#I cannot fucking wait to see what her interactions are with everyone else oh my god

[uwuwha]

Gigi... I love you Gigi... hello Gigi...

[sexlapis]

just thinking abt corporate!reader & her goth!wife mikasa :3

female!reader, short fic, flirty coworkers, fluff, crack, wife!mikasa

wc: idk just read it damn

you were a diligent, serious worker but you’d never be caught working overtime in a place like that. you would never work longer than you had to, you don’t give a fuck about your job, or any company that much. the job wasn’t exactly exciting or difficult, but the salary was absolutely ridiculous for such simple tasks and you just can’t say goodbye to this lifestyle, really. it is easy, stable and comfortable and you really cannot ask for anything else.

you always kept to yourself and minded your own business but, unfortunately for you, the men you worked with were not familiar with such a concept.

when you started you job, your male coworkers found no problem or shame in flirting with you. and now, with the new, simple yet expensive golden wedding band on your finger…they still had no problem flirting with you.

you sit at your desk typing away, when all of a sudden, your coworker, sam, appeared out of nowhere like a bunny in a top hat.

“hey!” he spoke, far too loudly for the environment you were in.

“…hi.”

“how are you?” sam leans on your desk, shifting it in a way which will irk you for the rest of this painful interaction.

you look up at him, mouth streamline and eyes blank. “i’m fine, thank you,” you make a point of not asking how he is before raising your eyebrows and looking at your desk computer, “got work to do.”

“yeah,” he chuckles, biting his lip, “so listen…”

oh no.

“so i’ve been thinking…”

please, stop.

“i think we get along really well and i’m just wondering…”

god, help me.

“…if maybe we could go out sometime,” he finishes, smirking all of his ivory, hyper-perfect, white teeth at you. he stares at you, awaiting your answer.

you sigh. he sees so confident. it was sad.

you fiddle with your watch and begin your awkward rejection, “look i-”

a voice calling out your name is heard as you spin around in your squeaky desk chair and a few feet away, stands your wife, mikasa.

what is she doing here?

next to her is the receptionist, you smiles at you and nods to mikasa before walking away.

mikasa is dressed to the nines, as she always is.

she is decked out in an all-black outfit - her toned arms, decorated with lace sleeves, snug at the top and loosening out as the fabric goes on. a corset adorns her waist, peppered with lace accents and it emphasises the pale expanse of her upper breasts that are on display for everyone to see. her lower half is draped in a long, slightly billowed out skirt and platform boots cover her feet, making her almost tower over everyone.

mikasa walks over to you, unbothered by all the eyes on her. in her hand is a small container, one that you assume carries your lunch. she leans down and kisses you cheek, surely staining your skin with scarlet. you feel heat on your face. you’re pretty sure nobody is working at this point.

“hi ♡.” mikasa greets, a soft smile on her lips.

“hi-mikasa, what are-” you stand up swiftly, looking around your small work area, noticing how your colleagues are simply pretending to work, “what are you doing here? i said i’d meet you outside.”

“you were taking a while. the receptionist noticed and asked who i was waiting for. she let me come up here.”

“yeah, but-”

“but what?”

you huff and glance behind you.

sam, your flirty coworker who cannot take a hint, stands there like a buffoon, mouth agape and just watching you and mikasa interact. mikasa says a small “hello” to him and he responds with a dumb wave.

you roll your eyes. then you notice the food container in mikasa’s hands. she has a new set of nails too. “is that my lunch?”

“yes, that’s why i came here. you forgot it.”

you take it out of her hands, graceful. “thank you, baby…new nails too, i see?”

mikasa blushes, eyes knocking to the side. “mhm. i took your card for that.”

“mikasa!” you frown halfheartedly, “i was looking for that.”

“sorry. but you have seven other cards, so i think you will be okay.”

you hear a snort on your right, and a sharp glare from you shut them up.

mikasa beams at you.

you huff, beginning to walk “lets go to that café across the street.”

“okay!”

mikasa slips her hand into yours. on that very hand, a ring with an onyx diamond beautifies her finger. the ring that you placed there.

you coworker starts to call out, “aren’t you gonna introduce-”

“no!”

*

“you should be nicer to your coworkers.”

“why on earth would i do that?” you groan, disgusted by the suggestion.

the food mikasa made is delicious, and you shove your face with it in bad table manners. you were starving. mikasa doesn’t mind.

it was a sunny thursday afternoon and the streets were quiet, along with the café itself. mikasa nibbles on a small pastry and sips her tea.

“because, they’re your coworkers. and you need to keep your job.”

“ha! they need to keep me. i’m the best worker in that damn place.”

mikasa hums, taking a hold of your hands, causing you to drop you cutlery on the table ungracefully, “but then, who’d be able to pay for my nails?”

“…yeah, you’re right,” you smooth your thumb over her smooth knuckles, kissing the ring on her finger, “who would, huh?”

*

you walk back into your workplace, skip in your step. you whistle a tune all the way to your desk, stopping in your tracks when you realise everyone is silent and looking at you.

“…what?!”

the continuous chatter starts up again and everyone goes back to their tasks, not looking to bother or piss you off today

later on, when you walk through the door to your house and look in the mirror right beside it, you see a multitude of faded, red lip-shaped lipstick stained kissed all over your face.

a/n: i want her to be my wife so bad………

[kaistarus]

My Fic Recs

South Park

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space (gremlinteeth)–(Creek-complete(137k)–this is quite literally the greatest fic in existence. ‘but South Park is cring–’ shut your mouth, get over it, and read this masterpiece. The character/relationship development, worldbuilding, symbolism, characterization?? I still get emotional listening to “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” by The Beach Boys.... Like what?!? I cannot wait for the day that I have forgotten enough of this fic that I can reread it again properly. IDC what fandom you’re from read this fic.

Me, You, And Time(HelplessRomantic_2)--(Creek-complete(13k))--There are a lot of fics on Craig and Tweek’s development using canon moments in the show and I think this one does it best. Characterization, realism, character/relationship development, friend group dynamics. It’s just a great fic overall. Love it

Family Is What You Make Of It(Mareepysheepy)--Creek-complete(17k))--This fic is unbelievable. It’s an absolute masterpiece of a take on the Tucker family dynamic and how Tweek has fit into their lives. The unconditional love they have for each other and Tweek’s support for Craig. It’s one of my favorite Tucker family fics and the writing itself is phenomenal

Life In Color (BlameCanada)-@blame-canada-Creek-Complete(2k)--This is so artistically written and underappreciated. It’s a shorter one-shot, but their ability to take Craig’s monotonous descriptions to show how his worldview and outlook literally change with Tweek around is beautiful. Gives me that chest achy lovey feel and cannot get enough

Your Eyes, My Nose (PinkFan_Gurl)-@pinkfan-gurl-Creek-Incomplete(75k)-I admit, I was a little hesitant at first because babies, but I gave it a chance and OH my god I’m so glad. The writing style is fantastic, the characterization is phenomenal, there are unique relationship dynamics, and most importantly we get dopey Craig who is so in love with Tweek it’s embarrassing. I flip out when I see there's an update in my inbox. Not complete, but still updates 🙂

A Beautiful Sight, We’re Happy Tonight (@tlinrookie)-Creek-Complete(13k)--I am so obsessed with this fic, it's just so fucking good and one of my favs. Post-high school hook-up into insecure/awkward flirting? It’s so well done and realistic as a concept that if someone told me this actually happened to them in college I’d believe it. I love that in my fics. And once again, awkward blushy Craig <3

press pause (pink2d)--Creek-complete(13k)--Just Craig overwhelmed with his newly developing feelings through fantastic writing and emotional description. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend but can’t stop overthinking literally everything. I LOVE the author’s use of little details and actions to show love and build up on Craig’s end, gives you a chest achy emotion

Anyone Else But You(@fruitloopzed)-Creek-Complete(3k)--One of my fav meet cutes. I’m always a sucker for love at first sight, but Craig seeing a cute boy at five-years-old and his first instinct being to rizz them up with red racer? What a concept. Genius. It’s so cute and actually writes them in character for their age which is well done

Nervous young inhumans(tweakers)-Creek-Incomplete(136k)@tweakerist--Have you ever wanted Craig to be hopelessly in love, but literally everyone and their grandma knows except him? Well, I have the fic for you! lmao seriously tho Craig is an idiot. but his and Tweek’s relationship dynamic/development is so good. I will reread some interactions like ten times cause they’re so cute and funny. So if you also like dialogue/interactions sign yourself up. It’s incomplete, but author updates regularly!

Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun

More Trouble Than You’re Worth(@voidjelli)–Amanene-Complete(183k)- Have you ever wanted as many fanfic tropes as possible shoved into one beautifully written fic? Well I've got the story for you! lol I’m personally obsessed with ‘he’s so in love with her it’s pathetic’ so this fic kills me. The writing is phenomenal and the characterization/relationship buildings are amazing. I’m a sucker for good friendships and fun group dynamics which this fic is filled with AND there’s  a prequel Last Call(7k)

Undertow(Kawffee)-@kawff33-Amanene-Complete(96k)--The amount of effort and research that must have gone into this fic astounds me. Like a mystery/romance with a small-town island setting, Nene doing Orca research? I learned so much. The writing is astounding, the concept is fantastic, it was so fun to read, and I’m amazed it exists as just a fanfic tbh

[quandaryqueen]

Riveting torture III

Masters of fear Jonathan Crane X Reader

Breaking news: Man learns something new about himself; He's an asshole and he's in love (fucking finally) more at 9.

Part I, Part II

🧡 Jonathan's mind has been in a haze after what the stunt you pulled, had him staring at the void for firmly, fingers entwined with one another and press under his chin. He has been deep in thought yet none of them coherent. They just ran pass him, make sense for a moment, before it returns to being nonsense.

He is currently the human embodiment of static; unmoving, uninterrupted, uninteractive.

To be disarmed of rationality is something he didn't expect, let alone from you. Empty of thought, reduced speechless, unable to think of anything else.

It's like you've wrung him out. Of sense, of mind... All with a simple gesture. It's something you've done before, but something about this was different.

How come a gesture less worse from the last one, become impactful? It's as if with the feather-light kiss, on the cheek, managed to make a dent out of his mind.

It's all he ever thought about ever since it had transpired.

🧡 From the other side of the coin, there was you, snug in your jacket Jonathan had kindly provided for you when you needed it most, as you stare into the moving scenery of the countryside. Skies tinged with oranges and pink, golden glow cast upon the trees. You cannot stress your gratitude for Jonathan, it was cold and this jacket was the only thing you owned.

Having been woken up early, the others have taken upon themselves to restore their needed zzz's as the bus has yet to arrive at the venue, so it was new to you not to hear your companions fooling around. They'd be in a chorus of singing trending pop songs, Lee happen to have brought her guitar for the trip too, so there's that. But everyone was fast asleep. Maybe you'll be seeing the squad active when you reach the field.

You felt like you didn't need to sleep. Everything about your interaction with him that early morning had you unable to let go of the grin you've had since boarding the bus. It was as if you didn't need to jacket anymore to stay warm.

"Thinking about your boyfriend?"

You almost jumped from your seat. Upon glancing behind you, you find Adonis cheekily grinning with his arms draped atop your seat. Rolling your eyes at him, you dodge the possibility of explaining your lack of label with the suspect of making you smile like this.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" He was easy to distract, so you opted to answer his question with another question.

"I have energy drinks flowing in my veins." He giggles, before holding out his hand to demonstrate how the caffeine, or rather, the lack of sleep is currently affecting him right now, his hands shaking.

"Bitch, I thought you of all people would know how sleep is important." You squinted at him, holding his hand to feel just how worse were the tremors in his muscles.

"In my defense, I had to submit some assignments and requirements to some of our teachers early. You know how they are with students like us,"

Being reminded of that, you were then faced with the memory of one of the teachers shaming you in front of the whole class. Again, in your defense, you were prepared! You just needed your notes (idiot notes, as she referred to them) just to clarify certain aspects of the report just so you don't explain it wrong.

"Hmm... Yeah..." You can only sigh in agreement. Shaking your head, you faced him again. How about something more light-hearted? A grin rose from your features. "Remember that dare you told me?"

"Which one?"

"If the the squad and I won the cheerleading competition, you and your boys are going to party wearing the cheerleading uniforms. You are going to do that, right?" You searched his face in anticipation.

"Sure, if you win, that is." He challenges with a smirk.

"Oh fuck yeah we will. Just you wait." Oh Adonis and his boys in the cheerleading uniforms... You can almost imagine it. "How about you try to catch some zzz's? We still have a long way to go."

"Yeaaaah, you're right. Need my energy for the field." Looking over your seat, you see Adonis lift his hood up and tugged it over his eyes, before readjusting his blanket to his chest. "You should do the same. Maybe you'd dream about your boyfriend."

You hold yourself back, not wanting to argue with the boy who is going to attempt to sleep. And so, you slip back to your seat and save your remarks for later. You may not find yourself able to sleep, but it would be nice to just relax for a moment, let the scenery pass by with Jonathan in your head.

🧡 He wonders how you were doing...

At this time, it might be possible you've finally arrived on the venue. By now, perhaps you just finished performing. Maybe you were watching the sport unfolding in the field, all the while, waving your pom poms and chanting the school's team. He hopes you wouldn't forget to drink water in the midst of it... You do have the tendancy to get a little too preoccupied in certain events, not to mention, he hopes you remembered to apply sunscreen too.

...

No...

He hopes you forget to drink that you'd collapse in the middle of the heat and you contract skin cancer! He doesn't care whether you're done performing or not, you can go cheer that football player Adonis for all he cares!

Oh that's right, he never forgot about him, that boy you replaced with him the moment Jonathan was out of the picture, how typical! That imbecilic jock you've managed to string along in that cursed charm of yours! My, how fast did you drop him at the sight of an opportunity when Jonathan walked back into your life? He doesn't even see you interacting with Adonis anymore! It's like he never existed!

🧡 "Go Adonis! You can do it!" You cheered, cupping both hands over your mouth.

Behind you, the captain cues the whole team to chant again through a megaphone. Her ever so chipper voice amplified and not easily overpowered by the various of voices joining her to cheer. Under the heat of the sun, who performed your chants, even being joined by your whole school in the stadium.

Adonis is a close friend of yours who was deeply invested in this sport. You find yourself envying him at the fact he can balance his extracurricular with his academic curriculum. It was noticeable how he put the work in, both academics and extracurricular that he sacrifices his own well-being. Winning this game was important to him, as he was under the gaze of possible offerers of scholarship not just for him, but for the whole team.

Upon hearing you, and the whole school cheer for their teams, you find yourself jumping in excitement when he managed to dodge an opponent and score a point.

🧡 He knew he had to move fast, are you even aware of the effects you were imposing on him? Oh you certainly knew, didn't you?

You... Everything about you was compelling, in a way he sees as beguiling, like a mirage of an oasis in a desert. How your presence seems to present him a sense of calm and relief, in which he knows behind that warmth of yours is a hellfire waiting to reel him forward and trap him in the cage of of your embrace. How you melodic giggle is a siren's call, your voice that being Lucifer's serpentine tongue, with all your deceit hidden beneath honeyed words, your reassurances, those compliments...

