#“I am not sure who it was from but the little ones were always so excited when it happened.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beloveds-embrace · 3 days ago

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OK IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR A WHILE

so I keep seeing these ads for “pheromone perfume” pop up. the women in who advertise it say that it makes men go crazy, it smells amazing, they can’t get their bfs off of them whenever they put it on (and usually they put it on and then set up the camera and wait for their significant other to walk in the room and react to it)

and every time I see one of those ads, I think of designationless reader.

idk if that’s something they’d ever do, but I feel like it would be interesting for them to dab some of it on their wrists and behind their ears, as well as where their scent glands are and see how the guys react to it 🤭🤭

Anon i love you and I am smooching your brain so hard rn

The idea had been simmering in your mind for weeks, born from the endless pheromone perfume ads that flooded your late-night scrolling. People with bright smiles swore their perfumes were magic, capable of driving their partners wild with desire. But you weren’t like those people. You had no designation, no scent, no pheromones to speak of-

The ads made you feel like an outsider all over again. But they also left you wondering- what if there was a way to bridge that gap, just a little?

That’s how you found yourself at a specialized lab, the kind that catered to people willing to spend a small fortune for something deeply personal. It wasn’t easy. The process was invasive, awkward, and expensive. The technicians had taken a lot of samples of your body- skin oils, sweat, saliva- examining them under microscopes, running them through machines you didn’t understand, distilling your very essence into a single vial of concentrated potential.

When you walked out with the tiny glass bottle, your wallet was lighter, and your chest was tight with nerves.

What if this didn’t work?

What if it did?

Being scentless had always set you apart, a quiet absence in a world built on pheromones and instinct. You didn’t have the alluring pull of an omega’s sweetness or the steady, grounding weight of a beta’s calm. And you certainly didn’t have the commanding presence of an alpha’s dominance.

You were… nothing.

Not that your pack ever made you feel that way. Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz treated you like you hung the moon, their affection constant and overwhelming. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you wondered what it would be like if you could scent them. If you could mark them the way they marked you. If you could pull them closer without relying on their instincts to protect what was theirs.

You’d dabbed the finished product on experimentally: just behind your ears, at the base of your throat, and along the faint line of your collarbone. You added drops to your wrists and even a little over your faulty scent glands, though you weren’t sure why. It had no scent for you, and you were almost worried that they might have scammed you.

But their reactions convinced you otherwise.

The moment he walked into the common area, his steps faltered. His broad shoulders stiffened, and his blue eyes sharpened, narrowing as if sensing something just out of reach. He sniffed once, subtly at first, but then again, deeper, his nostrils flaring, and his hands flexed at his sides.

“Something’s… different.” He muttered, almost to himself, but his voice was low enough to send a shiver through you.

“Something wrong, Cap?” You asked innocently, feigning ignorance as Soap entered behind him.

Soap stopped in his tracks, bright demeanor dimming as his eyes zeroed in on you. His head tilted, his mouth parting slightly as he breathed in deeply. “Lass,” he murmured, soft and careful. “What are you wearin’?”

“Clothes? What else would I be wearing, Soap?” You replied, voice dry just enough to be convincing. You raised an eyebrow, then, and crossed your arms. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Gaz appeared next, his movements slower than usual as he approached. Dark eyes narrowed, his focus razor-sharp as his body tensed. He didn’t speak immediately; instead, he circled you slightly, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know where to start.

Ghost entered last, his imposing frame cutting through the room’s tension like a blade. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate. He simply stopped in front of you, his chest rising and falling steadily as his head dipped slightly, his masked face inches from yours. His gloved hands found your waist, and a low growl rumbled in his chest as he inhaled deeply.

“What?” you asked again, blinking at them with wide eyes, your voice lilting with carefully curated confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Price stepped closer as well, his boots heavy against the floor as he studied you. “You smell… different, love.” He said, voice like the distant rumble of thunder.

“Different how?” you asked, biting back a smile.

Johnny couldn’t hold himself back from you any longer, his hands sliding over your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck. He let out a low hum, his warm breath skimming your skin. “Christ,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your throat, “you smell good. Like somethin’ I can’t quite place.”

Gaz knelt at your side, his hands wrapping around your wrists. He brought one up to his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin. “Sweet,” he murmured softly. “Warm, like you’ve been wrapped in sunlight.”

Ghost growled again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through his chest as his gloved fingers tightened on your waist. He pulled you closer, pressing his masked face against the other side of your neck, and the rumble in his throat sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sell the performance. “I didn’t do anything.”

But the pack wasn’t buying it.

Price’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he tilted your face up. Piercing blue eyes searched yours. “You sure about that, love?” he asked, a low grumble that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

Soap pressed a kiss to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin lightly as his hands slid beneath your shirt. “Disnnae matter,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and something more primal, more hungry. “Whatever it is, it suits you.”

Gaz hummed in agreement, his lips trailing up the inside of your wrist to the sensitive skin of your palm. “Feels like it’s everywhere,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of you, dove.”

Ghost was silent, but his actions spoke louder than words. He lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of the table with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. His hands found your thighs, his grip firm but gentle as he leaned in, his masked face pressing against your stomach. The low growl in his chest deepened, a possessive sound that sent a thrill through you.

They were relentless after that.

John claimed your lips, firm and demanding, his hands cupping the back of your neck as he tilted your head back. Soap followed, his kisses trailing along your jaw and down your throat, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made you shiver.

Gaz and Simon kissed the inside of your thighs, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as theirs hands held you steady and open, all theirs.

“Perfect girl,” Simon groaned against the back of your thighs, thick fingers digging into your skin. “Ours. Whatever you’d done- you don’t need it. You’ll always be ours.”

Hours passed in a haze of touch and heat, their attention unyielding as they marked every inch of you as their own. They murmured about your scent between kisses, their words a mix of worship and devotion. You played your part perfectly, letting soft, breathless sounds escape your lips as you clung to them, your innocence a carefully crafted mask.

By the time they were done with you, your were very sure they had rubbed off all the perfume off your body, and covered you with their own scents.

When they finally pulled back, in the nest, their bodies heavy with satisfaction, Price cupped your cheek with gaze still burning with intensity. “You don’t need anything to make us want you,” he said, low but steady. He stared straight at you, so that you would not have any reasons to doubt his words. “You’re already perfect.”

You smiled, letting the words wash over you, but said nothing. Your secret was safe, for now.

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missarchive · 3 days ago

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american jesus³ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three

summary; The delicate veil of secrecy is torn, unraveling a truth neither were prepared to face.

A fleeting mistake reveals their intertwined worlds, forcing them to confront the forbidden desire that binds them. Love and restraint wage a quiet war, their connection teetering on the edge of discovery, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

cw; angst, spencer yells at the reader, age gap, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, big big feelings = big big argument, lots and lots of yearning, student/teacher relationship (ezra and aria who?) no smut in this part (i know, disappointing), you'll have to wait for part 4 ;)

an; as always, thank you for taking the time to read my work, i hope you all enjoy. please consider leaving feedback in the form of a comment or an ask if you did enjoy, i always love hearing from you <3

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Spencer murmurs, his voice low and steady, almost like he’s thinking out loud. He’s not saying anything groundbreaking, just a simple truth, but you can feel the sincerity in every word.

You’re lying next to him, the warmth of his body pressing gently against yours, the world outside his apartment fading away. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s just you and Spencer, the quiet hum of the city muted by the walls of the apartment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the touch both soothing and reassuring, like a silent promise.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, catching his gaze, and his eyes soften when they meet yours. “Lucky?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, his expression relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place—something that makes your chest tighten in a good way. “I don’t know. You’re... everything. You just get me, you know? You always know when I’m overthinking or when I need a minute, and you’re there without making a big deal out of it.”

You chuckle softly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continues, his hand resting lightly on your hip now, fingers gently tracing along your skin. “You’re so... intuitive. So much more than I ever expected.”

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world he could say that to. It feels real—genuine, even. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, your voice quieter now, the smile still lingering on your lips.

Spencer laughs softly, his fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t know about that,” he says, though the affection in his voice is undeniable. “But I’m definitely glad you’re here. Glad it’s... us.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, settling a little closer to him, resting your head against his chest. It’s easy, this thing between you. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t need to be overanalysed or explained. You both know where you stand, and that’s enough.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really like being with you. More than I can say.”

You close your eyes, letting the simple words wash over you, content in the quiet of the moment. The world outside can wait. Here, with him, everything feels just right.

So as you crossed the campus the next morning, your bag tucked tightly against your side like a fragile secret, you couldn’t help but think of him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of autumn, and the hum of the campus buzzed around you. Laughter echoed from a nearby bench, the scrape of skateboard wheels over concrete punctuating the morning stillness. It was a world in motion, but for you, each step felt heavier, each breath tighter.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your spiralling thoughts. A welcome distraction. You stepped into the shadow of a quiet corner in the quad, your back leaning against the cool brick of a building as you pulled it out. The message preview glowed softly on the screen, taunting you with its simplicity. Just a few words, but enough to make your stomach twist. You hesitated, the pad of your thumb hovering over the notification, before swiping it open.

@ thefourthdoctor; Big day today, right? How's it going so far?

You smiled to yourself. He had a way of grounding you, even when the chaos of life seemed overwhelming. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed back quickly.

@ laceandliterature; Surviving so far. One more class. Supposedly the professor is a genius or something.

@ thefourthdoctor; Genius professors are overrated. Bet you'll end up teaching them something.

You let out a soft laugh, earning a curious glance from the student beside you. You put your phone away as the chatter in the room began to quiet. The door at the front of the classroom opened, and a tall, slightly disheveled man stepped in.

"Good afternoon," he began, his voice smooth and steady, carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmur of the room. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’ll be your professor for this semester."

A cold shiver ran through you, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your brain refused to process them, to connect the dots. It was like a veil had dropped over the classroom, the world outside of him fading into a muffled blur. He was your Spencer—your secret, your late-night confidant, the person who had slowly crept into your thoughts, into your heart.

And now, as you looked up, there he was. Dr. Spencer Reid. The very thought of it made you freeze.

The world around you seemed to tilt, gravity losing its hold, as if the earth had somehow shifted beneath your feet. The air in the room thickened, and your pulse hammered in your ears. You could feel every eye in the room, but all you could focus on was him—on the way his gaze flickered over the crowd, on the moment he paused as if feeling your presence before his eyes locked onto yours.

It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, swift and sharp like a lightning strike, followed by something darker—something that mirrored the panic rising in your chest. His steps faltered, a momentary loss of composure. For an agonizing second, he looked like he might trip over his own feet, his hand reaching instinctively to grip the edge of the podium, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but the words didn’t come.

The room around you blurred, every sound drowned out by the rushing roar of your heart, by the sudden weight of the truth crashing down on you. Dr. Spencer Reid, the man you had been talking to for weeks, the one you had come to trust with pieces of yourself you’d never shared with anyone, was standing in front of you—your professor. The line between you had just dissolved into nothing, and the implications hit you all at once.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with something raw and unsettled—confusion, maybe even disbelief, a look that mirrored the one you felt inside. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were so close to something, to something more, to a feeling you’d been fighting to define, but now… now it all felt tainted. The connection you had with him was something that had blossomed in the quiet, the secrecy, and now it felt so exposed, so fragile, hanging on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

You watched him struggle to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed with tension, but there was something else beneath it—something deep, something that had been there all along, though you hadn’t dared to name it. The reality of the situation hit you with crushing force: the late-night conversations, the casual affection, the way he made you feel seen and heard… It had all been real. But so was this.

He opened his mouth again, but it wasn’t to speak to you—not directly. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together with shaky breath, and in that instant, you knew that everything had changed. He was no longer the man you had been texting, the one who had shared things with you that felt impossible to tell anyone else. No. Now, he was your professor, the person whose authority you were supposed to respect, the person who had the power to affect your future in ways you hadn’t even considered.

You tried to steady your racing thoughts, but the reality of what was happening, what had just happened, pressed down on you. This wasn’t just an awkward surprise. This was a violation of all the boundaries you thought you could keep between your personal life and the rest of the world. You felt your chest tighten as the dread crept in.

You had been so close. So close to something real, something that had started to feel like it could actually be more than just a fleeting connection. But now? Now, you were staring into the abyss of what could only be a mess. His eyes kept flicking to you, but he didn’t speak directly to you again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the class, clearing his throat one more time before continuing, his voice more composed but still carrying an undercurrent of something strained.

"...I’ll be teaching cognitive development this semester," he said, his tone firm but not quite steady. "It’s a challenging course, but I’m confident you’ll all be able to keep up."

His words felt hollow, detached, as though he were going through the motions, but every syllable felt like an echo of everything you could no longer ignore.

You stayed rooted in your seat, a cold heaviness settling over you, your heart racing, your mind reeling. The world had just shifted, and you weren’t sure how to catch your breath.

"Uh," he stammered, his voice betraying a crack of unsteadiness. "As I said, I’m Dr. Reid. I, uh, specialise in behavioural psychology and philosophy. If you need anything, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, which you should have received by email."

He spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out like they might shield him from the reality of the moment. His hands gripped the podium tightly, and though his eyes swept over the room, you could tell he was avoiding looking directly at you. His composure was a fragile thing, threatening to crumble with every second that passed.

Your stomach churned as the implications of this impossible situation sank in. The air in the room felt stifling now, too warm, too heavy. You were hyperaware of him—of the way he stood just a little too rigidly, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his voice had wavered when he said anything.

This was the man who had been your confidant, the one who made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And now, he was standing in front of you, holding a position of authority that made every shared moment, every word exchanged, a dangerous secret.

He risked another fleeting glance in your direction, his expression unreadable. The air between you felt charged, like the space before a storm, filled with things left unsaid and too many emotions packed into too little time.

Your mind raced, a tangled mess of shock, dread, and something heartbreakingly close to longing. How could this possibly work? Could it even work at all?

Spencer turned back to his papers, his shoulders tight as he forced himself to continue. But the damage was done. The moment had shattered the fragile wall between your two worlds, and now you were left to navigate the wreckage.

And now, he was standing here, just feet away, your professor.

You could still feel his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t looking directly your way. You knew he felt it too—the electricity, the undeniable tension.

As the class dragged on, each word Spencer spoke felt like it was coming from miles away. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb anything except the overwhelming weight of the truth. Dr. Spencer Reid. The realization kept replaying in your mind like a broken record, the echo of it rattling your thoughts until everything else faded into white noise. You tried to look at him objectively, tried to see the professor in front of you, but all you saw was the man who had become your secret, your late-night refuge. The man who, just hours ago, you had felt yourself slipping closer to, only to have the ground ripped out from under you.

When the lecture finally ended, the final bell a dull thud in your chest, you stayed in your seat for a beat too long, uncertain. The others filed out, chattering and laughing, their voices lost to you as if you were underwater. You debated, internally torn between confronting him—demanding answers—or simply running the other way and never looking back.

But before you could decide, before you could move, you caught his eye. Just for a second. It was brief, fleeting, but in that shared glance, you saw it—the acknowledgment, the silent recognition that you were both trapped in the same web of confusion and unspoken desire. His gaze held something more: a question, a plea, a silent call for understanding. You weren’t sure which one it was, but you felt it.

Neither of you said a word, but the air between you grew thick with it, with everything you weren’t saying. It hung there, heavy and suffocating, the invisible barrier that now separated you. You wanted to speak, to ask him what this meant, to demand the answers that both of you seemed too afraid to say aloud. But you didn’t. And neither did he.

This was going to complicate everything.

The days after that first class passed in a blur. The initial shock had dulled, but it had left behind an uneasy tension, a strange sort of tightness in the air between you and Spencer. Something had shifted between you both, but neither of you knew how to handle it, how to navigate the mess of emotions and risks.

In lectures, Spencer kept his gaze trained firmly ahead, rarely letting it wander to your corner of the room. When he did glance in your direction, it was quick, as if he feared even that brief moment of connection might undo him. The smooth flow of his lecture, once so natural, now had a stutter to it when you raised your hand, your voice, anything. The usual rhythm was broken, disrupted by the constant awareness of each other. Every word you spoke seemed to have the weight of a thousand unspoken things behind it, like every sentence was a landmine that could blow everything apart.

Outside of class, things were no easier. The messages between you and Spencer, once frequent and filled with ease, had become painfully measured. You had both learned to carefully choose your words, as if a wrong one could expose everything—the feelings you were hiding, the longing you couldn’t keep at bay, the dangers that now clung to every thought and touch. Every interaction felt like it was wrapped in a shroud of what ifs—what if someone found out? What if this all fell apart? What if it was too late?

But despite the careful distance, despite the impossible situation you found yourselves in, you couldn’t stay away. There was something magnetic between you, a pull that neither of you could resist. Each encounter, each brief exchange, only made it worse, only made you want him more.

And yet, you couldn’t have him. Not like this. Not with the risk of everything unraveling in an instant. But every part of you screamed that you couldn’t walk away, that you couldn’t let go of the thing that had begun to feel so real. And every part of him seemed to feel the same way.

There’s something almost sacred in the way he moves, the way he speaks, each word falling from his lips like it’s meant only for you, like you’re the only one who can truly hear it. You can't help but trace every line of his face, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the faint scrunch of his brow when he's lost in thought. His every gesture seems like poetry, something you could study for hours, even days.

You idolise him in a way that feels almost holy, a quiet reverence in the way you let your gaze linger on him, not just as your professor, but as someone untouchable. Every time his eyes sweep the room, you hold your breath, hoping, praying that maybe this time, they’ll land on you—just you. But they never do.

And still, you can’t stop. He’s your obsession, your quiet prayer whispered to the stars. You don’t just listen to him; you drink in every syllable, every inflection of his voice, as if his words are the only truth worth knowing. And in those moments, the world falls away, leaving only you and him—alone, even if you’re not.

It started in whispers, in moments so small they were almost imperceptible. A lingering glance after class that held for just a second too long. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed back a graded paper, the touch fleeting but electric. You told yourself these gestures didn’t matter, that they were coincidences or figments of your imagination. But you knew better. You felt it in your chest, in the way your breath caught each time his eyes met yours and lingered.

Then one evening, as you packed up your notebook and pens after a lecture, his voice stopped you mid-motion.

“Y/N,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the few students still milling about. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You froze, your heart skipping, then nodding as you tried to keep your face neutral. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for onlookers, before he gestured toward the hallway.

