed as you looked down at the math you’d been trying to figure out for the last hour. You chewed your bottom lip as you through about what he said and came up with a solution.

“Could I get your number?” You asked him. “Maybe it’ll help me if you explain the homework to me instead of just giving me the answers.”

“Oh, sure.” Peter gulped nervously as he took out his phone, handing it to you with shaking hands. You typed your number into it, smirking at his Lock Screen, a picture of him and Mr. Stark.

“Cute background.” You mumbled as you handed his phone back. “You can put your number into mine as well. I have a feeling you’re not one for texting first.”

“That’s, um, that’s true.” He laughed shyly as he put his number in your phone. “You may be struggling with math, but you’re excellent at reading people.”

“I do my best.” You shrugged. “I’ll talk to you later, Peter.”

Just as you promised, a text from you appeared on Peters screen later that evening.

“Hey Peter. It’s Y/n.”

Peter gulped nervously and picked up his phone, thumbs dancing over his keyboard as he thought of a response.

“Hi. Need help with math?” He texted back.

“Eager to get started I see. We could talk first, you know.” You teased him, hoping he would get your sarcasm through the text.

“About what?” He asked, having literally no idea what a girl like you would possibly want to talk about with a boy like him.

“Idk. Our days, the weather, the fictional character from our childhood that we projected on. Whatever you want to talk about.” You sent, making him laugh.

“I have nothing to say.” He wrote back. He knew it sounded lame, but he was being honest.

“Then I’ll start. What’s your favorite fruit?” You texted. The random quetsion made him chuckled as he rolled over and hugged his pillow.

“Strawberries.” He answered back.

“This is the part where you ask me what my favorite fruit is. That’s how a conversation works.” You wrote, poking fun at him once again.

“I’m not good at conversations.” He reminded you, a cheeky smile on his face.

“So I see. Come on, Peter. Let me pick that pretty little brain of yours.”

Peter rubbed his face as he grinned, blushing over you once again.

“I already told you I like strawberries. Idk what else I can say. That’s basically my whole personality right there.” He texted you, letting a little bit of his personally shine through.

“Hark! 😳Is that a sense of humor? You’re three dimensional after all” You wrote back.

“I have a glimmer of a personality every now and then” He laughed as his own joke as he texted you.

“I’m shocked. I thought you were just the token cute but shy background character that gets his arc in the third season” You sent. Peter let out a shaky breath when he read that you called him cute. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

“Oh I’m much more. I only think about the way I said “here” during attendance for HALF the day now. Used to be much longer 😏”

You laughed out loud when you read his text, loving that he was finally showing you his personality.

“Say less 🙈😍” You texted back.

“Sometimes I hold eye contact when I’m really feeling wild” He wrote you.

“BABY stop you’re turning me on”

“One time I coughed in class instead of holding it in even though I already coughed a few minutes before” Peter was feeling much more comfortable with you now, your reaction to his texts giving him the confidence to go on.

“You’re such a bad boy 🥵 Do you ever ask to go to the bathroom during class?”

“Never 😉” He sent, making you giggle.

“That’s so hot 🥴” You texted him, imagining the blush it would put on his face.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m just a little 👉👈”

You sat up in bed and laughed loudly, falling in love with him with every text. It’s always the people you don’t expect who make you smile the most.

“BAHHAA I cannot believe you. You should talk more!! You’re actually really funny” You texted him, hoping he would listen. If he had been this open in school, you would’ve noticed him years ago.

“You mean I’m not just a pretty face? 😔🥺” He stole your joke from before. It was a minute before you answered, his heart pounding as he waited.

“You’re that too” You finally said, making him smile.

“Don’t get used to this.” He told you. “It’s a lot easier to talk over text. It may be months before I make eye contact with you”

“Well lucky for you I’m a patient person”

“Are you ready to do the math now?” He asked, feeling his social better beginning to drain.

“Yes I’ve gotten my Peter fill. Can we FaceTime?” You asked and his heart skipped a beat. Not knowing what to say, he turned to humor.

“Sure but I’ll only show my ceiling and barely speak 🥰” He wrote. You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head at his antics.

“That’s okay.” You sent. “I’m calling you now”

Peter sat up in bed and swiped his hands through his hair to tame it before your contact lit up on his screen. He took a deep breath before clicking the answer button.

“Hey. What are you doing?” Your smile appeared on his screen. Your phone was propped up against something as you sat at your desk, homework all out in front of you. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips as he saw a glimpse into your room, and you think thinking the exact same thing. Your walls were full of pictures of friends and his were full of decathlon posters. They were different, but different was okay.

“I’m just laying in bed.” Peter told you. Only his eyes could be seen from his camera and as promised, you were looking at his ceiling.

“Aw. Without me?” You teased and shot him a wink. Peter’s face flamed red before he disappeared from your screen all together. You let out a laugh at the surprised squeak he made as he struggled to find words to say.

“Wait, come back.” You chuckled. “It’s so fun to flirt with you because of how red you get but I genuinely fear you’re gonna have a heart attack. Does your family have a history of heart problems?”

“No.” He answered your joke question seriously.

“Okay.” You nodded in satisfaction. “Then you looked really cute today.”

Peter’s face left the screen again but you heard him let out a flustered laugh, which made you laugh as well.

“Let me see your face.” You whined as you leaned your cheek on your hand.

“No.” Peter laughed. “Open your textbook to page 56. There’s a good practice test I want you to do.”

“Okay, I see it.” You found the page and looked over the question. “How do you do number one?”

Your face timing sessions became a nightly routine as you tutored each other in your respective subjects. Peter eventually worked up the courage to ask you to come over to study for midterms, which you gladly accepted. Even after you got an 81 on the midterm, you continued to go to his house twice a week for studying. Two months later, he had become one of your best friends, even if he was still a little shy around you.

“I think of it as BAE.” Peter explained, lying on his stomach beside you on his bed. “Base, answer, exponent. Do you want to try this one?”

“Okay.” You nodded and took the pencil from him. “The base is 2. The answer is 8. And the exponent is 3?”

“That’s right.” Peter smiled but didn’t look at you. “You got it.”

“Finally.” You sighed in relief. “Do you think I’ll be ready for the test on Friday?”

“I think so.” He nodded as he wrote down another problem.

“I think so?” I need to hear your confidence, Peter.” You urged as you nudged him with your elbow.

“Fine.” He spoke up. “You’re going to ace this test, I know it. You are going to ace this test because you are smart and capable and I’m so proud of you.”

A shocked smile lit up your face at Peter’s words of encouragement.

“Wow. That was almost a normal volume. I’m impressed.” You remarked.

“Shut up.” He mumbled through a laugh as he went back to his equation.

“Sorry. I’m just teasing.” You assured him. “You can speak at whatever volume you want.”

Peter looked up from his notebook and smiled softly at you, holding your gaze for a moment before returning to his work.

“Hey.” You smiled in realization.

“What?” He wondered.

“You looked at me.”

“I always look at you.”

“Yeah, but you held eye contact with me.” You gushed. “You don’t normally do that.”

“I guess I’m getting more comfortable around you.” He shrugged bashfully as he averted his eyes. You knew he was getting overwhelmed, so you didn’t push the subject. It still meant the world to you, though, as he was finally coming out of his shell.

“Good.” You mumbled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Peter looked at you again with a shy smile, and you looked back. As you stared at each other, you saw his eyes drop to your lips before returning to your eyes. You picked up his signal and leaned in a little, but he quickly looked down and away. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and cleared your throat to hide your disappointment from him.

“Um, so do you want to start Spanish?” You suggested, not wanting to spend another minute in that moment.

“Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Let’s start Spanish.”

You walked into school the next day with a heavy heart after Peter rejected you. Being in the popular crowd, you were usually the one doing the rejecting. You had always assumed Peter wasn’t making the first move because he was shy, but now you knew it was because he didn’t feel the same. Your friends were already waiting for you at your locker, so you painted on a smile and let it go.

Peter spotted you at your locker and could immediately tell something was off. He knew you well enough to know when your smile was forced and he was a sneaking suspicion that he was the reason why. He hadn’t meant to dodge your kiss the night before. He wasn’t even entirely sure you were leaning in for one, which is why he short circuited and pulled away. He’d been beating himself up over it but had an idea of how to make it right. You were always encouraging him to be bolder in school, and he couldn’t think of anything bolder than walking up to you while you were with the popular kids. Before he could lose his nerve, he walked up to you and cleared his throat.

“Hi, Y/n.” He said a little louder than he was used to, surprising the both of you.

“Uh, hi Peter.” You looked at him briefly and quickly looked back at your friends. You couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore because of the range of emotions you were going through. You were frankly a little pissed at Peter for pulling away from the kiss, but you were also proud of him for having the courage to come up to you at school. That pride was currently being overshadowed by embarrassment as your friends gave you strange looks for talking to him. On any other day, you would’ve been happy to talk to him in public. But him pulling away from your kiss and then talking to you was sending you mixed signals that frustrated you to the point where you didn’t even want to speak to him.

“Um, do you think we could meet an hour later that usual today?” He asked sheepishly. “I have a feeling band practice is gonna run late.”

Your friends looked at you in amusement and one of them made kissy faces in your direction. Your face heated up in embarrassment and you decided you needed to get rid of Peter as quickly as possible.

“Sure. Whatever, that’s fine.” You said quickly, hoping he’d get the message and leave.

“Did have any trouble with the practice problems I gave you?” He asked and your jaw almost dropped. Your friends raised their eyebrows at you, looking for answers you didn’t want to give them.

“No.” You stated bitterly.

“Practice problems?” Gwen snickered and looked at you questioningly.

“It’s nothing.” You assured her before looking at Peter. “Is there something else you needed?”

“No.” He said, shocked by your bitter tone. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You nodded vaguely and turned back to your conversation. Peter took that as his cue to leave and began to wonder if the way he was feeling was how he had made you feel the night before. If it was, he understood why you didn’t want to talk to him.

“What was that?” Your friend laughed tauntingly, making the rest of the group laugh as well.

“Nothing.” You dismissed quickly. “Let’s just go to class.”

Peter was already waiting for you in your room when you got home, the sight of him making you let out an angry huff.

“What was that?” You demanded with your hands on your hips.

“What?” Peter asked curiously as he looked up from him his notebook.

“This morning. You totally embarrassed me in front of my friends.” You whined.

“How did I embarrass you? All I did was talk to you.” He pointed out, hurt evident in his voice.

“Yes, and that’s how you embarrassed me.” You stated. “They don’t need to know that you and I are hanging out all the time and they certainly didn’t need to know that you’re giving me practice problems. Now they’re gonna think I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid for needing help.” He said quietly.

“But they don’t get that. I never wanted them to know about this, or us, or any of it.” You explained. “What you and I do in private is between us. You can’t just come up to me and act like…”

“Like we’re friends?” He finished your sentence as he stood up from your bed. Your face fell when you realized how bad it sounded. The hurt look on your best friends face, a look you put there, made your anger evaporate. You realized almost immediately that you were in the wrong and shouldn’t be scolding him.

“Peter, please don’t do this. You know I care about you. Love you, even.” You walked to him and put your hands on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend within these four walls. But when we’re at school, people expect me to be friends with girls like Gwen and boys like Flash. People like you and me don’t really hang out, you know?”

“And I expect you to be kind.” He snapped as he pushed your hands off. “Should I not do that? Are you not capable of that?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” You stepped back from him, knowing he was getting overwhelmed. “I’ve never heard you raise your voice above a mumble.”

“I’m yelling because I’m hurt.” He yelled, voice cracking at the end. “Are we even friends? Do you regard me as that much or am I just a tutor to you?”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’re friends.” You reached for him again but he pulled away.

“Well you’re being a bad one.” Peter shot back. Your face twisted in pain as he stared at you, both of your chests heaving. Peter tore his eyes away from you and went into his backpack, quickly getting out his math folder.

“Here.” He took your practice test from his folder and held it out to you. “You got them all right.”

You took the test and looked at in in disbelief, momentarily forgetting about the fight. You’d never gotten all of the questions right before. You looked up in time to see Peter leaving with his backpack.

“Where are you going?” You grabbed his arm gently to stop him.

“Home.” He told you. “You don’t need tutoring anymore so I have no reason to stay.”

“We can still hang out. You’re not just my math tutor.” You made a desperate attempt for him to stay as the weight of your actions hit you. Peter laughed darkly before looking up at you, an amused look in his eyes.

“Would you ever admit that outside this room?” He asked.

“I…”

“Then I am just your tutor.” He spat. “Goodbye.

Peter managed to avoid you the next morning, dodging you all together until math class. You knew you had to focus on the test and not your fight, but all you wanted to do was make up with him. Once the tests were over and handed in, you took your shot.

“Hey.” You whispered as you poked him with your pencil. “How do you think you did?”

Peter didn’t turn around, which you partially expected.

“I bet you did really well.” You tried again. “I actually think I did well too, thanks to you.”

Again, silence.

“Peter, please talk to me. I’m sorry about our fight.” You rubbed his shoulder kindly but he still didn’t move.

“You are my friend.” You said a little louder. “You’re my best friend. What can I do to prove that to you?

Peter was tempted to say something to you, but the bell rang before he could. He grabbed his books and hastily got out of his seat before you had a chance to to speak to him again. You grabbed your backpack and ran after him, determined to make this right.

“Excuse me, sorry.” You pushed past people to catch up to Peter. “Hey, Peter!”

When he didn’t answer, you called out again.

“Peter! Wait up.”

Still no answer, and you were starting to get frustrated.

“Hey! I’m talking to you.” You caught up to him and grabbed his hand. He looked at your hands before looking you in the eyes and dropping your hands harshly. You stood there stunned for a moment as he began to walk away until you decided you had enough.

“PETER PARKER.” You screamed, making everyone look at you. Every pair of eyes in the hallway was looking in your direction, but you were only looked at Peter.

Peter, who was about to pass away from the attention, by the way.

He looked around sheepishly as people cranes their necks to see who you were yelling at and felt his face turn redder than it ever had.

“You don’t talk much, and that’s fine.” You continued, loud enough for everyone to hear you. “I just need you to listen.”

Peter blinked a few times before nodded slowly, signaling that he would listen. You smiled in relief before digging in your backpack and pulling out your math test from earlier that day. You held it up over your head and turned in a circle so everyone could see it.

“I got an 92 on my math test last week.” You announced. “That’s the highest I’ve gotten since middle school and I couldn’t have done it without Peter tutoring me. I came to him for help with homework but I ended up with a best friend whom I love very dearly.” You were only looking at him now. “I will admit that behind closed doors and I will admit that here. But I also have to admit that I have not been a good friend and for that I am truly sorry.”

Peter smiled a little as the shocked looks of the crowd faded to nothing when he looked at you.

“You don’t have to do this here.” He whispered, but you weren’t finished yet.

“I haven’t even done it yet.” You half smiled as you shoved your test into your bag.

“Done what?” He asked as you walked up to him. You got to him and gave him an apologetic smile in advance for the attention you were about to draw to him.

“What I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now.” You told him. Peter barely had time to react before you put your hands on his face and pulled him into a kiss. You could feel his body tense up momentarily, so you pulled away just enough to whisper…

“Relax.”

Peter’s body did a better job at listening than he did as he slowly loosened his muscles. A hesitant hand found your waist and rested there as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel the heat of his skin against your face and pulled away before he could get too overwhelmed.

“I.…just…heh…um - wow - uh…” He stumbled over his words as he looked at you with a shy smile.

“Don’t speak.” You laughed and shook your head. “Just kiss me.”

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #shy!peter Parker #shy!peter Parker x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #spiderman #marvel #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #iron man

[moon-light-jukebox]

Learning Styles - [Reid x Reader]

Summary: Reader has worked hard to get to the FBI, but a misunderstanding has her feeling insecure. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Content Warning: Mention of normal criminal minds stuff briefly. 

A/n: I got these two requests and they were so similar I decided to combine them. I hope that’s okay, but I feel like the stories would have been almost identical. 

Requests:  - I have a fic suggestion. Reader pretends to be dumb but is actually really smart. I’m thinking of that quote about marilyn ”you have to be really smart to pretend to be dumb”. One day spencer realizes that reader is smarter than she lets people know.

- Hi! Can I request a spencer reid x reader fic where reader isn't great with numbers but brilliant with behaviour and humanities (i.e. literature, history, sociology, up to you)? Maybe a dash of insecurity to spice things up?

-- Learning Styles -- 

My favorite professor in college told me that everyone learns differently; what works for one person won’t work in the same way for another. We are all different human beings that are shaped in different ways.

I had always been oddly insecure about my intelligence level. One of my earliest memories was my mother yelling at me while I sat at the kitchen table when I was in first grade. I was the only kid in my class who still hadn’t learned how to read. I just didn’t understand. All of my friends were progressing so much quicker than me and my mother was losing patience.

It wasn’t until my grandmother stepped in that everything changed. My elementary school teacher was training children to read by memorizing sight words, a concept I didn’t understand. When my grandmother sat down and taught me phonics. I distinctly remember everything snapping into place.

I was in 1st grade and reading at a 7th-grade level by Christmas. Once I finally understood my learning style, I really began to thrive.

But no matter what I did, I could still hear my mother yelling at me, telling me I was stupid.

In my line of work, I see just how much the throw away comments that parents make can shape a child’s development. Luckily, those comments just made me a bit insecure, not a murderer.

Up until I was 22, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do beyond this desire I had to help people. SSA David Rossi had come to guest lecture in one of my abnormal psych classes during undergrad. After I heard him speak, I was done. I couldn’t have done anything else with my life. I had obtained my master’s in psychology before I joined the FBI.

It took some time, but I was finally assigned to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I was so excited on my first day that I remember my hands physically shaking.

Until they weren’t.

I can still remember my first day so clearly. SSA Hotchner had introduced me to the team, saving the “best” for last.

“And this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he had said. “He’s our expert on…well, everything.”

Reid was my age and he had his Ph.D. I remember feeling awed by him.

Until I didn’t.

"I hold 3 Ph.D.'s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. I also have BAs in psychology and sociology."

I remember my jaw almost hitting the floor. While I was impressed by him, I wasn’t insecure about my place on the team.

Until I was.

My grandmother may have helped me master reading, which opened the door to me mastering anything else I put my mind to…except math.

I was fine at statistics, luckily. You couldn’t get a psych degree without a ton of statistics work. But statistics was different, I could see the practical use of statistics. I just couldn’t wrap my head around calculus or algebra.

On my first case with the team, Reid had calculated some insane mathematical equations on the whiteboard, running down the probabilities and applying a mathematical formula to the unsub’s behavior.

It wasn't until later, after the case was solved when I was standing in front of the whiteboard that my confidence was hit. Reid had come into the room and saw me looking at his work.

“Don’t bother trying to understand it,” he had said. “You’d have to be a genius to understand what I do.”

I didn’t have a word to describe the feeling that settled in my stomach at his words, I wasn’t sure such a word existed. The feeling was cold and heavy, but also made my body burn with shame.

I had just offered him a tight smile before I left the room.

On the plane home I had made a decision. I was no match for Dr. Reid, I doubt anyone was. So, I would take myself out of the competition. I couldn’t get hurt if I wasn’t playing the game.

And that is how the next year of my life went. I allowed Dr. Reid to explain things to me that I was an expert in, never saying a word. I acted like I didn't understand concepts that I had written papers on. The only thing I didn't dumb down was my profiling skills. Those were necessary for my job and for saving lives.

I don’t think anyone realized what I was doing.

Until they did.

--

The team had been called to Colorado to assist in capturing a serial rapist.

All of our cases bothered me, every last one…but something about ones with this vile element really struck me.

We had the unsub’s name, Tyler Childress. He had spent time in prison for sexual assault and burglary. It seems while he was in prison, he spent time perfecting his methods; it was only by pure luck that we found his fingerprint inside the victim’s house, making him the main suspect.

When we paid Mr. Childress a visit, he had managed to get the drop on Prentiss and Morgan, allowing them to escape. Morgan was furious.

All of us were sitting around a conference table in the local prescient while we let Dr. Reid talk.

I was trying to be calm, I was, but my nails were digging into my palm so deeply I was worried I was about to draw blood.

“Guys,” the expert on everything said. “He has to have some sort of accomplice.”

Rossi just sighed. “But the profile doesn’t point to him being the sort to do well with others; he’s a narcissist.”

Reid wouldn’t budge. “I know that, but he isn’t intelligent enough to pull this off alone. He’s just not. He had an IQ test done when he was 20. He scored in the mentally handicapped range. I’m telling you he has to have help.”

“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.

“Positive. I have his results right here.”

“IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence on their own.”

I was so startled that someone had contradicted Dr. Reid that it took me a second to realize it was me who had contradicted him.

He turned to face me; his brown eyes wide. “What?”

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence.”

Dr. Reid laughed. He laughed at me like my comment was funny. “I don’t know where you heard that,” he began.

But I interrupted him. "IQ tests are classist and oftentimes racist. The man who invented the IQ test never intended for it to be used as a complete measure of intelligence. He regretted making the test.”

Reid sputtered. “You…it’s not racist!”

“Yes. It. Is.” I ground out. “If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be illegal to administer an IQ test to a black child in the state of California.”

"Wait, it's illegal to do that?" JJ asked, her brows drawn together.

"Yes. There was a court case in the 1970s over it. Teachers were using tests to separate white children from black children. The black children were put into special education classes they didn’t need to be in. Just because the teachers didn’t want those children in their classrooms.”

I should have stopped, but I was on a role. “They’re also inherently classist. How can you expect a child to answer a question about Romeo and Juliet if they haven’t heard of it?”

That had Dr. Reid scoffing. “Everyone has heard of it.”

I shot to my feet, unable to hold back anymore. “No, they haven’t. Children in underfunded schools that don’t have access to resources might not have heard about the most famous play in history because their school wasn’t able to provide the materials to teach them about it. There was a study done in a remote part of Russia right after the IQ test was invented. Every. Single. Person. Scored in the mentally handicapped range. Because they didn’t understand.”

I knew my voice was rising but I couldn’t stop myself. “Once the researcher took the questions and applied them to things they understood, they all scored as above average. They didn’t understand math as an abstract concept, but they understood it when it was applied to their businesses, to something they actually knew about.”

I cleared my throat. “The test isn’t fair, it’s not equal. Tyler Childress didn’t go to a good school and he didn’t have a stable home life. You can’t use one measure to calculate his intelligence. He’s gotten away with 7 assaults so far that we know of. He’s not stupid.”

The entire room was silent once I had stopped speaking. I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though. What kind of person was I if I played dumb because I was afraid of being mocked when a monster was out there attacking women? No, those women deserved to have me at my best.

And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t give it to them.

Rossi spoke first, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me. “Took you long enough,” he said. “But y/n is right. We trust the profile; we don’t let personal bias cloud the way. That’s how we catch this bastard.”

--

Later that day, we were cleaning up the conference room while the local police processed Tyler Childress.

Pathological narcissism is a complex disorder, but we followed the profile and Rossi was right. Hotch set up a press conference in which JJ and Prentiss took center stage. They tore Childress’s ego to shreds on live television.

His narcissism wouldn’t allow that to slide. He got angry, he made a mistake, and we got him before anyone else got hurt.  

While the cat was out of the bag about my intelligence and that made me nervous, I couldn't regret any of it. I got to be the one to tell our last victim that we got him. I got to hug her while she cried because now that he was locked up, she felt like her healing could begin. I wasn’t sure if my rant about structural racism and the classism of IQ tests actually helped anything, but that didn’t really matter. There was one less monster in the shadows.

Today was a good day.

I was alone in the conference room, untacking photos from the evidence board when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned my head to meet the wide, honey brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Oh boy, I thought. “What’s up, Reid?”

He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twisting in front of him before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Garcia to look into you.”

My eyebrows drew together. “I’m pretty sure any nefarious things I had done would have popped up on my initial background check.”

“Right, I didn’t mean like that,” he mumbled, the apples of his cheeks turning pink. “I asked her to look into you academically.”

Shit.

He went on. “You double majored in psychology and sociology before you got a master’s in cultural psychology. She pulled your thesis. I just read it.”

“I see.” I turned my attention back to the board.

“You also guest lecture on cross-cultural psychology at Georgetown several times a year. And you’ve co-authored two papers since I’ve known you.”

Meh, it’s three. But that doesn’t matter. “Did you read those too?”

I took his silence as confirmation.

He was so quiet I almost thought he had left, but the crackle of energy I felt in the air told me he hadn’t. “Do you need something, Dr. Reid?”

"Why didn't you get your Ph.D.?"

I had answered that question many, many times. “I didn’t need a doctorate to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste time. Once I figured out what I wanted, I charged at it.” Which was a far more honest answer than most people got about that from me.

“W-why did you pretend to be dumb?” he rasped out, causing me to look back at him. “32 days ago, you let me explain the long-term effects of gerrymandering and the complex causes of poverty.”

“Of course, I did,” I said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“One of the papers you authored was about generational poverty.”

“Just because I know a lot about something doesn’t mean I can stop listening to information. That sort of thinking breeds ignorance.” I smiled, unable to not tease him just a little bit.

Reid took a step closer to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a good answer.”

In all the months I had known him, Spencer Reid had never touched me, not even so much as a finger brushing against mine when he handed me something. That fact is why I was so startled when I felt his hand on my upper arm, turning me towards him.

He licked his lips, his eyes darting around. “Did everyone else know?”

I shook my head, my teasing mood long gone. "No. I mean, clearly, Rossi suspected but…No, I didn't tell anyone else."

“I just don’t understand. You’re brilliant.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m not. I’m decent a psychology, sociology, stuff like that. I can’t apply math to behavior to find patterns. I can’t even calculate how much something is gonna cost when it’s on sale without a calculator half the time.”

‘What do you…” Reid trailed off. “Wait. The very first case. You were looking at the evidence board.”

Goddamn eidetic memory.

The boy wonder was on a roll now. “I told you that you’d have to…is that why you didn’t tell me?”

What else could I do? I just nodded.

Those brown eyes closed, and he let out a groan. “I said that because I thought you were going to…I was worried…” He huffed out a breath and opened his eyes. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want you to think I was just a nerd.”  

Now I was confused. “Why?”

Spencer Reid’s blush went all the way down his neck. “Well…I just…Morgan said I should just talk to you. But I’m not…I’m not good at that. I panic, then I start to ramble. Like I’m doing now…”

“Reid,” I interrupted. “I’m not playing dumb now. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I like you,” he blurted out right before he smacked both of his hands over his face. “Oh my god. I sound like a child.” I thought I heard him mutter idiot under his breath. “Emily says that my IQ gets slashed to 60 whenever I see a pretty girl.”

Much like that moment all those years ago when I was a child, I felt everything click into place. Oh.

I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Well, we've already gone over how IQ tests aren't a good measure of overall intelligence."  

With that, I quickly stepped away and hurried out of the conference room, leaving a stunned genius in my wake. When I turned back to look at him, I saw his fingers brushing over the place where my lips had just been.  

