#I ALWAYS GET WHAT I WANT AND I AM ALWAYS CORRECT

[vaginalvr]

Close Quarters, nsfw

spencer reid x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, degradation/praise kink, light dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, jealousy, hate sex vibe turning into affection, unprotected sex (p-in-v), name-calling, dirty talk, arguing, mutual obsession

a/n YAYAYAYAYAYA new post or wtv ik I already wrote a hotch one like this but I love my man spence ok leave me alone

You’d always admired Spencer Reid—brilliant, composed, infuriatingly correct Spencer Reid—right up until you joined the BAU and he made it his mission to prove just how much smarter he was than you.

From your very first case, it was clear he saw you as competition. Every quote you cited, he one-upped. Every theory you offered, he expanded, tweaked, made more “statistically accurate.” It wasn’t that he disliked you—if anything, that would’ve been easier. Instead, he hovered around you like a moth circling a flame, watching, pushing, challenging.

And you… you gave it right back. You matched him. Beat him, sometimes. The others found it amusing—Morgan even placed a bet once on which one of you would crack first.

No one expected it to happen the way it did.

It had been a rough case. Three children murdered in a small town outside Denver, the unsub a former teacher with a savior complex. You’d interviewed the parents, the victims’ classmates, the community.

You and Reid had argued in front of the team. You were convinced the unsub’s actions were ritualistic—symbolic. Reid disagreed. He cited statistical patterns, behavioral inconsistencies.

And then the unsub had targeted a fourth child. And you had been right.

The guilt was immediate, the grief even worse. No one blamed you—you had been right, after all—but it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when the little girl didn’t make it.

Hotch called it early that night. “We’ll head back tomorrow morning. Get some rest.”

The motel only had a few rooms left. You didn’t hear most of the conversation, only the part that mattered: “You’ll have to share.”

With Spencer.

Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth to protest, but Hotch gave you a look. You closed it.

The motel room was silent.

You stood on one side, arms crossed, jaw tight. Spencer Reid stood on the other, pacing like a caged animal.

The team had wrapped the case hours ago, and now you were stuck. The motel overbooked. Two twin beds, one room. You and him.

Perfect.

You watched him with narrowed eyes, simmering. “You always do this.”

Spencer turned. “Do what, exactly?”

“Undermine me. Talk over me. Use those stupid statistics to make everyone second-guess my instincts. You think you’re better than me.”

“I am better than you,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “Wow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “No, I didn’t—That came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. You meant it.”

You stalked toward him, fury sharp in your throat. “God, you’re such a smug little know-it-all. You can memorize every fact in the world, but you can’t even read a room. We lost that girl because you couldn’t shut up and listen.”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t pin that on me. You knew the ritualistic signs. You should’ve fought harder.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“That’s not how this works,” you hissed.

“No,” he said, stepping into your space, “but maybe if you were less obsessed with trying to one-up me in front of everyone, you’d think more clearly.”

“Go to hell, Reid.”

“Already there,” he muttered. “Right here. With you.”

The air between you snapped like an electrical wire. Too close. Too angry. Too much.

“You really think I’m beneath you?” you bit out.

He looked down at you. “I know you want to be beneath me.”

That did it.

You slapped him.

It wasn’t hard—more of a sharp tap to the cheek—but it echoed in the tight room. His head turned slightly. Then he looked back at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

He surged forward and kissed you.

No, claimed you.

Teeth. Tongue. Frustration. Filth.

You kissed him back with equal fury, grabbing his collar, dragging him closer. His hands found your hips, slammed you back against the wall.

“Say it,” he growled into your mouth. “Say you want this.”

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped. “You’re still gonna beg.”

You didn’t make it to the bed right away.

He had your pants off before you could blink, spinning you toward the wall, one hand shoved between your thighs.

“Already wet,” he sneered. “Of course you are. You get off on fighting me, don’t you?”

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Come on,” he hissed in your ear. “Be honest for once. You’ve been dying for this. For me to ruin you.”

You pushed back against his hand despite yourself. He was too good—those brilliant fingers weren’t just good at tying case files together. They knew exactly where to touch, how to curl, how to wreck.

“Fuck you,” you gasped.

“Oh, you will,” he said darkly. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

He yanked you away from the wall just long enough to throw you onto the nearest bed, stripping you with efficient hands. Then he stood above you, shirt undone, pants unzipped, eyes hungry.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low and cruel. “So desperate you’d fuck your rival just to feel something.”

You glared. “At least I feel something. You’re just a machine with a PhD.”

His lip curled. “A machine that’s about to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You didn’t even get a retort out before he was on top of you, sliding between your thighs, lining himself up.

“No condom,” he muttered.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathed. “Are you clean?”

“Yes,” he growled, then sank into you with a guttural moan. “Fucking hell, you’re tight.”

You cried out—half from the stretch, half from the sheer power of the moment.

He didn’t move at first. Just held himself inside you, watching your face with a cruel smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he mocked. “Finally speechless?”

“Keep talking,” you gasped. “I want to see if I can make you shut up for once.”

That broke him.

He started thrusting hard, fast, brutal. The bed creaked under the force. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand and leaned close, breath hot against your cheek.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being fucked like the little brat you are. Always mouthing off. Always trying to beat me.”

“Still could,” you choked, already close. “Even like this.”

“You can’t even think right now,” he said with a grin. “Can you feel how deep I am? You’re dripping. It’s pathetic.”

He let go of your wrists just to yank your leg over his shoulder and ram in deeper. You sobbed his name.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on my cock. Right now.”

You did.

It hit you like a freight train, legs shaking, back arching, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—you feel insane—”

He didn’t stop. He kept going, chasing his own release while you whimpered under him, overstimulated, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growled. “Look at you. So dumb on my cock. You gonna cry?”

You did. A little. From how good it was.

He moaned, full-throated and raw, and came inside you hard, hips stuttering, voice breaking with it.

For a moment, all you could hear was panting.

Spencer collapsed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, still breathless.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, mind wiped clean.

“Wow,” you muttered.

He turned to look at you, his voice rough. “You okay?”

You blinked at him.

That was soft. Unexpected.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “You?”

He nodded. “Didn’t mean to be that rough.”

You turned toward him, still flushed, still naked. “Didn’t hear me complaining.”

He gave you a smirk. A real one this time. No venom. No defense.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I hate how much I want you.”

You reached over, brushed your fingers over his stomach. “Same.”

“I don’t want it to just be this.”

You looked up.

That was vulnerable.

“You want more?” you asked, voice soft.

“I want everything,” he said simply.

You smiled.

“Then you better keep up, Doctor Reid.”

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢

𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ pt. i

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: A reflection on the events that led you to your current predicament, in which you've been caught sneaking out of your best friend's mother's room... by your best friend... oops!

