#i've spent several years analyzing this man

[voidfragments]

ok but i actually have sm to say about qi rong's relationship with anger. i could honestly just link a fic i wrote about it here bc i think i worded it better there than i ever can again but my ao3 links to my main twt and i prefer to keep rp stuff separate from my personal stuff for reasons sooooo lemme try to write it differently

cw for mentions of domestic violence bc holy shit like 99% of his character traces back to that in some way

the key thing is, of course, that anger is a trauma response for qi rong. he has every reason to be fucking pissed at like, all times, but fundamentally, his anger is not rational. rage and violence are all he knows! his earliest childhood memories are of being abused and seeing his mother be abused! even when he got out of that, he and his mother were bullied and ostracized, and his mother was eventually murdered. violence and cruelty shape his early childhood and in turn shape who he is today (enabled in large part by the queen's reluctance to properly discipline him when he began exhibiting cruel behavior himself).

in many cases, it's about revenge--getting "even", though he usually takes it much farther than the original offense. his father was abusive? he'll delight in warring against people from the same town as him. the yong'an rebellion tore away the one good thing he had in his life--his royal status? he'll crush their entire royal & noble classes in a single night. xie lian fell off the pedestal he held him on, "failed" and "abandoned" him? unforgivable.

very often, it's simply lashing out. the world has been cruel to him, so he'll be cruel too.

mostly, though, his anger just keeps him going. if he doesn't have his anger, then what does he have? sadness, loneliness, despair, heartbreak, misery.

being a ghost adds another angle to it, too--he can't let go of his anger, even if he wants to. well, he could, but then he'd disappear, and he doesn't want that. not yet. it's his source of life. it's also his source of power! and it's easy to forget with how often the rest of the cast and the narrative itself dunks on him, but he has a lot of power. #4 in the entire ghost realm! a near-supreme, one successful furnace trip away from becoming a full-fledged ghost king!

just--imagine, for a moment, being him. an abused kid--powerless--who suddenly learns that he's actually a prince--powerful!--and then, before even reaching adulthood, his kingdom crumbles, and he eventually dies just as powerless as he started. and then all that resentment causes him to come back even more powerful than before. it's no wonder he leans into it.

idk this is getting long-winded but i guess what i'm trying to say is--his anger is both justified and overblown, it is both understandable and irrational, it is something he needs to hold onto no matter how much it hurts him. he is his anger.

[bbydoll18xx]

Plotting and Scheming

Paige Bueckers x reader

When UConn’s wbb team gets tired of Paige’s pining, they concoct a plan to get you into her arms.

Themes: Mutual pining, slight angst, fluff

Word count: 3.3k

I've gotten a lot of love on my other three little fics, so I hope this one is okay, as well. Let me know if you guys have anything specific you'd like me to write!

Here we go!

------------------------------------------------------

You sat on the sidelines of UConn’s basketball court, admiring the girls fiercely practicing. It was still early in the season, but the dream of winning the NCAA championship kept their grit going.

Having met several of the girls on the team early in your college career, the women’s basketball team had adopted you as one of their own. As a nursing student, you were deemed ‘the fixer of boo-boos’ and you were often around to tend to their cuts and scrapes or to answer their ridiculous medical questions.

That’s where it had all started, and you couldn’t believe where you had ended up because of it.

Your eyes bounced back and forth, following the balls and the whipping ponytails. You always felt so much pride watching them; they were your girls.

Your gaze finds Paige, as it always tends to, and you are mesmerized. She runs, throwing the ball from half count and making it into the basket effortlessly. Without thinking, you stand up, whooping and clapping rambunctiously. She makes eye contact with you, sending you a wink and blowing you a kiss dramatically. Your stomach lurches at the display of affection towards you, and you blush, causing you to glance around making sure no one saw.

Your feelings for the tall blonde had only grown as you got to know her throughout the last several years. She made you feel giddy, like a child with a school crush. As much as you enjoyed being her friend, you had wanted something more for a long time now.

You’d never admit that though. To anyone.

The other girls had spent countless hours trying to get you to admit your feelings for Paige. You held firm, though, vehemently denying any pull or attraction. They would over analyze every interaction between the two of you, and they loved the way your cheeks would bloom with pink from Paige’s compliments and affections. 

In fact, they were absolutely sure that the reason you broke up with your douchebag ex-boyfriend, Zach, was because of your feelings for Paige.

They did not need to know that was actually the case, thank you very much.

It had been on the forefront of your thoughts for weeks before the night where everything had finally exploded. 

You had dragged Zach along to the bar where the basketball team was partying it up, hoping your man would distract you from the longingness you felt for your friend. You felt such a pull towards Paige, and it fucking terrified you. 

You had walked into the bar with Zach, his hand around your waist possessively. The touch reminded you of the last time you and Paige had gone out drinking together. Trying to ignore how you wished it was slimmer and more feminine, you had allowed Zach to lead you towards where the team had gathered in a circle. 

The girls cheered as they saw you approach, thrusting a drink into your hand, encouraging you to catch up to their drunkenness. You glanced around, trying to find Paige in the crowd. 

“Well look who it is,” you heard from behind you. Whipping your head around, you were met with the familiar smirk of your favorite blonde.

“Paige!” you exclaimed, running up to give her a hug, eliciting an eye roll from your boyfriend. You pretended you didn’t see it to keep the peace. You melted into Paige’s embrace, feeling more comfortable in the moment than you had in days.

“K, Bueckers, you can get your grimy hands off my fuckin’ girlfriend,” Zach had sniped, walking away. Pretending as if the man did not even exist, Paige had looked down at you with a wide grin. It was getting harder to overlook her effect on both you and your relationship. 

 The rudeness and nastiness directed at Paige had immediately sent you over the edge.

‘How fucking dare he talk to my girl like that,’ you had thought.

In a sudden fury, you stomped over to him, already busy staring lewdly at some girl who was dancing provocatively in front of him. 

“You can fuck off. Paige can put her hands on me any time she’d like. We’re through. Kiss my ass!” you spat. You spun on your heel and marched back towards the team feeling lighter than you had in months.

“Let's do shots!” you screamed, missing the fond look Paige was giving you.

You snap out of your daydream as you see Paige sauntering over to you where you sat in the bleachers.

“Enjoying the show, huh?” she questions smugly. 

Feeling generous, you nod with a genuine smile. “You guys are doing so great already. You’re gonna go far this season; I can feel it.” The candor of your words causes Paige to beam.

“Listen, we’re all getting drinks tonight at Ted’s. You gonna come with us?”

“Oh I don't know, I've got homework and stuff…” you trail off, trying to find a suitable excuse.

Paige all but pouts. “The girls really want you there. They all told me,” she says knowingly. As if she had planned it, Azzi, KK, and Nika walk over to join you two, all sweaty from practice. 

KK all but jumps on you, causing you to groan under the sudden weight of her body being thrown against you.

“Y’all, please convince this one over here to join us tonight,” Paige pleads, turning back toward you with wide eyes.