The atmosphere in Spencer’s office was tense, a quiet unease pressing down on both of you. The faint hum of the overhead light mixed with the distant sounds of the campus outside, but neither did much to distract from the gravity of the conversation.

Spencer sat behind his desk, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge as he stared at the scattered papers in front of him. His gaze was unfocused, the weight of what he needed to say pulling at his normally composed demeanor. You leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, your posture guarded.

“This isn’t just risky,” he said after a long silence, his voice steady but low. He glanced up at you, his eyes serious. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin both of us.”

You straightened, arms dropping to your sides. “I know the risks, Spencer. But walking away isn’t an option for me, and I don’t think it is for you either.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not. But that means we have to be careful—really careful. We need rules. Boundaries. Something to protect us.”

You stepped closer to his desk, pulling a chair to sit across from him. “Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Let’s figure it out. What’s non-negotiable?”

He hesitated, his fingers lacing together as he thought. “First, no public displays of affection. Not even subtle things. On campus, we have to act like nothing’s going on. No lingering looks, no casual touches—nothing.”

“Agreed,” you said, though the thought of keeping that distance stung. “We can’t give anyone a reason to suspect us.”

“And no communication about us through email or official channels,” he added. “If we need to talk, it has to be in person or through something secure.”

You nodded. “There are private apps we could use, encrypted ones. Only for emergencies, though. No casual texting.”

The practicality of it all settled over you both, the careful parameters of what you could and couldn’t do drawing a stark line around the relationship.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softer now, though no less serious. “If at any point this feels like too much—if it starts to put pressure on your life or your future—you have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in this.”

You met his gaze, holding it firmly. “That goes both ways. If you start to feel like this is putting your career in jeopardy, you need to tell me.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Deal.”

The conversation felt clinical, like drawing up a contract, but it was necessary. The risks weren’t hypothetical—they were real, and you both knew what was at stake.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked after a pause, your voice quieter now.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he looked at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m willing to try. For you.”

His honesty grounded you, cutting through the uncertainty. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said simply.

You found ways to navigate the tightrope of your relationship, though every step felt like it could be the one that sent you both tumbling into ruin.

You started meeting in places where no one would recognise you. A quiet café on the outskirts of town. A secluded bench in the park. The conversations were tentative at first, but the connection between you refused to fade.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows of his apartment, you found yourself curled up on his couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You know this is insane, right,” he muttered, though his arm tightened around you.

“Probably,” you admitted, tilting your head to look up at him. “But doesn’t it feel worth it?”

His gaze lingered on yours, conflicted but warm. “It does,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And that’s what scares me.”

The line between you and Spencer was razor-thin, a fragile, trembling thread neither of you dared to define. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, the dizzying height both thrilling and terrifying. You both knew the fall was inevitable, yet neither of you could step away. Instead, you lingered there, savouring the tension in those fleeting moments before gravity claimed you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the campus in gold and shadow, you found yourself outside his office door. The brass plaque bearing his name gleamed faintly, a stark reminder of the boundaries you were about to cross. Your pulse quickened as you raised a hand and knocked softly, the sound barely louder than your breath.

“Come in,” he called, his voice muffled, distracted.

You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Spencer sat hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across its surface like a chaotic map of his thoughts. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair fell untamed over his forehead, catching the fading light.

When he looked up and saw you, the tired lines of his face softened. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, one that chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, his voice warmer now, but still tinged with a nervous edge. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He stood slowly, his movements hesitant as though torn between his delight at seeing you and the weight of the risks that lingered between you. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he confessed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “But this... it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you replied, your voice steady but gentle.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. “You make it sound so simple.” His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to you, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here—I always am—but... we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But I needed to see you.”

He exhaled, taking a step toward you, the space between you narrowing. “This is dangerous,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the firmness of his words. “For both of us. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, your gaze locking with his. “I understand. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

The honesty of your words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Spencer’s breath hitched, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the remaining distance between you.

His hands came to rest gently on your waist, his touch light but steady, as if testing the limits of how close he could let himself be. “You make it impossible to think straight,” he murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Then don’t think,” you whispered, your hand rising to cup his face. Your thumb brushed against the stubble along his jaw, the touch grounding. “Just let yourself feel, Spencer.”

His resolve faltered, and after a brief, wavering pause, he gave in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you pulled back, your breaths mingled in the space between you, your foreheads resting together. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said softly, challenging him with your eyes. “If you really believe this is a mistake, say it, and I will.”

Spencer’s silence stretched, his gaze searching yours for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then, instead of pushing you away, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, more deliberate.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It didn’t matter that this was risky or complicated. All that mattered was the way his arms felt around you, and the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

But even as you clung to him, the weight of reality loomed just beyond the door. You both knew the balance wouldn’t hold forever. Every stolen moment brought you closer to the edge, but neither of you was ready to let go. Not yet.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of surreal, a delicate haze of stolen moments and whispered confessions that felt like they existed outside of time. For a brief, golden sliver of your lives, the rest of the world melted away. The tension and danger that had once defined your relationship softened, and in its place grew something that felt achingly close to normal—a fleeting illusion of safety in a house of cards.

During the day, Spencer was every bit the professor. His lectures were sharp, his insights unmatched, and his demeanour coolly professional. He kept his distance, his gaze skimming over you with the same neutrality he granted every student. But in the evenings, when the classroom emptied and the cloak of twilight fell over the city, those carefully maintained facades slipped away.

You found solace in the quiet intimacy of those stolen hours, the shared secret between you and Spencer feeling like a delicate, shimmering bubble that shielded you from the outside world—if only for a little while. His apartment, modest and unassuming, became your sanctuary. Under the cover of darkness, you would arrive, greeted by the soft, golden glow of a desk lamp that bathed the room in warmth. The light cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality.

He’d sit at his desk, his slender fingers skimming over pages of handwritten notes or flipping through the well-worn pages of a book. Papers were scattered in controlled chaos before him, but his focus would inevitably drift to you. Meanwhile, you lounged on his worn, olive-green couch, the fabric soft from years of use, a book resting in your hands. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

One evening, the air felt particularly still, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages as you turned them. The tension between you wasn’t heavy—it was something quieter, more tender, like the gentle pull of a tide.

“I’m starting to think you’re only here to distract me,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up from his notes, catching yours across the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and affection.

You looked up from your book, tilting your head with a playful grin. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk softening into something more vulnerable, more honest. “I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. His gaze lingered on you, filled with a kind of unspoken gratitude, as though you were the one thing anchoring him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

The moment stretched between you, delicate and unbroken, like the fragile stillness before a storm. In that space, with only the golden lamplight and the quiet hum of shared presence, the world outside faded away.

Some nights, you’d find yourselves in his small, modest kitchen, an intimate space that seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched utensils and a few carefully chosen cookbooks, their spines cracked from frequent use. The narrow layout forced you close, your movements effortlessly weaving around each other, as though this was a dance you’d been perfecting for years.

You’d stand at the counter, chopping vegetables with a focus that was occasionally interrupted by his amused glances. Meanwhile, he’d hover over the stove, stirring something fragrant and humming softly under his breath. The warm, savoury scent of simmering herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of oil in the pan.

“Reid, you’re a genius, not a chef,” you teased, pausing to nudge him gently with your elbow. The touch was casual, yet the closeness sent a subtle thrill through you.

Without missing a beat, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I think genius qualifies me for multitasking,” he retorted, his tone light and laced with dry humor.

The way he spoke, so earnest yet teasing, made you laugh—an easy, carefree sound that filled the small space. His smile widened at the sound, the fondness in his expression unmistakable. He turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful precision, as though the act of cooking together was as much about the process as the meal itself.

Occasionally, his arm would brush against yours, the fleeting contact as natural as it was electric. He’d reach over you to grab a spice jar, murmuring an absent “Excuse me,” though his hand would linger just a moment too long against yours.

He told you stories about the BAU, his voice animated as he recounted Morgan’s relentless pranks or Garcia’s exuberance. You’d laugh until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your sides aching from the joy of it.

“This feels too good to be true,” you murmured one night, leaning against the counter as you watched him stir a pot of pasta.

“It does,” he replied, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile that made your chest tighten. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy this.”

And you did. You savoured the moments as though they might slip through your fingers at any moment. But beneath the surface, there was always a quiet awareness—a faint, unspoken dread. You both knew this fragile peace couldn’t last forever. The bubble you lived in was too perfect, too delicate, and the outside world was never far away.

The nights were the best, the moments you cherished most. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to slow down, fading into the background as everything else fell away. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make the chaos of the day disappear. He’d trace lazy patterns across your back or along your arms, the soft rhythm of his touch sending a sense of peace through you, grounding you in the present moment. His voice would hum softly, a low murmur that carried the oddest mix of comfort and distraction. He’d recite obscure facts with the same earnestness he applied to everything else, his words a strange lullaby that somehow felt both educational and intimate.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” he said one evening, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled together like the quietest dance. His voice was warm, the amusement in it making your pulse quicken slightly.

You laughed softly, feeling the slight vibration of his chest against your cheek. You buried your face against his skin, closing your eyes for a moment to soak in the sense of peace that only seemed to exist here, with him. “And here I thought you didn’t have one at all,” you teased, a playful smirk pulling at your lips.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, almost reverent touch that stilled your teasing. His expression shifted, becoming something quieter, something that caught you off guard. The warmth of his breath against your skin softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

“I do,” he whispered, the words a soft confession, barely audible but filled with weight. “And it’s yours.”

The words hung in the air, more potent than anything he had said before. The way he said them, so sure, so vulnerable, made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to respond, but the truth was—there was nothing to say. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his touch, said everything you needed to know.

The bubble burst on an otherwise ordinary evening. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Spencer, your shared secret giving you a sense of intimacy that felt almost unbreakable. But the thing about bubbles is that they’re fragile, no matter how much you want them to last.

It started with a message.

Spencer had been quiet all day, his usual goodnight text conspicuously absent the night before. When you finally worked up the courage to check your phone, there it was.

@ thefourthdoctor; We need to talk. Can you come over?

Your heart sank as you read the words. “We need to talk” was never a good sign.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what he might say. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling as you knocked on the door.

He opened it quickly, stepping aside to let you in without a word. His expression was tense, his usually warm eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely steady.

He closed the door, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened,” he said, his tone clipped.

The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. “What do you mean? Did someone—”

“Someone knows,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Or at least, someone suspects.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know who,” he said, pacing the small living room. “But today, a coworker asked me why I’ve been acting distracted. He didn’t say anything outright, but I could tell he’s suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before someone else starts asking questions.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “What did you say to him?”

“I brushed it off,” he said, his voice strained. “But this isn’t just about the team. If the school finds out…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“So, what are you saying?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m saying we need to stop this. Whatever this is, it’s not worth the risk.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not worth the risk?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that all this is to you? A risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

“Then what did you mean, Spencer?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re saying I’m not worth it.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

“Unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought—” Your voice broke, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You mean something to me. But this—us—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And if we keep going, we’re both going to get hurt.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?” you asked, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re walking away because it’s easier than fighting for me?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

“Protect me from what?” you shot back. “From caring about you? From wanting to be with you?”

“From yourself!” he yelled, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “You don’t think things through! You’re impulsive and immature, and you don’t understand the consequences of your actions!”

The room went still, his words hanging heavy between you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his words crushed you. “Is that what you really think of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His face softened for a split second, regret flashing in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe we should’ve never started this,” he said quietly, the words like a final blow.

You felt something inside you shatter. Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your movements mechanical as you grabbed your coat.

"I'll write you a check, Spencer," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You can have every cent back, every single dollar you ever gave me. I don’t want it anymore—I don’t want any of it. Not the money, not the memories, not you.”

“Wait,” he called, his voice desperate now. But you didn’t stop.

As the door closed behind you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you walked away.

This time, you didn’t look back.

Spencer stood frozen in the middle of his living room, staring at the door you had just slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

He felt hollow, like the argument had carved out a piece of him and taken it with you when you left. His chest ached, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides, still trembling from the heat of the fight.

Anger flickered in him—not at you, but at himself. The words he’d thrown at you echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter. Impulsive. Immature. Reckless. He had said them to push you away, to make you understand the gravity of the situation. But now they tasted like poison, regret seeping into every corner of his mind.

What have I done?

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His mind replayed the look on your face when he had yelled at you—the way your eyes had glistened with unshed tears, the tremble in your voice when you asked if that was what he really thought of you.

He didn’t mean it. Not any of it.

The truth was, you weren’t reckless. You weren’t immature. You were brave in a way he couldn’t comprehend, willing to take risks for what you wanted, for what you believed in. And Spencer admired you for it, even if he couldn’t admit it aloud.

But admiration wasn’t enough to protect you.

That was what haunted him the most. He had been terrified—not of you, but of what your relationship meant, of the potential fallout, the consequences that could ruin both your lives. He thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But now, sitting alone in the empty apartment, all he felt was loss.

Spencer’s throat tightened as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, to apologize, to take it all back. But the rational part of him held him back. You were right to leave, he thought bitterly. I’m no good for you.

Still, the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh or feeling the warmth of your touch, was unbearable.

The apartment felt colder, emptier, without you in it. Spencer closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had said and everything he hadn’t.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.

You got me red, white, and blue

Pledging my allegiance to you

Tell me you believe in me too

#missarchive #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #bau x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds

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crapeaucrapeau · 5 hours ago

Text

Oh gosh, I love this so much, because it’s a handy, albeit slightly awkward, way for the writers to drop lore on the different species and especially what would be considered the standard thinking and expectations from species to species. It’s particularly interesting that Garrus blabs so much run-of-the-mill turian prejudice while at the same time the entire point of his character, even back then in ME1, is that he isn’t and is in fact unable of being your average/normal/expected turian.

More thoughts, and bonus quotes under the cut.

Bonus quotes (Source ; Transcription differs sometimes from subtitles in video because frequently the game subtitles don’t exactly match the voice-over). I’m keeping the numbering from @servantofclio so it could be interesting to collate our posts together, but only if they are okay with it :

Kaidan & Ashley

Ashley : The Council isn’t going to ask me any questions, are they ?

Kaidan : I doubt it. We’ve made our reports. Now we just have to trust Ambassador Udina.

Ashley : No we don’t, sir.

(In context, probably before the first meeting with the Council. Hence, “0.” ! No idea why Ashley is immediately dismissive of Udina - family prejudice against politicians ?)

Ashley : Am I imagining things, LT, or are your abilities getting stronger ?

Kaidan : I’ve always held back a little when I used my powers on living targets. Fear of hurting someone I guess. But after what I saw on Eden Prime, I’m not holding back anymore. Not against the geth, not against anyone.

I’m pretty sure that’s the in-game explanation as to why Kaidan, someone who completed his biotic training long ago and therefore should have a stable power level, is levelling up throughout ME1.

Kaidan : Hearing about the Protheans makes me wonder if some distant civilization is going to find our artifacts someday and study us.

Ashley : No, sir. When some distant civilization finds our artifacts, we’ll be right there to explain what they are.

Kaidan : I hope so, Williams, but I’ll bet the Protheans thought the same thing.

Kaidan : So, Williams, are you happy you signed on with Commander Shepard ?

Ashley : I’m not sure, Lieutenant. Every time I think I have a handle on things, the universe banks hard to port.

Kaidan : Well, don’t let anybody know. A big gun and a confident attitude will get you through a lot in life.

Ashley : It’s strange. The geth are attacking, and everyone around here is still worried about ordinary business.

Kaidan : It’s politics, Williams. The Council won’t raise the alarm until they’re certain about the threat.

Ashley : The threat ? Did they not see the vids of Eden Prime ? See, this is why I hate politics.

I really like how Kaidan & Ashley are arguably moderate/realistic examples of Paragon and Renegade as something more human and humane than just a rehash of Light Side/Dark Side - Kaidan focusing on the bigger picture and showing a greater awareness of the ways the galaxy works (#0, #1) but being a little naively trusting with the people in power (#0, #7) and overall taking a long view even existentially (#5) - Ashley more than a little cynical but enough to be realistic (#0), outraged by the difference between the way things are and they way they ought to be (#7) and overall unwilling to consider the possibility of things she wouldn’t like to be true (#5).

Kaidan & Ashley get the most exchanges together (8) out of all ME1 companions !

Kaidan & Tali

Tali : Is it true humans stopped using the biotic implants you were fitted with, Lieutenant ?

Kaidan : My headaches can be pretty bad, and I’m one of the lucky L2 implants. The L3′s are safer.

Tali : That makes sense. What use is harnessing that power if it causes more harm than good to your people ?

In contrast to the krogan and turian perspectives, Tali is the only non-human companion who approves the Alliance’s choice of discontinuing the L3′s (Liara has a completely different exchange with Kaidan).

Tali : Biotics are rare among quarians. I don’t believe I’ve seen anyone except the asari with your strength, Lieutenant.

Casual confirmation that quarian biotics do exist, btw.

Kaidan : Hearing about the Protheans makes me wonder if some distant civilization is going to find our artifacts someday and study us.

Tali : The worlds we abandoned when the geth revolted serve as just such an example. It is a reminder of our mortality.

Kaidan : I’m not afraid to die. I guess I just want to be remembered by more than a few trinkets in a ruin somewhere.

Ashley & Tali

Ashley : I’ve heard some humans are angry at the quarians after the attack on Eden Prime. After all, you created the geth.

Tali : The geth killed billions and forced us from our homeworld. Most quarians believe we have paid properly for our mistake.

Ashley : Hopefully having you with us fighting Saren will change people’s minds.

That’s verbatim the same exchange as Kaidan & Tali #1. Overall, there are more than a few exchanges where Kaidan and Ashley have the same dialogue and are interchangeable ; surprisingly, you also have instances where Liara & Tali have identical dialogue (see below).

Ashley : Hey Tali, I heard a rumor that under those environmental suits, you quarians are partially synthetic.

Tali : No. Living in the clean environment of the flotilla has weakened our immune systems. The environmental suits protect against diseases.

Ashley : It still makes you look a little like a geth, though. I’m just saying.

The conversations between Tali and Ashley are… awkward, and more than a little racist in #6, with Ashley showing she doesn’t understand how prejudice work in #3 (People are prejudiced against quarians because you don’t stay anywhere long enough for them to know you. => If you stayed put long enough people would like you, they wouldn’t be prejudiced against you.). Ashley’s prejudice, however, is informed by her blatant lack of experience and her obliviousness, and like @servantofclio notes there is genuine concern for Tali’s well-being in #3. Compare the same conversation with Garrus in Ashley’s stead (Garrus & Tali #6) and it’s quite different.