Content/Warnings: major canon divergence (see author's note), nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, top!ambessa, bottom!reader, age gap, oral (r receiving), sneaky library sex fuckkkk

A/N: fair warning! i am fully aware of the creative liberty i had to take here to craft a story in which mel and ambessa have a solid enough relationship that this was not a major betrayal on reader's behalf. i'm trying to strengthen my angst writing skills, but unfortunately, it just won't be at mel's expense lol. i'm sorry if you all were hoping for something angstier, but i just can't do nhe yet, so i hope you enjoy what i did write!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’d been about three months since you’d met your best friend’s mother. “She can be a bit… frosty,” Mel had warned, “but don’t mind it. She isn’t as scary as she likes people to think she is.”

That much, you would come to learn in the following months. 

At first, Ambessa refused to entertain the idea of having you; refused it in the daylight, at least. She couldn’t help where her mind wandered when her only company was the moonlight streaming in through her windows and a candle's flame dancing on her nightstand. 

Even then-even after knowing full well that she’d coaxed herself to sleep with images of you flickering behind her closed eyes and a hand in between her legs to accompany them-she refused to act on her attraction.

Ambessa was an esteemed Noxian general. Feared and respected by elites across the world. A grown ass woman. She did not “sneak around.”

And especially not with the girl seated next to her daughter at tonight’s progress day gala, who was giggling about something superficial, something childish, she automatically assumed. No- if Ambessa was going to share her precious time and affections with someone, they would need to match her wits and wisdom. They would need to be able to keep up with her. 

So, she brushes off how beautiful the young lady's berry-colored smile is, and scans the room for the nearest table of champagne flutes. 

She’d never been one for these events. There was always something better to do than stand around and make idle chit-chat, she thought. If there weren’t soldiers to command or negotiations to be made, there was at least a book that she was dying to get home to. In fact, that reminded her of the cliffhanger she left off on before she- “Not one for galas, I presume?” Annoyingly so, the sudden inquiry pulls her from the solace of her trailing thoughts. 

Her agitation is quickly extinguished when a berry-colored smile comes into view. 

Not that you can tell. She still looks as disinterested as ever.

“What makes you say that?” She deadpans, her rich voice smooth and steady. You thank the Gods that you’d chosen a long-sleeved gown to wear tonight, for if not, she’d surely see the goosebumps traveling down your arms.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, feigning a casual confidence. “The brooding, perhaps.”

She cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly at your boldness. 

You don’t miss the corner of her mouth pulling up into an amused smirk. 

“I’m only kidding,” you smile back. “I just have a knack for spotting fellow introverts.” “You seem to be enjoying yourself well enough,” she muses, gesturing to where Mel spearheads the table’s conversion. 

“I enjoy Mel,” you correct, “and when your best friend asks you to play wingwoman for the night because the object of her affections is on the guestlist, you don’t say no.”

A low chuckle escapes the general. 

“Talis?”

“How did you know?” 

“How could I not? The girl is obsessed.”

This time, a chuckle of your own.

“She’s… insistent. Decides she wants something, and won't relent until she has it. But, she utilizes her ambition to fight for what’s right,” you continue, a warm smile now seated on your lips, “and for that, I have boundless respect and admiration for her.”

Ambessa feels her heart wrench.

Guilt.

If there was anyone who deserved someone as supportive as you in their corner, it was Mel. She would not get in between that. 

Not that she had begun to humor the idea of having you, anyway.

“She’s a wonderful girl,” Ambessa remarks softly.

You look over just in time to catch the somber expression with which Ambessa watches her daughter light up the room. She’s quick to school it when she sees you turn, taking a sip of her champagne.

Your words are soft, spoken with an undercurrent of understanding.

“She speaks highly of you.”

The muscle of Ambessa’s jaw tightens for a split second.

“She does?” she asks with a raised brow, trying her best to feign indifference, but you aren’t ignorant of the tumultuous path that has led the two women to their relationship today. They had both worked hard for the bond they now shared, and Ambessa treasures that bond more than she’s ever treasured anything else. 

“She does,” you affirm. “You’ve raised an excellent girl. You’ve also raised a literature fiend, who I can assure you is currently raving about all three of the books she plans to finish by the end of the month.”

Ambessa punches out a laugh. That’s when Mel’s head snaps in her mother’s direction; when she finds that you were the source of her mother’s laughter; when she’s thrust into the crisis that would plague her for months:

“Oh Gods… why do I like them together?!”

She wouldn’t dare speak of this revelation. 

You wouldn’t dare speak of being pressed against a library door with her mother’s lips trailing down your neck.

You’d both taken to roaming the halls of whoever’s estate this was after deciding that reprieve from the crowd would be more than welcome.

The library’s doors had been wide open, its walls of books luring you in. 

“Ooh,” you’d murmured mischievously, “shall we pop in and judge someone’s taste?”

Ambessa rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but follows closely behind anyway. 

“And what is your taste, dear?” she asks. 

With bright eyes and excited words spoken a bit too fast, you go on to share your favorite books and why they'd earned the distinction. She rears her head back, brows raised. 

“I must say… I’m impressed,” she admits. “You’ve mentioned some of my favorites as well.”

“Go on then,” you urge, taking a seat in a wingbacked chair, “I know you’ve got a thesis just waiting for an audience.”

She chortles, leaning against the desk in front of you. “Do you have a knack for spotting fellow bookworms, too?” 

You shrug with a smirk. “What can I say? I’m perceptive.” 

A smirk graces her lips as she scans you, but the look in her eyes is unreadable. It’s abandoned, anyway, when she begins discussing her interpretation of one of her favorite works; and when you interject with a counter thesis that truly has her stumped, she knows she’s screwed. 

She wanted someone who could keep up with her, didn’t she?

So now, here you are, lips swollen from where they were just pressed against her own until you couldn’t breathe. Her grip is firm around your waist as she cages you against the library's tall wooden door and trails open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Her hand snakes up your figure to tangle into your hair and tugs to expose more of your neck. She leaves a nip over your pulse, slides a muscled thigh in between your legs, and when you gasp as she presses in, she finally pulls away to lock eyes with you.

Her composure sends a chill down your spine.

“My daughter comes first,” she asserts. “Always. If at any point either of us believes that this arrangement could bring her harm, we cease immediately.”

Her words are sobering. You think of what this could mean for your friendship if Mel ever found out; of how on earth she’d possibly feel, of what on earth she’d possibly say. 

You’d cross that bridge when you got there, you finally resign, because you’re already soaked through your underwear.

“Of course,” you breathe with a nod. “I understand completely.”

