#I laughed way harder than I should have at

[latenightreadingpdf]

Spencer's Secret - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: All Spencer wanted was to finish his paperwork and go home, but now he’s in a bar, drunk, and confessing all his secrets to Derek.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The team had barely settled back into the office after a grueling case when Derek threw an arm over Emily’s shoulder, talking about needing a drink. Emily agreed with a weary smile, and soon enough, JJ, Penelope, and Rossi had chimed in, all eager to unwind together. Somehow, they’d even managed to convince Hotch, who gave them a reluctant nod, his rare smile hinting he could use a break too.

All that was left was Spencer. Sitting at his desk, he was hunched over, diligently finishing up his paperwork, when Derek strolled over and leaned in with his usual, "Hey, pretty boy."

Spencer looked up, already anticipating the question. "No, Derek, I’m not going."

Derek raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I didn’t even get to ask!"

"Doesn’t matter. I’m not going," Spencer replied firmly, looking back down at his files.

"Come on, kid," Derek urged, his voice dropping to a softer, pleading tone. "Just this once. If you come, I’ll never ask again. I swear."

Spencer let out a sigh, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. There was a beat of silence as he mulled it over, glancing at the hopeful faces of his teammates nearby. Finally, he closed his file, resigned. "Fine," he muttered, “but just this once."

Derek’s face broke into a grin, practically bouncing on his feet. "You heard him, guys—he’s in! Let’s go before he changes his mind."

Spencer reluctantly stood up, pulling on his coat with a sigh. He glanced around, noticing the others already gathering their things, excitement buzzing among them. As they all filed out together, Penelope slung an arm around Spencer, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh, Spence, you’ll have fun. Trust me," she said, winking.

Spencer managed a small, hesitant smile, wondering just what he was getting himself into. It wasn’t exactly his ideal night out, but surrounded by his friends, he couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of anticipation growing despite himself.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As soon as the team settled into the bar, the weight of the last case started to fade. They ordered the first round, eager to drink, laugh, and let loose for a few hours. The drinks flowed freely, and soon they were deep in conversation, sharing old stories and laughing harder with each passing round. Spencer, who rarely drank, was feeling more than a little tipsy. Nights like these weren’t really his scene—he usually found it far more comfortable to stay home. But now, with the warm buzz in his head and his friends around, he was actually enjoying himself.

Meanwhile, Derek had been off flirting at the bar, but eventually made his way back to the booth, where Spencer was the last one still sitting. Derek, who could hold his liquor well, was only slightly buzzed. He noticed Spencer's dazed expression and grinned, sliding into the seat next to him. "Pretty boy," he said, nudging him, "there are so many gorgeous women here tonight. You should go try and have some fun, maybe even get a date."

Spencer, a little too drunk to filter his thoughts, shook his head. "Don’t need a date," he said, his words slurring slightly.

Derek raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh yeah? And why’s that?"

Spencer’s face softened, and he blurted, “I’ve got an amazing girlfriend at home.”

"Right, sure," Derek teased, not at all convinced. "So what’s her name?"

Spencer’s face lit up. "Y/N," he said, his voice full of adoration. He leaned in, eyes dreamy, and started rambling. “She’s incredible, Derek. So smart, so beautiful. She’s way out of my league—I still can’t believe she’s with me.”

Derek chuckled, noticing just how drunk Spencer was. It was getting late, and he knew Spencer would never make it home on his own. “Why don’t you call Y/N to pick you up, then?” he said, jokingly.

Spencer’s face brightened, and he fumbled for his phone. Derek watched in amusement as he dialed, still skeptical, until he heard a faint “Hello?” from the other end.

Spencer’s face lit up even more. “Hello, my love,” he said, voice thick with affection.

You let out a soft laugh on the other side of the line. “Hey, Spence! Everything alright?”

Spencer grinned, completely forgetting why he’d called. “Yeah,” he said dreamily. “I just…wanted to hear your pretty voice.”

You laughed, clearly touched. Derek, now genuinely surprised that someone had actually answered, took the phone from Spencer, holding it up to his ear. "Hello?" he asked, still a bit skeptical.

"Uh, hi,” you replied, a little confused. “Who is this?"

Derek cleared his throat. “This is Derek. Spencer friend.”

“Oh! Nice to finally meet you, Derek, Spencer talks about you and the team quite a bit.” you said, sounding amused. “I’m Y/N, his girlfriend.”

Derek muttered, “Holy shit, you’re real.”

"Sorry?" you asked, sounding puzzled.

“Nothing, nothing,” he chuckled. “Listen, Spencer’s had a bit too much to drink. Are you able to pick him up?”

You let out a soft, understanding laugh. “Yeah, of course. Just tell me where you guys are.”

Derek gave you the address and hung up, handing the phone back to Spencer. "Your girlfriend’s coming to get you," he said, still slightly in awe that Spencer’s been hiding a girlfriend from them.

Spencer’s eyes lit up even more. “Y/N?” he asked eagerly.

“Yeah, pretty boy, Y/N,” Derek replied, shaking his head with a grin.

Spencer slumped back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “Finally,” he mumbled. “Someone cool to hang out with.”

Derek just laughed, patting Spencer on the shoulder. He sat down with Spencer and waited with him for Y/N to get there, eager to meet her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As Spencer was still happily rambling to Derek about his incredible girlfriend, the door opened, and a beautiful woman stepped into the bar. Spencer’s eyes widened instantly. "Y/N!" he exclaimed, jumping up so quickly he nearly tripped. He stumbled over to you, practically throwing himself into your arms, clinging to you like he’d just found his lifeline. He buried his face in your neck, a contented sigh escaping him.