For awhile it was starting to feel good, how he began to yearn for these, for you— only to be reminded of your underlying want to humiliate him. To be oh so patient when it came to him, you are considered to be a victor to even get close to him whilst wearing the same cheerleading uniform Sherry used to wear, not even her went through the lengths of kissing him several times, nor held him, anything at all. He was tied at the tip of her fingers and had him strung along with her words alone and he has noted you've been in the same team as she was, of course you would know how he ticks.

You have never talked about her, why would you? Why wouldn't you? He has seen you before, holding Sherry up during practice, converse with her and such. Of course you wouldn't, acknowledging her would have made him reminded of her and recognise your motives! He has underestimated you before and he's learnt —acknowledged even— just how conniving of a little snake you are. Time and time again, you do remind him how much of a scheming little thing you can be, my, how much time do you devout yourself to draw intricacies on your little note to ruin his life? How pathetic can you be?

🧡 Everything was going well, you kept a smile so distinct from the pageant smiles your other squadmates upheld during the performance. It was as if Jonathan was watching you from the crowds, you can feel as though if he'd have been there, seated by the bleachers, supporting you. It was a shame he couldn't attend, but having the thought of knowing he supports you is enough.

Thoughts of him reassuring you played in your head whilst you perform, it burned through you and kept you at a high spirit to recall all the times he has taken a time of his day to sit you down for a moment, in your time of lowest, to remind of the others things you are capable of and how you were great at them. He made you better in believing in yourself.

Your friends, of course, knew that kind of smile and where it came from. Friends being friends, of course, proceeded to do what friends do.

"Ooooh~ is that Jonathan I see?" One of them tease, placing a hand above their eyes whilst squinting at the bleachers.

"Where?" You whipped your head around like a dog lighting up at any indication of their owned arriving.

Not wanting to end there, the other members spurred on. "Right there!" One of them points.

"I don't see him!" You squinted your eyes further.

"Oh my god, Y/N. And you're telling me I need glasses? He's right there!"

Upon hearing the others snicker, you glanced over them with a glare, in which they finally broke out laughing.

"Fucken' pricks." You playfully smack the nearest person on your right, before pouting and crossing you arms to your chest.

🧡 When you return, his plan was to unfold. Specifically, at the party. He will have to make the first move before you can even do it, he fucking swears it. It would be all for nothing if you got him first, he might as well tie his own noose at the strings of your fingers, it was imperative he succeeds.

After glancing at a calendar did he realise that the party you mentioned was Halloween... Of course it would be Halloween, fucking hell, do you really intend to make Sherry Squires proud from the grave, huh?

Oh we'll see about that...

If you really like Sherry that much, then he might as well do the same to you. He will personally see to it that your suffering would be as slow and careful as you are with him.

🧡 You practically made a beeline to him when you arrived back to continue with your usual day to school, a weight being lifted off your shoulders. Thank god the tournament was over, now you can get back to focusing on school. You came back with a wide grin, happy from the various achievements from the tournament for yourself, the whole cheerleading team, of course for Adonis' success, and to top it all off, you get to see Jonathan again. Not to mention, since practices are on hold for now, you could spend more time with him!

"So yeah, since we won, Adonis and his gang are going to wear the cheerleading uniforms at the party!" It was almost as if you were happy about winning the cheerleading competition for the sole purpose of getting to see the whole sports team in cheerleading-wear, rather than the win itself. "Speaking of which, are we still going?"

... We, huh? Interesting. Were you going to attend regardless whether he goes or not? You talk as if that were the case.

"Of course, by then I get to see you perform." That was what you told him, didn't you? 'see you perform'... Perform your heinous deeds.

"Awesome! Soooo, as you expect, it's a costume party and the squad pulled me to some scheme to dress up in sexy Santa costumes from Mean Girls and like... That's so fucking ironic, but it's just simply iconic, I couldn't say no, so um... It's okay if you don't have to wear anything— I-I mean, any costume at all."

Is it because I already share semblance with a Scarecrow? Can't you think of something new?

"The gang and I won't be just performing the dance we did at the competition, we're actually choreographing something new... I mean, since the guys are going to be performing the cheer, we might as well just make a new one. I hope that's alright."

Or does you performance include me being the center of the attention? Of humiliation?

"I still can't believe you're actually going to watch me perform! Anyone who's been with me either thinks I'm wasting my time or that they're just plain mean about what I like, but you are just so nice and supporting and—" you took a break to fan yourself with your hand for a moment before resuming to your statement. "— you're the best. Legitimately, you're like the best. I appreciate you so, sooo much."

I... Surely that statement holds no truth to it. It's just another one of your lies to lure me in.

🧡 He knew what you meant by choreographing a new routine to perform. Since it was not something adhered to the school extracurriculars activities, your means of practicing were limited to noons and possibly weekends. Translation, you won't be able to walk home with him...

Unless...

"Oh my god..." One of the girls covers their mouth in shock when they heard the song you'll be dancing to. "That song is dirty. You little harlot you," She looks over the leader with a look so eager, which reminded Jonathan of a little child who finds delight and thrill in disobeying curfew for the first time.

"Alright, people!" You clapped your hands to gain the attention of your fellow dancers. "So the song we'll be using is a bit in the raunchy side of things, is that okay?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Alright, cool! Now let's get some work shall we?" Looking over your shoulder, this prompts the choreographer to clap her hands as well.

"Positions, everyone!"

Jonathan didn't mind to come along with you and watch you practice. It's not like his parents were strict, I mean, he could go home at midnight and no one would be concern about him. Besides, he'd prefer to have you in his sight. Not in that way of course, just so he knows whether you're scheming with friends or not.

🧡 The state of the relationship well... It wasn't official yet, but everyone fucking knew. It doesn't take a genius for one to figure popular cheerleader Y/N has the hots for the mildly interested hostile nerd Jonathan Crane, which was weird, but you do you honey.

Oh there were whispers, it is something Jonathan knew he would not be able to escape whether you are involved with him or not. With your presence, it helped to maximize the volume of what used to be 'whispers' behind his back, as rumours began to circle the entirety of the school grounds like wild fire.

It was something you immediately addressed at the beginning of your 'relationship'. Giving him all sorts of reassurances he pretends to be believe, oh he knows what sick games you're playing, this just prove the lengths of how your serpentine tongue can go.

"Jonathan, I couldn't give less of a fuck about what the others think. If I can't hold your hand without garnering unwanted attention from the others, fuck 'em. I want you and I— I want us to not care about them and what they think."

No matter... In no time, you alone shall be the hot topic throughout the school year. As the poor little fool found insane or critically injured and locked away or the memoir on the front page. Oh Jonathan knows the hand he is playing, it is indirect, in all of this, in his kindness, it is your choice whether to live miserably for the rest of your life with no possibility of recovery or to have your life snuffed abruptly.

🧡 The night of the party finally arrived, Jonathan has yet to see you but he expected you'd be donning a costume matching with your clique. He was told to wait by a spot to pick him up as soon as you and your friends were done doing whatever the fuck you were doing.

He wore no costume, opting to just wear a flannel to warm himself from the cold, October air. And in others words, he has always been parading around like a scarecrow anyways. You yourself had said that as well, no surprise there.

He hears a distant vehicle approaching and as it grew near, he hears the distinctive giggles from within, blaring along with some generic pop music. Sure enough, he recognised the cherry red Camaro as the so-called 'leader' of the clique and the cheer captain's car. Rolling your window down, you stick yourself out to wave at Jonathan, your make-up glimmering under the dim moonlit road.

"Hi Jon! Sorry we're late."

"Yeah, Lee was being a cunt."

"Bitch, you started it!"

"Alright, alright, settle down!" The driver shouted, before looking over you. "And for god's sake, Y/N, do you want him to get in or not?"

"My bad!" You nervously giggled, before sitting back and opening the door for Jonathan.

He promptly takes his seat next to you and the moment he does, he felt the eyes of everyone from within give him a quick glance in a way of expressing distrust. You, on the other hand, made sure your mask never slipped. You were asking him whether or not he's had dinner yet, if he's cold, telling him about what he should do should he feel overwhelmed in the party, etc etc, whilst your friends chime in with some agreements, reminders and tips, finally did they regain their masks again.

🧡 It wasn't difficult to spot which house was the party venue... Located near heavily wooded areas, where the leader decided to park her precious car in.

"Okay, so who among you are planning to drink?" The leader asks and was met with resounding 'me's! from the group...

"Nah, I'm good. Maybe have a little shot, but I do t plan to get shitfaced."

Except for you, apparently.

"Great, so I'll entrust you my spare keys, should you need for..." For a moment, the leader's eyes land on me. "Emergencies."

"Yeah, Lee needs her ass to be looked after a few shots and you can't be the only one sober since we have the whole ass group with us." You didn't catch the suggestive nature of her statement, or perhaps you chose to feign innocence.

"Alright. Now that's settled, shall we?"

And so, the show commences.

🧡 By now, your friends have scattered everywhere, for a moment he has heard the leader's ever so loud voice from the deafening music, shouting at a member of your group not to drink too much as you'd have a performance to put up later. At some moments, you would excuse yourself to tend to some of your friends to remind them not to drink too much, as the leader had ready made it clear, do not get hammered yet.

The scene before Jonathan was something familiar. The flashing lights, the blaring music, drinks at the hand of those who are not allowed yet, costumes, the popular kids, smoke so thick... For a moment he caught the stench of Sherry Squire's perfume amidst all this, with the scent of alcohol in her breath.

His chest started to raise... Fuck, he could have just pulled you aside for a moment instead of entering the house. It was a wooded fucking area, for god's sake, he would've easily gotten rid of you with the loud, blaring music, absence of lingering eyes, the cover of darkness, everything was perfect and he just had to follow you in this party for some ridiculous fucking reason—

"Jon?"

His neck snaps aside when he swore he had also heard the dead Sherry's voice, only to then realise it was you. Just you... The next to follow after Sherry Squire for attempting to deceive him just as she did.

You have just returned after stopping Lee from doing ten seconds of chugging from the bottle of vodka, putting a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" You tilt your head.

"Never better. You should join your friends." He dismissively turns for a moment, shrugging your hand off. For a brief moment he considers getting himself a drink, only to remember he had to fulfill what he needed to for the longest of time whilst sober. He need not liquid courage to commit such a thing, he would gladly do so without any substance to further fuel his already intense abhorrence.

"But... I want you..." He glanced at you again. With a certain grimace on his face, you couldn't help but to retract and edit your statement with flushed cheeks. "I-I mean... I want to spend more time with you... If that's okay..." Either way, there was no difference from what you've said just a second ago.

"You'd be a laughingstock when they see us together."

You blinked at the revelation and realisation. "Was that why you dropped my hand?"

He never even realised you were holding it in the first place... Now he knew why he entered this god forsaken party, god damnit it, he was holding your hand and enjoying it without him knowing... You held his hand the moment you got off the car, lacing your fingers through his, relishing his presence, his warmth, the fact he coming with you and he shall be watching you perform. But when you entered the house party, he suddenly drops your hand when the popular cheerleaders' entrance had inevitably captured the eyes of the school body in the party.

"Jonathan, I thought we already talk about this I..." You nervously fumbled with the end of your costume, by now you were starting to regret for not bringing your jacket with you. "Didn't we?"

"I don't want to embarrass you." Jonathan avoids your gaze, opting to look elsewhere, anywhere just not at the pathetic, teary eyed pretender. He hoped this would be the end of it... But he knows how annoyingly persistent you can be.

"Why would I be?" You took his hands within yours, once again feeling his warmth, a soft smile filling your lips. "I don't care about what they think about us."

You were truly taking this charade all the way here? All this time? Well, what are you waiting for? You're in the party, easily the center of attention where everyone can see, you have him by the strings of his heart goddamn it, he fucking loves the way your hands warm his cold ones, but by fucking god he knows what would happen if he were to relish it.

You were looking up at him with those eyes again... Those damn eyes which made his knees buckle and fail, yet warm and comfortable at the same time. Have you any idea how much power you have over him, how much he had to fight back with the foreknowledge of what someone like you is capable of? God damn it, why did he had to allow you close to him? Why did he grant you the chance to touch him in all sorts of ways, why the fuck did he have to fall for you in the midst of his distrust?

If he had only strangled you when had the chance instead of walking away—

"I love you... Nothing and no one can change that..."

He didn't realise how much distance he himself has closed in until he realised the can smell that one shot of alcohol you took upon the peer pressure of classmates urged you to take was hitting his face. His eyes darts to your lips, then back to yours. All thoughts filling his head suddenly faded for a moment at the realisation of the distance (lack thereof) between you.

He finds himself closing his eyes... All tensions he has held, all the grudges he held against you, finally slipping from his shoulders... When a bright light suddenly points at you. His heart drops to his stomach and he drops your hand and shields his head.

JONATHAN YOU UTTER FOOL! YOU FELL FOR IT AGAIN!!!

"Sorry to distract you, love birds. But we have a show to put." The leader has been calling you on stage after the whole group gathered up to finally perform. So not once did you hear her screaming your name from the stage.

"Oh, my bad!" You shouted after her. The spotlight returns back on stage, once again leaving you in the dark with Jonathan. "Well... This is it!"

He opens his eyes for the first time, only to observe before him the bright slights casted upon the makeshift stage in the middle of the house pointed at your friend group getting to formation. The boy glances at you, tears were welling in his eyes, only to then feel lips against his cheek, before you sprinted for the stage, in your high heels.

"For good luck!" You shouted after him, before you made your way to the stage.

Jonathan stood still for a moment, before he heard the cue of the music for the beginning of your performance.

"WOOOH! GO CROWS!" One of the students cheered, prompting the entirety of the audience there follow his suit to chant the name of the school's sport group.

🧡 After watching the group choreograph, fail at some points from the lack of synchronization, accidents and other mishaps during practice, he couldn't help but to feel a certain chill when he saw your performance. He knew how much of your group worked hard to perfect this dance in a matter of only days and the way you delivered it to the crowd was something he finds admirable.

At some points of your performance, he couldn't help but to flush at the sight of you performing suggestive acts, such as the way you traced a finger between your chest before licking the said finger, the way you sway your hips, how you caress other dancers passionately, even having the whole group pretend as though they were lifting their skirts up only to wag their fingers at the crowd...

At the end of the performance, you were stopped by the leader by getting a hold of your neck before you make a beeline for Jonathan, reminding you of the final bow. After doing so, you were back to sprinting back to your Jonathan.

The thrill still in your veins, you pull him by the collar of his shirt before crashing your lips against his. He had long since let go the notion of you humiliating him the moment you got on that stage to be the center of the cheers, to perform real entertainment, that he had instantly reciprocated your gesture eagerly. Locking lips had never felt so right and to feel all his worries slip away from the euphoric explosions from within his body.

Jonathan found himself disappointed when you pulled away, only for him to realise you were leading him the wrist to go outside to resume the activity away from the eyes of others.

It was a good thing Christine entrusted you her keys... For emergencies.