--

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#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fan Fiction #Spencer Reid fan fiction #Spencer Reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer read x y/n #Dr. Spencer reid #dr. reid

[foodcourtdetective]

Sleeping with Other People AU: Chapter One: First Time

summary: Dr. Spencer Reid runs into his first time Y/N after a car chase gone bad. They decide not to complicate their friendship by not sleeping together, but it proves to be harder than they think as they slowly fall terribly in love with each other. 

tags: sleeping with other people au, first time, virgin!spencer reid, slow burn, college!spencer reid but only in chapter 1, friends to lovers, TENSION, sexual themes, commitment issues, brief mention of cannibalism but it’s praying mantises calm down armie hammer

A/N: I have 12 parts planned out so please don’t let this flop girlies and non-binary buddies

word count 1.8k

AO3 x

May 13, 1999. Spencer Reid would not attempt to remember a day as unremarkable as this one. Sure, Mozart's first opera premiered, and the Bezalel Art School opened on the other May 13ths of history. But this particular date was in the midst of his finals. He was trying to work through a particularly difficult physics calculation when suddenly—

"HEYYYYYYYY!!! SOBEVICH??? YOU HERE, BUD???" The banging on his door, paired with an intoxicated feminine screeching, was incessant. Reid scoffed, maintaining focus on the task at hand. If you divide x by—

"MATTTTTHEEWWWW??!! COME GET Y'ALL'S JUICE!!" In response, he slammed the pencil down. A little shouting and banging wouldn't typically break his concentration that quickly. However, certain variables (a lack of sleep, other commotion in the dorms prior, not to mention a certain someone not responding to his AOL messages for over 48 hours) had brought him to the edge faster than a cliff diver. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater and pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Reid stormed up to his door and yanked it open.

"Heyyyyy wait a second... youuuuuu aren't Matty boyyyyy!" The nuisance in question wasn't his type at all. Her hair was too black and choppy, her eyes too dark with liner smudged everywhere, and her skirt was basically a napkin over her lap that highlighted her purple panties that were visible to anyone with eyes. Her painted lips twisted into a pout as she looked him up in down with interest. Before he could speak, RA Gideon turned the corner of the hallway and, spotting his target, picked up his pace.

"YOU! Young lady, you're not supposed to enter a dorm without getting signed in!" The girl snapped her gaze away from Reid to roll her eyes and drunkenly face the RA.

"I'm heeere! Can't someone else sign in for me?? I'm waiting for a friennnnd!" Gideon's face darkened with barely veiled annoyance, looking over to Reid.

"Is this girl bothering you? I can call campus police to escort her—"

"N-no! It's fine! She's here to see my roommate Matthew." Reid grabbed the clipboard out and scribbled down the details, looking frantically at the girl for her name.

"Y/N L/N aaaand NERDDD BOY are besties!!" She slurred in response. Gideon huffed as he scanned Reid's face carefully.

"Are you sure, Reid? She's your responsibility if anything happens." The student nodded once in reply, muttering thanks as he handed over the clipboard. Taking Y/N by the wrist, Reid pulled her into his room. He shut the door behind them with urgency but was careful not to slam it. Y/N scratched her bare knee lethargically, accidentally flashing him further.

"Alllrighty, here you look a little cold," he squeaked, awkwardly averting his eyes and turning his attention to his dresser to grab her a Cal Tech sweater his mom made him before she had to leave home. Y/N stumbled, leaning on the bed for stability as she took her heels off. As she did so, she took notice of the two beds pushed together.

"Does Matty even live here?? The beds are holding hands?" Reid managed a pitiful laugh as he tossed her the sweater. Pulling a face, she pulled it on. He gulped, noticing the hem barely skimmed her thighs. At least the purple is put away. Realizing he had caused a long pause in the terrible attempt at conversation, Reid quickly looked away from Y/N again.

"N-no, he lives with his boyfriend at Baker." Y/N's eyes widened, her lip trembling a little bit in shock as she hugged herself with the too-big sleeves.

"Dammmn, I shoulda known a brainiac like that was a bisexual. Didn't peg him for playing so hard to get otherwise."

"Did he try to flirt with you? Because he's basically married to Adam and not to mention the stereotype of bisexuals cheating-"

"is inaccurate and offensive blah blah blah I know, I am one... Nah, I was just hoping that being more forward would seal the deal! But I would never purposefully try to hook up with someone taken... and you're no longer listening to me," Y/N cut off her rambling as he had gravitated helplessly towards his brick of a computer with a glowing screen. He chewed on his lip thoughtlessly, only looking up when he felt Y/N's exasperated gaze on him.

"Sorry, I-I've been waiting for a message..." Y/N scuffled over beside him, her bare feet sticking slightly to the wood floor. Reid winced as she leaned across him to rest her hands beside the keyboard. He tried to move out of her way, but she ended up with her back pressed against him. Don't be embarrassing. Digits of Pi GO! 3.1415926—

"Oh, I know Jennifer! We went to East Allegheny. Fucking smoke show, but she has this praying mantis vibe," she said matter of factly. Reid's mouth gaped open and closed.

"A-what vibe?"

"You know... how they fuck! With the—"

"Female praying mantis engaging in cannibalistic mating behavior, biting off the head or legs of her mate and eating them. I've heard of it, but you should know that that behavior occurs in less than 30 percent of all mating sessions in the wild." As Reid rattled on, he slowly became aware of her piercing eyes on him and the warmth of her back. He sucked in a breath, cutting himself off from going further.

"Wow! Guess you weren't really studying! I'm sorry I interrupted your terrible Thursday evening," she quipped, gesturing to the now-abandoned physics equation. He hurried to close the notebook, tucking it away in his desk as he began to sweat.

"Oh, that! That wasn't studying! I was calculating to calm down." Reid somehow didn't expect the not-unfriendly laugh to erupt in front of him. She bent down to brace herself on her upper thighs as she guffawed, unintentionally pulling the sweater up from the back. Without thinking, he pulled it down for her dignity, but she grabbed his wrist tightly as he completed the action and locked eyes with him.

"What are you, a physicist?" She asked playfully. He gulped again as Y/N watched the movement of his prominent Adam's apple.

"N-not really. I'm working on my chemistry and mathematics masters right now, but I finished my physics MA last semester." She whistled in response, impressed.

"They LET you have that many?? Wait..." Her heated eye contact wavered, flicking up and down his body.

"There's no way! You're only like sixteen!"

"I'm EIGHT-teen! And yeah, I signed a waiver saying that MIT is not responsible for any poor grades or drops in my mental state," he winced as his voice cracked on his age.

"Guess what they say about MIT being smarted than BU kids is right! My med-track major could never be as flexible as yours, virgin," Y/N quipped, cheekily checking out the dark flush of crimson on his cheeks as he pulled away from her grip, facing the wall in frustration of two different types.

"WH-WHY! Why would you-"

"Spence, you're waiting by the computer for a direct message!" Reid sputtered in response, the nickname he had signed off as in her mouth sounded both so wrong and so right as he adjusted his stance to hide an unfortunate situation going on downstairs. Y/N rolled her eyes again as Reid suddenly realized that he loved the color of her eyes more than any color he had ever seen in his life, including Jennifer's. After a long, not uncomfortable, silence, Y/N made a step toward him, suddenly hesitant.

"Don't get your sweater all wrinkled! I'm a virgin too. That's why I came— you better fix that expression on your face, kid!" Reid realized that his shock had painted his face too clearly, flapping his hands frantically as he watched her face drop. The visible vulnerability struck a nerve within him; he didn't know if it was good or bad. As she turned back to the computer, he touched her shoulder in an attempt to get her to look at him.

"NO! No! Not in a bad way! Just individuals who are sexually confident in their self-image with a certain presentation tend to have already completed the act!" Y/N scoffed, rolling her shoulder to get away as if it burned her.

"PLEASE! Now who's engaging in the stereotypes, genius?"

"I'm sorry! You're just too beaut-attract-hot..." Reid kept cutting himself off in an attempt to quantify her looks properly. Y/N chuckled to herself, charmed as she finally looked to watch him fluster himself to try to rectify the insult.

"It's okay... You don't have to say anything. I mean, I couldn't even get Matthew fucking Sobevich to fuck me. As the guest TA, he managed to make four of my classmates pass out within the hour." She cast her eyes downward, fiddling with the loose string on the sweater near the sleeve. Reid swallowed, stepping closer to her. He bent his knees, basically in a squat, to try to get eye contact.

"You deserve better than Matt. I mean, look at you!" He gestured awkwardly at her whole body before framing her face with his fingertips. Y/N finally looked at him, the inner workings of her thoughts almost visible in her eyes as she straightened her gaze to bring him standing up. She cautiously brought her hand up to his chest, right over his heart.

"Well, if you want to date someone like JJ... you might want some experience... We could-- let's get it out of the way!" Y/N carefully explained her idea, her fingers walking up to brush against his Adam's apple. Reid shivered, pulling away to retreat toward his bed, almost involuntarily giving in to her plan.

"I-this was all supposed to be very romantic!! And-and now you've gone and just fucked it up!!" He squealed, watching as Y/N crossed her arms to take off his sweater from the bottom. She came over to sit on the bed, thoughtfully taking a second to let him gather himself before curling her index finger under his chin to get him to look at her.

"You are going to drive some girl crazy someday. With your long, Kurt Cobain hair and that infuriating mouth of yours," Y/N whispered sincerely, moving her finger to trace up his jaw and to hook under his glasses. Reid's breathing hitched, but he kept his gaze on her as she pulled his glasses off and gently put them on the nightstand.

"Say the word, and I'll stop. Say you don't want this, and we won't," Y/N continued, her other hand shaking on his knee as she inched closer to him. As she closed her eyes, Reid closed the gap between them, the hiss of heavy breathing from his nose the only noise in the room. She responded immediately, wrapping her fingers in his hair as they fell against the bed. Suddenly, May 13, 1999, wasn't so unremarkable after all.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #female y/n #sleeping with other people #sleeping with other people au #criminal minds #cm #cm spoilers #criminal minds spoilers #cw shows #matthew grey gubler #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #college!spencer reid #virgin!spencer reid #slow burn #friends to lovers #my words #fyp #aesthetic #season 1 #criminal minds season one #allison brie #jason sudeikis #sleeping with other people 2015

[jbuffyangel]

The Bermuda Triangle: Arrow 1x13 Review (Betrayal)

Time to deal with this love triangle and all the ways it is awful.

Let’s dig in...

L*uriver vs. Merlance

I frequently say to myself as I rewatch Season 1 that the triangle makes sense in theory. The writers have all the components, albeit clichéd, that should create a love triangle full of juicy drama.

Man wrongs woman in another life thereby destroying any future together

Woman falls for secret identity without realizing it is the same man who hurt her

Man “gives up” woman for her own good 

Man and best friend are in love with the same woman

Best friend changes his ways and becomes the perfect boyfriend

Woman no longer wants best friend and instead lusts for secret identity bad boy

And round and round we go. The problem is this doesn’t really tread any new ground. How many times have we seen this type of love triangle play out? MANY TIMES. Not saying a tried and true trope can’t be repeated, but if you’re going to use it then try to inject some new life into it. 

Arrow stays stubbornly in between the lines on this one, which means there are no real surprises. We know exactly where this is headed. Everyone is just waiting for L*urel to choose Oliver. Hell, even Tommy knows it is coming someday.

This brings us to our second problem. L*urel choosing Oliver is so inevitable it doesn’t require a lot of character growth for either of them. L*urel and Oliver have not dealt with ANY of the issues that caused their demise. Yes, Oliver cheated on L*urel, but there were reasons why he cheated. Those have yet to be discussed. 

We’re supposed to accept that since Oliver is wearing the hood and is out saving the streets as the vigilante then he is “worthy” of L*urel again. We’re supposed to be waiting with baited breath for L*urel to discover Oliver’s secret identity, realize he’s the man in the hood she’s been lusting after, and fall back into his arms where she belongs.

I think not. Don’t get me wrong. I love me a good triangle. I loved The Vampire Diaries. Two brothers in love with the same woman. Interesting. Woman looks exactly like the lost love that destroyed their bond a hundred years earlier? MORE INTERESTING. And kinky. 

I enjoy exploring the varying ways love is expressed in different relationships and what it can reveal about the characters. There isn’t always a right or wrong choice. There’s just a choice and it reflects the kind of love you need to live.

But I understand the complaints about love triangles. Oliver, L*urel and Tommy are the PERFECT validation of those complaints. It’s a tired way to insert some drama that has a completely predictable ending. The even bigger problem is there’s barely enough heat to melt an ice cube. L*uriver is frigid. Merlance is better, but they certainly aren’t an inferno.

“Betrayal” does an excellent job of highlighting all the love triangle problems which plague Season 1. We’re all waiting for L*urel to see that Oliver is a changed man. If only she knew he was The Hood! Her anger and hurt over Sara blinds her ability to see those changes. He needs to wear the mask, so L*urel can see who Oliver truly is. God that sounds good doesn’t it?

 IT’S NOT GOOD.

Sara was a symptom of much bigger problems between L*urel and Oliver. He did not want to be with L*urel, so he blew their relationship up in a fairly spectacular display of self sabotage.

Why doesn’t Oliver want to be with L*urel? Well... welcome to Oliver’s mind. He’s been asking himself that same question for the last five years. If he wanted to be with L*urel then he would have never left town. He would have never cheated on her with Sara. Then Sara would be alive. His father would be alive. EVERY ounce of guilt Oliver Queen carries is connected to that one single choice of leaving L*urel.

So, it’s fairly easy to understand why Oliver thinks being with L*urel will fix everything. If he can fix things with L*urel then he’s truly forgiven. It washes away the sins of the past. It’s like it never happened. At this point, this is what Oliver wants more than ANYTHING. He can’t bring Sara or Robert back. But he can resuscitate his dead relationship with his ex-girlfriend. Close enough. The man isn’t choosey after five years of misery.

Unfortunately, Oliver hasn’t changed at all when it comes to L*urel Lance. Oh I know BUT THE HOOD. Listen y’all, throwing on leather accessories and playing Robin Hood doesn’t equate to relationship therapy. Sorry writers. I need more than crime fighting to believe Oliver can be the perfect boyfriend now.

He continues to make all the same mistakes. OLIVER IS STILL LYING TO L*UREL. He lies to her every day.  He lies when he’s wearing the hood. He lies when he’s not wearing the hood. LIES LIES LIES LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIESS. Oliver continues to hide who he truly is from L*urel. Different outfit. Same problems.

This brings us to SO. MUCH. MISOGYN. Lance is using the phone The Hood gave L*urel to trap him. Whenever we are looking at betrayal and the Lance family it’s important to grade on a curve. It’s a dirty move on Quentin’s part, but far from the gold medal of betrayals this family achieves.

Source: @laurelsource

Everyone finds out that L*urel is working with the Hood and by everyone I mean Tommy. Quentin follows L*urel with a battalion of police officers to her meeting with The Hood. He’s gathered information on a newly released crime boss, Cyrus Vanch. When Oliver realizes they’ve been busted he holds L*urel by the throat as cover so he can jump off the roof. BuT tHeIr LoVe Is iS hEaLtHy.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource

As L*urel rants to her current boyfriend (yes I use the word “current” on purpose), he pieces together that she’s been lying to him about working with The Hood.

Source: THEARROWGIFS:

L*urel: He's been lying to me for weeks.

Tommy: Yeah feels like crap doesn't it?

Are we surprised L*urel fails to see the hypocrisy in her little rant?

We are not. This is why Tommy was always the better man for L*urel. He actually had a pair and would call her on her BS. Oliver was incapable of doing until well into Season 2, but I digress.

So, Tommy goes to his best friend Oliver for relationship advice. I know this is a television show, but why in the ever living mother of Zeus do L*urel and Tommy think OLIVER is the best person to ask for relationship advice?

Oliver: Tommy, every time you want to talk to me about something, and that something is L*urel, you look like you’re about to tell me you have some terminal disease.

Me: He does have a terminal disease. It’s called L*URIVER.

Tommy: She’s been working with The Hood guy.

Oliver: What? You’re letting her work with that crazy person? She could get hurt Tommy.

Tommy: I’m not letting her do anything. I only just found out about it.

I know this episode aired in 2012, but talk about some patriarchal bullshit. The entire episode is filled with language like this. Quentin, Oliver, Tommy and The Hood all act like L*urel needs their permission to go to the bathroom. New flash fellas: If L*urel wants to engage in nightly rendezvous with a serial killer that’s her business.

L*urel says something to similar effect, but is summarily blown off by whatever male she’s speaking to. She meets up with The Hood after he and Lance save her from Cyrus Vanch.  

Source: BJ-HUNNICUTTS-BLOG 

It seems The Hood didn’t think through all the ways talking to L*urel on a phone and meeting her secretly on rooftops would put her in danger.

Source: BJ-HUNNICUTTS-BLOG

L*urel: I knew the risks.

The Hood: Now I know them and I’m not willing to take them with you.

L*urel: What does that mean?

It means he wants to bone you, L*urel. Get a clue. 

Holy hell, these conversations make her look stupid. L*urel, do you know a lot of six foot men with similar build and facial hair to Oliver Queen? 

Maybe she would take issue with his infantilizing if she stopped speaking like a three year old whenever The Hood is around. 

Source: LAURELSOURCE

She has this dazed expression too. I know L*urel is so overwhelmed with all the ATTRACTION and LUST that her eyes dilate and the bosom heaves, but I’m starting to think a taser gun is how they forced Katie do scenes with Stephen.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

The point is nobody is all that interested in L*urel’s agency – INCLUDING L*UREL. I understand “secret identity” is a very common trope in hero’s stories, but it never makes any sense to me. Shouldn’t the “true love” be the first person to know who the hero is and not the last? Oliver keeps saying he can’t tell the people he loves who he truly is because it will put them in danger. So, he doesn’t care if Diggle gets killed? His logic makes no sense.  If this was truly about protecting people then why did he need a partner?

And no – you can’t use John can protect himself. We just watched L*urel throw down with that umbrella. She was lethal. 

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

Oliver is the king of compartmentalization. He does not know how to merge his two selves yet. He cannot fathom showing Thea, Moira, Tommy and L*urel his darkest self because that means being honest about what happened the five years he was away and what it did to him. That will be a hard pass from our leather clad hero.

My other issue with the love triangle (in addition to all the lying and misogyny) is Oliver comes off like an asshole. He manipulates Tommy with statements like, "L*urel is lying? That doesn't seem like her” and “ have an honest chat with her” like there is something in their relationship causing her to lie or that Tommy is responsible for L*urel’s behavior. He’s slowly pecking away at the Merlance walls until it crumbles. DIRTY POKER OLIVER QUEEN.

But then we arrive at this gross fest:

Tommy: There’s some sort of infatuation thing going on here. We both know that she has a pretty strong track record of being attracted to guys who are dangerous, who break the rules. Show me a more dangerous rule breaker than The Hood.

Oliver: I just think you need to have an honest chat with her. Find out the real reason she’s keep secrets.

Tommy: I just can’t believe that L*urel of all people would lie to my face. I guess that’s the way it is with the people you are closest to.

Oliver: I know, but talk to her anyway. And fix this before it becomes something that’s unfixable.

Did this conversation actually happen?

Does anyone else find it weird that Tommy and Oliver psychoanalyze L*urel’s dating preferences? 

And even weirder they are ACCURATE? 

Credit where credit is due. L*urel likes bad boys right up until they become good boys. Then she’s off to find the next asshole that will lie, cheat and disappoint her. (We could do an entire novel’s worth of L*urel Lance’s toxic dating choices).

Even worse, Tommy concludes she has the hots for The Hood like it’s nothing. Like it’s completely normal and okay behavior. 

Holy hell man! Tommy, maybe L*urel has beaten any self respect into the ground, but IT’S OK TO EXPECT YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO NOT BE INFATUATED WITH OTHER MEN.

What’s really gross is Oliver lies straight to Tommy’s face (no differently than L*urel did) while using the secret identity to engage in inappropriate flirting with his best friend’s girlfriend. He uses the hood to say things to L*urel that he would NEVER say as Oliver Queen. And L*urel never tells The Hood she has a boyfriend or to back off. In fact, she encourages the behavior. THIS. IS. CHEATING. Maybe not physical, but it sure is emotional.

Let’s also never forget L*urel started sleeping with Tommy as a way to stick it to Oliver. She wasn’t expecting to develop real feelings for Tommy, and I do believe she loves him, but that doesn’t erase the toxicity of this cycle that somebody needs to end.

There’s just no good here, my friends. 

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

The writers are relying on an empty “they are supposed to be together” promise without providing any evidence why. Neither L*urel nor Oliver has changed in a meaningful way to support giving their relationship another try. The problem between them wasn’t whether or not Oliver fought street crime. The problem was honesty. Between all the lying and just-on-the-line cheating, I’d argue they bring out the worst in each other. Nuclear winter has better chemistry. Need I go on?

Ok. I will.

The only one who has shown any growth is Tommy. This is change L*urel encouraged in Tommy, but then he became dependable and honest, so she started lusting after The Hood. Both Oliver and L*urel are lying to him about a variety of things. With friends like these who needs enemies? 

L*urel is treated like some prize, but is she a prize they really want to win? Neither man is given a reason to love L*urel beyond she’s who they are supposed to want.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

Don’t get me wrong. I am a Merlance shipper, but it is hard to root for their ship at this point. If the writers just left them alone and let them be adorable then it would be fine.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

BUT. THEY. KEEP. INSERTING. OLIVER.

And where is L*urel’s character? We’re thirteen episodes in and she’s too busy flip flopping personalities for me to nail her down to one specifically. For arguments sake, let’s say the hot and cold behavior IS one of her main traits. It only surfaces in relation to Oliver. L*urel flips on him which causes her to flop on Tommy. L*urel’s actions are simply a reaction to Oliver.  That’s not agency. That’s a prop.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

It’s almost like the writers can’t be bothered with more. She’s a justice seeking, self sacrificing attorney who works pro bono. TA DA! Character is complete. Nothing more to see here! 

Well, if that’s the criteria then why isn’t Joanna in the running for hero’s true love? Throw Annie Ilonzeh in a room with Stephen Amell. Let’s see if the chemistry is any better.

The writers haven’t constructed L*urel’s character beyond a hockey puck for Tommy and Oliver to pass to each other until we reach the inevitable conclusion of L*urel “choosing” Oliver. It’s like watching a train speed toward a brick wall. I know the crash is coming, but I’m not apprehensive about it or grotesquely fascinated or even scared. I’m just want out of this Bermuda Triangle.

Quentin and L*urel

The only real interesting facet of L*urel’s character is her relationship with her father. I love the raw pain between them. It is always just under the surface. The writers throw those problems like grenades in their scenes together. Katie isn’t given much to work with, but her best material is always with Paul Blackthorne.

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

Quentin using his daughter as bait was brilliant, but shadey. Super shadey. It also had the unintended consequence of getting her kidnapped by a mob boss. Oops. I sort of love that Quentin had to eat crow and call The Hood for help once he figured out there was a dirty cop feeding Vance information.

L*urel is in a rage after being held hostage by The Hood. (He can use her as a human shield because he loves her. No problems here. Nope nope nope!) Quentin really hoped L*urel would appreciate his fine detective work, but she’s pretty pissed off about all the guns pointed at her. She feels her father has lost his perspective on this particular case.

L*urel: Are you gonna find another criminal? Someone else to blame for mom leaving, for Sara dying, for your drinking?

The gloves come off! Daaaaaamn. The booze? We’re going there? Meow.

I agree Quentin Lance has an addictive personality. He directs his rage and grief into an outlet he can control. Hmm… who else does that?

However, L*urel’s indignation is a little much. She is cavorting with a known criminal. The same criminal her father is investigating. L*urel does nothing to help the investigation and one could argue she impedes the investigation. This is called obstruction of justice, Counselor. L*urel actually commissioned the crime The Hood is perpetrating this week, so she could also be charged as an accessory after the fact. Maybe even aiding and abetting. So, her horror at the police pointing guns at her is somewhat ludicrous. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

L*urel spends much of the episode fighting the rampant patriarchy and misogyny of the men around her by firmly accepting the danger of working with the vigilante.  She is prepared to take those risks. 

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

But then L*urel is appalled the second she’s put in any danger and holds all the men responsible for not keeping her safe.

She can be mad her dad lied to her, but stop clutching the pearls. If L*urel wants to play the vigilante game then she is going to be used as bait and occasionally get kidnapped. That’s what everyone means by danger, girl. You’re either in or you’re out. If you’re in then you don’t get to blame anyone else for danger knocking on your door. Own your choices honey. THY NAME IS AGENCY.

Oliver and Diggle

This is week 323 of Diggle arguing that Moira is guilty as sin and Oliver ignoring the massive pile of evidence supporting that belief. 

Ok, it hasn’t been that many weeks, but it feels like it. Thou Shall Not Question Diggle. He is always right, but Oliver digs his stubborn heels in. So, John offers to drive Moira around for a week and bugs her. As one does.

Oliver: You bugged my mother?

This is how OTA shows their love, Oliver.  Diggle knows Moira is a slippery snake and can wiggle out of any question Oliver asks her. She even burns the copy of the List Felicity gave him after Oliver confronts her with it.  

Moira insists she never associated with the people in Robert’s book and knew it only as a list of people who owed him favors. Oliver believes his mother is trying to protect her children from Walter’s fate.

So, John gets Moira ON TAPE discussing The Undertaking with Malcolm Merlyn and the sabotage of Robert Queen’s boat. 

We’re going to ignore that Moira’s voice is perfectly identifiable, but Merlyn’s is about ten octaves lower. The point is these are information diamonds Diggle unearths and Oliver FINALLY agrees to pay his mother a visit as The Hood.

Flashbacks

The best part of the flashbacks is meeting all the people who helped Oliver Queen become The Hood. 

Source: @olivergifs​

Hello Slade Wilson! He’s a massively important character in Arrow and it is fun to rewatch how he came into Oliver’s life.

Slade and his partner, the man who tortured Oliver, are Australian Intelligence who came to Lian Yu to free Yao Fei. Slade and Yao Fei have been monitoring an air field so they can escape the island, but he cannot take it alone. There is always a reason behind all of Yao Fei’s actions, but it takes Slade a minute to figure out why he sent Oliver.

Slade: You have no skill. No strength. No training. To say you fight like a girl would be a compliment.

I’m equally indignant and amused by that line. Slade doesn’t believe Oliver will be any help to him because well… he met him. If Oliver is ever captured again he could reveal Slade’s location.  So, he decides to behead Oliver. It’s the nice thing to do. It won’t hurt a bit. What can I say guys? It’s Lian Yu! These are how the memories are made.

Oliver dislocates his shoulder and punches Slade in a vain attempt to defend himself. Yao Fei may be a softer judge of character, but he’s not wrong about Oliver’s survival instinct. Slade sees the fight in Oliver’s eyes and finally understands why Yao Fei sent him. They need Oliver to survive as much as he needs them. He might not be much to look at now, but Slade Wilson is just the man to harness Oliver’s will and turn him into the fighter they all need him to become.

Stray Thoughts

David Anders is like my personal Kevin Bacon. He's in everything I watch. #Arrow #TVD #Alias #OUAT

I was never all that jazzed when L*urel was the damsel in distress and I love that crap. Another clue I didn't ship it. Source:  LAURELSOURCE

Do people on this show not realize you can’t touch evidence? JFC.

Twenty four arrows in the quiver. Good to know.

“It doesn’t mean I have to read the bastard his rights though.” IF YOU WANT THE CHARGES TO STICK YOU DO.

I am so confused on what type of law L*urel practices. Her firm works for a victim’s advocacy group, but she also prosecutes criminal cases. This feels like a radiologist performing heart surgery.

KC is just really bad at action scenes. It's always so awkward.

Musings of the Kiddo

Kiddo: Does he ever run out of arrows?

Me: He has extra in the car.

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

#arrow #arrow review #arrow 1x13 #arrow reviews #anti laurel lance #anti lauriver #merlance #anti katie cassidy #quentin lance #arrow rewatch #arrow season 1 #season 1 episode review #season 1 episode reviews #tommy merlyn

[ellewritessometimes]

It’s a Gift

Summary:  Cas and Dean have become very close. Dean develops a crush and is afraid to say anything. He continues to fall harder as the days go on. As the Valentine's Day party approaches, Dean wonders if he'll share the secret he's been harboring.