Kaidan & Garrus

Kaidan : Hearing about the Protheans makes me wonder if some distant civilization is going to find our artifacts someday and study us.

Garrus : All empires fall, Lieutenant. We can only hope that what we leave behind inspires respect and admiration.

!!! That’s interesting ! Because at this point of the OT, Garrus appears to be very much a “vanilla” turian in terms of opinions (reflecting his relative inexperience) if not in term of attitude and behavior. So : is this the opinion prevalent in the Turian Hierarchy ? Yes ? Probably ?

What’s interesting is that this is very much an echo of the turian attitude towards individual turians themselves : everyone is expected to be a hero and ready to sacrifice everything if need be - to die for the cause. In a sense, the turian attitude toward their own society would be the same : all polities are doomed to die, all empires fall - but their actions and works will outlast them, and their worth will be measured by what they’ve done.

(It’s also not a sentiment I’d imagine from other species, with perhaps the exception of the asari, though I’m not convinced. Among people IRL, the very idea that one day your society will disappear and that, should your species endure, they will believe in things and do things and experience life in ways completely alien to what you believe essential, is not something I’ve ever heard.)

Garrus & Ashley

Ashley : Saren was one of the most respected turians in the galaxy, Garrus. Are you going to be okay going up against him ?

Garrus : Saren is either a traitor or a madman. Taking him down will restore the good name of turians everywhere.

Ashley : Just keep saying that. Especially to humans. We’ve got a lot of angry people right now.

Garrus : I’d love to see what the Normandy can do in a fight.

Ashley : The Normandy isn’t built for a stand-up fight. I’d rather rely on the IES than the shields.

Garrus : But the stealth drive adds a new tactical level to space combat as we know it. Surprise attacks, undetected flanking maneuvers…

Ashley : I don’t know, Garrus. I’d rather not be the first one up the ladder in terms of figuring out new tactics.

Both exchanges are identical when Kaidan reacts instead to Garrus’s prompt (Kaidan & Garrus #4 and #5, respectively).

Garrus & Tali

Garrus : I’d love to see what the Normandy can do in a fight.

Tali : How so ? The Normandy is built for stealth, not combat.

Garrus : But the stealth drive adds a new tactical level to space combat as we know it. Surprise attacks, undetected flanking maneuvers…

Tali : If it comes to a fight, I’d prefer a flotilla ship. It’s easier to trust what you’ve worked on yourself.

Garrus : You seem to be attracting unwanted attention, Tali. Several passersby were staring at you.

Tali : Many think less of quarians for traveling in the flotilla, and for creating the geth. They see us as scavengers, little better than thieves.

Garrus : It is natural for people to dislike rootless wanderers. If quarians would just settle another homeworld, you would not run into such concerns.

I had completely forgotten how insulting and racist Garrus is in ME1 toward Tali. Ashley gets so much heat, but this is indisputably worse. #1 is saying the quarians should still feel ashamed over the geth, and #6 here lacks the concern Ashley had in her own exchange and argues that the quarians are to blame for the racism they face since they obviously do not want (“just”) to settle a new planet.

Note : #6 only makes sense if this comes up before Garrus & Tali #2 - in which case #2 shows the first step in the evolution of their relationship.

Kaidan & Wrex

Wrex : Your biotics are coming along nicely. In the last fight, it looked like you even surprised yourself.

Kaidan : Hearing about the Protheans makes me wonder if some distant civilization is going to find our artifacts someday and study us.

Wrex : Feeling mortal, Alenko ?

Kaidan : I’m not afraid to die. I guess I just want to be remembered by more than a few trinkets in a ruin somewhere.

Ashley & Wrex

I have to say that I’m all for the interpretation that Wrex might be casually flirting with Ashley when he says that fighting with women gives the fight a different… flavour~

Ashley : I haven’t spent much time with any krogan before you, Wrex. I have to say, you’re not what I expected.

Wrex : Right. Because you humans have a wide range of cultures and attitudes, but krogan all think and act exactly alike.

Ashley : Look, I didn’t mean… Just forget I said anything.

Wrex : Done.

Identical exchange with Kaidan instead of Ashley (Kaidan & Wrex #1).

Ashley : It’s strange. The geth are attacking, and everyone around here is still worried about ordinary business.

Wrex : Let them stay ignorant. If our mission reaches the point where these people need to worry about the geth, we’ve already lost.

Wrex : So tell me, who’d win in a fight between you and Shepard ?

Ashley : What ? Commander Shepard is my superior officer. I can’t imagine us ever having to fight.

Wrex : You can’t ? That’s why Shepard’s your superior officer. And that’s why Shepard would win.

Identical exchange with Kaidan instead of Ashley (Kaidan & Wrex #2).

Wrex & Tali

I found no additional dialogue !

Garrus & Wrex

Wrex : So tell me, who’d win in a fight between you and Shepard ?

Garrus : That question smacks of impertinence. Commander Shepard is a Spectre with a distinguished service record.

Wrex : So was Saren. Think about it.

Here is a prime example of “Stick up his arse” Garrus of ME1. As with so many things Garrus says during those elevator conversations, you get the feeling you’re getting the vanilla Hierarchy response.

Garrus : I’d love to see what the Normandy can do in a fight.

Wrex : Only an idiot hopes for combat while flying in a stealth ship.

Garrus : But the stealth drive adds a new tactical level to space combat as we know it. Surprise attacks, undetected flanking maneuvers…

Wrex : This isn’t a strategy simulation. If those new tactics don’t work, we’re salvage.

Wrex : So how about it, Garrus ? Is this better than C-Sec ?

Garrus : Fighting a rogue Spectre with countless lives at stake and no regulations to get in the way ? I’d say that beats C-Sec.

Wrex : There may just be hope for you yet, turian.

Just about the only exchange where Wrex is not insulting (usually with good reason) toward Garrus. Obviously, it’s over the most Garrus-like and the least Hierarchy-approved opinion yet. #4 above is not a compliment, but it’s more caring perhaps, more gentle than expected given other replies.

Kaidan & Liara

Liara : Is it true that your biotic implants cause headaches, Lieutenant ? I know some meditation exercises that might help.

Kaidan : Thanks, Liara. I’d appreciate that. Makes me wonder what it would have been like to have asari tutors instead of turians.

Liara : Given the attitude most young human males display toward my people, it seems turians were the best choice.

It’s a 100% unique variation on the standard Kaidan exchange over the L2′s. Unlike other companions, Liara immediately offers some help which Kaidan welcomes to the point he gives her a compliment… only for Liara to have this very awkward reaction. Is it a way to not sully the good name of turians ??

But we do get the explicit affirmation that asari are wary of “most young human males”, which actually grounds an observation which is accurate at least for ME3 : most background couples you see with an asari and a human are overwhelmingly with a human woman.

Kaidan : So, Liara, you’ve spent fifty years studying Prothean ruins and artifacts?

Liara : Our travels now are somewhat different from my normal excavations. I would prefer lengthier studies… and fewer explosions.

Kaidan : I think you’ve spoken for scientists everywhere, Liara.

OK, @dr-jekyl I found my source for saying that Liara started university around age 50 ! Huzzah ! (Note : Wrex, in his own conversation variant, calls it “your entire adult life” but that doesn’t mean he would necessarily know better.)

Liara & Ashley

Ashley : So, Doctor T’Soni, are all asari biotics ? I heard Lieutenant Alenko say something about you not needing implants.

Liara : While the asari have natural biotics abilities, not all have the desire to learn to use their abilities effectively.

Ashley : Wow - to have so many potential biotics that people can choose not to train… I imagine the lieutenant would be jealous.

Liara : All this violence sometimes catches me by surprise. I imagine that your military training prepared you for it, Chief Williams.

Ashley : Uh, trying to take down a rogue Spectre and his army of synthetics ? No, they didn’t cover this in Basic.

Liara : Is it common for human women to be front-rank fighters, Chief Williams? I know that salarian women do not serve in the military.

Ashley : It’s becoming more common, but it took a long time to prove that “ladies” could handle an assault rifle or a shotgun.

Liara : Such enforced roles are common in dual-sexed societies. I was fortunate not to have to deal with that particular burden.

More ME1 sweetness of “Liara and asari aren’t women”, and also the suggestion that at least one more society beyond humans and salarians has a form of patriarchy/matriarchy.

It’s unclear whether Liara’s assertion about salarian women means that they are legally barred from enlisting or if they are traditionally and socially discouraged from doing so. Given that the very universalist phrasing seems to belie the possibility of outliers, I’d argue the former is likelier.

Ashley : It’s strange. The geth are attacking, and everyone around here is still worried about ordinary business.

Liara : I find it comforting. The pain and joy of ordinary life… that is what we are fighting to protect.

Tali & Liara

Liara : I could not help but notice that you are attracting some unfriendly stares, Tali.

Tali : Many think less of quarians for traveling in the flotilla, and for creating the geth. They see us as scavengers, little better than thieves.

Liara : That is an ignorant opinion. Quarian explorers have uncovered more mass relays than any other race !

Tali : I'm glad that some still remember the contributions my people have made.

THIS IS PROBABLY MY FAVORITE EXCHANGE ON THE WHOLE DAMN CITADEL.

OKAY. Okay. We get a ton of information ; most noteworthy of all, we get an actual tidbit of information about pre-geth quarian history, which is basically unheard of, and we get information about the history of the galaxy overall, and Liara is indignant and being a very good friend !

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Liara : I am curious about the helmet you always wear, Tali. Does it contain technical augmentation systems ?

Tali : No. Living in the clean environment of the flotilla has weakened our immune systems. The environmental suits protect against diseases.

Liara : I suppose that makes it more likely you will return from your Pilgrimage, then. You are only truly safe on your flotilla.

The above is very interesting, as Liara is being empathetic in a very intellectual way (a very Liara way) with Tali, but nonetheless going beyond

The exchanges between Tali and Liara are unique among exchanges with Tali in that they are 100% free of tension or hostility or awkwardness (barely an inch behind is Kaidan, who has the disadvantage of knowing less than Liara about quarians, when #5 shows that Liara knows more about quarians, or at least quarian history, than the average galactic denizen). Surprisingly, given that they have very little interaction altogether over the course of the OT, Liara numbers among the most empathetic companions with Tali, alongside Kaidan and Wrex.

It’s worth keeping in mind, I think, that during ME1, Tali and Liara are the only companions who are civilians.

Liara & Garrus

Garrus : You must welcome civilization after spending such a long time in the Prothean ruins.

Liara : No. Cities and stations were always my mother’s area of comfort. I actually enjoy the solitude of dig sites.

Garrus : After seeing so many asari come through the Citadel, I assumed your people preferred large cities. I apologize.

Garrus : With all this exploration of Prothean culture, this must be like a survey for you, Liara.

Liara : Our travels now are somewhat different from my normal excavations. I would prefer lengthier studies… and fewer explosions.

Garrus : The loss of all this Prothean technology is just one more thing Saren will have to pay for.

6. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2a5aVDRWEU)

Liara : Now that you’ve experienced a Spectre’s life firsthand, Garrus, do you regret leaving your security position ?

Garrus : Fighting a rogue Spectre with countless lives at stake and no regulations to get in the way ? I’d say that beats C-Sec.

Liara : I am unsure how the imminent destruction of all organic life “beats” anything, but your enthusiasm is comforting nonetheless.

I entirely concur with @servantofclio‘s judgement in their own post : Garrus is uniquely respectful, even deferential, toward Liara (and apologizing unprompted both in #2 and #4). Here I’m pretty sure it’s standard Citadel privilege and racism (and Garrus’s relative inexperience, and probably Hierarchy standards of politeness), because Garrus in those exchanges is polite with a companion proportionately to the “standing” of that companion’s species : respectful (hell, even eager to please in #2) with the asari ; relaxed with the humans (albeit occasionally patronizing) ; insulting and dismissive with the quarians and the krogan.

Liara & Wrex

Liara : You are unlike the other krogan I have met, Wrex. You do not share the bloodlust of your people.

Wrex : When you’re young, you go looking for every fight you can. You get older, you realize that the best fights find you.

That exchange is about 85% identical to the one Wrex has with Tali on the same subject (“You are not like other krogan.”), and more importantly, Wrex’s response is not bitterly mocking and insulted as the (same) response he gives to the same observation from Kaidan or Ashley (and he absolutely destroys Garrus). Why ? I think that the answer isn’t the same for Liara and Tali : in Tali’s exchange (Wrex & Tali #3), Tali, like Ashley and Kaidan, admits that she has never met krogan before, but unlike them she is self-aware enough to understand that what she thought was true was a stereotype, hence why the first thing she tells Wrex is a preemptive apology (“forgive the impertinence”). Liara meanwhile has met other krogan, making her observation a factual one.

I think those are pretty good examples of Wrex’s nuances, and especially how he values those who keep a sense of perspective and don’t let themselves get blinded by their own prejudices (see Wrex & Tali #1, but also how readily he moves on from Kaidan/Ashley offending him once they acknowledge they were wrong).

Wrex : So tell me, who’d win in a fight between you and Shepard ?

Liara : Do krogan size up everyone for a fight, even friends and allies ?

Wrex : Yes.

Exchange identical to Wrex & Tali #4.

Wrex : Your biotics are pretty powerful. Are all asari that strong ?

Liara : While the asari have natural biotics abilities, not all have the desire to learn to use their abilities effectively.

Wrex : All that power, and some asari don’t use it ? You could’ve conquered the galaxy if you wanted to.

Liara : Evidently, we do not want to.

Uniquely, this variation of the exchange with Liara over asari biotics prompts a reply from Liara after the other companion’s reaction (here, Wrex’s). It’s something fandom tends to forget and not focus about gee, why but the asari are the single most powerful society of the OT, and they’re all the more impressive for not wanting what the humans, turians, krogan and probably salarians would immediately do in their position.

Wrex : Being in the city must feel good after digging through rocks at that Prothean ruin.

Liara : No. Cities and stations were always my mother’s area of comfort. I actually enjoy the solitude of dig sites.

Wrex : I’m surprised. I’ve never met an asari who didn’t prefer clean clothes and a hot bath.

New Aleena lore drop, I guess ? Possibly new Aria lore. Your mileage may vary.

Also, this certainly counts as a lore drop on the way asari like to clean themselves (hot baths !).

Indexing

Basically, the elevator dialogues follow a format where each companion has a set of specific reactions conveying one central piece of information, either prompted by the other companion or to which the other companion reacts. Sometimes depending on companions, you can have a little extra reaction. Each of the six ME1 companion has their own three sets of possible interactions with the other five companions*, for a total of six** possible interactions for each pair of characters.

* : Mostly.

** : There are exceptions.

The exceptions are Kaidan & Ashley #0 and #1, which appear to be obligate interactions before and after the first interview with the Council. Kaidan & Ashley #2 has no equivalent but is probably tangentially related at least to what I call Ashley-C.

Garrus & Ashley #5 and Kaidan & Ashley #2 are both unique and do not fit either into the indexing scheme outlined above and detailed below ; while the former is clearly dictated by the situation in ME1 (Garrus has already been recruited, but Saren hasn’t been exposed yet), the latter could presumably be spoken at any time. This suggests that there might be more bits out there

I’ll assign those core, unchanging bits of dialogue letter tags (A, B, C) at random, mostly to keep track of who’s speaking what.

KAIDAN

Kaidan-A : Kaidan and his L2 implants (headaches) => Kaidan & Ashley #3, Kaidan & Tali #4, Kaidan & Garrus #2, Kaidan & Wrex #4, Kaidan & Liara #5. Interestingly, there is a unique variation with Liara, but the interaction with Ashley is so distinct from the others the only thing it has in common with it is the topic and the word “headaches”. Probably because Ashley, as a human, can’t possibly be discovering what L2 implants are.

Kaidan-B : Kaidan’s biotics are getting stronger (no longer holding back) => Kaidan & Ashley #4, Kaidan & Tali #5, Kaidan & Garrus #3, Kaidan & Wrex #5, Kaidan & Liara #2. A very bland exchange, with every companion basically saying the same thing and Kaidan literally replying the same thing.

Kaidan-C : The Protheans make Kaidan wonder whether humanity will end up disappearing as well (what will I leave behind) => Kaidan & Ashley #5, Kaidan & Tali #6, Kaidan & Garrus #6, Kaidan & Wrex #6, Kaidan & Liara #1. That interaction with Ashley prompts a unique response from Kaidan. Meanwhile, Garrus’s reply prompts no answer from Kaidan, uniquely - maybe because what Garrus says is already very much in line with what Kaidan is thinking.

ASHLEY

Ashley-A : Ashley doesn’t understand why no one seems worried by the geth. => Kaidan & Ashley #7, Ashley & Tali #2, Garrus & Ashley #2, Ashley & Wrex #5, Liara & Ashley #6. Uniquely, Kaidan’s reply is the only one that prompts a response from Ashley.

Ashley-B : Ashley doesn’t think her training prepared her for the ME1 situation => Kaidan & Ashley #6, Ashley & Tali #4, Garrus & Ashley #3, Ashley & Wrex #2, Liara & Ashley #4. As with Kaidan-B, a somewhat bland exchange - with one major exception : Kaidan & Ashley #6 has uniquely phrased dialogue and while Ashley’s answer is substantially the same, she appears far more vulnerable there. However, I’d argue that what’s interesting is what each of the other five companions reveals about their own perspective and what they value, usually in a pretty succinct but meaningful way : Kaidan is basically “Fake It And You Will Make It” ; Garrus is basically curious about how military training might differ between humans and turians ; Tali is not used at all to fighting and assumes a career soldier like Ashley must be more at ease ; Wrex is dryly joking around ; and Liara, the other civilian aboard Normandy, echoes Tali’s perspective.

Ashley-C : Ashley explains how human women had to fight to get into the military. => n/a for Kaidan & Ashley, Ashley & Tali #1, Garrus & Ashley #4, Ashley & Wrex #1, Liara & Ashley #5. Tali’s reply uniquely prompts a (somewhat awkward) answer from Ashley. Naturally, given the topic, that is not a subject Kaidan could inquire about ; hence why Kaidan & Ashley #2 stands out as a unique exchange, as it “fills up” the missing exchange slot. As it implies (?) that Kaidan is attracted to asari - a slightly recurrent theme throughout ME1 - it is broadly in line with the male/female human divide that is the theme of Ashley-C.