You giggle as the girls all jump in, interrupting each other in an attempt to persuade you to come out with them.

You cut them off, trying to stop the cacophony that was echoing off the walls of the gym. 

“I would love to come, but I really have a lot of work to catch up on,” you reason. “If I finish up early, I’ll text you, Paige.” 

Paige nods at this, but you don’t miss the glum look that flits across her face. You sigh half-heartedly, suddenly feeling guilty. You hated making excuses. It was just so hard sometimes, liking her.

“Have fun, guys,” you wave before making your exit from the arena.

As you walk back to your dorm, you feel the pit in your stomach grow larger, enveloping you. Of course you wanted to spend time with Paige, but pining mixed with alcohol and the sensual music of a bar would cause cracks in the hard foundation of your skillful indifference. 

You had been perfecting it since freshman year, but with the way Paige had you feeling lately, you knew it wouldn’t take much for everything to come crashing down.

Walking through your door and sitting at your computer, you get to work, trying to distract yourself. After reviewing your notes for the tenth time and finishing your nursing care plan, you glance at the clock.

Fuck.

It was only 10:30. The girls would probably just be arriving at the bar now, and you really wanted to go meet up with them. 

‘Screw it,” you think. You are going to get drunk tonight, and you’re gonna look hot. You whip out your phone and send a quick text to Paige. Your heart races as she instantly responds. You needed to get your shit in order. Your emotions could not get the best of you tonight.

Over at Ted’s, Paige’s bored expression had quickly turned into an excited grin, causing her teammates to exchange looks of interest.

“What’s got you smiling like that, P?” asks Nika.

“More like who,” smirks KK, glancing at Paige’s phone at your text.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Paige grumbles, trying to hide her blush with her drink.

“Oh c’mon, Paige, this crush is getting ridiculous. Just tell the damn girl you like her,” Azzi demands. “We’re all getting tired of watching you pine over her.”

“Pine?” sputters Paige. “I’m hardly pining. If anything, I’m just admiring…” she trails off.

“Sure, P,” KK drawls sarcastically. “Nothing like admiring your friend’s ass.” 

The other girls snort derisively. KK was not at all off base with that observation.

“Whatever, I need another drink,” grumbles Paige. “Gotta be drunk when my friend shows up.”

Paige walks off, and the second her teammates lose sight of her, they circle up to discuss.

“Jesus, we really need to do something to fix this shit,” Ice says firmly. 

“For real, this is straight embarrassing now!” KK agrees loudly.

Azzi contemplates for a second, before a smirk slides onto her face. “I know what we can do. The only way to get Paige to make a move is to make her super jealous. We can all take turns flirting, and boom! We’ll have two happy lovebirds before we even know it!”

The ploy causes the other girls to laugh hysterically, reveling in the idea of a jealous Paige.

“Sounds perfect!” Nika laughs. “Paige is gonna hate us, but she will be fine once she finally admits her feelings.”

The rest of the girls agree, sipping their drinks and taking great pleasure in what would be coming. 

About an hour later, you walk into the bar feeling incredibly anxious. You were confident in the way you looked; tight jeans with rips that allowed the smooth flesh of your upper thigh to peak out, and a top that showed off your curves deliciously. Lips glossy and hair blown out, you were alluring, wanting all eyes on you tonight. You figured if you got hit on enough, you could distract yourself from Paige’s enticement. Little did you know it’d be at the hands of her own teammates.

You stretched your neck, scouring the bar for the basketball team. Considering their height, they were easy to spot. Flouncing over, you are greeted with the loud, drunken cheers of your favorite girls. 

You giggle at their enthusiasm, suddenly feeling more at ease. You look around, trying to spot the long blonde hair and the wide smile that constantly occupies your consciousness. 

“Where’s P?” you ask casually, trying to avoid any suspicion. This causes the faces of the aforementioned teammates to exchange sly glances that immediately have you worried.

“Oh, she's just over by the bar talking to some brunette,” Nika responds, attempting to gauge your reaction. Luckily, you had been training for this over the last several years.

Did it fucking hurt? Sure, it was like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a fucking knife, but no biggie. You could handle it.

“Cool,” you mumble, staying aloof. “I’m gonna grab a drink...”

Your reaction causes the girls to hoot with laughter once you’re out of reach.

“This is so mean. I feel bad,” mutters Caroline. “I thought we were only going to make Paige jealous…”

“It’s more fun this way. It’s like a secret mission!” KK exclaims. “Getting both of them jealous is fuckin’ perfect.”

As you walk over to the bar, you see Paige talking to a girl. She is smiling in a way that had your stomach doing somersaults, and your face screws up into a look of annoyance. Attempting to ignore the obnoxious giggles of the girl Paige was wooing, you flag down the bartender and order a double of your favorite drink. Lord knows you would need the extra alcohol tonight. 

You look around apprehensively, trying to move time forward with your brain. Your sobriety, in addition to the crammed bar, had you feeling panicked. You needed to get away from Paige before you combusted from jealousy.

Thanking the bartender, who finally slides your drink towards you, you head back to the basketball team, eventually catching Paige's attention.

Pretending you didn’t see your blonde best friend, you bring your straw to your lips in a seductive manner, catching it with your tongue and relishing in the way the alcohol begins to cloud your inhibitions. 

Paige trails behind you, desperately trying to avoid staring at your jean-clad ass.

KK doesn’t miss this. Neither does Ice. They share shit-eating grins, making mocking faces towards Paige, who flips them off in return, a look of embarrassment covering her face. 

You finally turn around, giving up your bit of pretend indifference. 

“Oh hey, P,” you say breezily. “Didn’t see you behind me.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi is already wrapping her free hand around your waist, bringing her closer to you. She says, “I missed you. C’mon, let’s go dance.”

The blonde’s eyes narrow, but Azzi is already leading you towards the brightly colored dance floor before she could respond to you. 

“The fuck?” Paige mumbles under her breath as the rest of the team exchanges deranged giggles at her shock.

The truth was that Paige was terrible at sharing. Especially you. Even before she wanted anything more than a friendship with you, Paige slightly resented anyone who took away your time and attention from her. 

The signs were so clear. So fucking clear.

Half of the girls follow you to the dance floor, leaving the others to stay with a pouting Paige. Her reaction to Azzi’s contact gives you the tiniest amount of hope, and it gives you a second wind of confidence. 

You dance with the girls, slightly confused at their antics. You were close with all of them, but the touching and incessant compliments had your head spinning.

What the hell was going on? 

Paige was usually the one clinging to you, wanting to make you blush and giggle. Tonight she was acting like a wounded puppy. Her face continuously flashing between a clenched jaw of annoyance and straight bitterness. 

Your attempts to avoid looking at her were futile. This did not go unnoticed by the team, who looked like they were enjoying your longingness way too much. 

You look up at Azzi, begging her with your eyes to tell you what was going on with Paige tonight. 

“Why is she acting like this?” you ask no one in particular, just trying to deduce the weird energy that had accompanied the entire night. The girls shrug and avoid the question altogether, carrying on with their laughing and gyrating.