Ships: Dean/Cas, Crobby

Word Count:  3,552

TW: Mentions of violence and Homophobia, Swearing

Notes:  This is a work from an abandoned Valentine's Day group writing project. I decided to post it still because I worked hard on it and I wanted the original intended recipient to get their fic as planned. I want to thank Luc for allowing me to reach out to them and @kermit-drinking-tea-dot-jpg for betaing this fic.

Link to read on AO3

The smell of greasy tater tots and dry nuggets wafted through the cafeteria as I walked in and took my seat at the table. The rest of the team sat down as well.

"Does anyone have a date for Valentine's party tomorrow?" Garth asked.

"I'm sure Sam will be my date," Gabe smirked. The guy was kinda obsessed with my brother.

Garth rolled his eyes and continued to take a bite of his chicken patty. I turned the page of my notebook, trying to decode my notes from last week. 

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath.

"What?" Gabe asked with a mouth full of french fries.

"I can't read my notes, and the test is next period," I said in frustration. I had scrawled them down distractedly during the class.

"Would you like to borrow mine?" Cas asked. 

Of course, I would like to borrow Cas's notes. He was a great student, always crazy organized.

Cas slid a spiral-bound notebook with perfect notes written in blue gel pen. The lettering looked like a font. I could never be like this. I could never sit still for that long. Oh, to be like Cas; Quarterback, Captain of the Football team, debate mentor, NHS, he really had it all. I was just a linebacker struggling to remember physics. God, Dad, is gonna kill me.

"Thanks, man," There was relief in my voice. Maybe I'd pass. A.P. Physics is not the move when you're a dumbass.

Cas smiled and picked up his book, On the Road. I've never seen him eat during school. He's always reading, helping us with homework, or keeping Gabe and Garth out of trouble. 

The bell rang, so I handed Cas his notebook back. He winked, and I felt my heart pound. I'm sure he was just saying ‘you're welcome’.

* * *

Mr. Crowley handed out the test, and I inhaled deeply. I can't do this. I can't do this. 

Cas looked toward me and mouthed, "Are you ok?" 

I shook my head. The little shit winked again and raised his hand.

"Mr. Crowley, I think Dean is going to be ill," Cas fibbed, "I should take him to the nurse just to be sure."

"We wouldn't want that. Take him to the nurse," Mr. Crowley gave him the ok.

Cas and I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. Cas gestured to me to follow him. He led me into an empty classroom and shut the door.

 He set his notebook and pencil down on a desk and bluntly said, "Sit."

I did as I was told. I watched him write a kinematic equation on a fresh sheet.

"What do you know?" Cas asked.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that."

"I'm a dumbass," I shrugged.

He tilted his head, and I noticed a change in his eyes. 

"You don't believe you deserved to be helped," He stated and quickly changed the subject in an attempt to take what he said back. "Let's start easy."

I leaned my head over to see the problem he wrote. A hair fell on my face, and Cas pushed it away. I jumped. Cas jumped as well, startled by my reaction. His disposition changed.

"I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.

"It's fine, Cas." I made an attempt to reassure him.

We moved along with the problem like it never happened. But it did happen. I would feel the touch on my forehead the rest of the day. The way his hand felt, soft and warm against my rough skin. 

We must have done at least 20 problems until I finally felt comfortable doing it independently. The bell rang, and I thanked Cas. He really didn't need to do that. I wasn't shocked that he did though, he always tried to help the guys somehow. The dude's a friggin angel.

* * *

I was distracted all of the football practice.  I was preoccupied thinking about Cas.

"Winchester, get your head in the game!" Coach Bobby yelled out.

I had known Bobby my whole life. He'd been more like a dad than my own blood. He was always there when Dad was deployed, on a hunting trip, or just drunk, unable to take care of Sam and me. Dad was never the most stable person. 

I nodded to Bobby and tried to focus. I'd been meaning to talk to the school counselor about getting me to see a therapist or something to get diagnosed. Bobby and I suspected I had ADHD but we wouldn't know for sure. Unfortunately, I knew that Dad didn't believe in therapy. And anyway, the doctor can't fix it if I'm distracted by Cas. God, the dude can move. His passes are perfect, he makes almost every goal, and his touchdowns are so impressive. God, I sound like I have a crush.

Practice finished, and we all headed to the locker room. Bobby gave a speech.

"We've got an away game tomorrow, folks. I expect the best behavior from you all, or you will not go to the sports Valentine's Day party. I mean it." Bobby continued, "I know that this year has been hard with the Superbowl being delayed due to extenuating circumstances, but I still need you idjits to be good."

"Yes, coach," We deadpanned in unison like cult members. We started exiting the locker room.

"Dean, I would like you to stay," Coach said sternly.

Oh shit. 

Bobby led me to his office and motioned for me to sit in a chair.

"What's up with you, son?" Bobby questioned, "You've got that look, is it a girl? You're not back with Jo, are you? Lisa? Or is it a guy or an enby? You know that I don't care…"

"No, it's no one," I'm such a liar. I've had a crush on Cas since he moved here in fourth grade, and Bobby can see right through my bullshit.

"Bull," Bobby raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged. I couldn't even imagine what dad would say. Actually, I could. It would be to get out of his house and never come back.

"So that's it, you just wanted to be nosey? Besides, it's no one, and dad would never let me." I sighed.

"Don't worry about your old man. I'd take care of it. Mr. King and I always have a place for you and Sam anyway." Bobby was dating Mr. Crowley, no one but Sam and I knew.

I thanked him and left to go pick up Sam from the middle school. Boy, he had grown up so fast. I remembered when he was born. And when mom died.

* * *

I pulled up at the school, music blaring. Sam rushed to my car and opened the door.

"Can you drive me to Jess's house?" Sam asked.

"No, tonight's family dinner night." Dad's A.A. sponsor told him that it was a good idea to start trying to be more of a part of our lives. That started with dinner, I guess.

* * *

Dinner with Dad was painful. Sam and Dad bickered back and forth about every single little thing. Sam wanted to go to college, Dad wanted him to keep up with the family business, then Sam said that hunting and the military don't count as a legacy. I hate it here.

"Sam, give it a rest." I dropped my fork into Cambell's chicken noodle with stars.

"You're not siding with him, are you?" Sam's face was defensive.

"I'm the adult here." Dad slurred.

"A half of one at best," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, boy?" Dad's face had that look I didn't like.

"Nothing, sir," I was trying not to get killed.

Creak. Dad slid his chair back and walked over to me. As he hovered over my head, my heart dropped to my stomach. He held his hand out and swung. 

I could feel the tingling on my face as he said, "Say something else, and it's gonna be somewhere else."

Sam got up from the table and ran to his room. I hated when Sam saw this. I knew it would hurt him more, but I still spoke anyway. It's hard. I knew Dad loved us. He just didn't know how to express it.

I walked away from the table as Dad drank more beer.

"Sam, you know that…" I couldn't think of an excuse, so I said, "Open the door, please."

Sam opened the door. His eyes were red, stress hives had formed on his arm. I wanted to hold him and tell him I would get us out here. I tried to protect him. I wanted him to always be safe. I just wish he knew Dad before Mom died. 

"Why?" Sam asked, "Why do you just sit there and take it."

So he won't come after you, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged as he closed the door in frustration.

* * *

I woke up early to go on a run to clear my head. As I ran, I saw a familiar face. It was Cas, walking a fluffy golden retriever. There was a redheaded girl next to him. I didn't know her, but she was pretty. I stopped jogging and stared for a moment.

"Hey!" I waved.

"Oh hey, Dean!" Cas's face brightened. He turned to the girl, "Anna, this is Dean Winchester."

Anna threw up a hand shyly. I smiled in response. 

"Catch you later, I guess," I said as I walked away.

It was nice to see Cas, and he looked happy to see me. His sister was nice as well. I thought of the interaction as I strolled to the abandoned house on the end of the street. Sam always asked why I liked that place so much, but I don't know why. I just like creepy things. The house feels almost supernatural. 

* * *

"Hey!" Someone hit me in the back. Jo.

"Hay is for horses," Jo grinned. "Got a date for the party?"

I shook my head. I was planning on asking Lisa but Jo was a fun party person. This could pose an issue, but I decided to ignore it.

"Well, you do now, silly goose," Jo said snarkily. 

I always took Jo to parties. She was indeed the life of them. We'd go, she'd flirt, I'd scope out the crowd, we'd both be disappointed, then drunkenly make out in the Impala. Maybe grab a milkshake. It was tradition, but I had never taken Lisa before. Jo and I were more like flirty friends; I really had something with Lisa.

"Same as always?" I asked.

"Yup, come get me at five, and I'll bring the refreshments." She was referring to the whiskey she would steal from her mom's bar.

Jo walked away, and I turned to see Lisa standing at her locker. She was grabbing a math textbook and a copy of Gatsby.

"Hey Lis," I started.

"What do you want, Dean," She seemed annoyed.

"Are you ok?"

"I thought you've been ignoring me," Her voice had little emotion.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize how distant I was," Now was not the best time. I decided to say nothing about the party.

"Also, I'm not going to the party. My mom is making me watch my sister." Lisa was disappointed.

"Aw man," Score. This would work out.

We departed from the hallway, and I went to class.

* * *

School could not end fast enough. I couldn't wait for the game.

"Winchester, come see me," Mr. Crowley ordered me to his desk.

I hesitantly got up. He seemed pleased. I could not think of what this could possibly be about.

"Dean, your make-up test is perfect," His voice was enthusiastic. "I'm very proud."

Wow. I could not believe this. I thought for sure that I had flunked. As I breezed by, Cas gave me a thumbs up. I would have to thank him later.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by like cake. 

The team gathered in the locker room before entering the busses. Coach Bobby gave us one last speech.

"Alright, boys, remember what I said yesterday. Be polite and respectful but kick butt," The team cheered as soon as he said it.

We filled into the bus like sardines. This would be unpleasant on the ride home. I made sure I sat next to Cas to talk about science.

"Hey man, thank you so much," I patted his shoulder. 

"Of course," He didn't even look up from his book.

"What's it about" I pointed to On the Road.

"Oh, it's not your kind of book. You wouldn't like it," Cas muttered assertively. 

"I'm sure I would"

"When I finish, I'll let you borrow it," Cas clearly was uncomfortable.

"Ok," I decided not to press.

We sat in awkward silence. It was painful. I tried not to stare while he read his book, but he's all I wanted to pay attention to. I noticed the way his eyes glowed, the way his lip curled when he read something funny, the way he brushed his fringe away from his face.

"Dean...Dean...Dean," I finally noticed that Cas was talking to me.

"Huh?" Shit.

"You're staring," 

"You're a pretty picture," I tried to laugh it off, and I guess it worked because he smiled.

He titled his head in surprise at the comment, but he didn't say anything about it, just turned to his book again. I stared more this time, making it very obvious. He looked up again and grinned. This time, I scooted closer. Now, we were only inches apart. Without looking up, he put his head on my shoulder and continued reading. His hair was soft against my cheek. His arm fit perfectly next to mine. I felt so warm and fuzzy. I never had this feeling before.

* * *

"Hut, hut, 67," Bobby was yelling out commands, "Let's go, boys!"

The bright lights lit up the dark field. It was the fourth quarter, and things were looking good. Tried to keep my head in the game as I made a pass to Cas. Cas fumbled the ball, and another player tackled him.

"What are you doing, Novak?" Bobby yelled. Fumbles were out of character for Cas.

I noticed that the opponent was on top of Cas. This was more malicious than just a tackle. 

"Hey!" Gabe tried to break them up but got lost in the mix. 

Finally, a ref noticed and threw up a flag, "Fifteen-yard penalty!"

Cas stumbled up, his lip was bleeding, and a bruise formed around his eye. We cleared the field to regroup. Cas would most-likely be evaluated, and that player, Azazel, would be suspended. Bobby took Cas to the medical station and, after, walked to the refs and the other coach. You could see them conversing. Bobby's face was solemn.

"So, after talking to the other coach and the refs, we've decided to end this game. The behavior was unacceptable, and we want to prevent any other incidents from happening." Bob said, disappointingly. 

"Ugh, I want to kill this kid!" Gabe yelled. His face was red hot.

"Exactly," Cas spoke up from the bench. No one even noticed that he walked over. "This is what we want to prevent." 

Gabe crossed his arms. He's quite the drama queen.

Bobby told us to gather our stuff and meet him outside to get on the bus. Most of the team was able to grab their belongings quickly. I was about to leave the locker room when I heard someone grunt. They sounded frustrated. 

"Dean! Are you still in here?" Cas called out.

"Um...yeah? Why?"

Cas walked out from behind a row of lockers, shirtless. I tried to contain myself, but the sweat against his skin, the ruffled wet hair, the smile, he looked hot. I must say.

He looked defeated, "I can't find my bag."

I nodded, and Cas continued, "Can you tell Coach Singer that I'll be late? I need to find my bag."

I ran to Bobby, "Cas can't find his bag. I'm gonna stay and help him. I'll call for you to pick me up later."

"Sounds good, kiddo," Bobby gave me two thumbs up.

I ran back to Cas just to find him with his head between his knees on a bench. I didn't know what to do, so I just placed my hand on his back and left it there. 

The room smelled of old sweat and mud. The smell was so overwhelming, I don't know how I didn't notice it earlier. There are lots of things I haven't seen, I start to think about what I've actually paid attention to.

"Cas?" I question. "Are you ok?"

He shook his head. He didn't even move from his position, so I got up to look around. The lockers didn't have locks, so I opened all of them. Nothing. I checked under benches, in stalls; I even looked by the toilets.

"Man, I can't find it," I sighed.

Seconds after I said those words, the lights went out, and I heard the twist of a key.

"Damnit!" I'd never heard Cas curse before, "What are we gonna do?"

"Cas, I don't know," I said as I tried to think. 

I opened my phone to see that it was dead. I couldn't use the flashlight, and if Cas didn't have his bag, he didn't have his phone with him. Thankfully, I had a charger in my pocket, but it would take at least an hour for my Motorola to charge. Damn, that phone takes forever.

"We're gonna miss the party, and it's all my fault," Cas started sobbing.

"No, don't cry," I don't do well with tears. I sat back down on the bench.

"Dean…" Cas scooted away from me.

"What?" I moved closer so I could hear him through the sobs.

Cas turned and kissed me. His soft lips against mine felt like heaven on a platter. He ran his hands through my hair as he swung his legs over onto my lap. I lay down on my back as he leaned into me. I began kissing back but still letting him lead. This is what I wanted. I've been yearning for this. He moves from my lips to my neck, and I run my hands across his muscles.

"Dean?"

"Cas?"

"God, I love it when you say my name," He says as he undresses me faster.

* * *

After we finish, I check my phone to see if it is charged. The time says 7:15. It's only been an hour since the game ended, so we're not too late.

"So what do we do now?" Cas was lying on the bench, looking at the ceiling.

"Call Bobby to pick us up, I guess?" I ran out of solutions, "I think someone stole it."

"You're probably right, but how do we get out of here?" Cas questioned.

I did not think about that. We were in a locked locker room after school hours with no way of getting out or seeing.

It took me a moment, but I came up with a solution. There's a window high up in the back, so I slid another bench towards it so I could reach it. I flicked the lock on the window, and it budged. It was a small window, but I could climb up and slide my torso through without issue. 

"Cas!" I yelled as I slid downwards out of the window, back into the locker room.

"What?"

"I found a solution."

* * *

Bobby arrived quickly to pick up a poor freezing shirtless Cas and me.

"No bag?" Bobby questioned.

We shrugged and told him we couldn't find it. Bobby said that we were never playing this school again. Cas and I were content with that. I looked over to Cas and smiled. He smiled back and giggled. I held out my hand, and he took it. I felt the warm sensation through my body again as he touched me.

"What's up with you guys?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," I smiled but quickly pulled my hand away from Cas. I wasn't ready to tell Bobby yet.

* * *

We arrived at Valentine's party, and Jo was the first to greet me.

"Did you forget about me?" Jo wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Sorry, I was looking for Cas's bag." I'm not lying.

"Well, I found another date." Jo turned to a girl, Lisa.

"Hey Dean," Lisa waved and pointed to a redhead, "Meet Charlie!"

"Hi! I'm Jo's girlfriend!" Charlie stuck out her hand enthusiastically. 

I laughed—what a wild night. I strolled over to the drink table and grabbed some punch. Cas found me through the crowd. He was shy now.

"Dean? Are we going to talk about this?" Cas insisted.

"Sure."

"I like you."

"I get that." I wondered what the problem was.

"And?" Cas seemed unsure.

I moved closer to Cas and hugged him. 

Cas told me that Gabe had grabbed his bag from the locker room because he knew that Cas was hurt. Gabe was goofy but kind at heart. Cas was thankful that he did, and no one stole it.

That reminded me that I had something to give Cas. I opened my bag and handed Cas a mixtape with some Zeppelin favorites.

"Dean, I can't take this," Cas was in awe.

"It's a gift; you keep those." I smiled and took his hand to dance.

#spn #fic #destiel crack #crack fic #request #fanfic #this is not my usual style lol #userroadhouse

[tw-anchor]

24. He Knew

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 2x12; Master Plan

Word Count: 5,132

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence and gore, semi-dead and briefly-dead Jackson, injured Stiles, proclamations of love

Author’s Note: Here’s the season 2 finale. Olivia and Stiles take a step in their relationship, so let me know what you think? Hope you enjoy and make sure to reblog and comment!

Masterlink in Profiles Description!

Sixty-five percent of people living in America believed that they only use ten percent of their brain. Scientists and doctors debunked the myth, of course, but people still believe the outdated rumor. The human brain is complex; it performs millions of actions within a second, controls your emotions and behaviors, stores memories, and can solve mathematical equations.

Olivia knows firsthand because it sure feels like all three pounds of her brain were working overtime. It wasn't just the biological features, like her grief for Jackson or her worry for Stiles. It was the supernatural ones, too. Whatever came with her being an anchor was even more distracting than her emotions or the chaos going on around her.

It was the constant whispering in her ears, even though no one was there beside her. It was a distinct feeling that she almost couldn't describe; a weird zap in her temple that told her many of her pack members were hurt and a murky feel of where they were located. It was the overwhelming feeling to move, to stop fighting whatever was inside of her and find where Stiles had been taken.

"Olivia, hun, are you okay?"

Olivia blinked at the gruff voice and quickly focused, nodding her head at Noah. "Yeah, sorry, Sheriff."

Noah waved her off and continued telling her, Scott, and Isaac what he had planned on doing. "I've got to meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened with Jackson," he listed. "I've got an APB out on Stiles. His Jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means...Hell, I don't know what that means."

Olivia knew what it meant and so did Scott and Isaac. Gerard had taken Stiles as soon as that game buzzer went off, taking him who knows where.

"Look," he sighed heavily, shoving his little notebook into his pocket. "if he answers his phone, if he answers his emails, if any of you see him..."

"We'll call you," Isaac assured him kindly.

"He's probably just freaked out from all the attention or something," Scott tried to make Noah feel better. Anything was better than telling him a geriatric psychopath—in the words of her father—had kidnapped him. "We'll find him."

Noah nodded solemnly. "Yeah...I'll see you, okay?" he patted Olivia on the shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She managed a sad smile before he walked away. "Thank you."

Was Jackson her loss? Yes, in the sense they were friends and he had died out on that field, she lost Jackson. But there was something in her head, that supernatural side of her, that told her that Jackson wasn't as dead as they thought he was. And it didn't make sense that Gerard would just kill off his best player so soon to the final battle because she knew that Jackson would never kill himself. It was Jackson, for crying out loud.

"McCall," Coach approached them now, hardly bothering with the fact that Olivia was in the locker room. "We need you on the team, okay? You know I can't put you on the field next season if you don't get your grades up."

There weren't the right words but Coach's tone told them that he was grieving Jackson just like his players were.

"I know, Coach."

"All right," Coach faltered for a second. "I mean, I know I yell a lot but it's not like I hate you guys...Well, I hate Greenberg, but, you know, that's different. It's Greenberg," he chuckled a little bit before sobering. "I'm just saying we—I need you on the team. Get your grades back up."

It was the sweetest thing that Olivia had ever heard Coach say before. It actually kind of shocked her.

Scott looked just as shocked as her. "I will."

"I know," Coach nodded and then patted Olivia on the shoulder. "Martin."

Okay, that was two times she was comforted about Jackson out of nowhere. Was she not hiding her emotions as well as she thought or was it because people had actually noticed that she and Jackson were more friendly than their cold exteriors made it seem?

As soon as Coach was shut away in his office, Scott turned to Olivia and Isaac. "Is that everyone?"

Olivia looked around while Isaac used his senses to make sure no one was left in the locker room but them. "I think so."

Scott ripped off the door of Stiles' locker, tossing the warped metal onto the floor.

"You're gonna find him by scent?"

"Yeah, we both are." Scott picked up one of Stiles' shirts and tossed Isaac a shoe.

"But how come you get his shirt and I get a shoe?" Isaac complained.

"Stop whining," Olivia scolded him as Scott tensed up. She and Isaac followed his line of sight to see Derek walking into the locker room alone.

"We need to talk," he said seriously.

Olivia should have known that he wasn't alone; Peter dramatically stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to Scott. "All of us."

Scott gaped at him. "Holy shit!" his amazement quickly faded and turned to anger. "What the hell is this?"

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you," Olivia winced; that was her bad. "Peter's alive."

Scott gave her an obvious look and then turned back to Derek. "And you're, what, working with him?"

Derek cocked his head calmly, though Olivia could see the irritation in his eyes. "You know, I thought the same thing when I saw you talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station."

Woah, hold up, Olivia whipped her head in Scott's direction. I didn't know that.

"Scott?"

"Okay, hold on," Scott held his hands up defensively. "He—he threatened to kill my mom so I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?"

Okay, he had a good point, Olivia admitted to herself.

"I'm gonna go with Scott on this one," Peter interjected casually. "Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous."

Olivia, Scott, and Derek glared at him, all three of them yelling, "Shut up!"

Peter rolled his eyes while Isaac ducked down to speak quietly in Olivia's ear, though they all heard him. "Who is he?"

"His name's Peter," Olivia informed him, all the while glaring at her father. "He's my dad. He's the one who bit Scott, me, and Lydia. He tried to kill everyone, so Stiles and Jackson set him on fire and Derek slashed his throat."

Peter waved at him. "Hi."

"That's good to know," Isaac whispered awkwardly; Olivia patted his arm.

"Yeah, how is he even alive?" Scott asked loudly.

"Look, short version is he knows how to stop Jackson," Derek declared. "and maybe how to save him."

Olivia raised an eyebrow in surprise, giving Derek a questioning look. He nodded ever so slightly at her, causing her to inhale deeply. Hope settled in her chest; if Jackson wasn't really dead like she thought, maybe they could stop him without killing him dead.

"Well, that's very helpful except Jackson's dead," Isaac told them the news.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"Yeah, Jackson's dead," Scott confirmed. "It just happened on the field."

"I'm gonna be honest and just come out and say it," Olivia spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't think Jackson's dead."

Scott looked at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I can't explain it," Olivia's eye caught Peter's, catching his barely there smirk. "I just know that he's not dead. Not completely, anyway."

"Gerard wanted this to happen," Peter stated thoughtfully. "We need to figure out why. Something tells me the window of opportunity is quickly closing."

-

-

"Shh!"

Stiles reached above him, going for the cables wrapped around Erica's wrists. He ignored the muffle sounds of her protests chorusing with Boyd's and he shouldn't have. As soon as he touched the wires he was zapped, causing him to hiss and jump back.

"Ow!"

"They were trying to warn you," Gerard Argent slowly walked down the steps into whatever basement they were keeping him, Erica, and Boyd in. "It's electrified."

God, he hated this old man more than he had hated anyone ever. He was pretty sure the guy got his rocks off on torturing innocent people. The Argent patriarch was completely fucked up. Killing werewolves was one thing—a very bad thing—but killing innocent werewolves, especially teenagers, was a whole other level of cruel. He couldn't believe that Allison had been swept up in all of it. He thought—hell, they all thought—she was better than that.

Stiles swallowed his nerves. "What are you doing with them?"

"At the moment, just keeping them comfortable," Gerard answered, casually leaning against the cement wall. "There's no point in torturing them, they won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their alpha's too strong."

As if hanging two sixteen-year olds by the ceiling with live wires wasn't torture.

"Okay," he played it cool. "So, what are you doing with me? Because Scott can find me, all right? He knows my scent. It's pungent, it's more like a stench. He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer covered in fecal matter and urine."

Gerard looked annoyed at his rambling. Good. "You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski," he drawled, slowly walking toward him. "Let me paint one of my own...Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp."

Stiles stiffened, nervously eyeing the ten inches between him and Gerard.

"How does that sound?"

"I think I might prefer more of a still-life or landscape, you know?" Stiles couldn't help but be a smartass. When in fear, mouth your way out of it—that was his motto. "What—what are you, ninety? Look, I can probably kick your ass up and down this room."

Gerard's hand came out and backhanded him before he could blink. Boyd and Erica gasped as he fell to the cement floor while Gerard grabbed the front of his jersey to add to his beating.

"Okay, wait," Stiles spat out some blood after a punch to the face. "Wait, wait, wait!"

Down the road, where Olivia was illegally driving Derek's Camaro, she winched, cupping her cheek with her hand. At the more urgent whispering in her head, telling her tales of Stiles' misfortune, she pressed on the gas and pulled to a stop across the street from the Argents house.

She had taken the car keys from Derek and just started driving. She stopped fighting the feeling in her that could just find Stiles and like it take control. And it worked, it led her right to the Argents.

Now the only problem was getting him out of there without Gerard killing her. She didn't think that Allison would be any help—and she sure as hell hoped that the youngest Argent had nothing to do with Stiles' kidnapping—but there was one Argent who was more moral than the others. Chris Argent had always been about the Argent code and Stiles didn't fall under it at all. He was innocent and he was human. He was good.

So, Chris Argent was her only hope at the moment. How ironic, a Hale hoping an Argent would help them.

She got out of the Camaro and snuck over to the huge house. She couldn't just ring the doorbell, so she was careful not to be seen by any rogue hunters as she peeked into the windows on the main floor, trying to see a glimpse of Mr. Argent. It was her luck that he walked into the kitchen just as she peeked into one of the windows there.

She gently knocked on the window to get his attention, flinching when he pulled out his gun in surprise.

Olivia raised her hands, showing him that she meant no harm, and Mr. Argent sighed. He walked over to the window and opened it; there were worry lines all over his face and a sadness to him that was almost shocking.

"You're not safe here, Olivia."

"I know I'm not," Olivia whispered. "but Stiles, he's human."

Mr. Argent nodded, dragging a hand down his stressed face. "I know."

"You know, you guys say you're all about protecting humans against werewolves but look at you," she shook her head. "Stiles was kidnapped by your father. He's in this house, he's human, and he's hurt."

"You're right, Olivia," Mr. Argent said quietly. "Just—just wait here for a second. Don't let yourself be seen."

Olivia nodded and stepped back from the window as he shut it. She waited in the dark, shifting from foot to foot, for five minutes before Mr. Argent appeared, helping a black-and-blue Stiles with him.

"Oh, my God, Stiles," Olivia hissed, stepping forward to gently cup his face in her hands; Stiles winced. "Are you okay? What the hell did he do to you?"

"Livvy, I'm okay," Stiles croaked as she left go of his face to quickly check him for any other injuries. He grabbed her hands, keeping them still. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Olivia shook her head and shook his hand away, pressing her fingertips against his chin to tilt his head. "Look at you."

He took them from his face and pressed a quick kiss against them before squeezing her hand. "I'm okay," he enjoyed the surprised look on her face. "I just want to go home."