A wicked smirk spreads across her face. She takes your chin between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Good girl,” she croons; and when your jaw goes slack, she takes the opportunity to thumb at your bottom lip before the digit slides over its plush to rest on your tongue. 

Without thinking, you suck. 

“Very good.”

She pulls her thumb from your mouth with a pop, smearing a bit of your dark red lipstick on your chin in the process. 

“Your gown is lovely,” she muses innocently, as if she isn’t sinking to her knees and rucking up the dark red fabric. 

You stare down at her with wide, desperate eyes, your hand darting out to grab at her shoulder for support. 

“I apologize,” she suddenly chimes, slowly pulling your thin garment of lace and cotton down and out of her way, “we’ve already established a mutual disinterest in small talk, haven’t we?”

And then, she disappears underneath the gathered material of your dress. You brace yourself, hoping to the Gods you don’t come embarrassingly fast, but considering the way your legs twitch as soon as she brushes against your arousal, the odds are not in your favor. 

You feel your face heat up when she speaks up to confirm what a mess you are for her. 

“So wet for me already, darling. Do discussions on literature always turn you on this much?”

Your breathless chuckle is cut off by a whine when she presses her nose against your clit, her mouth hovering just over the slick pooling at your entrance. 

“You’re being mean,” you fuss, bucking your hips forward. 

She places a kiss upon the bud of nerves aching for attention, and a chuckle rumbles deep in her chest, sending vibrations through your core that have you clenching around nothing. 

“Oh, child,” she coos, tossing one of your legs over her strong shoulder, “You have no clue what mean is.”

You inhale sharply through gritted teeth as she finally licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit. Her mouth never leaves you, immediately closing around your pearl to suck; hard. 

You let out a squeak, earning yourself a quick pinch on the plush of your hip where she rests her hand.

“Make another noise and I’ll stop. You need to learn to be quiet if this arrangement is what you want.” 

You nod fervently. “Okay,” you exhale, tapping her shoulder in a desperate plea for her to continue, “okay, I’m sorry.”

She drags her tongue through your slick again, draws a circle around your clit with the muscle, dips into the nectar now dripping down your thighs.

“Such a messy girl,” she mocks, mouth still pressed against you. You bite down hard on your lip as she returns to her ministrations. Her tongue laps at your clit steadily now, only stopping every few moments or so to lap at the sweet taste of your arousal. 

Your chest heaves with labored breaths, and your legs are starting to shake. You're nearly delirious on her mouth, her languid strokes coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. 

She brings a thick finger to your entrance, but doesn’t even get the chance to press into you before you gasp, urgently whispering, 

“I’m so close- I’m gonna come.”

She chuckles knowingly. That much was obvious. Her finger slides up to part you like flower petals, and when her mouth latches onto your clit once more, you throw your head back against the door, hand flying over your mouth to conceal the whimper that escapes you. 

Your breath is jagged as you come down; that is, until she stands up and splays a hand across your stomach.

“Breathe, child.” It’s a command, leaving no room for disobedience. 

You take a deep breath in, eyes fluttering open on exhale. She stares down at you with something like pride. Approval. 

“How do you feel?” She asks, gently pulling your underwear back into place. With the handkerchief previously folded up in her back pocket, she first wipes at the smudge of berry-red lipstick adorning your chin, wipes your slick from her own mouth, and then folds it over to dab at the slick on your thighs before tucking it into her bra this time. She gingerly adjusts your dress, straightens your necklace, smooths out your hair. 

“Good,” you smile. “Really good.”

“Do you need a moment before we rejoin the party?” 

“I’m okay,” you shake your head. 

Her eyes narrow as if to ask if you’re sure. 

“Really. I’m fine. Unless I still look… you know…”

“Ravished?”

You chuckle shyly. “Y-yes…that.”

For the first time that you’ve ever seen, her eyes are warm. She tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear. 

“You look beautiful, darling.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Another three months had passed since. Months of stealing glances across extravagant dining room tables, or staying up all hours of the night in her study to discuss the books you were currently reading, or sneaking off to her bed chambers to let her devour you like a woman starved. 

You spare one last glance over your shoulder at the sleeping woman. You both knew the drill; you’d spend your nights together, accompanied only by the high moon and candlelight, but by day, Mel came first. 

Mel, who is now staring at you with a slack jaw, wondering why in the Gods’ names you’re tiptoeing out of her mother’s bedroom.

You were usually more careful, sneaking back down to Mel’s room where she thought you’d been all night before the sun even had the chance to break the horizon. You’d been less disciplined this morning, far less inclined to leave Ambessa with empty arms after she’d officially declared that she wanted you to be hers. Still, you'd be able to play it off perfectly well, you thought. You’d just pretend to have gotten up to use the bathroom or to fetch a glass of water. Neither of which necessitated being in Ambessa Medarda’s room. This unfortunate fact hits you like a train when you lock eyes with Mel. 

Your jaw goes slack, the color drains from your face, and your stomach drops.

As much as you try-as much as you want to- you can’t say anything. You’re not sure whether to be relieved or terrified when Mel speaks first instead.

“I’ll just… right… I’ll be in the kitchen. Having breakfast. You know. As one does.” 

You watch in horror as she awkwardly scrambles away, and tears prick your eyes as soon as she’s out of sight.

“My daughter comes first,” Ambessa had said. “If at any point either of us believes that this arrangement could bring her harm, we cease immediately.”

Your mind is racing. You wonder at what point this went too far, at what point you should have called it; and then, eventually, you figure that all this wondering will get you nowhere. 

Nothing would change the fact that you’ve been sneaking around with your best friend’s mother, and nothing would change the fact that now, she knows.

There was only one thing to do: be a big girl and face the music. 

You pad down the stairs, stomach twisting in knots when you begin making your way down the hall leading to the kitchen. You swear you’re about to hurl when you round the corner to find Mel and Jayce seated on barstools at the marble island, speaking in urgent, hushed voices. 

As much as you would have rather disappeared completely in this moment, you clear your throat instead, making your presence known. 

Jayce shoots up, running a hand through his hair. 

Damn it, you think, he only does that when he’s nervous. 

“I’ll, uh, leave you girls to it...” 

Your lips press into a thin line as he walks past you, leaving you alone with Mel. You take a step forward, wrapping your arms around you. 

“Mel…” you begin, voice already breaking, “I don’t… I don’t know where to begin.”

She rises from her seat, steeling herself for the conversation with a deep breath and a clenched jaw. Her green eyes bore into you. 

“Very well, then,” she begins, crossing her arms in front of her. “You can start by telling me how long this has been going on.” 

“Um…” 

You chew your lip, brows furrowing in an anxious concentration as you parse through the past few months for the beginning of your escapades with Ambessa. 

“It’s been about-”

Mel’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. 