You sigh, exhausted from the game they were clearly playing. You needed more alcohol or it was going to be a rough night; you were too sober to deal with this. 

“C’mon, shake those hips,” an evidently very drunk Nika, whispers in your ear with a smirk. She brings a hand down to rest on your waist, the other trailing down your back…lower and lower. You look at her, slightly shocked at the affection. Before Nika’s hand could even reach your ass, you feel yourself being ripped away from her by a swearing Paige.

“What the actual fuck, dude?” Paige all but yells at her Croatian teammate, her eyes wild with anger and her jaw clenched with an impressive amount of control. 

Nika just laughs at Paige’s overreaction, along with every other girl on the team.

“What’s wrong, P?” Azzi asks with a mocking tone. “Pissed that someone other than you touched your girl?”

Paige’s voice falters as she responds, “she’s not my girl…just don’t want her to be uncomfortable or whatever…”

Hearing Azzi refer to you as Paige’s girl made your head spin. What the fuck does that mean?

Your head quickly bounces between a smirking Nika, an uncomfortable-looking Paige, and the rest of the team, who were trying and failing, to hold in their laughter.

“I’m confused…” you trail off in a quiet attempt to get some answers.

A few seconds of silence pass before KK breaks it. “Girl boo, just talk to Paige. And use protection.”

Excuse me, what?

The girls vacate the area, leaving you and the blonde staring at each other, both afraid to make the first move.

“Let’s walk back to my apartment. We can talk there,” Paige finally mutters. 

You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Things felt vulnerable. Like one wrong move and everything would come crashing down into oblivion. You didn't want your relationship with Paige to be ruined; your one-sided crush already disrupting the delicate balance of it all.

The ten minute walk back to Paige’s felt like years. The air was heavy, constricting your entire being. You held back a sob as the dread seeped into your soul. You couldn’t let Paige see you cry; it was embarrassing enough knowing that she probably already knew of your feelings.

You would get through this. Just let her let you down easy and then you could escape.

As you mentally plan the funeral for your friendship, Paige reaches for your hand, cold from the bitter chill of the night. Your reflexes are quick, wanting to rip it away from her in an attempt to guard the tiniest bit of pride left in you, but you still. 

Nevertheless, you wanted her. And even worse, you needed her. So you allow her to gently take your hand, interlacing your fingers and rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin soothingly. 

It felt so intimate, and the tears in your eyes threatened to spill over your cheeks once more. You glance up, feeling relief as you spot the parking lot of the apartment building. 

As you enter Paige’s room, you look around, trying to memorize everything that made up your friend. ‘This’ll probably be the last time I’ll be here,’ you think solemnly, gazing at the purple comforter thrown haphazardly over the unmade bed. No more giddy nights spent pressed against the blonde, praying she can’t feel the thumping of your heart as she cuddles you.

You sit on the bed warily, readying yourself for the rejection from your most favorite person in the entire world. 

Paige can tell you’re anxious. You unconsciously pick at your fingernails, and your bottom lip is already swollen from being habitually bitten.

She sits beside you, placing a hand over yours again, as if she thinks it belongs there for some reason. In your version of the story, it did. Everything that was yours belonged to Paige.

“I have to tell you something. And I'm really not sure how you’ll react…” Paige trails off, hesitant of how to approach the situation. She clears her throat and continues, “I have feelings for you. I know you probably don’t feel the same, but it’s fine. And the girls knew tonight and were messin’ with me. They thought if they made me jealous enough, I’d do somethin’ about my feelings. And I guess they were kinda right.”

Upon hearing the long winded confession, your ears start ringing and your heart feels as if it might actually combust. 

She has feelings for you? 

You pinch your thigh, slightly wincing at the pain before your face slides into an elated grin. This was actually real.

She has feelings for you. 

Paige searches your face for some sort of guess on how you were reacting to her maundering. With the alcohol still in your system and the shock of her words still reverberating through you, you could do nothing except launch yourself at her gorgeous mouth.

She squeals, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden movement before realizing that the pining she had been doing the last several years was in fact mutual.

Your lips collide, fuckin’ finally, in a kiss that could only be described as heavenly. It was passionate and slow, deliberately savoring the feel and taste of what had been only daydreams for a very long time. 

Ultimately needing to break away for some air, you gaze at each other, reveling in the idea that the pain and heartbreak of years of pining and jealousy was no longer. It was peaceful. It made sense to you, though. Paige was your peace, and you were hers.

Laying down together, you whisper fondly, “I love your teammates so much. Even if their methods are a bit crazy, they really do mean well.”

Paige chuckles in reply. “We are so getting them back for that little stunt, though, right?”

“Of course,” you hum. “Two can play at that game.”

[bibyshitsuji24k]

Garasu no Hitomi

According to my analysis, "Garasu no Hitomi" (Glass Eyes) is a song dedicated from Lizzy to Ciel.

We all know that the songs used as openings/endings in previous animations usually revolve around the relationship between Sebastian and Smile. The clearest example is in Book of Circus. "Yes my lord," made clear that it's from Sebastian to Smile. The rest of the lyrics also reinforce this.

But today, I'm not here to analyze previous animations, but rather the latest animation that was given to us: Book of Atlantic. I remember that Yana mentioned in a tweet that the song was dedicated by one character to another. The most obvious assumption would be that, once again, it's about Sebastian-Smile. However, this time it was different because Yana specifically mentioned it.

The lyrics go like this:

I could hear the sound of you breaking from far away

Lizzy sees Smile as thoughtful and sad at several points (after Madame Red's death, post-Circus saga, etc.), and that's why she is obsessed with making him happy, leaving him exhausted at the end of the day.

The depth of the clear black sky, reflected on the water's surface Conceals the place we should be heading to, as if blurring it

There is no real place to go since Smile is bound by the contract with Sebastian.

If you're burdened with the days we can't go back to, let's begin rowing into this night

"The days we cannot return to" refer to the characters' childhood, the years they spent together that cannot be brought back due to the death of the Phantomhives (supposedly Smile). But it also marks a new beginning. Okay, the past cannot be changed, but starting today, let's begin anew.

I held close your fragile future, Which seemed so fleeting and broken, yet beautiful It's fine to throw away everything because I want to protect it

Elizabeth sees Smile as extremely fragile, and that's why she decides to protect him and not be protected like a lady would. I really like the chorus because Yana also mentioned in a tweet that Elizabeth was in her underwear protecting the man she loves, so it makes a lot of sense. In the movie, Elizabeth also says that she will protect him at all costs (and vice versa).

The reason behind the sleepless nights you were carrying in your arms Can't be removed gently, however There's no fear here, so let's join hands and try falling together

Elizabeth knows that something bad happened to 'Ciel' on the day the Phantomhives died and got kidnapped, but she has never asked because she knows it's painful, and she knows she can't simply erase those memories. But she believes that Smile shouldn't face it alone, that she can take his hand and move forward. -like the cover of chapter 57:0-

Here, the chorus is repeated, but it ends differently:

I held close your fragile future, Which seemed so fleeting and broken, yet beautiful It's fine to throw away everything because I will protect it with these hands

Elizabeth protects the person she loves with her own hands, through her fencing.