TALI

Tali-A : How do quarians feel about creating the geth ? (the quarians have paid enough) => Kaidan & Tali #1, Ashley & Tali #5, Garrus & Tali #1, Wrex & Tali #2, Tali & Liara #3. The exchanges with Kaidan and Ashley are identical. The exchange with Liara uses the same stock response Tali uses with Kaidan and Ashley, but interestingly, the two exchanges with Garrus and Wrex are both unique, and have Tali focus on the genophage instead.

Tali-B : People are being hostile with Tali because she’s a quarian (anti-quarian prejudice). => Kaidan & Tali #3, Ashley & Tali #3, Garrus & Tali #6, Wrex & Tali #1, Tali & Liara #5. Interestingly, the exchanges with Kaidan and Ashley start identically, but diverge completely in their replies to Tali’s answer. With Wrex and Tali, the exchanges remain pretty generic, but Garrus’s reply is the least empathetic of the five, while Wrex’s is the most empathetic. Tied with Wrex, however, we have Liara’s, who is outraged - it’s the only exchange to prompt a second line of dialogue from Tali, and it reveals some new lore on quarian and galactic history.

Tali-C : Why do you wear a helmet, Tali ? (quarian immune systems) => Kaidan & Tali #2, Ashley & Tali #6, Garrus & Tali #2, Wrex & Tali #6, Tali & Liara #6. Contrary to the previous two sets of exchanges, the conversations with Kaidan and Ashley are as distinct as any other companion’s elevator dialogue. As previously mentioned, Garrus’s only makes sense if it occurs after his version of Tali-B, Garrus & Tali #6.

GARRUS

Garrus-A : Garrus doesn’t regret leaving C-Sec. => Kaidan & Garrus #1, Garrus & Ashley #1, Garrus & Tali #3, Garrus & Wrex #6, Liara & Garrus #6. Nothing noteworthy here : all characters react to Garrus, informing the player of their own priorities (which may be why it’s the only exchange about Garrus where Kaidan and Ashley don’t say the same thing).

Garrus-B : Garrus is eager to take down Saren (restore the good name of turians). => Kaidan & Garrus #4, Garrus & Ashley #6, Garrus & Tali #4, Garrus & Wrex #2, Liara & Garrus #1. As previously stated, the conversations with Kaidan or Ashley are identical. Liara’s reply has a unique twist - she didn’t presume Garrus might have qualms over hunting Saren because Saren is a fellow turian but because Garrus respects/adores Spectres.

Garrus-C : Garrus would love to see what the Normandy could do in a fight (potential of stealth ships in warfare). => Kaidan & Garrus #5, Garrus & Ashley #7, Garrus & Tali #5, Garrus & Wrex #5, Liara & Garrus #3. The exchanges with Kaidan and Ashley are identical. Uniquely, Garrus-C is the only exchange with four lines of dialogues for all five possible participants.

WREX

Wrex-A : Wrex’s companions think he is unlike other krogan. => Kaidan & Wrex #1, Ashley & Wrex #4, Wrex & Tali #3, Garrus & Wrex #1, Liara & Wrex #3. As previously mentioned, Ashley and Kaidan’s versions of that exchange are identical (they’re 4-line-long, whereas the others are 2-line-long), and Wrex replies in the same way to both Tali and Liara. His answer to Garrus is uniquely aggressive.

Wrex-B : Wrex wants to know who’d win in a fight against Shepard. => Kaidan & Wrex #2, Ashley & Wrex #6, Wrex & Tali #4, Wrex & Garrus #4, Liara & Wrex #4. Likewise, Kaidan and Ashley’s versions of that exchange are strictly identical, but this time Liara’s and Tali’s also form an identical pair. Garrus’s, while very close in substance to Ashley/Kaidan’s, is unique.

Wrex-C : Wrex doesn’t mind fighting other krogan (favor to the universe). => Kaidan & Wrex #3, Ashley & Wrex #3, Wrex & Tali #5, Wrex & Garrus #3, Liara & Wrex #1. Man, even here Ashley and Kaidan’s versions are identical. Tali and Liara say the same thing in a different way and get the same reply as with everyone else. Again, Garrus is set apart : while Wrex gives the same reply, it is preceded by a unique introduction : “You don’t get it. For all your talk of honor and pride, the turians never had to test their principles in a real struggle.” The logical connection to the rest of the reply is not self-explanatory.

Overall, Wrex gets the least diverse quotes in his own set, but is more likely to say something different than Garrus or Liara, who will always give their stock responses. Tali can give truly unique answers, but she will say the same things more often than Wrex.

LIARA

Liara-A : Liara explains asari biotics to her companions (desire to learn). => Kaidan & Liara #3, Liara & Ashley #3, Tali & Liara #1, Liara & Garrus #2, Liara & Wrex #5. Here, there is no instance of repeated dialogue beside Liara’s stock response, which is unchanged for all five companions. However, unlike everyone else, Wrex prompts a second reply from Liara in a fourth line of dialogue (“Evidently we do not want to.”).

Liara-B : Liara does not like cities and stations (prefers the solitude of dig sites). => Kaidan & Liara #4, Liara & Ashley #2, Tali & Liara #2, Liara & Garrus #4, Liara & Wrex #6. Kaidan and Ashley share the same initial prompt but differ in their final reactions. Likewise, Tali and Garrus share prompts but have different final reactions. Wrex is the only one to get his own prompt and reaction.

Liara-C : Liara’s usual studies of the Protheans (less explosions please). => Kaidan & Liara #6, Liara & Ashley #1, Tali & Liara #4, Liara & Garrus #5, Liara & Wrex #2. Kaidan and Ashley’s parts of their dialogues are 100% identical. Tali and Garrus share prompts but have different final reactions. Again, Wrex stands out for his unique variations throughout.

Thank you so much for all this, @servantofclio ! I’d love to hear what you have to say on the few clippings I found like you did on all of those you compiled !

Mass Effect 1 Elevator Dialogues

All right, here it is!

First, some disclaimers:

I believe these transcripts to be accurate, but some errors may have crept in.

I do not believe these transcripts to be complete. You can see for yourselves that some pairs of characters have more dialogues than others; I’m fairly sure some exchanges are missing, in spite of my attempts to find them on youtube.

If you know of exchanges that I have missed, I would be happy to know about transcripts or video of them so I can add them to this post. I am not, however, in a position to play the game endlessly to get particular exchanges to fire.

I could not resist adding brief commentary, which represents only my own opinions.

You will notice that there is some repeated dialogue – some characters’ lines can occur in combination with several other characters. I would guess this is partly an economy on Bioware’s part, and partly to increase the probability that certain information comes across.

Thank you to @hoarous, @syzara, and @thelastunicorg for helping point me toward relevant video. Also for @jadesabre301 and @omegastation, who expressed interest in seeing transcripts.

The following post is long, about 3600 words, and is after the cut, with exchanges sorted by pair of characters. The numbers are just for reference; I don’t think the dialogue necessarily triggers in that order.

Keep reading

#Mass Effect #servantofclio #Garrus Vakarian #mass effect 1 #elevator dialogues #Ashley Williams #Kaidan Alenko #donnel udina #paragon #Renegade #Liara T'Soni #tali'zorah #Urdnot Wrex #aleena #Aria T'Loak #quarians #turians #Turian Hierarchy #Salarian Union

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wlwsoccerfics · 19 hours ago

Text

Big Sister Energy(Alexia PutellasXMeadReader)

Warnings: Google translate used.

Summary: You are 18 years old, away from England and just got dumped by your girlfriend. Alexia is there for you and you have a talk.

You didn't do very well and everyone could see it. Especially Alexia. You still were playing good football, but it was obvious that right now your heart wasn't in it. And you looked like you hadn't slept in weeks. Which was actually quite true. Your girlfriend, well now ex has dumped you for one of her ex boyfriends and went back to him around two weeks ago.

"pequeña? ¿qué ocurre?" Alexia asked you as you both walked to your seperate cars after practice. You frown a little but decided to play it cool. "I am fine, Alexia!" You let her know. Even though it was obvious that you weren't.

"y/n, i know this isn't true! You look like death!" She informed you.

You roll your eyes a little but also felt stressed about it.

"Mi novia rompió conmigo(my girlfriend broke up with me)!" You whispered out. She frowned softly.

"what happened exactly?" The blonde asked.

"Vanya went back to her ex boyfriend!" You sobbed out and now started crying again. Alexia quickly pulled you into a hug, frowning even more. She never really liked your ex and now she was once again reminded why. Alexia was always protective of you. You joined the team almost a year ago. First you were living with Keira until you turned 18 and wanted to be on your own. Keira was your teammate, one of your fellow lionesses. She also was quite protective of you. Probably because Bethy your sister has asked her to to keep an eye on you. But you didn't know If that actually was true.

Anyways you hugged Alexia back who was holding you in her arms right now.

"Estoy aquí para ti." she whispered against your forehead. Palcing a soft kiss on it.

"you act alot like my older Sister Beth!"you told her, smiling slighlty through your tears. honestly you would never have thought that you would end up in Barcelona one day and play Professional football over there. Outside of your comfort zone. You practiced all your Life at Arsenal but never ended up playing for your Senior Team. Instead you were here now. Your sister missed you lots and you missed her as well. But you tried to avoid her because somehow she found out about the breakup And you didn't want to worry her with how awful you sounded. Your guess was that Keira told her. In fact alot of the Girls from the english national team tried to reach out. So did Viv your sister-in-law.

"well you are a bit like a Baby sister i want to protect!" Alexia admitted.

"i am not a baby but i for sure appreciate to have you as my 'sister away from home!'" you told her, smiling softly, wiping away the tears.

"you are still so young. You are just 18 years old. Can't help that i feel protective of you cause of that! Cause you are way too sweet sometimes. It's not a bad thing but Vanya didn't deserve someone as sweet and kind as you cause she is the devil." Alexia answered.

"thank you." You simply just replied. Breathing in and out to calm down as much as possible. Crying was quite exhausting.

"it's true. Now you come home with me and we get some food. Then you need sleep. And tomorrow morning you gonna call your loved ones!" Alexia told you. She didn't leave you much of a choice. Saying you can drive to practice together and your Car and stay in the parking lot. So you just got into her car.

You did ended up calling Beth the next morning and she told you that she was close to dropping everything to check on you personally. So good thing Alexia got you to open up. It was nice to know you had a support system at Home and here in Barcelona.

After a few days you actually started feeling human again. Thanks to everyone that cared about you.

#womens soccer #soccer #woso #womens football #woso x reader #alexia putellas #fc barcelona #beth mead #keira walsh #viv miedema

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thewertsearch · 2 days ago

Text

GG: Does this have to do with your crazy pen pal project? GT: It most certainly does and time is of the essence! GT: Today is the day i have to finish it and send it. Not a day later!

So Kid Bro was also contributing to Project Tyler. He's a Bladekind specialist, so maybe he's the one who sourced the Royal Deringer for her arsenal.

I have no idea how he'd get his hands on such a powerful sword, especially outside of Sburb - but this is still Bro, after all. He's impossible.

GG: This would be the birthday present… for your grandmother? GT: No! GT: It is for your grandfather simply to be relayed to him by my grandmother. A joint gift to him from she and i.

Jake knows that the bunny's meant for John, but it's hard to tell if he knows which John he's sending it to. He might not even know that there are multiple Johns in the equation.

GT: I am sending the gift back in time to when they are both alive and about our age. GT: Or… GT: Something like that. Something funny is going on here that i have not fully grappled yet but dag nab it if im not gonna see it through.

Asked and answered. Jake English has no idea that he's an old man's reincarnation, and he sincerely believes that his pen-pal is a girl from the early 1920s. I was about to argue that Jade must have demonstrated some awareness of modern culture during their correspondence, but Skaia probably just told her to hide it.

Anyway, Jake can tell that something's not right about this situation - but without knowledge of the Scratch, it's basically impossible for him to arrive at the correct conclusion. He's stumped.

GT: Look jane i know youve never believed me and you think everything i say is some big cockamamie goofoff but i think today of all days is when you should start taking some things more seriously. GT: Especially since i have always had your back. I have always believed in you! GG: Hey! I have believed in you too. GG: However, believing somebody isn't the same thing as believing IN somebody.

Jane, for her part, doesn’t seem to know anything. Crockercorp have successfully kept her in a Sburbless bubble, and have her doubting all testimony to the contrary.

I'm sure the Condesce has made sure that none of her friends can provide tangible proof of what's really going on, ensuring that Jane is isolated, out of the loop, and unable to trust her loved ones. There’s a wedge driven between her and her co-Players that may widen further, if the right pressure is applied.

GG: But that much said… GG: I think that maybe I am getting ready to believe some of the wild stories I've heard? [...] GG: I had a really wild dream last night. GG: And you were in it.

But there's nothing they can do to contain her Dream Self.

Today is the day that Jane wakes up.

GT: What was i doing there? GG: Um… GG: Not a heck of a lot!

...unlike Jake, apparently.

It's a little strange that he's less connected to Prospit(?), despite being far more immersed in Sburblore than his friend.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 6 #s178 #4136

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impactrueno · 2 days ago

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Do you ship beetlebabes?

anon you're one of the three people i woke up to this morning asking if i ship beetlebabes LMAO. so i guess i better address it as thoroughly as i can.

shortest answer i can give you: no. but there's a lot more to it than just that. please read on

as long as it's not kid lydia, i don't care. i'm perfectly at peace with the ship and accept it as an integral part of the fandom (i'll get to that in a second) because this isn't like other ships of its kind. there's a small sector of the shipper side of the fandom that's cuckoo bananas and i don't fuck with that but that's more about those shippers in particular and not the ship itself. and yes, i'm okay with you reblogging my art and tagging it as "beetlebabes" on your blog for your own organization purposes.

i've been lurking the beetlejuice fandom for like 20 years now, so the ship doesn't faze me in the least. especially since i shipped them myself when i was younger, and this isn't a secret or anything i'm ashamed about, because i just never thought that deeply about it back then you know?? i just knew i enjoyed their dynamic in the cartoon a lot. and i'm pretty sure this is the case for most veteran beetlejuice fans because back then 90% of the fan content was beetlebabes. the ship pretty much carried the fandom all throughout the 90s and the 2000s, and the bulk of these shippers was always goth/goth-adjacent women into gothic romances who had crushes on BJ and projected onto lydia. NOT pedophiles or groomers or anything of the sort (and i need to reiterate this every time this stuff comes up because it's really important: do not ever judge whether or not someone is a groomer based only on what they ship because that's only going to put you at risk of being groomed by a "non-problematic" shipper. a groomer can use anything to groom you, even if you're not a minor. please always stay alert no matter what circles you're in. sorry for the PSA i've just seen some stuff and i worry)

the shift in the demographics of the fandom happened when the musical came out in 2019, which brought in a new beetlejuice canon with TONS of new fans who were more attuned to what makes a ship creepy and inappropriate (again, literally no one ever thought about this stuff before the 2010s.) so obviously this new wave of fans were horrified that the ship even existed in the first place. this created a pretty big split in the fandom between shippers and non-shippers. i've been referring to the topic as a hornets nest ever since and it's the reason why i largely keep to myself in my own little corner of the fandom.

as for my feelings about the ship...that shifted a lot through the years. shipped them, then i didn't. then i thought about them again, then i was like nah. eventually i realized that i'm very picky and particular about them and i was never going to feel at home on either side of the fandom so i had to figure out what kind of content i wanted to see, how i see their relationship and if i could create something with that myself since it seemed like no one else was doing it.

so here i am now. the stuff i'm making right now with adult lydia and beej from the cartoon is intended to be "platonic soulmates" since this is what i found to be the closest thing to what i always wanted to see more of, i find it comforting and beautiful and tragically underrated. people are free to interpret it however they wish though, as long as they don't expect me to meet their expectations, because i'll be doing my own thing regardless. i'm not stupid though, i know i managed to put them in a position where they probably could organically develop feelings for each other, and people are inevitably going to be drawn to that potential. so i can't blame the people commenting with "when will they kiss, i hope they get married, etc," i just hope they don't feel to disappointed to learn that i have no plans to explore that far lol (if that's all you were here for then uhhh sorry i guess)

if i ever choose to make something that is actually beetlebabes, i would tag it as such so people know and so people who don't want to see it can block it. maybe i'd even give ample warning beforehand because i wouldn't want to spring that on my followers who are uncomfortable with the ship out of the blue like that.

if you've read my beetleposts you probably already know that i like character studies and analyzing their dynamics, so i don't mind discussing the ship and how or why i think things would be one way or the other. perhaps i'm a bit too lax about it for some people, because i've been asked to tag a couple of analyses that seemingly dipped into beetlebabes territory without me even noticing. that made me realize that what qualifies as beetlebabes varies from person to person, which makes "do you ship beetlebabes" even harder to answer, because people see what they want to see in art. you can ask my non-shipper followers and most will say they don't see anything romantic in my art, but then you ask the shippers and it can be the total opposite. just as everyone does when they watch the source material.

so in conclusion

i don't ship them (any of the canon iterations) romantically but i'm chill with the whole thing as long as people aren't rude to each other in my comments (or to me for that matter) because i'm frankly way too old to give a fuck about these things or all the proship/anti/whatever nonsense

#beetleposting

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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

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Can u request something with modern au with viktor where there’s an established relationship between reader and him and readers an artist? You can write whatever you want whether it’s dating hcs , fluff, nsfw !!

Dear Anon, I took the liberty and added a small, but significant detail to this request - the Reader is visually impaired. It is not implied why, as it wasn't relevant to the one shot, but you can imagine their vision to be compromised to the point of having to use a walking cane and being able to only recognize shapes/shadows. The picture for it is Hephaestus, as he is the godly representation of Viktor for me, just read about him. Having said that, here is: Hand of the Beholder

viktorxgn!reader mature! some suggestive content, Reader has a sight disability, Viktor is their muse :') A small fic, in which Viktor discovers that softness feels nice.

edit/author's note: I treat Elliott as a gn name in general (I might be wrong, but well). And Bono the dog's name - it's a reference to a pin Sinead O'Connor was wearing during one of her interviews after she had met Bono. It said Bono in short legs shock! and I think it's hilarious :)

word count: 3,3K

—

A loud thump, followed by the clatter of something wooden on the pavement. Then, “Are you blind?”—a voice exclaimed with utter irritation, one very familiar to you—followed by a gasp. You always loved that part.

“Partially. Getting there,” you replied, flashing a sweet smile in the direction of the voice. Kill them with kindness—that was the usual strategy.

