#most of us are 25 + and when someone comes in and polices someone else for fandom stuff? we literally do not care.

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

The Secret's out Part 4

An: I have no Idea how this started out as Christian and the readers' relationship getting leaked to becoming a whole ass horror movie. This will most likely be the last part! This part is also written in Christian’s pov because I felt like switching it up! Hope you enjoy and thank you all for the love on this story! 

Word count: 2153

Warnings: Violence, swearing, weapons, serious stalking, overall horror vibes

Summary: LuFisto kept her promise, making sure to make Y/n’s life miserable. Death threats, stalking and harassment ruining the family. It didn’t help that she was 8 months pregnant and now on bed rest. What happens when one stormy night their worst nightmare comes true. 

Main Masterlist Christian Cage Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Christian’s Pov: 

I remember Y/n telling me about the night terrors she used to get when she was a kid. They had gotten so bad that she got sent to a sleep clinic, which seemed to do the trick. Now here we are 25 years later experiencing the same thing. Although she said they were not the same as when she was a kid, she didn’t wake up screaming or crying but the waking up in a cold sweat, confusion, scared, paranoia and insomnia remained. It hurt me seeing her like this. 

I wasn’t a doctor but I knew this stress wouldn't be good for the baby. This drama with LuFisto had gone too far, she was sending us death threats. Isla was getting home schooled and Y/n was always worried that someone was out to get her. Of course if you have a stalker one of the first things you would do is get the hell away from wherever it was you were. In the meantime while Y/n and I looked for somewhere else to move we upgraded our security. Most nights having a car outside the home. Although the price was ridiculous I didn’t care we could afford it and if it helped Y/n’s peace of mind I didn’t care. This whole situation was ruining my family. 

Currently I sat in the kitchen, phone in hand. I had called the police for the third time this week and because no one had physically done anything they couldn't help. Just as I was about to head upstairs I noticed Y/n sleeping on the couch. Poor thing hadn't slept in days, doctors advising her to remain in bed for the duration of her pregnancy due to all of the stress. I placed a blanket over her and sat next to her. “I promise, everything is going to be ok. I am going to fix things” I knew Y/n was asleep and won't be able to hear me but my words were true. I took to twitter giving my two cents. ‘I am sick and tired of LuFisto and her goons harassing my family. I’m sure everyone knows that Y/n has done nothing wrong here. She is eight months pregnant and on bedrest because of your bull shit. You have been continuing to stalk us for months and I will be filling a restraining order. My daughter is getting homeschooled and I am not working because of your bullshit. I honestly don’t get it, it has been over a year and we are still dealing with your shit. I would appreciate it if you leave me and my family alone.’ 

I decided that I would join Y/n on the couch this evening. No way I was going to wake her up. Just as I was starting to get comfortable I heard Isla calling me. “Daddy, there is a monster under my bed” I went into her room and turned on the lights, searching under the bed and all over the room proving that there were no monsters. Hoping that she would go back to bed. Just as I was about to leave something caught my eye. I went to the window in Isla’s room and swear I saw someone standing outside next to the large tree in the backyard. I immediately ran outside and was greeted by nothing. I searched the whole yard looking for anything, nothing. By the time I came back inside Y/n had awoken and she was comforting a scared Isla. “Is everything ok?” She asked. I lied, not wanting to scare my already terrified daughter and get Y/n worked up about probably nothing. “Everything is fine. Isla, how about you sleep in our room tonight? Grab your blanket and your stuffies and meet us in our room ok?” She instantly took me up on the offer running up the stairs to grab her things. I walked over to the sliding door to the back yard and made sure it was locked. “You saw it too, didn’t you?” Y/n asked me as she walked up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You see I’m not crazy. You can see it too, what do you think it wants?” For the past few day’s Y/n had claimed to have seen something outside during the night. I went and looked for whatever it was she saw and always found nothing, this time I saw it with my own eyes. I didn’t know what to even say. I wasn’t scared, more creeped out, I was mainly angry at the fact that we had a stalker. “I don’t know” was the only words I could say. My brain was too invested in whatever it was that I saw. “How much longer until we can leave?” Y/n asked me as she lit some incense. I turned to look at her, meeting her green eyes before I looked at the boxes around the room. We had finally found a place to move, hopefully it would be temporary until we found a nicer home but the sooner we got out of this place the better. “Mover’s are coming next week, hopefully we get everything done within a day” I told her. Y/n gave me a sad smile before saying “We should go to bed, busy day tomorrow” to which I followed her. I tried to sleep but the uneasy feeling of being watched never left. 

***

It had been a few days since I saw that creature outside. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Everything had pretty much been packed away in boxes, waiting for the movers to take our things for the new home. I woke up this morning with a gut feeling that something was wrong and I knew Y/n felt it too. I sent Isla to be with my mother for the weekend so she didn’t need to deal with this. I felt like my life had become some kind of horror movie. Hard rain and fog setting the mood for this spring day. Y/n had been clensing the house everyday for the past few months, I’m not too sure exactly how that stuff works but I know Y/n. I trusted her that whatever witchcraft she was doing would help in some way. Last night the house alarm went off and I swear I heard someone walking downstairs but when I got there I saw nothing. That had been going on for the past two nights in a row and something told me today would be no different. I went downstairs to grab a few flashlights and lanterns in case the power went out due to the storm.

 As I looked in the dark closet I heard something. It sounded like someone had left the tv on. Going into our home theater I watched the image that played on the tv. It was Y/n’s and LuFisto’s match. That was weird, I was pretty sure no one went down there today and I just found it weird how of all the things that had to be playing. It freaked me out, the weird things just kept happening. Just then I heard Y/n scream. “Christian!, Christian, There is someone in the pool. Christian Cage I swear-!” I ran up the stairs to try and get to Y/n. I guess the basement door closed behind me and for some reason it didn’t open. We didn’t have a lock on the door or anything but It felt as if someone was leaning against the door, preventing me from opening it. When I finally got the door open I saw Y/n running towards me. “There is someone outside, floating in the pool.” I started walking towards the backdoor when I stopped in my tracks. There was something outside. I saw what looked like a person floating face down in our swimming pool. Whatever it was looked dead, I looked away for a second, going to reach the biggest knife we had to confront whatever it was that was outside. Just then I heard “It moved” I looked back and it was gone. Still, I told Y/n to call the cops and I went into the backyard. When I came back Y/n had tears in her eyes. “I promise I’m not crazy. You believe me right?” I knew what I saw, she was not crazy and if she was then I was crazy too. “No honey, I believe you” I told her, trying to give her a hug despite the bump in the way. 

For a few moments we just stood there in silence, just then I felt a kick. “Did you feel that?” 

“Yeah, she’s been very active” I knew it was only a matter of time before our daughter would be born and we had to create some stability within our life. This is no way to raise a child. 

Just then I felt my stomach drop. I heard glass shattering and looked up to see the glass sliding door that led to the backyard had shattered. Someone threw a brick wrapped in some sort of material through the glass, landing only a few feet away from us. Now it really felt like a horror movie. The storm had died down but night came fast, darkness surrounding us. With just my luck the power just had to shut off and I heard it. Footsteps, the porch creaked as the footsteps became louder and closer. “The cops are on their way right?” I asked Y/n “Yeah I called them, hopefully they will come soon” I grabbed the knife and Y/n stood behind me holding a bat. “I am going to kill that fucker” I muttered mostly to myself. 

In a matter of minutes that thing stood in front of me. Although it wasn’t armed you could tell that it wanted to inflict harm. Y/n and I stood back to back, she faced the front door and I faced the back. Just then the doorbell rang. “Why did you let me get that creepy doorbell?” Y/n asked, as the bell rang throughout the mostly empty house. She went to the door, trying to look at who it was, hopefully it was the cops. Of course it wasn’t, It was LuFisto. “It’s LuFisto, I’m still going to open the door. I’m going to bash that bitches brains in with this bat” I heard Y/n yell. 

She opened the door and like she said, whacked LuFisto in the head with the bat, causing her to fall to her knees. Y/n just kept hitting her with the bat, causing LuFisto to scream out in agony. On my end the mutated person who stood in front of me did nothing. Standing a few feet in front of me doing nothing. Just then the creature pulled a gun out of its pocket, shit. “Umm Y/n, I think you should stop” She turned and I heard the bat drop. She saw the gun pointed directly at her. I never broke, keeping eye contact with the creacher standing confidently showing that I was not scared even though I was terrified.

Just then as if on cue, I hear sirens coming down the street. Finally, just then I heard a shot. I looked and thankfully Y/n was fine. The bullet had completely missed, hitting the front window next to the door instead. Just then I heard several police officers enter and they yelled to drop our weapons to which I did no problem. The creacher did not. 

I stood next to Y/n as we watched LuFisto and that thing get arrested and put into the back of a cop car. We both gave our statements and handed over all of the security footage we had. Luckily for us everything was on film. Weeks of stalking and harassment filmed as proof, hopefully leading to some serious jail time. For the first time in a long time I felt relieved, things should go back to normal. We were safe now. 

..............

The past year has been the craziest year of my life. It didn’t even seem real, this was something from a sick movie. If this taught me anything it would be to live in the moment and not take things for granted. Hold the ones you love close and remind them how much they mean to you. This whole experience made me realize how much I loved Y/n, the things we went through together making our bond stronger than it was before. I was so in love with her and would do anything for her, anything for this baby. Anything to keep them safe, this sick and twisted experience made me realize I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Y/n. I was going to Marry her!

[boyswanna-be-her]

I spent the last five days & nights w BFR, and before that we'd spent TWENTY of the previous 25 days together, usually only pausing to sleep separately. And although we'd been joking about it, I didn't actually realize what a mindfuck for me specifically it would be to spend several years alone and then most of a month with someone and then need to abruptly be apart for two weeks.

Emotionally on a day to day level that's just so not an issue. I spent years and years of my past relationships craving freedom and alone time and the ability to do whatever i want whenever i want it without waiting on someone else or having to take their opinions into account. I was definitely sweating being lonely and probably I still will eventually feel lonely on this trip--but getting on the highway today to head to Denver ended up feeling good and familiar and right.

But this morning was not that way. PTSD is fickle and I'm still learning my triggers. Being around someone I really care about is dredging up a lot of things that didn't get metabolized in my last relationship. And this morning, I woke up at 1 am on my couch with BFR in a full-on panic. Something about the fact that we'd fallen asleep in front of a movie instead of bed was the first thing that set me off (idk man, idk). I woke them up, they said they would come to bed, I went to bed in my panic and put on sleep noises and exhaustion managed to override the panic and I cried myself to sleep assuming I'd wake up w BFR.

I woke up again at 4:00. They hadn't come to bed from the couch. Legitimately I recognized that this meant nothing but that didn't matter. My mind has gone FULL police sirens now. I go back to the couch. They fully wake up and apologize for falling back to sleep and make room for me and I try to get comfortable w them on the couch but NOPE somehow this process makes my mind actually tip from being skittish to having a full-blown anxiety attack. I realized after a minute of sitting with the feeling of overwhelming panic and terror (which it took me TWO more hours to identify as a panic attack btw wrow) that none of the feelings were coming from the sleeping situation, but I failed to figure out WHERE they were coming from. So Iay there on the couch trying not to sob, so so so fucking confused about what was happening beneath the surface of my consciousness.

I just couldn't parse it. Like, BFR is great and our time is great but I don't know them well enough to be in love with them or even to miss them THAT much. Like christ, not sobbing over it! Not heart beating like I'm running type of upset.

Finally after I'd done every errand and packing task I could think of, I was still sobbing off and on so went to my Mom's place for a xanax (she was sleeping but luckily my dad knew where she keeps them). Then i came home abd I woke BFR up and basically said "i think I'm having a panic attack and I could use some company, like, fucking yesterday about it, and at least until the xanax i just took kicks in." And they got up and got their act together and immediately started uhhh taking care of me in a healthy way. Just sat with me and listened, said everything was going to be ok. And I talked at them and cried and cried and finally worked out that it had been a panic attack since I woke up at 1:00, I just had been deflected thinking it was bc I was sad to leave BFR.

In reality, there was this deep and abrupt CERTAINTY that I woke up with that my life had somehow fundamentally changed overnight and there was nothing I could do about it. It's almost 24 hours later and I'm still all shaken up to even approach understanding that headspace, but there it is. Between the fast onset of Jonathan's mental illness, his unexpected suicide, and the really awful way D ended their relationship with me a few weeks after Jonathan died, I have a very deep-seated belief that everything in my life can and will change without warning, for the extreme worse, ESPECIALLY when I feel safe, secure, loved, and excited about my future.

I just woke up and "knew" that it was all changing. I felt deeply that one or several devastating events were going to take place once I left town. Top on my list, when I drill into it, is that one of my parents or friends will get a devastating injury and/or die before I can say goodbye (lmao no idea where that comes from 🙄). It also felt/feels (when I let myself feel it and put it into words) 85% likely that BFR will change their mind about me while I'm gone and pretend like all of this never happened. Which honestly when I look at it with my logic brain is even less likely to happen than someone dying.

So I really got in there and sat with those feelings. It only helped a little bit to say it all out loud to BFR. It only helped a little bit to get their reassurance. That's how it is with this shit: it's not logical or evidence-based, so you can't logic your way out of it.

Eventually the Xanax got me, and I fell asleep in bed with BFR being the best and watching me and stroking me and waiting for me to either wake up on my own or need to be woken so I didn't miss my day of travel.

I slept HARD for two hours. When I woke up they were there waiting for me, sitting in bed. They had quietly continued cleaning my apartment, as well as gathering up all the snacks they had to send with me on the road trip today.

I felt so much less insane after the third attempt at sleep. Without talking through it AND a healthy dose of a sedative, I don't know that I would've been able to get on the road. I cannot think of a time other than during the sheer ego death of Effexor withdrawal in December when I was that completely panicked and inconsolable and SCARED.

I was two hours behind but after all that i was ready to go. I got the dogs loaded up and ran into a friend who said BFR was "a cutie" and we "would be a perfect couple" (i'll tell her later we already are 💕). I finally dropped them off on their side of town and hit the road for my first leg to Tennessee.

It is definitely taking lots of bandwidth for BFR to be there for me in the way that they are currently showing up. I know more about their history now and it makes me even more appreciative of the monumental effort it has taken to let someone new into their life. They had therapy this afternoon (let's goooo weekly therapy havers!!) and I could absolutely tell by the VERY serious tenor of their texts this evening that they'd been talking about us in therapy which is 1. Something a partner has NEVER done before, I'm always begging my partners to get therapy and they dont and 2. Incredibly fucking encouraging/affirming that they are indeed putting thought into me and I'm not stupid to be doing all the communication groundwork to build something nice. Shit is so pleasantly NOT one-sided. Like my last therapy sesh was me asking how I can avoid becoming codependent and wrecking my own life for someone, and their sesh had an apparent focus on communication with me and how to be vulnerable with me. The fuck? How healthy? Go off, I guess. We had a really thoughtful and helpful communication session (I had to pull over while driving but I did so happily bc it's really worth it), which in retrospect was not an easy conversation for either of us. We both were acknowledging some difficult truths about ourselves and setting expectations for what that means about a relationship. It's honestly quite doable things to overcome, and EARLY to be digging in, but it's also really fucking helpful to be in the loop with what they're thinking/fighting and I'd imagine vice versa.

But they sent me thoughtful texts all day (more than I sent them), did their yoga class, therapy, called me once I was settled in the hotel, listened to my stories about the day, asked if I wanted to stay on the phone and watch a movie together. I went to the hotel gym instead. Solo travel is going to be tough on my sobriety, and getting physically worn out has been helping a lot. Doesn't matter much what I do--just gotta tire out the software by running the hardware or something like that.

So. It was an awfully hard day. BFR took it in stride but I did not. I tripped up and kind of rolled down a fucking jagged hill. But all I can do is show up and try again and not sweat it too much that PTSD is going to be a part of my life until it's not. There's a lot that makes it worth it right now.