A confused look appears on your face. Bit of an early reaction, you think…

And then, she snorts. 

She’s laughing. 

“Oh Gods, I can’t possibly keep this up; darling, you look like you’re about to faint.”

“What?” You whisper, eyes darting across her features as you try to make sense of what on Earth is going on. 

“Y/n,” Mel begins, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I know you’ve been seeing her.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. 

“What?! How?”

“Oh, please. I know a woman in love when I see one.”

Your jaw is slack, eyes narrowing in disbelief until, finally, you exhale. Your hand flies to your racing heart, relief washing over you. 

She isn’t angry. 

“In fact,” she continues, handing you a glass of orange juice, “I’ve been harboring a bit of a secret myself.”

You raise a brow, urging her to continue as you sit down on one of the stools.

“I'm quite positive that the two of you are a great match.”

You choke mid-sip. 

“What?” You cough, clumsily wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“It’s true,” she muses. “I’ve thought so since seeing her laugh with you at the progress day ball a few months ago. My mother doesn’t laugh.”

You chuckle at the assertion, though she’s completely serious.

“Then why try setting me up with all of those different people?” You wonder outwardly. 

“Tell me you wouldn’t have gotten suspicious if I’d suddenly stopped utilizing my impeccable matchmaking abilities,” she begins. “You would have started wondering if there was something wrong, and you know I can’t lie to you, so then I would have had to admit that the person I really thought you should be set up with was my mother.”

You giggle at the thought of that conversation, and Mel takes a seat beside you, resting her chin in her palm. 

“I do wish you’d told me,” she says softly. “I don’t like this secret-keeping business.”

A pang of guilt pierces you. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, Mel. It really wasn’t ever supposed to go this far, but…”

“Here you are,” she states with a shrug and a knowing grin. 

“Here I am,” you repeat.

Mel shoots you a wink. “I know a woman in love when I see one.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Taglist: @ya-boi-v

[kleptomaniakrow]

hi, i'm back on my brainrot bullshit so you know what time it is. B)

hear me out, (some) KorTac men (specifically König, Krueger and Nikto), dating an artist. normally i often see most drabbles or thoughtfully crafted pieces delve down the writer route (go figure), but hear me out!!

tried my best to keep it gender neutral but like, there might be one femme-leaning pet-name + the use of "little one" for Nikto's bit! i am not a russian-speaking native so i hope the one i grabbed is gender neutral as well (feel free to correct me if it isn't)! also idk about yall but personally i'm running with his government first name being "Andre," idk why it just suits him imo!

overall this was just another idea that fucking possessed me as i was working on some art! i am taking it upon myself to shove this idea out of my brain and into the ether of tumblr dot com! so enjoy my fluffy brain rot!

if they're a little ooc uh... i'm still figuring out how to write these three idiots (affectionate) so bare with my bird brained self!

not proof read btw. so if you see typos... no you didn't.

enjoy these little pebbles of purely sickeningly sweet, silly fluff under the cut! :)

♚ König. . .

✦ he would fucking love to see your drawings i will die on this fucking hill! this fact about you was one of the most exciting thing he ever learned about you and by god was this man like a child in a candy store witnessing all of your art pieces, new or old! ✦ this big, burly man gets so soft and proud seeing your sketches become finalized pieces. the art of creation is always such a wonderous marvel to behold, seeing you turn out the rest of the world when you fully submerge yourself into the motions is a marvel. ✦ honestly, let's be real, he would take this chance to just stare at you (affectionately). because you're too deep in your own little world, likely with headphones on or music playing, perhaps even a podcast of choice as you pen your ideas to paper be it on actual paper or on a more digital medium! ✦ if you ever, and i genuinely mean EVER, take the time to draw his portrait (with or without his face coverings ofc), i think this man would full-on bawl like a baby. pathetic snot dribbling from his nose, horrendously tearful but it's all for good reasons, please don't worry! ✦ "Mein schatz..." / "Do you like it?" / "I've no words that would do it justice... it's... incredible, maus." ✦ i bet fucking money he'd save that to his phone, keep a copy of it in his pocket of a kevlar vest, something tangible that you earnestly made for him with intents of capturing your muse onto parchment. between photos of you he keeps to himself, little traces of your existence just make his heart sing. parchment long since creased from how many times he's opened it and closed it, weathered and worn but it's something you made for him to keep. these items that were made or owned by you are invaluable, no amount of money could every buy these off of him. you and anything you make are treasures he'd protect indefinitely. ✦ in the sense of a long-distance relationship, or perhaps he's away on work such as deployment, you'd often share what you're working on, be it still images or (stable internet, be willing), you lull him to sleep with vague humming whilst screen-sharing projects you're determined to see to fruition. ✦ if you're ever insecure about your work, this big ass goof (affectionate) would stumble over his words but he'd want nothing more than for you to constantly be up his ass about what you do, side-hustle or hobby otherwise. ✦ König is your number 1 supporter, and he'd sooner turn in his premature grave before he'd ever slip up on an opportunity to let you think otherwise. even if you find your talent lackluster by comparison, he'd perish atop mountains shouting how talented his beloved schatz is! the way you breath life into such fictitious subjects always drew him in, especially with how you drew eyes and expressions (especially when he noticed you often mimic the facial creases yourself when focusing on expressions, but he'd never tell you. it's too precious to point out so brazenly). ✦ frankly, if this passion of yours is important to you, it's important to him, and he will not budge on this. what sparks you joy will be a wonderous experience for him too, and what partner would he be if he wasn't supportive of your interests, hobbies or line of work?

♜ Krueger. . .

✦ see, Sebastian would be a bit interesting because you'd think at first he'd pay little to no mind. ✦ his steps are so quiet around the house that half the time you're just ignorant of his presence for several minutes before the inkling of someone behind you ever crossed your mind. ✦ it's not that you'd mind (not unless he scares the proverbial piss out of you, of course) but he just can't help but be curious. maybe he's not one for the modern arts (perhaps more classical?) but... you're his darling little liebling, he isn't so much as a fool to be ignorant of your interests. ✦ however he's not too partial to being seperate from you; krueger gives me the impression he's partial to physical touch... when he wants to be that is (frankly he's no better than a cat in my eyes). ✦ "Schatzi?" / "Hmmm~?" / "Come, bring your little drawing things with you if you must but I need you here," ✦ he now fully sees a character design you've been working on and admittedly... curiosity does get the better of him and he begins inquiring what you're working on whilst your form settles into his. ✦ "Oh! This is a commission for someone who paid me illustrate a character for their indie game!" he just nods along, allowing you space to involve him into this little world of yours. revealing to him the various concepts tossed back and forth between you and your client. ✦ Sebastian is (quietly) fascinated by how your creative little mind works. keenly taken notes, exhibiting your perceptive attentive to rather pedantic details―it's so annoyingly endearing. he's come to find himself enamored by entertaining your eccentric interests, ones that vastly differ from his. but these are distinctive traits he's come to adore you for. ✦ he jokingly threw out the idea of how he'd look in such a world of whimsy given your subjects of focus is often fantasy. oh boy he shouldn't have said that because now you have ideas and that is dangerous to give one's partner with only their imagination as a limiter. ✦ he'd be physically unable to admit to it, but he'd likely have saved the drawings that poured every ounce of love into when imaging him in a knight's garb rather than tac pants and kevlar. the idea of you seeing him as such a regal-looking protector makes his heart do that fluttery, frantic-caged-bird sensation that makes his cheeks and ears warmer than normal.