[imaginespazzi]

NIVIIIIII. Chapter 10 was released midday for me and I was doing everything I could to find time to read it. But I decided I wanted to be somewhere alone bc I knew I’d be screaming, crying, and throwing up (all in a good way ofc). But ANYWAYS, chapter 10 review time!

- Angie Davis = girl version of Anthony Davis from the Lakers?? LMAO I just wanna know why you chose this name / wanted to mirror AD 🤣

- P+A flirting in front of their teammates, but then thinking that they’re being secretive about it?? Literally everyone can see y’all eye fucking like tone it down guys 😭😭

- “You know,” Azzi begins softly when it becomes abundantly clear Paige isn’t going to speak first, “I’m okay with the fact that you’ve probably fucked other people. I mean other than the woman you married as well that is.” THIS MADE ME WHEEZE LMAO. It came from left field 😭 their convo back and forth was so THEM. You wrote it so well 😭

- “Hey,” Azzi pouts, “you always did go for younger women. Like me for example.” LOLLLL I have thought about this too and how Azzi is younger than Paige by a year, but Paige always knew what she wanted!

- I really am curious about what the whole Angie Davis debacle is… like besides them hooking up (and thank god they didn’t LMAO), idk how else her and Paige could’ve crossed paths considering that she’s barely entering the W as a 22 year old and Paige is 31 and has been in the league for a while now.

- DREWWWWW??? Oh my GOD I cannot even imagine 20 year old Drew 😭 Azzi saying that he’s so tall, and then him saying that she could’ve been there to see him grow up 😭 that killed me. I am SO excited to see more of the Azzi and Drew dynamic and how much resent Drew has for Azzi, and how quickly (hopefully) that goes away and he starts trusting her again.

- I also am curious about how Drew’s relationship with Paige is as well. I’m assuming it’s still strong, and that Drew doesn’t fault Paige much for the breakup. I think Drew blames Azzi 99% for it, and that Drew himself had a hard time seeing how Paige was after the breakup. Can’t imagine seeing how usually strong your sister is become a broken person bc the love of their life and someone you also trusted just decide to leave. (But I know Azzi has a good reasoning for it, and I can’t wait for her to explain it all!)

- DREW AND STEPHIE?? I’m glad that Drew isn’t jealous of Stephie right now, and actually seems to have a soft spot for her. It’s like Deja vu for him, that’s how Paige and Azzi treated him when he was small. Uncle Drew FTW!

- Also, Drew being in the NBA just makes so much sense. I know he’s a highlight reel!

- FUCKING AMAZING CHAPTER NIVI!! SO SO SO WORTH THE WAIT! You are spectacular and I hope you’re still fully enjoying writing this and that it’s a treat for you as well! Thanks for your service Nivi and for feeding us Pazzi (and Nivi) fans!

- Side note: Paige and Azzi (irl) make me sick… I’m still stuck on that TikTok of them that Paige recently uploaded… We get it, you guys are happy asf together, good for y’all 😭😭 (I’m actually not bitter at all and love them so much and are so happy for them)

Hi my love, I'm so glad you found time to read it and to leave your review <3

- LMAO that was unintentional because I lowkey just picked a name out of thin air but that's so funny so let's pretend that was my reasoning too

- They're so terrible at the secret part of secret relationship I have no idea why they're even trying

- Poor Paige fighting cougar allegations just cause Azzi had to make a point but that interaction was definitely fun to write.

- I'm assuming, just by writing style, that this was your ask and you figured out the Angie Davis connection? If it wasn't, whelp it's the correct explanation and lmao whoops.

- Honestly I have a hard time picturing a 20 year old Drew too (and it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out his age in 2033 lol) but it's gonna take him a little bit

- Yeah I don't think Drew particularly mad at Paige, at least not anymore. Especially because his resentment towards Azzi isn't just rooted in how she hurt his sister, but how she hurt him too.

- He's definitely not jealous of Stephie and to be fair it's very hard to be anything but adoring of her. In fact, I think he's actually feeling kind of protective of a child that could also become collateral damage (*nudge nudge*)

- Thank you my love! I do love writing this story no matter how much I whine. Like it's really my baby fr.

- Like Tessa said, they're kinda really disgusting huh?

[arcplaysgames]

Oh Teddie. Buddy. I saw how you sucked face with Kanji, you can't fool me.

Rise, do you..... not..... have a gaydar? Rise, do you not know? What else don't you know, like, do you not know about Chie and Yukiko? Oh, girl. Are you our token straight? I think she might be.

Also, I don't thing i can find the caps, but Rise constantly negs Kanji in combat. She can't seem to have a chill interaction with him. It's funny but also a bit aggravating. Like, can you kids play nice?

What am I saying, of course not. These kids are incapable of it lmao.

This dumb fucker hurled himself in on purpose knowing we'd bail him out, I just know it. If smug was a motorcycle, he's a fucking Knievel.

Naoto's little corner of TV land is a secret laboratory out of some Man From UNCLE classic spy stuff.

It has, without a doubt, the worst exploration music in the game so far. Jesus christ.

ALSO TEDDIE IS... IN A CHEERLEADER UNIFORM. okay. sure. I got cool clothes for everyone. I like Kanji in the Tatsumi Textiles work clothes, and Reverie is dressed as an ouendan member! OSU! goddamn i love those games.

Cuties. Everyone is adorable.

ALSO CHIE CAN DROP BY MID-BATTLE TO SLAM HER SCOOTER INTO AN ENEMY AND KNOCK THEM OUT OF THE MATCH? Amazing.

oh my LORD.

Naoto's Shadow is kind of amazing. One, the VA performance is great, swinging between a very sad child constantly on the verge of tears to a VERY over the top theatric rendition of a mad scientist. The oversized floppy sleeves are a fabulous touch on the physical design. This one is something special compared to all the others.

pops gum loudly

This bit is very good.

Admittedly, it's very interesting to reach Naoto and his shadow after hearing about the whole thing secondhand for, at this point, over a decade. I'm not going to bring anything new to the topic and, frankly, I'm waiting to see how Naoto's social link plays out to get a full read on what's going on here.

Because, obviously, surface level read of the whole this is more than moderately disappointing. The gender essentialism and the repeated idea that you cannot change your gender is more than a little eye-roll-inducing. And it chafes pretty badly against Kanji's entire SLink, which I finished after this dungeon and will recap later but does revolve around eschewing the simplicity of labels.

I'm kind of struggling to pin down why I'm not that mad at this handling. Part of it is obviously that I've set my expectations low for Persona as a whole so that I can have a lot of pleasant surprises when it exceeds those expectations.

But also, the entire Naoto thing is a very sticky situation. Because I think that the Western audience for these games doesn't understand the gravity and density of the sexism in Japanese society. And I'm not an expert in this! But lets say that I do know a thing or two from a friend who does understand it. And it suuuuuucks. Naoto is entirely right to be torn up about this duality.

The people he works with would 100% absolutely no question discard his opinions if they saw him as a girl. Yep. I fully believe that and the weight of that anxiety on Naoto is crushing, clearly moving him to tears. But on the other hand, presenting as a man to avoid that pitfall, the other anxiety of "mimicking those same men" and having to justify their bullfuckery is also incredibly heavy.

Naoto has no clean solution. And if we posit that his reason for being a guy is rooted in that fear, that's... a bad reason to go fulltime Guy Mode. When you opt into your gender, it should be out of love for the thing, in my opinion. There should be something like relief in "yes, I am this gender!"

I don't see that here. But, on the flipside, as soon as this fight is over...

I could reach through the screen and slap you, Rise. This stung me like hearing someone getting misgendered. It fucking SUCKS. Not just everyone swapping to "she" but the feminine diminutives, that's genuinely hard to hear and I personally hate it.

Anyway, back up.

I love this moment from our other team member who thinks a LOT about gender. Kanji being like "listen, just let this shit play out so Naoto has the healing process we all got too, we'll handle the battle part." LIKE!!!!! Fuckin'.... queer solidarity means saying yes, you will beat the shit out of the superpowered facade of a friend's gender demons. THAT'S what it means, baby!

ah shit out of images again brb

[lovelyrecs]

wowowow ari i won't lie i read through the entirety of this two days ago while i was half asleep in bed and i loved it so much. definitely seeing what captured me so very deeply with harmless and i enjoyed it SO much. now i will do what i was too sleep to and reblog PROPERLY. your memes btw. huge fan. huuuuge fan like i cannot, i slept and i dreamt some of them no joke

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

of course they do and of course he is. sam is kind and funny and would actually talk to his fans, nat is cool and scary and they like the intrigue and clint is insane

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

HELP ME the wittiest one liner he could come up with is a three-year old's snotty mumble. matches up.

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

this is very sad to me. however, the image of steve rogers hunched over a tiny laptop, angrily typing an email to the dmv is very very nice. but not nearly as nice as him later on going to the actual dmv, waiting in the long ass line with his arms crossed and then talking sternly to the clerks and etc while bucky stands behind him silently

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.” Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

THAT WOULD BE SO

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

scott!!! he WOULD and i would gobble it all up. i love that man. he's the people's princess and every time the interns get to work with him they let out a collective sigh of relief

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

THE BACKGROUND??? LIKE A CRYPTID?? the content he will give is my profile picture-esque. just a blurry very petulant small face

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

LMAOO i have to say, though, what works works

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

ari is that an actual thing that exists

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

THAT'S SO SWEET STOP IT I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HIS LITTLE FIGURES

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

PUPPET HISTORY also imagine if he'd said yes to puppets

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

IMAGINE THE AUDIENCE CHEERING LIKE IN A SITCOM. SHE'S BACK OH MY GOD DEAR READER

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

HELP ME she's so me

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?”  “No.” “That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

I CANNOT THEY (you) MAKE MEMES OF HIM WHERE HE'S THE SKINWALKER LMAOO also like how she didn't expand at all like you get what you get suck it up you can use context clues “At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

she's right, you have to look at the bright side. skinwalker bucky boyfriend. small wins.

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?” “For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.” Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

i love her <3 also very clever way of leaving it open for readers ari u are a genius

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud.  He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

LMAO why is he such a problem child and then pretends he doesn't know that. bucky barnes you make a conscious effort to be a little shit

ari shurisneakers you have done it again. live in my brain.

unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium. 

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

[imnotreal-png]

>:) -- Entry 1

OK i just smoked a joint after i wrote the date and now im kinda chillin but imma still yap on dis hoe.

I am a loser. Like a huge loser, okay? Like im not dumb or wtv, i may have reached a weird and insane level of self awareness, but im just as much of a loser as anyone else.

I keep catching myself trying to people please and overstepping my boundaries and justifying it with "oh everyone else does it, so what, its normal" like ok dumb bitch that doesn't make it okay, get a grip.

But i will be yapping away abt alot of stupid bullshit i deal with and stupid things make me sad. I am very well aware that I am irrational, but these are things i feel in those moments that i always hold in because i don't want people 2 see that weak side of me. It's embarrassing and it's not me.

In truth, i have nooo idea what i'm doing. I have 0 clue on where i'll be in the future. I didn't think i'd make it this far and not on some suicidal shit (idk if u can say that word here, oops.), i just genuinely thought that i'd somehow perish?? Like i wasn't really real in some weird way. I just didn't exist. Even though i was always the center of drama or the cause of all things chaotic, i was always misunderstood. god that's so fucking cringe but hear me out.

I always said shit that i believed was clear enough to be understood and yet it wasn't. Even my tone apparently has been rude this entire time. But no one would actually tell me how i come off, they just ate it up in silence and then spaz on me. Even now i don't really understand because i truly believe i am very clear on what im saying. Yet it's still...not seen the way im trying to show it? Idk if im making any sense bruh but whatever. Maybe im narcissistic but no one understands my brain the way i attempt to express it...or i guess how i see it. Idk i guess im just frustrated that no one understands me or gets my brain.

Also it's super cringe when people tell me im mature for my age. Literally eat my shit. actual ick. get away from me.

I hate my mom. She hates me too but she hates me bc I'm not the pussy she wishes she was when she was my age. She's the most childish person i know. I genuinely do not care what she thinks of me whatsoever. She's just power hungry and immature. Actually, I don't even hate her, i just hate that she gets to have all this power over me. I just want my freedom, thats it. She can hate my lifestyle or whatever the fuck, as long as im not living with her. At the end of the day, im truly content with who i am as a person and my moral compass etc, she cant affect that. I just need to have my own space and leave her household to finally be free and actually experience life in a comfortable and more peaceful way. I guess that's all i can say rn. I just wish she would respect my boundaries and stop treating me like im her competition and she'll always be superior. She won't and i cannot wait for the day she finally see's that lol.

!! super irrational moment alert !!

LMAO this is super cringe but like when i started music i put "listen 2 my moozik" in my bio bc we say muzik in albanian but americans wud have 2 read it as moozik to get it right + its funny? Ever since i started rlly getting exposure and performing out there, all these NON SLAVS/BALKANS have started putting it in their bio's 🙄 like be fr, its sooo obvious (at least to me). And now some of these mfs i've interacted w startes stealing my lingo and the way i type [this isn't how i type when i txt friends. its worse and i shorten everything in a miserable way cuz its funny] and it's cute at first but now mfs on social media posting the way i do and talking the way i do. [insert side eye bc yeah] and it's kinda cringe cuz they're actually rlly shallow and mainstream people, they just look like they trying 2 hard to be quirky. lol.

im probably tweakin tho idk.

i wish i grew up with art. i wish my parents had that and were able to introduce it to me. I feel like a fraud when i try to be creative and do things. Even with making music. As much as i enjoy it and love it and it really does make me happy, it feels fake. I can't play any instruments, i can't sing, im far from a good writer, fuck if know anything abt music theory...i literally just click buttons and make sounds on my computer lol. I didn't grow up indulging in art and creativity, i was actually always super bad at it. I wish i had a deeper connection with it. I wish i understood it better. I wish i expressed it better. I wish my ideas were my own. I want to be able to create something that is truly mine without feeling like im a fake.

UHHHH so imma just come on here and vent whenever i feel like i have something i need 2 say. This is intended for the void, if u come across it...cringe.

[beepbeepbeepjeep]

previous / next

[cw: suicide attempt, implied child abuse/neglect, family member death, brief descriptions of blood and injuries]

/— 4: Doctor, Doctor —/

After staring at the blinding white for far too long, Cato turns back to the driver. “You still haven’t explained the rules.”

“That is true.” Its head rotates back to face the windshield. “However, I believe that because they are so simple, you will all understand them as we go.”

“That doesn’t strike me as very fair.”

The mannequin doesn’t respond. Instead, the light floods the jeep before fading away to reveal a sunny neighborhood, with all its white picket fences and evenly mowed lawns.

The jeep parks next to a blue house that would be rather dull if it weren’t for the tree in the front yard. Its branches cradle a small home, where a child around the size of a fifth grader sits, legs dangling over the platform just outside it.

The mannequin begins to speak, taking on the tone of a game show host. “Cato Linn, born August 28th. Virgo: the practical nature.”

It turns back to the contestants. “You may step outside the vehicle now.”

One by one, they get off the jeep, taking in their surroundings and realizing that the kid in the treehouse bears a striking resemblance to the current player.

“Oh my God, it’s so weird seeing Grandpa so… tiny.” Ascot giggles.