I think I have a lot of potential to create something special and rare with this person who has found me. Usually when someone cares about me this much and fawns over me and wants to help me in areas where I really need it, I find it a huge turn off. That's always made me feel misanthropic, but idk. Maybe there was always some thin-slicing going on and I felt that there would be a catch. But with BFR there's something I recognize there. The care they give me isnt a donation, or an investment, or a down payment. They genuinely like to see me succeed, like to see my pain eased or erased, even when there's nothing they can gain from me. They're happy to make me happy in a way that I actually don't think I've ever encountered from someone who was interested in me. Like I hate to just relegate them to the cliche of service top but they are indeed panning out to be someone who gets off in every way by overachieving in helping or pleasing me--and they're talented at making that service-y aspect somethinf that I'm the boss of, instead of making me feel like I'm a pet project or something to be changed.

That's my ramble. Needed to vomit it all out somewhere. I'm retroactively editing so my apologies for the everything. Pictures to come.

[the-bar-sinister]

In Justice We Trust (139488 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

With Simon Blackquill and Athena Cykes assigned as their psychologists, the Phantom and Fulbright must grapple with their identity, their deeds, their future, and their love for the twisted samurai whom they betrayed.

All the while, Edgeworth and Wright find their relationship tested as they walk the narrow path between pursuing real justice, and the dark age of the law.

-

December 25, 4:25 pm

They had some time to kill before Pearl would arrive. Simon and Halblicht had gone to speak privately for a moment in another room, leaving Athena with the nervous Apollo. Or maybe Clay. he was bouncing his leg under the table again.

Athena tucked her hair over her ear with a quiet smile. 

“Holding up okay, guys?"

She was admittedly a little nervous. All this ghost stuff sent a muffled wave of emotion through her, along with the memory of her mother’s face. Pearl the spirit medium was going to prove whether or not Bobby and Kelso were literally haunting their own killers; prove if Apollo’s close friend–more than close friend– had fallen into his body after the wretched way he’d died.

And maybe, if she was lucky, allow her to look her mother in the eyes for the first time in 7 years.

"I'm okay," he murmured. His own nerves seemed to match hers. "I was just trying to decide something…"

Athena leaned on her hand, looking at him with a curious tilt of her head. “Maybe I can help?”

"It was if I should ask Pearl not to say anything about my own situation until we get back to the hotel. it seems like… a lot to deal with at the police station. Either way that it goes."

Athena nodded. “Yeah…that’s a good question.” She reached out to pat his shoulder. “It's gonna be a lot either way, I’m sure. I guess it just depends if you wanna rip the bandaid off or not.” 

He sagged against her hand. "What about you? You're not going to ask to talk to your mom here, are you? Or are you? I guess that would be a good way to prove Pearls' abilities…"

“I…I dunno. I’ll admit I’m kinda scared to.” Athena said with a gentle smile. “But it’d prove it nice and easy if she could manage to channel mom. So I may bite the bullet and do it here.” 

Clay– or Apollo– took a deep, shuddering breath, and stared up at the ceiling. "Alright. If you do it here, I'll do it here, too. Rip the bandaid off, like you said."

Athena let herself fall against his shoulder, 

“Then we can recuperate back at the hotel. Everyone’s probably gonna need it.” She laughed weakly. “Man, how do you think Interpol would handle it if it turned out their dead agent wound up in 24’s body?” 

"I donno," Apollo shook his head. "I donno how I'll react. Do you think they'll throw a party or a funeral?”

“I…I think it’d be kinda sad if they held a funeral for someone who had to attend it, maybe? I mean, even if she’d probably still be handcuffed or under observation…I know I’d be kinda bummed out by it?” She put her hand on her chin with a furrow of her brow. “...or find it hilarious.” 

He leaned on his hand thoughtfully. "I guess if it turns out to be the case, they can just ask her."

Athena laughed, running her hand through her hair. 

“Yeah…though if that is her, she seems a little…mixed up with 24. Confused. In a mixed state.“ 

"Well I mean, you saw me– us?-- before you suggested the idea, right?" he murmured. "It's not normal to have someone else in your head. It's not the first conclusion you jump to when you start having weird feelings and thoughts."

Athena smiled delicately at him. 

“Exactly. It feels like a stretch until you really think about it. And it’s not like it’s the sort of thing most people come to on their own right away.” She gestured vaguely towards the door “...especially if you’ve had all understanding of any emotion at all beaten out of you.” 

"Yeah. If it's the case– and I'm not saying it is for any of us– but if it is, I guess I have some sympathy for her."

“Me too....emotions aren’t easy when they don’t come naturally.” She smiled a little and leaned on her hands thoughtfully. “I’m genuinely curious…I don’t know which answer would be weirder.” 

"Me either. Guess we'll have to see on the other side."

There was a hesitant knock on the door.

Athena looked up suddenly and called out almost without thinking. “Come in!!”

The door opened, and Pearl Fey slid in. Though she was only two years younger than Athena herself, Pearl always projected a youthful energy that made people guess her far younger, and the same quality was on display today as she crept into the room and straightened her robes.

"Hi Ms. Athena. Mr. Polly."

Apollo put on a warm smile for Pearl, even though Athena could feel his anxiety spiking. "Hey, Pearls."

Athena flashed her a bright smile, trying to ignore the way his anxiety bounced through her own system.

“Hey Pearl! Man, am I glad to see you!” 

"Good to see you too! Mr. Nick said you needed me! Oh, and that pretty agent lady said she was going to um, "drag detective prime time and mr. modern samurai" in here in a minute. And something about a prisoner?"

"Kelso. Or 24. or whoever," Apollo nodded. "Sorry for throwing you in the deep end here, Pearly."

She shrugged and smiled. "I'm kinda used to it. Um… can I ask what's up though?"

“....Detective Prime Time” Athena murmured with a shake of her head. The nicknames kept evolving, but somehow she suspected she’d always be ‘Miss Edutainment’ to the woman.

“Yeah ah, so we’ve been investigating a murder up here in Cauli…two dead interpol agents, while on the trail of an espionage ring. Only the Interpol agent sent to guide us was killed and replaced by one of the ring’s ‘assets’...people trained in a horrible facility to be used as weapons. We took her captive after figuring out she’d replaced Agent Sam Wan Kelso, and now she’s in custody– that’s Number 24…but she’s agreed to cooperate and help us!”

Pearl chewed on her thumb, listening, and nodded for Athena to continue.

She smiled nervously at Pearl. “...which is why we need your help. She knows things she supposedly shouldn’t…and we want you to do your spirit medium thing to see if we can confirm if there’s a supernatural hand in all this…with her, and with the man we used to call The Phantom. ...and maybe a few other ah, situations, too. Ghosts all the way down, Pearls.” 

Pearl opened up her mouth and closed it a couple of times. She looked at Apollo, and then at Athena again. "Um. The Phantom… that wasn't… the guy who was at breakfast with you and Mr. Simon this morning, was it?"

“Uh…” Athena held her hands up with an awkward but cheery grin. “Most people aren’t really supposed to know that, but yeah. That’s him. Robert Halblicht’s the name he chose for himself, though.” 

Pearl chewed on her thumb again. "Oh, I see. Um. Wow this is… super weird…"

Apollo had gone silent, just listening.

Athena’s smile twitched “....did you ah…already notice something about him, Pearls?” 

There was another sharp knock on the door, but they didn't wait for permission to enter.

It was Agent Ash, flanked by Halblicht– who was straightening his tie– and Simon, whose hair looked a little bit more askew than usual.

Athena felt her face flush red, and decided it was polite not to comment. Instead, she gave them a flustered thumbs up “Hey! Simon, Halblicht…great to see you guys! Hello Agent Ash!”

Sheila smirked, barely stifling a snicker. “Sorry for the delay, Miss Edutainment. Your compatriots decided to pass the time in their own special way.”

Agent Ash wasn’t nearly as polite as she was. She turned a deeper shade of red and smiled awkwardly. 

“Sool. So uh, Simon, Halblicht…Pearl’s here!” She gestured towards the other girl “which means we can get started!”

She could feel the waves of embarrassment coming off of Simon, and Bobby– more off of Bobby, than sSimon who it seemed was more than just pretending not to be affected by it.

Sheila turned her attention to Pearl with a wink. 

“Thanks for making sure neither of them wandered off to get into trouble, young lady.” 

"Um… no problem," Pearl nodded. She fidgeted with the charm around her neck. "So, what would you like me to do first? I heard its kind of um, a complicated situation…"

Apollo glanced Athena's way.

“W..well.” Athena’s nerves hammered in her heart, the internal discord drowning out everything else as she took a breath. “If you need to prove it to Agent Ash, you’ve got the powers you have…I h-have a possible request that could prove them.” 

Pearl cocked her head. "Oh? Um, I'm happy to prove my powers if you need me to…"

Athena took a deep breath. “...would you be able to channel my mother, Metis Cykes for me?”

Sheila leaned against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, watching intently. 

Pearl jumped, and covered her mouth. "Oh gosh, Miss Athena… your mother? Um, of course I could… you have a picture of her?"

"If she doesn't, I do," Simon said, from the corner where he was standing with Halblicht. "But are you certain that's what you want to do, Cykes-dono? Here and now?"

"I mean, it's not like I can only channel people once or something," Pearl murmured, playing with the sleeve of her robes. It wasn't clear whether she was actually trying to be heard or not.

“I..I can always ask for a more private audience later.” Athena said with resolve, glancing towards Simon with a nod “This is very much what I want.”

She reached into her jacket pocket where she found her wallet, and tucked inside it, a folded up photograph. “alright…I just need to give you this and you’re good?” 

Pearl nodded. "I just need a name, and a face and I can channel somebody. Um, as long as they're actually dead. And not currently being channeled by somebody else. If they're being channeled by someone else, I can't do it."

.Athena noticed that Simon and Halblicht shared a glance.

“You can’t do it if they’re being channeled by someone else…” Athena tilted her head “does that include Possession?”

She unfolded the picture and glanced down at it. It was a photo taken not long after the official one hanging in the Space Museum…but this one had her in it, leaning near her mother as if trying to hide. Her mother’s face was crystal clear, smiling gently towards the camera as her hand rested atop Athena’s head.

She glanced at Simon, grimacing a little with a shrug. 

"Um, I actually don't know…I haven't run into many possessed people before," Pearl murmured. She held out her hand for the picture, and then looked over at Agent Ash. "Do you want me to summon her in here, or somewhere else?"

"Unless we need the suspect involved, I hardly see a reason to move," Simon said. He glanced at Halblicht who had moved closer to him again.

Sheila tilted her head. “It’s best not to alert the suspect until we perform the test on her. Just in case, it’s better if it’s a surprise.”

Athena bit her lip and nodded. “Here’s good. Everyone here needs to be for proof, or …or support.”

She realized she’d started shaking, and shifted to hide it by hugging her arm to her side. 

Someone touched her back, and she realized Simon– and Halblicht too– had come up next to her. "Athena– if you're not ready for this, Fey-dono could summon literally anyone else."

“I’m fine.” Athena said with a tense smile. She let herself lean into the reassurance and closed her eyes. “I know this isn’t going to be the last time, and…and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather summon than her.” 

Simon squeezed her shoulder. "If you're certain, Athena. Then the rest of us will bear quiet witness to your reunion."

Halblicht offered her a rather shaky thumbs up.

Athena returned it, her own hand shaking just a little before she stilled it.

“Thanks, Simon…The support is nice to have.” 

"You have it. Always." The two of them stepped back, giving her space.

Apollo stepped in beside her instead, and Pearl looked up from the picture. 

"Okay… I'm ready for this when you guys are. Miss Athena? Miss Agent Sheila?"

Sheila gave Pearl a little salute as she snapped her compact shut again “Please. I’m looking forward to having my worldview shaken more than it already has.”

Athena laughed a little at Sheila’s remark, before she fixed her hair and nodded. 

“I’m ready.”

She wasn’t– part of her wasn’t sure what she’d say, and she was sure Widget was flashing every emotion under the sun as she stood there smiling like a cheerful fool and waited to potentially come face to face with her dead mother.

Everyone in the room stood around Pearl in a loose circle; Sheila, Simon, and Halblicht further back, and she and Apollo at the forefront.

"Alright." Pearl put her hands together and smiled. "Good luck everybody."

Her fingers flicked in quick succession and she seemed to mutter a prayer. Athena felt all the emotions that she could sense from her go dead suddenly– and a strange aura filled the room. A tension, and expectancy.

Her heart nearly stopped at the sudden drop in emotions, the air felt heavy and strange as it weighed down upon her. An involuntary step back was aborted, only for her to stand nervously tugging her ponytail with the smile frozen on her face.

In a blink, the tension eased, and in that same blink– Pearl Fey was no longer there. 

Metis Cykes stood in the center of the circle with her hand upon her chest over the folds of unfamiliar clothes with a pensive frown etched on her face. 

There was a hiss of air behind her. "Cykes-sensei," Simon breathed, seemingly involuntarily. Athena felt his wave of emotions crash on her.

“....Well I’ll be damned in the court of Justitia…” Sheila murmured. “It's actually real.”

Metis’ head turned upwards in a slow and deliberate motion, a smile forming on her lips for the briefest moment before Athena was once more assailed with surprise.

“Simon…what in the world happened to you?” No sooner did she ask , than her eyes fell on Athena and her rictus smile. “Oh..”

“H-Hey mom!” Athena projected the joy that weakly pulsed in her own heart, lost in the ever rising volume of the emotions around her– she kept the hot, coiling feeling of anxiety pushed down and smothered instead of daring to let it show. “Mom…I..I know this probably a lot to take in…”

Metis placed her fingers against her forehead, massaging just over her nose with a quiet smile. “Athena dear…you’ve grown quite a bit, haven’t you? Which means…I’ve been dead for some time. Haven’t I?” 

"Your presence has been dearly missed, Cykes-sensei," Simon murmured, dropping into a little bow. "We're sorry to impose on you in this way."

Apollo, beside Athena, was shaking. He had started to hold himself again, and Athena could tell that he was desperately trying to hold his emotions in check as this proceeded.

Metis held up her hand with a musical chuckle “Don’t worry about that, Simon. Death is a lonely sea of cognition. If I’m honest, any opportunity to escape it I’ll be happy to take.”

She walked across the circle towards Athena, and Athena felt the swell of positive feelings from inside her even as her face remained composed and thoughtful. 

“I didn’t think I’d really get to see the way you’ve grown, Athena.” She reached over, and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. “You’ve even outgrown the headphones we made you.”

Hot tears stung Athena’s eyes as she half fell against her with shaking shoulders

“Momma!” Her voice hiccuped, caught on her tears for a moment as she tried in vain to compose herself. “A l-lot’s happened, m-mom…things were really bad for a while but it’s gonna get better.” 

There was a hush over the room as the two of them reunited. Athena could hear the sound of Simon who was badly holding back his tears. Apollo– or perhaps Clay, or both– was shaking. Robert must have been present, because from him at least she felt a comforting glass pool of nothing.

Metis rubbed Athena’s back, letting her daughter cry against her as Athena tried to compose herself. The emotions of the room swirled inside her, her own rose and swirled within the ambiance …

Strangely, the glass pool of nothing was a comfort, allowing her own emotions to reflect back to where they belonged…flowing along with the tears as she looked up at her mother’s quiet smile for the first time in 7 long years…since their fight over her headphones.

“I can see that a lot happened, Athena.” Metis gave her a firm squeeze before she leaned back to look over the faces assembled with an analytical stare that Athena and Simon knew well. She was taking into account everyone in the room…listening to their voices and the sounds of their hearts, making judgements.

She spoke again, with her hand delicately atop Athena’s head. “...where are we? Is Aura around? This doesn’t look like the Cosmos Center.” 

"Aura isn't here, I'm afraid, Cykes-sensei," Simon explained quietly. He wiped his face with his sleeve. "And we are quite far from the Cosmos Space Center. Your daughter has become a fine defense attorney, and we are currently investigating a case with some supernatural elements. You've been summoned– much to our pleasure– as a mere demonstration of our medium's miraculous skill."

Athena nodded against her again, taking soft and hiccuping breaths as she wiped her face .

“I solved the mystery of your death,” she whispered, “but…but that’s a story for another time, mom. For now, I’m sorry she’s not here…and I’m sorry to have pulled you from th–”

“Death is a dream, Athena.” Athena felt the sting of sorrow and pain in those words. “It’s not a hardship to see the light again and to see how far you’ve all come since I've fallen asleep.”