What was odd was that the voice—and the vague shape you assumed was its owner—didn’t move from the spot where your clumsy dog had knocked them. Either you’d made an astonishing first impression, or they were too stunned to move.

“Forgive me, I—I am usually less… rude.”

“That’s alright, no need to beg for forgiveness on your knees,” you said, offering a more genuine smile. “I’m sorry about Bono; he’s a bit awkward in crowds.”

“This is embarrassing, but I might need your help getting up,” the voice admitted, followed by an awkward chuckle.

Once he accepted your hand and scrambled to his feet, he kept hold of your palm just long enough to give it a quick shake. “Thank you. I’m Viktor.”

You almost introduced yourself when your friend Elliott emerged from whatever pound shop she had left you in front of. “Oh God, this dog! He’s going to get you killed one day,” she huffed, grabbing the leash from your hand.

“Bono. So… are you a U2 fan?” Viktor asked. Smooth, Viktor. Very smooth. He felt his face twist in cringe but decided to own it, smoothing his clothes with his hands to distract himself.

“Ah, definitely not. But I’ve been told he has short legs, so there it is,” you replied with a chuckle, crouching to give Bono a pet and a treat. The dog licked your face in return, and you groaned in mock offense.

“Alright, is everyone fine? Can we get moving?” Elliott pressed, clearly eager to move on. Her ‘just a second’ stop had already turned into twenty minutes of snooping through junk.

Viktor, utterly confused, felt words pushing their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Or, I could buy you a coffee? For the inconvenience? If… you’re not busy?” His voice rose slightly with each question, and again, he decided to own it by gulping down on this weird lump in his mouth and producing a smile.

“I feel like I should be the one buying you a coffee, Viktor. But yes, sure,” you replied casually, though truthfully, you just wanted to hear that warm, accented voice for a little longer.

Later, at the café, Viktor found himself absolutely baffled by your bluntness and the merciless jokes you’d thrown in his direction. He wondered where the hell his sass had gone. His legs were continuously bumped by Bono, who had clearly taken a liking to him and wouldn’t stop drooling onto his lap. When Viktor tried to joke about service dogs, usually more collected, he learned that Bono was, in fact, just a dog, and his only service was being a good boy.

Everything about this was so surreal and unlikely that his curious mind wouldn’t let him not ask you out again.

And this was how you met, two years ago, give or take. Two three-legged creatures connected by another, four-legged one, whose short legs seemed to give him matchmaking superpowers.

What had been the strangest feeling in the world for Viktor was being seen in a way he had never been seen before. Without a single question about his looks, without prying touches or purposeful exploration, you had managed to put together all the pieces that made him who he was. And suddenly, his cane didn’t matter, the way others looked at him didn’t matter. What mattered was the warmth of his hands, the tone of his voice, the feeling of soft jumpers, and his mind—the most brilliant thing you’d ever had the pleasure to explore.

And Bono got so many treats for it, his legs seemed even shorter as he grew fatter.

Which is why Viktor agreed to do something that, ordinarily, he would nervously laugh off before fleeing the country. His wobbly legs carried him to the sculpture workshop, late enough for it to be private and unoccupied.

Seeing you setting up the materials around an inconspicuous clay figure, he walked up to you from behind and draped himself over your back, his arms cradling your shoulders, palms connected at your sternum. You could feel his heart thundering against your spine and asked, “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck. “Is this me?”

“Not yet, for now it’s a dummy. Though, the frame was constructed to depict your figure,” you said quietly, placing your palm over his hands, your head leaning back to place a kiss on his temple. You could feel his scent filling your nose—clothes that are just clean and a faint smell of shampoo lingering in his hair.

“Is it empty inside?” he asked, and you only nodded, brushing your nose against his cheek.

“Hmm, philosophically ironic, don’t you think?”

“Love, if I were to sculpt your liver, I doubt this experiment would prove useful,” you chuckled, hearing Viktor let out a bemused huff. “Besides, it would be very heavy.”

“Pity. I’m sure my liver is magnificent,” Viktor tried to deflect, but his breath betrayed him. The room was unbelievably warm, and he could feel his hands starting to sweat.

“And where do you want me?”

“Right beside me. We’ll do a lying pose, with your hands on your chest. I’ll show you, roughly,” you said, your own nervousness beginning to grow as you realised this was probably far more intimate than anything you’d experienced together before. Suddenly, all the sex you’d had in strange places didn’t seem so insane.

After a short presentation and a couple of awkward chuckles, Viktor splayed himself on the couch beside you, while you sat down by the worktable. You needed to mark the key points of his body to keep the proportions intact, so the first obvious choice was his face.

You placed your hand on his cheek, and he hummed softly, relaxing into your touch. Your fingers traced the structure of his bones, his nose, eyelids, the curve of his mouth, assessing the distance between them with one hand and marking them on the dummy with the other. You couldn’t help yourself and exclaimed, “Oh Viktor, you are so beautiful! All this time and I had no idea.”

Viktor let out an uninhibited cackle and playfully bit your fingers. “There it is—superficial vanity. And here I was, hoping someone would finally love me for more than my looks,” he said in mock offence, making you bite your lower lip to stifle a laugh.

“Of course I do. But at least now I can say things like, ‘Thank God you’re pretty,’” you grinned at him mercilessly, and he laughed again. When the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, you took a deep breath and made sure once more. “Are you absolutely confident you’re up for this?”

“Positive,” he said firmly. “Should I—?” The unfinished question was answered by his hand landing on his shirt, pinching it expectantly—a force of habit stronger when his nerves showed.

“Just the torso for now. It’ll take a couple of sessions, I think. And after that, who knows? Maybe you’ll abandon me and become a world-famous model,” you mused, attempting to hide your own anxiety.

Viktor only huffed in response and obediently slid his shirt off. Taking your palm, he placed it flat against his chest. “For some reason, I feel very close to a heart attack, but I have a feeling you do too,” he said gently, the brave honesty in his voice completely disarming you.

You exhaled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the lips—a lingering, delicate gesture meant to reassure rather than ignite. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice warm and sincere. “Remember, we can stop at any moment. Just say the word.”

Viktor nodded, though words seemed to escape him now. His eyes followed your every move as you shifted closer, warming your palms by rubbing them against each other. You began your work, one hand ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw, the other placed on the dummy to mirror his shape.

Your touch was deliberate, slow, and almost reverent. Your fingers started at the hinge of his jaw, ghosting over the texture of his skin. Most of it was smooth, with the tiniest bit of grain, like a piece of glass worked by the sea over the years. You paused, mapping the angle where his jaw met his neck—the hardness of bone giving way to the flexible tendon beneath. You tapped on it delicately to test the bounce of his muscle—here his skin was silky, and firm and you could smell the faint scent of cream he applied after shaving. You gave it one more lingering touch, before moving to the earlobe, tracing it with your thumb, your fingers brushing against his hairline. Viktor let out a breathy exhale, and you smiled under your nose.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm, you have no idea,” he hummed, placing his palm over yours instinctively. His hands were warm, and you could feel the heat radiating off his cheek onto your wrist.

You slid your hand toward the hollow beneath his cheekbone, pausing on the beauty mark under his eye to mark it on the dummy. It had a faint rise over the rest of his face, and you did your best to depict it’s shape. You could feel his cheek rising in a smile.

Moving to the slight curve of his lips, your fingertips lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. You pressed on the plushness of his mouth and felt Viktor leaning into your touch, his hot breath fanning your skin. Your finger trembled, when you found the tiny bump crowning his upper lip and Viktor pouted slightly, as if leaving a peck against your skin.

“Your bone structure is ridiculous,” you murmured absently, your voice hushed as though you were speaking to yourself, your fingers still pressed where they were.

Viktor’s throat worked as he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was no longer in control of. “Ridiculous good or ridiculous bad?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, though the rasp in his voice betrayed how affected he was. You could feel the movement of his lips under your hand and a hot breath coming out, warming you up.

“Ridiculous perfect,” you replied simply, fighting your brain to focus on the clay in your right hand rather than on Viktor’s soft mouth under the mercy of your left.

You took a steadying breath and worked your way up to his brow, your thumb grazing the bushy ridge, your palm cradling the side of his face as you turned it slightly to study the other angle. You could make out the first wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the more prominent ones of his forehead, reinforced regularly by a thoughtful frown he wore so often.

His skin warmed under your touch, the heat blooming wherever your fingers roamed. Your other hand shaped the first layers of the structure of Viktor’s face in clay, its coolness a stark contrast to what your left one was going through.

As your hand slipped down to trace the lean column of his neck, Viktor couldn’t help the quiet exhale that escaped him. The feel of your fingers—gentle but firm, your nails just barely skimming over sensitive skin—caused him to tense up in places he didn’t expect himself to, not in this context. Your thumb and index finger examined his Adam’s apple, and it slipped away from your touch as he swallowed and chuckled awkwardly. The pulse in his neck quickened under your hand, and you paused for a moment, your lips curving in a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing great,” you whispered, your voice soothing, though you couldn’t help the subtle tone of praise he had granted you so many times when his hands travelled across your body with equal care. “Just breathe.”

“I am,” Viktor replied, his breath there, yet hitching as you moved to his collarbone, the tips of your fingers brushing the hollow above it before trailing the length of the bone. His skin prickled under your touch, and he found himself sinking further into the couch, his limbs loosening as if you had found a secret way to unlock him.

You kept working, holding on to your focus, but Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your hands moved—deliberate, confident, as though you were committing every inch of him to memory—was so utterly erotic, so private. The soft furrow of concentration in your brow, the way your lips parted slightly as you worked, the occasional tilt of your head as you checked your progress against the clay—all of it was unbearably intimate, the dummy becoming a labour of love under your steady hand.

His own reaction caught him off guard. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm he couldn’t mask. A flush crept up his neck, and he wondered if this was what you felt like when he had you pinned to the mattress.

You paused, brushing your thumb against the side of his throat. “You’re warm,” you remarked softly, tilting your head toward him. “Is this too much?”

Viktor smiled stupidly to himself, though his voice was low and rough. “Not at all. Just—unexpected.”

You chuckled lightly, your breath skimming his cheek as you leaned closer to reach the other side of his neck. “Unexpected— good or bad?” you asked, echoing his earlier words.

“Unexpected perfect,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours and craning his neck to kiss your jaw. It was utterly disarming—what it felt like to be touched for the sole purpose of being memorised.

You smiled to yourself as your hand moved lower, homing in on the flow of Viktor’s form. The tips of your fingers trailed down his chest, pausing to trace the curve of his clavicle before brushing over the flat planes of his sternum. You gave it a firm press, mechanically forcing out the breath Viktor had been holding. You could feel his heart thundering under your fingers, and it made you lick your lips. Here, his skin was thinner, more flexible, with a speckle of tiny bumps you knew to be his freckles.

Viktor exhaled under the pressure of your palm, and you could hear him chuckle nervously. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you allowed your hand to ghost over the defined ridges of his ribs, your fingers tracing just enough to make him shiver under the tickle. The motion was slow, deliberate, your palm spreading over the warmth of his chest as though mapping the heartbeat beneath.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, your eyebrows arching, cheeks rising in an involuntary smirk.

“I wonder why,” he replied, his voice softer now, laced with dry humour and vulnerability he judged was not worth hiding anymore. He felt himself slowly being disassembled to parts, the tiniest fractions of his being, each held to the light in the safety of your hands.

His cheeks were burning and his forehead dampening as you took your time, letting your hand move lower to the flat plane of his stomach. His muscles tensed instinctively, his tummy sucking in as if too shy to be touched, his body responding before his mind could catch up.

“Relax,” you coaxed, your voice as gentle as your touch, and he let out a quiet, shaky exhale as if obeying your command.

The curve of your fingers moved over his stomach to the sides, giving him a firm squeeze to follow your words. His breath steadied only for a moment before you slid your palm flat on the V-line of his underbelly, tracing the trail of hair disappearing under his trousers. Viktor let out a breathy moan, his spine flexing into your touch as he murmured an embarrassed, “Sorry,” the sound catching in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of the couch, his knuckles pale as he worked to steady himself. “I don’t believe I’ve been this flustered in years,” he laughed breathlessly.

“I shall make a mental note of that,” you whispered with a smile, and you could hear him chuckle again.

Your fingers continued their roam, brushing along the sharp lines of his hips, where the bone protruded just enough to catch the light. The fabric of his trousers shifted slightly under your fingertips, and Viktor shifted with it, a quiet gasp leaving him before he bit down on his lower lip.

The warmth beneath your hand grew, heat radiating from him in waves. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, and his eyes—half-lidded and hazy—watched your every movement as if he couldn’t look away.

“You’re quite sensitive, you know,” you teased softly, the curve of a grin in your voice. You could feel the dummy slowly giving in, moulding into the shape of Viktor, his curves and sharp angles, as you mirrored each of your movements.

“Sensitive, am I?” he rasped, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It was warm, pliant, as if every word came from somewhere deeper than his throat.

Your fingers brushed the ridge of his hipbone, and Viktor’s breath faltered again, his hands twitching as though he wasn’t sure whether to still them or reach for you. “You’re certainly proving it,” you replied, your voice low, tenderly teasing.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his head tilting back against the couch with a soft thud. “I think I need you to kiss me,” he murmured, his accent thickening as his restraint faltered further.

You chuckled quietly, withdrawing your hand but letting it rest lightly against his side. “Hmm. Do I have your consent?”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “W-what? I just asked you.”

“Well, I’d rather make sure. I am no Picasso. This was supposed to be professional; I will remind you,” you said, your feigned seriousness accentuated by taps of your finger against his belly.

Viktor’s eyes darkened slightly at that, his gaze dropping to your lips as he said in a pained voice, “Please don’t tell me you would touch anyone else like this, because I will lose my mind.”

You leaned back, your hands stilling for the first time. “I would never,” you whispered. You pulled out your clean hand to caress his cheek, but his arms were faster as he yanked you into a hungry kiss, smearing some of the cold clay on his chest.

Still holding you close, Viktor let out a soft laugh, running his fingers through his hair as if to ground himself. “I think I would be a terrible model,” he joked, though his voice carried the faint tremor of someone not quite recovered.

“I think you did wonderfully. And I’ve learned a thing or two,” you hummed, your lips finding his nose to place a peck on it. Which reminded you, “Oh. I forgot to trace your nose.”

“Shall I book an extra session for that?” He teased, his tone coming back to himself as his hands slid up and down your back.

“Definitely. Though I think this particular session we should move home. I am feeling very inspired.”

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 17 hours ago

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THE KISS I COULDN'T TAKE

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem! Summary: when at Mike Lewenski's party, you find yourself drunk...and maybe a bit touchy with a certain somebody Warnings: mention of being drunk, alchohol, underage drinking, smoking, bad flirting.

am i being to quick with these chapters. i feel like i should drag it out for more suspense. i want to torture you all lol.

series masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The roar of the party hit Eddie as soon as he stepped through the door, a chaotic mix of bass-heavy music, drunken laughter, and voices all talking over one another. He scanned the room, spotting the usual suspects scattered around Mike Lewenski's living room: the jocks dominating the couch, the preps by the kitchen, and a handful of people who looked like they’d already had too much.

He wasn’t planning on staying long. Maybe sell a few things, grab a drink, and get out. But as he shifted his weight, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes landed on you.

Or, more accurately, the version of you that was leaning heavily against the wall, holding a red cup like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Eddie blinked. He's not used to seeing you like this- loose, carefree, laughing at something someone said nearby.

sure, he's seen you drunk before when he stops by to sell at a party, but not so drunk you're stumbling over your own feet. There was something about the way you leaned your head back, your hair falling out of place, and the flush of your cheeks that made you look... different.

His gut tightened, and he cursed himself for whatever that feeling was.

He made his way over, weaving through the crowd, his boots heavy against the sticky floor. As he approached, someone bumped into him, sloshing a little beer onto his sleeve, but he barely noticed.

“Hey,” he called out, and your head snapped up.

You blinked at him like you were trying to place his face. Then a wide grin spread across your lips, and it hit him square in the chest. “Eddie!” you practically shouted, waving at him with the hand still clutching your drink.

“You’re loud,” he teased, stepping closer. “And drunk.”

“I’m not loud,” you said, rolling your eyes with exaggerated flair. “And I’m not drunk. I’m- okay, maybe I’m a little drunk.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “A little?”

You shrugged, taking a sip from your cup. “I knew you'd come! i was waiting for you!” you hiccupped

He gestured vaguely toward the rest of the party. “well, how could i miss this party. good for business”

“Of course,” you said, leaning toward him conspiratorially. “Always the businessman.”

Your breath smelled faintly of alcohol- sweet, probably something fruity. His eyes darted to the cup in your hand. “What even is that?”

“Something pink. And dangerous,” you slurred, taking another sip. “It’s really good.”

Eddie crossed his arms, trying not to look too amused. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re two sips away from needing a babysitter.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you argued, straightening up a little too quickly and stumbling forward.

He reached out on instinct, his hand wrapping around your forearm to steady you. “Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.”

You looked down at his hand, then back up at him, your eyes slightly unfocused but warm. “You’re a good guy, Eddie,” you said, your tone quieter, softer now.

He froze, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your demeanor. “What?”

“You’re always looking out for people,” you continued, your words spilling out without hesitation. “Like now, and, your club, and- and all the time. Even though you pretend you don’t care.”

“Okay, you’re definitely drunk,” he said quickly, letting go of your arm as if the contact burned him.

You pouted, tilting your head. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s get you some water or something before you start telling the whole party my life story.”

You giggled, falling into step beside him as he guided you toward the kitchen. “But your life story’s so interesting,” you teased.

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna forget it all in the morning anyway,” he shot back, though his lips tugged into a reluctant smile.

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, Eddie couldn’t help but glance at you every now and then. He told himself he was just keeping an eye on you, making sure you didn’t trip or fall or get yourself into trouble.