Olivia nodded shakily. "Your dad's been worried about you," as they started to over to the Camaro, she nodded once at Mr. Argent, who nodded back. "He put out an APB on you."

"Really?" Stiles' voice was soft, defeated; it made Olivia's heart break. "Wait, did you drive here? Derek let you drive?"

"Why do you say that with such surprise?" she opened the passenger door for him and he hesitated before getting in.

He waited until she was in the driver's seat before he responded. "Livvy, you don't have your license and I've heard Derek grumble about your driving before."

"Derek grumbles about everything," Olivia rolled her eyes and started the car. "Let's get you home."

Whey they arrived at his house, Olivia stayed in the living room while Stiles went upstairs. His dad was in his room, talking on the phone with a deputy. He looked completely lost, his voice desolate. "Yeah, I'm not finding any clues here," he rubbed his forehead. "Listen if he—if he shows up at the hospital—okay, thanks," he ended the call and groaned, "Come on, Stiles. Where the hell are you?"

"I'm right here," Noah whipped around at Stiles' voice, his eyes hardening when he saw the damage done to his face. His touch was so gentle compared to the look in his eyes that it made Stiles start to tear up. "It's okay, Dad. It's okay."

Noah moved his face slightly so he could get a better look at the shiner under his right eye. "Who did it?"

"It's okay," Stiles' voice wavered. He didn't want to lie but what was he supposed to do? Tell his dad that his ancient principal beat him up because he was in the middle of a war between werewolves and hunters? "It was just a couple of kids from the other team. You know, they were really pissed about losing and I was—I was mouthing off, you know?"

Because that's what he did. He mouthed off because he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't protect himself, he couldn't protect his dad or Scott or Olivia.

"The next thing I know—"

Noah cut off his explanation. "Who was it?"

"Dad, I don't know. I didn't even see them, really."

Noah's chest heaved with anger. "I want descriptions."

"Dad, come on. It's not even that bad."

"I'm calling that school," Noah declared, getting worked up. "I'm calling them and I'll personally go down there and I'm gonna pistol-whip those little bastards!"

"Dad!" Stiles raised his voice in order to get through to Noah. "I just—I said I was okay."

Oh, how he wished that his voice didn't break on that last word. His dad could see right through him, right through the strong front he had on in order to convince himself that he was okay. But he wasn't. Not really.

"God," Noah sighed sadly, grabbing the back of Stiles' neck to pull him into a warm hug.

Stiles buried his head into his dad's shoulder, trying to keep himself from acting like an eight-year-old kid and completely breaking down into tears. He could feel Noah shaking though, maybe it was his adrenaline dying down, and it threw him. Tears stung his eyes as he gripped onto the back of Noah's jacket, clenching the material with his fingers.

-

Stiles stared at the framed picture of him and his mom that was always placed on nightstand right next to his Adderall. It was taken a year or so before she had gotten sick and they were at the park, him sitting in her lap on one of the swings. They were both smiling happily and Stiles even had a little red mustache from the fruit punch he must have been drinking.

He wondered what his mom would have thought about everything going on in his life. Would she be proud of him? Would she be glad that she stuck to his best friend's side and helped out the best he could? Or would she be disappointed that he got himself into the mess in the first place?

He didn't want to think about his mom being disappointed in him, though. There was already too much disappointment racing through his own head, so he couldn't handle his mom's too. In the middle of all this mess, this war, he had been the one who needed to be rescued. He was the one who had Olivia travel into enemy territory just to make sure he was okay. He was the one who couldn't help Erica and Boyd.

He felt so useless, unneeded. A human in the middle of a group of supernatural beings.

"Dad, I'm fine," Stiles called when there was a light knock on the door. He had told Noah to send Olivia home so he could mope around, so it couldn't be her. Another knock; Stiles scrambled off his bed, annoyed. "Dad, I said I'm fine."

He roughly pulled open the door, only to deflate when he saw that it was Olivia on the other side.

"Told your dad to send me away, huh?" she walked into his room without an invitation.

Stiles sighed and shut the door after her, rubbing the back of his neck. "Livvy, it's not like that. I just want to be alone."

"I understand that," she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. He was distracted when he noticed that she was still wearing his jersey. "and I get it, but shit's hit the fan, Stiles. Jackson's in this weird stage of metamorphosis, Allison's off the rails—"

Stiles scoffed. "And I'm supposed to do something about that?" he asked bitterly. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to, Olivia. I'm not Scott, I can't just swoop in and save the day."

"You're not Scott, you're Stiles," Olivia's voice was sharp and her cobalt-blue eyes held a hint of sadness and irritation to them as she stepped toward him. "No one's asking you to be anyone but yourself. We don't need another Scott, we need you."

"Well, Stiles can't help."

"Stiles can," Olivia corrected him, shaking her head. "You're the glue, sweetcheeks. You hold us all together and you find out what's wrong and you help solve it. You're the one who knew that Matt was controlling Jackson, you're the one who found out that Peter was the alpha..."

Stiles' heart raced as Olivia ranted passionately. Anyone else would have thought that she was angry, and maybe she was, but not Stiles. He could see the love in her eyes, the sadness at the way he felt about himself, the disbelief that he wasn't believing her, the urgency to get through his thick head and make him see sense.

"So, don't you dare say that you can't help, okay? Because we need you—I need you," Olivia finished passionately and eyed the smile on Stiles' face. "You're smiling. Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are," she marched up at him and pressed a finger to the corner of his quirked lips. "Right there, you're smiling. I was being so serious and so heartfelt and you're just smiling at me?"

"You so like me."

Olivia looked caught off guard by his statement, making his grin widen. "Stiles!"

"What? It's obvious," Stiles chuckled. "Can you repeat the last part. Where you said you needed me?"

"I'm gonna take it back."

"You can't take it back. Nice try, though."

It was crazy how Olivia could just snap him out of something. He'd been in the middle of a tense one-person-only self-hate session when she'd come up to his room without being invited and told him what was really going on. And what she said had actually worked, too. Stiles was a stubborn bastard, everyone knew that, and he didn't like being wrong. But damn it if she didn't change his mind, even if it would only work for a little while.

This was why he loved her. Olivia hid her emotions but she wasn't a robot. She cared almost as deeply as anyone he had ever met. She was protective and comforting and beautiful and smart and nerdy. She was serious but she was able to laugh, too. There was an innocence about her but no naivety. She was blunt but still cared about how someone felt. They bickered like crazy but she melted around him.

And he was just as affected by her.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Olivia that he loved her—like, he was actually in love with her—but at the same moment, her phone rang. She apologized, telling him that it was Derek, and put the phone on speaker.

"What's happening with Jackson?" she asked her cousin without a greeting.

"Scott and Isaac say that he's in some kind of transparent casing. We think it's the venom that comes out of his claws."

"That is horrifying," Stiles mumbled under his breath, earning a look of agreement from Olivia.

"They also say that he's starting to move," Derek added. "Peter and I found something in the Hale archives. Apparently, what we've seen from Jackson is just the kanima's beta shape."

Olivia sighed in frustration. "Meaning that he can evolve?"

"Yeah, into something worse," Derek confirmed. "Look, we're meeting with Scott and Isaac in the warehouse district. They're bringing Jackson with them."

"Okay, we'll meet you there."

"You need to bring Lydia," Peter injected and Stiles was glad that Olivia told him about his resurrection earlier in the week because that would have been quite the shock. "I think she can save Jackson."

Olivia blinked in shock. "Uh, yeah, I'll get her. See you soon." She slipped the phone into her pocket. "Come on, let's go."

Stiles hesitated. "Wait, Livvy," he grabbed her arm so she wouldn't leave the room. "I don't think you should go."

Olivia raised her eyebrows at him and repeated his words, as if she didn't hear him right. "You don't think I should go?"

"That's what I said."

"Stiles, if I can help Jackson by bringing Lydia to him, I will."

"You could get hurt."

"I don't care about me," Olivia waved him off.

"Yeah, well, I do," Stiles raised his voice, catching her off guard. "I'd be devastated if you get hurt and if you die, I'll literally got out of my fucking mind."

Olivia's tense body relaxed. "Stiles..."

"Death doesn't happen to you, Olivia," Stiles continued over her, wishing that she would just see how much he loved and cared for her. "It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it."

"Stiles."

"And you think you're so invincible but you're not—and I can't just stand back and watch you get hurt—how am I supposed to even—you don't even realize—"

Stiles was abruptly cut off when a warm pair of lips pressed themselves against his. The kiss didn't last long as it was intended to shut him up, but somehow Stiles managed to stare down at Olivia wide-eyed the whole time.

Olivia smiled when she pulled away, amused by the look of amazement on his face. "You know, this relationship isn't gonna work if you're telling me what I can and cannot do."

Stiles blinked rapidly, spluttering. "Relationship?"

He grinned when she winced in embarrassment. He wasn't laughing at her, he wasn't. He was just so damn happy because, holy shit, she had basically admitted her feelings for him. Yeah, she didn't say the words but he knew. He knew from the way she came for him, the way she'd text him a funny meme in the middle of the night, the way she'd seek comfort from him and give it in return. He knew from the way she smiled at him because no one—not even Derek, Lydia, or Sirius—got that smile, the one were her eyes would sparkle and she'd bit her bottom lip just a little without realizing.

Olivia gave him an exasperated look. "We don't have time for this, Stiles."

"Okay, okay," Stiles nodded. "Just tell me you love me and we'll go."

"I love you, Stiles," Olivia deadpanned but he knew she meant every word. "Can we go get Lydia now?"

"Yes," Stiles let her lead the way from his bedroom. "I love you, too."

"I know."

-

-

"How do you even know all of this stuff?"

Olivia looked up from the message she got from Peter at Stiles' question. It wasn't for her, it was directed to Lydia, who was sitting in the backseat as they drove to the warehouse district.

"Liv told me," Lydia stated matter-of-factly.

Stiles' head whipped to Olivia. "You told her?"

"She deserved to know," she defended herself. "and is this really the time to talk about this? We're about there."

"Fine."

Lydia leaned forward, giving her cousin a serious look. "What do I have to do?"

"Peter said that because I'm an anchor, I can start the process of getting him back to himself. Once I call Jackson's name, you're the one who's gonna finish it," Olivia told her quietly, knowing how much this was going to mean to both Lydia and Jackson. "Did you bring the key?"

"What? What key? Did I miss something?"

They both ignored Stiles. "Yeah," Lydia confirmed before reaching around her neck to unclasp the silver chain that held the key to Jackson's house. "I got it."

Olivia gave her a sad but comforting smile. "It's gonna be okay, Lyds. You can do it for Jackson."

Lydia nodded, clenching the key tightly. "For Jackson."

"We're coming up to the warehouse," Stiles warned them. "Seatbelts?"

Olivia and Lydia straightened in their seats and held on as Stiles crashed his Jeep through the thin metal sheet surrounding the warehouse and then rapidly turned the wheel so he could run right into the kanima. There was a moment where everyone stopped and stared and then Olivia was opening her door and she and Lydia were getting out of the Jeep.

"Jackson!" Olivia yelled for her friend, getting the kanima's attention.

The kanima turned toward her, cocking its head, and Lydia stepped forward. "Jackson?" she whimpered as the kanima crawled toward her, holding up Jackson's key. "Jackson."

Olivia nervously gripped Stiles' arm as he came up beside her, watching as the kanima froze, its eyes on the shiny key in Lydia's hand. It stopped and stared for a long, nerve-wracking moment.

And then the neon green of its eyes started to fade and Jackson's blue hue started to appear. His scales turned back into bare skin and dirty-blonde hair appeared. As Jackson silently took the key from Lydia, his venomous claws turned into blunt fingernails. His eyes met Lydia's wet ones and Olivia could feel tears in her eyes from the look they shared alone.

Jackson nodded slowly and carefully stepped away from Lydia. He stood still and raised his arms defenselessly, allowing Derek and Peter, both of them in their werewolf forms, to lunge at them. Olivia gasped sadly and squeezed Stiles' hand as they tore their claws into them.

Lydia rushed forward as Jackson fell to the dirty ground, catching him just before his body hit the concrete. Olivia covered her mouth tearfully as Lydia sobbed, cradling a dying Jackson in her lap.

"Do you—" Jackson choked. "Do you still...?"

"I do," Lydia assured him quickly, more tears falling down her face. "I do still love you. I do. I still love you."

Jackson nodded slowly, his eyes falling shut and his body slumping as his heart stopped beating. Stiles wrapped an arm around Olivia's shoulders, offering comfort, and she burrowed her face in his chest, wishing that things had been different. That they had been able to save Jackson.

She allowed herself a few seconds before pulling away from Stiles and going to Lydia. Lydia took her offered embrace without a word, sobbing heavily into Olivia's shoulders. More tears fell down Olivia's cheeks as she hugged her cousin tightly, only to stiffen when she saw movement coming from Jackson's fingers.

"Jackson?"

Jackson's eyes opened, a brilliant bright blue. The same blue that Derek had before he had turned into an alpha. Werewolf blue. Lydia whipped around to face him as Olivia sighed in relief.

Jackson got to his feet, his features turning to what they should have been all along, and tilted his head back, howling loudly. The howl ended and his human features reappeared, allowing him to gaze nervously at Lydia and Olivia.

Olivia laughed lightly because, of course, Jackson just had to have a dramatic transformation to match his dramatic ass. She grinned as Lydia jumped from her arms to his, wrapping him in the tightly hug she had ever seen.

She turned away from Lydia and Jackson to give them their privacy, very relieved that Jackson had survived. The heaviness that had been on her chest since the end of the lacrosse game had lifted because he was safe and healthy.

As she went back to Stiles side, he grinned softly at her. "You've got some mascara," he pointed to the corner of his eye. "rigghhht there."

She glowered at him. "I hate you."

"Sure, you do, ya big fluffball."

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

[skzhrs]

Bad Boy - Chan x Reader Smut AU

Switch!Chan, Fem!Reader, Degradation, Drinking, One Night Stand, 3.6k

Chan, AKA Chris Bang, is the playboy of the school. What happens when his goody two shoes desk partner, Y/N, manages to undo him?

You stare at the whiteboard, watching as your teacher makes dainty strokes of icy blue with her pen. The Expo marker leaves slick trails of color, the beryl hues weaving themselves into a mess of quadratic functions and systematic equations.

"So," she tsks, writing a simplified set of variables, "we get 3x after subtracting 7x from 10x, and then we have a slope we can use to-"

Everyone's heads gradually turn as the classroom door opens, and a broad shouldered boy with platinum blonde hair steps inside. His narrow eyes possess a mischievous glint, the edges of his paper thin lips tilted upwards in a snarky smirk. Stomping the muddy snow from his sneakers, Chris Bang lets the door swing shut behind him as he hands the teacher a tardy note.

"Hi, Chris," she says, less than pleased. "We're discussing functions and equations with three variables. Take out your notes, please."

"Alright," he bites his lip as he paces towards his seat in the back of the classroom.

"Actually," our teacher pipes up, "how about you sit up here? I want to make sure you take extra good notes to make up for what you missed." 

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you see the only empty spot in the front is the chair adjacent to yours. Your large desk that normally seats two is just half full. Chris glances at the teacher, then at you, and walks towards your space, placing his sagging black backpack on the desk.

"Much better," she smiles. "So, after eliminating 7x from the equation, we can see that we have a fairly easy equation left over: 3x equals 12x. After dividing both sides by 3, we can conclude that x is equal to 4."

Chris pulls out a tattered notebook, the cardboard cover ripped in places, and grabs a mechanical pencil from the spiral wires that barely keep the paper sheets together. He flips to a blank page while you scoot a bit closer to him. Although you have never had a serious infatuation with Chris Bang, his edgy sense of humor and stunning looks have always made you swoon. Just a little bit. You've never considered what it'd be like to really date him and you're pretty sure you wouldn't want that, but the idea of him just slamming you against the wall and melding your lips together, running his coarse fingertips over your bare skin, gave you chills.

"Okay," you murmur under your breath, pushing your notebook towards his. "You can copy my notes if you want."

"Thanks," he replies softly, his raspy voice still hoarse from a good night's sleep. Squeezing your legs together, you smile and try to contain the knot in your stomach. He's ethereal. 

He's crazy. He's a rebel. He makes the worst jokes at the worst times and he's all about partying and living life to the fullest. He's a bad student and overall a bad example.

And yet, he still fascinates you.

"Sure," you say, cheeks red. "If you need help, just ask me."

"Okay," he smiles in return. The way his eyes crinkle and the shape of his lips as they stretch across his teeth and how his skin folds mesmerizes you, and you find it hard to pull away from his enchanting gaze. But you do, focusing on your teacher.

"I'm going to pass out a page of problems for you and your partner to work on," she announces, pacing to her desk. Her heels click on the linoleum as she retrieves a stack of papers and hands one to each student. "You have the rest of the class period to do these. Anything that isn't completed by the end of class is homework."

You write your name on your assignment, and glance over at Chris, who has idly pulled out his phone. He scrolls through Instagram without a care in the world.

"Why were you late?" you ask daringly, and he looks at you. His eyes glimmer in the fluorescent lighting.

"Slept through my alarm," he shrugs, setting his phone down. "I stayed up pretty late last night."

"Doing what? Playing Fortnite?" You laugh through that last question.

"No," he rolls his eyes through a sarcastic smirk. "I was at a party."

"On a Thursday night?"

"It's never too early to party," he assures you. "I'm going to another one tonight, at Felix's house. You should come with."

"Maybe I will," you shoot back, a smile on your face. 

"You should," he repeats, edging closer. Your legs touch, and you can smell the faint aroma of mint and possibly alcohol on his breath. "It'll be fun."

"Wait," you shake your head, "are you hungover?"

"What? No, I hardly drank last night. Now that's reserved for Friday nights." You can barely tell if he's joking or not, but through your ecstasy and his intoxicating charm, you don't really care.

"Where's Felix's house?" you inquire, leaning against the desk.

"Oh shit, are you really gonna come?" His eyes widen at that.

"I might," you shrug, using your seemingly nonchalant attitude to hopefully convince him that, despite being the good kid who regularly gets good grades and has a good family and a good reputation, you can be daring when you need to be. You aren't 100% pure. For some reason, you want to prove that to Chris. You want to show Chris who you can be.

"Sweet, okay," he turns on his phone again and scrolls through a selection of apps before opening something. "It's at 328 Huckleberry Drive. Big beige house. White pillars on the porch."

"So, it's a mansion," you jeer.

"Pretty much," Chris shrugs. As his arms move, the sleeve of his jacket catches your pencil and pushes it onto the floor. "Oh, shit, sorry."

"It's fine," you assure him, bending down to grab the utensil. You pass uncomfortably close to his crotch, and as you grasp the pencil and return to a normal sitting position, your eyes skirt over his lower half.

And you definitely notice the tight bulge that threatens to poke through his denim jeans.

A wave of embarrassment cloaks your face in a bright shade of burgundy and you purse your lips, hurriedly looking away and staring at your paper.

Should you tell him? Does he even know?

"Uh," you murmur, awkward tension suffocating your lungs. "You've got a, uh, situation." You nod towards his groin. Chris glances down, and immediately crosses his legs.

"Hmm," he scoffs, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "Would you look at that?"

"Trust me, I already saw it," you say, somewhat enjoying his embarrassment. Even if he tries to hide it, you can see he's flustered.

It's oddly cute.

"You wanna help me out?" Chris shoots a suggestive wink at you, wiggling his eyebrows. You shake your head with a lighthearted smile, nudging his shoulder.

"Very funny."

However, his expression doesn't falter. It takes you a moment before you realize he isn't joking. At least, he isn't fully joking.

"Wait," you close your eyes. Is this real? "Chris, we're in class, for God's sake."

"So you're not saying you don't want to-"

"Oh my God," you smirk. "Shut up. Maybe some other time." Like him, you are only half kidding.

Something is pulling you towards Chris Bang. A spark goes off when you're in his presence. And you love it.

The bell rings, and you stand, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. But before you leave the class, you feel Chris's veiny hand on your wrist and all of a sudden, his lips are brushing your ear.

"I really want you to come to the party tonight."

You pull away gently, staring at the lustful boy. A sly grin manifests itself on your face.

"We'll see."

***

Because Huckleberry Drive is just a few blocks away from your home, you choose to walk to the party. Wearing a silky, scarlet dress that brushes your knees, adorned with gemstones, you make your way to the address Chris gave you. Your silver heels clink on the sidewalk, as you follow the loud music wafting through the night sky. Even while putting on your makeup, you could faintly hear the sound of music blaring in the distance. 

You knew that the party was probably going to lead to...other things. And you weren't against it, by any means. While sitting with Chris in class, you felt something you hadn't felt in a long time. You wanted him. And his behavior suggested that he wanted you too.

So, you dolled yourself up. You wore the most elegant yet sexy shade of lipstick you owned. You wore luscious mascara and donned a layer of eyeliner and smoky eye shadow. You put on perfume, the tantalizing scent of rose filling the room.

And as you make your way to Felix's house, you feel a sudden burst of confidence overwhelm you. You're ready to slay at that party. You're ready to drop jaws. You're ready to show everyone who you can be.

And as you step into the mansion, feeling the music shake you to your core, and as you feel several pairs of eyes on you, drinking in your appearance, you smile to your self.

You're ecstatic.

"Hey," Felix beams, holding a red cup. "Didn't expect to see you here. And you look great!"

"Thanks," you smile. "I didn't expect to be here either. But a friend of mine convinced me to come."

"Ah, was it Chris? He's been talking about you nonstop." Felix takes a sip from his drink, sighing as he swallows the beverage.

"Has he?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

"Yeah," he replies, a smirk growing on his face. "All good things. Trust me."

"Good to know," you say. "What are you drinking? Beer?"

"A bit," he shrugs. "Not drunk yet. I doubt I'll get drunk. Maybe buzzed, but not drunk. You want some?" Felix hands the frothy drink to you.

"Sure." You take it from his tiny hand and sip from the cup. By no means is it good. But it's invigorating. And so, you drink some more.

"Easy, easy," Felix grins. "This your first time drinking?"

"No," you reply truthfully. "I hold my alcohol pretty well."

"An admirable trait," he smiles. "I'll go get another drink. Feel free to keep that one."

"Thank you," you say as he smiles in return, disappearing into the raging crowd. You pace to the wall, standing near the hall as you drink. Soon enough, your cup is empty. And you can feel the alcohol pulsing in your veins. You're not drunk. But you aren't sober either.

"My God," you hear a familiar voice rasp. You turn, and see Chris gaping at your outfit, lips parted in awe. Smiling, you lean against the cream colored walls,

"Nice party," you beam, knowing that you're driving him crazy.

"Mm," he murmurs, stepping closer to you. His hands wrap around your hips, his touch tender. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

"Thanks, you too," you wink, prideful. He gazes into your eyes, occasionally glancing at your ruby lips.

"You know," he says quietly, gently guiding you to a sofa by the hallway door frame, "I could barely control myself during Algebra today."

"Oh yeah?" He sits down, never releasing his grip on your waist. You situate yourself on his thigh, feeling his jeans on your bare skin.

"Yep," he breathes out, breath shaky. He lowers his head, massaging your skin through your dress. "God. You're driving me crazy."

You smile to yourself. "Good." Readjusting your position, you slowly move on his leg, and watch as he bites his lip to suppress sound. You let your fingers dance across his shirt, moving up his neck until you grasp his jaw. "You like that?"

He exhales loudly, staring at the ceiling. "Keep doing that," he mutters, finally mustering the courage to face you. His eyes are glazed over with pleasure. "You look so pretty when you do that." His hand moves to your back and all of a sudden, you can feel Chris squeezing your ass. You yelp as he smiles, bringing your head to his collarbone. "So fucking pretty."

Your heart pounds as things heat up. Your dominating attitude has begun to fade as you grind onto his thigh, holding onto his arms and burying your face into his neck. Your need for more contact strengthens with every second.

"I-I," you falter, already losing your power of speech.

"Hmm?" Chris chuckles, tilting your head up with his fingers. "Use your words, babygirl."

"I need you," you finally gasp. He smiles, lifting you off of his lap and standing.

"Let's get out of here."

***

The second the car door closes, his lips are pressed to yours.

You haven't even left Felix's mansion, and yet you're already attached to Chris in a fiery embrace. Your mouth moves against his as you feel his hands slide up your thighs, cupping your ass before traveling around your hips.

Your kiss becomes more heated, and gradually gets deeper as you tug on the collar of his shirt. But as you do so, his hand slaps at your ass.

"Not yet," he growls, finally pulling away. You're breathless, lips numb from the sheer force of the kiss. "Wait until we get to my place."

You nod, panting. You buckle your seat belt while fixing your tousled hair, smoothing town your ruffled dress as Chris begins to drive.

Aching, you cross your legs. Desperate to find some pleasure. You can feel yourself growing hotter and more needy. You can feel your heart rate rising with excitement.

"Don't even think about touching yourself," Chris says without looking over at you. You glance at the boy and see his clenched knuckles on the steering wheel, and how desperate he is as well. A sense of pride washes over you.

You're undoing the biggest player in the school. Just with a kiss and a sexy dress.

After what feels like an eternity of controlling your urges to reach down and seek some pleasure, Chris pulls into a modest and thankfully empty driveway. You get out of the car with him, and both of you pace to the front door. He unlocks it deftly and the second you two are inside, he slams you against the door and begins to kiss you again.

His lips are rough and ruthless, and you moan lightly as you feel him grind against your sensitive area. As your lips part, you feel his tongue enter your mouth.

"F-Fuck," you gasp as Chris fixes his hands on your waist again and guides you towards the hallway. You step into a room, still enveloped in his embrace, that resembles a bedroom.

Pushing you onto a bed but keeping you in an upright position, Chris's hands teasingly play with your dress and the zipper on the back. You breathe against his lips as he pulls on the zipper. You shrug out of the dress, smiling to yourself when you remember that you didn't even wear a bra.

Chris stops as you pull your hair to the side, staring at him with a smirk. His eyes are wide, lips parted in awe, as he examines your chest.

"Fuck," he blinks, his fingers tracing your soft skin. He squeezes the left side of your chest and you inhale, closing the gap between your thighs in an attempt to ease the growing fire burning there.

"You're impatient," Chris raises an eyebrow. Damn you. He knows he's driving you crazy.

"Says the guy who wanted me to jack him off in- fuck!" You throw your head back as his tongue swirls around the buds of your breasts, sucking on your nipples. At this point, you're sick of him teasing you.

You grab his shirt and throw it over his head, pulling him closer to you. You grind on him as he moves up your chest, leaving bite marks trailing from your breasts to your chin. His lips suck on your neck feverishly as you shove your hand under his belt, palming his twitching member. He groans, pulling away and letting you remove his jeans.

"So," you murmur, thumbing his head through his thin boxers, "how long have you wanted to get in my pants?"

You enjoy how he squirms under your touch, how fucking desperate he gets when you're barely even touching him. Hypocritical bastard.

"A bit," he chokes out as you take off his boxers, letting his length extend fully. Idly wrapping your fingers around him, you feign an innocent look. Staring into his hooded eyes while you finally give him what he wanted in class.

"C'mon, Chris. Give me a number. Days? Weeks?"

"Weeks," he cries out as you squeeze his member. You hum in response as you lower your head, taking him in your mouth.

Swirling your tongue around him, feeling his spasms of pleasure, you remove your lips from him with a loud pop. "And you have the nerve to call me needy? Fuck, Chris. You're such a little bitch."

"Shut-shut the fu-fuck up-fuck!" You increase your speed, pumping your fist up and down while bobbing your head around him. You let him slam into the back of your throat, and you slap your tongue against his member.