I've been wanting to share this for a long time, but I hadn't had the opportunity >w< I hope it makes sense to you and that you liked it!

[letters-for-rei]

my name is Errett. The man I thought I was, pretended to be, and wish I could have been, is named Jackson. He is what I tried so hard to be. He is funny, he is lovable, and he is worth the love that you gave him, and he had the best boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.

what has cracked through that facade in the last several months of our relationship is me. Errett. brash, childish, prone to anger, and broken. I tried so hard to convince myself that I could be Jack for you, and I was for so damn long. But I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't hold myself together.

You were right. About everything. I am selfish. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to deserve that love. I did take advantage of you. I made you act out sickening things involving us and other people and your family and your friends and even mine. But most of all... you deserve to be scared of me. You're right to think and feel what you do about me because I did do all of those things. Even if it would make me look better to deny them, I can't. And I'm sorry that I subjected you to it. I don't have excuses.

I've spent the last few days since the eclipse to think. To analyze. To focus on who I am and what turned me into the monster that did those things to you. And to focus on how I can make sure they never happen again. For me. For you. For everybody in my life.

I think my obsession with hypnosis, ironically the thing that brought us together, is my problem. I have indulged in taboo, disgusting, outright unacceptable fantasies because of them for years. I believed that just because it was kink that it was okay. I was wrong to believe that. I was wrong to indulge in any of it. It's affected my life and my mind for longer than I thought.

I deleted every trace of hypno-related material that I have. Photos, videos, audios, files. I'm separating myself from it. I dove too deep and it felt so good to just drown in the nasty that I didn't realize what I had been doing to you and to me because of it. And I'm never going to let hypnotic bullshit enter my life again. It's ruined my life. I ruined my life under its influence. I made you hate me because of it. And I'll never forgive myself for hurting the one person I loved more than anything.

I'm not going to go into detail about the money. There's nothing I can say. I could defend myself, I could give you receipts, I could do any number of things. But I won't. Because it was wrong. No matter what reason, no matter what purpose, it was wrong. I'm sorry I couldn't put being selfish above you. I'm never going to accept or steal money from anyone again. I can't let myself. I don't want to take from someone like I did from you ever again.

I'm going to add some passages I've written before below. They hurt so much to read, knowing I've hurt you beyond any apology or any gift or anything I can ever do for you. But they're the truest depictions of how I feel. How I've always felt. I'm sorry and I love you. I'll love you forevermore until my name is etched in stone and my soul has been snuffed out. I love you, Rei. I'm going to try as hard as I can to not throw up all over my bed and cry now.

//////////

"I'm trying so hard to be the guy that you deserve and the guy that you are in love with but it just hurts so much. You spend so much time every night focusing on other things and then I get upset and then when you're done I try to bring it up and we both end up sad and depressed and hurting. And it happens every single night so now it feels like we're always mad at each other all the time but it's not true. I try so hard to be loving and kind and caring when we get to call but when you take detour after detour it makes me want to just hang it up for the night and not talk at all. And it's not your fault because some of it you have to do but that doesn't make it suck any less. All I want is to love you and to be in love with you and to make you the happiest person on earth but there's always something that fucks it up and I hate it."

"Every single day of my life I wake up and I am totally stunned and awestruck at how much I love you and how much it breaks my heart to miss you every day of my life. I miss waking up next to you and introducing you to new things and watching movies together and playing games together and getting a little tipsy together and hugging and kissing and loving each other so much. My life feels empty without you all the time and I do not know if I will ever feel whole until you finally move up here for good. I love you so gosh diddly darn much and it hurts but I'm dealing with it one day at a time for you and only you."

[ophidahlia]

Man, this paragraph hits so hard:

Part I

Poltergeist

“I am 27 years old, and I might be dying."

Late in 2013, I inexplicably lost my ability to walk. It happened over the course of just a few weeks; fast enough to be terrifying, slow enough to feel everything in crystalline detail.

...

Unable to continue life as normal, I embarked on a multi-year search for a diagnosis. Then, in 2017, having spent nearly a decade as a medical anomaly; having seen dozens of doctors; having had my blood analyzed for everything from HIV to ultra-rare autoimmune disorders; having cataloged my symptoms and taught myself anatomy and basic neurology; having tattooed on my body that I was prepared to die; I finally found myself sitting before a panel of elite scientists at the top rare disease research hospital in the world. They told me the only thing I was unprepared to hear.

It was Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), they said: a condition once known as Conversion Disorder, and before that, as Hysteria. There was no doubt. They were sure.

The floor seemed to open beneath me.

I was diagnosed with Conversion Disorder 6 years ago here in Canada during a 6 month acute care hospital stay. I went from being extremely fit to being bedridden literally overnight (it was late afternoon on Feb 16th 2016). After a year of being 100% bedridden with no diagnosis (they would tell me "You're doing everything right, you should be getting better" as if that wasn't my line) I ended up in acute care, unable to wipe my own ass and barely able to feed myself. Not too long before all this my family doc had told me my regular checkup test results looked like those of an olympic athlete; but even tip-top physical health offered no protection. The hospital doc said I was one step from being functionally paraplegic and two steps from being locked in (if you can imagine a greater terror you're far more creative than me). The folks who treated me there still very much viewed it like a Hysteria diagnosis but with updated terminology to obscure the fact that the basic reasoning remained the same: my underlying trauma was manifesting in psychogenic or symptoms & somatization, and all we had to do was clear the trauma and it would go away. For all intents and purposes, it might as well have been a literal Hysteria diagnosis; the psych who treated me was a renowned globe-hopping clinician developing a new type of therapy for psychoneurological disorders. I did not get better with treatment.

The updated diagnosis now understands FND as chronic dysfunction of the nervous system most often due to severe, prolonged stress with dissociation as a major risk factor and a precipitating catastrophic life event as a trigger. After so much stress the nervous system learns to malfunction and go haywire like a computer with fucked up voltage settings; and once your brain learns how to be chronically dysfunctional it will always know how to do that, just like falling off a bike. Your best hope is for remission with partial symptoms and periods of relapse during stressful events. That's your best case scenario.

For the last 5 weeks I've been in an episode worse than any I've ever had, brought on by getting back on Ritalin for my ADHD. I was careful to monitor my symptoms as I will gradually get worse with unmanaged stress or excessive activity/stimulation, but there were no worsening symptoms to have alerted me to the fact that my nervous system was about to catastrophically collapse again. No warning at all. I suddenly have brand new symptoms I've never had before and my existing symptoms are genuinely worse than I had ever imagined they would be again; currently I can manage maybe a half hour of focus before I start to seriously crash again and anything stressful will knock me right out immediately. I've increased my home care to over 30 hours a week and it's still not enough to manage my needs. I was getting 9 hours of home care when I left the hospital 6 years ago. All from a few weeks of a drug I'd taken before and had extremely positive results with. I wonder if I'll get better. My therapist has no idea. I see a new physio tomorrow and my family doc Thursday (Zoom & a phone call, physically going to an appointment would have devastating consequences) but at this point my doc knows as much as I do. I'm on a 14 month waitlist for a sleep & neuro clinic. I often say that my nervous system is haunted so I understand why the author titled part 1 of her article "Poltergeist."