But the truth was, something about you tonight, the way you looked at him, the way you said his name- was making it really hard to keep his head on straight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you'd been at the part for a while now, your friends long gone to do whatever it is they're doing when you got a little too drunk and started dancing.

you hadn't planned on getting too drunk, but after one drink of that punch on the kitchen table, that tasted oh so good, you knew you needed more.

you're not exactly sure what it was, but the deep red colour of it looked so appetizing in the glass bowl people dip their cups in.

you were downstairs leaning against a wall, trying to bring yourself into a conversation with people you definitely didn't know.

but that's what usually happens when you get drunk. you were very confident in yourself and liked exploring, but after walking in on three couples having sex upstairs, you decided that was it.

you decided to not go in any other room other than the living room or kitchen, because it seemed like every bedroom, bathroom and closet were occupied by sweaty and drunk people having sex. and you didn't want to see any more of that.

but then you saw Eddie walk in and you felt even more drunk than you had a second ago, like all of it had re-entered your head.

a lopsided bright smile made it's way onto your lips as he approached.

you were glad he came, and the alcohol in your system made you forget all about the awkward and weird tension between you the last time you talked.

you practically fell into his arms when he reached you, but he leaned away, looking down at your red cup that was tighty in your grasp, about to spill on him, and that would make the second drink on him tonight and he'd rather not have that on him.

he brought you over to the kitchen and took your cup from your hands and pouring it down the sink

"Hey, I was drinking that" you frowned sadly, watching the deep red liquid disappear down the drain

he laughed "I know you were, but you need water"

"no, I need more of that" you turned to the glass bowl before he pulled you back to him

"no, you don't"

you glared at him "yeah?"

he nodded, handing you your cup full of cold water instead of your drink of the night. "yeah"

you drank it slowly and hummed

"good?" he asked with a smile.

you sighed a pulled the cup away from your lips, wiping your chin lazily as a few drops dribbled down your chin.

"it's hot in here" you mumbled

"well howabout we go outside for a minute, huh?"

you let him guide you outside and you feel yourself melting at his kindness.

Eddie led you out onto the porch, one hand on your back to steady you as you stumbled slightly. The cool night air hit you immediately, a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the packed house.

You sighed, “Why is it so hot in there? Like, do they have the heat cranked up or something?”

“It’s called too many drunk idiots in one place,” Eddie quipped, steering you toward the steps. “C’mon, sit down for a sec. You’ll feel better.”

You plopped down on the wooden steps, groaning softly as you stretched your legs out. Eddie sat beside you, close enough that his knee bumped against yours. He leaned back on his elbows, tilting his face toward the sky.

“Better?” he asked after a moment.

You nodded, closing your eyes as the cool breeze brushed over your face. “Yeah. Much better.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence for a minute, the muffled bass from inside thudding in the background. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the rings on his other hand.

you leaned closer to him, reaching for his hands and findling with them too.

you're not sure why, but the rough, calloused skin of his fingers was so nice to the touch.

Then you noticed something else.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the quiet. “Is that a joint?”

He paused, then smirked as he pulled the small, crumpled thing out of his pocket. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, your brows raising in playful accusation. “Were you holding out on me this whole time?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. Just didn’t think you were in the right state to smoke t.”

“I’m fine,” you protested, reaching for it. “Gimme.”

Eddie leaned back, holding it just out of your reach. “You sure? You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“four,” you corrected, narrowing your eyes. “And I’m not that drunk.”

“Uh-huh.” His grin widened, and he twirled the joint between his fingers. “Prove it. Say ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.’”

You glared at him, but the challenge made you laugh despite yourself. “You’re such a jerk, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, still smirking. “But you’re still sittin’ here, so what does that say about you?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Fine. Keep it. I don’t even care.”

He laughed, his teasing expression softening. After a moment, he lit the joint and took a slow drag before passing it to you without another word.

You accepted it, taking a hit and coughing a little as the smoke burned your throat. He chuckled, patting your back gently as you handed it back.

“See? Told you you weren’t ready,” he said, but there was no real bite to his words.

You nudged him with your elbow, a small, tired laugh escaping your lips. “Shut up, Munson.”

And just like that, the awkwardness of earlier seemed to fade, replaced by the easy rhythm of the two of you sitting together, the night stretching out quietly around you.

you found that even when drunk, his lips still looked so kissable. it was unfair really.

Eddie glanced at you, his lips twitching in an almost-smile as he passed the joint back. The way the porch light caught in your hair made you look a little like you were glowing, or maybe that was just the booze and weed hitting him in waves of sentimentality.

"You know," you said after a drag, your voice a little lower, a little lazier than usual, "your kind of pretty."

That caught him off guard. He choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough as he leaned forward. "Pretty, huh? Not sure that's the word most people use for me."

You tilted your head, staring at him like you were trying to solve a puzzle. "No, really. Like, your eyes? Super unfair."

"Unfair?" He turned to you, arching a brow, though he couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his lips. "What, you jealous or something?"

You leaned closer, your face mere inches from his, and his breath hitched before he could stop it. "Maybe," you said, your voice soft but teasing.

Eddie cleared his throat, leaning back just slightly, trying to keep his cool. You were drunk. This was just the alcohol talking. Right?

"Well," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not trading thesm anytime soon. Guess you’re stuck being jealous."

You laughed, and the sound was enough to make his heart skip. He shook his head, looking down at his hands as you passed the joint back to him.

"Why don’t you sit back for a second," he said, motioning for you to lean against the porch railing. "You’re gonna fall over if you keep leaning like that."

"Maybe I’ll fall into you," you said, your words slurring just enough to make him swallow hard.

He blinked at you, the joint still frozen between his fingers. "You’re, uh... really laying it on thick tonight, huh?"

You shrugged, tilting your head back to look at the stars. "Can’t help it. You’re being nice to me. Doesn’t happen a lot."

That made him frown. "What do you mean? Doesn’t happen a lot?"

"People don’t usually..." You waved your hand vaguely, struggling to find the words. "Care. You know?"

"Well, those people are idiots," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You turned to him, your eyes wide and glassy, and for a second, he thought you were going to cry. Instead, you gave him this soft, almost shy smile that made him want to hit rewind and play it on a loop.

"You’re sweet," you murmured, your voice softer now.

Eddie looked away, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the heat creeping up his neck. "Yeah, well, don’t go telling people that, alright? I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

You giggled, leaning your head on his shoulder. He stiffened, his brain short-circuiting at the sudden contact.

"I’m serious, though," you said, your words muffled against his leather jacket. "You’re a good guy, Eddie."

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "You, uh, really shouldn’t say stuff like that when you’re drunk."

"Why not?" You tilted your head to look up at him, your cheek still pressed to his shoulder. "It's true."

"Because..." He glanced down at you, his heart pounding in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. "Because you’ll forget you said it tomorrow, and I won’t."

You blinked, your brows furrowing slightly as if trying to process his words. But before you could respond, someone from inside the house called his name, snapping the moment like a rubber band.

Eddie sighed, gently pulling away and standing up. "Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back."

You pouted, reaching out to grab his sleeve. "Don’t go too long."

He hesitated, looking down at you with an unreadable expression before nodding. "I won’t."

As he walked back inside, his mind raced with everything you’d just said. He knew you wouldn’t remember most of it tomorrow. But the way you’d looked at him? Yeah, that was something he wouldn’t be able to forget.

but it didn't mean anything, he made himself remember, which is why he already feels guilty for knowing you won't remember this, but he will.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie returned a few minutes later, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, a nervous energy rolling off him as he stepped back onto the porch. His eyes immediately found you sitting where he’d left you, your arms wrapped around your knees as you stared out into the yard.

"Hey," he said softly, trying not to startle you. "Miss me?"

You turned your head, your face lighting up at the sight of him. "Took you long enough."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat down beside you again. "Yeah, sorry about that. Someone wanted to talk business."

You didn’t seem to care about his explanation. Instead, you leaned toward him, your face so close he could feel the faint warmth of your breath.

"Good," you said, your voice soft and laced with something that made his stomach twist. "You’re back now."

The way you were looking at him- half-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted. it made his heart race in his chest. He froze as you leaned in closer, your gaze dropping to his mouth as you went to kiss him.

shit, he said to himself before leaning away

"Wait," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "Hold on."

You stopped, your face inches from his, confusion flickering across your features. "What’s wrong?"

"You're drunk," he said gently, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder before pulling away "You don’t wanna do this."

Your brows furrowed, and a flash of frustration crossed your face. "What do you mean I don’t want to? I know what I want, Eddie."

"I know you think you do," he said, his tone calm but firm, "but trust me, you’re not gonna feel the same tomorrow."

Your jaw tightened, and you pulled back, your expression shifting from confusion to hurt. "So what? You don’t want me?"

that was it.. the question.

does he want you?

short answer, he's not sure.

long, thought out answer, he doesn't know if you want him, and he's scared of messing up and embarrassing himself.

you're great, you're an amazing girl, he's just not sure if that's what he wants.

but what he doesn't know is that if you weren't so incredibly drunk (and high) right now. he so would've fucking kissed you back.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "well, I-"

"Forget it," you snapped, standing up abruptly.

"Hey, wait," he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away, stumbling slightly as you moved toward the steps.

"Don’t," you said, your voice sharp and trembling at the same time.

Eddie sat there, helpless, as you stormed off into the house, your silhouette disappearing into the shadows. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, guilt gnawing at his chest.

He wanted to go after you, to explain, but he knew it wouldn’t help right now. Instead, he stayed on the porch, staring out into the night, hoping you’d be okay, and hoping, somehow, you’d understand why he had to stop you.

Eddie sat there for a long time after you disappeared into the house, The night air was cool against his skin, but it did little to clear the storm brewing in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands, trying to shake the image of your face- hurt, confused, and so much closer than it had ever been before. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t take a full breath, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the moment replaying itself, over and over again.

Finally, he stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading back inside. The thrum of music hit him like a wave, and the smell of spilled drinks and cheap cologne was nearly suffocating. He scanned the crowd, catching a glimpse of you across the room. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing with a group of people he vaguely recognized.

You looked fine. Like nothing had happened.

Eddie’s jaw tightened, and he turned away, heading for the makeshift bar someone had set up in the corner of the living room. A couple of half-empty bottles were scattered across the table, along with mismatched plastic cups.

"Yo, Munson!" a guy called out, grinning as he held up a bottle of whiskey. "You joining the party or what?"

of course, the only time anyone was nice to him, had to be at a party- drunk and high.

it was the only way someone could be nice to him.

other than you. you didn't have to be. you were nice either way.

you were different.

Eddie grabbed the nearest cup, pouring a generous amount of whatever was closest without really looking. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, throwing it back in one go.

The burn in his throat was immediate, but it wasn’t enough. He poured another.

And another.

Time blurred as the alcohol worked its way through his system, dulling the edges of everything he didn’t want to feel. He let himself get swept up in the chaos of the party, laughing too loud at jokes that weren’t funny, high-fiving people he barely knew, and sinking deeper into the fog with every drink.

But no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. Couldn’t stop the way his mind kept circling back to you—your smile, your laugh, the way you’d looked at him like he was someone worth noticing.

"Munson, man, you good?" someone asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

as if they'd care any other time.

Eddie laughed, the sound sharp and hollow. "Never better," he slurred, raising his cup in a mock toast before draining it.

But it was a lie. He wasn’t fine.

And as he stumbled his way through the crowd, the room spinning slightly around him, he realized that no amount of booze was going to make him forget the way your lips had almost touched his—or the way he’d pulled away.

He found himself back on the porch at some point, slumping down onto the steps and letting his head fall into his hands. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth flooding his veins, but it wasn’t enough to clear his head.

He stared out into the dark yard, his thoughts as tangled and messy as the curls falling into his face. He didn’t know what he felt, or why he felt it.

All he knew was that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure who he was running from more.

you or himself.

which is exactly the reason why he got pissed drunk that night.

because if you wouldn't remeber tonight. why should he have to?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

taglist:

@exploding-bonbon @xlostitx @pupwrites @carolineesnell @foreveranexpatsposts @itsmadamehydra @thedoubleexposurephotography @g3n3zshack @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @emxxblog @nubedeoctubreval @bimboshaggy @sheneedsrocknroll92 @callmytherapistplease-blog @ifeelbadbutimhot @littlemissholy

thank you for the support!!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

#x fem!reader #imagines #fluff #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem #ami's new series!#eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic

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aninipanin1 · 3 days ago

Note

omg omg lavinho and adult manager reader where theyve previously met at a club/party outside of blue lock where lavinho tried to hit on one of reader's friends lol

IT'S YOU!

Notes: Ya'll are cooking with the ideas lmaoooo, (F/n) stands for friend name.

"C'mon, Y/n! You'll be back in that prison/asylum in like two days! Live a little and have fun!" (F/n) cheered, hands attached to her wrist as she dragged you inside the establishment she had been raving about to you, both in texts and conversations.

Garbed in a (f/c) sequined cocktail dress and a two-inch pair of heels, you can say you dressed up pretty well tonight. Although, you wish that you were on your bed instead under the flashing lights and banging music of the bar.

Your job in the Blue Lock facility was nothing less than stressful, and since everyone, including you, was given a 2 week break after Blue Lock's win against the U-20 National players, you wasted no time in spending the days just catching up on your naps and tv shows.

If you weren't doing normal household chores or watching on your phone, you were dozing off to sleep. But whatever you did in the past week and a half was inside the premises of your house only.

That is why you were here now. Dragged by your friend who insisted that there were other ways to destress than just sleeping like a sloth or watch anime.

"Ugh, a drink is the farthest thing in my mind right now, (F/n). I want to nap when I still have the chance to. You know how busy I get in the Blue Lock facility. I legit, sleep at like 4 AM only to wake up at 6 AM at times."

She sighed before patting your back and running her hand up and down your arm.

"I know. But, you need a bit of socialization. C'mon!"

(F/n) cheered, giving you a glass of whatever drink she ordered for the both of you as she chugged 3 glasses straight, which impressed you. She has always been quite outgoing and friendly, a little opposite to your quiet and almost shy nature. So, you always found yourself dragged by her in things you normally would be too shy to do.

And that included dancing in the middle of the damn dancefloor in which she was doing now, and even dragging you with her.

"Woah, woah, woah! Hey! You know I don't dance, especially not infront of-" you protested, but she only laughed and held your arms, dancing with you, her platform heels clacking against the tiled floor.

"Loosen up, girl! No one is watching you anyways, theyre all having too much of a good time to notice!"

And there she went again, moving her hips and arms to the music as you just smiled at her. Even if you didn't feel that comfortable with some of her shenanigans, you know she always means well. And besides, she makes the shameless in you jump out of the curtains at times.

You wished those moments came now, but the crowdedness and strong smell of alcohol from the many people made you quite restricted and stuck, so you just stood there, moving your feet a bit, but not dancing too hard. You stayed there mainly because you wanted to make sure that (F/n) was safe and won't get hurt or taken advantage of any ill-willed people in the crowded space.

Were you too protective of her at times? Yes, but you cared about (F/n), and wished that no peril will ever come her way, so you always make sure you were there in times where her immature and guillable nature strikes.

You both were on that dance floor for who knows how long. Songs came and went, and (F/n) was still jamming to whatever Western pop song was playing, and the crowd wasn't thinning either. In fact, it felt more cramped than before, and you were starting to feel a little sick due to how crowded it was.

The heavy smell of alcohol did not help either, as the assorment of the heavy drinks the people on the dancefloor drank mixed within the air. Not finding the strength to tolerate it anymore, you softly tapped your friend's shoulder.

She turned to you, cheeks a bit flushed now due to who knows how many drinks she had. But, you knew she wasn't a lightweight and only had a few drinks, meaning her cognitive is still probably in tact.

"I'm just going to sit in one of the lounges! I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Dance in where I can see you, I don't want us to be separated!"

It was kind of annoying that you had to shout over the music, but you pulled through and she nodded her head before returning her attention to the next song that popped up, especially since you know its a favourite of hers.

"Are you sure you'll be fine, alone? I can join you." She managed to ask before you leave.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Continue having fun! I don't wanna ruin the night for you!" You gave her a reassuring smile that at first, she did not seem to buy, but after a few looks, she returned to dancing and jamming to the song again as you found yourself walking out of the crowded space into one of the lounges where you see a few people also hanging out on, drinking or busy on their phones.

Sitting on an empty spot with a not-too heavy drink in hand, you always made sure to peek through the dancing crowd to make sure (F/n) didn't wander off or get too out of hand (she can become a bit crazy when drunk), but a message from your mother caught your attention for a few minutes.

By the time you said your goodbye to your mother in the messaging app, you didn't see your friend anymore, which made you blink in a bit of a panic. Mainly because you were worried for her and also, a bit anxious about being alone in the said bar.

After all, you can definitely feel stares boring to your figure, a lot of them from men, of course, and you legit don't know how you will get out in a situation where one of them tries to approach and flirt with you.

Geez, you really need to learn how to reject people you don't want around you, especially guys in these situations.

Craining your neck up, you tried to find where the hell (F/n) went. After a few minutes of copying a giraffe, extending your neck and body posture higher to look, you found your eyes looking at the bar where she was.

She probably got tired from the dancing and ordered a drink to refresh, but she wasn't alone. She was talking to a guy who was quite tall, even if he was sitting down. He had tanned skin, a few tattos across his arms, his blonde hair in some type of mullet, and he looked to be the same age range as you and (F/n).

He seemed almost familiar. His face, his build, his many features...it felt like deja vu, really. You felt like you've seen him somewhere, somehow before. You tried to remind yourself where, but it just won't come up to mind. Like the answer was under a blanket, sillhouette shown to give a clue, yet what's under still a mystery and the only way to know is to look under the fabric.

But you just shrugged it off, chalking it up to be just some sort of resemblance to someone you saw before. By just the look in (F/n)'s eyes, you can tell that they seem to be hitting it off pretty well. (F/n) had that slanted, dreamy eyes as she listened to whatever the blonde was saying. And the man looked more than happy to talk to her. Well, hopefully it was genuine? Besides, he wouldn't approach her if he wasn't interested in her, right?

You didn't really want to interrupt them. Sure, you were protective, but you were also more than supportive of your friends, and you knew that even if she was clumsy, (F/n) was an adult who can handle herself well. And besides, what if there was indeed a romance brewing between them? You didn't want to intrude or destroy what was slowly forming.

Opening your phone, you opted to send her a small message.

'Hey, (F/n)! Just wanted to tell you that I'll be heading home. Don't wanna interrupt you and your possible Mister Right. Enjoy your time with him, but don't be too trusting and remember to put your guard up when you feel in danger, okay? Stay safe, love yaaa.'

You gave the two one last look and see her laughing at whatever the guy was saying. You rolled your eyes yet a fond smile on your face, knowing that the guy will probably be one of her newest fixations that month that she won't shut up about.

"And! AND! He was just so good with his words! Like, I know he's not Japanese, can't even speak our language. But when he speaks English, oh god! It's too attractive. Oh my god, I am so glad I paid attention to English class!"