Finally, as you begin to use one hand to reach for your lace underwear, Chris grabs your face and rips you away from him. With your cheeks in his palms, you stare up at him with wide eyes and swollen lips, droplets of precum and spit dribbling down your chin.

"Little slut," he tsks. Without warning, he jams a hand into your underwear, and before you know it, his finger is twirling around inside of you.

"Ah," you cry out, clenching around him. He smiles, beginning to kiss your neck while inserting a second finger.

"You're already moaning with just one finger," he murmurs while leaving love bites on your skin. "Your voice is gonna be gone by tomorrow."

Fine, you grit your teeth, feeling his thumb move around your slit. His third and final finger begins to stretch you out and you groan with a mixed feeling of pleasure and some pain.

Chris takes his fingers out of you, but before you can even catch your breath, he's moved from your neck to your core. His wet lips suck on your pulsating clit, sending bolts of frantic electricity through your body. He fucks you with his tongue, feeling up your walls, and you scream, hopelessly grinding on him. You've lost all of your pride at this point. You've given in to him. And you're ready for him to take you.

"Come on, baby girl," Chris teases, squeezing your thighs. "We haven't even gotten to the best part."

"Then take me there," you snap, breaths ragged. He smirks, reaching for his jeans strewn on the floor.

"As you wish."

Chris fumbles in his pocket and grabs a condom. He tears open the packaging and you help him put it on, brimming with nervous energy. You need him. Now.

Spreading out your legs, you feel his hands grip your hips, and his tip prods at your entrance.

"Just fucking do- ah!" Chris slams into you without warning, and you feel your walls tighten around his length. Even though you had gotten a good view of him, you hadn't realized how big he truly was until he was inside of you.

And with that, he goes at a relentless pace, the sound of skin clapping against skin filling the room. Your throat chokes up with wild moans, making you sound almost like a puppy.

Chris's moans are breathy and long. Through hooded eyes, you can see the sheen of sweat on his naked body. His eyes are closed, his jaw is set. He's trying to hold it together, just like you.

"Wanna," he growls, pushing deeper into you with every word, "fuck you so hard, you can't even fucking walk."

"Yes," you shriek, your breasts bouncing with every thrust he makes.

"My little babygirl," he groans, leaning closer to you without slowing down. He kisses your chest again and you latch onto his back, your nails gouging into his skin.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," you whisper frantically, humping his torso. Chris smiles against your skin and he places his hands parallel to your shoulders, staring into your eyes as he slams his entire length into you. Stars dot your vision as you scream into his ear.

"I'm gonna come," you squeal, closing your eyes as Chris passionately kisses you again, his fingers caressing your cheekbones.

"Me-me too," he grunts, his forehead pressed to yours. "Ah, shit!"

With one final and grand thrust, you feel him come undone in his condom. You hit your climax a few seconds later, your body convulsing with waves of pleasure.

Panting, you let Chris lay on top of you for a bit before he finally rolls into his back, stepping off of the bed. You notice his legs shaking as he disposes of the condom.

"You can stay the night here," he says softly, crawling back into bed and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Thank you," you reply, still catching your breath. "We should do this more often."

"Yeah," Chris smirks, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. "We should." With a light laugh, he moves his mouth to your ear and raises the pitch of his voice. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

"Shut up," you laugh, turning to face Chris. He pulls you in for a long, mellow kiss.

"Sleep tight, babygirl."

***

i hope you guys enjoyed this!! 😩😉

#stray kids dark hours #stray kids smut #smut #skz smut #kpop smut #chan smut #chan scenarios #chris smut #kpop rude

[firstagent]

Review: Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 10: The Steel-Solid Super Evolution

In this episode, Taichi and Greymon earn their evolution the old fashioned way… throwing themselves into an unwinnable fight and hoping the opponent can’t hit a target.

When you think about the contents of a standard new evolution episode, there’s a common formula, putting the spotlight and extra pressure on one kid and expecting them to dig deep and come through with the magic. Whether the episode succeeds or not hinges on the problem that kid faces and the hidden source of energy providing their miracle. The debut of MetalGreymon goes through all the motions you’d expect it to have, so it’s structurally complete and looks just fine. But while it technically includes the two key elements of problem and solution, it does seem to forget they exist.

The centerpiece of the episode is a massive fight between Greymon and MetalTyranomon. It’s loud, well-drawn, and everything you’ve come to expect from the action set pieces this series. As a scrappy underdog fight trying to buy time until the others escape and then find a sneaky retreat (or the others bother to help out instead), this would be gold. But no, the premise here is that Greymon’s actually supposed to beat this thing. The longer it goes, the less appetizing the foregone conclusion becomes.

Start with the problem: MetalTyranomon is gigantic, has limited vulnerabilities, and enough destructive power to level a fortress. Greymon’s tactics against it are simple but don’t show of the sort of exemplary evasion, resilience, and timing needed to stay in this fight long enough for new evolution to enter the equation. He just doesn’t seem to get hit much at all, and when he does gets up unfazed. The action does more to undersell MetalTyranomon’s power than prop up Greymon. We know he’s tough, and we’ve seen him beaten up worse, so this isn’t all that impressive.

As for the hidden energy, it’s both achingly straightforward and more complicated than the show wants to acknowledge. While the mechanics haven’t been covered yet, it’s clear that each kid’s crest attribute powers those little mid-battle boosters and this new evolution. So if Taichi needs to show some courage to make Greymon evolve… yes, of course this qualifies. It also amounts to the old cliche of staying in the fight and refusing to give up until fortune smiles on you, which in its rawest form is incredibly dull, especially against an opponent becoming less and less scary. That bit endures because of the twists and nuances added to it, which are totally absent here. The real complexities, meanwhile, are left unspoken: the difference between blindly rushing at a stronger opponent out of arrogance or brazenness versus bravely occupying the enemy while the rest of the team escapes. We know this is the sort of behavior that earns higher evolutions. The show fails to distinguish why.

One source of comfort (other than looking and sounding so damn good) is the first act teasing us with some real tension in the group. Everyone believed Ogremon’s dying act of pointing them in the right direction was sincere because come on, did you see the guy? In comes Yamato who wants to exercise a little caution before believing an enemy captain would really try to help them out of the blue like that. As far as classic Taichi-Yamato spats go, this one’s pretty tame: a simple reality check that just because they’re in a shounen anime doesn’t mean Taichi should entrust their lives to its tropes. Nobody’s out of line here, but the mere whiff of dissent against Taichi raises the temperature in that cave. Joe, Mimi, and especially Sora’s reactions are all worth noting, and it’s almost a shame Koshiro comes through with hard data giving Ogremon’s lead just enough credibility to pursue.

This isn’t the first time someone hit their second evolution this early. Kouji found his Beast Spirit in episode 10 of Frontier and Daisuke got his second digimental in episode 11 of Zero Two. But those came with challenges deeper than the enemy in front of them. Those are the kinds of challenges we’re still waiting for Taichi to experience. The hope has always been that the higher evolutions would have to be earned in ways more involved than a simple need to overcome in a battle. So although the situation allows Taichi to earn MetalGreymon based on that need, the fact that there isn’t more to it, and the fact that several other characters are lined up to get their Ultimate forms in the next few episodes, makes for a troubling loophole that stands to be exploited further.

My Grade: B

Loose Data:

Koshiro getting a batch of Digimon data from the fortress, combined with asides from Piyomon and Agumon in previous episodes, suggests that we’ll actually have a source for the Digimon scouting reports this time around instead of a disembodied voice chiming in or a handy digivice having all the information. Yay for keeping it in-world.

Sora preventing Joe and Mimi from interrupting the Taichi-Yamato staredown might be the most interesting thing she’s done so far. We’ve gotten little bits about her character here and there, but not jumping to Taichi’s defense and letting Yamato air his disagreement is a good surprise.

While Koshiro discovering a base in the general direction Ogremon pointed lends credence to his information, it doesn’t disprove Yamato’s point about a possible trap. The trap may just be in a base.

That lake filled with poison and darkness is spooky enough to buy that flying over it wouldn’t be a viable option somehow, but they really needed to address that in show. As it stands we’re having unwelcome flashbacks to the whirlpool dilemma in Frontier.

Look at Yamato being Mr. Negative, suggesting that splitting up won’t help if neither path yields a solution, and then agreeing to it because it means the other half would survive if the other got wiped in battle. I hope he ends up with Joe.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

#digimon #digimon adventure: #digimon adventure (2020)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic: 05 Mar 2020 (New Pinkwater, RIP Jim Tyre, Right to Repair and covid, Radicalized is a bestseller, African Whatsapp modders)

Today's links

Daniel Pinkwater wrote a new novel! Yippee for "ADVENTURES OF A DWERGISH GIRL!"

Warner Chappel discoved a new form of copyright fuckery so dense it blew a wormhole into another dimension: From the people who fraudulently claimed to own "Happy Birthday" for decades.

RIP, Jim Tyre: The free internet just lost one of its most dedicated defenders.

Decentralizing the web is a human problem: The web needs stewards, not owners.

Right to Repair is the right to resilience: Independent repair is how we keep things going during emergencies.

Keyless car fobs can be defeated with a cheap RFID cloner: Car manufacturers wontfix a showstopper bug. Again.

Bookstores, libraries, human thriving and mental health: Books are great, even if the science behind their greatness is thin.

Copyright experts' panel on fair use removed from Youtube: A strange game. The only winning move is not to play. How about a nice game of chess?

Radicalized is out in paperback: Just hit every one of Canada's national bestseller lists, too!

African Whatsapp modders are outcompeting Facebook: Adversarial Interoperability is how you beat digital colonialism.

This day in history: 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

I'm coming to Kelowna, BC today! I'll be at the library from 6-8PM with my book Radicalized for the CBC's Canada Reads. It's free, but you need to RSVP (and most of the seats are gone, so act quick).

https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/cbc-radio-presents-in-conversation-with-cory-doctorow-tickets-96154415445

Daniel Pinkwater wrote a new novel! (permalink)

Well, this is amazing news. Daniel Pinkwater has a new middle grades novel coming out in September: ADVENTURES OF A DWERGISH GIRL!

https://tachyonpublications.com/bestselling-author-daniel-pinkwater-returns-in-classic-form-with-the-illustrated-middle-grade-adventures-of-a-dwergish-girl/

Molly O'Malley is a clever, adventurous girl. She is also a Dwerg. Dwergs are strange folks who live very quietly in the Catskill mountains, have lots of gold, and are kind of like dwarves (but also not!).

Molly isn't interested in cooking and weaving, as she is expected to be. So, she sets off to see the world for herself. Which means a new job, a trip to New York City, prowling gangsters, an adorable king, a city witch, and many historical ghosts. More importantly, it means excellent pizza, new friends, and very quick thinking.

Now someone is pursuing the Dwergs for their gold. Can Molly O'Malley save the day?

IOW: this is a book with every single thing I love about Pinkwater novels. Reading Daniel Pinkwater – as a kid and as an adult – was hugely important to my development as a writer and a human being. Meeting another Pinkwater fan is always a sign that you are among good people.

Warner Chappel discoved a new form of copyright fuckery so dense it blew a wormhole into another dimension (permalink)

I've seen some next-level copyfraud fuckery in my day, believe me, but Adam Neely's tale of Warner Chappell's copyfraud reaches a new height of absurdity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM6X2MEl7R8

This is sleazy even by Warner Chappell standards, and they're the crooks who fraudulently claimed ownership over Happy Birthday for decades.

https://vimeo.com/172715640

Buckle up for this one, as it is an onion of bizarre, bad-faith corporate behavior, with each layer peeling back to reveal another, even weirder and more terrible one. It starts with a garbage lawsuit against Katy Perry for including a piece of background music in her song Dark Horse that was similar to another very generic lick in an obscure Christian rap song called "A Joyful Noise."

No one claimed that Katy Perry lifted the brief snatch of music from Joyful Noise. Rather, the case turned on the precedent set when Martin Gaye's heirs sued Robin Thicke over "Blurred Lines," arguing that the song had a similar vibe to Gaye's. Gaye's heirs should not have won that suit. But they did. And it opened the floodgates to nuisance suits targeting the likes of Perry and her publisher, Warner-Chappell. They lost the suit and got hit for $2.8m.

This isn't even the fuckery part, by the way.

Enter Adam Neely, who created a massively successful viral video defending Warner Chappell and Katy Perry, arguing that the suit was garbage. The video was so successful he went on national media to discuss the case and was even asked to sign onto an amicus brief.

Let the fuckery begin:

Warner Chappell has claimed copyright over Neely's video, claiming that a few seconds of music that he used was the "melody" of Katy Perry's song.

Further fuckery:

In the case, Warner Chappell argued that this specific musical phrase was not the melody, and was rather some incidental background sound.

Fuckery extreme:

The Warner Chappell claim was not automated. A human manually claimed this phrase of music as Warner-Chappell's, despite:

a) Them having disclaimed ownership of it in a lawsuit,

b) Losing that suit and being told by a court that it wasn't theirs.

Fuckery to the max!

But the musical phrase they claimed ownership over was from "A Joyful Noise," the song they lost two point eight million dollars over, having claimed that their song was not confusingly similar to it.

The two musical phrases – the one from "Dark Horse" and the one from "Joyful Noise" – were so similar that Warner-Chappell's own copyright enforcers mistakenly claimed copyright over the wrong one!

2020 folks. Don't forget to tip your servers, they work hard.

RIP, Jim Tyre (permalink)

My old EFF comrade Jim Tyre just died.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/03/rip-eff-special-counsel-jim-tyre

Jim was a tireless civil liberties litigator, a titan of First Amendment law whose entree to tech law was defending people who criticized censorware companies who wildly overblocked what schoolkids could see. He was also incredibly garrulous, funny, a born raconteur whose encylopedic memory served him well both as a storyteller and a litigator.

Jim worked on the 2600 DMCA case, he defended Ed Felten when he was threatened by the RIAA, he fought ICANN, and he was key to our longrunning suit against NSA over mass surveillance.

Jim always worked offsite. He lived in LA and had eye problems that rendered him nearly completely blind. But he kept a stash of cash at the EFF offices so he could contribute to every whip-round for a baby gift or a wedding present.

He was a true mensch.

Decentralizing the web is a human problem (permalink)

My old EFF colleague Mai Sutton just published a smashing primer on competition, interoperability, and stewardship and the world of tech:

https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20200228/22053744006/defeating-tech-giants-with-open-protocols-interoperability-shared-stewardship.shtm

After delivering a good backgrounder on the history of the wars between shared protocols and proprietary technologies, Mai delves into the thicket of laws that have cropped up to prevent technologists from adding interoperability to existing technologies.

This has led to a new online enclosure, with "Google" becoming synonymous with "search" and "Facebook" synonymous with "social media." These businesses once competed, but today, they preside alone, over protected territory.

But some of that is changing. Between legislative proposals, new standardization efforts, the Decentralized Web movement and its protocols, and a reinvigorated threat of antitrust enforcement, there's some hope that the web will reopen and redecentralize.

Ultimately, Mai writes, this has more to do with how we view the web than how we use it. If we think of the online world as a shared space for humanity then the technologists who keep it running are stewards, not owners.

(Image: Dietrich Ayala (https://hacks.mozilla.org/2018/07/introducing-the-d-web/) and Open Clip Art (https://openclipart.org/)

Right to Repair is the right to resilience (permalink)

Writing in Wired, Kyle Wiens makes the crucial link between the Right To Repair and resilience, especially during moments of disruption to global supply chains.

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-the-right-to-repair-will-help-us-endure-outbreaks/

It's no coincidence that farms and farmers have been leaders in Right to Repair: when you're isolated and you're not allowed to fix your stuff, it means that you can neither nip down to the shops for a replacement, nor easily have an authorized repair tech come to your place.

Covid can put everyone – even entire nations – into the position of that isolated farmer. As Long Beach port is denuded of shipping containers, as air- and rail-links are broken between parts of the country, the stream of parts, replacement units and technicians stops.

A key principle of resilience is to put resources at the edge, replacing hub-and-spoke models with point-to-point, peer-to-peer ones that infuse the system with redundancy. Neoliberalism hates redundancy and equates it with wastefulness.

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1228326004508151808

But redundancy is the key to graceful failure-modes. Limiting repairs to authorized service centers works well (reliable, and certainly great for shareholders), but it fails very, very badly. Right to Repair is how our hospitals, schools, infrastructure maintenance, first responder and other vital services will keep the lights on if things go horribly wrong. Resiliency may be bad for shareholder value, but it's vital to human survival.

Keyless car fobs can be defeated with a cheap RFID cloner (permalink)

Toyota, Hyundai and Kia keyless ignition fobs can be cloned by attackers who get within a few inches of your pocket (say, at a conference), thanks to implementation errors that the auto-makers made with their Texas Instruments DST80 security systems.

https://www.wired.com/story/hackers-can-clone-millions-of-toyota-hyundai-kia-keys/

All you need is a Proxmark RFID scanner, which retails for about $300. That's more than the range-extenders used to steal cars from out front of targets' homes, but unlike those attackers, fob-cloners can start and stop the car as often as they like.

https://hackerwarehouse.com/product/proxmark3-rdv4-kit/

The researchers who did this work come from KU Leuven and the University of Birmingham. Their paper is great:

https://tches.iacr.org/index.php/TCHES/article/view/8546/8111

The attack on its own does not let you start the cars. All it does is disable the immobilizer that stopped people from hot-wiring the ignition system with a screwdriver.

"You're downgrading the security to what it was in the '80s." -Flavio Garcia, University of Birmingham.

The implementation mistakes by the car companies are embarrassingly basic. Kia and Hyundai's implementation only has 24 bits of randomness ("a couple milliseconds with a laptop"). Toyota uses a serial number as a seed, then transmits that serial number in the clear. The companies, naturally, are saying it's no biggie. Toyota claims the attack requires "a highly specialized device that is not commonly available on the market." This just isn't true. I found it with literally one search.

None of the vendors have offered to fix the problem for drivers who bring their cars to garages.

It's depressing, but at least now you know whether you can trust your car's security.

"It's better to be in a place where we know what kind of security we're getting from our security devices. Otherwise, only the criminals know." -Flavio Garcia.

Bookstores, libraries, human thriving and mental health (permalink)

I love Lydia Smith's hymn to the mental health benefits of books, libraries and reading (even if I think the science is less than convincing)

https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/transformation/how-books-and-bookshops-improve-our-mental-health-and-why-we-must-protect-them/

Reading fiction definitely stretches your empathy. For a novel to work, you have to be invested in the lives of people who don't even exist. The death of the yogurt you digested with breakfast this morning is technically more tragic than the deaths of Romeo and Juliet. The yogurt was really alive and now it's really dead. Romeo and Juliet neither lived nor died. Fiction reading is varsity-level empathy!

I agree that the traditional fiction arc – adversity met and overcome – can lighten a dark day. I turn to Kim Stanley Robinson's "Pacific Edge" whenever I'm blue for that reason. I even played a small role in getting adapted for DRM-free audio.

https://boingboing.net/2015/01/15/audio-edition-of-pacific-edge.html

(Pacific Edge was just reissued as a "Tor Essential" in an omnibus with the other two "Californias" novels, sporting a fabulous intro by Francis Spufford. Run, don't walk!)

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250307569

It's also utterly true that books are a path to resilience and self-reliance, filled as they can be with how-tos, analysis and technical knowledge. As the Whole Earth Catalogues used to have it, "Access to tools and ideas."

(It must be said that the net is infinitely better at this than print books, provided you can get online. The use of a time-transported town library to jumpstart post-industrial civilization during the 30 Years War in Eric Flint's 1632 is delightful)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1632_(novel)

Libraries, of course, are the last place in our civilization where you are welcomed because you are a human being, not because you are an ambulatory wallet. Librarians, resist the urge to call people "customers." They're "patrons." That's far more dignified (and accurate).

And working in a bookstore is certainly therapeutic, for certain values of therapy. It can be a grind, but OMG is it ever great connecting people with books that you love and watching them fall in love, too. Generally I'm in accord with the essay. I just don't think the studies cited are of very high quality and/or recency.

It's OK to say, "I love bookstores and libraries because they're fabulous" without having to provide evidence for that fabulousness.

Copyright experts' panel on fair use removed from Youtube (permalink)

NYU law school's Engelberg Center on Innovation Law & Policy held a symposium on copyright and the net with a panel on "when one song infringes the copyright of another and to prove if the accused song is 'substantially similar' enough to be illegal."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVQTz65Bq70

The video of the panel was taken down from Youtube after multiple copyright complaints from rightsholders who claimed that the brief clips, chosen by America's leading copyright experts as being fair use, were infringing.

https://www.law.nyu.edu/centers/engelberg/news/2020-03-04-youtube-takedown

These clips weren't just fair use; they'd been chosen by top legal scholars to illustrate what fair use was.

The rightsholder reps who issued the takedown claims for these videos did so manually – that is, these complaints were not automatically generated.

In the grand tradition of copyfraud fuckery, when the law professors appealed, the rights enforcement dimbulbs (trained on xeroxed procedures in three-ring binders) reasserted their claims, putting the law school at risk of losing its Youtube account.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/05/warner-chappell-copyfraud#warnerchappell

The law profs knew they had the law on their side, but they weren't ready to appeal, because if they lost their appeal, they'd get a Youtube "copystrike," which could also cost them their accounts. And since there were multiple claims, they weren't sure if they'd get multiple strikes by appealing. Youtube's docs don't make this clear, and going through Youtube channels yielded nothing but radio silence.

Now, these are eminent law professors at a top university, so they were able to make some insider calls to Youtube, who lifted the complaints altogether and reinstated the video. But no one ever clarified the multiple-claims/multiple copystrike procedure.

Moral: When it comes to Youtube, it doesn't matter if you're a nationally recognized copyright expert. You can't argue with anonymous, hamfisted rights-enforcer assholes to assert your speech rights. The only way to guarantee those rights is to know someone on the inside.

Radicalized is out in paperback (permalink)

My book Radicalized, a collection of four science fiction novellas, just came out in paperback!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250229250

It's quite a week for the book! It's a finalist for Canada Reads, one of Canada's national book prizes, and the paperback immediately hit all of Canada's national bestseller lists!

I'm especially delighted to make the indie stores' bestseller list:

https://www.cbc.ca/books/the-bestselling-canadian-books-for-the-week-of-feb-23-29-2020-1.5484366

It's headlining the Toronto Star's list:

https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/2020/03/04/toronto-star-bestsellers-for-the-week-ending-march-4-2020.html

And there's one more national bestseller list that it's hit, but I can't name it until later this week, when it's published. But yeah, it's a hell of a week!

African Whatsapp modders are outcompeting Facebook (permalink)

Whatsapp is more popular than Facebook in Africa – but unauthorized, souped-up, third-party mods of Whatsapp are more popular still.

https://qz.com/africa/1804859/fake-whatsapp-app-more-popular-than-facebook-instagram-in-africa/

African software developers have modified the Whatsapp app to make it suitable to local users. The mods are transmitted from person to person, and sideloaded onto mobile devices.

The king of mods is GB Whatsapp, which allows for multiple accounts on a single device, ups file-transmissions from 16MB to 50MB, and includes privacy features like masking when you're online. GB Whatapp alone has more African users than the Facebook app.

All these mods communicate with users of the stock Whatapp system and with each other. They're tremendous examples of #AdversarialInteroperability, where hackers give users better, situation-appropriate tools without asking an incumbent's permission.

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

They really cleanly illustrate how Adversarial Interop defeats network effects by using it against incumbents. The fact that Whatsapp is the most popular app in Africa is an ADVANTAGE for Whatapp modders: they get to treat every Whatsapp user as a potential customer. These mods also show how Adversarial Interop is key to technological self-determination. Rather than meekly submitting to digital colonialism, modders ignore the choices and preferences of a massive US firm and its shareholders and deliver local solutions for local people.

Facebook's response is predictable. Mods violate our terms of service. Modders are crooks. Users caught using mods face bans.

Modders just tell their users to sign up with secondary phone numbers to avoid bans.

Colonial American industry enjoyed a huge advantage over UK rivals because it disregarded UK patents and copyrights, allowing American firms to leapfrog the former colonial masters. Now that it is a net exporter of tech, it expects foreign countries to respect its rules.

This day in history (permalink)

#5yrsago Justice Department issues "scorching" report on Ferguson's Police Department https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2015/03/ferguson-cops-routinely-block-public-from-filming-them-doj-says/

#5yrsago Matt Haughey retires from Metafilter https://metatalk.metafilter.com/23626/Sixteen-Years

#1yrago The NSA has reportedly stopped data-mining Americans' phone and SMS records https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/04/us/politics/nsa-phone-records-program-shut-down.html

#1yrago Jibo the social robot announces that its VC overlords have remote-killswitched it, makes pathetic farewell address and dances a final step https://www.theverge.com/circuitbreaker/2019/3/4/18250104/jibo-social-robot-server-shutdown-offline-dead

#1yrago BATHDOOM: A Doom level based on a terrible bathroom remodel https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/eveknn/the-hot-new-doom-mod-is-a-nightmare-diy-bathroom-renovation-bathdoom

#1yrago The People's Republic of Walmart: how late-stage capitalism gives way to early-stage fully automated luxury communism https://boingboing.net/2019/03/05/walmart-without-capitalism.html

#1yrago History is made: petition opposing the EU's #Article13 internet censorship plan draws more signatures than any petition in EU history https://www.change.org/p/european-parliament-stop-the-censorship-machinery-save-the-internet

#1yrago London councils plan to slash benefit payments with an "anti-fraud" system known to have a 20% failure rate https://news.sky.com/story/thousands-face-incorrect-benefit-cuts-from-automated-fraud-detector-11651031

#1yrago America is not "polarized": it's a land where a small minority tyrannize the supermajority https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/05/opinion/oppression-majority.html

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Carl Sondrol (https://twitter.com/sondrol), Naked Capitalism (https://nakedcapitalism.com/), JWZ (https://www.jwz.org/blog/), Danny O'Brien (oblomovka.com/)

Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Upcoming appearances:

Canada Reads Kelowna: March 5, 6PM, Kelowna Library, 1380 Ellis Street, with CBC's Sarah Penton https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/cbc-radio-presents-in-conversation-with-cory-doctorow-tickets-96154415445

Currently writing: I just finished a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel now, though the timing is going to depend on another pending commission (I've been solicited by an NGO) to write a short story set in the world's prehistory.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: Disasters Don't Have to End in Dystopias: https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/01/disasters-dont-have-to-end-in-dystopias/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020.

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a very special, s00per s33kr1t intro.

#pluralistic

[silentexplorer18]

Into the Viper’s Nest: A Jughead Jones Short

Summary: After finding herself in a life of trouble, a bright student steps into the viper’s nest, meeting some rather charming snakes.

Paring: Jughead Jones x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of being beaten and a few curse words.

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

You’d lived on the South Side for as long as you could remember. Although you didn’t want to encourage the prejudice the North Siders had against everyone on the “wrong” side of the tracks, you had to admit that your life on the South Side had been far from ideal.

Your father had been involved with the Ghoulies, mother scribbled out of the picture, and you learned that gangs were harsh, cruel things, not anything you ever wished to be involved in.  But that wasn’t really your choice to make.  At thirteen, your father had traded you to the Ghoulies to settle his debt, retaining his freedom at the cost of your own.

You weren’t a member of the gang, merely a servant to their whims.  They kept you locked away from the world, trapped in a basement and schooled in obedience.  However, that obedience was fear based, not based on your ethics.  You didn’t believe in the Ghoulies, and knew wholeheartedly that what they did to the South Side was wrong.  That didn’t matter, though.  At risk of being burned, beaten, and/or cut, you practiced a silent obedience toward their harsh, unforgiving orders.