I also relate deeply to the article's author tattooing on himself that he was ready to die, I left the hospital with a profound sense of intimacy with my own mortality and with death and actually thought about getting a tattoo about it. I felt as if death himself had physically touched me with his hand but then capriciously changed his mind. I wasn't afraid of death after that, like I had made physical contact with it and it had left some thread attached to me in its passing. What I'm afraid of is being helplessly sick with no control over my symptoms or ability to even predict them. I'll probably die an early death from complications, eg if I got covid that might be game over for me. But before that happens I hope that I can get better so I can start having life experiences again before my time/luck runs out. While first bedridden I very thoughtfully and seriously considered dying but ultimately decided to just keep trying and see where this leads, a nothing-to-lose kind of deal with the devil. I think I'm actually using the sunk-costs fallacy to keep myself going so I don't really have a point to make or anything profound to say about this, it's just an open question that I'm holding onto to guide me forward towards... whatever.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

--

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

--

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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[santiagoswagger]

i've never fallen from quite this high

Amy's birthday falls one month into her very new relationship with Jake, and he promises her he has plans to blow her mind.

Set sometime after “The Funeral.”

In all the years Amy’s known Jake, she’s been witness to the downfall of most of his relationships, and she knows they all tend to follow a similar pattern.

He was disorganized and completely consumed by his work throughout most of them, perpetually forgetting to show up for dinners or drinks because a case always took precedence. He could be selfish, unfiltered with his words and competitive to a fault. Most of the women he dated never seemed to last very long, and if they did, Jake usually found a reason to end things. There were a few exceptions, just as there are with any rule, but Jake was nothing if not consistent. He was a lone wolf, even in his personal life.

But the Jake Peralta that Amy finds herself dating now might as well be a stranger.

In the month since they decided to screw being light and breezy, she’s observed several small changes in him that often have her questioning if he’s the same man who once took her on a date designed for maximum humiliation.

When they make plans, he immediately adds them to the calendar on his phone so he won’t forget. He shares his snacks with her at the movies, even if he rolls his eyes while passing her the popcorn bucket. He takes the time to compliment her whether she’s dressed up for a date night out or wearing her ratty sweats on the couch at home, and genuinely means it either way. He’s still overly competitive, but that only makes her like him more.

She catches herself staring at him from across their adjoined desks, in awe of the person he was and the person he’s becoming. She can’t believe she’s actually falling for her goofy, infuriating partner. It’s scary, just as any big change is for a control freak like Amy, but she’s starting to believe that anything worthwhile begins with a little fear.

Much to Amy’s chagrin, Jake catches her mid-stare and smirks.

“Amy, I know you think I look extremely handsome in my new flannel, but this is a workplace. What would the Captain say?” he asks smugly, keeping his voice quiet enough so their coworkers can’t overhear. It’s something they’ve both perfected over the last month.

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop a traitorous grin from materializing on her face.

“Jake, we both know you took that flannel from the lost and found last week. And I wasn’t doing anything,” she says unconvincingly, burying her head in the open file next to her keyboard. “I was thinking. About my case. Because I’m a detective.”

Jake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “Does this ‘thinking’ have anything to do with a major life event happening this weekend?”

Amy cocks her head to the side. “’Major life event?’ What are you talking about?”

Jake lets out a loud, triumphant laugh, startling Hitchcock and Scully from their afternoon naps a few feet away.

“Amy, please tell me you didn’t forget your own birthday. No, wait, please tell me you did so I can make fun of you.”

Her jaw drops in horror. Amy Santiago, queen of organization, forgot her own birthday. Work had been so crazy the last few weeks and nights spent analyzing her planner were few and far between now that she had someone to go home with after work so something was bound to fall through the cracks. But she would rather let Charles cook dinner for her than let Jake know that.

“Shut up,” she says indignantly. “Just because I don’t obsess over my birthday like some people doesn’t mean I forgot it.”

Jake leans forward with a softer smile than before. It’s fond, almost. “You did, but that’s okay. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve for Saturday.”

“You do?” she says, surprised.

“Mmm-hmm,” he nods, grinning. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

She laughs. “Okay, I’ll hold you to it.”

As they pack up their desks to leave for the night, Amy allows herself to wonder what Jake could possibly have planned. It’s their first birthday or holiday as a couple, and it’s so early. Their relationship is still so new and exciting, but a birthday is a big commitment. They haven’t even discussed where they see things going or if there’s a future for them. She doesn’t want this birthday to be the thing that scares him away before the relationship really gets off the ground. She’s pretty sure it could be something great if they let it.

Amy wakes up Saturday morning to the smell of fresh coffee wafting into her bedroom. It’s a shock for two reasons: she’s fairly certain she ran out of coffee grounds earlier this week and she knew Jake was scheduled to work an overtime shift today. The rumpled sheets next to her confirm his absence, but they’re still slightly warm to the touch; he must have just brewed her a pot before stumbling out the door.

She takes the time to brush her hair and teeth, and wash and moisturize her face – she refuses to let her morning routine slip, even if it’s her birthday – before walking out into the kitchen. It’s where she finds a full pot of coffee, complete with a new bag of beans from her favorite neighborhood café. It’s annoyingly expensive hipster coffee, and she can’t believe Jake shelled out the cash for it.

She also finds a note written in Jake’s awful chicken scratch on some stationery he must have grabbed from her office. Lucky for him, Amy’s been forced to decipher a few hundred of his case files over the years and can read his appalling handwriting without a problem.

Ames,

Happy Birthday, weirdo! I’m sorry I have to work on the day of your birth but I promise to make it up to you later ;) See you at 5.

Jake

She smiles as she finishes reading before pouring herself a large cup of steaming coffee and taking a long sip. She sighs, and she’s fairly sure it’s not just the coffee warming her from the inside out.

Truthfully, a day to herself is the best birthday present she could have asked for. She spends the day fielding calls and texts from her family and Kylie while also managing to organize her binders alphabetically and catch up on her very full DVR.

But by the time 5 o’clock rolls around, Jake is nowhere to be found and Amy can’t help but be a little disheartened. He had been making much more of an effort to be punctual lately, especially once he discovered what that earned him from Amy, but she supposes he hasn’t completely let his old habits die. She does her best to shrug it off. He probably just got caught up finishing a case, she thinks.

By 5:30, Amy is concerned. By 6, she’s spiraling.

He’s never been this late to meet her before, and never this late without sending an emoji-filled apology text. She, more than most, knows things can get out of hand at the precinct within an instant, but a shadow of a doubt still manages to nestle its way into Amy’s brain as the minutes tick by without word from her boyfriend.