You let out a laugh at her squeals, although being mindful not to let out a loud one. You were, after all, in the bus headed to the Blue Lock facility to finally start your job again.

Just as you predicted, (F/n) as absolutely taken by whoever that blonde guy was. As she usually does, she likes people quite easily, either romantic or platonic as long as they fit the so-called 'vibe' for her.

Turns out, the guy was actually Brazillian and lives in Spain, but he was just here in Japan for some sort of 'work,' that he had.

"I remember asking him about what he do and he answered, but geez...the hangover took over my brain more than his answer. I feel so disappointed! I didn't even get to ask him for his number!!"

"Well, that sucks. But, hey, if it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, right? I'm sure fate will make you two meet again, one way or another."

Oh, if only you knew how you were both so right yet so wrong at that moment.

"I got it, Ego-san! Have a nice day!"

You smiled before exiting Ego's office, stacks of paper in hand. It was all full of information about each stratum's players. Such as health concerns and history for the clinic, stats for the editors to edit on the episodes of Blue Lock TV, hell, even some preferences they might like for you to cater to them! (You didn't have to do that, but you still did since you are a people pleaser, shush)

Looking down at the newer schedules around the place, you knew you had to make a new timetable for yourself and the players to allow the Neo-Egoist League matches to shine and be given time in certain days while still taking to account the usual things done around the facility.

Too focused on brainstorming ideas, you did not see someone walking past you in time and accidentally nidged your shoulders against theirs. The papers fell to the ground due to the pack of support, the flicking noises of the material panicking you a bit since there were so many of them, and now they're all scattered on the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking!"

"Está bien, yo también lo siento, bonita." The man let out an amused yet deep chuckle.

Blinking at the unfamilliar language, you suddenly remembered the earpiece Anri gave you, given by the Mikage Corps to help with the language barrier between the foreign players and the Japanese ones.

Taking them from your pocket before putting them on in your ear, you finally turned your head to face the person you bumped into, and the familiarity of him couldn't make you stop the visceral reaction to speak.

"It's you...from the bar!"

You gasped before covering your mouth, now feeling a huge wave of embarrassment. The blonde hair, the tanned skin with tattoos, the grin, it was familiar. That was why he seemed so familiar.

The man your friend was with that night was Lavinho, the so-called 'Dancer' due to his creative dribbling on the field, like he was dancing, with the ball as his dancing prop.

You felt so stupid. Why did you not recognise him so easily when you have watched some of his games online before? Meanwhile, Lavinho seemed confused by what your outburst meant.

"Oh uh, sorry...I just...I saw you in a bar, like 2 days ago..."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you were talking to my friend..."

"Oh, her? (F/n), right? Yeah, I remember her. Heh, she was really pretty. But, I didn't know she had a fine friend as well." He said, a mischievous grin on his face as he helped you pick up the paperworks on the ground.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, eyes slanted in suspicion.

'This guy...I'm glad (F/n) didn't get his number, he seems like a loose guy.'

"Thank you...? Um, thank you for helping me."

"No problem. Glad to help a beautiful woman."

'Yeah, okay...he is THAT type of guy.'

You gave a smile, one that is not so genuine yet you did not want to be rude to him, since he was visitor from a foreign country and who knows if there was a camera in the halls watching you both.

"How else may I help you, Lavinho-san?"

"Oh, maybe you can help me with this!"

He turned a bit more serious as he showed whatever training schedule the Blue Lockers themselves created for themselves (since Lavinho was a master who preferred the players make it since they know their own strength and individuality), reading the tables and messy handwriting of what the players thought they wanted or needed in their training, you just nodded at some of them.

"Hmm, these are really good! I'll recommend some things though to make it better."

You were recommending different suggestions, pointing things out with a softer and kinder tone, and entertaining any ideas or questions from him. Smiling wider as more questions pass, enjoying the challenge and widening your knowledge on the sports.

Meanwhile, Lavinho found himself enjoying his time with you. Throwing ideas back and forth, hell, he was even a little bit closer to your body now, wanting to make sure he heard you better. His movement towards your figure unintentional, like a magnetic force was dragging him to you.

But why? He didn't know. All he knew was that you were an interesting person to talk to, especially when it came to the sport he was very passionate about.

'She's not just fine, but smart and individualistic too, huh?'

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Otoya: Which type do you want-

Lavinho: Preferably a woman who is (height), has (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes, likes (color), is smart, responsible, beautiful, and is a manager of the Blue Lock Facility.

Hayate: That's just Y/n-san.

Lavinho: Exactly.

Bachira: *Already prepared to pounce*

Otoya: I meant what type of workout we should do today, old man.

This was longer than it should be lol

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

#blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #aninipanin1 #blue lock x manager!reader #bllk lavinho #lavinho x reader #blue lock fanfiction #bllk barcha #the plot feels like a drama troupe #feel so bad for (F/n)#but the show must go on

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darlingarmadillo · 14 hours ago

Text

I've been going through a rough time with the ol' ADHD lately. Stuff like:

I hate the way I keep telling people I'm going to do something then don't.

I worry I'm going to exhaust peoples' ability to forgive me when I don't come through on something.

I hate who I am when I'm alone, because alone-me doesn't have the dopamine to spur her to get all the necessary dull shit done.

When I first got diagnosed I was so relieved I cried. Finally, I can get on medication. Finally, I can discover the secret strategies that will fix this problem. Finally, I can be CURED. But my husband (ex) didn't believe ADHD was real, thought it was overdiagnosed, and thought the meds were dangerous. Scrap that idea.

One divorce later and finally in a healthy relationship, I finally cracked under the strain of the pandemic and what it did to my career and decided to try again. I contacted the doctor who had diagnosed me, who very rudely told me that not only had all his records from that far been been destroyed, but he didn't remember me and was pretty sure he would never have diagnosed me. I had to run from provider to provider and take all sorts of tests before I found someone willing to test and diagnose me and prescribe any sort of stimulant.

Even then, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I went to fill my meds, SOMETHING went wrong. I could never have the doctor send it in and just have it be waiting for me. There was always some issue with insurance approval or coverage that they had to muscle through. And heaven forbid I ask them to put some sort of note in my file asking them to call my health insurance when a new prescription comes in, because they will not put such a note in there. I have just accepted now that every month I get it filled (because I'm not allowed to fill it for longer) I'm going to need to call the pharmacy and talk to the pharmacist directly so they will pull the magic levers that will release my meds to me.

Once I was out of state for more than a month. My doctor could not call my prescription in, even though he was licensed in that state, since I saw him in another state, and I could not find a single doctor who would write me a prescription. Eventually I had to go to three different emergency rooms before I found one that would write me a prescription (and then it took me multiple tries for the pharmacy to process my insurance correctly to pay for it.) I was charged $700 for that visit.

So society is set up to blame me (and make me blame myself) for my difficulties in doing things and to disbelieve that ADHD is a thing BUT ALSO to deny me the help that I DO need in order to help me get things done for fear I might ABUSE it.

And even when meds work amazingly well for me, when I can FEEL the brain fog descend on days I didn't take them, I STILL secretly doubt I really had ADHD, or even if I did, it couldn't be THAT bad, because look at all the stuff I've accomplished in my life with no meds whatsoever (last-minute, at the cost of my mental health and self-esteem)! I mean, I still forget things all the time, and beat myself up about it super harshly every time I do, right? If I really had ADHD, meds would cure me, right?

I was in the midst of one of my self-hatred cycles where I hated that I needed to take all these extra steps to get stuff done (duplicate chargers everywhere so I never forget one, writing every appointment, chore, and thought down so I won't forget, coercing my dumb little brain with internet-scrolling dopamine like a lollipop with an unruly toddler so it will be appeased into allowing me to do something boring), that I was such a BURDEN, such a LAZY PROCRASTINATOR, such an UNRELIABLE DISAPPOINTMENT and suddenly it popped into my brain:

Yeah, it sucks that you have to do all these things. But those things are what allow you to get along in the world as it exists. It's not what everyone else has to do, but it's what you have to do, because it's what works. AND it sucks, AND you still have to do it anyway.

I had to grieve the fact that a diagnosis and meds, while they helped me gain control and understanding, did not mean I would ever be cured.

I had to grieve the fact that the person I knew I could be, if I didn't have this pesky dopamine-processing disorder, would never exist.

I had to accept that even though I the world is against me, even in the face of people shaming me for my "laziness" and "flakiness," I still have to live in this world, and do all the crazy, annoying, overly unnecessary things I need to do to survive.

And it sucks.

And I have to do it anyway.

[about adhd

dewgem:

It concerns me that people really don't know that adhd isn't a personality type or behavioral problem.

adhd isn't someone who's personality is driven by fun and disorder.

adhd is someone who's brain goes all over the place looking for dopamine, because it doesn't make or register enough of it, and when it finds a source of dopamine, it hyperfixates on it. it's about deregulation of attention as well as emotions.

it's not a person who can't behave. a person with adhd can look like a lot of things. misconceptions about what adhd looks like kept me from even looking for a diagnosis, and it also kept myself and others (professionals, even) from taking my suspicions seriously.

everyone's encouraged to reblog, but if you don't have adhd, keep your additions to the tags.

lauramkaye:

Smart people can have ADHD. And a lot of the time, they compensate for the ADHD with intelligence- until they reach the point where they just can't overcome it anymore, which is why a lot of gifted + ADHD people have good grades their whole lives and then "suddenly" crash and burn. For some it's college, for some it's grad school, for some it's postgrad or professional exams like the bar. Whenever the things they have to do can no longer be brute-forced at the last minute.

ADHD is often lumped in with learning disabilities but it's really a DOING disability. We know what we should do. Probably we know six ways to do it. The trouble is actually getting our brains to activate so we CAN do it. Sometimes it's like you're being controlled by aliens or something because you say "I need to do X" and you're going to do it and you just. Don't.]

PS, I guarantee there will be replies like "I don't have ADHD but I relate" and my suggestion will be "perhaps you might have it or at least a similar neurodivergence"

And for fellow autistics, be aware that ADHD is our bouncy twin neurology. We often wind up with ADHD inside our autistic wiring. I'm participating in research to see if ADHD is on the broad Mobius spectrum of autism.

#adhd #self esteem #self love #self care #neuordiversity #mental health

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ihni · 1 day ago

Text

Starry-eyed under starry skies

For @weird-an <3

~~~~

“It’s my birthday today,” Steve said, apropos of nothing, swirling his can of soda around and listening to the carbonation fizzle. He could see his breath in front of him, like a cloud of white against the blackness of the January sky.

“Really?” Billy said from his spot next to Steve on the back porch of the Harrington house. He emerged from the thick knitted scarf that he’d wrapped around his neck just long enough to look pointedly over his shoulder at the decidedly empty house. “Then why aren’t there a hundred shitfaced people and a keg in there?”

Steve shrugged, and then couldn’t help but grin at the way Billy immediately buried himself back into the scarf so that it covered both his mouth and (adorably red) nose.

Billy noticed Steve’s grin – because he had an uncanny ability to notice the little things – and narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

Instead of answering, Steve raised one eyebrow. “You sure you have enough layers, there?”

It was Billy’s second winter in Hawkins, but this time around he’d prepared with tons of second-hand winter clothes which he layered on top of each other, uncaring of how they looked together as long as they kept him warm, claiming that he didn’t care that they didn’t match, because ‘he could make anything look good’.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a point (although Steve secretly thought he looked more cute than good), but perhaps getting possessed by an otherworldly creature who liked it cold also had something to do with Billy’s current fashion choices.

Case in point; “Shut up,” Billy said and looked away, like he always did when something touched a little too close to home. Then he deflected, like he also always did; “Why aren’t you throwing a party if it’s your birthday?”

And Steve dropped it, like he always did. “I am. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Some party,” Billy muttered. “A guy who don’t drink and a guy who can’t smoke.”

After what happened at Starcourt in the summer, Steve had stopped drinking, finding that he didn’t appreciate the loss of control as much as he used to after being drugged and beaten by the Russians. And Billy, well. He only got out of the hospital in November, and the doctors had expressively forbidden him from both drinking and smoking – or, as Billy said, ‘everything fun’ – for at least a year. The two of them had bonded over that, as well as a thousand other things (monsters being one) in the last couple of months, and now they were here. The two of them. Alone in Steve’s backyard.

“I’ve hosted a lot of parties in my day,” Steve said, taking a deep breath of cold air that burned his lungs. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars, impossibly far from Hawkins, Indiana. “This is better.”

“This?” Billy said, sounding almost incredulous. “Being out in the cold and the dark and watching the sky is better than booze and girls and music?”

And. “Yeah,” Steve said simply, feeling the truth of it in his chest, like released tension.

“How?” It wasn’t said disbelievingly, though, but it sounded as if Billy really wanted to know.

The words slipped out of Steve before he could stop them. “Because you’re here.”

He hadn’t meant to say it; not now, and not out loud. But there was something about the two of them here – next to each other, nursing sodas of all things, braving the cold because Steve wanted to look at the stars – that made the truth so easy to speak. And there was no confusion, no barely-hidden panic like with the Russian truth serum. It was just Steve, and Billy, and the starry sky.

At his words, though, Billy let out a breath as if he’d been punched. His eyes widened, and if he hadn’t been hiding behind three layers of wrapped-up scarf, Steve was sure that he’d see his mouth fall open.

“You …” he said, and shook his head a little before looking away. “You can’t just say shit like that, Harrington.” Always Harrington, when he was uncomfortable.

“Why not?” Steve asked, feeling brave for once. “It’s just the two of us here.”

The moment stretched out between them, and he could hear Billy as he swallowed hard … and after a second or so too long, Steve gave a little shrug, trying not to feel disappointed as he added, in a too-obvious attempt to break the tension, “Besides, it’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

Billy huffed, and Steve expected him to jump on the opportunity to steer the conversation back to safer grounds … But he didn’t. Instead, he dug into the pocket of his (eyesore of a) winter jacket and pulled out a misshapen, badly wrapped little bundle, and half-shoved it into Steve’s chest.

“Here,” he muttered. “For you.” And then, in a lower voice, “Happy birthday or whatever.”

A thrill of something warm shot through Steve as he took the little present from Billy’s mitten-covered hand. He glanced over at Billy, eyebrows raised in question – “You knew it was my birthday?” – and watched Billy shrug and not meet his eye.

He’d gotten presents from others earlier in the day – from his parents, from Robin, even from Dustin – but this felt different. None-too-gently tearing the paper open with stiff fingers, he let out a little laugh when he saw what was inside.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Billy said, and Steve looked up fast enough to catch him watch Steve with something like fondness, before he averted his eyes yet again.

It was a little Care Bear plush, light yellow in color and with the image of a cupcake on its belly. The cupcake held a single birthday candle, and the bear had a plastic heart-shaped nose, which Steve couldn’t help pushing at with a finger.

The bear was soft to the touch, and Steve suddenly felt soft, too. “He’s cute.”

A beat; two. Then, “Yeah. That’s what made me think of you.”

Steve’s head shot up in surprise, and this time Billy didn’t look away. His face was red – could be because of the cold, but it could also be something else – and he straightened up and worked the scarf bundle down with his chin so that Steve could see him properly. “It’s nothing, just a stupid bear. But I, uh.” His eyes flicked to the side for a second, but then he looked back, as if determined to see this through. Whatever this was. “I have something else for you, too.”

Steve waited – for what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and dispelling the crisp feeling in the air between them – and watched as Billy drew himself up and took a deep breath. His breath came out in a cloud, too, and for a second Steve imagined the cloud sticking to Billy’s lashes and freezing there, like tiny crystals, glittering like snow. How would it look, and how would they feel when melting against Steve’s skin?

“Close your eyes,” Billy said, and Steve did, because right now Steve couldn’t deny Billy anything.

Holding the little bear in one hand and the soda can in the other, Steve stood there with his eyes closed. The darkness became all-enveloping, the cold became sharper, and all the little sounds around them – the creak of the branches in the woods in front of them, the electric hum of the outdoor lamp behind them, the distant sound of a car driving down a street – became all that he could hear.

And then. Warm lips pressing against his, a cold nose touching his cheek; there for a heartbeat, two – and then gone. He opened his eyes and found that Billy was right there, not gone at all, just having drawn back an inch or two. His blue eyes were open wide and shiny, the porch lights reflecting in them like the brightest stars in the sky. Billy swallowed and licked his lips before saying, hoarsely, “Happy birthday, Steve.”

Steve, not Harrington, despite being uncomfortable, despite being visibly terrified.

And wasn’t that the best birthday present Steve had ever gotten? Hell. Closing that one or two inches of distance to kiss Billy again was the easiest thing Steve had ever done.

~~~~

(Also works, quite incidentally really, for the @harringrovewinterbingo, square C3, prompt "Starry sky, starry-eyed".)

#happy birthday dear #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #ihni writes #hwb2025

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 2 days ago

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An Arranged Marriage, part 29

1.6k words

Zen was back to being Zen, though the affection shared between the two of you was often tinged with frustration from him.

(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)

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You sat next to Zen by the hearth and marveled at his hand while he wrote. Every movement so precise as he penned his letter to his family.

“Making sure I am not leaving anything out?” Zen teased you.

As far as you could tell his handwriting was very tidy, each character perfectly aligned and spaced out evenly. You could not read a word of it but were still enjoying watching him.

“I can’t believe how delicate you are with only three fingers” you said.

“Only three? I cannot understand how you can do anything without your extra fingers getting in the way.”

“No! Five is a good amount to have! Three isn’t enough.”

“I did not hear any complaints about my hand and fingers when I had one in you.”

You buried your face into the side of his arm and he leaned over a bit to nuzzle the top of your head.

“How long will it take for the letter to get there?” you asked.

“It will depend on who I can find to take it. There are some minotaur hunting groups that travel close to my village that I could send it with, but that would probably take weeks. And there are fisherman from my village who sail down this way sometimes to sell anything extra they catch, that is a more direct way to get the letter home, but they only dock here sporadically.”

“And when did you want to go visit?”

“Next month. There is quite an important festival then. Though we may actually get there before the letter then, which would not be ideal” he let out a deep sigh, “I will figure this out, somehow.”

Days flew by much the same way they had for the past week. Zen snuggled up against you whenever he could, lots of your free time spent lounging together while you each did your own thing. It was comfortable.