Cato doesn’t respond; he’s too fixated on what looks to be a younger version of himself. His face is tense, as if there’s something he’s dreading.

“Why are we here?”

“Well, it’s your life. We’re judging if it’s worth returning to.”

His eyes noticeably widen at that.

“Can anyone see us?” Liza asks.

“No. You also cannot interact with your surroundings in any way.”

Sure enough, the kid hasn’t noticed the jeep or any of its passengers. At least, if he has, he’s great at hiding it. It feels almost as if he’s staring right through them. His eyes are devoid of any of the joy and warmth that a kid his age should have.

Cato—the older, deader one—quickly returns to his corner in the jeep.

“I should warn you,” the driver states, bringing back the mechanical sympathy, “these trips down memory lane may get intense.”

“Intense—?”

Just as Liza says that, the kid throws himself off the platform. Cato winces at the sharp crack sound made on impact. Everyone else is frozen with shock.

Over the next few seconds, his cries emerge from the silence.

“Hm, well, considering what just happened, I’m not sure why you were so focused on winning this game, Mr. Linn.”

Ascot lets out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. ‘Far from heartless,’ it says. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I am far from heartless. I am simply questioning him.”

“No. No, no, no, this isn’t even funny!”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to ‘make light of a bad situation’ earlier?” Cato speaks up, back to usual, seemingly unaffected by what he just witnessed.

“Are you seriously siding with it?” Ascot cries out. “This is about you!”

Their conversation is cut short by a scream.

Everyone turns to see an adult dropped on the ground next to the child. With tears, they take him into their arms.

“Help,” he breathes, voice weak from the fall.

A woman, likely Cato’s mother, follows soon after. “Oh God. How did this happen? Did you do this?” She doesn’t seem worried— rather, she looks more inconvenienced.

The child’s silence seems to be enough of a response for her.

“Of course you did. Stop your crying, you did this to yourself. What, are you sad you didn’t succeed?”

“Would you just call an ambulance already?” the other parent yells.

The mother does call one eventually. Everyone’s too stunned to say anything at first. In the silence waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Beau speaks. “Man, how were you that fucked up at… like, what, 10?"

Cato looks at him, replies, “11,” and says nothing else.

Beau tries to relieve the tension, “Uh, I mean, I was pretty fucked up at 11, too.”

He doesn’t have to struggle anymore because a wailing siren catches everyone’s attention. Paramedics haul the child into the ambulance. The family is informed that Cato has a broken hip.

The ambulance drives away. “Well, aren’t we going to follow him?” the mannequin says. “Get in.”

They follow, climbing in the jeep one by one. Cato seems to retreat even farther into his corner.

They start to move—well, they should be moving, but they aren’t getting anywhere. It’s as if the jeepney is pushing against an invisible wall, force steadily building up.

“You might want to hold on to something.”

Then the jeep breaks through the solid air, and all of a sudden it’s shooting through space, thrusting the passengers backward. Outside the windows, the world speeds past in a dizzying blur, glowing white like before.

And just like that, the ride stops, leaving everyone seeing stars. The white melts away to reveal the sterile, similarly-colored walls of a hospital hallway.

“Jesus,” Tauny mumbles. Looking out the window, his face scrunches up in confusion. “How the fuck are we inside?”

“Magic. Besides, I’m sure we’ve all seen stranger things. And, no, once again, Mr. Hep, I am not Jesus.”

Tauny just rolls his eyes.

Flashback Cato is in the hall, sitting up straight on a bench outside one of the rooms. He’s much older now, and more worn out, but he still has that same thousand-yard stare. Around him, staff and patients hurry in and out of rooms. The coughing, the low rumble of wheels, and the sad attempts at comfort build up walls of noise.

A doctor walks over to him and repeatedly attempts to get his attention. “Excuse me— sir—”

He snaps out of his haze. “Sorry, yes?”

The doctor’s face twists into an apologetic smile. “There’s no easy way to say this, but your mother, she… well, she just passed away.”

Cato doesn’t say anything; he just lets out a soft “Oh.” He holds his fists a little tighter, but his face betrays no emotion. The world’s a little fuzzy.

“Yeah, um.” Even with years of experience, this doctor still seems to be unaccustomed to this part of the job. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else we could do.”

The most Cato could muster is a small nod, sending the doctor off to deliver more bad news, probably.

He looks around the hall. How many people take their final breaths behind these closed doors? How many of these staff members exit preparing condolences? How bad do they really feel? They don’t seem too bothered about it. They say sorry, then move on to the next family; just the regular workplace routine. These people are just their patients, much like that newly reaped soul was just his mother’s. To her, his fall from the treehouse was a waste of time and money. She wished he’d succeeded.

So why, when she finally gets what he always felt she deserves, does it feel like his lungs are one breath away from bursting? Why does he want to claw them out of his chest? Why does this genuinely hurt?

He wishes he could have the doctors’ indifference as he makes the long walk back to his car in the parking lot.

He makes two phone calls. It's unknown whom he calls, but his responses are short and fast, like just he wants to get this over with.

After that he just stays in the driver’s seat, not going anywhere. His grip on the steering wheel is so strong that he could tear it off. From a distance, it’s hard to tell, but he’s trembling.

When the jeepney followed him here, the trip was a lot shorter than the last one. Present Cato is in a similar state to his flashback counterpart, all lost and spaced out. Everyone’s a little uneasy, as if the tension in the parking lot’s air is potent enough to be contagious.

“Hey, man. If it’s any help, you can talk to us. We’ll listen. And. Uh.” Beau starts, but trails off when Cato remains unresponsive, his breathing quicker and leg bouncing all jittery.

Beau backpedals. “Shit, um— you don’t have to talk now! I get that. It’s,” He pauses, looking for a good word, “difficult to open up.”

“He’s right.” Savannah adds. “You can take your time.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got quite a bit of it, considering—” He glances at Liza, and promptly clears his throat. “Well. Considering.”

Savannah frowns. She can’t tell how helpful they’re really being right now. They wish they could be as comforting to Cato as he was to them, but they just don’t have his experience.

She tries to place a hand on his shoulder, but he tensed at the touch as if a shock of electricity passed through her fingers. He’s arched over himself, face hidden from view, and he’s shaking a lot more now. The stark white lights above flicker anxiously.

Savannah shifts a foot away from him. “Maybe… he just needs some space right now—?”

The parking lot plunges into darkness. It’s as if the sun were switched off. Even more panicking ensues.

“Mr. Driver, I swear to God, can your timing be any worse?”

“I assure you, Mx. Mosbirm, my timing is quite alright. And, though I wish I could take credit for this display, sadly none of it is my doing.”

“Oh, boohoo. Who else could it be?! Last I checked you’re the only one with creepy magic space powers!”

“Well, you see—“

The lights fade back in, revealing everyone to be all shaken up—except for Cato. He’s sat in his corner, much calmer now, doing his breathing exercise. Outside, Flashback Cato drives away.

Liza is the first to speak up, voice still a little wobbly. “What just happened? Was that real? Was there a blackout, or-?”

“No. There was no blackout. No nothing.” Cato answers stiffly. “Can we move on?”

“Wait, but-… what was it then?”

“I may have a theory,” the driver responds, but Cato cuts him off.

“I said, can we move on?” He says, louder this time. “After this, I drove back home.”

The mannequin hums in suspicion (it sounds like a printer whirring), but it faces forward, says, “Alright,” and transports the jeepney back to the neighborhood.

Everyone waits for something to happen, but minutes go by and the house curtains stay drawn shut with no way to peek in.

“This is boring.” Tauny groans. “Hey, war vet, do you actually do anything here?”

“Research.”

Tauny makes a face like that’s the strangest thing he’s heard the whole time. “Fucking research?”

Cato seems just as confused. “Yes? I had to study to prepare for the next school year.”

“But your mom just—”

“You know what she was like.”

“… Okay, fair, I guess.” He turns to the driver. “Can’t we just, like, speed through this?”

“Mr. Hep does have a point. I don’t see a use for this part. Let’s speed it up.”

If it weren’t for the sun rising and setting each half-minute, no one would be able to tell that time’s really passing by. Cato’s parent occasionally leaves the house. Sometimes, even when the sun is right above the house, the world goes black just like before. The flickering gets more and more frequent with each day, until, finally, two people step out onto the porch. The world slows down to its regular pace.

Flashback Cato has already made it down the porch stairs when he turns around to his parent, who hasn’t moved past the doorway.

“What is it?” he asks.

His parent looks down with a sigh, and when they turn back up, there’s a sad smile drawn across their face. “Sorry, it’s just— I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“What do you mean? I’m always at home.”

“Yes, but you almost never leave your room.”

Slowly but steadily, they walk toward their son. They’re just an inch shorter than him.

“You were much smaller the last time we all properly spent time together.” Their smile trembles a bit. “You’ve changed so much since then.”

“That’s just how life works.”

“I guess.” They hesitate before adding, “Can I hug you?… Is that alright?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just gives a fraction of a nod, and they pull him in. His hands are placed stiff over their back, as if he doesn’t know how to hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh.”

They laugh weakly. “Thanks for coming out here. I know that she… wasn’t the best.”

He frowns but they don’t see it.

“But,” they continue, “I think she’ll appreciate the visit.”

The world turns dark again, blinking tiredly.

They bring him out of the embrace. “We’ll get some flowers before going to the cemetery. How does that sound?”

“Alright.”

“Thank you again,” they whisper, taking his arm and walking out of the front yard. The two walk past the jeepney, never noticing its presence.

Liza is teary-eyed at the scene. “Aw… How was the visit?”

Cato’s crossed arms press into himself some more. “That was today. As in the day we—you said we can’t say it.”

“Oh.” Her heart can almost be heard breaking. “The… accident�� didn’t happen after the visit, at the very least?”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sounds much sadder than Cato about all this.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I know.” Liza’s eyes widen. “Wait—are they okay? Your parent? If you were both on the jeep, then…”

“No, we didn’t board it.”

After a second of collective confusion, it clicked. Only five of the six were actually inside.

The jeepney parks close to the scene of the crash. It’s unsettling: all the passengers are in one piece here, but the grim reality is just down the street at the crossroads.

On one side is a quaint flower shop. On the other, the gates to the cemetery. In between lies the scene of the accident.

People are everywhere: bystanders, reporters, firefighters, medical staff. The jeepney is on its side, up in flames that are quickly being put out. The driver survived the crash, but just barely. The staff couldn’t work fast enough, and so he bleeds out on a stretcher. Inside the jeep, five bodies are covered with white sheets like bloodied Halloween ghosts. There was also a car involved, but its driver seems fine—distressed, but still uninjured.

A team tries to lift the jeep to retrieve the person trapped underneath. Cato’s parent cries in horror at the sight of their son’s body crushed beyond recognition. The medical staff pull him out and immediately blanket him with a sheet. Cato looks down at himself and back at his shrouded corpse, as if he were trying to imagine himself split open like that.

Almost all of the people in the crowd are adults, but there’s one child in the midst. Her light brown hair is tied in space buns and her dull blue cloak hangs loose off her small frame. They don’t look any older than 10. She’s sobbing, overwhelmed by the disaster.

Cato’s parent notices and kneels down to her level. They wipe away the tears from under their eyes and muster the kindest smile they could. “Hey, kid.”

She looks at them and takes a step away.

“What’s your name?” they ask.

The little girl responds so quietly that only they could hear her.

“That’s a lovely name.” They sigh. “Listen, I know it’s scary right now, but… they’ll be in a better place now. All of them.”

She’s a little more audible when she says, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” It sounds just as much, if not even more, like they’re trying to reassure themself.

She starts crying again. “What if they won’t?”

Their smile falters, and they fiddle a bit with their thumbs. “I guess we’ll never know.” There’s a pause, and then they continue: “It’s okay, just let it all out. Do you want a hug? Is that alright with you?”

“Yes.”

They hold her as she wails. They shed tears too. All the while they whisper words of comfort: “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

previous / next

[pencilscratchins]

Have you watched the first episode of Strange New Worlds yet? I wanna know your thoughts

THANK YOU FOR THE OPPURTUNITY, DISTINGUISHED PANEL OF JUDGES (spoilers, seriously do not read if you havent watched it! its so good, you should do it unsullied)

okay so first and foremost: i fucking loved it. it was the best live action pilot of a star trek show since DS9- i thought the writing was so fun and energetic, and the characters/ cast are POPPING off the screen. im so excited for this season, i think its going to be a return to form in a lot of ways and i think that'll be a breath of fresh air. (i know some people are sad SNW doesn't seem to be taking risks, format wise, and you know; i like that picard and disco did something new and broke the serial mold that DS9 cracked for them. but i also love episodic television and i think having SNW be episodic functions as a great connective tissue between DISCO and TOS!)

the cast is FUCKING STELLAR!!!!! THEYRE SO GOOD! we know i love ethan & anton & rebecca's takes already, but what little we got of everyone else has me DROOLING. also im in love with ortegas already so. lesbian me, confirmed. (also set design & lighting is so much better than disco... holy shit)

i also loved the choice to open with a mission that the Red Angel incident caused; i think its a great way to introduce how that situation is still heavily affecting both pike AND spock, as well as how Starfleet was clearly not equipped for that level of conflict and now have to grow as well.

now... that's not to say i don't have critiques. because obviously, im not pleased with the spock/ t'pring stuff. i don't like how either character was written in their interactions and i think their scenes weaken the relationship we see in TOS. i know im a gay spock truther and people love to give me shit about that, (which you know... is another issue we wont get into here) but setting my personal spock truth aside; it was still a weak choice. i think tpring and spock work best when presented as foils and peers who are forced into a bad situation. the way they both get OUT of that situation (their engagement) is what defines both them and the fundamental difference b/w vulcans & humans: tpring functions within the traditional system to dissolve their union, as where spock breaks form completely and creates a new solution. framing their relationship like they did in the pilot weakens that decision on a whole. (& im not someone whos like "oh you have to stay totally adherent to established canon!" either but these interactions also felt out place when compared to how t'pol's engagement went? or is that just me?)

however, im also holding judgement. because i think one way to interpret this spock trying to follow michael's final advice (yeah yeah i have michael brain rot, sue me i dont care.) in spock's head, tpring IS the person farthest from him (she, again, represents the archetypical vulcan and everything about that society that he doesn't fit- and, they don't really like each other. they were forced together, they did not chose this.) this is spock reaching out, trying his damnest to respect what his sister wanted for him, even though she meant something totally different (canonically, or metacanonically at least, she was talking about kirk-) so it could very much crumble into the relationship we see between tpring and spock in TOS.

regardless, i like how spock was written outside these scenes and you can tell ethan loves playing him. and the tpring actress is really serving, i hope she gets more outside of spock! uhura is already a delight, i cannot wait to dive more into her and see what celia does because theyre so talented; i love la'an's voice and presence and i can't wait for her and #1 to have scenes together! pike is so charming and well written and i love how he interacts with his crew. chapel is deranged and i love that choice, m'benga is such a good CMO. i am so pleased with this episode, i really am!

oh also this is a sam kirk stan blog now. called it, i called it SO HARD. AGAIN I CALLED IT AGAIN--

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

Silco x Reader, if you were pregnant

Silco x Biracial GN!Reader

Ended up losing my mind and writing a tiny drabble at the end of this (was not my intention but it's adorable so you know) most of this though is complete and utter crack, idk why these hdcs popped into my head but they did, and I hope you appreciate them lol.