She pours herself a glass of wine and takes a huge gulp. She knows from past observations that a month is usually Jake’s tipping point in a relationship. It’s entirely possible that he’s starting to have second thoughts about turning their friendship into something more. The thought rips through her like lightning.

It’s then that her front door opens and an exhausted looking Jake practically stumbles into the living room carrying two stuffed takeaway bags. His hair is a mess and his flannel is even more rumpled than usual. Her previously racing thoughts are immediately quelled when she sees him.

“Ames, I’m so sorry but I couldn’t find the restaurant and then the order was wrong and then I had to go to a different place and it was a whole thing,” he says in a breathless jumble. She can barely make out individual words.

“Are you mad?” he asks as he catches his breath. He looks genuinely gutted at the mere possibility he’s disappointed her.

She puts her wine glass down on the coffee table and moves to wrap him up in a firm hug. She can feel the tension leave his body at her touch.

“No, I’m not mad,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “But I wish you had texted me so I knew you were alright.”

“Phone died,” he says sheepishly. She pulls away slightly and gently swats his arm.

“I thought I bought you a charger for your desk!”

“I may or may not have been playing Kwazy Cupcakes all day and it totally drained my battery,” he laughs. “The precinct was so boring today, Ames.”

She smirks. “Did you miss me, Peralta?”

“Pshh, no,” he says, eyes darting around the room.

“You did,” she says smugly and he rolls his eyes, visibly grinning. “Now, tell me about this food.”

She pulls away from him to rummage through the plastic bags he’d placed on her dining table when he came home. It smells unbelievably familiar.

“I, um,” he stutters. “Remember when you told me about your favorite birthday parties as a kid? When all of your extended family would come over and it was just a giant party with games and the best Cuban food?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says softly. It had been such a throwaway conversation, late night memories shared while cuddling on his couch in front of the TV after a long shift. She’s genuinely touched that it stayed with him.

“Well, I found a place in Park Slope that sells those cheesy guava pastries your mom used to make you every year on your birthday,” he says, rubbing his arm uncomfortably. “But they messed up the order and I had to drive around to a bunch of Cuban restaurants to find them. That’s why I was so late.”

Maybe it’s the nostalgic smell of the pasteles de queso y guayaba bringing back her childhood, or maybe it’s the look of pure vulnerability on Jake’s face, but Amy can feel the warmth from this morning’s coffee returning tenfold. A lump begins to grow in her throat and she swallows hard to tamp it down.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she says, astonished. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

He’s rubbing his arm again, a nervous tick. “I hope they’re right. The woman at the last place I tried didn’t speak English so it was a lot of charades and pointing.”

She laughs. “They’re definitely right. They smell just like I remember.”

She puts the bag down and walks quickly over to where he’s standing in her kitchen doorway. She kisses him delicately, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek, thumb sweeping his jaw as she pulls away. His eyes are half-mast but they’re shining brightly.

“Happy birthday, Amy,” he whispers, moving to gently grab her hand as it pulls away from his face.

She scrunches her nose and smiles. “Thank you. Now, are you ready to try some cheese and guava pastries?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no, thank you,” he says vehemently, backing out of her embrace.

She walks closer. “Please? For my birthday? You did say you would make it up to me after working all day.”

He groans. “Fine. But this is the last time I do anything nice for you.”

She smiles. “Deal.”

[prevariiicator]

I had a fool tell me I don't know shit about writing because I criticized Thor Ragnarok for poor writing and I just....

I literally have a creative writing degree????? I took years of creative writing and literature classes???? I know I am ditzy at times and forget things like history and have always sucked at math but I think I know a thing or two about writing and the writing in Thor Ragnarok was piss poor.

Was it a fun movie? Yes.

Was the writing AMAZING? Fuck no. It wasn't even good and then it was pretty much disregarded for the most part in Infinity War.

Am I allowed to criticize Taika's choices as a director and self-insert of a character who Thor killed in Dark World? Yes.

Is it a pompous jackass thing to do to be like "WELL I HAVE A DEGREE IN THIS SHIT." Yes, yes it is. But I'm gonna do it anyway. I went into student debt and spent HUNDREDS of hours writing and reading and studying throughout my life for that degree, and now a librarian degree, so why shouldn't I brag a little?

The biggest kicker is this same person complained that Thor was nerfed in the movie because he couldn't attack Hela at first and showed a comparison image from the Ultimates timeline where Thor sucker-punched Hela with Mjolnir while trying to take Modi.

So you can complain about nerfing a character while ignoring the fact that the other character was done severely dirty by altering her story to fit closer to Angela's and suck Taika's dick but I can't criticize the choices he and the writers made regarding the poorly timed humor and lack of care for the characters or the franchise as a whole?

Sounds to me like that's a you problem, not a me problem. And I've been WAY OVER analyzing the Thor movies and roleplaying the character of Loki for nearly 10 years now. I vanished for years here, but I'm a veteran roleplayer on this hell site.

Idk man just- don't come at me about what I know about writing because unless you have the degree to back up your claims that I know nothing, well, your opinion doesn't entirely mean shit to me unless you're one of my friends who I roleplay with to learn more as I go.

I do suck at spelling though.

[hollygoeslightly]

I've watched Sanditon 1x07 several times now and before the rowing scene, when Sydney asks Charlotte if he looks ready to her and comments how he hasn't picked up an oar in years.... I might be overthinking this but it seems to me that he was referring to his romantic side? "Sure it will come back to you. - I wonder." Followed by the conversation about how he thought that he was ill-suited for marriage... And them working together to row, to make it... Work. I must be over analyzing but...?

Hi!

First of all, this is the first anonymous ask I’ve received, so thank you, you’ve made my day :)

Second of all, the rowing scene... my goodness. Who needs graphic sex scenes when you have Sidney Parker softly instructing Charlotte how to row a boat, while gently touching her waist and staring longing into her eyes, am I right?

In regards to Sidney’s line about whether he will remember his skills as a rower, we need to go back a few scenes to his conversation with Tom and Arthur and this revealing comment:

“It’s a strange feeling when you’ve wanted something impossible for so long and suddenly it’s within your grasp.”

Despite leaving him for a older and richer man, Sidney has spent the past 10 years in love with Eliza. In those 10 years, I have no doubt that she grew in mythical proportions in his mind, until all he remembered of Eliza was a highly idealised and romanticised version of her. And then she came crashing back into his life, widowed and available, and the reality? Well, the reality doesn’t quite compare. He’s older and wiser, and Eliza’s less than favourable qualities - her superficiality and pettiness - are suddenly all too apparent.

So when Sidney questions whether the skills of rowing will come back to him, he’s obliquely questioning why he is no longer in love with Eliza, and whether those feelings will return. And because this is Sidney, he is - as you’ve pointed out - also doubting his ability to sustain a romantic relationship again, and whether this is at the crux of why he is no longer in love with Eliza (boy is searching for excuses in an effort to not face the facts - that for all her pleasing manners, elegance and beautiful face, Eliza is in fact, an arsehole).