Typically, they kept you removed from the world.  Although you went out on occasion, you spent three years of servantry primarily in a Ghoulie basement until they decided keeping you hidden wasn’t enough.  They needed you for more jobs than that.

Apparently such a job was being a Serpent spy.

Of course, you were too timid to be a real Serpent, but they insisted that you needed to get close to the action in any way possible, utilizing your silence to gather intel for the gang.

You started school again.

Stepping foot into Southside High for the first time, it felt like the eyes of everyone in the world crawled against your skin like slimy cockroaches.  You felt lost, alone, dirty.  The Ghoulies would harass you in public as to “not blow your cover.”  However, you knew it was really just another excuse to litter your skin with bruises and mind with hateful remarks.  The Serpents didn’t approach you.  They noticed your arrival to the institution, if you could even call it that, and the way you tried to avoid everyone.  You were quiet, skittish even, in their eyes, nothing to waste time on.

But you were bright.

No one was prepared for that, neither the Ghoulies nor the Serpents.

You weren’t boastful of it at all, sitting toward the back of the class away from everyone else, bashful whenever the teacher called on you for an answer, always correct.

It was only a matter of time before your teacher informed you that you needed to get involved more with the other students, introducing you to Sweet Pea and Toni.  They barely regarded you, and you only gave them a small, shy smile in return.  When your instructor said that you would need to tutor them, your eyes grew wide at the thought, Ghoulies snickering behind you, knowing you’d gotten an opportunity into the viper’s nest.  Toni and Sweet Pea scoffed, turning to march out the door, before the teacher’s harsh voice rang out.  “If you do not get tutored by (y/n), we will hold the both of you back a grade.  You will be repeating this class and several others next year.”

“That’s not fair!” Toni growled, Sweet Pea grumbling similar sentiments.

“I’m giving you a solution,” the teacher said, gesturing toward your trembling figure.  “Take it,” she hissed before stepping out into the hallway.

Your eyes met theirs, round and saucer-like in terror.  “Whyte Wyrm.  After school.  Don’t be late,” Toni spat, whirling around with her gangmate and slithering down the hall.

The Ghoulies left in the room surrounded you.

“Don’t screw this up, whore,” one spat.

“Yeah.  You know the price,” growled another.

A few reached out, slapping your face and batting your head, reminding you that obedience was absolutely necessary.

After a few more hours of uneasy existence, you padded up to the bar, eyes tracing the door warily.  Quite literally, you were about to step into the snake pit, and you were far from ready.

The door clicked as it closed behind you, the embroidered eyes of snakes on leather jackets greeting you.  Without meaning to, you let out a shaky breath.

“Sit down over there,” someone shouted.  Looking up, you saw Toni behind the bar pointing at a table in the corner.  You nodded to yourself, settling softly into the shadows.  Placing your mathematics textbook and copy of Pride and Prejudice on the table, you studied the scene before you.  The room was dark, but lively and warm compared to the dank areas the Ghoulies would lurk around town.  Booze and brawn rippled through the area as people chatted, played pool, and threw darts.

Eventually, Toni and Sweet Pea ambled over to you, eyes dragging your moth eaten clothes and skittish eyes.  “So you’re gonna keep us from failing?” Toni addressed you.  You nodded shyly before she continued, “This is Sweet Pea.  I’m Toni.”  She paused for a moment, staring you down.  “And you are?” she drawled out in an annoyed tone.

“(Y/N),” you murmured quietly.

She nodded, pulling a book and some paper out for her and her less than studious counterpart.  The night was rather awkward, you timidly explaining things they didn’t understand as they plundered through algebraic expressions and basic trigonometric equations.  The rest of the week followed in a similar fashion, you arriving at the bar and explaining enough for them to pass without insulting their dignity too much, each night being beaten by Ghoulies for not retrieving any useful information about the rival gang.  Hiding bruises and diagramming problems had become your two strongest skills, though, so you didn’t have much of a problem keeping the Serpents from becoming too suspicious of your unsuccessful spying.  Earnestly, you were really beginning to like the Serpents; their gang proved to be almost homey in a way the Ghoulies never had.

Yet the rhythm couldn’t just continue as normal; life would be too easy that way.  Eventually, the Serpent King himself had to stride into the bar.  Only, sillily enough, you hadn’t the faintest idea who he was.

Toni and Pea had been working on a study guide for the latest exam, and, to be honest, they were doing really well.  To pass the time, you were now nose deep in The Great Gatsby, eyes fluttering over Nick Carraway’s exhilarating adventure.  Typically, you blocked out the idle chatter of the bar, but a clear, confident voice broke through your reverie.  “Gatsby?  Isn’t that a tad elementary?”

Your eyes drug up to meet his icy blue gaze, feeling your face pepper red in shame.  “I didn’t get to read much where I used to live,” you said softly, glancing back down to the worn pages of the novel.

The boy arched a brow at you.  “Where you used to live?”  You nodded, eyes back to scanning the page again in an attempt to avoid his question.

“(Y/N), this is how you do this, right?” Toni asked, shoving the paper in front of your face.

Scanning the page, you nodded.  “Make sure you carry your tens, though.  It should be 62, not 52.”  She let out a curse under her breath and continued working.

The dark haired boy smirked slightly before continuing his questions.  “Where are you from?”

“Here and there,” you replied softly, avoiding his gaze.

Toni finished her paper, smacking it down on the table with a grin the size of the Cheshire Cat’s.  “Done.  Sweet Pea, you good?”  He nodded, scratching down the numbers on his last problem.  “Right in time for the meeting.  Sorry, (y/n), you’re gonna have to leave.  Official Serpent business only.”

You nodded, gathering your things carefully.  “Monday, then?”

Needless to say, as your nervous figure slipped from the bar that evening before the meeting even begun, the Ghoulies took the weekend to remind you who you belonged to, fists and hot metal meeting your sensitive flesh as a reminder of your worthless behavior rang through your hot ears.

Things moved on in a fairly regular pattern, you helping the Serpents with their studies, and occasionally you and Jughead (you’d finally learned the crowned boy’s name) would discuss novels.  You were surprised by his intellect, and he yours.  However, there was something about you that he just didn’t understand.  You were so shy, skittish.  It didn’t matter if it was Toni or him or some stranger in the bar, you seemed to be afraid of everyone, jumping at sudden words or actions, eyes widening slightly every time someone entered the bar.

Yet the cool of Riverdale’s fall soon permeated the air, adorning the world with frosty, slushy rain.  You’d been able to walk back to your residence, a makeshift box beneath a bridge near Sweetwater River, after being confronted by the Ghoulies each night.  But tonight was different.  The wind was howling, rain piercing the ground like bullets, and you were dreading the thought of going out in the cold.  Of course, it wasn’t like you had much of a choice.

So after pulling on your backpack and wrapping your arms around your already frigid frame, you stepped out into the war of weather, trembling as you tried to push toward the storm.

You weren’t that sneaky, though.  Although Toni had been too distracted behind the bar to notice you pad off into the storm, Jughead had not failed to notice your foolish escape.  Pulling his leather jacket on, he marched out into the cold, jumping on his motorcycle and racing down the block to find you.

“What are you doing?” he shouted at you above the wind.  Your eyes were wide as you gazed at him, lips already beginning to pale.  You didn’t know what to say.  Oh, you know, just going back to my box under the bridge where I’ll probably freeze to death unless I get killed by a Ghoulie first.  What about you?  “Get on!” he shouted again, handing you a helmet.  You stepped near his bike, placing it on your head, but not clipping it.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” you said back.  If he hadn’t been listening closely, he wouldn’t have heard it over the deafening wind.  But he did.

Reaching out, he clipped the buckle under your chin.  “Get on.”

You never imagined to confront Jughead Jones’s home that night, but as his roaring motorcycle rumbled to a stop beside his trailer, you didn’t argue against his welcome inside from the cold.

Sopping wet and slightly frozen, he ushered you inside his house, pulling the door shut and locking it tightly.

Pulling off his beanie and shaking out his damp locks, he asked, “Where have you been staying?”

You looked down, not daring to make eye contact with him.  “Don’t worry about it, Jughead.  I’ll just wait for the rain to stop and then get out of your hair.”

“No,” he said a little more forcefully, “Where have you been staying?”

Your eyes met his, and embarrassment filled your chest.  “Under Foxcole Bridge.”  It was barely more than a mutter, but he heard it.

His first instinct was to be mad you hadn’t said anything to anyone, but standing there staring at your trembling figure, he knew there were more important things to rectify at the moment.  Turning on his heel, he pulled an old shirt and some sweatpants out of his room as well as some socks, offering them to you.  “Take a shower.  You’ll be warmer.”

You stared at him warily for a moment, but the absolute numbness of your feet drug you from your position near his door into his bathroom.

Within twenty minutes, you had showered and dressed in his warm clothes, and Jughead had dried off his hair, changing into dry clothes and sitting down on the couch with his laptop.

When you emerged, curiosity drew you toward the boy whose hands flew across the worn keys.  He didn’t look up to you at first, finishing the last few of his sentences before clicking his laptop shut and turning toward you.  You’d sat next to him, eyes gliding over his every movement, but now it was his turn to survey you.

Devoid of makeup and clad in a tee shirt, he’d managed to expose the exterior you’d been hiding in the Whyte Wyrm.  Bruises, cuts, and scars all littered your battered arms, revealing the truth behind your nervous behavior.

He moved cautiously, attempting not to scare you.  “Who?” he queried, scarce more than a whisper, as he trailed a fingertip down your arm.

Realizing with shame your fatal mistake, you jumped, from the couch, turning away from him and wrapping your navy kissed arms around your figure.  “I’m sorry.  I should go.”

“No, no,” he said softly, rising from his seat.  “I’m sorry.  That was a little forward of me.  Here, sit down.  Let’s just talk.”  You eyed him warily, but the invitation of a blanket soon lured you into a spot next to him, socked feet curled under your body.  “What book are you reading now?” he queried softly, attempting to tread gentle ground to make you comfortable.

“Frankenstein,” you said softly.

He nodded.  “Are you liking it?”

You smiled to yourself a little, finally glancing up into his eyes.  “The scientist is kind of a whiny bitch, but the actual writing is really good.”  He chuckled, a smile cracking on his own lips.  “How is your novel coming?” you queried softly, earning a confused glance from him.  “Toni said something about you liking to write.  I just figured…” you gestured toward the laptop beside him.

He gave you a reassuring smile.  “You’re more astute than I gave you credit for.  Actually, yeah it’s-”  His words were broken off by a sharp banging on the door.  You looked at one another warily as he got up to answer it.

He cracked the door open slightly, two dark eyed Ghoulies gazing back at him through the cold, one obviously drunk.  “Where the hell is (y/n)?  We saw her leave the Wyrm with you,” one spat, the other glaring at Jughead menacingly.

“I dropped her near the bridge.  Said she’s been staying out there for a few weeks now, camping or something,” Jug said gruffly, glaring right back.  “What do you want with her?”

“She belongs to one of ours,” the drunk Ghoulie spat back.

Jughead scoffed.  “Then maybe you should find her before she freezes to death.”  With that, he slammed the door, turning the bolt to lock it, and silently ushering you into his room away from the windows.

“(Y/N), what’s going on?” he asked softly, sitting across from you on his bed.  “Those were Ghoulies at the door.”  Your eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but notice the way you uneasily glanced toward the living area again, terror flashing across your face.  Your fingertips curled around your arms, wrapping yourself in a small layer of protection, though you knew that the Ghoulies entering the trailer would make said protection worthless.  His eyes followed yours, glancing back to your worried figure.  “Will they hurt you?”  You avoided his gaze, but nodded, letting your hair fall in front of your eyes.  “Would they try to break in to get to you?”  You’d barely finished nodding before Jughead was up, yanking his phone from his pocket and dialing.

Within a half hour, the trailer was full of snakes.  They milled around for a while, conversing and planning what to do.  Toni sat on a chair in Jughead’s room, you snuggled into his sheets.  She was telling you something or other about how the Serpents took care of their own, how the Ghoulies wouldn’t be able to get to you, but as your eyelids began to slowly droop, lulled by the comfort of a real bed, Toni slid from the chair, reuniting with the snakes in the hall.

They were taking shifts guarding the door, the rest forming sleeping bodies curled on chairs and the floor.  When you awoke, startled from the roar of thunder through the thin walls of the trailer, it was an ungodly hour.  Frightened from the dark and unnerved by your surroundings, you rose from Jughead’s bed, padding gently down the carpeted hall.  You found a den of sleeping snakes, Jughead sat on the floor, raw eyes staring at the front door.  His body was illuminated by the television, flickering white light across his glossy Serpent jacket and dark shocks of hair.  The sound wasn’t on, and the snores of Serpents littered the room.

“Jughead, what are you doing up?” you whispered softly, kneeling beside his stiff frame.

“Keeping watch.  No Ghoulies are getting in.  You’ll be safe.”  His eyes never left the door, and his diligence brought a small smile to your lips.

“You need to rest.”

He rolled his eyes, but it only accentuated just how dark the bags under those oceanic orbs were.

You didn’t know Jughead that well, and you could feel shyness bubbling up in your chest, but you were determined to make this right.  He was sacrificing too much for you.  “The Ghoulies are too dumb to try to break in at this hour, Jug,” his eyes flickered to you at the use of his nickname, “Besides, I can keep watch while you get some rest.  You’ve done enough for me.  Tomorrow morning, I’ll leave and everything will go back to normal.”  Your voice caught at the end of the sentence, and though you tried to mask the fear that caused your voice to waver, Jughead could see right through it.

“No.  You’re staying, (y/n).  You’ll be safe here.  I’ll protect you, we all will.”  His eyes had left the door, fixated on you as he gently reached for your arm.  “I don’t know what normal is, but I have some guesses, and you’re not going back to any of that.”

His action of comfort was empowering, and you gave him a gentle smile of encouragement.  “Then come protect me in the bedroom?  I don’t like the loud noises,” you said, gesturing toward the window shyly.

With a sigh, he rose, triple checking the locks before stepping over dozing snakes on the way toward his room.

He tried to sit down on the chair Toni had occupied earlier, but you grabbed his arm, yanking him from his position and pulling the stiff jacket from his exhausted figure.  He attempted to object, but after some prodding, you were able to get him into his own bed.  You climbed in with him, the air chilly in the trailer despite the influx of bodies littering the floor.

You were facing one another, his eyes already drooping as you jumped, the thunder reverberating loudly around you.  As tired as he was, he still managed to notice you jump, gently placing a comforting arm around you.  “You’re safe,” he murmured.  “The Ghoulies won’t try to break into the snake’s den.”

You hummed, letting yourself fall back into a peaceful slumber in rhythm with the Serpent leader’s slow breathing.

You woke to the pale gray of morning filtering through Jughead’s thick blinds.  Your back was to his chest, his arm protectively around your battered frame.  He was so warm, so safe compared to the life you’d always known, and you felt yourself slowly realize how happy Jughead Jones could make you feel.

He shifted awake, mumbling an apology and going to pull his arm away.  You rolled over to face him.  “It’s okay,” you whispered back.  “It’s nice.”

He almost went to argue with you that it would be kinda creepy were it not him, a vaguely familiar boy holding you while you sleep, but then he realized that you probably hadn’t gotten that much affection in a while if the Ghoulies were the ones blossoming your skin with blue and violet bouquets.  Laying there amongst the early hours of the morning and staring into your lovely eyes, he realized that was something he needed to address.

“Listen, (y/n), I have to ask,” he began gently, “can you tell me what’s been going on?  I want to help you, and I will,” he reassured, “but I need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

You took a shaking breath, momentarily unsure if you should tell him you “belonged” to the Ghoulies, before divulging the words you’d never imagined you’d say to another living person, eyes glossing over at the quivering tales of your family, the Ghoulies, your eventual befriending of the Serpents.  By the time you had finished, tears were slipping from your eyes, and you tried to quickly wipe them away, but Jughead still saw them.  Reaching forward, he said softly, “Can I hug you?”  You nodded, and within seconds were pulled against the soft tee shirt, arms enveloping your world worn figure.  “You’re gonna be safe here.  No more Ghoulies.  Not ever.”  He rubbed your back soothingly for a while before you pulled back and noticed his glossy eyes.  You didn’t have to ask why; he could see the question in your eyes.  “I’m just sorry I didn’t notice.  That’s why you were so eager about going to the Wyrm, wasn’t it?  To get away from the Ghoulies?  And the books, that’s why you were so excited about the books.”  He sighed.  “I’m just so sorry I didn’t realize what was going on.”

You shook your head, the fervor pulling him from his guilty reverie.  “No, Jug, don’t be.  You weren’t meant to notice.  It would have been worse if you had.”

He gave you a sad smile, pulling you back against his chest gently.  “But I know now.  I promise, I’m never letting anything bad happen to you again.”

And lucky for you, Jughead Jones found himself exceptionally skilled at keeping promises.

A/N: Thank you for reading my story!  Let me know what you think, and feel free to shoot any suggestions or requests my way!  I hope you’re having a lovely day.

#jughead x y/n #jug x reader #jughead jones x reader #jughead jones #forsythe pendleton jones iii #jug #serpents #riverdale serpents #riverdale #ghoulies #toni #sweet pea

[taylornock]

how cell phones made our lives better while simultaneously ruining them

hi fam!! it’s me, again. are you tired of hearing from me? me too. that’s why I’m here to rant about social media / phone / technology. bc i hate it… but in a loving way???

everyone remembers when they got their first iPhone. seriously. why is that such a monumental moment in our lives? i can hardly remember what i felt like freshman year of high school but can pinpoint the feeling of sheer glee unwrapping my iPhone 6 in eighth grade. i have this thing that is attached to me 24/7 - when I go anywhere (even downstairs) without my phone i feel weird. that is f***ing SAD! PATHETIC. i hate feeling that dependent on what is essentially a pocket robot.

for what it’s worth - phones have done INCREDIBLE things for the world as we know it. for example, this quarantine shit has been testing all of us; and our phones are helping us get through it in so many ways. our phones let us see the faces of those loved ones we are missing, our phones provide us with stupid tik tok content to keep everything light hearted, and our phones let us check in on each other. all amazing things! when we are at school, we have instant access to our lives at home . being able to call my mom whenever i want is something i definitely abuse. “mom, I’m on my way home from Thompson right now and i think i have a brain aneurysm but my bio final is at 11am tomorrow will i make it” … an actual conversation i had with my mom at the end of freshman year. needless to say i was medicated shortly after THAT meltdown. I am such a brat that i don’t know what i would do if i couldn’t text my dad and have him immediately get me the password again to our Uverse account…… god forbid i miss an episode of the bachelor. i have this phone, and that’s what i do with it? abuse its powers to ask my parents for medical advice or a password i forgot? have we lost sight of everything here?

throughout life and especially throughout quarantine… my phone is the definition of a possession that is a blessing and a curse. I’m so grateful to have the ability to bother my friends - whenever i want! the options are endless! i love keeping in touch with people i thought id never hear from again, and being able to talk to so many people in my life and make my heart swell. now, when a conversation with someone other than my two roommates (shoutout parents) is so rare ⎯ that phone is my weapon and i use it to help flatten the curve: flatten the curve of covid19 and flatten the curve of my mental illness 🙃 [humor is a coping mechanism okay let me live] but like, i KNOW i’m not the only one that looks at my screen time and immediately wants to die. how can i honestly be looking at my phone for that long? picking it up THAT many times?????? my phone is the best distraction and also the most toxic - it makes me feel better but has a tendency to bring up all my issues and blast them into the reflection of my blue light glasses...... its called fashion look it up.

to give some examples - let’s open up my most used app: snapchat. I go on snapchat with the best of intentions - to see a memory from a year ago that makes me smile. to respond to my friends and see what their mood today is based on the look on their face. to creep on snap stories and see what everyone’s cooking and doing with their lives. somehow, tho, after spending a few minutes on the app.. i end up with a pit in my stomach most of the time. the person i want to respond hasn’t responded in 4 hours. oh god lets overthink this- they don’t like me anymore and are no longer interested in speaking to me and only respond every once in a while out of pity or because they are uncomfortable. everyone hates you. oh and GOD FORBID someone leaves me on open??! I am not funny nor interesting nor worth a reply - suddenly, i have equated my value to receiving or not receiving a photo of someone’s blank stare. this is extreme, and this is dramatic. but trust me —— this is the hamster wheel always turning in my head. I’m not even going to touch on snap maps; that feature is pandoras box and someone better fucking shut it.

second most used app is instagram. i scroll for hours, i have time limits set for the app acting like i’m actually going to listen to them and get off. lmaooooooooo. i love looking at aesthetic stuff and dogs and food and recipes and my friends’ beautiful faces. but you know what i don’t like? constant nudges to compare myself to others. oh look at her having a party with all of her friends even though we aren’t supposed to be. am i a loser for trying to be safe? oh look at her washboard abs, i’m never going to look like that and will never live up to the standard of beauty society has set for me. look at all of these people in their happy relationships. why can’t i have that? it goes over and over and over. its not like i sit there and think of these things just like that, its a precedent in my mind when i stare at everybody else that i am going to size my own life up against theirs. for years i followed every single elite model / VS angel on instagram to motivate me to do better - to start being psycho about what i did to my body so i could be as gorgeous as them. what kind of fucked up mindset is that? i would literally watch their footage of them eating rice and vegetables once a day and try to copy it. i would watch their runway walks obsessively trying to recreate them in heels alone in my house - like that was all i could imagine doing with my life. did i ever stop for a second to look at that photoshoot of gigi hadid and wonder if she was happy? wonder if the constant pictures she saw of herself ever made her insecure? what was i doing? the day i unfollowed those girls was a monumental day in my journey to a better self image. i didn’t realize the people i thought were my “motivators” were actually my triggers. i have grown to a point in life now that i would much rather eat a stack of chocolate chip pancakes that make me dance in my chair like an infant than practice my runway walk and shame my body in the mirror. and i am so freakin happy! 

i could go app by app for hours. but moving on to the next thing i hate about cell phones - how they have destroyed our biological methods of communication. you hear about those psychos who think the world is destroyed by technology and we are going to be overrun by robots. but hey, I’m with the psychos on this one. i have this amazing friend, Trevor Wright, who without fail at EVERY dinner announces “phones off friends on” and collects our phones into the center of the table. yes, we are 20 year old adults. yes, we hand our phones over to Trevor and let him yell at us for trying to see if ~that person~ snap chatted us back. i have so much respect for him because of this. there is nothing worse than staring at your phones when you could be having a good conversation about life, about love, about laughter + memories, about “do you think hellen keller is real?” anything, bro, anything. anything but snapchat messaging your hoe of the week or mindlessly playing tetris to twiddle your thumbs. we all need to start loving a little harder, and the first step to doing that is to communicate better. communicate smarter. I’m guilty of alllll of the above, don’t get me wrong. and I am ADD asf and constantly playing mindless games just to stimulate my brain. but i need to stop that! even writing this is taking some time away from the dumb shit on my phone - and encouraging me to communicate how i     r e a l l y   feel to my homies that will read this. communication - especially body language - is fascinating. I’ve studied it in  psych, I’ve learned the neurological bases of behavior and why we do what we do. I’ve learned how much our life experience impacts who we are as a whole...and it! is! fascinating! i also think that’s why i love film so much. because it can capture the raw moments of your friends just being your friends, of you just being the person you are, and the world around you just existing as it exists. i love the raw moments; and not just because indy blue posted one youtube video of her slow mo laughing and now thats the only footage i find myself shooting. 😚

im not quite sure what this post is, lol. but - just a rant on technology. so listen to me:

take advantage of technology + social media! it CAN BE GREAT. for so many reasons. but, don’t let technology + social media TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU. stay true to you - know how to communicate with yourself and your loved ones without the use of a robot. remember that feeling when you setup up your first iPhone? imagine if you could feel that again, with your phone nowhere in sight. if you don’t know how to communicate with yourself yet, start by journaling. WRITE! TYPE! SPEAK! do what you want. getting your thoughts down even without an audience is so crucial to understanding yourself and others. if you don’t like to write, reflect. breathe. meditate. make art. do what makes you feel at peace, and do whatever makes you feel like the world makes a little bit more sense than it does. 

IF YOU ARE READING DOWN TO HERE, I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU, SAY IT BACK! LIFE IS A FUCKING HIGHWAY. AND IM SO GLAD YOU’RE ON MY INTERSTATE. <3

xoxoxoxo

gossip girl

#phones #socialmedia #rant #blog #hi #tender #loveme #quarantine #covid19 #cellphones #iphone #followme! #taylor #tiktok #trending #writing

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 7: The Test

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You get some good news.

Editor: @cherrypierowena

Time had gone by in a flash of boredom and numbers, and before you knew it, it was Thursday and Ms. Hanscum's face, smiley as ever, was mere inches from yours as she set the test down in front of you and wished you all the best.

Rowena had prepared you well last night. So well, in fact, that you'd ended up dreaming of numbers. Equations and formulas that now made slightly more sense twirled and roiled in your head like a hurricane. Made you nauseous, lightheaded, but you shoved the sensations back, put on a face a soldier would envy.

You had to remain calm — as calm as your racing heart allowed. Your palms were slick with sweat, forehead beaded with it. Your throat felt dry as if stuffed with cotton.

It's a fucking test, you told yourself. A make up one, but still a test. You'd had dozens, if not hundreds of them so far in your life.

You'd never, on the other hand, had a tutor before. Aside from Sam, who helped you out from time to time, you'd never had anyone study with you, show you how things are done, correct your wrongs and teach you right.

Rowena was your first, so to speak.

Lucky you.

What if you failed again?

What if all that hard work was for nothing?

What if—

Stop it, you told yourself. You could do it. Rowena had made sure to cover all the basics. Made sure you knew them by heart before ending the session last night. You knew enough for a D.

You would get a D.

You just had to concentrate on what you'd studied, what you'd worked on all those days. It wasn't that hard. Rowena had made it not hard. You owed it to her, at the very least, to pass.

You'd meant what you'd said. She was a great tutor. An excellent one. Better than even — god, it pained you to say it — Sam. Mean girl or not, she'd gone above and beyond for you.

"Don't fuck up," she'd told you just before you'd entered the classroom. Her way of saying good luck, you supposed.

You'd do your best not to.

You looked over to her, expecting the usual smugness, the superiority that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. There was none. Instead, she gave you a smile, small but encouraging, and a nod, followed by a wink.

Genuine. All of them.

Well.

That was unexpected.

But then, she was getting something out of this arrangement, as well. She might not have needed the extra credit, but that record of hers was in need of a good cleaning up.

Her wanting you to pass was for her benefit.

Even still, you appreciated it, giving a nod back.

Her reasons didn't matter. She had a job to do, just as you did. It was business.

It wasn't like you were friends.

She owed you nothing.

Your real friends were on your side. Cheered you on and wished you luck and promised to treat you at Biggerson's after school.

One good thing to look forward to, at least.

*****

It had taken Ms. Hanscum two weeks to grade your test.

Two whole weeks of agony, of wondering, of nervousness. Of dreams of failure and summer school.

Every time you'd asked the teacher, she'd claimed to be busy and had offered you a donut in apology. You were starting to hate the damn things. You wanted your grade, however it was, not over-sugared fried dough!

You'd had one tutoring session with Rowena, just to go over the lessons that had been covered in class in the meantime. She didn't seem too worried.

"You know what Ms. Hanscum's like," she'd said. "She's a bloody ditz!"

She let you vent, though, and had made similar comments in response to your words. It was almost… comforting. Like she wanted you to feel better.

More strange genuineness from her.

You weren't sure what to think of it, so you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused all your energy on your test.