Dude would legit be a helicopter mom (saw someone else say it like that and 100% agree) absolutely be like this: 👁️👄🔴 at you 24/7. Stares at you all the time because he's afraid the baby's just gonna like, fall out of you. You so much as laugh in a weird way and he's like "omfg are you okay should I call the doctor?!😭". You always laugh at the way he acts. Telling him you're fine and that he can relax, that he doesn't need to be ringing his hands every two seconds. You're very soft with him though, even if you tease him a little, as you understand he's just concerned about you and the baby.

While Silco is very excited to meet his future child, he has this weird thing where he almost looks at his future kid as any enemy.(OH OH THE MIS-sorry). Like obviously he sees everyone else as an enemy too. (OH OH THE-*GUNSHOT*), he lets no one near you, (within reason of course), but since he cares about you so much and would literally die and kill for you, he sees this baby of yours and his as almost a parasite. Since you're pregnant, you're obviously dealing with a lot of changes and symptoms: morning sickness, aching and swelling feet, trouble sleeping, general uncomfortableness etc. And Silco basically gets mad at the baby. Like legit this man might fight a baby. Sometimes when you're dealing with really bad nausea and he's near you doing as much as he can to ease your symptoms, he's glaring at your belly-at the baby- because HOW DARE THIS BABY MAKE YOU FEEL SO FUCKING AWFUL. It's clearly irrational. Obviously. Cause as we've seen from Dad!Silco, he'd legit burn the world down for his kid (or realistically defend the fact his kid (Jinx) burned down the world down...) So OF COURSE he's gonna love and protect this kid with his life, but since he hates seeing you in any type of discomfort, and his emotions have gotten all out of wack too, this irrationality is very present. When you found out -after Sevika caught him glaring at your belly and demanded he tell her what the hell that was about- you found it hilarious and adorable and almost sweet, he was just being his protective self. Sevika nearly died of laughter and literally couldn't breathe after finding out, and that was probably the closest thing her and Jinx had to a bonding moment as Jinx too nearly collapsed from laughter as well. Silco was mortified and embarrassed, and blamed the baby.

Would obviously be in the delivery room with you. I've seen some hcs where he's waiting outside a nervous wreck and losing his mind (and obviously he'd still be that and I still like those hcs) but I cannot imagine our guy leaving you alone to give birth. First off, he wants to be there for you and help as best he can, and second of all, HE TRUSTS NO ONE (except you Jinx and Sevika of course 😘), so of course he'd be in there with you. Those doctors could be hired assassins or double agents or some shit. Of course he's done thorough research on what doctors interact with his family, but that doesn't stop the distrusting thoughts from running through his head. He's glaring at the doctors and nurses every other minute, judging every decision they make and making it very known. And if it wasn't for the fact he was literally The Eye of Zaun™- they'd have kicked him out immediately. (Side hdc: I picture one of the nurses literally hates him with everything in her being, and detests him questioning and demanding everything, and has thought about is it worth the risk of the unstable blue haired girl, and the love of his life going after her, and after weighing her odds... It was almost worth it.)

Speaking of the delivery room, like I said Silco would be in there with you the whole time doing whatever it is you needed. Holding your hand, kissing your forehead, telling you sweet words of comfort, letting you shatter his hand bones, distracting you with gruesome stories about work that would horrify the doctors, bring Jinx and Sevika in to also distract you, let you crush his fingers and hand, would never take it personal if you told him to fuck off because he understands you're in great pain, kisses your forehead again because you love that physical touch, would never leave your side, you don't want him to, doesn't need his hand anyway, he's lived life well enough with one eye, he can do it with one hand too, would have you in the most comfortable bed in the universe with any and all things from home that would make you more comfortable. This man will do any and everything to make the birth as easy a process as possible and you absolutely love him for it. (you'd apologize profusely afterwards though for cursing at him and he'd hear none of it).

Would be so awestruck and nervous to hold the baby. I think it's fandom consensus Silco would be a lil nervous guy when about to hold his newborn child. They look so small and tiny and delicate. You'd be holding the baby, exhausted and so happy, and he'd be right near you of course, with Jinx on the bed with you, promising all the cool weapons she'd be inventing for them, and Sevika would be hovering over with her cigarette (to the horror of the doctors) nodding at how strong the baby looked and how a lot less annoying they looked then Jinx, to which Jinx would give her the finger. Silco would be quiet the whole time, just watching you and the baby and Jinx and Sevika. His little family. He saw the whole birth, cut the umbilical cord himself, and yet his hands trembled with anxiety at the thought of holding something so tiny. You'd finally look at him, realizing how quiet he'd become.

"Do you wanna hold them?" You'd ask smiling with kind understanding eyes that spoke way more to Silco then any words could.

He'd pause, thinking about his next words. "I... Don't know..." He'd finally say.

Jinx and Sevika would encourage him, excited and serious tones hitting him as he looked at his baby. He wouldn't be able to help the tiny itty-bitty smile from appearing on his face as Sevika and Jinx continued to encourage him.

"You don't have to yet, if you're not ready." You'd cut in gently, immediately silencing Jinx and Sevika.

Silco shook his head slowly. "No... I want to hold them... I just... I've never done this before." He'd look at you with a rare moment of vulnerability. "What if I mess up..."

You'd smile at him, your emotions all over the place from just delivering an entire human, and you could feel the tears brimming in your eyes.

"You'll do perfect." Is all you say. Silco takes a breath and nods, shaking the nerves off him.

"okay, I want to hold them." He says.

There's a lot of maneuvering and chaos as you begin to hand the baby to him, soft, kind directions that the nurse had told you not that long ago, along with similar additions from Jinx and Sevika, loud and probably unneeded, but very much appreciated by Silco as he took his baby in his arms, wide eyed.

He would stare at the tiny bundle, the wrinkly little face and squeezed shut eyes -Jinx and Sevika had been roasting only minutes before - with complete awe, it's almost as if he's holding his breath. They have your skin tone, your coily hair, his sharp nose. Cute and pudgy, yet his nose nonetheless. He can't help but smile at that. You can literally see all his emotions through his face, his eye, as he stares down at your baby. He has a very rare, soft smile on his face as he brushes a finger gently over the baby's cheek, earning an adorable coo from them as they move around in their snug blanket.

"Awwwwwwwww!!" Jinx mutters with her hands clasped.

Sevika turns away whipping her eye and mumbling about dust in the room.

You stare at Silco with tear filled eyes as you gently put a hand on his arm. He looks down at you, his soft smile still on his face. The baby coos again and lets out a little cry, then returns to sleep.

"they're perfect." Silco says to you, there's a slight crack in his voice and you squeeze his arm gently.

"Yes they are, my love." You whisper, brushing a loose strand of his hair from his face. You can tell the slight nervousness has returned and he gently hands the baby back to you, nearly getting thrown to the ground (again) as Jinx gives him a hug. He returns it, planting a kiss on her forehead. Jinx scoots near the baby again, talking about a super unique middle name they have to give them. Sevika- having recovered - will disagree with every one of Jinx's suggestions and offer up her own.

"Diggly is a terrible middle name, Sevika." Jinx will say with narrowed eyes.

"It's more unique and normal than 'Thunderbomb'." Sevika will retort back.

Silco will find a spot next to you on the bed, wrapping an arm around you and planting a firm kiss on your forehead. You smile, leaning into the kiss. The baby coos for a third time, this time, raising their pudgy little hands out. Silco will let the baby trap one of his fingers as he whispers to you.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[mysyerious]

CIGARETTES & DIOR 4

PREVIOUS | NEXT

note: for anyone who's read the previous 3 chapters before chapter 4 was released, I'm currently rewriting them so some time this week they'll be updated!

beta read by the darling @raelwrites

—enemies (?) steve harrington X reader, follows along with 'the bathtub'

[#: @fixtionlover + anyone else who'd like to be tagged let me know]

 It only took a handful of minutes for Joyce Byers to show up. Though you’re not surprised. If you found out your child was at the police station, was arrested, you were sure you would be arrested too with how fast you’d drive.

 During those minutes, you stared at Nancy and Jonathan. You couldn’t help but entertain the ideas brewing in your head.

 But what if there was something going on between the pair. I mean, one look at them now and you’d figure they’d been together for months if you didn’t know better.

 Maybe you didn’t know better. If Steve was so panicked he’d come to you, well. But the more you think, the more you realise you’d been around the two most all times they had interacted, to your knowledge at least. If anything was going on, surely, you’d have noticed, right?

 Joyce knocks you out of your head when she arrives. “Hey. Jonathan? Jesus, what… what happened? Why is he wearing handcuffs?”

 “Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why,” one of the officers answered.

 Joyce wasn’t happy. “Take them off.”

 “I am afraid I cannot do that.”

 Joyce wasn’t happy at all. “Take them off!”

 “You heard her. Take ‘em off.” Hopper backs Joyce. You muffle a laugh. You’re pretty sure you’d find this exact dialogue in a shitty porno.

 “Chief, I get that everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.” That doesn’t set you on edge, not at all.

 The box that the officers deposit on the desk 5 minutes later does, however. The rattle of ammo boxes, a gun, a fucking bear trap.

 “What is this?” Joyce questions, disbelief in her voice, as she sifts through the contents.

 “Why don’t you ask your son? We found it in his car.” Hopper replies, walking closer to the desk. You look over at Nancy with a confused furrow to your brow. She looks away.

 “Why are you going through my car?” Jonathan accuses.

Hopper leans over to stare at Jonathan directly. “Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” he moves back. “I wanna see you in my office.”

 “You won’t believe me.”

 “Why don’t you give me a try?”

 It seems, however, the other Hawkins residents had been going through similar frights as you had, because Hopper doesn’t even look that confused when he looks at the super-sized photograph of the monster.

 “You say blood draws this thing?”

 “We don’t know,” Jonathan replies.

 “It’s just a theory, Barb— she cut herself that night, we think she must’ve bled and attracted it,” Nancy continues, and you hadn’t heard about this theory before so you’re definitely missing something.

 Joyce throws Jonathan a look and the pair stand up. You quickly inhabit Jonathan’s abandoned seat next to Nancy.

You don’t even wait for the door to close behind Hopper before you ask, “Right. Fill me in, please? Because what’s up with that box o’ horrors back there?”

“When— when you were with Steve… me and Jonathan, we went into the woods…” she trails off, quiet, and you can feel your stomach twist.

 “Oh my god— are you okay? What happened? You should’ve come found me! or, like, called at least.”

 “Yeah— yeah, I am now… it’s alright. Jonathan took me home, I— sorry, that I didn’t call. Jonathan— we…” When Nancy pauses, your throat tightens. That was when Steve saw them together, wasn’t it?

 “You, you didn’t… like, get with him, did you? You had all night to ring, you know.”

 “What? No! no, no, no…—” Nancy grabs your hands. “I just, well, I— I saw… it, that, that thing— the monster in the photo.” She’s whispering now, voice shaking along with her hands.

 “And— and you’re okay now?”

 “I think so… Jonathan— he, he stayed with me, made sure I was okay. It just— calling you just slipped my mind, I’m sorry.” Your stomach drops a little.

 You pull her into a hug. “It’s okay, ‘m glad you’re ok, at least. It’s okay.” You whisper into her hair.

 If you say it enough, it might even come true.

 Nancy just holds on tighter.

 When Hopper fails to talk you into going home, unable to disagree with the fact that you’d already seen too much to not involve yourself, and when you follow Nancy into the backseat next to Jonathan, you had resigned yourself to the fate of never having a normal life again.

 Between interacting with Steve and coming out the other side unscathed and learning about government conspiracies and monsters in Hawkins, you’re not actually sure which surprises you more.

 “Do you have any idea where he might have gone to?” Hopper throws the question out, but you can barely keep track of where Nancy is these days, much less her kid brother.

 “No, I don’t.” Neither can Nancy, it seems.

 “I need you to think.”

 “I don’t know. We haven’t talked a lot. I mean, lately…”

 Joyce tries this time, attempts to prompt Nancy, “Is there any place that your… your parents don’t know about that he might go?”

 Again, Nancy can’t answer.

 You’re glad that your family isn’t as active in your life as other peoples are. The constant fear that something might happen to your friends is enough to have you on edge. If you had to factor in family? Unimaginable.

 “I might,” Jonathan says, “I don’t know where he is, but I think I know how to ask him.”

 “And how’d you figure that?” you ask.

 “Walkie-talkies. Will had one. I can bet Mike has his with him too, wherever he is.”

 Hopper pulls up to the Byers’ residence and before the car can even come to a full stop, Nancy and Jonathan have already hopped out. You stumble along with them and almost trip over your feet when you walk through the front door.

 Furniture askew, books everywhere, lights hanging like vines.

 “Don’t you think it’s a little early for christmas décor, guys?”

 Nancy elbows you but she looks just as surprised.

 When the group piles into Will’s room, you’re greeted by even more lamps and general disorder. Somehow, Joyce manages to find the walkie-talkie.

Nancy takes it from her instantly, sitting on the bed next to Joyce and turning the walkie on. “Mike, are you there? Mike? Mike, it’s me, Nancy.”

 Static. You hold your breath.

 “Mike, are you there? Answer. Mike, we need you to answer. This is an emergency, Mike. Do you copy? I need you to answer.”

 Static. You gnaw at your lip.

 “We need to know that you’re there, Mike.”

Static. You clench your eyes shut.

 Hopper grabs the walkie from Nance. “Listen, kid, this is the chief. If you’re there, pick up.”

 Static. Your hands shake.

 “We know you’re in trouble and we know about the girl. We can protect you; we can help you, but you gotta pick up. Are you there? Do you copy? Over.”

 Static. Your heart sinks.

 “Yeah, I copy.” The voice of Mike Wheeler cuts through the static. “It’s Mike. I’m here. We’re here.”

  You relax into the wall, boneless in relief.

 “What’s taking so long?” you break the silence. “They should be back by now, right?” your leg bounces. It was night, Hopper had left with the daylight.

 Suddenly, car lights flood the driveway and tires crackle on the gravel.

 The four of you pile outside after a beat, and Nancy jogs to hug her brother. “Mike. Oh, my god. Mike!” he stands, a little perplexed. “I was so worried about you.”

 “Yeah, uh… me, too,” Mike says, though it’s not very convincing.

 “Is that my dress?” When Nancy asks, you take in the remaining faces. Lucas and Dustin, obviously. But the girl you don’t recognise. She must be who everyone kept referring to, then.

 When everyone is seated at the table and introduced to each other, Mike starts to draw on a sheet of paper.

 “Okay, so, in this example, we’re the acrobat. Will and Barbara, and that monster, they’re this flea. And this is the upside down, where will is hiding.” He flips the paper so that everyone can see. “Mr. Clarke said the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space.”

 “A gate.” Dustin elaborates.

 “That we tracked to Hawkins lab.” Lucas continues.