♞ Nikto. . .

✦ see there's just something about Nikto that gives me the impression he wouldn't even ask. however, don't mistake this as disinterest! baby boy is so fucking curious what his little one is doing! he's just unsure how to articulate such a.. loaded question(?) and you seem so focused on what you're doing! ✦ i kinda see him doing that animal-thing where he just quietly observes every subtle movement, noise or expression that catches his eye‒ you two more often than not just kinda "co-exist" together in the same shared space, not always needing to talk verbally; comfortable, silent company is more than enough between you two, such a peaceful life is more than he'd ever ask for. ✦ instead, i can see him bringing you sustenance and fluids, you're keeping yourself so, so busy but you need to eat and drink at some point! things he knows you like! things that he's memorized by heart! it's always the quiet bitches like him /pos who have an internalized backlog of information when it comes to you. and you appreciate it immensely when so engrossed in the process. ✦ little did he know, you were working on a passion project of the indie development. working along side a few other individuals, tasked design characters for a game jam! the protagonist was concepted to have a build that you're not exactly familiar with drawing (bulky, trained, fit, think professional dead lifter types which distantly remined you of Nikto). ✦ he couldn't help but notice that the usual focus is now tightly knit with frustration. the quiet concern he conveyed with but a glance went unnoticed, far too deep in your own thoughts to really pay any heed to the brewing worry. he had to say something.. anything to snap you out of this mental loop. ✦ "любимый?" ("beloved?") / "Huh?" / "Something troubles you...?" / "Trouble me?— oh! No, no I'm okay!" / "Your expression tells me different... will you allow me to listen? To.. help?" ✦ eventually the big brutish bear cuts through your thoughts to source the root of your worries! it'd cause you to wrinkle far earlier than you mean to! as prompted, you're airing out your grievances with this project being out of your comfort zone. it's hard to come up with a concept that you're happy with and you've deadlines to meet for this project. he listens to you diligently, even if he may not understand the full weight of your plight; it matters to you, then it matters to him, bottom line. ✦ you don't know how exactly, but eventually, somehow, you ended up enlisting Nikto's assistance! his figure is close enough the character pitch the head of your team passed onto your inspiration board! ✦ somehow, that incorrigible art block just... magically vanished! it was mind boggling even to you. Nikto didn't really understand given all he did was slide you a few photos or posed for your creative use. but the creases on your brow line were softer if not gone entirely, so he'd consider his intervention a success. ✦ you find yourself looking at the game's protagonist (whom you coyly suggested he be named "Andre" for no suspicious reason at all), and you're elated! proud of it, too! it's evident that he bears Nikto's likeness in some aspects! aside from the build, of course. Nikto has been watching you work your magic throughout the entirety with silent reverence and seeing you in your natural habitat of creation was.. breath taking. however he couldn't help but notice his heart thumping against his ribcage a little harder seeing his likeness in something you made. it was... flattering almost, seeing how you took characteristics that elicit hardship or grief but you captured his image with calm, quiet confident air. was this how you saw him?

[readychilledwine]

Howl at the Moon

Summary - Your daughter's way of exploring the world and expressing herself is a bit unorthodox

Warning - Motherhood and children

A/N - I wanted to give you all a glimpse into where I've been with life using our favorite girl dad. I really should take the time to make a GirlDad!Cassian Masterlist

✨️Master Masterlist ✨️Cassian Masterlist ✨️

“Sorcha! No,” Rhysand's voice was distressed, even if he was laughing. “Baby, Uncle Rhys said- Ow!” Your eyes shut, knowing what probably had happened. Your 16-month-old was a lot the past month. Her world was currently being explored with her mouth, and unfortunately, that meant her people, too. 

Her cry started a few moments later. Cassian seemed to sense the stress your daughter was going through and ran into the house, ready to be daddy. You followed him into the living room where Rhysand was trying to comfort your daughter. Her little wings were slumped, his hand in her curly dark hair. She was yelling more than sobbing. 

“I'm sorry. She bit my knee,” Rhys started. “I yelled-”

“Yelped,” you corrected. 

Rhysand shot you a dirty look, one that had you not been his sister would have scared you. “I gave a manly yelp,” he looked down at Sorcha. “I think it scared her.”

"No. She is upset because she was told no," Cassian got down to her level, taking her into his arms, “Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Being told no is normal, baby. It's okay."

You only stared at Rhysand as her howling began, your brother caught very off guard by the sad little “ah-woos” now coming from your daughter. “She does this lately,” Cassian explained to Rhys. “My little wolf.” 

Rhys was looking between you and Cassian, slightly confused. Nyx, your lovely nephew, had never gone through this feral phase. He had always been refined whereas Sorcha in all her spoiling was, well, sometimes just wild.

The problem was Cassian encouraging her. 

She howled, he howled with her. She bit, he gently nibbled her back. She yelled or screeched, well, he did the same. He matched her energy like it had become his own purpose in life. As if she was his very soul turned into this beautiful creature of playfulness and joy. 

He gave her a soft ah-woo back, making her begin to giggle and howl even more. “That's my happy happy girl,” Cassian picked her up, hugging her as he walked her outside. “Let's go run off some energy, baby.”

You moved to your brother, checking his knee for injury. “Last week, she bit my cheek when we were cuddling and made an almost growling noise,” you stated. Your eyes met his, your brother's dark brow was cocked. “I know. I know it's inappropriate. I am battling Cassian's enabling and he doesn't tell her no like I do. It's why he's the favorite."

"I don't think he's her favorite. She still watches for you like a hawk and screams in excitement anytime you walk into a room," Rhysand chuckled as he made you stand with him and then walked with you toward the patio door.

“You know what I see,” his eyes were now where Cassian was slightly chasing Sorcha, her loud belly laughter so innocent and unapologetically loud. “I see a father who loves his daughter and is playing with her. I see my niece, getting to explore the world most naturally to her. I see parents working to ensure their only child is raised with confidence. Even if she is a bit spoiled. She's frankly too damn cute not to spoil with those dark eyes and hair and that little food belly.”