“I had convinced myself that I was destined to remain alone, that I was ill suited to matrimony.”

When Charlotte responds that marriage is about compatibility you can see him realise (great acting by Theo James by the way) that it’s not possible to relive the past with Eliza (“a man cannot step into the same river twice, for he is not the same man and it is not the same river”), and more importantly he doesn’t want a future with her, but with the gorgeous, determined, intelligent and kind woman sitting before him. Then, Sidney teaches Charlotte how to row, his hands over hers, his rowing skills coming back to him despite his doubts and they spend then next few minutes figuring out how to row together while I swoon in my lounge room like an actress from a silent film. It’s little heavy handed perhaps, but holy Jesus does it work.

I hope I’ve answered your question. Thanks for the ask!

[redroom-rainbowguts]

May 8, 20[]

I believe myself to be the villain of my own story. Of this I have no problem admitting; after all, my own faults are laid before me in a series of desperation, underhandedness, impulsivity, and no scarcity of pure, inexorable hedonism.

All the same, I find myself clawing and fighting against- dare I call it my nature? Of course, I'm the same person I once was, but the barriers I've constructed within my own mind are weak. Mental walls separating and fragmenting my sanity so poorly that it cannot be fairly argued that anyone but myself has committed their life to that of creating and quelling misery.

My depravity has only grown throughout our time together, and as such I find myself fighting against the fallacy that it is not I, but him who is to blame for the prison I've trapped us both in.

I'd love to say this was a long time coming, that the dissonance of my actions quickly wore down my delusions until I returned to myself a changed man, one of potential redemption. Alas, it's only as he came to me, eyes teary yet absent of well deserved hatred, that even a crack has begun to form in the comfortable reality I've spent the last several years constructing. His voice shook as he said- and forgive me for omitting his sweet stutter, for I worry it would only serve to impede the solemnity of his words-

"I need you to hurt me. Dark thoughts are once again burying my mind deep in the pit of despair. The love you claim to bear feels hollow once more, to no fault of your own! I simply beg for proof, physical proof, that your affections have not wandered elsewhere. If not, I fear only the worst. The void is calling to me and, without you, the temptation to answer is far too great."

He then motioned to the very medical table he'd once begged so desperately to be freed from. And yet, it was only as he began strapping himself down, willingly preparing himself for the pain of a scalpel held in my gloved hand, that my stomach sank.

I've made a huge mistake, one I fear is irreparable, but I hope in starting over, carefully analyzing what led us here, I will find something, anything, that can stop this madness. I fear it's too late- my certainty is palpable- but my fervor remains strong as of yet, for I refuse to become complacent in my own poor design.

[xtruss]

Trump has blamed “ANTIFA” for violent clashes with police during George Floyd protests, but records show that he's likely wrong

President Donald Trump said antifa is responsible for the violence that has ensued at protests sparked by the killing of George Floyd.

Hundreds of demonstrators march toward Lafayette Park and the White House to protest against police brutality and the death of George Floyd, on June 2, 2020 in Washington, DC. Drew Angerer/Getty Images

President Donald Trump characterized those clashing with law enforcement as radical-left thugs engaging in domestic terrorism — and Attorney General William Barr backed him.

But per a new report from The Associated Press, there is little evidence to back that claim.

The Associated Press analyzed several sources of information, including court records, employment histories, social media posts for 217 people arrested last weekend in Minneapolis and Washington, DC.

Most protesters that were arrested are local residents and are not affiliated with antifa, a loosely organized left-wing group of anti-fascism activists, according to the report.

Scott Nichols, a balloon artist, was riding home on his scooter from the protests engulfing Minneapolis last weekend when he was struck by a rubber bullet fired from a cluster of police officers in riot gear.

"I just pulled over and put my hands up, because I didn't want to get killed," said Nichols, 40. "Anybody that knows me knows I wasn't out there to cause problems."

Nichols, who before the coronavirus pandemic made his living performing at children's birthday parties under the stage name "Amazing Scott," spent two days in jail before being released on criminal charges of riot and curfew violation.

President Donald Trump has characterized those clashing with law enforcement after George Floyd's death under the knee of a Minneapolis police officer as organized, radical-left thugs engaging in domestic terrorism, an assertion repeated by Attorney General William Barr. Some Democrats, including Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz and Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, initially tried to blame out-of-state far-right infiltrators for the unrest before walking back those statements.

There is scant evidence either is true.

Protesters arrested have been primarily local residents

The Associated Press analyzed court records, employment histories, social media posts, and other sources of information for 217 people arrested last weekend in Minneapolis and the District of Columbia, two cities at the epicenter of the protests across the United States.

Rather than outside agitators, more than 85% of those arrested by police were local residents. Of those charged with such offenses as curfew violations, rioting and failure to obey law enforcement, only a handful appeared to have any affiliation with organized groups.

Those charged with more serious offenses related to looting and property destruction – such as arson, burglary and theft – often had past criminal records. But they, too, were overwhelmingly local residents taking advantage of the chaos.

Protesters arrested have not been primarily left-leaning activists

Social media posts indicate only a few of those arrested are left-leaning activists, including a self-described anarchist. But others had indications of being on the political right, including some Trump supporters.

The president has tried to portray the protesters and looters with a broad brush as "radical-left, bad people," ominously invoking the name "antifa," an umbrella term for leftist militants bound more by belief than organizational structure. Trump tweeted last Sunday that he planned to designate antifa as a terrorist organization.

"These are acts of domestic terror," Trump said in a Rose Garden speech Monday, moments after heavily armed troops and riot police advanced without warning on the largely peaceful protesters across the street from the White House.

Barr, put in charge of organizing the police and military response, activated the FBI's Joint Terrorism Task Force last weekend to target protest organizers.

"The violence instigated and carried out by Antifa and other similar groups in connection with the rioting is domestic terrorism and will be treated accordingly," Barr said in a statement issued Sunday.

There is little evidence from federal law enforcement that antifa is behind the protests

There have been violent acts, including property destruction and theft. Police officers and protesters have been seriously injured and killed. But federal law enforcement officials have offered little evidence that antifa-aligned protesters could be behind a movement that has appeared nearly simultaneously in hundreds of cities and towns in all 50 states since Floyd's death.

The AP obtained copies of daily confidential "Intelligence Notes" distributed this past week to local enforcement by the Department of Homeland Security that repeat, without citing evidence, that "organized violent opportunists — including suspected anarchist extremists — could increasingly perpetrate nationwide targeting of law enforcement and critical infrastructure."

"We lack detailed reporting indicating the level of organization and planning by some violent opportunists and assess that most of the violence to date has been loosely organized on a level seen with previous widespread outbreaks of violence at lawful protests," the assessment for Monday says.

Demonstrators march near the White House on June 4, 2020. Olivier Douliery/AFP via Getty Images

The following day, the assessment noted "several uncorroborated reports of bricks being pre-staged at planned protest venues nationwide."