 “With our compasses.” When Dusting is met with blank faces, he explains, “okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field. And that can change the direction of a compass needle.”

“Is this gate underground?” Hopper asks.

El answers, “Yes.” It’s the first time she’s spoken since arriving.

 “Near a large water tank?”

 “Yes.”

 You look over to Hopper, baffled. “How do you know all that?”

 “He’s seen it,” Mike answers.

 “I—is there any way that you could… that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this—” Joyce croaks out, and you can’t begin to imagine how tough it must be. To know Will is alive, but still be unable to reach him.

 “The upside down,” El finished.

 “Down, yeah.”

 El nods.

 “And— and Barb? Barbara, can you find her too?” Nancy asks.

 El smiles.

 The walkie-talkie is placed on the table in front of El.

 Static. You stay silent, watchful.

 The lights flicker.

 El turns looks out at everyone, tears in her eyes. You bow your head.

 “I’m sorry.”

 The chair scrapes obnoxiously when you stand.

 Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

 “W-what’s wrong? What hap— what happened?” Joyce asks.

 “I can’t find them.” El starts to cry, and you can feel your own eyes water.

 “So that’s it then, huh?” You sniffle, “nothing else we can do?” your eyes follow El as she’s shown the bathroom.

 “Uh— well, —” Mike calls your name, draws your attention, “not exactly. Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak.”

 “The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets,” Dustin continues.

 “Like, she flipped the van earlier,” Lucas says.

 “It was awesome.”

 “But she’s drained,” Mike explains.

 “Like a bad battery,” Lucas adds.

 “Is there no way to recharge that battery?” you ask.

 “No, we just have to wait and try again,” Mike answers.

 “Well, how long?” Nancy asks before you can.

 “I don’t know.”

“The bath,” El says, making both you and Joyce jump at her quiet appearance. “I can find them. In the bath.”

 Sometimes, you were glad for the involvement of police. With the speed that the car was going to reach Hawkins Middle School, you were sure had any cops caught you, you would’ve been pulled over.

 Having Hopper around made breaking laws quite fun.

 You were divided into little groups, each having a different task. Hopper and Jonathan went to get the salt; Mike, and Nancy the hose pipes; Joyce was with El getting her ready, and you were hauling a heavy tied up swimming pool across the floor of the gym with Dustin and Lucas.

 When you had managed to roll the pool to the centre of the court, you went about untying it and spreading it out.

 “Come on. It’s upside down,” Dustin says. You laugh, otherwise you might cry again.

 “No, this way.” Lucas twist and unravels his side of the pool.

 “How does this even work?”

 “Try that side.”

 “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey!” you exclaim, whirling around to face Dustin, “watch the language, teeny bopper. You’re like 10, how do you even know that?”

 “I’m 12!”

 “Try that side.” Lucas interrupts your argument. “Pull it back. Pull it back.”

 “I am!”

 “One, two, three.” At three, you let go of the pool sides and the thing collapses.

 “Shit!” both you and Dusting shout. You say nothing about that.

 “I’m guessing it’ll stay up when filled, right?” you grab on the pool sides once more. “I mean, it’s— it’s gotta. If this doesn’t work…” you trail off, huffing when the pool once again collapses in on itself. “There’s always the actual swimming pool,” you mutter dejectedly.

 You three go back to spreading the pool, lifting the sides, hoping.

 “Aha! We did it— step back, step back,” Dustin calls, and the doors open to Nancy and Mike wheeling in the hose pipes, followed by Hopper and Jonathan with the salt, and Joyce with El.

 You move over to Dustin as Mike drops two ends of hose into the pool, and as water starts pouring in, you clap Dustin on the back lightly. “You’re a genius.”

 “Thanks, —” he says your name, “but without Mr. Clarke, we wouldn’t have known how to do any of this.”

 You grin. “But without your idea we would still be at the Byers’, grasping at straws.”

 Dustin grins back.

 “Colder!” Lucas shouts, holding the thermometer in the steadily rising water. “Warmer!” he shouts again. “Right there!” and the water stops.

 Once the temperature was fixed, Hopper and Jonathan begin to cut open the bags of de-icing salt, pouring them one by one into the pool.

 “How much was it we needed?” you ask Dustin.

 “Hold on,” Dustin says, crouching to open the carton of eggs by his side. When he places one in the water and it sinks, he calls out, “’Till the egg floats.”

 With that, you walk over to the bags and grab one, tearing it open with the knife Hopper passes you over the pool, throwing the empty bag into the pile.

 When you look over at Dusting and see that the egg he placed in the water bobbed on the surface of the pool, you drop the salt bag you had picked up with a sigh of relief.

 The walkie-talkie is set up on the trolley.

 Static.

 El takes her socks off and Joyce hands her duct taped goggles, guiding the girl into the pool when she puts them on.

 Almost the second she lays down and floats, the lights in the hall begin to flicker and then go out.

 Static.

 El’s breathing starts to quicken, and the lights flicker once again.

 “What’s going on?” Nancy whispers, looking around.

 “I don’t know,” Mike answers.

 “Is Barb, okay?” You ask, “is she okay?” you tighten your hold on Dustin’s shoulder, hands shaking.

 “Gone. Gone. Gone.” El repeats. You’re frozen still.

 Static.

 Joyce attempts to comfort her but she continues to repeat ‘gone’. With every agonising repetition of the word, you can feel your face slacken more, shoulders drop, hands quiver.

 “Will?” El asks, and you can only just hear her. Joyce’s words don’t register through the buzzing in your ears.

 “Hurry.” Comes from the walkie-talkie.

 El sits up in a panic. Everyone jumps back, and you quickly remove your grip from Dustin’s shoulder when the boy moves.

 “I’ve got you,” Joyce comforts El, hugging her into her chest. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you. I got you, honey. You did so good.” You sort of feel like you might need a Joyce hug next.

 You don’t get a hug.

 After a moment of reconciliation and sharing of information, you follow Nancy to the far wall. Reclining on the cold bench by the mural, counting the blemishes in the ceiling as you wrap your mind around what you witnessed. Nancy sits by your feet.

 When the door slams, you startle and look over to see Jonathan coming closer. He sits next to Nancy. You look back to the ceiling.

 “We have to go back to the station.” You hear Nancy say. “Your mom and Hopper are just walking in there like bait. That thing is still in there. And we can’t just sit here and let it get them, too. We can’t.”

 “You still wanna try it out?” Jonathan asks.

 “I wanna finish what we started. I want to kill it.”

[bookish-actor]

I feel a little silly now that Dracula Daily has ended. I'm so so glad I went on this journey, and that this was my first time reading it! And I cannot wait for next May when I get to read it again!!

But at the same time, I feel hollow. I usually have some sort of like reading crash after I finish a book, but this feels like moving away from a friend. Because they were my friends!

My Dear Friend Jonathan Harker and his passionate, unwavering love for Madam Mina, regardless of the hardships they faced reminded me so much of my own relationship with my wife. Even in modern literature, there are few couples I can think of off the top of my head that have seemed so real and so genuine in loving each other than these two. And we didn't even get to see them interacting with each other for the first few months!! The fact that they lived each other so much that they would hold hands as they walked, even though it was deemed "improper?" Jonathan's gift of his journal and Mina sealing it with her wedding ring? Her knowing when the correct time to open it was? The horror and despair on the night that Dracula forced Mina to drink his own blood, lest her husband be killed in front of her? The two of them finally getting the happiness and peace they deserve with their son? Absolutely beautiful.

And I love how Mina's intense love is such an important factor. It is because of her love that Jonathan fights tooth and nail to survive Dracula's castle to get back to her. It is because of her love that Lucy stayed alive for as long as she did, even if Mina didn't have all the knowledge or tools to fully save her. If she did, I know that Mina would not have hesitated to drive that stake into Dracula's heart instantly. I love how she pleaded with the men in her life to have pity on the souls of the vampires, as she now suffered that same damnation. When God himself turned away and could not stand them nor love them anymore, Mina did.

Arthur had the potential to be such a Sad Boy™, and would have every reason to be one, but he turned that despair into fire and refused to let anything stop their quest to avenge Lucy. This poor man lost so much in such a short amount of time, but refused to take it laying down. He knew he could not help much, but he was willing to throw as much money as needed to see this bastard killed once and for all. Yet, he also had the compassion to allow Jonathan the final blow. I cannot imagine how he drove that stake into his own heart as he did so to his would-be bride on their wedding night. He was a kind man and I hope that, genuinely, his new wife is as good to him as I'm sure he is to her.

John.... Even though a horrible horrible person to Reinfield, I'd like to think he learned from his mistreatment and is now working to better his asylum. Even if his only motivation is to be able to hear if anyone has any information on another monster, I hope some good comes of it. I do love, however, that he never despised Arthur for winning Lucy's love, nor did he think Arthur unworthy of it when he was unable to be there with Lucy. He never hated Lucy for not choosing him and tried everything in his power to save her, not in hopes that she would change her mind, but because he genuinely loved her, regardless of anything else.

I knew there was a cowboy in this story, but I did not expect him to win my heart so fully. He was a delight every time he was on screen, and I am so hurt that he is dead now. I keep remembering him just straight up leaving the meeting and shooting at the fucking bat without much explaination. He made me laugh the most and provided some good comic relief without detracting from the seriousness of the story. He was the glue that held everyone together and it warms my heart that the Harkers named their son after him.

Van Helsing is such an interesting character. I honestly wasn't expecting him to be here at all. I thought he was an addition from a later on, but oh what a delightful man!! He's cheery and tried to keep everyone's hopes up, but then confides in John what his true feelings are. He mixes up his words and rambles on, but he's such a kind character. I headcanon that his son was killed by vampires and that's what started this journey. When he has to kill Dracula's wives, his hand is stayed for a moment by compassion and love. His only solace in that moment is the look of peace on their faces as death finally takes them. He cares so deeply for every one of these characters and it's for the best as it strengthens him. Although it was a little annoying how long it took for him to explain everything, I entirely understand. He didn't want to scare everyone needlessly if the problem could be solved without telling everyone about vampires. And honestly, who would believe him? I know I wouldn't! He did the best with what he had and I can't blame him for that

Anyway this has definitely left a lasting impact on my life. I'm so happy that this is how I got to experience this book for the first time and I can't wait to visit all my friends again next year! I'm definitely planning on watching the Wholesome Filmtok guy's found footage Dracula movie now!! I can't believe it's over, and I won't get any more updates for another 6 months, but I'm so glad I participated! I feel hollow, but satisfied!

Until next year!

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 3; Need To Know

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Chapter 3!! Yay! I will not lie I got kind of lazy and burnt out when I finally got to the smut scene, and for that I am sorry. I’ll make it up to you guys with a future chapter.

Summary; Reader can’t get her mind off of Spencer, which causes distractions at work. Until one day when he catches on.

Category; Smut (Minors DNI!!!)

Content Warnings; Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of masturbation, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), Drinking, Mentions of being shot, Kinda Sub!Spencer, Virgin!Spencer (but not by the end of it)

Word Count; 7.2k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

Spencer Reid. The object of my attraction, the man I fell harder for with every stolen glance I could manage to throw his way. I was obsessed, and that infatuation only grew stronger every day that I saw him at work.

When we went out to bars after cases we ended up in an inevitable game of Never Have I Ever like a bunch of high school kids. With Emily and Derek in the group it almost always turned sexual. It started with innocent things such as; Never have I ever kicked down a door -- to which Derek drinks. There were some targeted jabs, I got Spencer a few times when I brought up an activity I was certain he had done -- just to keep him involved.

However he never drank past that. He never took a sip when Emily made a sexual innuendo, or when she brought up one night stands, number of partners, most bizarre location to engage in intercourse. Nothing of the sort got him to break. I figured he was a private guy, never one to boast about his sexual experiences.

It was frustrating, to say the least. It got to the point where I couldn’t think about anyone but him. I couldn’t engage in any sexual activity without my mind shifting to him, the way he might slip his fingers in and out of me, or how skilled he was with his mouth instead of the person I dragged home. No other person could even begin to compare to the remedy I concocted in my mind. I didn’t have any information to base my fantasies on, either.

I had it bad. So bad, that at one point I spilled hot coffee all over myself in the breakroom over the littlest interaction.

Spencer came in just after me, mumbling a small hello before reaching to grab a mug for himself. In the process of doing so his shirt rode up, exposing a small expanse of his lower stomach that had me sputtering as I clumsily missed my cup and instead poured the coffee all over the counter. It ran down and soaked through my pants; yet it wasn’t nearly as hot as the way I felt on the inside.

I couldn’t help but wonder the noises he’d make if I were to suck dark purple marks across that plain of skin...or if anyone ever had before.

The small burn was a fine price to pay for my inappropriate thoughts.

Him being the sweet guy that he is, offered to help me clean up. This proposal ended up with him taking paper towels and patting down my thighs -- not realizing just how suggestive the action looked to me.

“Sorry,” He whispered, looking up at my face from his position below me. He was kneeling on one knee, with a hand planted firmly on the outside of my thigh. His voice was soft yet raspy, and oh how I let my mind wander.

“Not your fault,” I said quickly, and borderline ran out the door before he could protest or add anything on.

I headed straight to the bathroom to wash my face, try and stop the effect he had on me from becoming too physical.

If I got that worked up over a small piece of skin showing, nothing could have prepared me for the first night we shared a hotel room.

I was in shambles all night, ever since the moment Hotch handed me a room card and explained we needed to double up.

Emily usually roomed with JJ, Hotch and Rossi got their own, and Derek refuses to bunk with Spencer -- if he could avoid it. Much to my luck, this time he did because Garcia was needed for this case, meaning she and Derek would be sharing.

Leaving me with Spencer.

I stood there helpless, eyes burning a hole into the place that Hotch was previously standing. I was panicking on the inside, my body going into fight or flight mode as I went through scenarios in my head.

I was 99% sure I would be embarrassing myself tonight.

“Hey,” Spencer said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped and shrieked a little bit, and slapped a hand over my heart. “Oh my god, Reid. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Sorry I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

He nodded, eventually realizing that he was still indeed touching my shoulder. He dropped his arm, only to bring his hand back up to rub over his chin.

My eyes darted down to it, watching at the way his veins stood out. It wasn’t the first time I admired them, there were moments when he was going over maps with two fingers where I wondered what they would feel like on my-

“____?”

“What?” I asked, a little too loud for the setting.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry.”

“I said we should go inside,” he laughed softly, trying to sooth the tension.

I agreed, stepping past him to start walking to our room. I opened the door with trembling hands, wondering just how hard the following nights at the hotel would be.

“I’m gonna go see Emily and JJ. Ask if they wanna go to the bar,” I said quickly, throwing my bag down just inside the door.

“Oh. Okay. Have fun! Don’t stay out too late. You should get a full night’s sleep.”

“I won’t be long. Don’t wait up!” I called, not looking back to see him before half jogging out of the room.

-----

“I cannot go back in there.”

“Oh, because of your little crush,” Emily laughed, much too loud for the early hours of the morning.

Clearly Spencer’s advice about coming back early didn’t plant itself in my head.