Cassian had playfully caught Sorcha, tossing her in the air just high enough to make your stomach twist with worry. Your voice held a vulnerability that Rhysand had grown used to you using lately, “Do you think we're failing her?”

“Because she likes to chew? Cauldron, no. It's her instinct, sister,” Rhysand laughed. “She can't help it. It's soothing for her, it's how she's learning. Has the biting others slowed down?”

You nodded, “Its mainly Cass and I now. And evidently you.”

Rhysand hummed, “So the fae she feels safest with. I should be honored then, being loved so much by her she wants to be herself with me.” Soft blue eyes looked at you, the coloring almost violet. “You're doing great.”

Cassian was lying in the grass with Sorcha now, her little body on top of his. He had a wing up enough to block the sun from her eyes, his shut as his baby girl got comfy and let out a content and dramatic sigh. Her energy seemed to be burned out for now. She bit into Cassian's shirt, almost using it as a pacifier. Cassian gave her another soft howl, and Sophia dropped his shirt to echo him.

“You're doing great,” Rhysand repeated, his voice tight and eyes watering.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[kairakeiji]

note: alcohol consumption! and also lowkey suggestive :DD

“will you go out with me?”

the words are slightly slurred when they leave akaashi’s lips. his eyes are a little hazy as they stare down at you, trapped between him and the wall behind you. your gaze darts up to his at his question, widening slightly.

“what?”

and this is why you should never let keiji akaashi consume alcohol. one minute he’s sitting and observing the party around him, nursing a small drink, the next bokuto, who was rather inebriated himself, is begging him to do a shot with him before dragging him away from his little corner and into the center of attention. he begrudgingly followed his best friend, who consistently told him to “loosen up ‘kaashi,” and that “you never go out anyway, we gotta celebrate when you do.”

curse his decade long friendship with bokuto. if it weren’t for their prior history, akaashi wouldn’t have given in so easily.

you came up to him with the same grin you always gave him, the one that always made his heart flutter, before laughing at bokuto’s antics. he begged you to get him out of this but before you could save him, bokuto’s held another shot in his hands, whispering that akaashi looked a bit too nervous standing before you.

the shot was gone before he could even register what kind of alcohol it was.

vodka, the really shitty kind too, the one that people buy for $10 and drink to ensure they don’t remember the rest of the night. akaashi had a coughing fit after, which prompted you to bring him back to his little corner. akaashi swore the world was spinning around him, not even registering that you were holding his hand, eyes full of concern. “are you okay?” you question, the noise of the party dying down slightly.

“i think so,” he mumbles.

“you drank a lot pretty quickly,” you tell him as you hand him a bottle of water, “this should help you for now.”

he only nodded as he took the drink from your hand, the surprisingly cold bottle acting as a wake up call. you were standing in front of him, taking care of him, making sure he was okay. and he, well, he was unfortunately drunk, moreso than he had been in a really long time.

“thank you,” he tells you.

you wave it off, “not a problem.”

“it is a bit, though,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. he begins to walk forward, a little hazy.

“keiji, are you okay?”

you never call him by first name.

“keiji?” he questions softly.

“sorry, you mumbled. “accident.”

“no no,” he replies walking closer to you. “it’s fine, i don’t mind.”

“oh,” he keeps walking, and you find yourself matching his steps backwards. “if you say so.” your back hit the wall behind you, a shock going down your spine at the slight presence.

“i actually,” his hand rests on the wall behind you, caging you in as your heart beat picks up. “kinda like it.”

and that’s how you both ended up here, eyes locked on his as his question lingers in the air.

“i never even knew you liked me,” you mumble to akaashi.

“i have for awhile,” he tells you rather candidly. “i hate that i’m telling you like this though.” you shrink in slightly, not really realize how close he was to you. his face mere inches from yours. “especially in a position like this.”

you meet his gaze at that. he’s never been this close, you swear you could see every detail, even in the dim lighting.

your heart races. “akaashi i-”

“keiji,” he cuts you off.

“keiji,” you correct softly. “i-”

“if you don’t feel the same it’s fine,” he tells you softly, “especially after this, i would understand. i mean who am i to drop this on you so suddenly?”

“someone drunk,” you can’t help but laugh.

and akaashi shakes his head, “i’m sorry, i really wanted to tell you at a different time,” he explains. “but i think that’s why bokuto was making me down shots.”

“you never party,” you tell him.

“neither do you,” he counters. “did he make you drink?”

“yeah, right before he pulled you in,” you sigh. “but i don’t think it’s really hit yet.”

“why are you here?”

“probably for the same reason as you,”

and a certain boy with silver spiked hair pops into akaashi’s mind.

“he set us up,” he sighs before his hand leaves the wall behind you.

but your hand reaches up for the collar of his shirt, pulling him in back into you. akaashi’s eyes widen as both his hands reach for the wall this time, hoping to save himself from fully tripping. “what are you-”

“don’t go yet,” you tell him, the party around you being drowned by your heartbeat. “we don’t want his efforts going to waste.” you must’ve jinxed yourself in that moment, as the world blurs out slightly.

“besides, i like having you this close.”

his lips are inches from yours, and it’s all he can find himself staring at. “how do you feel about me?” the questions slips out before he can think.

“let’s see,” you start. “bokuto invited two of his closest friends who never really party out, he got them both drunk around the same time, and now we’re standing here.”

akaashi blinks.

and you cant help but shake your head, your grip on his collar, slightly tightening. “for someone who’s normally so smart, you’re being really stupid right now.”

“i-”

you pull him in, as you stand up slightly on your toes, his lips crashing into yours. one of his hands slips off the wall to find the small of your back, holding you steady as the hand on his collar reaches up towards his neck. he pulls you off the wall and closer to him, his other hand traveling up your figure to your cheek. akaashi finds himself chasing your lips as you pull away, a slight smile curling in your lips when you notice.

“does that say enough?” you tease.

“one more,” he tells you before he pulls you back in. you can’t help but smile as you kiss him, hands beginning to travel to his shoulders before you lead him backwards. he follows your lead, his touch remains light as his hands move to your waist. your back rest on the wall once again as he pulls away, eyes meeting yours. akaashi kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, and you can’t help the sigh you let out as he kisses the column of your neck. “you never answered my question,” he tells you between kisses.

“what was your question again,” you tease slightly. he kisses up your neck before pulling back to meet your eyes, face inches from yours.

“you’re gonna make me repeat it?” he questions. akaashi’s slightly out of breath, eyes hooded and as dazed out as ever.

you can’t help but laugh, “i’m dense, i truly can’t remember.”

and he shakes his head, “you just want me to say it again.”