Grade now, Rowena's weirdness later.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Ms. Hanscum said that Friday, two weeks and a day after you'd had your test. She'd found you in the hallway just as the last bell of the day rang and had asked to talk to you for a bit, claiming it was important.

You didn't like the sound of that.

'Important' was teachers' code for 'you're in trouble.'

"I've been really busy."

"It's fine," you said, forcing on a smile you hoped passed for the real thing.

It was not fine.

"I have to say," she said, sun-bright smile never leaving her face, "this is not what I expected at all."

You froze. Heart stopping. Skipping beats.

Uh oh.

"It's surely a surprise."

Through trembling lips, you uttered, "How-how bad is it?"

Ms. Hanscum looked at you as if you'd just confessed to killing a puppy. "Bad? Oh, no!" She gave a small laugh. "It's not bad. Quite the contrary."

You swallowed, hard.

What?

Opening up her bag, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for you.

A big, red C+ adorned the right corner.

Holy shit!

You mouthed to say it out loud, but closed your mouth just in time.

A C+? A C+?!

You'd gotten a freaking C+?

No way!

This had to have been a joke. Ms. Hanscum was just messing with you.

There was no way in hell you'd gotten a C+!

"Congratulations, Y/N!" Ms. Hanscum said cheerfully.

You took the test from her. Looked over the numbers you'd written down. The formulas you'd studied hard to remember. The problems you'd solved — correctly.

Your first test was filled with fat, red Xs, lines, and notes pointing out your mistakes.

Compared to that, this one was almost bare.

"This-this is my test," you uttered, in complete and utter shock.

"You betcha!" Ms. Hanscum beamed.

"I got a C+."

"You sure did!"

"This is… wow."

Heat rushed through you. Your heart raced as if you'd run a marathon. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to stand still, for everything in you screamed at you to dance and jump and shout like a hyperactive child.

A grin broke out on your mouth. A wide, genuine one. Straight from the heart. From the bottom of your soul.

You did it! You passed.

And not only that — you got a much higher grade than you anticipated.

Having Rowena as your tutor didn't feel like such a nightmare anymore.

*****

You knocked on the door of the MacLeod residence at exactly three in the afternoon.

Habit, you supposed.

Instead of Rowena, though, you were met with Crowley's confused face.

"Hello, girl," he said, smile ready on his mouth, eyes shining devilishly.

"Hey," you responded.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Did I forget our date?"

Classic Crowley.

"You wish," you said. "I'm actually here for your sister. She home?"

He looked at you as if you'd just offed his entire family. Eyes narrowed into slits. Features coated in suspicion. Mouth inches away from opening wide, letting the jaw hit the floor with a bang.

The drama mode was on.

You raised up a forefinger in warning. "Not a word."

You weren't in the mood for his theatrics. God knew you'd had enough of those ever since you'd started studying with Rowena.

Today was a good day. Special. You weren't going to let him ruin it.

Crowley put his hands up in surrender.

"Good boy."

He scowled, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside to let you in, turned his head, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "ROWENA! YOUR STOLEN FRIEND IS HERE! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN!"

Stolen friend?

Seriously?

God.

You chose him, you reminded yourself. Exactly for this kind of behavior. He was too fascinating not to befriend.

Past you was an idiot.

Rowena descended the stairs in a patter of feet, bare, pink-painted toenails glittering under the fluorescent light. Her hair was up in a bun, a neat one, not a single hair out of place. Her makeup was perfect, and her outfit, casual as it was, was flawless.

The girl lived for show.

And there you were, thinking she was dressing up for you all those times you were here to study.

"That was rude," she said, glaring daggers at her brother.

He simply shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. "Arsehole."

"Bitch," he retorted.

"Mother should have aborted you!"

"Mother should have smothered you and blamed it on SIDS!"

Wow.

Sibling rivalry you got, but this?

Damn.

"Um, can we talk?" you said before anything else awful could be uttered.

Rowena turned to you, smile painted on her mouth; pleasant, so sweet it made you sick. As fake as Dean's boobs that one Halloween when he dressed up as a slutty cheerleader. And had managed to bang one such cheerleader later on that night. Somehow.

"We weren't supposed to meet today," Rowena said.

"Nope," you confirmed. "There's just something I need to tell you." She raised an eyebrow, and you quickly added, "It's important."

It didn't seem as though she believed you, but she motioned for you to follow her up to her room anyway. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. For all you knew, she might have had arrangements with her asshole friends. You didn't want to intrude on their gossip sessions or whatever it was they did when they were alone.

"I talked to Ms. Hanscum today," you said as she closed the door behind you and seated herself on the bed. You elected to remain on your feet, standing in front of her. The news was too big, too exciting, to sit while relaying it.

Rowena looked up at you. "Oh?"

You gave a small nod. "She graded my test."

This piqued her interest. She tried to mask it, but her ever expressive face betrayed the curiosity, the interest, behind the veil of nonchalance.

She cared about your grade. You didn't understand it — weren't sure you ever would be able to understand it, understand her — but, for reasons known to her only, she seemed intent on getting you to succeed. She took her tutoring seriously. Taught you everything you needed, repeated it over and over until the numbers were carved into your mind, impossible to forget. She'd studied with you five days in a row for that test. Gave up hanging out with her friends just so you would be prepared.

You told yourself it was because her extra credit and record depended on it, but a shadow of doubt itched at you. Annoyed you to the point where you had to consider that Rowena MacLeod had ulterior motives for wanting you to pass the test. Motives that, for once in her life, weren't selfish.

It was a silly thought. Maybe she was just a perfectionist. Maybe she wouldn't be able to live with herself if someone she taught failed.

Or maybe she genuinely wanted you to pass.

These weeks of studying with her taught you one thing — there was more to this mean girl than met the eye. Layers she hid well, that existed nonetheless, hidden beneath the surface of coldness and indifference.

"And?" Rowena asked.

You grinned. Big, wide, happy beyond belief. "I passed!"

Her eyes widened, shock written over her face. "You did?"

"Yup! C+!"

You still couldn't believe it. A D you expected, anticipated even, but a C+? It was unreal. Felt more like a daydream, a fantasy, than reality. A part of you still wondered when you would wake up to a big, fat F on your paper and Ms. Hanscum's disappointed face looming over you.

"Bloody hell!" A smile spilled over Rowena's mouth. A genuine one. Overjoyed. Proud.

Of herself? Of you?

"I thought it'd be a D or something," you admitted.

She scoffed. "Please! I'm your tutor. No protege of mine gets a D."

You raised an eyebrow. "Protege?"

"Aye," she said smugly. "What else?"

Fair point. "Minion seems more like your thing."

She scoffed.

You chuckled. "Or slave."

"You're hilarious."

"I am."

"You learn that from Fergus?"

"A lady doesn't tell."

She snorted. "A lady."

You rolled your eyes in response.

Was this… banter? Were you bantering with Rowena MacLeod; queen bitch by her own volition, smug and proud snob?

Well.

Seemed the high grade had gotten to your head.

You looked at Rowena. Looked at her smile, at the light in her eyes. All true. Straight from the heart.

A miracle, really.

Did she mean it? Was she a good actress, or was everything real? Was her joy real? Did she—

Wait.

"What's that?" you asked.

"What?" Rowena said, confused.

"That on your neck." You pointed to a darkened spot peeking out from under the neckline of her shirt.

No — a few spots. Thin and elongated. Rich purple in color.

"Are those bruises?"

She quickly pulled the shirt up, hiding the marks. "It's nothing."

"Rowena—"

"I fell, okay?" She smiled again, this time hurriedly. Fakely. "In the shower." Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned away. Glued her eyes to her curled up toes. "It's really embarrassing."

"Okay…"

It wasn't okay. At all.

Had someone hurt her? Had she gotten into a fight?

Or was it really just a freak accident?

"Don't tell Fergus," she said after a few moments of silence. "I don't want him spreading this around."

"Sure."

It wasn't really something Crowley would spread around (he did rumors, not accidents), but there was no harm in keeping it from him.

It wasn't like she was asking you to lie for her. Or withhold the truth.

It was harmless.

Just like her accident was harmless.

And it was an accident. It had to be. You were seeing things that weren't there. You'd seen too many movies.

"So," Rowena said, "you still up for tomorrow?"

The tutoring session you'd agreed to.

You nodded.

"Three?" she said with a chuckle.

You returned it, giving another nod. "Three."

She grinned.

More genuineness.

No trace of deception.

It was ludicrous, but, from the way things were going, you were starting to think she liked studying with you.

And, as much as it pained you to admit it, you were starting to like it, as well.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #spn #supernatural #fergus macleod #fanfiction #my fics #high school au #spn family

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Hello all! Here is episode 5 of Cuba v DR!! I really hope you’re enjoying the season thus far!! So what’s going on with Lily? Will Rafael get his job back? And just what is going on with the Captain over at the 33? We’d love to hear your theories!!

EPISODE 5

The next day, you were writing a set of equations on the board for when your class came back from lunch. It felt so good to be back at work, some small form of normalcy that you’d welcomed back into your life after so much time away.

Even Lily had been excited to be back at school after getting her cast off. Her shoulder was doing so much better, pain levels down to minimal discomfort. You were relieved, especially considering the fact that she hardly ever took her pain meds anymore, even when her aches flared up. You were always comforted watching your daughter, the social butterfly and she seemed to adjust being back in school immediately. All her friends had made her cards and decorations for her return and you felt a warmth in your heart for those children.

As class progressed, you could see their eyes dulling, a disinterest in math very common among kids their age.

“How about we do something outside this class? We can learn outdoors too,” you offered.

The kids seemed to perk up at this. You grabbed some chalk from a drawer of your desk and led them outside. Once you reached the basketball court near the playground, you drew five large circles on the asphalt. Your students watched you with curiosity.

“Now we're going to keep it simple. There are five circles. And there are twenty six of you.  Get into the circles in sets of five.”

The kids did as they were told until one girl was left standing outside the circles. She looked at you. “There's no room for me.”

“That's because you're the remainder. In division, I asked you to divide a number by something it was not evenly divisible by. That means there will be remainders, or leftover numbers. Now Sarah, because you were the remainder. You get to pick the numbers this time. However you wanna divide them.”

The kids all looked eager as they began to play, dividing into groups over and over, each of them having a turn to pick a number.

You smiled and watched them. You really loved your job, especially when you could use less conventional, more creative methods of teaching.

By the time the last bell rang, signaling the end of the day, you and the class were already walking back inside.

“Okay, homework; problems 1-30 on page 47!” you said over the dull noise of the kids packing up their stuff. You slowly began to pack up your own things and went down to the teacher’s lounge to check your mailbox before heading out to the playground to pick up Lily and the twins.

You found Lily playing with her friends, running around and giggling before she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you. Her face fell.

“Mi amor, it's time to go home,” you said with a smile as you walked over and offered your hand to her.

Lily shook her head, brows furrowed with worry. “I don't want to go home,” she replied. “I wanna stay here.”

“You can’t stay here, silly goose. Come on, I’m making your favorite for dinner tonight,” you replied, waving for her to follow you.

“No,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I don't want to go.”

“Lily,” you said softly, crouching down to look at her. “Why don’t you wanna come home?”

“I just don't want to,” she answered. “I want to stay here.”

“Baby, you can’t stay here. How about we go get the twins and I can see if Chelsea and Ella wanna have a playdate?” you offered.

She thought for a long moment, brows again furrowing, looking so much like her father as she finally nodded. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Okay, come on,” you said, reaching for her hand and walking with her to pick up the twins. You got into the car, prepared to send a text to Nevada about Lily’s odd behavior, but the carefree demeanor of the girl in the playground had come back as she talked with her siblings in the back seat. Smiling to yourself, you decided not to text your husband after all, writing it off as a fluke. Maybe she had just been missing her friends and didn’t want to stop playing.

When you got home, you called Chelsea and invited her and Ella over and sat down on the couch to grade papers before their arrival.

“Mami,” Fiona said as she crawled up into your lap. “Mami, cuddle?”

“Oh course my love,” you whispered with a smile. You'd made sure to give your kids even more attention if they needed it lately and pulled her close, stroking her hair. “I got you, sweet pea. Mami and papi will always keep you safe.”

You stayed holding your daughter for twenty minutes  as you continued to grade tests until you heard the door. You set your papers aside and got up, opening the door to Chelsea and Ella.

“Hi Ella, hey Chels,” you said with a smile and nodded them in, Fiona still comfortably tucked in your arms.

“Hey, how are you guys doing?” Chelsea asked, smiling at Fiona.

In perhaps your darkest of times, Chelsea had proven to be a very good friend to the both of you. She’d stopped by the hospital with Ella a couple of times with care packages filled with Lily’s favorite cookies and books she could read, and had even helped you with housework and shuttling the twins to and from school so that you and Nevada could stay with Lily.

“We're getting better every day,” you answered, smiling.

You moved to sit with Chelsea on the couch as Fiona finally let go and followed Ella up the stairs to play with Lily and NJ.

When the kids were out of sight, and Chelsea looked over at you. “Okay, so how are you doing?” she asked, in case your previous answer had been for the kid’s benefit. You let out a big sigh.

“I'm a little worried about Lily… she refused to come home today until I promised a play date. She barely speaks to Nevada and won't leave my side. She's been really strange since it happened.”

“Maybe she’s a little more traumatized than you thought,” Chelsea replied softly. “That’s weird that she’s being distant with Nevada though, she’s always been a daddy’s girl.”

“I know, I thought she would have never left Nevada's side since the incident…”

“I’m so sorry,” Chelsea whispered, reaching to gently squeeze your hand. “How are you doing after everything?”

“I'm alright, shaken but alright. I just want to go back to normal...or as normal as they will ever be.” You let out another breath and rubbed your temples. “I don't want my kids to have to live like this.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on you guys,” Chelsea replied. “And the kids, it must’ve been so traumatizing for them to see their sister that way.”

“Fiona has nightmares, she cries and sleeps with us a lot...NJ seems fine but he's very protective of his sisters now. And Lily...I wish I knew where her head was at.”

“Have you guys tried to talk to her about it?” Chelsea inquired.

“A bit, we've been trying to give her space. She shuts down when we ask her too much. The kids all have appointments with a therapist next week, I'm just nervous.”

“Well, that’s good. Maybe talking to someone who deals with these kinds of trauma might help them process,” she replied. “I think you’re doing great, all things considered. And with time, you guys as a family will all get through this.”

You gave her a big hug, leaning your head on her shoulder and sighing. It felt good to have her support. She hugged you back just as enthusiastically and the two of you spent the next couple of hours on the couch, talking.

It felt nice to do normal things again, like gab with your girlfriend while the kids played upstairs. After a while Chelsea sighed softly.

“Well, we should get going. Ella has homework and I have to get her costume sewn for her recital this weekend,” she said, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes before she stood and walked to the bottom of the staircase. “Ella! Come on, babe, time to go home!”

“Mommy! Lily wants to come stay over! Can she?”

Ella ran down to her mother holding Lily's hand with a warm smile.

You frowned, trying not to look too heartbroken. “Lily it's a school night, lovie.”

“Yeah, not tonight girls, but maybe we can do a sleepover next weekend,” Chelsea added, immediately backing you up.

“Please, please!” Lily whined at you.

“No Lily, you have school. You can sleep over another time,” you said softly.

Lily's eyes filled with tears as she ran past Chelsea and clung to you. “Mami, please don't make me stay here!” she nearly screamed, startling you. You looked to Chelsea in a panic.

Your friend opened her mouth and looked back at you, unsure of how to respond.

“Lily, this your home, we’re your family,” you said, putting your foot down. “Tonight is not a good night for a sleepover, it’s a school night and you and Ella both have homework. I’m sorry, but no sleepover tonight.”

Lily glared at you before running upstairs and slamming her bedroom door. Sighing heavily, you ran your fingers through your hair and gave Chelsea a tight smile.

“It’ll get better,” she whispered to you as you walked her and Ella out. When you reached the door, she turned back to you. “Call me?”

You nodded and closed the door, leaning back against it as you thought about how you would approach the subject of Lily’s behavior with your husband.

The park wasn’t terribly crowded with most kids still in school, and Troy grinned as he listened to Fallon’s shrieks of delight from being pushed on the swing. Amber had needed some time to write and had asked Troy to go along with Sebastian and Cecile to the park with Fallon. She trusted her brother, her mother not so much and unfortunately her brother had somewhat of a soft spot for the women in their family, Cecile included. Troy was an additional chaperone.

“Up! Up!” Fallon screamed, trying to get higher up in the swing.

“Oh man, you are going to be a pilot someday aren't you? Or an acrobat,” Troy said with a grin, swinging her higher.

Cecile smiled coyly and hummed under her breath. “I think she’d be better served in the medical field or perhaps law.”

“She’s 13 months, mom. I think for the next few years it’s mermaids and superhero aspirations, right Fallon?” Sebastian said, smiling at his niece.

“Still, it’s never too early to teach her to aim higher,” Cecile said.

“She could be an Air Force pilot,” Troy offered.

“I meant higher in in class, dear,” Cecile replied. “There’s no reason for her to risk her life for peanuts when she can make more saving lives.”

“I lost many friends in the Air Force, it's an honorable life. Though I don't think she would fit into it. She's too kind hearted.” He took her out of the swing as she cuddled into him right away.

“Toy,” she said with a smile. She could never get the r correct.

“She’s only 13 months, everyone is kind-hearted at that age,” Sebastian said, taking his niece and pretending to fly her over the playground.

“Oh Troy,” Cecile said, smiling up at the ex soldier. “I’m glad you decided to come with us. I was hoping to have a little chat.”

“Well I was excited to meet you, Mrs. Woods. Amber is the woman I love, I want to be close with her family.”

“That’s nice,” she replied with a smile. “I was actually hoping you might talk to Amber about moving closer to family. With her and Fallon so far away, we never get to see them.”

“Amber's whole life is here ma'am, not to mention how stubborn she is. I couldn't convince her of anything. But...I can see if I talk her into visiting.”

“Visiting...that’s another way of saying we’ll see her once a year, if that. The schools are so much better upstate, and her life is wherever she chooses. A writer can work from anywhere, plus we’re only a train ride away into the city. Lots of people commute from upstate. Besides, with us close by, she’ll have more help with Fallon, access to some of the best schools in the country. It’s a smart move,” Cecile said.

“Amber has a support system here, and Fallon's father is here.”

“Fallon’s father wishes she’d never been born, I’ll bet. From what I’ve seen, both before and shortly after the wedding, his lifestyle is...less than savory. And she would have a support system closer to us,” Cecile answered, smiling over at Sebastian and Fallon playing together. “Just look at how much she adores her uncle.”

Troy looked up as Fallon giggled and smiled at Sebastian.

“I'll talk with her,” he said softly. “But I make no promises. She lives next to Fallon's grandmother. It's a huge help.”

“Well, she has you now, doesn’t she?” Cecile replied, looking back at him, still with an easy smile. “Who knows...in a few years, maybe she would ask you to adopt Fallon after the two of you are married.”

“I love her with all my heart, and I'll do anything I can to make her happy.”

“Of course you would,” Cecile replied, patting his shoulder. “And you seem like a smart enough young man to know that being close to her family, where Fallon will thrive best would make her very happy.”

“Mrs. Woods, with all due respect ma'am, your family is not Fallon's only family and if you continue to act like it is, you will isolate your only daughter.”

Cecile arched a perfectly sculpted brow at him. “Is that a threat young man?”

“No, ma'am. I have nothing but respect for you and your family. All I'm suggesting is that you'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Amber wants to have you in her life, give her a reason to keep you there.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? I give her plenty of reason,” Cecile replied. “I’m here, aren't I?”

“You're here yes, but it...upsets her when you make comments. Try to lessen the comments. You'd be surprised at how much she wants you to be in her life.”

“Comments?” Cecile looked genuinely surprised at the revelation. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You say things to try and help, I can see that. You're trying to help her. You're a good mother for that. But comments about the neighborhood, the food she feeds her daughter, Fallon speaking Spanish. Amber takes those things personally. She takes them as an attack, rather than as constructive criticism.”

“I think you’re over exaggerating,” Cecile replied with a sympathetic smile. “I appreciate you being overprotective, though I’m not so sure Amber would see it that way. She doesn’t appreciate men who think she can’t handle herself. Obviously you don’t know very much about mine and my daughter’s relationship. She learned to have a thick skin a very long time ago when she wanted to become a reporter. She doesn’t take anything personally, let alone things that are simple facts.”

“Right,” he said softly. “My apologies, Mrs. Woods.”

“So you’ll speak with her?” Cecile asked.

“I will try,” he replied.

“Good!” Cecile replied, smiling at him. “Now, let’s go get our sweet girl some lunch. All this excitement, I just bet she’s starving.”

The beeping of the oven from the back of the bakery made Roxie giddy and she walked briskly into the kitchen to retrieve her pie. Her urge to bake had increased since she’d started showing and she inhaled the appetizing scent as she opened the oven door. She pulled the pie out and set it down to cool, humming softly to herself.

“I wonder what kind of pie you'll like, it's honestly a very important question.” She patted her stomach and watched the steam coming from the pie as she spoke to her unborn child. “This one is apple,” she whispered softly. “Apples are delicious, not my favorite though. My favorite is the one I only make for special occasions. It’s one that will never go on the menu at Lavender because it’s only for me, and for you, and for your father.”

It had been quiet the entire morning at the bakery. For the first time since they opened, it had no one inside and she wasn't sure what to do with the time.

“Roxie?” One of the other workers, Mackenzie, walked up to her. “The piping on my cupcakes came out wrong...I'm sorry.” She flinched waiting for the exploding anger Roxie often had. Instead Roxie straightened herself and smiled, patting the girl on the shoulder.

“Accidents happen, just don't let it happen again, alright?”

Mackenzie nodded and smiled. “Thank you Roxie.”

“You're welcome, just them to me, my husband is stopping by and I'm sure he could use something to eat.”

“Oh, okay. Will do,” Mackenzie replied, going to grab the cupcakes for Roxie. The pregnant woman smiled and thanked her before she turned and walked out of the kitchen, giving one last glance to freshly baked pie.

Rafael walked through the doors a few minutes later and smiled at his wife, who was in the midst of putting together a box of cupcakes.

“Mi amor, you ready to go?” he asked, coming up to the counter.

“Just about ready,” she mused as she plucked a cupcake from the box to hand to him. “It's angelfood.”

“Honey, these cupcakes are really starting to settle in my midsection. I dunno that I can eat anymore,” he replied, looking up at her apologetically. “They look delicious, though. I’m sure I could unload them for you if you need me to.”

She smiled and nodded, placing the cupcake back into the box before she sealed it. “You know I don't mind what you look like, you're always sexy to me.”

“Yeah, but I don't feel sexy lately,” he replied, lowering his gaze. “But I’m glad you don’t mind what I look like, I guess. So, thank you.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” she said as she rubbed his arm gently. “From now on, I'll try to keep the extra calories out of the house.”

He just stared at her for a moment before he sighed, averting his eyes. “Okay, let me know when you’re ready to go then, I guess.”

“Ready now. Nothing I can't finish tomorrow.” She took up the box of cupcakes and followed Rafael to the door, turning to call back to her staff, “Mackenzie, I'm leaving now! Please watch the front!”

“Okay! Bye Roxie!”

“How’d it go today?” he asked as they walked out onto the sidewalk.

“Slow, I'm not used to an empty bakery, it gives me anxiety,” she said as she looked around. “Manhattan is never quiet, so where are they going today?” She thought for a moment before shaking her head.

“Well, Manhattan still isn’t quiet,” he mused as they walked through the sidewalk littered with pedestrians. “It is a weekday, most places are slow on weekdays. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Roxie shrugged. “How was your day?”

“Fine, I suppose. I’m not looking forward to Sunday dinner, though, I’ll tell you that,” he answered. “I know my mom is going to ask me how work is going and I hate lying to my mom.”

“Just tell her, Rafael she's your mother and she loves you. I hate watching this weigh on you.”

“I don’t wanna upset her,” he replied. “Besides, it’s only a matter of time before I’m back at work, so she doesn’t even have to find out.”

“Alright,” she said with a soft sigh. “Whatever you want, I'll support you. You're right, this should be over soon and you'll be back at work.”

“Hopefully,” he replied.

She smiled at him, taking his hand. “My love, we should do something, perhaps get a snack to eat.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, threading his fingers between hers.

“I could eat. Mostly, I just want to spend some time just us having a normal day.”

“Okay, where do you wanna have lunch?” he asked.

“How about we go somewhere where I can have breakfast for lunch?”

“So, a diner?” he asked with a smirk.

“Or a McDonald's,” she said with a shrug.

He grimaced. “Ugh, I hate McDonalds, but that’s fine. If you want McDonalds, we can go, I'll just eat something when we get home.”

“A diner is fine love,” she cooed and kissed his cheek. “I just want something breakfast themed.”

“Whatever you want, honey. You’re the one eating for two. Though diner food is probably better for you and the baby than McDonalds.”

She chuckled and moved towards the diner, reaching for the door just as it swung open, narrowly missing her. Roxie looked at the man on a cellphone who strode past her, not even noticing he'd almost hit her. She clenched her fist.

“I hate working on my temper,” she grumbled.

“Excuse me!” Rafael called out over her. The man turned to look at him. “You almost hit my wife. Maybe you should watch you’re going.”

The man looked over and snorted a laugh. “Your wife should watch where she's standing then, buddy.”

“Rafael, it's alright,” she said gently.

“No, it’s not. I’m not your buddy, I’m not your pal and the city is not your playground. My wife is pregnant and you almost hit her. Now the decent thing to do would be to apologize,” Rafael replied, taking a step towards the other man.

“I'll call you back,” the man said, putting his phone away as he took a step to Rafael. “Look, man, it’s not my fault your girl’s got her belly poking out. I didn’t knock her up--”

“--What kind of man has zero consideration for a pregnant woman?” Rafael asked, arching a brow.

The man snorted and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, sorry for walking,” he sneered and turned to leave.

Rafael snorted and rolled his eyes as well, turning back to his wife and leading her into the diner.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Fine,” she said softly, then smiled. “Thank you for not fighting him,” she whispered and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Of course I wouldn’t fight him, I’d never make you bail me out of jail,” he replied through a smile as he placed a hand on her belly and kissed her lips. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. The door never hit me.”

“He’s still an asshole,” Rafael mumbled as they sat in a booth. “Wanna go for a walk after lunch? I read that being active throughout the pregnancy would help with labor.”

She grimaced but nodded. “I should,” she acknowledged.

“Yeah, especially if you want a homebirth without any pain meds, you’re gonna wanna be nice and limber,” he replied. “I also read about some perineal massages we could do if you’d like.”

“I'm going to veto that right now,” she said.

“Why? It’ll help avoid vaginal tearing,” he said as their waitress came up. “Can I have a water, please?”

“Sure thing, handsome. How about you, hun?” the older woman asked, turning to Roxie.

“Water with lemon, please.”

“Alright. Be right back,” their server replied, flashing them a smile before she walked away.

“So, is that a solid no on the perineal massages?” Rafael asked.

“That is such a strong no,” she said with a giggle.

“Okay, but you should do some exercises to strengthen your pelvic floor at least. I’ve been told tearing isn’t fun,” he replied.

“Your sister already gave me the kegel speech,” she said with a cringe.

“Oh, good. The birthing tub came in today, too. Where did you want me to set it up?” he asked.

“Wherever there is room,” she said honestly.

“I’ll have to make room no matter what, just tell me where you wanna give birth,” he replied, smirking softly at her.

“Bedroom, I would prefer.”

“Okay,” he answered. “Are you excited to have our baby?”

“Excited and nervous,” she said.

“Why nervous? You’re gonna be an amazing mom,” he replied.