“Yes, because of that,” I confirmed. I was staring down at my drink, wallowing in self pity. It was too awkward to even step foot in there, I’m sure just by the sight of him I’d explode.

“What is it about him that gets you hot and heavy?” JJ teased. “No shame, just curious.”

I fake laughed, ignoring her question.

Everything he did was so intoxicating. Even the most mundane things got my blood pumping hard. Each time he let a small gasp through his lips or when he would whisper to himself, a shockwave went through me, igniting a fire deep inside that was near impossible to put out.

But he was so oblivious. He hadn’t a single idea of the effect he had on me. And that was the most frustrating part.

The first time I noticed my extreme attraction to him was shortly after I joined the team, it was only the third or fourth case I’d had with them. Spencer and I walked to a coffee shop to grab some for everyone, and on the way back he was infodumping.

About what, I can’t remember, for I was too fixated on the way his hands wrapped around his cup as he talked. He’d wave it around, and in doing so his fingers would trace little patterns onto the outside of it. I didn't mean to stare, I just got distracted.

I started noticing more little things after that.

Like the way he licked his lips while deep in thought, his mind consuming him to the point where he looked so concentrated and determined. It was hot, to put it simply. I wanted nothing more for him to be licking my lips, to feel him take such care with my body.

He had always been attractive in my eyes, the young boy was nothing but pretty. Even when his hair was shorter and he gelled it back, pairing the look with his glasses -- that he unfortunately wore less often nowadays.

It was nearly painful to be around him all day every day. My head would constantly be spinning with anxiety, only causing more and more headaches to present themselves. It was like a punishment, one I certainly deserved for the tasteful thoughts I had during work hours.

My crush went from an innocent little thing, to full fledged fascination.

‘I just been fantasizin' (size)

And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

Avoiding him as much as I could seemed like a decent plan at the time. If I kept my interactions low, I could distract myself with other things, and not focus on the way his lips pursed as I conversed with him. I raced up more time staring at his mouth rather than completing actual work by my six month stay at the BAU.

“I’m so fucked,” I nodded, coming to a bit of peace with my downfall.

“Well, you could be. If you told him how you feel,” JJ encouraged.

“No way in hell,” I protested, shooting my head up to make eye contact with her.

“____, there is a very, very high chance he feels the same. And if he doesn’t -- which he does -- he’s too sweet to let that impact your friendship.”

“We hardly even have a friendship. Whenever he tries to talk to me I end up running away. He probably thinks I hate him or something. He probably wants nothing to do with me.”

No objection from Emily or JJ there.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Emily asked, changing the pace of the conversation.

“He never speaks to me again. I die of embarrassment.”

“You’re both adults, ____.”

“We are 27!” I shook my head, exasperated. “I hardly even feel like one sometimes.”

“27, exactly. I’m sure by now Reid has gained some experience with talking to women. You’ll be fine.”

“I have absolutely no way of knowing how things will go.”

“Just give him little tests,” JJ suggested. “Like touch him. On the shoulders, compliment him more, really go up to him and make a move. That way if he doesn’t feel the same you can play it off as being platonic.”

I groaned and rested my head on the table dramatically. “You both kinda suck at advice. What am I supposed to do? Waltz into our shared room and confess my love for him? Ask him desperately to dick me down?”

Even though I definitely wanted to.

They laughed at that, saying they were going to bed and wished me luck. Emily advised I should try and ‘get some’ from somebody else, and maybe that would take my mind off of things.

After stalling some more I eventually made my way back to the hotel room, hoping that Spencer was already asleep so I wouldn’t have to face him. But once again, luck wasn’t in my favour.

“Hi,” he spoke softly from his bed.

“Why are you still awake?” I asked, trying my best to stifle a yawn. I threw my sweater down on my bed, before grabbing my go-bag and retrieving my pyjamas from it. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

“I told you not to wait up. Naughty boy,” I joked, finally turning my attention fully over to him.

Which could've been a mistake, based on the way you saw it.

He was dressed in flannel pants and a black t-shirt, along with his hair tied up that I’d failed to notice earlier. I froze at the sight, seeing the way his cheeks were dusted a slight red, and lips pink as ever.

His hair was tied up, and I almost dropped dead at the sight. I’d never seen it before. Sure, he sometimes wore an elastic band on his wrist during the work days but never have I seen him actually use one.

“I’m gonna shower and then head to bed,” I said in an effort to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t respond, only turning his head back to the book that was in his hand.

Thankfully when I returned he was asleep, meaning I didn’t have to see him before bed.

The next day was torturous. I couldn’t get the image of him out of my head. The view of him so relaxed on his bed was ethereal, the soft glow of the lamp hand illuminated his skin in all the right places. Did he pull his hair back often? Did he casually sit at home with it up? How did he look in different angles or positions? Are there other things he wears or does that I haven’t seen?

The image was just so domestic that I couldn't stop thinking about it even if I wanted to.

I was afraid to fall asleep, in fear that my dream may turn adventurous. Quitting my job and moving to a new city seems more preferable than having a sex dream about your coworker while they were in the room.

I was hyper aware of every move he made, always keeping tabs on him in the back of my mind so we wouldn’t accidentally run into each other.

Apparently when I was paying attention on how not to see him, I failed to notice how he had filled out recently. He wore looser pants in the past, ones that didn’t allow much shape to show through.

The next day at the precinct I was in for a surprise though, one that was sure to make me fall to my knees.

And I would have, if it wasn’t for the fact I was already seated in a chair.

Spencer walked in clad in pants that were far too tight to be appropriate for work. Or maybe I was overreacting.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, soaking in his appearance of the day.

It was hot outside, so he decided not to wear his usual vest and tie combo, choosing instead just a white pattern button up and grey tie.

I heard Emily snicker beside me, which earned her a light kick in the calf to shut her up. She got up then, winking at me dramatically before leaving the room to presumably go check in with Derek.

“Hey ____, can you come here for a sec?”

I got up without a word, and walked over to the other side of the room where he was standing at the map hung up.

He went off about the unsub’s possible comfort zone -- things that I’d need him to repeat later because I wasn’t fully listening,

I stayed leaning against the table, just two feet behind him which gave me a perfect view of just how tight those pants really were. They hugged his hips deliciously, I wanted nothing more than to rip them off in that moment. I nodded along dumbly, changing my sight from his ass to his back, to his toned arms that were shown off from him rolling up his sleeves.

It was a fair sight, I don’t really think I could be blamed for staring.

A few weeks after that he got a haircut. His longer curls were gone -- yet not forgotten -- and were replaced with a mop of messy waves that framed his face perfectly.

It was like a new blow to my stomach every time I got used to the change.

“New haircut?” I asked the obvious on the first day back from a long weekend.

“Yeah...thought I should change it up,” Spencer replied, picking up his coffee mug to make himself a cup.

I nodded, the room settling in a short silence.

“Do you not like it?”

“No!” I exclaimed, Spencer furrowing his brows in response. “I mean, yes. I do like it. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You could pull off any hairstyle, trust me,” I said, before walking back to my desk.

People that we met seemed to feel the same, because he got stopped more often at bars and at shops that were needed to visit. People would give him their numbers, leaving him a blushing mess. It got obnoxious, to the point where I was at my breaking point. My shoulders were always slumped, and my forehead creased with jealousy.

I stayed closer to him when the team went out, in an effort to get other girls to stop making moves on him.

They hadn’t noticed his beauty before, why should they get the privilege to advance on him now?

It was selfish, really. It may have been good for his self-confidence, but not so good for my own feelings.

I made sure to compliment him more often, telling him I liked his sweater vests, and ‘oh my Doctor Reid, is that a new tie?’ It was a win-win really, for both of us. I was building up my comfort level with him, and he knew that I did not, in fact, despise him.

When Spencer got shot on a case a few weeks later, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to show him that I care about him.

It was an easy job, since the bullet only semi-grazed his shoulder blade. Only needed deep cleaning once a night, for a few weeks so it wouldn’t get infected.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a groan, one that sent shivers throughout my veins.

“Sorry,” I answered quickly, keeping my gaze on the task at hand and not on his face that was just so close to mine.

Here I was in Spencer’s apartment, in his bathroom, helping him clean off his wound.

“I’m sorry but you need to stop moving, it’s just making things worse,” I explained.

“It hurts!”

“I’m sure it does! But I can’t do an effective job in cleaning it if you keep thrashing around like that.”

I saw him pout, and lower his head. The gears in his brain were turning, trying to come up with a possible solution.

“You’re going to need to hold me down.”

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna be able to stop moving,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where I was sitting behind him on the floor. “Come on.”

He stood up and left the room, gesturing for me to follow. And I did, collecting the supplies I’d need as he led me over to his living room.

Before I could protest he removed his shirt fully -- not like how it was bunched up by his neck previously.

I stopped in my tracks, eyes taking in every inch of skin that he freed. He was lean, as I predicted, but still toned in areas.

Spencer laid on his stomach down on the couch, motioning for me to come beside him.

“Get on my back.”

“Are you insane?”

“____,” he pleaded, looking up at me. His arms were crossed by his head, he was using them as a makeshift pillow. “I just want this to be over as fast as it can be.”

Right.

“Okay,” I agreed, and began to place my materials down on the coffee table to my right. I then swung a leg over his lower back, straddling him just how I’d imagine doing so before -- only the other way around. “Is this okay?”

He hummed, digging his face as far into the fabric of the couch as he could.

‘I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby

Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will)’

I took that as a yes, and poured some of the disinfectant onto a swab. Bracing myself with a hand on his other shoulder to pin him down firmly he shivered, breath shaking ever so slightly. I tried to catch him off guard with the swab, choosing a random time to press it into his wound.

He was definitely surprised, because he whined loudly into his hands and clenched all of the muscles in his back.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he made similar noises during other activities…

“Just a minute more,” I soothed him, running my free hand over the smooth skin of his back, doing my best to calm him down.

His breathing only became heavier, and was nearly shaking from the burn. I felt bad, having to see him go through this but I’d be lying if it wasn’t doing things to me. I couldn’t help but get a little bit excited when I got the chance to be near him, to be closer than we had ever been before.

It was intense, I was almost sure he could feel my arousal through the fabric of my pants and underwear.

I was an awful person.

Going home that night to sleep was a struggle. I felt guilty, for using his pain for my perverse temptations. Yet as soon as my fingers were buried inside myself I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him above me. The way he might sound, spewing out similar noises that I’d experienced earlier that were still fresh in my brain.

I wasn’t proud of it, and I thought every one of our interactions after that would be even harder.

Going back to work seemed fully impossible, I didn’t have any hope in myself to stay useful while he was parading around, completely oblivious to the effect he had on me. I became more sexually frustrated every day. It was nearly infuriating to see a look of innocence plastered on his face, meanwhile he would do things that made me go crazy.

‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

“Penelope, I think I might die soon if I don’t get laid,” I said, rapidly opening the door to her cave.

“____-”

“No, I’m serious. I can’t get my mind off of-”

I stopped in my tracks, finally noticing the presence I hadn’t already accounted for.

Spencer sat in a chair to my left, just out of view that you couldn’t see him if you didn’t turn your head. He was in the middle of bringing a chip up to his mouth, but was stopped mid-air with his mouth hanging open.

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling up fast, bumping into things as he collected his satchel with shaky hands. “Sorry I’ll go.”

The door shut with a slam, and left Penelope and I in silence.

“Well, fuck,” I whispered, earning a booming laugh from her. “It’s not funny.”

“It is funny. It’s hilarious,” she giggled, doing a little spin on her chair.

I groaned, and sat down beside her on the edge of her desk.

“Maybe now he’ll make a move on you.”

“Oh shut up,” I slapped her arm, beginning to laugh along with her. “If he was avoiding me before, I’m sure he’ll never speak to me again.”

Ever since I helped Spencer with his injury the first time he’d been semi ignoring me, not trying to actively partake in conversation. We only talked when necessary, but didn’t exchange any extra words when I came over for an hour to help him with his wound.

I was almost happy about that, it meant I didn’t have to embarrassingly throw myself at him all day long.

I was perfectly fine admiring him from a distance, just how I’d done so for years.

However, there was a part of me that was rightfully sad. Did I cross a line, or make him feel uncomfortable? Maybe from spending so much time together recently he gathered I really wasn’t that interesting.

“Don’t say that,” Penelope frowned.

“Why not? It’s the truth,” I shrugged.

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

“How I feel?”

“Don’t even try and wedge your way out of it. Emily told me, don’t be mad,” she said, with the sweetest look on her face that I couldn’t be upset.

“Bitch,” I playfully mumbled.

“Besides you literally were about to say that you can’t get your mind off of him.”

“Uh, no, I was not. I was going to say someone. A general someone. Not Reid.”

She hummed, turning back to her screen to finish up some work Hotch had sent her to do.

“Okay fine. Pen, I’m gonna die. It’s insufferable. I can’t handle it anymore.”

“That’s exactly why you should tell him!” She encouraged excitedly, always a swooner for young love.

“I would scare him. He’s probably scared of me, actually.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure his little virgin heart can take it.”

“What?” I asked, suddenly giving her all my attention. “Virgin? Is he seriously a virgin?”

“I don’t know, truly. I just kinda figured. He doesn’t talk about anyone or anything to do with sex.”

I nodded. That makes sense. With him radiating pure sex appeal in my eyes, the thought never even crossed my mind that he might be a virgin.

But that just made it all the more exciting.

“But hey, if he’s really a 27 year old virgin I’m sure he’s extremely horny,” she laughed.

“We are at work. Let’s calm it down before I actually combust,” I shook my head.

My palms were sweating at the very thought of him doing anything remotely sexual -- which I thought about a lot. Surely he’s had to at least...taken care of himself. I’m sure it was a gorgeous sight, his hand wrapped firmly around his dick and face contorted in nothing but pleasure.

My thoughts were interrupted by none other than the man himself, who barged into the room to say we were taking off for a case in 30.

The flight there was quiet and boring, we left at night so there wasn’t so much we could do when we got there besides head up to our hotel.

“We’re sharing a room,” Spencer said, walking over to me from where he was previously with Derek.

I was standing in front of the vending machine, doing my very best to not eavesdrop on the mens’ conversation, which was only taking place about 20 feet away. Spencer was speaking in a hushed yet agitated tone, and Derek was matching his energy. It seemed they were bickering, but about what I didn’t know.

“Says who?” I panicked.

“Uhh...Hotch did.”

Great.

“Oh. Alright,” I followed him down the hallway, our room was the last one at the end.

I waited for him to open the door, and when he stepped out of the way to let me inside I brushed past him.

When I turned around Spencer was standing there blocking my path, causing me to bump into his chest.

“Hello...” I said confused, taking a step back.

“I…”

“What?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. “Spencer what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead reaching up to push a piece of hair out of my face. My breath hitched at the contact, sending me into a short frenzy on the inside. He was inching closer, now his body was getting just close enough so that I could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was glancing back and forth between my eyes, searching my face for an expression of discomfort.

He didn’t find any.

“I was talking with Derek. About you,” he whispered. “He said you’ve been coming on to me.”

My heart nearly missed a beat at his words.