"Although we have been unable to verify the reporting through official channels, the staging of improvised weapons at planned events is a common tactic used by violent opportunists," the Tuesday assessment says.

But social media posts warning that stacks of bricks have been left at protest sites in Atlanta, Boston, and Los Angeles have been debunked by local officials who have explained that the masonry was out in the open before the protests or was for use in construction projects.

Nichols, the balloon artist, hardly fits the portrait of a radical.

He recently gained local notice for a giant balloon rabbit and other sculptures displayed in his front yard for Easter. He laughed when asked if he had any ties to antifa or other militant groups. A white man who lives less than a half-mile from where Floyd was killed on May 25, Nichols said he protested to support of his neighbors, many of whom are black.

"It was the most insane thing I've seen in my life," he said. "The city was going crazy."

Protesters stand in front of the 3rd precinct police building as it burns during a protest on May 28, 2020 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Scott Olson/Getty Images

Nichols said he and a friend helped douse a dumpster fire that near a laundromat. He remembers getting a text from his mother saying that Minneapolis had set an 8 p.m. curfew, but he thought it would be enforced loosely.

Ortiz and another friend in the car with him were put in zip-tie restraints and forced to wait on a bus for hours before police took them to jail, where he would spend the weekend.

Lars Ortiz, a 35-year-old classical musician, said he was driving just blocks from his Minneapolis home on May 29 after visiting a friend recovering from COVID-19 when officers pulled him out of his car at gunpoint. He said he had been unaware of the 8 p.m. curfew enacted that night.

"Had I known that being out after curfew would be such a severe penalty, I would have never done it," Nichols said, adding that he missed his son's high school graduation while he was in jail.

"It was scary. It was confusing. I felt violated," said Ortiz, a cellist who identifies as a biracial Mexican American.

Ortiz was held on a riot charge and curfew violation. He said he was told when he was released from jail on Monday the more serious rioting charge was dropped.

Bail funds are being flooded with donations following the mass arrests of protesters this past week. Sergio Flores/Getty Images

"In chaos like that you can't determine who is legit and who isn't," a Minnesota police officer said

Lt. Andy Knotz of the Anoka County Sheriff's Office, whose deputies were deployed from the suburban county north of Minneapolis into the city to help with the unrest, said it was a "chaotic scene" and that Ortiz was coming from the direction of the protests. Knotz said Ortiz was removed from his car by the Minnesota State Patrol, and an Anoka deputy took him to the police station.

"In chaos like that you can't determine who is legit and who isn't," Knotz said.

Natalie Cook, 43, who's white, said she had never before participated in a protest, but wanted to be there to support and protect her 24-year-old son, who's black.

"Not only did I want to go to be an ally to black people, but I wanted to go to support my son," Cook said. "Also, I was afraid to send him out by himself."

Cook said they were marching peacefully with about 100 protesters for hours when police started using tear gas and shooting rubber bullets. As they tried to get away, they were pepper sprayed and her son was hit at close range by a rubber bullet, she said. They were both jailed and released on Monday, charged with riot and violating curfew.

Cook said her son was deeply affected by Floyd's death and she doesn't have any regrets about going out to make their voices heard.

"My son was really struggling with it," she said. "We couldn't just sit by and watch."

AP filed public records requests seeking arrest reports and other documents that might show what evidence law enforcement officers have against Nichols, Ortiz the Cooks and others arrested in Minneapolis. Those records have not yet been provided.

Police officers wearing riot gear push back demonstrators outside of the White House on June 1, 2020. JOSE LUIS MAGANA/AFP via Getty Images

In Washington, the D.C. Metropolitan Police arrested at least 81 people last weekend, including some as young as 13. Most were charged with curfew violations and felony rioting, which could result in up to 180 days in jail and $5,000 in fines.

Among the highest profile arrests made by federal authorities in the last week was Matthew Lee Rupert. Prosecutors allege the 28-year-old Illinois man traveled to Minneapolis to participate in riots and then posted videos on a Facebook page showing him looting stores and handing out explosives.

In one video, Rupert, a convicted felon, says: "We come to riot, boy! This is what we came for!"

Though Rupert is alleged to have targeted police officers, there is no evidence cited in his indictment he is affiliated with any organized group. Among the few indicators of his political beliefs was a series of Facebook posts celebrating Trump's 2017 inauguration. "Trump is my president but I'm not racist," he wrote, adding that he loves Mexican food.

Rupert, who made an initial court appearance Friday, remains in federal custody. A federal public defender assigned to represent him did not respond to a voicemail message seeking comment.

A former FBI agent said people frequently cross state lines to protest

Michael German, a former FBI agent and fellow with the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University, said people often travel and cross state lines to participate in protests and that not all of them have peaceful intent. He said politicians and law enforcement often cite the presence of out-of-towners to justify greater police force against protesters.

"It's an old tactic for law enforcement policing protests to suggest that the problems are being caused by outside agitators," German said. "It opens up the opportunity for greater police violence in response."

Among those who traveled to Minneapolis to protest Floyd's killing was Tara Houska, a 36-year-old attorney and member of the Couchiching First Nation from northern Minnesota. An activist for indigenous rights, she was arrested in Minneapolis last Saturday night and charged with not complying with a peace officer.

Houska, who attended college and law school in the city, said she was with a group a couple blocks from where Floyd died when police told them they were breaking curfew. They replied they were going home, she said, and then the officers hit them with pepper spray and zip-tied their hands.

"Almost everyone that was in our holding tank with us was from Minnesota," Houska said.

Sierra West, 29, of Kansas City, Missouri, said she drove to Minneapolis with a friend because she is "so angry about what is happening" with police brutality and wanted to peacefully protest.

After marching for hours, West she broke away from the crowds and was walking back to her car through an alley alone when police arrested her early Saturday on riot and curfew violation charges. She said she did nothing to provoke the four officers who confronted her.

"They were hiding, and they literally jumped out of the shadows with guns drawn on me," she said. "The street was completely empty."

West, who is white and describes herself as a strong supporter of the Black Lives Movement, was freed from jail on Monday afternoon.

Police in Houston arrest a protester during demonstrations following the death of George Floyd. Sergio Flores/Getty Images

University of Minnesota Law School student Santana Boulton, 23, said a police officer pepper-sprayed her in the face on May 28 before she was tear-gassed two days later and then arrested on Sunday, charged with unlawful assembly and violating a curfew.

About 15 minutes before the 8 p.m. curfew, Boulton said she and her boyfriend joined a large crowd of marchers on Interstate 35. People linked arms and kneeled before two lines of police officers formed near the protesters. She said she never heard any orders to disperse.

"It was nothing like a riot. It was a sit-in," she said.

Boulton, a white woman who moved from Michigan to Minneapolis to attend law school, was arrested and spent 16 hours in custody. She described herself as "philosophically an anarchist," but "not a revolutionary."

"Antifa isn't even real," Boulton said. "As an actual person who identifies with the political label of anarchist, the only thing anarchists do is have meetings where they argue for five hours and get nothing done."