“I don't think anyone is an amazing mum, we're all just, doing our best to make a good life for our children.”

“That’s what makes an amazing mom,” he replied. “I never said ‘perfect.’ I said amazing.”

She smiled at him gently. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he replied.

Izzy opened the door to Cleo the second she heard the knock, grinning at her friend with excited eyes. “I have news, the best news. Badass career woman news,” she announced as she grabbed Cleo by the wrist and yanked her inside.

“Ow,” Cleo groaned half-heartedly, rubbing her wrist. “What’s the news?”

“My paintings sold! They sold right away which means…” She did a little spin and whipped out a series of hundred dollar bills. “Which means I'm gonna take you to eat!” she sang in a cheerful voice.

“Nice! Congrats!” Cleo answered, trying to sound cheerful despite the fact that she was a little uncomfortable. She had always felt so when it came to money. To her, it was the root of all evil. “We can probably just order a vegan pizza or something.”

“Pizza sounds delicious, my treat, and we can get a bottle of wine, have some fun, our own little party.”

Cleo furrowed her brows. “Izzy, you know I don’t drink,” she replied softly. “How about some sparkling cider? Is that okay?”

“Can it be pomegranate instead of apple?”

“Sure!” Cleo replied in a chuckle. “So, what’s your next move?”

“Check out all the local artist calls and see what I can get into, I have to push 130% harder now.”

“Well, yeah,” Cleo replied with a chuckle as she got into her app and ordered their pizza online. “Do you eventually wanna open your own studio?”

“That is the goal, to open my own gallery of my work. But honestly? I've been thinking lately about illustrations for books. Fiona and NJ love when I draw my own storybook pages for them. Maybe I could be a children's book illustrator, ya know?”

“You should totally look into that,” Cleo replied, nodding as they left the apartment to go downstairs to the bodega for the cider. “Hey, doesn’t your sisters friend write books? You should try to ask her if she knows anyone that can help.”

Izzy considered the idea, smiling after a few moments. “Yeah! Yeah, I don't think I've ever really talked to her for more than a few seconds but it's worth a shot.”

“Yeah, why not, right? Can’t hurt to ask,” Cleo replied.

"Yeah,” Izzy replied with a grin. “That’s a really good idea,” she added as she opened the door to the bodega.

“I try,” Cleo answered with a grin.

Nevada got home and took off his jacket before he went upstairs. You were laying in bed, grading papers, not even looking up when he came in.

“Hey,” he said as he took off his shirt and his wife beater.

“Hey,” you mumbled as you made a note on one of your student’s papers. Sighing heavily, your eyes flickered to the edges of the paper. “Lily was acting up again today. I’m really worried...I think you should try to talk to her.”

“Okay,” he replied, letting his pants falling to his ankles and stepping out of them. “She up?”

“Yes, she’s mad at me because I wouldn't let her stay at Ella’s overnight. She begged me not to make her stay here.”

You glanced up at him before getting out of bed, covered in one of his shirts and cotton panties and walked up to where he stood. His eyes drifted over your form and he felt his heart quicken in his chest. He swallowed when your hand came up to lay flat against his bicep.

“I don’t know what to do anymore when she gets like this,” you whispered.

Nevada nodded and grabbed a clean pair of basketball shorts, pulling them on. “I’ll talk to her,” he said, dropping a kiss on your forehead.

He brushed past you and walked to Lily’s room, knocking on the door before he opened it.

“Hola princesa,” he said as he poked his head inside.

Lily frowned. “I don't want to talk to you,” she mumbled.

“Why not?” he asked.

She crossed her arms and turned away from him.

“Can you answer me, please?” Nevada asked, arching a brow.

“No.”

Nevada sighed heavily. “If you give me a good reason why you don’t wanna talk to me, I’ll leave you alone.”

“You do bad things,” she said softly.

“What bad things?” he asked.

She shrugged. “What do you do all day, papi?”

“I run a strip club, mi amor,” he replied, taking a small step into her room.

“What is that?”

Nevada’s brows shot up on his forehead and he walked into the room the rest of the way and sat down on her bed. “Um...it’s a place where men go to watch women dance.”

There was no way he was going into any more detail than that.

“Why?”

“Cause some men like that,” he replied with a shrug.

She seemed to regard him for a moment, eyes moving over each of the scars that littered his torso.

“Are you bad?”

“Am I bad? What do you mean bad?” he asked.

“Are you a bad person?”

“Bueno...I’m not perfect. Nobody is, pero...why? Do you think I’m a bad person?” He had wanted to say yes, he was a bad person. It was the truth, in the grand scheme of things anyway. But admitting that to his eight-year-old was an oversimplification that she just wouldn’t be able to understand at her age.

“You didn't say no,” she said softly.

“No, I didn’t say no. You’re right,” he said. “You think I’m a bad person?”

“I don't know,” she said honestly.

“Well, I know that I love you very much, and your brother and sister, and your mom, and Eddie. You guys are everything to me,” he replied.

“Okay,” she whispered softly.

“Your mom said you didn’t wanna sleep here,” he said softly. “What’s that about?”

“I don't want to talk anymore today,” she said softly, then hesitated. “Would you ever hurt us?”

“Never,” he answered. “I’d never hurt any of you. Not ever.”

She seemed to think this over. “Will you tell me how you and mami met?”

“Sure,” he replied, getting comfortable beside her. “I came to pick up Eddie from school one day, and she didn’t wanna let him go with me.”

Lily's face fell. “Because you were bad?” she whispered.

“No, because she didn’t know who I was,” he answered.

“And then what? How did you fall in love?” Her little eyes looked at him, desperate for something to cling on to. Some kind of fantasy that she could indulge in.

“Uhhh...” He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know, we went out a couple times. We liked hanging out with each other, and I guess it just kinda happened.”

Again her face fell, turning away from him. “No more.”

“What’d I say?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Was he supposed to have lied and make up an elaborate fairytale as to how he met you? As it was, he’d really only given her the rated G version. The truth was, he couldn’t even remember when he’d fallen in love with you.

“Come on, princesa, don‘t be like that,” he said after a long moment of silence.

She turned to him, eyes filled with tears and bottom lip trembling as she shook her head. “No. More.”

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose before he kissed the top of her head and got up.

“Whenever you wanna tell me what’s going on with you, I’m here okay?” he said.

She said nothing, the quiet sound of her sobs the only thing filling the room.

Walking out of her room, Nevada went back into your room and threw his arms up. “I don’t know what else to do.”

You looked at him sadly. “What did she say?” you asked softly.

“She asked what I did all day, then she asked if I was a bad person, and then she asked how we met,” he answered.

Your brows furrowed, confused. “Um...okay, that's definitely weird.” As you moved over to Nevada, you rubbed his back. “Well now we talk to the therapist and see if they can help. She went through a serious trauma, maybe this is just how she processes.”

“Maybe...maybe we both talk to her,” he replied. “I mean, maybe with you there, she’ll feel better about telling us what’s going on.”

You nodded. “Okay, let's try that tomorrow.” You kissed his neck and tugged him towards you. “You must be exhausted. Why don't you get some rest? I'm gonna finish grading, then I'll come to bed.”

“I’m fine,” he answered. “I’m gonna watch something for a little bit. Too revved up to go sleep yet,” he replied, reaching for the remote.

You nodded and kissed him softly before moving back to your side of the bed and picking up your papers. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, sound from the TV the only noise in the room.

“Have you tried talking to her teacher?” Nevada asked.

You nodded and curled up beside him. “She's fine at school. I don't know what's going on with her.”

“Bueno, we’ll get to the bottom of it tomorrow,” he replied.

You nodded and leaned up, kissing his cheek and smiling at him. You looked tired, worried, a little worn down but still happy. “I love you,” you whispered.

“Love you too.”

#cuba v dr #Nevada ramirez #rafael barba #trouble in the heights #law and order svu

[jerseydeanne]

Gossip site for both celebs/pseudo-celebs arrests, divorces, breakups and hookups, new deals and cancellations, A-D listers and everything in between.

Read the comments, presumed to be you-know-who!

I kicked a hornet's nest last night. I posted the entire thread, I’ll let you guys be the judge. Thank you anon 🌺🌺🌺🌺

FRIDAY, JULY 20, 2018

Blind Item #13

Apparently when our favorite former actress was back in the States a few months ago, she slipped her drug of choice past her protection via a friend. This time around, she is going to have to find a new way to get herself supplied. Oh, I have no doubts she will. It is one of the main reasons she is visiting. She misses that kind of partying and she knows no one will dare arrest her if she is busted. It is partying without having to worry about any legal consequences at all.

POSTED BY ENT LAWYER AT 11:45 AM

1 – 74 of 74

Boldblonde

said...

Guess she didn’t lose him!

9:59 AM

Just Paige

said...

We will know this is true if she ends up dead. If it is there will be proof and the Monarchy won't allow that.

10:00 AM

Do Tell

said...

Is this saying that Meghan yachted WHILE she was dating Harry?

10:03 AM

sandybrook

said...

I'm sure she needed the additional income a yachting excursion provided her. Entern has always said she just an opportunist looking out for herself.

10:03 AM

Sd Auntie

said...

She must be a firecracker in the sack. Harry does not care and probably used escorts his whole frickin life.

10:04 AM

Sunspirit

said...

So was she with Harry when she was yachting?

10:04 AM

Sunspirit

said...

With him as in relationship wise

10:05 AM

Ash X

said...

Is yachting like prostitution? What is yachting?

10:06 AM

Damiana

said...

Sounds like it was before...then XX introduced her to Harry thinking in terms of Harry hiring Me-Again and either she spun it into a "blind date" (as reported for their meeting), or he didn't understand the setup and assumed it was a blind date. Question is, who's the fixer? Guy Pelly or Markus Anderson? And has HRH twigged yet? If not, who's going to tell him?

10:07 AM

Don Kieballs

said...

I can't see Harry marrying a yacht girl. Reformed yachter possibly, but not one who was doing it while they were dating. He may be a ginger, but he's a Power Ginger.

10:08 AM

Appalachian Mothersauce

said...

I think they're truly smitten, and that longevity will only be tested by time.... But Harry is no saint, and if he judges her on her past, he's scumA++.

10:12 AM

Shakira Eakins

said...

I agree. It seems fitting he find a party girl that understands his past and won't treat him like crap for it.

10:15 AM

Don Kieballs

said...

If you go by this blind. Megan was a yacht girl and Harry was one to use the services of yacht girls (why else would the friend make the assumption?) If they both participated in yacht activities, then neither is morally superior. Harry would have no standing to criticize her - not that he has or would.

10:17 AM

Do Tell

said...

It's not 100% up to Harry. If the Palace finds out that she was doing this, he will face a lot of pressure to dump her or renounce it all to marry her.

10:19 AM

Observant One

said...

When I hear the story about how PH and MM met, I immediately thought of Bani and the Celebrity Sex Broker blinds.

10:44 AM

Comment deleted

This comment has been removed by the author.

10:48 AM

Just Paige

said...

@Observant - when I watched the engagement video of them tellling the story I immediately thought of this blind. She is a terrible actress and it was so rehearsed: she touches his arm - reminds him to seem off the cufff...

10:50 AM

Rafael

said...

It´s a LARP. Enty is a cuckservative 4chan larper and is angry because Obama did an interview with Harry and now is visiting William. While the dumb Trump is hated by everyone. lol

10:50 AM

Mango

said...

Not a fan of the royals but I can't believe that the palace hasn't thoroughly investigated Markle, so she must have passed muster. The palace staff are more class conscious and snooty than the royals. I googled, "who introduced Harry and Meghan" and the name "designer Misha Nonoo" kept coming up. I'd never heard of her so I looked up her website and her designs are meager, repetitive and forgettable, however Nonoo is a tall attractive blonde, so I totally believe that she could be a yacht girl who does the part time work to finance her design house.

10:58 AM

John Doe

said...

Who is Harry's friend that she was yachting with? We all know she has a history but I doubt that Harry cares much because his whole life has been about hookers and weed.

10:59 AM

Cheez Whiz

said...

WTF is a LARP? Live Action Role Play? @Rafael, your comment makes absolutely no sense at all. Too much DemocraticUnderground before the morning coffee?

11:01 AM

Beth

said...

Nonoo was married to a friend of the royals. That's how she comes to Harry. The other person who may be the matchmaker is Violet von Westenholz.

11:03 AM

Observant One

said...

@Just Paige - That's exactly what I was watching. I agree with your assessment of her behavior during that video.

11:10 AM

texasrose

said...

I think this blind implies she yachted before Harry and that is when one of Harry's buddies used her. Later when he saw them together he just assumed that Harry was using her services also. Doesn't necessarily mean she was yachting when dating Harry. Ash X - just google yacht girls. The term started when beautiful girls hung out at Cannes Film festival and then just with rich guys on their yachts in the med. It has evolved into just high high priced escorts to rich guys and not necessarily on yachts and generally referring to celeb or semi celeb women doing it. It is apparently a real thing. A lot of blinds here about actresses you would never guess that have been 'yacht' girls or still do $$$$ escorting.

11:17 AM

Crazycatlady

said...

Lol at “power ginger” thank-you @Don... you’re on fire today 🤓

11:30 AM

Nutty_Flavor

said...

Unpopular opinion, but the Queen saw her sister, who was also the "spare", destroyed by being unable to marry the man she wanted. Harry is 6th in line to the throne, or will be by the time he marries, so I don't think the vetting is as extreme for Meghan as it would have been for anyone William dated.

11:30 AM

Daily Union

said...

Factor this into the equation. Meghan Markle is paid to perform. (In all kinds of situations). She has now lucked into the gig of a lifetime, playing the role of Prince Harry's loving wife. The Princess role- with the being American,divorced,multi-cultural thrown in for distraction and media-adoration bonus points. The reason for this performance is simple, Prince Harry is a closeted Gay Man, who wishes to pursue his lifestyle behind closed doors. Ignore the manufactured P.R. around his bachelor lifestyle, and examine his past "romances". Think "straight" about this, no man in his position, or a Joe on the Street would ever consider marring Meghan Markle , with the slightest knowledge of her past. This is just a "Hollywood type" arranged marriage to give the Stars cover.

11:35 AM

Gordon Scott

said...

Agree, Nutty_Flavor; it's a lot lower standard for Harry than Billy, as Harry will never inherit. And the standards for Billy are lower than they were for Chuck. Still, I'm sure that Betty and Phil Battenberg think that Uncle Eddie's spouse was enough yachting for the family. The question is: do they care enough at their ages to push back? Certainly there is no cattier bunch than the palace staff, and if there's a rumour, they either know about it or they started it. Perhaps Meggie has a unique ability to charm them. Stranger things, what? Meanwhile, Sarah and Andy grind their teeth....

11:46 AM

Gordon Scott

said...

@Daily Union: well, that would explain a lot, now, wouldn't it? Uncle Eddie is said to have been fond of playing the whistle, with Wally cheering him on. Perhaps grandma Betty should create him Duke of Windsor.

11:53 AM

Lisa

said...

Clearly Me-again (good one) got herself knocked up. It’s the only way the Windsor’s would agree to this ridiculous marriage. A black prostitute marrying a royal. Only in Hollywood. What a dumb skank.

11:55 AM

VRWC

said...

+1 That made me spit out my drink.

12:10 PM

Andi F

said...

She's the usual actress, a user and social climber, who believes her own hype. I sometimes watched Suits and didn't know her real name until she got with Harry, B grade is being generous.

12:25 PM

drerocks79

said...

SdAuntie A LOT of rich men end up marrying their favorite escort. The upper east side is filled with 'em

12:28 PM

Unknown

said...

👍

12:34 PM

Normal. Yes indeed.

said...

Really rich people own yachts. Yacht girls are hookers that charge prices only rich guys can afford. Hence the term yacht girl. Go spend a weekend in the yacht...

12:39 PM

os75

said...

She must be good

1:16 PM

Glitter

said...

Remember: Long ago, a blind here revealed that Grace Kelly was a yacht girl.

1:26 PM

Nutty_Flavor

said...

Grace Kelly had a healthy sexual appetite. I’m not sure she would have required payment for a weekend on a yacht.

1:36 PM

Lindy

said...

I assume yachting means more than yachting.

1:57 PM

Lindy

said...

But don’t you think - to use the water metaphor - that that ship has sailed. I think it’s too late to back out even if he or his family are having doubts.

2:00 PM

Mango

said...

@ Nutty_Flavor - excellent point about the queen seeing her beloved sister destroyed by not being about to marry her divorced lover. Maybe the Q has accepted that her heirs will marry who they want? Her (alleged) favorite son married and survived Fergie, so maybe Markle will be a walk in the park. (Or a flash in the pan??) @ Observant one - When H and M were doing their interview, the thing that caught my attention/bugged me was their talk about roasting a chicken. "Look! We were cooking our simple dinner! Just like you regular folk!"

2:20 PM

Andi F

said...

Grace was supposedly sexually abused by her dad growing up, and used the casting couch in HW for acting roles and yachting in Europe for the income.

2:22 PM

Randaleese

said...

OH BS!! Trust! The Queen knows everything..,and apparently, it’s either NOT TRUE or Queen realizes times, they are a-changing and DGAFF!

2:27 PM

fairylights

said...

I'm pretty sure that Harry had to ask the Queen's permission before he could get engaged to M.M., I don't think he's far enough down the list to be able to avoid that. I'm also pretty sure that the gossipy Buck palace people made sure her majesty heard about all the info about her, not to mention any information their version of secret service dug up. My guess is that it's a combo of Harry being down the list of succession and the example of all four of her children being divorced were enough for her to decide it wasn't that important....as long as she doesn't continue on like Fergie did. @ Don, 'Power Ginger': Love it!!!

2:44 PM

emeraldcity

said...

Grace wasn't abused, no sexually anyway, her father pretty much ignored her, the boys were everything to him, not to mention that stories abound that he believed she was not actually his daughter. She spent her whole life trying to win his praise and affection which resulted in a father figure complex,and affairs with much older men (Bing, Gary Cooper, Gary Grant) as a dark spin off from this. She was no angel and actually very catty to other women, Ava Gardner called her out in public on her hypocrisy, Liz Taylor and Joan Collins were in the room at the time. As for this blind, I take it with a pinch of salt , MI6 would have everything on this woman and the Queen would be told as she seems quite taken with Meg, it probably came from one of Harry's friends who isn't happy about him marrying Meg so is sticking the knife in. Enty is safe from litigation because the royals never sue about gossip , too many other things might come out in court.

2:46 PM

Do Tell

said...

She is the new Koo Stark. I guess time will tell if things play out the way they did with Andrew and Koo.

2:49 PM

346NYC

said...

I see ZERO chemistry between Harry and MM. Is this like a George Clooney/Amal Beard situation? Also, I've seen some reports that Harry is not Charles son. Some have reported he looks like one of Diana's lovers. Any truth to this? If there is any truth to the former, why should the Queen care who Harry marries if he's not related to the Queen anyway?

2:53 PM

Observant One

said...

@Mango - The roasting a chicken bit made me wonder if it was a code phrase....they said it multiple times. I know I'm cynical as hell, and maybe I have read too many of Enty's blinds over the years, but I thought it was way too contrived. I am trying to figure out why she ALWAYS has her hand on his arm, or his back. So far, my reasoning has led me to think she knows he misses his mother desperately, so she has determined that he needs constant touching and reassurance. I don't like being catty, and I am certainly not racist, but this relationship seems too contrived, like the roast chicken.

3:27 PM

Comment deleted

This comment has been removed by the author.

3:27 PM

Dallas Alice

said...

Or, maybe they were just roasting a damn chicken and he proposed. I certainly have no means of comparison, but I’d imagine cooking your own dinner is quite a lark when you have to make an appointment to see your own Grandmother. She’s definitely grabby, but Americans tend to be more like that. Perhaps they’re actually in love. I’ll choose to think they are.

3:39 PM

Donna Marie

said...

346NYC, apparently Diana did have an affair with a ginger. However, Google Lady Sarah McCorquodale and Baroness Fellowes. Those are Diana's older sisters, they are both gingers, and Harry strongly resembles them. I've also noticed that as Harry gets older, he begins to look more and more like a Windsor male in all but coloring. (though the height comes from his mother's side) All in all, I believe he's a genetic Windsor.

4:14 PM

Hortensia

said...

No one ever says what the past allegations are about Markle. Just this yacht story. Harry has definitely changed his demeanor/appearance since the engagement announcement. A couple of psychics have said it won't last more than five years. Markle was supposedly up for the next Bond movie as a Bond girl. That would have sent her career into the stratosphere. Hmmmm.

4:22 PM

Lisa

said...

She is pregnant.

4:37 PM

BCC

said...

Only Markle says she was supposed to be a Bond girl. Nobody else - certainly not the Bond film people.

4:39 PM

just sayin'

said...

What I find interesting is the theory that Diana's biological father is James Goldsmith. She looked so much more like Jemima Kahn then the Spencer sisters. If true, it would make Harry's children with Meghan 1/4 Jewish and 1/4 Black.

4:41 PM

Gordon Scott

said...

Meggie a Bond girl? Not the lead, certainly. She's not that hot. As for Harry being one of mom's lovers' sons? The timing is wrong for that. Also, there's a pic of grandpa Phil at about Harry's current age, with beard. They look like brothers. He's got the Battenberg Y chromos. The word among those who served with Harry is that he's a good chap. Passing on the family tradition of the holiday hunt because Meggie doesn't like it--plus his body language around her--well, that doesn't bode so well for the future. But his gonads are surplus to requirements now, thus he can just be gossip fodder. It's a shame, as he was thought to be the one to bring back some rascally masculinity in house Battenberg.

4:49 PM

Elamina

said...

It was interesting to me that the last (and only other) blind by Enty that 'revealed' Markle as a yacht girl disappeared from this site overnight. It said like more and more people were coming forward about it and named other women from MMs Deal or No Deal days that did the same to supplement their income. They commanded higher rates because of being on a tv show.

5:06 PM

Scandi Sanskrit

said...

I saw "Diana: In Her Own Words" on NatGeo channel. It was originally first aired during a lunar eclipse (well, that was my memory of it). She said she used to hear voices. Like Prince Charles proposed to her and said something along the lines of, "you realise that means you might become queen someday?" And the voice said, "you won't Ben queen but you'll have an important role." And it came true... 🌙

5:51 PM

Scandi Sanskrit

said...

⚡️GO GO POWER GINGER! ⚡️ (He'd be the Orange Ranger)

6:02 PM

theassangefiles

said...

Longtime reader here, first comment - Had to ask if anyone remembers that Jimmy Saville, underage rapist and sex purveyer extrodanaire was also intimately connected with Prince Charles and considered his "mentor", and was allowed to come and go in Buckingham Palace as he pleased. The Queen knows how to handle little Miss Markle, and it will be to appear to be kind and accepting but make no mistake, Markle will be lucky to last through the next five years, and the tabloid thrashing that is going to hound both her and Harry will "teach" him to fall in line next time around, no doubt about it.

7:54 PM

Scooterchick

said...

My take: Meghan is approved because with all her diversity (American, actress, biracial, divorced) and the distraction it has created, she makes Camilla look less awful, and a bit less controversial. It's pretty clear that the Queen plans on Charles taking the reins, and whatever Camilla will be (Consort? Surely not Queen, one hopes!), she will be in a position that has not occurred in the British Royal family in centuries, as a divorced publicly acknowledged adultress & cuckolder (or is it cuckoldress hahah?). Royal PR are very savvy & trying to spin Chas. & Camilla as less unsavoury than they have been viewed in the past. BTW, has anyone seen Tracy Ullman's take-off on Csmilla? Very spots on Youtubr: it's a scream.

7:58 PM

McJ 2051

said...

So PH has a Pretty Woman fetish I guess?

8:32 PM

boredatwork boredatwork

said...

I agree with the commenters saying that Harry has hit a new low. Everything about those 2 seems too fake and contrived - at least on her side. She's really a mediocre C list actress, with mediocre looks. A trip to Top Shop on Oxford Circus, and one can spot 100 Markles, much better looking than this one. He could do so much better, but prefers to settle for average, in every way.

9:43 PM

Mrs Meat

said...

I know someone who moved in Royal circles who says it's openly acknowledged within the fam that Harry is James Hewitt's son. But personally I can see Prince Charles in his looks.

12:41 AM

Media Viewer

said...

I heard it was the other way round. Awkward when a mutual acquaintance turned out to be a girl from Harry's past. At 1st, Meghan Markle repeatedly turned down Harry's invitations because she had a boyfriend. I remember reading about that back in 2015 when Harry 1st spotted her as an exercise guru on Canadian TV. Finally she agreed to go on a date with him and it was arranged through a friend. Could it be that not every human with a vagina is a whore for fame, money and power? Could it be that those at the British tabloids are just bitter? They hated Frank Sinatra too. That's why they called them rats. Could it be they buried the truth about Harry trolling for chicks on TV programs because it's unseemly?

12:43 AM

Nonya Bidness

said...

A new low? I tend to think his low was the Nazi costume. So you think he only consorted with pedigreed virgins before? Curious what bothers you most about MM, her sexual history or her race.

6:37 AM

Nutty_Flavor

said...

@Media Viewer, not sure where you got the idea that the British tabloids were "bitter" about Markle. Both the Daily Mail and the Sun have been outdoing themselves to sell her to the British public. The last 3 Markle headlines in The Sun: "Get that Markle Sparkle: Meghan Markle's Skincare guru on the perfect prep for your big day." "One is Amused: Meghan Markle's Xmas gift to the Queen caused Her Maj to burst out laughing." "Royal Knees Up: Pubs to open until 1am for 2 nights to celebrate Harry and Meghan's wedding." The tabloids are there to get clicks - and have a healthy side business being paid for placement, which is why you see so many articles about Emily Ratajkowski in them. Whether the positive Meghan articles are paid-for-placement or just a way to stay in good graces with the Firm is unknown. The fact is, though, that the British tabloids are not tearing Meghan down at this point in time.

8:39 AM

Em Lew

said...

It can't be anything worse than what Prince Andrew got up to with his friend Epstein. Then there's Charlie's friendship with serial abuser Savile. The Royals can cover up scandal no problem, as they have the security services doing it for them.

2:06 PM

Count Jerkula

said...

I hope one of Markle's tricks had his cabin wired for video and sound, and the tape finds its way to a foreign file locker or tube site.

3:58 PM

Enny

said...

He looks so much like a young Prince Philip it’s ridiculous. How can people ignore such a strong resemblance to his father and paternal grandfather? It makes no sense. Yes, Diana had affairs. No, she did not father Harry with one of them.

6:03 PM

boredatwork boredatwork

said...

None - you must be one of those ppl who judges ppl by the colour of their skin, and not the content of their character. To you, MM, who is average in every way, is special, because of her race, while I don't give a shit about her race, and I dislike her purely for what sort of person she appears to be. Reverse racism it's called.

12:48 AM

Gail Banks

said...

Fairylights - only three of Queen Elizabeth's children are divorced, not four. Prince Edward is still married to Sophie Rhys-Jones.

4:56 AM

La-Juice

said...

as much as I dislike him, remember, Charles too knows what its like to be forbidden to marry who he loved- and look at the lengths he ultimately went ot and the disaster that ensued. Maybe Harry really loves her- given his past, I have to believe he knows all about her. I bet the castle/crown staff just keeps all of Meghan's indiscretions/past secreted from the very old Queen, whose husband is failing... can't be too hard.

12:52 PM

Sharon Betz

said...

Does anyone have info on Joe Guiliano Meghan Markle first husband? Joseph J. Goldman-Guiliano, Northwestern grad, criminal defense attorney in MA?

8:01 AM

#Meghan Markle #CDAN #new Blind #submission