“maybe,” you sigh. “it’s me, i know you will.”

and you’re right.

“go out with me,” he tells you.

and you nod, “okay.”

the things i'd give for keiji to pin me to a wall like that...i mean whaaaat who said that???

thank you for reading, this is so self indulgent, so i hope you like it :DD

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay I need to talk about this more, because I am unwell:

“If you get out of the car now, I won't chase after you anymore” is a heck of a sentence. It's a lot of guilt and hurt and confusion to put out there, and to put on Akin.

Jin's asking Akin to stay and fight, to convince him that nothing happened with Johnny, to show a sign that he wants this, too. But he won't offer a kindness back, he won't reach out gently like he always has, and that's what Akin needs now, so he gets out of the car.

Jin says "Don't leave, or I won't chase you", but Akin hears "I'm done trying", and then Jin drives away and proves Akin's interpretation correct.

Jin has been a calm port in the storm for Akin, and now he's too caught up in his own anger that he isn't seeing what's right in front of him -- Akin's pain and confusion, and Johnny's almost confession that he took advantage -- so now they're both adrift.

Jin thinks that everyone who knows Akin must feel the same desperate want for him. Sees the soft boundary Akin has set as a potential rejection in the face of this other successful actor and sets Johnny as a rival instead of a predator.

Akin sees Jin pull away with cruel words, and sees fault, because he still doesn't know that he didn't sleep with Johnny, so Jin's pulling away and his anger and his accusations are still Akin's fault.

Ugh. I need my "let's talk about it" king Jin to return from war being stupid.

[onegayastronaut]

Emergency Ready

Requested by anon: Ideas are keep coming to my silly mind, so here’s a next one: Maya and Carina teaching Reader basic first aid skills.

Words: 1169

You had always wanted to learn first aid. Maybe it was all the medical dramas you watched or the fact that emergencies seemed to happen at the worst possible moments, but knowing what to do in a crisis felt like an essential skill. So, when you mentioned it offhandedly during dinner with Maya and Carina, you had no idea it would turn into a full-on training session in their living room the very next day.

“Okay, tesoro, we start with CPR,” Carina announced cheerfully, setting down a CPR dummy in the middle of the floor. Maya, sitting cross-legged beside her, smirked.

“Not nervous, are you?” Maya teased, tilting her head at you. “Because once we teach you this, you’re officially our go-to emergency responder in social situations.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, no pressure, right?”

Carina patted your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it fun. And Maya won’t let you go until you’ve mastered it.”

Maya grinned. “Exactly.”

The first lesson was CPR, and Carina took the lead. She demonstrated proper hand placement on the dummy’s chest, explaining the rhythm of compressions. “You want to push hard and fast, about two inches deep. And the beat? Think ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Maya nodded. “Classic CPR song. You’re keeping a rhythm of about 100-120 beats per minute. Give it a shot.”

Taking a deep breath, you positioned your hands and began compressions. The first few felt awkward, but Carina adjusted your hand placement, guiding you until you got it right. “Good, tesoro. Keep going.”

Maya cupped her chin thoughtfully. “You should probably test them under pressure. Randomly yell ‘Person down!’ throughout the week and see how fast they react.”

Carina swatted Maya’s arm. “No scaring them into learning.”

Maya just winked at you. “No promises.”

After CPR, you moved on to the Heimlich maneuver. Maya took charge this time, demonstrating on Carina with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Oof!” Carina gasped dramatically as Maya wrapped her arms around her from behind. “Maya! Gently!”

“I have to make sure I’m doing it right,” Maya countered innocently, but you could see the mischief in her eyes. “It’s all about technique, babe.”

Carina rolled her eyes but smiled. “Okay, tesoro, your turn.”

Maya grinned and clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s see what you got.”

You hesitated for a second before stepping behind Carina. She nodded encouragingly. “Imagine I am choking on something. What do you do first?”

“Ask if you’re choking?” you responded, recalling the basic steps.

“Good! Because if they can still talk or cough, you let them try to clear it themselves,” Carina confirmed.

Maya, of course, couldn’t resist making the situation more chaotic. “But what if they can’t talk? What if they’re turning blue? What if we’re in a restaurant and everyone’s staring?” She gasped theatrically. “What if it’s a super fancy dinner and you’re in a dress and heels?”

Carina shot her a look. “Maya.”

You laughed but focused on the task at hand. “Then I’d stand behind them like this, place my arms around their waist, make a fist just above the belly button, and—”

You mimicked the motion of pulling in and up, careful not to apply too much pressure just yet.

Carina nodded approvingly. “Perfect. You want to use quick, forceful thrusts to push the air up and dislodge the object. Do it five times in a row.”

You applied a bit more force, repeating the thrusts. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” Carina praised. “But if it doesn’t work after five attempts, what’s next?”

You paused. “Call 911?”

“Correct!” Maya said enthusiastically. “And if they go unconscious?”

Carina took over. “Then you lower them to the ground carefully and start CPR.”

Maya leaned in. “Now let’s add some real pressure. You, my friend, are about to get the Heimlich speed test.”

Before you could react, Maya grabbed a piece of bread from the kitchen and stuffed it in her mouth, pretending to choke. She dramatically flailed her arms, eyes wide, and pointed at her throat.

“Oh my God—Maya!” Carina exclaimed. “Don’t actually choke!”

But you sprang into action, stepping behind Maya and positioning your hands correctly. “I got this,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around her and giving a few sharp, controlled thrusts. Maya made an exaggerated gagging sound before pretending to cough out the imaginary obstruction.

She turned to you, hands on her hips. “Not bad, rookie.”

Carina shook her head with a relieved sigh. “Maya, you are impossible.”

“I’m thorough!” Maya defended. “And now, they’re even better under pressure.”

Carina rubbed her temples. “You’re giving me heart palpitations.”

Maya grinned. “Want me to teach you first aid for that?”

After shaking her head, Carina turned back to you. “Okay, let’s add some variations. What if the person choking is pregnant?”

You thought for a moment. “You don’t do abdominal thrusts. You do chest thrusts instead.”

“Very good.” Carina smiled. “And what if they’re a child?”

You hesitated. “Same thing, but gentler?”

Carina nodded. “Right. And if it’s an infant?”

You recalled what you had seen in training videos. “I think you lay them face-down on your arm and give back blows?”

Maya gave you a thumbs-up. “Exactly. Five firm back slaps between the shoulder blades, then turn them over and do five chest thrusts with two fingers.”

The practice continued, with Carina and Maya throwing different scenarios at you—what to do in a wheelchair situation, how to assist someone who is larger than you, even how to perform self-Heimlich using a chair. You practiced each scenario with growing confidence.