She raised her hand to her chin. Just like Athena, her mother could be quiet…pensive…often keeping her emotions tightly wrapped within herself to the point that some saw her as cold towards everything but her work.

She and her mother had always shared the need for a mask between them and the outside world…it was no wonder Metis had kept a collection of Noh theater masks along with the other mementos of her heritage.

“But a case with supernatural elements, you say? Like that whole affair on TV with that Iris girl and the birdish lawyer? Pigeon Right, or something, yes?”

Athena’s smile grew performatively awkward. “Phoenix Wright, momma. He’s my boss.” 

"Our boss, actually," Apollo murmured, the first time he'd said anything at all. "But yeah. Just like that. Had to prove it was real."

Metis’ gaze turned towards Apollo for the first time, and she blinked. 

“...Justice, right? Apollo Justice. You used to play around the Cosmos Center all the time with Clay Terran, didn’t you? It’s a regular reunion, it seems!”

Athena hugged her tighter. She was sure it was obvious, both to her mother’s keen ears and to the eyes of everyone watching…she knew it would only be a short time, that it wouldn’t be forever.

She didn’t want to let her go and push her away, not again.

Metis noticed, gently rustling Athena’s hair with a furrow of concern on her brow. “You know. I heard a lot about the talents of spirit mediums from my own parents. The Ayasato clan in Japan, which became the Fey clan here in America. In a way, it feels like I’m a part of history being channeled through one of their number.”

She smiled wryly “Instead of just being history.”

The black humor drew a loud and swiftly aborted laugh from Agent Ash off against the wall…enough to snap her out of her dull and staring stupor. 

Simon laughed darkly, and shook his head."The same old Cykes-sensei. I see your humor hasn't passed away, at least."

“No, my dear protege. It wouldn’t be the same if it gave up the ghost. Or if the ghost gave it up.”

She let the joke hang there in the air with the barest laugh into her sleeve. Her mother’s famously dark humor and her academic and passionate love of Japanese history, space and psychology were a number of the things that had endeared both Blackquill siblings to her ever since she could remember.

Athena couldn’t help but laugh weakly herself. “Mom…”

Sheila had already broken down into a snicker .“not just a pretty stiff, a funny one too.”

It seemed she’d already gained another fan.

While the others were laughing, Apollo said, "We don't actually have anything specific we needed to ask you, Ms. Cykes. If you'd like to ask us anything, or if you'd like a moment alone with your daughter…"

“Ah…” Metis’ slight smile fell. “of course…”

She closed her eyes for a long moment of silence before she spoke. “Just one question..Then I may want some time with my daughter. I’ve got who knows how many years worth of telling her how proud I am to catch up on.” 

"Of course, Cykes-sensei," Simon said. Athena could feel his tension rise, though his voice was even to any other ear. "Anything."

“...” her expression smoothed into something quiet and placid, but Athena felt the low simmer of emotions inside her mother’s voice as she spoke again.

“Did we manage to launch our Hope for the future? Did it come back safely, despite my death?” Her eyes glanced down at Athena “...It wasn’t all for nothing, right?”

Tears rolled down Simon's face. "It wasn't all for nothing, Cykes-sensei. They made a movie of it, even. They called it a miracle."

The tension inside her relaxed, and she looped an arm around Athena’s shaking shoulders. Athena felt tears welling up in her eyes as she looked up at her mother.

“They did.” Athena sniffed softly. “...and Mr. Starbuck is even set to go back into space soon for another mission. It all really, really was a miracle.”

Metis chuckled. “...a miracle, hm?” It was…That stone. The stone I died for, and the hope of more like it from the probe…it was because I knew it would do wonders in the field of psychology and robotics.”

She leaned down to tap Widget with her fingertip. 

“It’s unique mineralogy was the special component that allowed this little dear and my darling Ponco and Clonco their ability to read emotions…the component that allowed me to make those headphones for Athena and help my suffering daughter and those like her. Hearing that all wasn’t lost is a weight off my spirit.” 

Athena heard Halblicht breathe in, and she felt a tremor of emotion from him– truly barely perceptible over the din of the others.

"I'm truly pleased to be able to carry the news to you, Cykes-sensei. I hope it will bring you peace."

It made a twisted sort of sense. Of course her mother had fought so hard for that rock, despite the man trying to take it from her. It was for her research– and for her. Tears fell down her cheeks again as her mother continued.

“No.” Metis held her hand up with a weak chuckle. “It brings me joy. I’m not ready to be ground up in the wheel of reincarnation just yet.”

Her hand gripped Athena’s shoulder protectively “I’ve still got unfinished business. I certainly can’t flit off to the next life without saying goodbye to Aura, at the very least. Save the wishing me peace for a little while yet, protege.”

Athena hiccuped again. “Oh.” 

Simon's breathy voice carried another wave of mingled sorrow and joy, and he wiped his eyes again. "Of course, Cykes-sensei. I should have known."

She smiled, and dipped into a deep bow. 

“I hope you’ll come knock knock knocking on the door to the afterlife for me again, to wake me from the dream. Maybe, when that time comes, lay me out some tea and perhaps some katsudon. Hang up a few streamers. Tell Aura to please show herself from whatever hole she’s working feverishly in. Maybe give me someone to scare.”

She rose and took Athena’s hand, “I’d like to see you all with smiles on your faces.”

“P-promise mom.” Athena said, making a show of a bright smile. “...promise. Next time we’ll make it a real celebration.” 

"You have my word, sensei," Simon said, also smiling as the tears ran down his face. "We'll throw a party."

[beardedmrbean]

Oh citation needed on the MLK jr assassination, the king family don’t even believe the person the FBI accused of killing MLK.

Not to mention that MLK brother was suspiciously found dead in his pool shortly afterwards.

And it’s tragic how Anna Frank was killed, and I sure hope that antisemitism was never again on the rise and the mindsets that created the Holocaust isn’t being praised because they are going after different targets

Let me check Free Palestine, Feminists, and black Twitter

Also where this idea that you can’t find colored pictures of MLK and Anna Frank came from? Like the picture they used for MLK was in my 4th grade textbook

Yeah it was in living memory, but when you ask a white liberal, LBGT activist, rad fem, black activists, and other left wings people about white conservatives males or Israel. The new editions of Mein Kampf comes out

Now I gotta scroll and find that post, lol

the king family don’t even believe the person the FBI accused of killing MLK.

I thought they'd shifted position on that, but today I learned.

Skipping to the end

A Different Gunman?

Coretta King’s specific belief in Ray’s innocence is a little tougher to explain. The King family started to publicly voice the opinion in 1997. That year, King’s son Dexter Scott King visited Ray in prison to draw attention to the family’s push to appeal his case. Even after Ray died in 1998 from complications caused by hepatitis C, the family continued to assert there was, as Coretta King said in 1999, “overwhelming evidence that identified someone else, not James Earl Ray, as the shooter, and that Mr. Ray was set up to take the blame.”

The King family’s belief in Ray’s innocence was partly influenced by the strange case of Loyd Jowers, who’d owned the restaurant below Ray’s rented room in Memphis. For the first 25 years after King’s death, Jowers did not claim any involvement in the murder. But after HBO conducted a televised mock trial about the assassination in 1993—in which Ray gave his first public testimony and was found not guilty—Jowers declared that he’d been part of a conspiracy to kill King, and that Ray had been set up to take to fall. The other people involved in this conspiracy, Jowers said, included Memphis police officers, a Mafia member and the infamous Raoul.

These claims led King’s estate to sue Jowers in 1999 for a symbolic $100 in a wrongful death civil action. During the four-week trial in Memphis, a 12-person jury heard testimony from over 70 witnesses; but not Jowers, who didn’t testify because there were no criminal charges at stake. The jury awarded the money to the estate, deciding that King’s assassination had likely been the result of a conspiracy that involved Jowers, not Ray, as well as ''others, including governmental agencies.''

The day after the trial ended, Coretta King held a press conference in Atlanta to praise the decision.

“I wholeheartedly applaud the verdict of the jury and I feel that justice has been well served in their deliberations,” she said. “The jury was clearly convinced by the extensive evidence that was presented during the trial that, in addition to Mr. Jowers, the conspiracy of the Mafia, local, state and federal government agencies, were deeply involved in the assassination of my husband.”

It’s important to note that this verdict was not a criminal conviction, as is sometimes erroneously implied when this case surfaces online. Between 1998 and 2000, the Department of Justice investigated Jower’s claims and the evidence in the civil trial, and concluded that Jowers’s claims weren’t credible. Among the evidence was a recording of Jowers in which he suggested he was interested in fabricating his story for financial gain.

So, are there are still remaining questions about how everything happened the day of King’s assassination? As with most cases, the answer is yes. But among legal and historical scholars, there is a broad consensus that James Earl Ray, though he may not have acted alone, is the gunman who shot Martin Luther King. __________________

I will agree that they don't believe Ray was the killer, the statement in the response to the post was 'shot in the head by a racist' which one way or the other I think it's fairly safe to say that whoever did it was racist.

nation of islam

having Malcolm X murdered because he decided building bridges might be a better way than hate racist or kkk racist I couldn't say but the odds of his assassination being done by a racist are pretty high, so even if it wasn't ray he was still killed by a racist.

Also where this idea that you can’t find colored pictures of MLK and Anna Frank came from? Like the picture they used for MLK was in my 4th grade textbook.

That or laziness or maybe trying to compound oppression points, remember there's people that piss and moan that a lot of the different sexual stuff was edited out of her diary because their heads are so far up their own asses they can't stop to think that it wouldn't have been published if that was in there.

Yeah it was in living memory, but when you ask a white liberal, LBGT activist, rad fem, black activists, and other left wings people about white conservatives males or Israel. The new editions of Mein Kampf comes out

Funny you should say that.

[cookie-arts]

OC Introduction: Margarette Camellia Sanchez

Name: Margarette Camellia Sanchez

Birthday: December 24

Age: 20 (at the start of the game), 21 (after S1, entirety of S2, and the first half of S3), 22 (second half of S3, and entirety of S4), 25 (in Nightbringer)

Nationality: Filipino

Height: 165 cm

She is my Obey Me MC and is the most-utilized OC out of all of my OCs.

Personality:

She has a calm and composed personality, even in a stressful situation. This is due to her work environment as a pastry chef. But she also has a hidden mischievous side that often shows when she joins the Anti-Lucifer League with their antics, much to Lucifer's dismay.

She's perceptive of other people, especially when it comes to their emotions, but can be oblivious when it comes to herself. This obliviousness also applies when someone is showing romantic interest in her.

Similar to Levi, she also gets worked up whenever her interests are the topic of the conversation. She can and will talk your ear off when she gets the chance.

Introverted by nature, she cherishes her "me time" very much. She can attend social gatherings, but need some time to herself after a while to recharge.

Character lore tidbits:

Her nicknames are: Callie, Gremlin (affectionately by Lucifer), and Mani < it means 'peanut' in Filipino (her favorite food are peanuts and she used to eat half a kilogram of it when she was younger)

She likes reading and is a certified hopeless romantic.

Her main literary media are light novels and webcomics (Levi definitely approves of her choices)

She is a HUGE history, mythology, and astronomy geek!

Aside from cockroaches, she also hates the smell of garlic.

She hates it when several people asks for her help at the same time. She says it drains her energy too quickly.

Her MBTI type is INTP-T.

She owns a black cat named Pepper.

She is the middle child in a family of five.

Her older sister is a police officer and has taught her how to handle a gun (Camellia never used one even though she knew how to use a gun).

Her uncle from her father's side of the family runs a martial arts studio. He taught her judo, taekwondo, boxing, and arnis. Her favorite is arnis.

Her maternal grandmother is a known albularyo (healer) in their hometown. It is implied that the maternal side of Camellia's family are Lilith's descendants.

She can see otherworldly entities (they're usually harmless so she just ignores them)

But there is a sprite following her around since she was 7 and never left her. She named the sprite "Cinnamon" because of her brown hair.

Her hobbies are: baking, reading, and drawing.

She is a pastry chef, and she owns and runs a patisserie and café called Sweet Tooth's Haven with her classmate and bestfriend Momo Koizumi.

She's a very patient person, but rivals Lucifer and Satan when mad. (Mammon and Levi witnessed it first-hand when they got her sketchpad wet during their scuffle)

She's usually behaved but she also has a reputation for being a petty menace (the reason she's called "Gremlin" by Lucifer)

In the Timeskip AU that is still stuck in my drafts, she had twins: a boy and a girl. (One of them was summoned to Twisted Wonderland when they were 17)

She is a supportive and doting mother to her twins. She is also quite protective over them, especially when they were kids.

Q: What kind of relationship does she have with the boys?

Lucifer

They are dating!! When she first arrived at the Devildom and met him for the first time, he had piqued her interest. That interest soon developed into a small crush, then it turned into love (she needed Asmo's help to realize it though).

He was giving her the cold shoulder though, so she thought it was hopeless even if she confessed.

When she did confess before her departure at the end of S1, she was really shocked when he accepted and reciprocated her feelings. As it turns out, Lucifer thought she was interested in someone else, that's why he kept giving her the cold shoulder.

Even though they're already in an official relationship for a few years, she can't help but act like a middle schooler with a crush whenever Lucifer's around. He finds it very amusing.

Fun fact: they haven't done the deed™ yet as per Camellia's request until she was 26 (and they were already married at that time)

"What do you think of Lucifer?"

Camellia: He's amazing. He may not seem like it but he is a very caring person that treasures his family above all else. He's also very supportive, and understanding and respectful of my decisions. I'm so lucky to have him! ^^

Mammon

Her best friend and partner in crime. They are a chaos-incarnate when combined, much to Lucifer's dismay.

They are very protective with each other. Out of all the brothers (except Lucifer), the two of them have the strongest bond with each other.

"What do you think of Mammon?"

Camellia: Being his best friend is probably one of the best things that has happened to me. I can confidently say that his presence has changed my life positively. He is precious to me and that would never change. I do wish he'd stop getting in trouble every chance he gets. *sigh*

Leviathan

They get along pretty well because of their similarities in personality. They like exchanging recommendations with each other and has made it a bonding activity. Camellia often helps Levi through his social anxiety during social gatherings.

"What do you think of Leviathan?"

Camellia: Levi is an amazing person! I really love how he's so passionate about the things he likes, and I think everybody needs a little bit of that. I'm also grateful that I finally found someone who I can bond with over our favorite webcomics and light novel series. I hope he knows how awesome he is.

Satan

They also get along pretty well. He is her usual go-to whenever there's an upcoming test. They also bond over cats and go to regular cat café dates with Solomon. He knows Camellia owns a cat and is absolutely in love with Pepper (he is over the moon when he finally meets the cat).

Satan is her rambling buddy when her geek side is activated. And in turn, Satan tells her facts that she doesn't know yet and book recommendations.

"What do you think of Satan?"

Camellia: Sure, he's scary at first glance but he's a great person once you get to know him. I think his expressions when it comes to cats are quite adorable, but don't tell him I said that hehe.

Asmodeus

They did not get along at first but got closer later on. He's her fashion consultant (she has no clue when it comes to fashion lol) and her biggest hype man when it comes to her endeavors. He is also the one who helped Camellia realize her feelings towards Lucifer.

He brings her to some social events (with Mammon sometimes) so that she could experience more of the Devildom (his words). He is quite attentive of her during these events as he knows her social battery can get drained quickly. He only brings her when she agrees.

"What do you think of Asmodeus?"

Camellia: I cannot tell you enough how much I enjoy our time with each other. He is literally one of the nicest people I have met in my life. I have never met someone as supportive since I met Peachy, whom I met when I was in elementary school. I know I can rely on him and I hope he knows that he can rely on me too.

Beelzebub

Not as close as Mammon, Levi, and Satan, but they also get along well. He's her partner during workouts, and her No. 1 go-to when she needs help in general.

She occasionally bakes for him and she enjoys it. She does need his help reaching for the things in the cupboard though.

"What do you think of Beelzebub?"

Camellia: He's very nice. He may look intimidating but he's a gentle giant. Very sweet and kind, and he gives out one of the best hugs out there ^^

Belphegor

She had some trouble getting along with him after the events of Lesson 16, but she's slowly starting to open up to him again after bonding over astronomy.

"What do you think of Belphegor?"