“I've noticed your odd behaviour, you don’t act the way you do with anyone else on the team. You run away from me, and at first I thought you just didn’t like me, but now...I think it’s the opposite. I see the way you look at me, you know.”

“And how do I look at you?” I questioned nervously.

“Like you want me. Tell me. Who were you talking about earlier today? Who exactly can’t get your mind off of?”

I paused, eyes almost bulging out of my head at the implication.

“If I'm reading this wrong, let me know. We can pretend this never happened.”

“Get on the bed and take your clothes off.”

He did just that, moving beside me to shove his pants down his legs, followed by ripping off his shirt, as I did the same. We couldn’t take our eyes off of each other, too busy drinking in our appearances to think straight. He sat down on the edge of the bed in just his underwear, and spread his legs just wide enough to give me space to stand between them.

“Tell me what you want.” he breathed, watching me as I walked towards him.

“You,” I answered simply, climbing into his lap and connecting my mouth was his. “All of you.”

He didn’t protest, only doing quite the opposite. He moaned greedily into my mouth, sucking every last bit of life out of me. He was hungry in his movements, not allowing for a single beat of fresh air for either of us. I was more than happy to return the energy, for I’ve dreamt for too long about what he might taste like. And it wasn’t disappointing, the sensation was far better than I could have ever cooked up in my head.

After a minute he became impatient, and started bucking his hips up to meet mine. I did the same, grinding down on his hardening dick that felt...impressive to say the least.

“I’ve thought about you for so long,” I spoke against his lips, taking a break between kisses.

He groaned back at me, moving his hands from my cheeks down to my hips to hold me flush against himself. He whimpered when I was fully against him, he had to break away to keep his breathing somewhat managed.

“Please, I need you so bad. I’ve thought about you too.”

“What exactly did you think about?” I asked quietly, trailing kisses all across his face, and then started heading down his jaw and neck.

“L-lots of stuff.”

“Tell me,” I demanded, looking up at him from my new position kneeling on the floor. “Please, tell me.”

I brought a hand up to his boxers, ghosting just over his bulge while remaining eye contact.

“Everything. All of you. ____, Please.”

‘You're exciting, boy, come find me

Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me"’

“Let me do something first,” I said, pushing against his stomach to encourage him to lie back on the bed. He did so, propping himself up on his forearms to look down at me.

He watched my every move, not a second was missed by his eyes that stayed locked onto my form. I dropped my head down to kiss across his left thigh, and toyed with the waistband of his underwear with my right hand.

He was so vocal, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I knew we had all night, but I’d waited too long for this to take my time.

‘And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

I pulled his underwear down just enough to reveal his dick hard and red as it stood up against his stomach.

“You don’t...have to,” Spencer stopped me before I could carry on.

“Do you not want me to?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just…” He stopped, and bit his lip while staring off to one of the walls.

“Has anyone ever done this with you before?” I asked, almost unsure of whether or not I wanted the answer.

“Done what...exactly?” he asked, refusing to look back at me. His cheeks were red in embarrassment, and he was too focused on the distance to see the wave of excitement that flashed over my face.

“Spencer,” I said sharply, prompting him to turn his attention back to me. “Are you a virgin?”

His lack of answer told me enough. He blushed impossibly deeper, and started squirming in place. Just as he was about to speak up for himself I stopped him with, “That’s so fucking hot.”

“What?”

I climbed back up his body, just far enough so that I could grab his jaw in my hand and pull him down to meet my lips. It was even more hungry and passionate than the previous ones we shared, full of such fire I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to kiss anyone else ever again.

“You’re so sexy,” I moaned, hot and needy into his mouth.

He was good, which wasn’t unexpected from my end. His lips were always so plump and pink, they just had to be semi skilled.

“Thank you,” he replied, in a typical Spencer Reid fashion.

“Do you want to stop? Or keep going? Take a minute and think about it. I don’t want to pressure you,” I reassured him, but on the inside I was begging for him to want to continue.

He pulled back for a second, running a hand over the back of my head to keep me from going too far. His eyes were closed, focusing only on his breathing as he thought about his answer.

“I want to keep going. Please,” he decided on, nodding his head. “I just, I dunno, didn’t expect to get this far tonight.”

“Believe me, neither did I,” I smirked, smashing my lips back against his and returning to my spot kneeling between his legs. I pushed him back harder than before, sending a small oof sound from his chest as his back hit the mattress.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” I asked, finally wrapping my hand around his dick,

It only made sense that a pretty boy like him would have a pretty cock, too.

“O-only once,” he breathed, with his head thrown back. He was staring at the ceiling, staring at the dots to distract himself from the feeling and to not come too soon. “Long time ago.”

“If you need me to stop, tell me,” I said, before licking a broad strip up the underside of his dick.

I paused at the head, swirling my tongue around before continuing my mission back down around the other side. I kissed his base, leaving more near his hips. He whined positively -- probably feeling a little ticklish -- and I took that as a good sign to suck a deep purple mark there.

Just like I’d thought about doing months ago.

I left a few more just up to his belly button, marking him up with the intent to claim him as my own. He’d see those marks for the next few days, and every time he would think of me on my knees for him. I kept pumping him in my hand as I did so, and every time I groaned into his skin his dick twitched with appreciation.

“Oh god,” Spencer moaned as I took him into my mouth unexpectedly, bunching up the sheets in his hands beside his hips.

I looked up to see him now staring down at me, jaw slacked and panting heavily. The sight was enough to elicit a moan from my own mouth, which led to him fluttering his eyes shut at the vibrations that shot through his body.

“Stop, stop!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly, immediately pulling up.

“Nothing, I just really want to feel you and I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Understandable.

I wasn’t expecting him to last long anyways, I just simply wanted him inside me.

“Do you happen to have a condom?” He shook his head. “I’m clean and on the pill. We should be fine. Is that okay?”

He mumbled an ‘uh huh’ as he watched me stand up, as I pushed my underwear down my legs. He immediately reached out to me, bringing me back in and starting placing kisses across my stomach and hips, mirroring what I was doing to him earlier.

“Good, because if you don’t fuck me right now I think I might die.”

‘Yeah-yeah, oh-whoa-whoa (oh, ooh, mmm)

Baby, I need to know, mmm (yeah, need to know)’

He laughed lightheartedly, fixing himself to be sitting up near the headboard. In the process he kicked off his boxers fully, along with his socks.

I followed after him, not letting him stray too far from my reach.

“I heard that women take longer to, erm, get ready,” he muttered into my skin, hiding his face in my neck. “Let me help you?”

“Please,” I whimpered, though I knew I was far from unprepared. I reached behind myself to unclasp my bra, and as soon as it fell down my shoulders Spencer attached his mouth to my left nipple. “Please touch me.”

He moaned into me, bringing his hand down to my core to run his fingers through my folds. He let his middle breach me, moving so agonizingly slow before curling his finger up. I moaned loudly, letting my eyes shut and body fall slack against him. His free arm wrapped around my waist, giving me the support I needed to stay upright.

“So that’s your g-spot?” He grinned against my skin, and I’d be damned to admit it affected me way more than it should have. He sounded so innocent, so eager to learn.

“Uh-huh.”

He explored my skin greedily, brushing over every inch of my chest he could reach. His thrusts became faster every time he re-entered me, encouraged by the grunt that fell from my lips with each one.

“Have you ever done this with a girl before?”

“No,” he replied, moving from my breasts to my collarbone, leaving a dark purple mark in his path.

“Could've fooled me,” I felt him smile against my neck at the praise -- duly noted.

He flipped us over swiftly -- much to my surprise -- and continued with his actions on both my clit and entrance. I did my best to stay quiet, biting down on his shoulder to prevent any noises from leaking out to stop him from getting too cocky.

“Spencer,” I moaned, raking my fingernails up and down his back. “Stop. Please fuck me now, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure you want to? We can stop,” he reassured me in a voice that seemed far too innocent for the activities taking place.

“Spencer, I’m sure. I’m so fucking sure you have no idea.”

I was so turned on I could cry, the pure want running through my veins was starting to send panic signals throughout my whole body. Before I could beg him any further he replaced his fingers with his dick, catching me off guard. He ran the tip over me for a few seconds before gliding in easily, with little to no restriction at all.

“Ah!” I called, gripping onto his shoulder for dear life.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god did I hurt you?” Spencer asked frantically, removing his weight from me and tried sitting up.

“No. God please move, I need you so bad,” I pleaded, pulling him back down before he could get too far away.

He nodded. He started slow. So slowly that I wanted to scream and beg at the top of my lungs for more. However I was above giving him the satisfaction of that -- at least for now.

“You feel so good,” Spencer panted, hips shaking as he slid in and out at a torturous pace.

I pulled his lips back to mine for another kiss, drinking in everything he was willing to offer. I whined every time his body rubbed against my clit in a way that had my toes curling and eyes rolling back.

“This is so much better than I’ve imagined,” I moaned, breaking free from his mouth to lay back against the pillows. I wrapped my legs around his waist, aiding him with the speed of his thrusts. “Please, Spence, oh my god go harder.”

He moaned loudly, and lowered his head to my collarbone in an effort to muffle some of the noises he was letting out.

He followed my directions well -- and I took notes for the future.

The sounds of him bouncing off the walls was amplifying my pleasure to a new degree, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. His hips snapped forward impossibly faster, leaving him a whimpering mess above me. Our chests were pressed together, the sound of skin slapping and gliding over each other filled the dimly lit room.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I whispered into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses here and there.

He moaned freely at all of the praise, and every time I urged him on he’d pick up his speed a little bit. He was now moving faster than I thought I could handle, slamming into me at the perfect angle.

I felt him everywhere. In my stomach, insides of my thighs, chest -- where he was now palming at one of my breasts -- and the crook of my neck. I hugged my arms around his middle to keep him locked against me, preventing his hips from heavily backing out.

“I’m really close,” He groaned, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “S-should I pull out now?”

“No,” I demanded, tightening my legs to keep him trapped. “Come inside me.”

He nodded with a particularly loud moan, and snaked one hand down my body to meet my clit. When I gave a sound of approval he quickened his wrist, rubbing me with just the right amount of pressure to send me closer to the edge.

He came with a final shout in my name, resting his full body weight against me as I rocked my him against him to help him through it. I finished soon after, at the feeling of him releasing himself in me. It was so warm, like a comforting blanket that overtook all of my senses.

It was possibly the best orgasm I’d ever had, it was so profound that I couldn’t see, or focus on anything else.

We laid there for a few minutes, my hand running through his hair and his ghosting up the side of my hip. It took a while for us both to catch our breaths, we were too immersed in the moment to break apart from one another.

“That was literally the best sex I’ve had in my life,” I breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Same, but I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Spencer replied, and we both laughed weakly.

“That was okay for you? Your first time? Not really the traditional approach.”

“It was perfect. I wouldn’t have asked for anything different,” he pulled himself up with a smile, before pulling out and flopping down beside me.

“But seriously,” I sat up, resting my head on my palm to get a better view of him. “I’ve never been so attracted to someone as I am with you.”

“____,” he blushed. “I-”

“No! No, let me finish. Please.”

He nodded for me to go ahead.

“Not only are you just insanely sweet and so charming, you’re so handsome. Like I can hardly even look at you half the time. You drive me insane, Spencer you have no idea. Holy fuck I’ve never wanted someone so bad before I met you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough. I’ll cringe about this later but I just need you to know.”

“This may not be the most common way...but do you want to go out with me? L-like on a date?” Spencer asked. He was blushing so heavily, his chest was painted pink and ears were turned red.

“You just came inside of me and you’re nervous about asking me on a date.”

“____!” Spencer exclaimed, facepalming himself.

“Yes,” I grinned. “I’d love to go out with you.”

-----

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[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[emypony]

It's the Honkai brainrot fellas

Specifically like. ER + Senti thoughts

Anyway i just. AUGHSHHSHS...

The. Like ok Fu Hua's shadow knight battlesuit looks. Well, it looks. Not bad or good it just IS THERE.

But the way they illustrated her in ER?? LIKE

Literally how can I put it into words that she looks like a little swallow?? Licherally just a little bird (yes i know her name means bird BUT STILL LIKE AUDJJSJS) she's so. Baby she deserves the world oh my god i am filled with SO MUCH EMOTION.

Not gonna touch on what the fuck TM is her outfit (i think it's cute but weird and i think we can all guess why lol Eden girl why did you do Hua like this...girl is flat)

Anyway 2nd part of my brainrot consists of Senti interactions with her and everyone else. Who cares why she's there or how did she even GET THERE but alright.

I do head canon that after the whole Herrscher of Domination chapter, Senti still holds a little bit of resentment for Fu Hua bc of that betrayal so 😔 hot girl summer is gonna have to wait until they reconcile. HOWEVER based on her bridge voice lines she does wish for Fu Hua to be happy so it's a back n forth tho i suppose most of the voice lines were written with some neutral (at least) to friendly relationship in mind.

THAT SAID... I think despite having conflicted thoughts about Sim Hua at first (before they realize who Senti actually is), she'd probably try to be cold and angry to keep up her appeal however she cannot fault Sim Hua for stuff she hasn't done 😞😭 like. Ok Hua is still Hua (as per Mei's comment) however she's still. YOU KNOW SHES THE. like she's just there she's trying her best and is more reserved and shy and doesn't speak her mind that much.

So I'd assume if a fight broke out (as we see in Elysium Everlasting, tho i suppose fight is a bit of a misunderstanding LMAO) Senti would - despite claiming to hate all things Fu Hua (her sim included) PROBABLY would threaten to beat the shit out of anyone who looks at Sim Hua the wrong way.

Kalpas better watch his fucking back. Like 🤨 yeah she 'dislikes' Sim Hua but that doesn't give anyone the right to say anything mean to her or they're gonna fucking get it !!!

I think she feels some sort of closeness w Sim Hua from the shared experience of like. (Well i know she's still been there for 50k years too but you know.) Being pretty new and despite having some experience, STILL being quite unsure where your place is or what you're supposed to do.

Her being fiercely protective of Sim Hua would be an interesting dynamic and I think that'd be really cute lol ((not a ship btw but u know just!! U look at a little scrunkly and u decide that u would kill for them that's pretty much Senti))

OH I ALMOST FORGOT - Sim Hua realizing (with some help from Elysia, Eden and Su what Senti is doing (but also she notices it herself bc Senti weirdly hovers around her and glares at Mobius even when she's just passing by) AND THEN U KNOW JUST!! FINDING OUT THAT SHES LIKE. A HERRSCHER HELP? literally her own future self but not really and also the thing that took away so many loved people in her life is now here in front of her (well it wasn't Senti but Herrschers by design, you get my point) and she's not doing anything wrong and it's conflicting (and sometimes a little heartwarming) and even fun sometimes if Sim Hua decides to reach out to Senti a few times and watch her fumble with words because she's not expecting it

Anyway let!! Them!! Interact!! And maybe let Senti bite Kalpas i think that'd also be fun. Beating him up in the Elsyian parking lot

Anyway wow i rambled a lot thanks for coming to my Ted talk ((pls engage with this bc I'd love to hear other ppls thoughts jdjdjhdshshh lmao)) anyway i could not resist keeping these thoughts to myself and you all get to hear it!!!!