He made no attempt to initiate anything more than cuddling. His hands lingered on you in the bath, little sighs and whimpers as you felt him half hard against your back, though he often had a nervous and frustrated air about him. You would turn to press the side of your face to his chest and hug on to him, the affection always seeming to settle him down.

Often you caught him looking at you with almost a sad expression, sick of waiting and too worried to start again.

It was still early in the day. Zen was off at the hold, going over supply manifests and trying to figure out how to get what little supplies where scrounged out to the more remote settlements.

Slowly you started helping with the house work more and more. Back at home you never had to do anything, but here it was just you and Zen. You were sweeping up the entryway, Zen did his best to not track dirt in but being that trolls did not wear shoes meant that some always got in anyways.

Usually he would come in and wipe off his feet. Bringing in a bucket of fresh water from the well outside with him and cleaning off with a clean washcloth from the stash of them he kept by the door. Still, dirt or mucky footprints made it in the house and you had taken up the responsibility of dealing with that since Zen really did everything else.

There was a loud knock on the door as you were finishing wiping up a footprint that startled you. You were fairly certain Bira was out of town and you normally did not have other visitors.

Slowly you cracked open the door and were surprised to find Ba’tual looking fairly agitated.

“Oh, what are you-” was all you managed before he cut you off.

“There’s some human at the hold demanding to talk to you right now. He’s refusing to tell Zen or anyone else what it’s about or leave” he told you.

“Did he say his name?”

“Probably, but I wasn’t called in until Zen asked me to come get you, so I don’t know who he is.”

“Yeah, ok, yeah I’ll meet you guys at the hold then. Just let me actually get dressed” you said has you tried to piece it all together and figure out who could be demanding to speak to you.

“Zen specifically told me to escort you there, he doesn’t want you walking alone.”

Ba’tual waited outside while you got dressed and kept a close eye on you as the two of you made your way to the hold. It was a tense walk all the way there, Ba’tual did not seem to have any answers for you besides there was a human there making a scene and demanding to talk to you.

Zen looked visibly agitated when the two of you got to the hold. He was pacing the room with a annoyed expression on his face, nearly a snarl until he saw you. Immediately his expression softened and he rush over to you, placing a large hand on the back of your head as he crouched down to be eye level with you and nuzzled your forehead.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked as you nuzzled him back.

“Him” Zen nearly spat.

You peered around Zen to see a human man standing at the edge of the room dressed in your kingdom’s navy uniform. You recognized the man, a petty officer who served under your father and unfortunately someone you knew besides just that.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as the man approached.

“Call off your attack dogs” he sneered and motioned to both Zen and Ba’tual, “I’m here to take you home. And what are you wearing?”

You looked to Zen and Ba’tual who were both hovering close to you, “I can handle him, just give me a little space?”

Neither seemed to like this, but both took a few steps back.

You looked down at your outfit, it was pretty typical clothing for here. A knee length skirt tied around your hips and simple halter top style shirt, both in a soft forest green.

“Home? I am home. And this is perfectly normal for here” you defended.

“It is not suitable or appropriate for a lady of your status to be dressed like that, a poor representation of your family. Not that it matters, we’re leaving now.”

“No” you said firmly, “This is my home, my husband is here. This is where I belong.”

“Husband? That absolute beast? This charade has gone on long enough and served its purpose. Big things are in the works so it’s time to leave. Now.” he took a step towards you and went to grab your wrist.

It always amazed you how fast Zen could move, immediately he was between you and the other man.

“She already told you she was not going with you. You would do well to mind that” Zen’s voice uncharacteristically cold.

The man peered around Zen, “You’re making a massive mistake, this isn’t where you belong.”

“No I think it is” you said.

“Ba” called Zen, “Escort him back to his ship.”

Ba’tual gave him a nodded. Zen stopped him as he passed, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him something in troll. Ba’tual motioned to several of the guards and they made their way out of the hold.

“You spoke as though you knew him” Zen said.

“Yeah, a while I told you my family promised me to the son of another family if he could make a name for himself in the navy. Well, that was him.”

“He does not seem like a good person. I do not like that an arranged marriage could have stuck you with someone like that.”

“I know, and you don’t have to like it. But it’s how it is where I’m from and it’s not wrong, it’s just different. Plus, we’re in an arranged marriage and it turned out good, didn’t it?”

“That’s different” he muttered.

“How so? Because both of us were told we were getting married and that was that.”

“I believe I am a better person than him.”

“And you are, that’s for sure. But I didn’t know that when I got here. I met a man who was grumpy, didn’t speak to me at all when getting married, left me home alone for hours, and then snapped at me for things I did know.”

“And I have apologized and done better” he interjected.

“You have, but it doesn’t change the fact you were a stranger to me and I didn’t get a good first impression of you, and everything still turned out well” you tugged him back down to your level to nuzzle him and give him a kiss on the cheek, “And what did you tell Ba’tual?”

“To make sure our visitor goes straight back to his ship, no detours, and to take a few guards to sweep the city for anyone who should not be here.”

“Do you think that was really necessary?”

“You did not see how he was talking and acting before you got here. I do not trust him. I am not taking any chances with keeping you safe. I failed in that once, I will not make the same mistakes again.”

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Tag list

@blushycadaver @mochalyluv @hazyspacefairy @littlelovebug98 @tufflepuff23 @lets-imagineastory @emonatural191 @after-laughter-come-tears @plathsotherib @krayziee @zaqnette @graveblanketgreen @lovingbadguys @nogoatsnoglori @bunnibabylilly @selfindulgenthoe @dij-ology

(As per usual, mobile loves to mess with the tag list 😭 sorry if your tag didn’t work! I’ll fix it later when I’m home and on my pc!)

#monster fucker #teratophillia #monster lover #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster husband #reader x troll

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violettwrites · 3 days ago

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american teenagers — intro.

helloooooo my loves!!! here’s an intro into my comeback fic, american teenagers! i sat on this idea for a little while during my tiny break and i honestly couldn’t get it out of my head. i was heavily inspired by ethel cain for the vibes of it all, hence the name :)

please bear with me in all this as i do get easily overwhelmed and experience burnout very quickly but you guys are always supportive so i have no doubts!!

i’m not sure when the first chapter will be out, but i’m slowly working on it as i am very excited for you guys to read it! lots of love xx

the summer of 1987 was supposed to feel different. everyone in town kept saying it— teachers, parents, the tired voices on the radio between commercials. they said it like graduating highschool meant anything would actually change. but for the kids in the trailer park on the outskirts of town, it wasn’t much more than another hot season stretched out between long days and longer nights. the same parties by the lake, and the same dreams about escaping that no one really believed in.

the days were always the same for you. early mornings at the gas station counter, and evenings at the diner pouring coffee for truckers passing through. anything to keep you out of your father’s path really. your nights were often spent on the roof of your trailer, a cigarette in one hand and a notebook full of half-finished plans and dreams in the other. for daryl, the boy you had known since he was a scrawny little thing with clothes too big for him, it was merle’s shadow and busted knuckles, endless hours fixing bikes and cars in the sun while dreaming of roads that led anywhere but this small town.

you couldn’t remember a time when daryl dixon wasn’t around. his trailer was only three down from yours. you had been inseparable since the day you caught him standing by the broken fence of the trailer park, segregating the southside of town from the rest of the townspeople. the two of you had seemed like an odd pair to everyone else— daryl’s constant silence and smoldering anger along with your rough edges and restless energy —but somehow, it worked.

the summer after highschool felt like your last chance to figure out if those dreams the two of your had whispered about on those late night drives would ever come true. but the weight of this small town— the trailers, the jobs that paid barely enough to keep the lights on and your fathers off your backs, the scars you didn’t talk about —it all hung heavy between the both of you.

you didn’t really realise it at first, the way your feelings for daryl had shifted. it wasn’t a lightning bolt or this big grand revelation in your head. it was slower than that, like the way the heat crept up during june, making itself known in those hazy afternoons and the sweat dripping down your back. you started to notice those small things— how his voice softened when he talked to you, or the way his shoulders relaxed when the two of you were alone. you couldn’t pin point when it changed, only that it had.

daryl wasn’t any better at handling it either. he’d always thought of you as the one person who saw him for more than what people whispered about the dixons— trailer park trash, troublemakers, destined for nothing. you didn’t flinch at the bruises he didn’t explain, or the scars he wouldn’t talk about. you were his anchor, his light. but now, everytime you smiled at him or touched his arm, it felt like something inside him was breaking apart and putting itself back together all at once.

that summer wasn’t just about the heat, the bad decisions, or the endless nights spent sitting under a starless sky. it was about the weight of knowing you could only hold onto each other for so long before something— or someone —pulled you apart.

neither of you had the words to say it yet, but you both knew: the end of your childhood was here, and whatever seemed to come next would either bring you both closer or tear you apart for good.

if you enjoyed this, please give it a like/reblog! your support always means the world to me 🫶🏻

stay tuned for the first chapter! if you’d like me to add a tag list, comment below!

#🦇 — vi writes #🥀 — trailerpark!daryl #trailerpark!daryl dixon #trailerpark!daryl #trailerpark daryl dixon #trailerpark!reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon au #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon oneshots #daryl dixon x reader

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dufferpuffer · 1 day ago

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The more I check and analyze this bloody chapter the more it cements for me how distant but NICE Dumbledore is shown to be. Remus Lupin level of being friendly and gentle but not wanting to make attachments.

The only way to make it seem otherwise, that he is being a prick to this 11yr old boy, is to misinterpret quotes out of context. Am I an incorrect silly? I don't think so, but It's not off the table. I'm gonna take points from all the previous posters here and give my reasoning's, so let me know:

1: Albus thinks Tom is unreasonable for saying he was 'special'.

“He believed it much quicker than I did — I mean, when you told him he was a wizard,” said Harry. “I didn’t believe Hagrid at first, when he told me.” "Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe he was - to use his word - 'special,' " said Dumbledore.

Wow. Suddenly, with context, Albus doesn't sound rude anymore! It's highlighting differences between Harry and Tom as people, neutrally - Harry didn't believe he could be special. Tom did. Nobody is giving him shit for that. Why would they? 'Wizard' and 'Special' are basically synonymous.

In fact, Albus called having Magic being 'Special' FIRST:

“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —” “I’d like to see them try,” sneered Riddle. “Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle’s last words, “is a school for people with special abilities —” “I’m not mad!” “I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

Either Dumbledore was being a blatant hypocrite in a way Harry didn't pick up on... …Or he wasn't giving Tom shit for thinking himself 'special'.

To forcibly read a sarcastic, negative, judgemental and biting tone: keep in mind this is 60 years later. 60 years he feels partially responsible for, as Tom acted as a murderer under his nose and became Lord Voldemort. Surely he could be excused for being a little salty now.

But how did Albus act towards him when it happened...?

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.” His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. “I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.” “Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.”

Tom is excited his ability to move things, control animals, do bad things and hurt others makes him different, makes him 'special'. Albus AGREES with him. 'Yes, Tom - you ARE special. You were right to think those things make you a very special boy.'

As I will go through in more detail than this continuing on in the post - Albus was NOT judgemental towards Tom in the past at all. Even Harry is surprised at how trusting and generous he is to Tom.

2. Albus set the wardrobe on fire to punish and instill fear in Tom - a stupid idea, because that will only make Tom hate him.

Alright, lets see how much Tom hated and feared him for that:

The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. “Where can I get one of them?”

The picture of a traumatized child: Shocked by a magic trick then gleefully wanting his own wand to learn to do it himself.

But - it is true that Dumbledore frightened him:

“All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.” And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened. […] Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved. “Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore. Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Oh dear. He is frightened - not of the flames but of consequences to his actions! Why is Albus doing this horrible, terrible thing...?

“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.” […] “At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.”

Well look at that! It's all been a lesson from the man he has just accepted as a Professor on controlling one's magic! Magic Lesson 1: he has inadvertently been letting his Magic run away with him (like many do) in ways that Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic (both far more powerful than Albus) will punish him for.

Notice that he takes any guilt, shame and blame off of Tom's shoulders? Saying that his behavior is common! Understandable! He isn't accusing him of intentionally doing anything wrong, even when the Matron had suggested he was. He is assuming Tom's innocence - or at the very least giving him an easy way out of guilt into a new life: 'Give the Muggles back their trinkets and wipe your slate clean.'

Following the rules of this new world is a CHOICE - and he will be guided through learning all the rules at school. He is literally saying 'Hogwarts and the Ministry won't be as lenient with his behavior as I am, but it's okay - you will be taught.'

The flames were not meant to frighten - they were part of a lesson on the importance of learning to control ones destructive magic. Tom actually quite liked the flames - and was more worried about being found out and punished for his bad behavior.

Yet he wasn't punished for that, either. Unless you call being asked to give stolen things back punishment, in which case he got the lightest slap on the wrist with a little kiss better afterwards.

3. Albus dangles school attendance in the form of getting Tom to call him Sir - 'if you accept your place at my school you'll have to call me sir'

He doesn't dangle anything - and he doesn't phrase it like that.

“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come.” “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!” “I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —” “I’d like to see them try,” sneered Riddle. […] “Are you a wizard too?" “Yes, I am.” “Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’

Tom has been yelling at Dumbledore. Sneering at him. Threatening him. Calling him a liar. Talking over him. Commanding him.

Things Albus never tells him off for, never even brings up - things he has simply withstood and been patient with, as Tom is upset. But now that Tom is calming down - now that he is choosing to listen, to believe and to be a student at Hogwarts - he will need to act like one and call him 'Professor' instead of 'Liar' and 'Doctor'.

And it is always phrased as a choice. The place at the school is offered. He can choose to come. If he would like to calm down a little, he can be told more about it - but nobody will force him to do anything. He says, from his own free will, that he would like to be a student. His attendance is accepted: Albus is, from now, his Professor.

4. Albus drops the reassuring facade the moment Tom says he is special.

Reassuring things Albus says/does after Tom says he is Special:

+ “At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you."

+ When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven’t got any money.” “That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket.

+ “Where do you buy spellbooks?” interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon. “In Diagon Alley,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —” “You’re coming with me?” asked Riddle, looking up. “Certainly, if you —” “I don’t need you,” said Riddle. (doesn't tell him off for snatching, doesn't insist on politeness, doesn't ask him not to interrupt, offers to come with him…)

+ Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you — non-magical people, that is — will not. Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —” (trusts Tom to go by himself, like he wants to do - a strange choice if he was worried about how evil he is. Harry thinks it's surprising.)

+ “Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they’ve told me.” “I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

+ “All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too.” Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. (Shakes his hand. The hand of an 11yr old 'worthless' orphan, a boy used to having every adult hate and distrust him.)

Definitely the actions of a man who thinks the worst of Tom.

5. Dumbledore shows Tom he is undesirable and will be treated like a future criminal even in the Wizarding World - he has already been catalogued as trouble.

Indeed. By calling him special twice, offering him a place at a special school for special people, being calm and patient when he was upset, casually waving away all his wrongdoings, warning that they are considered illegal actions in the Wizarding World but promising he will be taught how to act in accordance to his new laws, not once commenting on his rude actions, shaking his hand on greeting and goodbye, allowing him to act freely without supervision, trusting him with money when he has a past of theft - Albus is DEFINITELY making sure Tom knows that he is already considered undesirable and a future criminal.

6. Hagrid stood up for Harry against his abusers - Albus didn't do that for Tom.

He didn't do it as overtly as bashing down a door, taking over the room and scaring the shit out of some Muggles. But I would argue he did stand up for him - for his sense of self.

Tom was scared of two things:

Doctors coming to say he is mad.

Being punished for bad behavior.

Straight up: Albus gave him the option for a new life with a clean slate and also confirmed he was special, not mad. He was so SOFT. Understanding. He's had heard 100 horrible things and yet just waves them away, doesn't bring anything up. Traumatized little kids? Killed an animal? Whatever. You're a Wizard.

Tom says he will give back the stolen things, that he wants to go to Hogwarts... so Albus bends over backwards giving him all the forgiveness and freedom he hasn't had before. Trusting him. Albus is acting unlike any adult Tom has likely ever met - from the moment he walked in and shook his hand like a friend.

No, Albus didn't tell off the Matron. He drugged her and used magic on her to get what he wanted - but he didn't tell her off. Does he really need to, though, when the message of 'You will be leaving this awful place behind, Tom. Leave these childish, dull things behind and come be special.' is so clear…?

(Honestly I'm not sure what he would even say, as far as Orphanage Matrons go she was quite good. She cared about Tom's well being and privacy, gives the kids their own rooms, allowed them to have their own toys and books and even pets, knows the kids' names and preferences, cares for their well being enough to drive her ragged. She's hardly perfect, but for the 1930s when Workhouses were still around - she's alright. As all the kids aren't stuffed into big rooms filled with beds and made to work their asses off - her orphanage is far better than most. Harry liked her.)

In Summary:

Nobody thinks Tom was unreasonable for thinking he was special. Albus didn't try to scare him with magic tricks - and any 'punishment' Tom suffered was about as strong as a pat on the head. Rather than give Tom ultimatums or hold promises at arms length he constantly gave him patience and options. The most he asked of Tom was to give back stolen toys to their owners before he left - and to call him 'Professor'. He was friendly and reassuring the entire conversation - and freely gave trust and forgiveness for everything from criminal activities to simple impoliteness, like talking over him and not saying thankyou. While Albus didn't beat anyone up in-front of Tom, he did promise him everything he had ever dreamed of - and delivered.

He acted like a calm, understanding adult in the face of both Tom's defensiveness and his excitement - guiding him gently but understanding the importance of giving the boy what he needs: A bit of freedom from the constant scrutiny he has faced.

I went through in meticulous detail the entire scene here, though I might want to rewrite it sometime, idk.

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe he was - to use his word - 'special,' " said Dumbledore.

-- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

I know that he's trying to imply here that Riddle already had budding megalomaniacal tendencies. But come ON. His powers were highly developed. He could move things with his mind. It's not unreasonable for him to conclude that he is special and can do things others cannot; that's just the literal truth. Also, I'd like to point out that Riddle actually first says "I knew I was different." But I guess Dumbledore wants to skip over that bit.

And over the implications. Riddle is, as far as he knows, the only person who can do what he does. He knows nothing about the magical world or what he is. For all he knows he really is haunted or possessed by a demon or something. Part of him must have wondered if he really was mad and imagining it all. His initial, violently fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he's a doctor certainly is very telling and has a lot of implications about the treatment he's experienced during his first 11 years of life.

#Tom Riddle #hp #albus dumbledore #tag for old man defense #hp meta

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