Camellia: It's still a bit awkward around him but I know he's changed, so I'm giving him another chance. It's also nice to have someone knowledgeable about astronomy around, y'know?

Diavolo

They get along well so much so that the brothers sometimes say that they are like real siblings. They bond over things that they find interesting. Barbatos and Lucifer find the way they lit up over random things quite amusing to watch.

"What do you think of Diavolo?"

Camellia: He has this intimidating aura around him, but he's actually pretty cool to hang out with. There's never a dull moment when I'm with him. I like how he always works hard for the Devildom, and I respect him for that.

Barbatos

Camellia admires him a lot. She developed a crush of some sort towards him early on the start of the exchange program, though she never acted on it. She says the feelings she had for him at that time is akin to what a fan has for an idol.

Sometimes, she joins Luke and Barbatos's baking lessons for a chance to learn new recipes or skills. It become the highlight of her week if she does.

"What do you think of Barbatos?"

Camellia: He is so freaking amazing. Like– it's hard not to be amazed by him. He always does things so efficiently. It makes you wonder; does this man even make mistakes?? He's very nice but I definitely do NOT want to be on his bad side. Him being mad terrifies me a little.

Luke

She adores him a lot. They do a lot of baking together (sometimes joined by Barbatos and/or Simeon), and go to regularly planned outings with the other Purgatory Hall residents.

She is also protective over him, but even Luke is not safe from her teasing side, much to his chagrin.

With Simeon, the two of them tries to teach Solomon how to cook a decent and actually edible meal (there's no successful attempts yet, unfortunately).

"What do you think of Luke?"

Camellia: He is so adorable! He is like the little brother I never had!! There's just something about him that makes you wanna adopt him, y'know? It's also quite fun teasing him ehehe ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Simeon

She finds his presence soothing. They both like to dote on Luke, and he sometimes give her some life advice or stories about the brothers, which she appreciates very much.

"What do you think of Simeon?"

Camellia: He is probably one of the nicest people I know. He's like a caring older brother figure for me. He's kind of funny when it comes to technology lol. Although he is quite scary when he's angry...

Solomon

She admires him like how a younger sibling admires their older sibling. They do like to tease each other from time to time and has a competition on who can fluster who more.

"What do you think of Solomon?"

Camellia: He's a very cool and funky guy. He is quite a menace sometimes, but it's part of his charm. I do hope he gets better at cooking though. It's obvious he likes cooking for others but you know the issue about his cooking...

Final thoughts/Facts:

She is my most developed character, as she was originally a self-insert character. She has some of my personality traits and my hobbies, but I decided to make her a bit more different than me because it feels weird to have a character based on me at the moment I created her.

She is not my first OC though (that title goes to her older sister, Lillienne Hyacinth Sanchez, originally named Lillienne Cordova)

Lillienne was supposed to be my MC's name in the game but they won't accept it, and I was obsessed with camellia flowers at the time I started playing Obey Me. And that was how she was created.

She was really fun to make and I love her to bits.

I'm really happy to properly introduce her to others!

[inky-thoughts]

10 13 and 14 for the hi, I’m not from the US ask :)

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

for me personally? "Himmel, Arsch und Zwirn!" if phrases from a dialect I usually try to avoid like a plague counts (I'm just very delighted whenever someone actually uses that phrase, it's so funny), if not "Scheibenkleister" which was my dad's go-to swear word when he wanted/had started to say "Scheiße" but us kids were around so he had to turn it into something else bc didn't want to teach us "bad words", and then it just kinda stuck.

13. does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

it's generally considered bad luck if you wish someone an early happy birthday! mostly because you don't want to jinx people to die before their birthday afaik, and while I absolutely love it that people elsewhere are considerate of you to wish you an early birthday and it's not like "oops I forgot it was your birthday BUT I STILL CAN WISH YOU HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY!!" how it oftentimes turns out here, I still can't quite get myself to wish ppl a happy early birthday.

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

it depends, but generally speaking, not so much, or at least the more recent (2010 onwards) ones when it comes to cinema. it doesn't help that you oftentimes only have the same 6 actors in the leading role and the plot gets so formulaeic. I really liked our kids/teen movies (can't really talk on the recent ones), one of the big part was that they pretty much always have child/teen actors for the roles and it doesn't get in this weird "they look 25 (bc the actor is 25) but are supposed to be 17". teens look like actual teens. My personal faves were Die Wilden Hühner, there's also generally older movies that are just. good. so good. (can't believe that I'm calling Goodbye Lenin old lmao)

for series, again kid's tv is generally good but idk how much is 100% german, there's many shows that are co-productions and they were very enjoyable as a kid and now when I get in contact with them again, they hold up quite ok. (also I have so much respect for Sendung mit der Maus it's almost unhealthy) there's some (1) crime shows i like to watch, but even there I'm quite picky. In general I like that they aren't as over-dramatised as American police proceduals, they are often even quite funny (and no it's not Tatort, I'm talking about Mord mit Aussicht). Mein Leben & ich was a teen series that I loved to the bones as well. (again, this is all taken from someone who hasn't seen kids TV in quite some time, or German entertainment in general)

also fairytale films? I still prefer the Czech ones bc a landslide but from the 2000s onwards there were a few made by ARD that were quite good. also I want to say that we do have quite good satirical shows

hmm yes I think that's about it.

[birminghamlawattorney]

Answering Your Questions: How Can A Semi Truck Accident Lawyer Help

Have you or someone dear to you been injured in a collision with an 18-wheeler? These can be some of the most devastating injuries, physically as well as emotionally. You very well may be entitled to compensation for all that you’ve been through. Experienced semi truck accident lawyer Belal Hamideh can help.

Throughout his career, he’s helped people who are in the same position you are now. Schedule a free case evaluation if you believe that there’s even a chance you were injured in a truck accident. That way, you can take the first steps toward securing the compensation you deserve.

Benefits of Hiring a Truck Accident Lawyer With Experience Truck accident cases are complex, often involving multiple parties, making self-representation a challenging endeavor. The right attorney is one who can make this endeavor less challenging.

For example, experienced attorneys know how to counter what trucking companies will do. Those companies tend to deploy extensive defenses, working closely with insurers to minimize compensation for victims.

Moreover, the right attorney can make sure to bring a case against all parties liable for your injury. In a truck accident, various entities, including but not limited to the driver, trucking company, leasing company, cargo loader, truck manufacturer, and more, could be at fault. An experienced attorney knows how to navigate this complexity to ensure comprehensive compensation.

The Root Causes of Truck Accidents Given the immense weight of trucks, often reaching around 80,000 pounds when fully loaded, accidents involving these vehicles can result in severe damage compared to typical car accidents.

Truck accidents can stem from various factors, including fatigue, distracted driving, driving under the influence, excessive speed, improperly maintained trucks, defects in the truck, improper loading, and environmental factors.

When someone else’s negligence has led to you or yours being injured, you should be compensated for it. That’s where Belal comes in. Regardless of the specific circumstances of your truck accident, our firm is dedicated to properly supporting our clients.

Immediate Steps to Take After a Truck Accident Quick action is important after any accident, but it might be even more important after a truck accident. The steps to take include:

Remove Yourself from Harm’s Way: Do so as much as you can, safely. Call the Police: Regardless of the apparent severity, involve the police to document the incident. Seek Medical Treatment: Even if you feel fine initially, professional medical assessment is vital, as internal injuries may not be immediately apparent. Collect Evidence: If feasible, document injuries, vehicle damage, and relevant environmental factors through photographs and video. Obtain Information: Gather contact and insurance details from the other party involved, and if applicable, collect information from witnesses. Once you’ve done all of that, then we recommend you reach out to us.

Partial Fault in Truck Accidents Even if you share partial fault, you can still pursue damages under comparative negligence rules. Your recovery may be proportionally reduced based on your degree of fault. So, if you were 25% at fault, you could recover 75% of the compensation you would have received.

Our team works diligently to identify all responsible parties, placing liability where it rightfully belongs.

A Semi Truck Accident Lawyer With Real Experience Belal Hamideh has guided many through this process successfully and now he can do the same for you.

We only get paid if we win, and even then, our compensation comes out of your settlement. With a 99% success rate, our experienced team is ready to help. For a free case evaluation, message us through this site or call us. Your journey to justice begins now.

[dollycas]

Special Guest - Rebecca Olmstead - Author of - Love and Death in Madison, Georgia included in Malice, Matrimony, and Murder: A Limited-Edition Collection of 25 Wedding Cozy Mystery and Crime Fiction Stories #AuthorInterview / #Giveaway

Malice, Matrimony, and Murder: A Limited-Edition Collection of 25 Wedding Cozy Mystery and Crime Fiction Stories by Joslyn Chase, Charlotte Morganti, P.M. Raymond, Paige Sleuth, Teresa Inge, Sally Milliken, Rebecca Olmstead, Nikki Knight, Shari Held, Barbara Howard, Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier, KD Sherrinford, Stephen D. Rogers, Elaine Togneri, Lynn Hesse, Margaret S. Hamilton, Stella Oni, Robert Petyo, Pamela Kyel, Karen McCullough, Wil A. Emerson, Jack Bates, J. Aquino, Sharyn Kolberg, Becky Clark

I am happy to welcome Rebecca Olmstead to Escape With Dollycas today!

Hi Rebecca, Please tell us a little bit about yourself. I was born and raised in a small farming town in the Pacific Northwest. My greatest frustration as a child was not being able to read because no one had the time to read to me. But, once that magic door was opened, I was a happy camper. I’ve always loved the art of storytelling. I devoured all genres, but it was mystery that made me want to be a writer. What are three things most people don’t know about you? I am a 14-year cancer survivor. I was diagnosed with a sarcoma in my sacral nerve root in 2009, and was told if I survived, I would be paralyzed on my left side. I am a walking miracle. I spent a year in California when I was 21 pursuing my first dream of being an actress and have performed in many way-off Broadway productions. My fans know I crochet, but what they don’t know is that keeping my hands busy helps me focus, think, and plot. The afghans, hats, and sweaters are an added bonus. What books/authors have most inspired you? My biggest inspirations came in high school literature. Hawthorne, Falkner, O. Henry... But the author who impacted me the most was Ambrose Bierce, with his ability leave the reader wondering what had just happened. That’s what I aspire to in my short stories. My inspiration for mysteries began with Alfred Hitchcock’s Three Investigators and continues to be Agatha Christie and Patricia Wentworth.

What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book? Of course, my favorite research is traveling. I’m not as fond of interviewing people, but I do. For Dreams and Illusions, I traveled to Seattle, toured King County Jail and Police headquarters, and interviewed many law enforcement officers. I was so scared, but most people are very nice and are happy to share what they do. I also looked at apartments, and my personal favorite, trying out restaurants. A lot of my research is done on the good old internet or in books. And I research as I write. That way, I don’t lose my muse. I take as long as I need to make a setting or scene come alive in my mind and not just a cold description. I know if I feel it, my reader will. Do you ever suffer from Writer’s Block? I don’t. I have a very curious mind. My imagination helped me to survive a very hard childhood, and now it just makes life a little more interesting. I do, however, suffer from laziness. Getting the words on the page is a lot of work, but having fans asking when your next book is coming out is a great motivation. What advice do you have for someone who would like to become a published writer? At the end of the day, writers write. I started Dreams and Illusions thirty years before it was published. One reason for the long journey was that I was a busy mom. Too many times I put everything else before my desire to be published. Sometimes this was just watching TV. You have to make time for your dreams. No one will do that for you. Another word of advice is, don’t edit while you’re writing. I don’t know how many years I spent trying to make that first chapter perfect. Newsflash, it’s called a “rough draft” for a reason. Keep moving forward and don’t look back until you type those lovely words, “The End.” I also have to add, don’t overthink the process. Don’t overwhelm yourself. Take one step at a time. Write (and finish) the manuscript, revise, revise, revise, find a great editor, revise, revise, revise … if you look at the journey as a whole, you’ll start to think it’s too much and give up. One step at a time. When you are not writing what do you like to do? I’ve already mentioned crochet. I also love to sew, garden, craft, read, go camping, hiking, and fishing with my family, watch mysteries, do puzzles, and go antiquing (mostly for books). And of course, having coffee with my husband. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go and why? I’ve just recently discovered my ancestry on my father’s side comes from a long line of Scottish royalty. I’d love to go to Scotland and visit some of my ancestral castles—and maybe get into writing some historical sagas. Do you have any special plans for the holidays? I’ve had quite a few surgeries this year, so the holidays will be low-key for us. Cooking, baking, eating too much, doing puzzles and watching cheesy holiday movies in front of the fire with my favorite people. What is next on the horizon for you? I’m currently working on two books. A nonfiction book giving young adults tools to defeat suicide, with plans for a 2024 summer release date. And the second book in my Gabrielle Dorian Mystery Series, Dreams and Deceptions, looking at a release in November 2024. Thank you, Rebecca, for visiting today! It was great to meet you and learn we have some things in common.  Keep reading for information about Malice, Matrimony, and Murder!

Read the full article

[purplesurveys]

1561

What was the last useful piece of advice that someone gave you?   I dunno, I haven’t been the recipient of much advice recently tbh. Maybe when Bea gave me my mid-year evaluation and told me it would help to improve on delegating tasks. I do tend to kinda just go ahead and start and finish things on my own at work, but she said that wouldn’t be ok in the long run because should any fuckups happen then that shit would solely fall on me. Since then I’ve been trying to relax more and trust other people with work I’d normally do.

How long have you been taking surveys on Bzoink? Do/did you ever take surveys on any other platforms? I’ve been hanging around and hunting surveys down on Bzoink since like 2009 when I was 11, but I never made an account on there. I’ve always just stuck to Tumblr when it comes to posting surveys publicly.

As a child, did you ever watch any shows on TV that were maybe too grown-up or a little inappropriate?   Not shows or movies because censorship is a thing on TV lol, but this was definitely the case with video games. We had little to no supervision so my cousins, siblings, and I were already extremely busy with Grand Theft Auto games when we were like 5. 

Most of the crimes and all the sex stuff flew over our heads though and all I remember is that we really liked to fire the bazooka up in the sky and pretend they were fireworks. Sometimes we liked to piss the police off enough to get 6 stars just so that we got to steal and drive the tanks.

Do you remember how old you were when you first began to use swearwords?   I started regularly swearing when I was 11 – this I fully blame the internet for, because I saw sooooo many people cursing on Twitter and finally realized how normal it was people to say ‘bad words.’ 

Are there any foods or beverages that you loved as a child but wouldn't touch as an adult?   Milo powder, because yes I used to eat that shit on its own. I’d never ever do that today.

Does anyone in your life use terms of endearment a lot when talking to you? Other than my parents, no.

Is there anyone that you communicate with daily, but not in person?   My coworkers. WFH arrangement is here to stay, so.

Is there a hobby you once had, that you've now lost interest in? What is it? Would you like to get back into it again?   Embroidery. That was my main outlet and lifeline when I was coping with my breakup because it was able to keep me focused for long periods of time and it also allowed me to feel a sense of accomplishment. I don’t think I would revisit it any time soon, but I’m forever grateful to it for...saving my life, pretty much. For that reason, I still dedicate a corner of my corkboard to all my threads to serve as a reminder that it was part of my life at some point.

Do you get many leaflets pushed through your door? If you do, do you bother to look at them?   Nah, not really. The only envelopes we receive are actual bills and other stuff that my parents handle.

Who was the first famous person you recall having a crush on?   Zac Efron.

Which celebrities are you crushing on these days, if anybody?   Jeon Jung-Kook. He’s been looking so good. < LOL same. I remember the millions of conversations I’ve had with Angela and how we’re in agreement towards the fact that as much as we love Jungkook, he could never be bias material for us (he’s too young!). Sort of eating my words now though...man is out to fucking kill these days and it helps that he definitely doesn’t look and feel 25 lmao.

Do you prefer hobbies that you can enjoy alone or hobbies that you can share with someone else?   I can go either way, really! There are things more enjoyable when done with others, like how I really wanna try pottery or jewelry with friends; and other stuff that I’d much rather do on my own, like exploring coffee shops.

Is there currently any food in your house that has blue packaging?   Yeah, I can think of a couple of snacks that we have lying around.

The last time you felt down in the dumps, who or what cheered you up?   Myself.