Finally, after an hour of Heimlich drills, Carina called it. “Alright, I think they’ve mastered it.”

Maya stretched dramatically. “Whew, all this life-saving makes me hungry.”

Carina shot her a look. “After that stunt, you’re eating small bites for the rest of the day.”

You laughed, feeling more confident than ever. “So, does this mean I passed?”

Maya clapped you on the back. “Not only did you pass, but you’re officially our emergency backup. If we ever choke at dinner, we’re counting on you.”

Carina smiled warmly. “You did great, tesoro.”

You felt a swell of pride. It had started as a simple request to learn first aid, but now you had skills that could genuinely save a life. And with Maya and Carina guiding you, you knew you were in the best hands.

The rest of the day was filled with hands-on learning. Carina taught you how to clean and dress wounds, while Maya walked you through basic splinting. They even staged a few mock scenarios, testing your reactions.

By the end, you were exhausted but exhilarated. “That was… actually really fun.”

Carina smiled warmly. “And now, you know how to save a life.”

Maya slung an arm around your shoulder. “Which means, like it or not, you’re part of our first response squad now.”

You groaned playfully, but deep down, you were grateful. Not just for the skills, but for them.

[mekanikaltrifle]

So I'm actually kind of curious because I was always under the assumption that calking a Scottish person English or British wasn't right, but then ive had Scottish people downright argue with me that they are, in fact, one or the other because they're part of england or part of the British isles. I assume the answer is just kind of "there is no single correct answer" but I'm really curious about your thoughts on this specifically.

So, this is gonna get wordy. Be warned!

I would like to start off saying that any Scot telling you to call them English is probably English, rather than Scottish.

Otherwise, being British or Scottish specifically and preferring either name is very often a political statement, more notably after the 2014 independence referendum. People in Scotland who want to be called British are much more likely to be Unionists, or sympathetic to the union status quo-- might even be Conservative! Unionists are known in Scotland for being more Conservative than their anti Unionist counterparts. I'm not a unionist so I won't be explaining why they like the union.

Meanwhile, someone who places emphasis on being Scottish before British is more likely to be anti-Union, having voted to leave the UK in 2014. This isn't a definitive one or the other answer, because like you said there isn't necessarily a single correct answer. That said, many people in Scotland are more left leaning than our English counterparts, and politically many of us place some weight to that. On top of that, the Acts of Union never annexed us the way Wales was, instead merging the governance of the two sovereign kingdoms (Scotland, and England/Wales), and in doing so there were some agreements in these Acts that we would be an 'equal nation' of sorts. This... hasn't always been the case in the UK, and a lot of different people who care about that have their own nitpick with the inequality of the United Kingdom as it relates to living here. There's a fucktonne of reading to do on that, I assure you.

Also, many people know how atrocious the British Empire was, over here, and don't want anything to do with it as far as we can manage. Hating the existence of the remnants of empire is a pretty valid reason to not want to be 'British', imo.

Also, I want to reiterate that no part of Scotland is in England, we are not a region of England. A Scot is only English if he's also, well, English. This is important to remember, because it's important to people. Plus, England spent centuries trying to invade and conquer us, so yknow. They did some pretty awful things to historical Scots in doing so, including banning our instruments and languages to the point that there's an entire historical genre of Scottish music performed a capella, because all we could use was our voices.

All this and more is why someone in Scotland probably won't take kindly to being called English by a stranger. Plus, honestly, it's just a bit ignorant and may just come off offensive. I doubt a French man would enjoy being called German, you know?

In general, it's important to listen to what the person you're talking to would rather be called, cause isn't that the same for everything? We've got preferred names, pronouns, titles, roles; some places like here we've also got preferred terms for our identity within our countries. This also isn't uncommon in certain regions of Europe at all, so I've a feeling this may resonate more with people from Catalonia or the Tyrol, so on and so forth.

Anyway it's 4 am so I'll cut the ramble short, but I hope that helps you! If someone's Scottish online I would caution against calling them English in general, especially given American users having sometimes just... really unpleasant jokes and attitudes towards people in the UK. So hope that's helpful to you and take care of yourselves, etc. Have a lovely day or night or whatever solar configuration you've got.

[dekusleftsock]

I want everyone to know that I just started hyperventilating and crying at the last leaks screenshot where Ochako says toga is the cutest in the whole world.

[sunlight-shunlight]

i don't have an excuse for this. woe. young solas be upon ye.

[wyervan]

would Sun be mad if i fiddled with his hair? Not in a grooming way. . . more like. . .

Would he let me grab a strand and twirl it around my finger?

Mmh! Okay—only if you guys were like, super familiar already. and he liked you. a lot. and he knew your hands were clean. Otherwise, Moonie's the only one he's comfortable with touching his hair. Anyone else tries it, and he’ll be flinching away, making excuses, and inching toward the Lysol.

If all the above is true, he quite likes having his hair played with! Twirling strands, gentle tugs, carding through his mane with your fingers. He’s lids will droop and he’ll get a dopey smile on his face 🥴. Be nearly purring in no time.

[faaun]

said goodbye to him feeling weird!

[roseworth]

part of the appeal of a jason & rose team up to me is that they are so similar personality-wise but they are soooo different in their approach to crimefighting in the sense that jason is a meticulous planner and rose does not plan more than 10 minutes ahead. jason spends weeks putting together every aspect of their plan and backup plans in case something goes wrong just for rose to ruin it by going "im gonna kick down this door and see if anyones behind it"

[satanfemme]

people always say "this website's hate mail game is insane" but I can't even remember the last time I received a hate anon that didn't just make me roll my eyes. it's like... so mid. sometimes it's so boring I forget I'm supposed to block. and look, I'll admit this is almost frustrating because if you're going to develop some kind of hateful obsession with me that's cool and gets me going a bit, but I'd like it if you actually paid attention to who I am as a person (it's like you don't even care about my major and obvious insecurities), or at least otherwise showed some kind of conviction and passion.... none of you are suitable kismesis partners for me and it makes me sad. you are all anxiety-ridden & reactionary cowards who, rather than forming a useful political identity, search tumblr for your favorite discourse keyword of the month so you can (fail to) posture yourself as effortless bullies because it makes you feel better about your own shit lives and it's so transparent that it could never work on anyone with even 1% less insecurities as you have. it's sad! :-(!

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 😥

[haarute]

it's amazing how almost all of my friendships (and by almost all i mean Every save like three) are ruined by my own self essentially swerving into a wall and crashing on purpose due to my inability to believe my company could ever be even slightly desirable to anyone and i'd rather just burn it all and die than see myself as someone who intrudes and abuses people's kindness out of my own selfish desire to want companionship.