Name a movie you enjoy that's in a foreign language.   Liway.

As a child, what was your favourite Disney movie? Is it still your favourite? Toy Story. It still very much is.

What is an essential product that, in your opinion costs more than it should?   The extent to which gas prices has risen is absolutely sickening.

As a child, what was your favourite sandwich filling? Is it still your favourite?   Egg salad. Yeah, it’s still a no-fail filling for me.

Have you discovered any new bands or singers lately, that you're into?  NewJeans!

Can you recall the last movie/TV show that made you cry? Or do you not tend to cry over such things?   Two for the Road; watched it last Friday.

Do you remember the last occasion when you were out and about and "bumped into" someone you knew? Were you glad to see them?   Yes, I covered this in the previous survey but I bumped into Cla and Tria - high school batchmates - when I had dinner with my orgmates last night. Yeah I was quite happy to see them! We were friends-ish in high school so it was cool to unexpectedly see them and say hi.

What time was it 4 hours ago? What were you doing at that time?   It was 5 PM and I was just watching a series of BTS videos on YouTube. I had worked on a work deck from 1-4 PM so by then I just wanted to go back to my home.

Do you remember the last occasion when you didn't expect to like something but found that you did? What was it? Beer. I still generally hate beer but the bottle I had at the last company party was pretty ok. What is something about social media that bothers you?   It reveals the worst in people. Just look at Facebook and you can easily weed out the racists, sexists, all the -ists of the world.

What is something about social media that you enjoy? All the cool recommendations I can pick up about different things, whether it’s albums or places to hang out or essays to read, etc.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (July 25/2021) - The Wilburger Ranvan

Wilbur comes up with his new calling: selling burgers in a burger van! At Phil’s suggestion, Wilbur teams up with Ranboo to do so, setting up their new business on the outskirts of Las Nevadas.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

---

VOD LINKS:

Wilbur Soot

Captain Puffy

BadBoyHalo

---

- Wilbur and Phil hang out in the Arctic. Wilbur has a proposition for Phil

- He says he met up with Quackity and it was a nice time. The one conclusion he came to is that Quackity is very resourceful

Wilbur: “As much as I may disagree with your views on anarchy, I must say, it’s pretty harmless. I -- I can’t hate you for it. I can’t hate you for enjoying literally living in a peaceful little village in the snow, I mean the server’s never been this peaceful since -- since all the countries and nations and cities and everything is gone. So Phil, I came to you with one question, one question...do you think Quackity should be allowed to be left unchecked?”

- Phil says no. The issue is, there’s no government, no police force. What Techno’s done is left a power vacuum and now Quackity’s come in with an unethical establishment, gambling...

- Wilbur wants to make a burger van

- They get interrupted by an Enderman ascending from the basement

- He knows there’s a bit of déjà vu, but the difference is that the burger van isn’t going to sell drugs this time. He wants every steak to have a name

- He’s done with being a source of authority, a president. His calling is just burgers, no ulterior motives

- Phil knows someone who would help out: Ranboo. The richest, most knowledgable man on the server, and he’s run out of things to do on the server

- Wilbur doesn’t want to play with Ranboo, but Phil threatens to kick him out if he doesn’t so he does, annoyed at being treated like a child

- Wilbur gives Ranboo his proposition

Wilbur: “I like to think, you know, let bygones be bygones, let’s bury the hatchet, let’s be -- Ranboo I’m gonna go out on a limb here...do you wanna be friends?”

- His next progression, after being a dead-terrorist-president...is to be a chef. Ranboo is onboard 

- They start walking over. Wilbur asks if Ranboo’s heard of Las Nevadas, and Ranboo mentions their abandoned cookie post that was causing trouble. He wants to create competition for Quackity’s business. Eventually, maybe Quackity will have to make a deal with them, maybe even be their friend

- Ranboo wants to keep it respectful. Wilbur assures him that they already has the land necessary

- Wilbur wants to pick Ranboo’s brain and asks his thoughts on Quackity. Ranboo says he just hasn’t seen him in so long. Their last interaction before everything else happened was just that they were in the same cabinet of New L’manburg

- Wilbur didn’t know that Ranboo was part of L’manburg’s government

- Wilbur asks if he dislikes anyone. Ranboo says not too much, just people that he doesn’t agree with. Everyone is just a product of what they’ve gone through, so if you understand that, you understand the person

- If you align yourself with everyone, isn’t that more complicated? Ranboo says that’s why he’s just been living with Phil and Techno away from everything, trying not to involve himself in much, but he has a terrible radar on what’s involving himself and what isn’t

Wilbur: “What about Dream?”

Ranboo: “Well that’s -- well, with Dream it’s kind of like...all I’ve heard of Dream, all I’ve seen with Dream is just been like the really bad things that he’s done and everything, so I would say that I -- yeah, I don’t really like Dream, but I mean, he’s also not really someone that it matters whether or not I like him ‘cause he’s just away in that prison for a really long time, so I mean...”

Wilbur: “No trial?”

- They reach their competition and go into the fast food restaurant

- He peeks into the casino, but holes it back up. This building doesn’t benefit the consumer

- Wilbur places down some signs insulting Quackity’s burger place, guaranteeing those signs will never leave since they don’t care about the customer

- Wilbur shows Ranboo his area, which he's thinking of naming “Paradise.” Ranboo says it could be a neat play on words...pair-of-dice

- Wilbur and Ranboo decide to make the place red and white, retro-themed. Ranboo gives Wilbur Ranord and Wilbur goes off to gather some red

- Wilbur likes Tubbo since he’s strong-headed and doesn’t let people push him around

- Ranboo says when you can’t change someone’s mind, it’s no use to needlessly argue. Wilbur points out that Ranboo seems to be a bit more dynamic than a purely neutral, peaceful force. He’s somehow appeared in almost every conflict the server’s had since Wilbur died

- Ranboo says it’s because he’s bad at discerning things, but he’s been doing alright with his situation recently. He wants to help people, and sometimes he lets that desire to help people get in the way of what he says about himself

Wilbur: “Ranboo...why did you help to help me?”

- Ranboo needed something to do, and he also thought that Wilbur’s an alright person, so he wants to get off on a better foot because he doesn’t like having people not like him

- Wilbur asks why he doesn’t think Wilbur’s a bad person. Ranboo says he did bad things, but also went through things that made him that way and now he’s changed as a person since he died. He’s optimistic in that

Wilbur: (sniffs) “Good, uh...that’s nice. Thank you. Uh...I think I needed to hear that.”

Wilbur: “Can I be real with you man? ...I think I scare people.”

Ranboo: “I mean...yeah, I do the same thing.”

Wilbur: “No, not in -- no no, I mean I...I don’t think I...I think a lot of people share your idea, but they share your idea in trying to -- trying to keep me from hurting them, you know? Like they’ve seen what I can do and they don’t want me to do it again, so they adopt your emotion in order to do it.”

- He demolished Jack Manifold’s house twice, he completely ignored him in the war, and what it took for Jack to forgive Wilbur was just a sorry. 

Wilbur: “And I know -- I’ve spoken to Tommy about Jack Manifold! And Jack Manifold is not the sort of person to forgive someone like that with a sorry! Imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold! What’s Dream done to Jack Manifold, huh? Barely anything! I imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold, Jack Manifold would ignore him. Do you know why? Because DREAM’s in prison, and I’m not!

“Dream is -- he’s had his comeuppance and I’ve not! My comeuppance was apparently not good enough for these people! They’re just waiting! Waiting for the next thing for me to slip up on them -- Ranboo, I’m not gonna fucking slip up, Ranboo, I’m different. I’m not Dream...god, I wish I was! Sometimes I wish, I wish I’d gotten that comeuppance but Ranboo, I’m not Dream. And I’m not gonna be Dream, and that’s...”

“I’m living in eternal Limbo...again. I’ve been through Limbo. I’m out of Limbo. And socially, I’m still in this Limbo, and man, Ranboo, hearing you say those words that you said to me? Do you remember what you said?”

Ranboo: “Y-yeah, I do?”

Wilbur: “You said...(sniffs) I think people can change, that’s number one. And number two, you said you’re scared that people don’t like you.”

- He tells Ranboo that they’re kindred. They have the same neuroticism, their strongest point. But anxiety is not their downfall. Wilbur’s parents are alive because they were anxious and didn’t let anything take them down

- Ranboo says they’re both thinkers. They may think in different ways, but they think at the same level

Wilbur: “I think you might be a bit braver than me in showing your true colors. I feel like with you, Ranboo, I never have to be guessing your next move. I never have to be guessing your hand, you know? I feel like life dealt us the same cards, and the difference is you build your trust by showing people your cards whilst I keep them close to my chest, and I feel like that might be the big difference.”

- He asks Ranboo what he feels about thievery. He’s going to steal Las Nevadas’ cows to make into burgers

- Ranboo makes some concrete and starts building the van. Wilbur rides off on a horse looking for some sheep

- Wilbur asks Ranboo about Tubbo and Ranboo talks a bit about Snowchester. Wilbur thought Techno was successful at getting rid of all the nations, but Ranboo says it’s not a nation. Wilbur doesn’t know about Kinoko Kingdom either

- Wilbur gets to the spider farm, which has Kanye West in it

- He heads back and they discuss names like Paradise or Wilburger

- Wilbur asks Ranboo’s opinion on Tommy and Ranboo thinks he’s great. Tommy’s gone through a lot, but it’s made him a good person. 

Wilbur notes that he seems to think that everyone’s gone through something. Ranboo says yes, the only bad people are those who are evil without a reason why, but there’s not many people like that

- Wilbur names the first burger “Wilburger Vol. 1″ and puts a watermark on it

- Wilbur wants to ask Ranboo one last make-or-break question

- Chat suggests the “Wilburger Ranvan” and they like it

- They go to Quackity’s restaurant and Wilbur wants Ranboo to smash the windows. Ranboo does

- Wilbur goes inside and places TNT. He hands Ranboo the lighter and tells him to detonate it

- Ranboo does so. Wilbur tells Ranboo to go back to the van. He’s passed the test

Wilbur: “Ranboo, I’m proud of you man. You’ve -- you’ve taken a side.”

- Wilbur goes back and places a sign at the crater:

---

***** Wilbur + Ranboo  Did this together

*****

---

“I love that guy.” (laughs) “I love that guy.”

END OF WEEK RECAP:

7/19 - Nothing much happens.

7/20 - Sapnap and George speak with Mexican Dream

7/21 - Foolish creates Philzavilla and breaks into the prison

7/22 - Nothing much happens.

7/23 - Nothing much happens.

7/24 - MCC, no updates

7/25 - Wilbur and Ranboo make a burger van

---

Upcoming Events:

- Captain Puffy’s Lore Stream

- Wilbur’s 11 planned streams

- Egg Finale Stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s prequel stream

- Ponk’s current-day lore with Sam

- Puffy’s Lore Cast

- Sapnap’s lore

- Dream’s lore video

- Quackity’s casino opening

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[shutupanddance]

Master Post

If you’re looking for my Master List, check out this link:

https://shutupanddance.tumblr.com/masterlist

Okay cool cats and kittens, I’m creating this master post to help you navigate my page and stay updated :) It will be pinned to my blog, and it will have my fandom list, my prompt list, my to-do list, any current events, and a few frequently asked questions. So, looking for information about requesting? Suggestions for requests? Or wondering what I’m currently working on? Don’t know if I’ve received your request? This is the place to look! Just keep on reading <3

Current Events 

None!

Fandoms

Here are the fandoms I write for!!

+ Marvel (MCU)

+ DC (DCU)

+ Sherlock

+ Star Wars (trilogies, Clone Wars, Rebels, Mandalorian)

+ Star Trek (reboots, original series)*

+ Pacific Rim

+ Knives Out

+ Night at the Museum

+ LOTR / The Hobbit

+ Jurassic Park/World

+ The West Wing*

+ NCIS*

*fandoms that you will see the most of on my blog.

Prompt List

(Does not include prompts from any current events) Here are some prompts that you can use for your request, or for your own writing! As a reminder, not all of these prompts are properly credited. Please let me know if you have the original creator’s @!

#1: “I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.”

#2: “Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?”

”It’s a dagger, actually, and no you shouldn’t.”

#3: “Close your eyes and listen. And trust me.”

#4: Rosemary, broken glass, and an old gun.

#5: “Do you remember when I loved you?”

”No.”

”Good, because I never did.”

#6: “He saw the notice in the paper.”

”Why would you let him see the paper?”

”What was I supposed to do, eat it?”

#7: “I didn’t catch your name!”

”I didn’t throw it.”

#8: “I’m not better than you, but at least I’m not you. And right now, that’s worth a whole lot.”

#9: Romantic dinner, but something is wrong.

#10: Forehead kisses during an apocalypse

#11: “This isn’t BBC Sherlock! You can’t just run around administering justice as you see fit!

#12: Trying to get a smoke detector to shut up

#13: Falling out of a closet during Hide N Seek

#14: Revealing a dark secret, but it turns out that they already know

#15: Once upon a midnight dreary

#16: The odds were never in our favor

#17: If I should die, think only this of me

#18: Attack hugs

#19: Afraid of ladybugs

#20: The dumb*ss God couldn’t stop

#21: “There’s a rumor going around that you’re the one to ask if someone needs to acquire rare and dangerous objects.”

”There’s a rumor going around that you’re an undercover cop.”

#22: A parking lot, a coroner, and snails

#23: “You’re the only person I know who calls me that.”

#24: This is not a drill.

#25: It’s the price we pay to feel

#26: A character is cleaning/sweeping the floor when someone walks by with dirty shoes (via @writingprompts365 )

#27: “I’m back from my mission!”

““You failed it.”

““How’d you know?”

They point at the TV.

#28: A character is pushed into some bushes/plants/flowers (via @writingprompts365 )

#29: A character picks up a very shiny rock (same @)

#30: A character combs another character’s hair (same)

#31: A character is forced to have a conversation with someone they don’t like (same)

#32: Laughing hysterically at their own joke

#33: Stuck under the same umbrella

#34: ““Well, this is a nice change of scenery!”

““It’s a jail cell.”

““I was being sarcastic.”

#35: ““Let me just be perfectly clear that this was not my fault.”

#36: ““Can I buy you coffee? For old times sake?”

#37: Fake dating

#38: Huddling for warmth

#39: Being high on painkillers and confessing undying love to everyone

#40: “That’s starting to get annoying.”

#41: “I fell asleep on the bus and woke up here.”

#42: “It’s freaking cold.”

#43: “You’re not exactly known for your great ideas.”

#44: ““Can you keep a secret?”

#45: Character A lives above character B, and always drives B insane with how much stomping they do. One day, A’s foot goes right through the floor, into B’s apartment.

#45: Character A and Character B, sworn enemies, are chosen to prepare the company Christmas Party.

#46: you’re a security guard at an art gallery and you held the door for me so I left you a note in the door where we met I hope you read it

#47: Person A and Person B both trying to break into the same place on the same night by accident, only to be chased by the police upon meeting and having to hide in a closet/cupboard/safe together until they leave.

#48: the first and the last word they said to each other

#49: your kid hates my kid

#50: ‘picking them up’ hugs

#51: an incredibly loud and painful high-five

#52: "Let me fix that for you."

#53: “Can’t we listen to something else? We’ve been listening to this CD for three hours now.”

“You know, I would but the CD slot is broken so it’s either this or talk to each other.”

“I wouldn’t mind talking.”

“[turns up the music louder]”

#54: "My kiss quota for the day hasn't been filled. I need a thousand more."

#55: Person A making fun of Person B's bed head

#56: Squeeze three times for “I love you”

#57: writing a love letter but keeping it to themselves

#58: Messing around in IKEA

#59: “Hey - what’re you hiding behind your back?”

#60: going to a bookshop and selecting books for each other

#61: smiling at each other from across the room

#62: arms wrapping around your waist from behind while you’re on a phone call

#63: “ rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago. “

#64: message in a bottle

#65: becoming the parents of the friend group as soon as they start dating

#66: “I love you.”

“Ouch.”

#67: “We...we did it. We did it! Oh my God, I could kiss you.”

“Well, don’t be shy.”

My To-Do List

Here is everything that I’m currently working on! If you’ve sent a request in, and I see it, it should pop up here!

REQUEST SLOTS: FULL

+ Sherlock / Reader (not requested) undetermined topic

+ Rusty Ryan / Reader (not requested) #4

+ Sam Seaborn / Reader (requested) slow dancing

*anything with an asterisks has already been started.

Tag List

@girloncorneliastreet​ for The West Wing

@wolviesbabes​ for Gibbs / Reader

Frequently Asked Questions

How do I submit a request? When you look at my blog, there is a link titled “Asks/Requests”. Click that, and submit something!

How specific does my request have to be? More detail is always better if you’re looking for something specific, but if you’re not picky, it’s no big deal! Even if you just say “could I have some more Spock content please?” I’ll answer it!

Do you write smut? Nope! Not for me.

Are your requests open? Not at the moment! They will be soon, though.

What do I do if your requests are closed? Send it later, when they’re open again!

Do you have a master list? I do! I also have a tag called #masterlist, which all of my work is under. You can access the master list itself by navigating to the page on my blog, or just clicking the link at the top of this post!

What’s your name? You can call me C :)

Why didn’t you reblog my post about social justice? In order to avoid burnout for myself and my followers, I am doing my best to keep this blog free of anything other than fan content. This does not mean that I disagree or agree with you, it just means that I’m not commenting. I do not need to participate in internet social justice activity when I am already an activist on other platforms, including real life.

What can I send asks or messages about? Anything!! Life updates, random questions, whatever! I love to hear from you <3

That’s all, folks!

[tlbodine]

When the Timeline Split

2016 was a crazy year. 

My perspective on it, like anyone else’s, is colored and clouded by my own experiences, like the personal tragedy of an unexpected job loss. Things had been strange and bad in the world before, of course, an ebb and flow of tragedy. But four years ago, somehow the world shifted cataclysmically, irrevocably, into a dark new timeline. 

I remember early in the election assuming that the race would come between Hilary Clinton and Jeb Bush. I was not thrilled at the prospect. I was researching other candidates, taking the quiz I have relied on for previous elections, and discovered Bernie Sanders -- someone whose ideals aligned almost perfectly with my own, something I’d never seen before in a candidate. I didn’t know that “Democratic Socialist” was an option, but that sure as hell described me. 

And for a brief while, it looked like he might win. 

I remember the Idaho caucus. I remember the, “Holy shit, this could actually happen!” feeling. I indulged myself in imagining a future where all of the things I cared about were addressed -- socialized healthcare, student debt forgiveness and free education, green new deal, tax on the wealthy. 

It was the last time I have felt true and genuine hope. More than four years ago, today, was the last time I thought about the future and imagined it could be good. 

Donald Trump seemed like a joke candidate at first. Good for a laugh. Good for a meme. 

I remember the exact moment that changed for me. I was at the gym, a 6am workout before my commute. The news was on, the television above the treadmill, some morning show where they were talking ad nauseum about whatever new impropriety Trump had done. I thought: Holy shit, the media is going to hand this man the election. They cannot help themselves. He’s like catnip to them. They’re giving him all the free publicity in the world and he’s going to win because of it. 

And, of course, that’s exactly what happened. 

A rash of celebrities died in 2016: Alan Rickman, David Bowie, Gene Wilder, Prince, Ron Glass, Glen Frey -- many others besides. 

It became something of a dark joke. When Glen Frey died, everyone was posting "Hotel California" on social media in tribute. I was irritated (couldn't they have used one of the Eagles songs that Frey actually sang? "Take It Easy"? "Tequila Sunrise"? Come ON!). My best friend and coworker, who shared two hours of commute with me every day, decided that "Hotel California" was simply The Song You Played when a celebrity died. We played it with gentle irony for every celebrity death, even Fidel Castro. 

The celebrity deaths set a strange, grim tone for the year. We joked: They’re leaving before things get any worse. Eventually, we started to believe it. 

Mass shootings were reported seemingly every week, but all of them were dwarfed by then-record-breaking 49 deaths in Pulse Night Club, a hate crime of unfathomable size. 

But perhaps more than anything, 2016 was weird. 

Pepe the Frog, a cartoonish internet meme, became a Nazi dogwhistle. 

Bernie Sanders became an unwitting meme lord, probably with the help of 4chan trolls and Russian hackers. 

People reported sightings of scary clowns all over the country. 

Liberal friends started fighting each other out in the open on social media, and sometimes in person, during the most divisive primary election I’ve ever witnessed. 

The internet filled with conspiracy theories about Russia and Iran and inevitable war. 

“This is Fine Dog” became the rallying symbol of the year for many -- a dog cheerfully ignoring the room on fire around him. 

On May 28, 2016, a silverback gorilla named Harambe was fatally shot in a zoo after a child got into his enclosure. There was a brief ripple of genuine controversy surrounding the zookeeper’s decision. Some misanthropes wondered whether the life of a human was, necessarily, always more valuable than the life of an endangered gorilla. Fueled almost certainly by racism and the ironic edgelord culture of the internet, Harambe became a meme -- Justice for Harambe! Dicks out for Harambe! 

Given the backdrop of Black Lives Matter protests that had already been taking place across the country, and the ongoing murder of black people by police, it seems self-evident that the Harambe meme was a racist dogwhistle. Not everyone who shared it was probably aware of that -- but it had a meanness there at its center, a cruelty, the hint of a dark equivocation between a 17-year-old gorilla and, say, 17-year-old Trayvon Martin. 

In hindsight, for me, I think Harambe’s death was the moment when something in the fabric of our social reality snapped. 

Nothing so fully encapsulates the exact tenor of modern discourse -- irreverent, nihilistic, performative, and absurd. 

Of course the society that joked about a dead gorilla would elect Donald Trump as president. 

Today is May 28, 2020. Four years to the day since Harambe. 

Today is the third day of nationwide riots and looting as black communities protest the death of George Floyd, who was pinned by the neck to the ground for seven minutes by a police officer, while other officers looked on. Floyd’s abuse and death were captured on video, but the police have not been charged with any crime. 

Years of peaceful protest have amounted to nothing, and so things have reached a fever pitch. As we speak, a police precinct in Minneapolis is on fire. 

It is May 28, 2020, and 100,000 Americans have died from a global pandemic.  40 million people are out of work. The country was brought to a halt, shutting down helter-skelter in an attempt to keep people safe, and no long-term plan was enacted during that period for re-opening. People return to work now, putting themselves in danger. 

The president refuses to acknowledge these deaths in any meaningful way. He complains, instead, that this pandemic is unfairly hurting his campaign. He claims that no one has been treated more unfairly. 

Black people make up 13% of the population but represent 25% of deaths from the Covid-19 pandemic. 

Today is May 28, 2020, in the midst of the deadliest pandemic in a century, with nationwide protests and riots, and President Donald Trump signed an executive order to threaten social media, because Twitter put a “fact check” link beneath one of his tweets. 

[moon-light-jukebox]

Stay with me - [Hotch x Reader]

Request prompt: Heyyyyy I was wandering if you still took requests cause I’ve been dying to have this written. I’m thinking something about reader being youngest of the bunch at BAU and after a really intense and scary case everyone is kinda shook and in the jet reader can’t stop sobbing by herself in the back and hotch goes and comforts her and when they get home he goes with her home and holds her in her sleep and then they make love at like 3-4 am. I just need details and a lot of feels. I hope you’ll do it

Summary: After a tragic loss that rocks the entire team, Reader turns to her unit chief for comfort. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / Fem!Reader

Word Count:  5.1k

Genre: Overwhelmingly angst. then some smut and fluff. 

Rating: Mature

Content Warning: Angst, mentions of torture suffered by a victim. Normal Criminal minds stuff. Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Unprotected sex. 

A/n: I hope this is what you had in mind, Anon. This request just jumped out at me. This is set during season 9. 

-- Stay with me --

stay is a sensitive word. we wear who stayed and who left in our skin forever.

- Nayyirah Waheed

-- September 2, 2013 --

Some cases stick with you long after you board the jet home. Some cases crawl inside your skin and hollow you out. Some cases become a part of you.

The team had been called to Broken Arrow, Oklahoma to help catch a serial killer. I had only been a member of the BAU for 4 months, so it wasn’t uncommon for cases to still rattle me. Rossi said that I’d develop a thicker skin over time.

But this case seemed to even rattle him.

Over the past 15 years, on the same day every year, a woman’s body was found in a public place. She had been violently assaulted and tortured. The local M.E. always said the torture took place over the span of at least 10 months.

I felt my stomach roll when I read over the case file. I don’t think there was a form of pain he didn’t inflict on these women.

We had his prints; we had his DNA. None of that mattered, this man was a ghost.

September 1st had been fast approaching, and the local police knew they most likely couldn’t save the woman that had already spent the last several months with him. One deputy said that killing the woman would be a mercy, because “who could ever recover from that.”

We spent a week in Oklahoma; we started at the very beginning. I poured over the lives of 15 women, praying that maybe I could help us find 16 in time, praying I could save 17 before he ever touched her.

-- August 30, 2013 –

“Morgan,” Hotch said, his eyes scanning over the document in front of him. “I want you and y/n to interview Heather Pruitt’s brother.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up. “We’ve already talked to him, Hotch. He has an alibi. Do you think he knows something else?”

The unit chief nodded. “Heather was our first victim. She was important to the unsub.”

“Probably the most important,” Rossi chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Understanding why Heather was so special to him is how we catch him.”

Morgan clicked his tongue against his teeth, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” he trailed off. “Are you sure y/n is up for this?” He turned to me; hands raised. “No offense, it’s just that…”

“I’m young,” I finished for him. Dr. Spencer Reid was the youngest person to ever join the BAU…and I was the second. I was 25 years old. The closest person in age to me was the resident genius, Dr. Reid, who was almost 32. I had earned my spot in the team, but I was no Spencer.

Morgan nodded, not looking abashed in the slightest. “Maybe Blake would be a better choice, Hotch.”

His dark eyes ran over me, considering Morgan’s words. “I’m sending her in because she’s so young. People don’t perceive her as a threat.”

“They never saw me as one,” Spencer said softly.

JJ laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re still not a threat, Spence.”

-- August 31, 2013 –

“Mr. Pruitt,” I said brightly, extending my hand. “Thank you so much for coming to speak with us.”

The older man nodded, meeting my gaze evenly. “Anything to help you catch this son of a bitch.” He turned to the woman beside him. “Rachel, darlin’, why don’t you wait right here? I don’t want you to have to…hear about what happened to my sister.”

The woman, Rachel, was small and pale. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes. “Of course,” she said softly, pressing a kiss against David Pruitt’s mouth.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" I asked her.

“No,” she responded meekly. “I’m fine.”

I looked right into her eyes and smiled warmly at her before I turned away to follow Morgan and Mr. Pruitt into the interview room.

-- September 1, 2013 –

The entire team was standing around the precinct waiting for the call. JJ was gripping her cup of coffee tightly. Reid was staring at a map that was taped on the evidence board. Morgan was looking down at his phone while he talked to Blake. Hotch and Rossi were standing near the Sherriff of Broken Arrow.

We hadn’t stopped him. If he held to pattern, then victim 16 was already gone, and we’d be getting a call about her body soon.

I felt numb. I felt like I had missed something.

The shrill ringing of a phone made all of us tense up, every head in the precinct immediately turning to the receptionist at the front of the room. She spoke for a few moments before she hung up, giving the sheriff a grim nod. “She’s at the park off 6th street, Bruce.”

We all sprang into action, racing out the door to our vehicles. Morgan drove one SUV, Hotch drove the other. We knew we were too late for this girl, but maybe, just maybe, if we got there quick enough and the crime scene was fresh enough, we could find something.

The local police beat us there by a few minutes. Hotch hadn’t even parked before I was opening the door.

I couldn’t explain it then, but I had a feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach. It was a darkness I couldn’t pinpoint, the sort of thing that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

She was on a park bench, her eyes wide and unseeing. “No,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Morgan sighed out before he turned and marched back to his SUV.  

I felt someone’s hands grip my shoulders. “Y/l/n,” Hotch said gently. “I know, but we have to go. He’s revealed himself now. He’s going to try to run.”

And I knew he was right, so I bottled my feelings up as I ran towards the SUVs. We had to find David Pruitt before he left town.

He was our unsub. He killed his sister 16 years ago…and we were certain of that because the 16th victim was his girlfriend.

The same girlfriend that was within our reach yesterday. She was being tortured by this animal…and we had let her go home with him.

-- September 2, 2013 –

The mood on the jet felt heavy. No one was speaking, no one had said much of anything since we found Mary Beth in the park yesterday morning.

Her name wasn’t even Rachel. David Pruitt had to take everything from his victims, including their names. He broke her so badly that not only did she not scream for help in the middle of a police station, she probably couldn’t even remember her own name.

I couldn’t read the entire autopsy report. Rossi and Morgan went to the morgue to speak with the M.E.

Rossi said he was surprised she was even able to stand the day we saw her.

And that was the hardest thing of all. We fucking saw her.

I wasn’t quite sure how the rest of the team managed to keep their emotions so compartmentalized. I saw how this was bothering each of them, but none of them seemed close to breaking.

Not like I was.

I just kept seeing her face over and over again. Her wide eyes, her polite smile. The pictures of her broken body. How different her eyes looked when she was on the park bench. It was all on a loop in my mind.

When we boarded the jet, I sat in the very back, away from the rest of the team. I stared out the window, unseeing. How could I have missed it?

“Y/l/n,” a voice said softly. “Are you okay?”

I hadn’t realized that tears were slipping down my cheeks until I heard Hotch’s voice. I looked up at him. He was my unit chief, the strongest of any of us. If there was anyone I couldn’t afford to break in front of, it was him.

“Yeah,” I said hurriedly, wiping at my eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n.”

I just nodded. Please leave, please leave. If he walked away, maybe I could hold it together a little while longer.

But he didn’t leave. He knelt down beside me in the middle of the aisle. In the months since I joined the BAU, I had made sure to never get too close to SSA Hotchner. There was something about him that fascinated me…and I knew he was a good enough profiler to see it, because I wasn’t skilled enough to hide it.

This was the closest I'd ever physically been to him. I was close enough to notice that his eyes weren’t a flat shade of brown; they were a warm chocolate brown and he had freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Y/n,” he said softly, reaching out to take one of my hands in his larger one. “It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. This is the job; we can’t save them all.”

“But I saw her,” I whispered, feeling the dam break inside of me. “I talked to her.”

Hotch must have realized I was already too far gone to hold myself together anymore. I just kept seeing her eyes, over and over and over.

He stood abruptly, pulling me up with him. He led me into the back area near the restroom. There was a small countertop here, but most importantly, there was a curtain that could be pulled closed, giving us all the privacy anyone could get on this plane.

I stared up at him in bewilderment while he closed the curtain. By the very nature of the area and given how big he was, our bodies were much closer together than I had ever allowed.

“I know you won’t break down in front of everyone else,” he said quietly. “You still feel like you have something to prove. You don’t, but I understand why you feel that way. You’re a part of this team, y/n.”

I dug my teeth into my bottom lip, holding on to the last threads of my composure.

“Now, I can leave you here and you can pull yourself together,” he continued. “Or I can stay with you.”

This was one of the reasons I hadn’t allowed myself to be near him. There was something in Hotch’s eyes when he looked at me that always made me feel so safe. He was always fierce with a scowl on his face; occasionally he’d surprise me with his dry humor.

I hadn’t known his eyes could look so soft and it pulled on something inside me.  

“I was so close I could have touched her,” I whispered. “And he…he…” I broke off as the first sob ripped out of my throat. Mary Beth was 23 years old. She had a younger brother and two loving parents. Her best friend, Anna, wore Mary Beth’s favorite necklace around her neck. None of them had given up hope.

And I had let her go home with him to die.

I had to watch when her parents got the news that we were so close, but he broke her too badly, she never cried out for help.

I closed my eyes to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks, desperately trying to pull myself together.

My heart hurt so badly I barely reacted when Hotch’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him. I just buried my face against his chest while he rubbed my back. I was taking the comfort he offered, even though I didn’t deserve it. I was vaguely aware of him whispering against my hair, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

I failed her.

It took a few minutes for my tears to slow. I was able to bottle my pain back up again and take a few breaths. My arms were trapped between our bodies and when I went to pull them free, Hotch started to release me, no doubt assuming I wanted to end our embrace.

I didn’t.

I took a step forward when he took one back, wrapping my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek against his shirt that I just realized was damp from my tears. “Is this okay?” I whispered.

He had frozen for a moment before his arms tightened around me again. “Of course, sweet girl.”

I was just so content to be in his arms that I didn’t even process the term of endearment. “I got your shirt wet.”

“It’ll dry.”

I hummed against him, still so reluctant to let him go. “You smell nice, Hotch.”

He chuckled quietly. “Thanks. And given our current situation, you can call me Aaron.”

I nodded; my thoughts still somber. “I let her down. I let her go. I could have touched her.”

His hands kept rubbing over my back. “You’ve never let anyone down,” he murmured. “Not even for a single moment.”

--

Aaron didn’t feel like my boss when his arms were wrapped around me. He was just a man who held me for as long as I had needed before finally releasing me, offering me a small smile when I moved int the bathroom to try and fix my face.  

I don’t know what he said to each team member, but none of them paid any attention to me when I walked out. They weren’t ignoring me, they just seemed unaware of what happened, even though I knew they weren’t.

Whatever he had done, I was immensely grateful.

It was just after 10 pm when the jet touched down in Quantico.

“Go home,” Hotch said as we all grabbed our go bags. “The paperwork can wait til tomorrow.”

Rossi clapped our unit chief on the shoulder. “This one was a hard one. I know it’s painful, but we can’t save them all.”

But why couldn’t I just save her? I thought.

When we were walking off the tarmac, Morgan spoke. “Kid, lemme give you a lift home. It’s not far.”

Reid’s brows drew together in confusion. “Yes, it is. You live on the other side of town.”

"Just let me do something nice for you, smartass."

Their banter almost pulled a smile from me, but I couldn’t. Everything still felt so heavy.

“What about you, y/l/n?” JJ asked.

It wasn’t a secret that I took the train like Reid did. I’d only lived in D.C. for the four months I’d been a member of the team. Reid didn’t drive because of car crash statistics; I didn’t drive because I hadn’t gotten around to getting a car.

“The train is still running. Which is probably good,” I muttered to her. “It’ll give me time to think.”

She just nodded, giving my arm a squeeze as we all walked into the bullpen to gather the things we had left before the case.

I stayed in the bullpen longer than everyone else. It’s not that I didn’t love them, I truly did. But I just…I couldn’t be brave right now.

“I know it’s not my place, but I really don’t want you to take the train home.”

My lips pulled into a smile then, even though I couldn’t bring myself to face him. “It’s no big deal, Hotch. I’m a full-grown FBI agent. I’ll be fine taking the train home.”

“You might be,” he conceded. “But I won’t be.”

“What?” I questioned, unable to stop my body from turning towards him.

Hotch stepped closer to me, looking slightly unsure. “I…I’ll be worried.”

His words felt important, and I realized the thought of him worrying bothered me.

He heaved out a great sigh, his eyes looked so tired. “Jack’s already in bed, Jessica is staying with him tonight. Please, let me take you home.”

How could I tell him no?

--

The ride back to my apartment was quiet. Hotch seemed to know where I lived without me having to tell him. He had turned the radio on in his SUV, but the volume was so low it was just background noise.

I watched the raindrops roll down the passenger side window and all I could think about was Mary Beth. I wonder if she liked the rain.

“Don’t do that.”

My entire body froze before I turned to look at the man in the car with me. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “Y/n, you did all you could. This isn’t on you. We were all in that precinct. I offered her my hand when she left the station.” His hands were now gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Aaron,” I whispered, reaching out to put my hand on his forearm.

“If you blame yourself, you’ll have to blame me too.”

Tears started to fill my eyes again. I didn’t know what to say. “I couldn’t blame you.”

I saw his throat work as he swallowed, his eyes fixed on the building in front of us. I hadn’t even realized we had pulled into my apartment complex.  

“Then you know why I can’t let you blame yourself.” He killed the engine and took his seatbelt off.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at me in confusion, like it should be obvious. “I’m walking you to your door.”

Oh. “Why?”

Aaron paused, considering his next words. “Because I can’t leave you yet.”

He was out of the car and opening my door before my brain could even process his words. I slid out beside him, clutching my jacket around myself. It didn’t help, the chill I felt was coming from inside of my body.

Aaron pulled my go-bag from the back seat then shrugged me off when I tried to take it from him.

Despite all the emotions I was feeling, I couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. “Are you secretly a gentleman, Aaron Hotchner?”

He looked sheepish for a moment. My mean ass, always scowling FBI unit chief that intimidated almost everyone on a daily basis looked sheepish because I called him a gentleman.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” he warned, shutting the car door.

I felt a tiny smile tug up the corners of my lips. The first smile I’d felt since…

Just like that, the guilt hit me again. How could I be smiling?

We had just reached my apartment door when a tiny sob ripped out of my throat.  “Aaron…I can’t stop seeing what he did to her. She was in pain. And she-she fought back. She didn’t want to…and I can’t.”

“Oh, sweetheart don’t do that.” He dropped my go bag and wrapped his arms around me, once again offering me the comfort I didn't deserve.

The only time I had felt right in the past few days was when I was in this man’s arms. My question slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to think better of it. “Will you stay with me?” I whispered against his chest.

I felt his body stiffen. Fuck. I pulled away from him, quickly wiping at my face. “I’m sorry, Hotch. You’ve got Jack and you’re my boss. It’s inappropriate. I’m so sorry.”

My hands were shaking when I reached to pick up my go-bag from the floor.

“Y/n, it’s not that I don’t want to,” he explained, his hand grabbing mine right before I touched my bag. “It’s not Jack, he went to be hours ago. But I am your supervisor, and I can’t take advantage of you.”

His words hung in the air, feeling almost as heavy as the pain in my chest. “The only time I feel anything good is when I’m with you, Aaron.”

My eyes were fixed on his bigger hand that engulfed mine, but I felt his eyes on me.

“I don’t think I could leave you now even if I wanted to,” he mumbled.

My keys shook when I unlocked the door and once we were inside my tiny apartment, the gravity of everything finally seemed to hit me.  

"I can leave, y/n," he reminded me as if he could tell what I was thinking.

I licked my lips, looking around the room before I could look at him. “I want you to stay,” I pleaded, trying to summon every ounce of courage I had ever felt. “I know it’s not…I’m sure it breaks a million regulations and protocols. But…can you stay with me tonight? I just…I don’t want to be alone.”

What I was asking him for was so much more complicated than just spending the night at my apartment. I think we both knew that if he stayed something was going to change.

“Are you sure it’s what you want?”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving his.

--

I was sitting up in my bed, picking at the threads of my comforter when Aaron got out of the shower. He’d insisted I shower first while he went to grab his go bag and call Jack’s aunt. I felt the energy around me shift the moment he stepped into the room.  

“Are you okay?”

I bit my lip, unsure of how to answer him. "I don't know." I looked up, my eyes meeting his dark ones. "Can-can you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

For a moment I thought he might say no, but his shoulders dropped, and he jerked his head in a tight nod. “Of course.”

He came around to the right side of my bed, looking torn for a moment before I pulled the covers down, indicating I wanted him to get under. I laid my body down while he adjusted himself on to my bed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not in a suit,” I mused, motioning to his t-shirt with a faded FBI logo and his flannel pajama pants.

He scoffed, pulling the covers up to his abdomen. “It’s a rare occurrence.” He had settled on his back, one of his arms bent behind his head, the other one resting on his abdomen.

“Aaron,” I breathed out. “Can I…will you…I don’t want to-“

“Hey,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “You can ask me anything, y/n.”

“Will you hold me?” I begged, my voice breaking in my effort to suppress my emotions.  

My eyes were shut tight, so I didn’t see the look of agony that washed over Aaron’s face. I only felt his body shift closer to mine before his arms came around me again, bringing me flush against his side.

At that moment, even though I felt terrible about myself, I found some solace in the fact that a man like Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t be holding me like this if I were truly a monster.

His big hand ran up and down my back while my head lay on his chest; I was taking comfort from everything about him, his smell, the feel of him holding me, even the steady beating of his heart under my ear.

I made no move to pull away from him; it was selfish, but I couldn’t let him go.

“Thank you for staying,” I whispered into the darkness. Right before I fell asleep, I think I felt his lips brush against my forehead.

--

Several hours later my eyes snapped open when my body jerked suddenly. The instant my eyes were open the nightmare was gone, I could barely remember any of it, not that I needed to. What else could it have been about?

“Hey,” a voice rasped out. “Are you okay?”

I realized I was still in Aaron’s arms. My head was still on his chest, one of his arms was wrapped around my body.

He had stayed with me.

“Yeah, I think so. Just a nightmare.”

He hummed in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I can.”

Aaron’s arm tightened around me. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

My fingers traced nonsense patterns over his chest, my mind racing. I felt so incredibly young then. I was lost in a sea of guilt and despair, and my only anchor was Aaron Hotchner.

It was easier to ask him in the darkness of my bedroom. “Do you feel this too?” I whispered.

The stillness that overtook his body indicated he knew what I meant. “Y/n…I...”

I lifted my head off of his chest, looking down at his face. “If I’m wrong, it’s okay to tell me.”

I saw those dark brown eyes scan over my face; I saw the indecision behind them. “I’ve felt it for a long time,” he said at last. “But you’re hurting, and I’m your-“

I brought a finger up to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. "Then make me not hurt. Please?" The finger I had on his lips started tracing the shape of them, over his cupid's bow, down to his fuller bottom lip.

With an amount of courage that I didn’t know I had, I pushed myself up, swinging my leg over his body. I leaned over his face bringing my lips so close to his. “Please,” I whispered against his lips. Just be with me. Be here with me, Aaron.”

I felt his self-control crumble a moment before one of his hands gripped my hip while the other slid behind the back of my head. He pulled me down until my lips were against his.

If I had allowed myself to think about kissing Aaron Hotchner before, this wouldn’t have been what I expected. His lips were gentle as the brushed against mine, his tongue wasn’t demanding when it slid against the seam of my mouth, his thumb brushed over my cheek while his tongue slicked against mine.

I was the one that broke our sweet kiss to pull my shirt from my body. Baring myself to him this way was nothing compared to how much of my soul he’d already seen. Those dark brown eyes were filled with heat when they ran over my body, his large hands felt reverent when they brushed over my skin.

He rolled us until I was on my back underneath him. Aaron kissed down the column of my throat, down over my collarbones until he reached my breasts. His mouth felt almost scalding when it covered my nipple. I arched up against him, a strangled moan tore from my throat when his blunt fingers slid into my panties.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against my skin while he trailed wet kisses down my stomach. “Can I?” he asked when he reached the band of my sleep shorts and panties.

If I had had any doubts that I wanted Aaron Hotchner, that question would have gotten rid of them. I was begging him to take me, to make me feel anything other than the pain in my chest…and he still needed to make sure I wanted this.

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband, pulling them down while those almost black eyes ran over every inch of newly exposed skin. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I rasped out.

He reached behind his back to grab the neck of his t-shirt, pulling it off of his body. Before I could blink, he had settled between my thighs, his mouth right above where I ached for him. “I can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

Any response I would have made was broken off by a loud groan when his tongue parted my folds. His tongue circled my clit before moving down to dip inside of me. The moan that vibrated against me when he tasted me was the sexist thing I had ever heard.

I couldn’t feel anything but him.

My fingers threaded through his hair while his mouth worked me over. It didn’t feel like this was the first time we had been together like this. He touched me like he had known me for years.

But I needed more.

“Aaron,” I whimpered, my fingers tugging on his short dark hair. His eyes snapped open, but his mouth didn’t lift from my pussy. “I need to feel you inside me. Please?”

He pressed a final kiss to my pussy before he pulled away, moving up my body. Before he settled against me, he pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs. I felt how hard he was, how much he wanted this, against my pussy while his upper body loomed over me. One of my hands pulled him down to me, crashing his mouth against mine; with the other I reached down to grab his cock, running it up and down my slit.

Aaron moaned into my mouth when I lined him up and he started to press inside of me. He gave a few swallow thrusts, allowing my body to adjust to his size before he slid all the way inside of me.

I had never had sex like this before. Sometimes in the past, it had felt like I was just loaning my body out to someone, taking whatever pleasure I got in return. This felt so different. Aaron moved against me like he needed me, his lips ran over my skin like being allowed to touch me was a gift.

He set a steady rhythm, his hips moving against mine in just the right way. He was kissing my neck, moaning my name against my skin when he brought his thumb down to my clit, massaging me while he moved against me.

“Aaron,” I breathed.

His mouth was against mine again. "I've got you, sweet girl, I've got you."

My nails dug into his back, my body arched against him, and my mouth opened in a silent scream when I flew apart underneath him. His head dropped down against my shoulder as he found his own release inside of me.

Aaron’s big body was settled on top of me, but he didn’t feel crushing, it felt safe.

When we had both started to come down from our orgasms, he rolled us against until I was on top of his body, my head on his chest. He pulled the covers over our bodies and pressed a kiss against the top of my head.

“What happens in the morning?” I whispered out.

His head turned to look at the clock on my bedside table. “It’s technically morning now.”

“You know what I mean.”

I felt him nod. “What do you want to happen?”

I lifted my head up, my eyes meeting his dark coffee-colored ones. "Will you stay with me?"

His hand raised to cradle my face again, pulling me down to press the softest, sweetest kiss against my lips. “For as long as you want.”

--

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[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with Refinery29

Against my better judgement, and at the risk of losing any semblance of journalistic objectivity, I start my conversation with Joshua Jackson by effusively telling him what a dream come true it is to be talking to him. See, like many millennial women who grew up watching the late ‘90s and early 2000s teen drama Dawson’s Creek, Jackson’s Pacey Witter means a lot to me. Pacey is one of the rare fictional teen boys of my youth whose adolescent charisma, romantic appeal, and general boyfriend aptitude hold up all these years later (unlike The O.C’s Seth Cohen or Gossip Girl’s Chuck Bass) and that is due in large part to the wit, vulnerability, and care Jackson brought to the character.

It’s the same intention he’s afforded all of his famous roles — Peter Bishop in Fringe, Cole Lockhart in The Affair, and even as a 14-year-old in his first acting gig as sweet-faced heartthrob Charlie Conway in The Mighty Ducks. Now, Jackson, 43, has matured into a solid supporting actor (with memorable turns in Little Fires Everywhere and When They See Us) and as a leading man who can draw you into a story with just his voice (Jackson’s latest project is narrating the psychological thriller and Canadian Audible original, Oracle, one of the over 12,000 titles available today on Audible.ca’s the Plus Catalogue) or find humanity in the most sinister men (he’s currently playing a sociopath with a god complex in Dr. Death). His magnetic pull is as evident as it was when he was the guy you rooted for in a show named after another guy’s creek. Jackson has never seemed to mind the fact that so many people still bring up Pacey decades later, and that’s part of why as an adult, he’s one of the few childhood crushes I still have on a pedestal. I tell him just a tiny slice of this, and Jackson graciously sits up straighter and promises to bring his A-game to our Zoom exchange. Jackson is in what appears to be an office, flanked by mess, like a true work-from-home Dad. He and his wife, fellow actor Jodie Turner-Smith, welcomed a daughter in the early days of the pandemic in 2020, and he tells me that fatherhood and marriage are the best decisions he has ever made. Jackson and Turner-Smith are a rare Hollywood couple who choose to let us in on their love, but not obnoxiously — just through flirty Instagram comments and cheeky tweets. Their pairing is part of Jackson’s enduring appeal. It’s nice to think that Pacey Witter grew up to be a doting dad and adoring husband, even if his wife’s name is Jodie, not Joey.

Jackson is an animated conversationalist, leaning into the camera to emphasize his points — especially when the topic of diversity comes up. White celebs don’t get asked about racism in Hollywood the way their counterparts of colour do, and when they do, they’re usually hesitant at best, and unequipped at worst, to tackle these conversations. Jackson is neither. He’s open, willing, and eager to discuss systemic inequality in the industry he’s grown up in. It’s the bare minimum a straight white man in Hollywood can do, and Jackson seems to know this. When he ventures briefly into trying to explain to me, a Black woman, the perils of being Black, female, and online, he catches himself and jokes that of course, I don’t need him to tell me the racism that happens in the comment section of his wife’s Instagram. The self-deprecating delivery is one I’m familiar with from watching Jackson onscreen for most of my life, and seeing it in person (virtually) renders me almost unable to form sentences. Jackson’s charm is disarming, but his relaxed Canadian energy is so relatable, I manage to maintain my professionalism long enough to get through our conversation. Refinery29: Your voice has been in my head for a few days because I've been listening to Canadian Audible Original, Oracle. What drew you to this project and especially the medium of audio storytelling?

Joshua Jackson: The book itself is such a page turner. I also love the idea of those old radio plays. It's like a hybrid between the beauty of reading a book on the page where your imagination does all of it. We craft a little bit of the world, but because this is a noir thriller married with this metaphysical world, there's a lot of dark and creepy places that your imagination gets to fill in for yourself.

I'm noticing a trend in some of the roles you've been taking on lately, with this and Dr. Death, these stories are very dark and creepy. But so many people still think of you as Pacey Witter, or as Charlie Conway, the prototypical good guys of our youth. Are you deliberately trying to kill Pacey and Charlie?

JJ: I'm not trying to kill anybody — except on screen [laughs]. It's funny, I didn't really think of these two things as companion pieces, but I won't deny that there may be something subconscious in this anxiety, stress-filled year that we've all just had. That may be what I was trying to work out was some of that stress, because that's the beauty of my job. Instead of therapy, I just get someone to pay me to say somebody else's words. So, yeah, that could be a thing [but] the thought process that went into them both was very different. Even though this is a dark story, [lead character, police psychic] Nate Russo is still the hero. [Dr. Death’s] Christopher Duntsch very much is not at all. I can't pretend to know my own mind well enough to be able to tell you exactly how [these two roles] happened, but it happened.

That might be something that you should work through with an actual therapist. JJ: Exactly. Yeah, maybe real therapy is on the docket for me [laughs].

So I was listening to Oracle and you're doing these various creepy voices — I’m sorry the word “creepy” keeps coming up.

JJ: Are you trying to tell me something? You know what? I wanted to skip straight to the creepy old man phase of my career. So, it sounds like I'm doing a good job.

You're doing amazing, sweetie [laughs]. So, I was thinking you must be really good at bedtime stories with your daughter doing all these voices. Or is she still too young for that?

JJ: No! She's all the way into books. Story time is my favourite part of the day because it gives me the opportunity to have that time with her just one-on-one. Her favorite book right now is a book called Bedtime Bonnet. Every night I bring out three books, and she gets to pick one. The other two shift a little bit, but Bedtime Bonnet is every single night.

I love that. Since you're married to a Black woman, you know a thing or two about bonnets. JJ: ​​Yeah, well I'm getting my bonnet education. And I'm getting my silk sheet education. I'm behind the curve, but I'm figuring it out [laughs].

You said in an interview recently that you are now at the age where the best roles for men are. And I wonder if you can expand on that and whether you think of the fact that the same cannot be said for the majority of women actors in their 40s?

JJ: What's great about the age that I'm at now as a man is that, generally speaking, the characters — even if they're not the central character of this show — are well fleshed out. They're being written from a personal perspective, usually from a writer who has enough lived experience and wants to tell the story of a whole character. Whereas when you're younger — and obviously I was very lucky with some of the characters that I was able to play  – you're the son or the boyfriend, or you're a very two-dimensional character. It's gotten better, but still a lot like you're either the precocious child or you're the brooding one. I will say that while I would agree with you to a certain point for women, I think that this is probably the best era to be a not 25-year-old-woman in certainly the entirety of my career. And it is also the best time to be a Black woman inside of the industry. There's still more opportunity for a 40-year-old white man than there is for a 40-year-old white woman, but it is better now than it has ever been. The roles that women are able to inhabit and occupy and the opportunities that are out there have multiplied. If I started my career in playing two-dimensional roles to get the three-dimensional roles, most women started their career in three-dimensional roles and end up at “wife” or “mom.” And that's just not the case anymore. There's just a lot of broadly diverse stories being told that centre women. So you're right, but in the last five years, six years I would say, there has really been a pretty significant shift.

And I think that shift is happening because who's behind the camera is also changing. JJ: Right? Who holds the purse strings. That's big. Who gets to green light the show to begin with? You have to have a variety of different faces inside of that room. And then, who's behind the camera. What is the actual perspective that we're telling the story from? The male gaze thing is very real. Dr. Death had three female directors. The central character of Dr. Death is an outrageously toxic male figure. Who knows more about toxic male BS than women? Particularly women who are in a predominantly male work environment. So these directors had a very specific take and came at it with a clarity that potentially a man wouldn't see, because we have blind spots about ourselves. We're in a space where there's a recognition that we've told a very narrow band of what's available in stories. There's so many stories to be told and it's okay for us to broaden out from another white cop.

I hope that momentum continues. Okay, I have to tell you something: I’m a little obsessed with your wife, Jodie Turner-Smith. JJ: Me too. As you should be! I love how loudly and publicly you both love on each other. But I need you to set the scene for me. When you are leaving flirty Instagram comments, and she's tweeting thirsty things about you, are you in the same room? Do you know that the other one is tweeting? What's happening?

JJ: We're rarely in the same room [writing] the thirsty comments because that usually just gets said to each other. But, look, if either of us misses a comment, you better believe at night, there's a, "Hey, did you see what I wrote?" One, she's very easy to love out loud and two, she's phenomenal. And I have to say, the love and support that is coming my direction has been a revelation in my life. I've said this often, and it just is the truth: If you ever needed to test whether or not you had chosen the right partner in life, just have a baby at the beginning of a pandemic and then spend a year and a half together. And then you know. And then you absolutely know. I didn't get married until fairly late in the game. I didn't have a baby till very late in the game and they're the two best choices I've ever made in my life.

I'm just going to embarrass you now by reading one of Jodie's thirsty comments to you. She tweeted, “Objectifying my husband on the internet is my kink. I thought you guys knew this by now,” with a gif that said "No shame." JJ: [laughs] That sounds about right.

She's not the only one though. There's this whole thirst for Joshua Jackson corner of the internet. And it feels like there's been a bit of a heartthrob resurgence for you now at your big age. How do you feel about that?

JJ: I hadn't really put too much thought into it, but I am happy that my wife is thirsty for me. What about the rest of us? JJ: That's great for y'all, but it's most important that my wife is thirsty for me. Good answer. You're good at this husband thing. You recently revealed that Jodie proposed to you. Then it became this big story, and people were so surprised by it. How did you feel about the response? JJ: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to give context to this story. So I accidentally threw my wife under the bus because that story was told quickly and it didn't give the full context and holy Jesus, the internet is racist and misogynist. So yes, we were in Nicaragua on a beautiful moonlit night, it could not possibly have been more romantic. And yes, my wife did propose to me and yes, I did say yes, but what I didn't say in that interview was there was a caveat, which is that I'm still old school enough that I said, "This is a yes, but you have to give me the opportunity [to do it too]." She has a biological father and a stepdad, who's the man who raised her. [I said], ‘You have to give me the opportunity to ask both of those men for your hand in marriage.’ And then, ‘I would like the opportunity to re-propose those to you and do it the old fashioned way down on bended knee.’ So, that's actually how the story ended up.

So, there were two proposals. I do feel like that is important context. JJ: Yes, two proposals. And also for anybody who is freaked out by a woman claiming her own space, shut the fuck up. Good God, you cannot believe the things people were leaving my wife on Instagram. She did it. I said ‘yes.’ We're happy. That's it. That's all you need to know. That has been a real education for me as a white man, truly. The way people get in her comments and the ignorance and ugliness that comes her way is truly shocking. And it has been a necessary, but an unpleasant education in just the way people relate to Black bodies in general, but Black female bodies in specific. It is not okay. We have a long way to go. Jodie is such an inspiration because it seems like she handles it in stride. She handles it all with humour and with grace. JJ: She does. And look, I think it's like a golden cage, the concept of the strong Black woman. I would wish for my wife that she would not have to rise above with such amazing strength and grace, above the ugliness that people throw at her on a day to day. I am impressed with her that she does it, but I would wish that that would not be the armour that she has to put on every morning to just navigate being alive. That's a word. That's a word, Joshua Jackson.

The 13-year-old in me needs to ask this. We are in the era of reboots. If they touched Dawson's Creek — which is a masterpiece that should not be touched — but if they did, what would you want it to look like? JJ: I think it should look a lot like it looked the first time. To me, what was great about that story was it was set in a not cool place. It wasn't New York, it wasn't LA, it wasn't London. It wasn't like these were kids who were on the cutting edge of culture, but they were kids just dealing with each other and they were also very smart and capable of expressing themselves. It's something that I loved at that age performing it. And I think that is the reason it has lived on.  We have these very reductive ideas of what you're capable of at 16, 17, 18. And my experience of myself at that point was not as a two-dimensional jock or nerd or pretty girl. You are living potentially an even more full life at that point because everything's just so heightened. [Dawson’s Creek] never talked down to the people that it was portraying. That's one of the things that I loved about it as a book nerd growing up. The vocabulary of Dawson's Creek was always above my level and that was refreshing. To go back to the “diversity” conversation, you can't really make a show with six white leads anymore and that’s a good thing. But I also don't know how I feel about taking a thing, rebooting it, and just throwing Black characters in there. 

JJ: I hear that. And there's certain contexts in which it doesn't work unless you're making it a thing about race, right? If you watch Bridgerton, obviously you're living inside of a fantasy world, and so you're bringing Black characters into this traditionally white space and what would historically be a white space. And now you are able to have a conversation about myth-making and inclusion and who gets to say what and who gets to act how. So that's interesting, but I don’t think you’re just throwing in a Black character if you changed Joey to a Black woman [or] Pacey to a Black man. What you're doing is you're enriching the character. Let's say one of those characters is white and one of those characters is Black. Now, there's a whole rich conversation to be had between these two kids, the political times that we live in, the cultural flow that is going through all of us right now. I think that makes a better story. All these conversations around comic books in particular like, "Well, that's a white character." It's like, Man, shut up. What are you talking about? It is a comic book character! Joey and Pacey don't have to be white. Dawson and Jen don't have to be white. And this is what we were talking about a little bit earlier. We get better the broader our perspective is, both as humans, but also in the entertainment industry. So if you went back to a story like [Dawson’s Creek], what was important in that show was class not race, which I think is true for a lot of small Northeastern towns. They are very white. But if you brought race into that as well, you don't diminish the amount of the stories that you can tell. You enrich the tapestry of that show. So I think that would be a great idea.

Make Pacey Witter a Black man in 2021 is what I just heard from you. JJ: Hashtag ‘Make Pacey Witter A Black Man’. There we go!

[tcm]

The Makers and the Breakers: The Hollywood Studio System By Constance Cherise

From anecdotal tales to darker narratives of downright malevolence, movies about the Hollywood studio system are as prevalent as the subject is understandably intriguing. Films like A STAR IS BORN (‘54), THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL (‘52) and, just for a bit of naughty camp, DAISY CLOVER (‘65), to name a few, all allow a voyeuristic gaze behind an enchanted curtain. The major Hollywood studios controlled all aspects of filmmaking, distribution and the lives and appeal of their stars.

A studio executive’s expertise was to home in on the "It" factor of an actor. Then the build-up of publicity would begin. A well-engineered system of perfectly timed pulleys and cranks, bells and whistles would turn, and it didn't matter whether stories about a star were the truth, embellishment or lies, from the studios perspective stars weren't actual people, they were commodities that were bought, sold, traded and used as pawns to the benefit of the studio system. (A thorough reference on this is Jeanine Basinger’s The Star Machine) But, if anyone had ill feelings about their treatment, only those that were the most daring spoke up. The cliché “You'll never work in this town again” wasn't just a catchphrase, it was wholly and utterly true. Speaking up too loudly about one's gilded cage could end a career faster than Eleanor Powell’s “machine gun” tap dancing. As quickly as the mechanism could build a pretty face to stardom, it could just as easily grind to a halt, meticulously dismantling at record speed.

The true genius of the studio system was its innate and pristine ability to create a persona around the most capable assets that their commodity had to offer. An exceptional dancer with buck teeth? No problem. Send her to the dentist for cosmetic surgery. A heartthrob of a man who was too short? No problem. Elevate his shoes and make sure his counterpart wasn't wearing heels. A knockout beauty who could dance but was too ethnic-looking? Change her hair color from jet black to red, perform electrolysis on her hairline, add luscious waves, put her on a diet and change her name from Margarita Carmen Cansino to Columbia Picture’s own Rita Hayworth.

The system found what was innately undeniable, played up the strengths and buffed, polished or cleverly disguise the flaws, a process still happening in media. But the studio system of the Golden Age was far-reaching. Its governance traveled beyond its inner sanctum into affecting contractors' personal lives. A moral clause was a standard part of an actors’ contract. Both law enforcement and mobsters were part of the studio’s payroll, a necessary tactic thought to keep its stars in line and to protect the industry's overall reputation. If a star found themselves in a compromising position, there was always a hired hand, such as in the case of MGM's Eddie Mannix, to respond, repair and refute, regardless of the cost. Studios further exerted control by means of inclusivity. By creating an insular studio with every conceivable notion at their fingertips, including health facilities and a police force (as was present at MGM), the studio system was privy to inside information by way of design and therefore able to thwart potential problems sooner rather than later.

Opinions amongst stars who were part of the system varied. Some found it confining and artistically stifling (United Artists was created as a direct result of the burgeoning studio system in 1919), while others enjoyed its protective embrace. Fred Astaire was not a particularly handsome man, but his virtuoso skill of dance was undeniable. By the time he made it to Tinseltown, he had already been a star on the stage and his elegant persona was well polished. Almost the same could be said for Gene Kelly, except that Kelly was quite handsome with his all-American chiseled features and athletic body. He too came to Hollywood bearing Broadway accolades. Anything else either star may have required was worth any level of contribution on the part of the studio. But most stars didn't come fully assembled.

Numerous classic musical fans are aware of actor and untrained dancer Debbie Reynolds’ account of bloodied feet while rehearsing “Good Morning'' for the film SINGING IN THE RAIN (‘52), a story she confirmed in a TCM interview with late host Robert Osborne. Reynolds would star in multiple roles where dance was required, and for someone who was not a professional, with training from expert choreographers, she fooled us all. Ava Gardner did not go looking for the fame that found her. She was discovered through a photo in a shop window. The daughter of sharecroppers, Gardner had no experience in acting to speak of, and in fact, had a free-spirited reputation of reluctance. She had to be trained out of her deep southern accent, but her naturally stunning features combined with her charm literally smoldered the camera.

For all the contract players who willingly or unwillingly accepted the exploitation of their assets, there were those few who refused to play by studio rules. One not to cower was Mae West, who solidified her autonomy by demanding and receiving one dollar more than the head of Paramount, Adolph Zuckor, as well as full script approval of her films. MGM’s Luise Rainer, after becoming the first woman to consecutively win two Academy Awards, turned her back on Hollywood due to its iron grip. "I did not like the superficial life that one is naturally forced at times to live,” Rainer stated in a TCM interview. William Haines, one time voted as America's top male star, refused to hide his homosexuality living an open life with his lover, defying the orders of traditional marriage by Louis B. Mayer and as a result was fired from MGM.

That's what the studio system did: take an inarguable asset, create an inflated persona around it, smooth the dents, add a little extra padding where necessary and package it to be received exactly how they envisioned for public consumption...or...destroy it. After all, with over 70% of Americans attending film theaters at least once a week, the public turned the film industry into a multi-million-dollar business during its Golden Age when the average price of a ticket was 25 cents. Studios were readily aware they held the power and used it skillfully to full advantage.

The studio systems tactics could easily be viewed as a calculated sleight of hand, however, it unequivocally delivered, and its final product was polished, pristine and precise. But for those that were plucked from obscurity, was it truly a sleight of hand? One could argue that you can't get blood from a stone, and if that statement is true, the studio’s techniques of engineered transformation couldn't possibly invoke aptitude that didn't already exist somewhere within, however miniscule. Perhaps, instead of the credit studio’s retained for creating stars, its genuine function was to awaken exceptional latent potential that was simply waiting to be discovered.