You wrapped your arms around him, laughing softly at his drunken enthusiasm. "Looks like someone had a good time," you teased, rubbing his back.

“Missed you so much,” he mumbled into your neck, his words muffled but unmistakably fond.

Looking up, you noticed a man standing a few steps behind Spencer, observing the two of you with an amused grin. "You must be Derek," you said, offering him a warm smile.

Derek smiled back, giving a nod. "Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you tonight."

Before you could respond, Spencer had already started tugging you gently toward the exit. You glanced back at Derek and gave him a quick smile. "Hopefully we can actually talk sometime soon," you said, laughing as Spencer clung to your arm.

Derek chuckled, nodding. "I’d like that. Take care of him. Goodnight, Y/N."

He watched as you guided a tipsy, lovesick Spencer out of the bar, a soft smile still on his face. Just then, Penelope popped up beside him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “What are you staring at?” she asked, following his gaze to the exit.

“Spencer’s got a girlfriend,” Derek said, unable to keep a little laugh from escaping as he recalled the whole scene.

Penelope’s eyes went wide, and she gasped, practically bouncing in place. "Wait, what?! Our Spencer? Oh my God, I need details!"

Derek smirked, shaking his head. "Calm down, babygirl. You can interrogate him tomorrow," he teased.

Penelope pouted, but the excitement was already building. After a second, she sighed dramatically, then brightened up again and grabbed Derek’s hand. “Fine! But right now, you’re dancing with me.”

Derek let her pull him to the dance floor, chuckling as he made a mental note to tease Spencer about this night for a long time.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[mintmatcha]

So does Kirishima ever threaten sero when he keeps asking about reader?

Sero's phone buzzes across the table, barely audible over the thrum of fake gunfire. The round's just begun, so Kirishima tries to ignore it, but his friend is already squirming in his seat.

"Someone's home from cram school." Sero's hunched over himself, controller basically in his face. His smile is suspiciously taut, lips parted over his perfectly straight teeth. "I'm out after this round."

Of course he is. That's all these sleepovers have become: charades for him to sneak over and see you.

"My dad's going to be pissed if he finds out you snuck out." Kirishima says. It's not really true - he'd probably applaud Sero before anything else - but the lie feels good to say. He's already jamming the controller harder than he should, the plastic edge digging into his palm.

"I'm not scared of your dad-- he loves me."

Kirishima sinks back into the couch. His character's already dead, laying there, waiting to be revived.

"I just-" He shouldn't say anything. "Can you not mess with her, please?"

With a snort, Sero looks over, his expression unchanged until he takes in Kirishima's look.

"What do you mean?" Sero shrugs, turning back to the television. "We just, like, hang out and junk. Watch some anime, make out. Nothing major."

"But she's really nice," Kirishima says, carefully. "And really lonely. If you're just gonna treat her like-"

With a grunt and a gasp, Sero's character's dead now too. He places his controller down pointedly.

"Like what?"

Kirishima swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Like every other girl." The red head crosses his arms. "If you're going to treat her like every other girl, you should just leave her alone."

Scoffing, Sero looks at his friend, lips parted in a clownish frown. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

Sero pushes off of the couch.

"Whatever, Kirishima." He tucks his hands into his pockets, fists balled. "Just because you don't like girls-"

Everything goes hot. From his fingertips, to his toes, the the space behind his eyes, every part of Kirishima's body suddenly burns. The heavy space in his throat is suddenly dry, crumbling, sticking up any words that could possibly come out. All he can do is sit there and stare, eyes wide, expression gaunt.

"I like girls." Kirishima can't help but think that Sero looks particularly good in the low light - those soft child's features melting away into his late teens, cheekbone cut by the diffused light of the television screen- and that makes his stomach even more sour. "I'm not-- "

The tension shrinks out of Sero's body as he seems to process what he said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I like girls."

"I didn't mean it like that, Kiri, just-"

Kirishima finds his feet. Sero's taller, but Kirishima's bigger, muscle built out from training. When he folds his arms, he bunches his biceps up and tucks his fists behind them. The harrowed heat inside him has changed to a burning anger.

"Do you even like girls?" The words tumble out on their own. "Because all you do is treat them like garbage. "

Sero laughs, light and airy in the way that only fuels the flame.

"We all know you're just acting like this-" Kirishima shouldn't say it. He's not even supposed to know; it's drama passed to him through classmates, whispered behind Sero's back- "Because your dad cheats on your mom."

Sero blinks as if he's been slapped. Then, he blinks again. His tongue rolls over his teeth, measuring his emotions.

"Don't talk about my mom."

"Don't say that I don't like girls!"

The silence between them is wild, like static. It burns, it demands to be filled by something other than Kirishima's heavy breathing, but instead they both look at each other, firm, resolved.

"Fine." Sero snatches his phone from the table. "Whatever, Kiri. Least I get to make out with people."

In three big steps, he's gone, into the hall and presumably out of the apartment all together. Kirishima's silence goes softer.

"I like girls," he says to the television screen.

[revelboo]

Just wanted to send this fanart I made of your Starscream snippets and let you know just how much I appreciate and love them!!! You and your writing are amazing 🤩

(Reader and Starscream pictured)

!!!!Aww! I love this so much! Thank you 😊

Everything Is Alright Pt 49

IDW Starscream x Reader

18+ content 🌶️

• Losing yourself in the slow slide of his mouth against yours, there’s no urgency now in his touch. A palm sliding up your spine to cup the back of your head. Servos of his other hand brushing over your neck, down your throat and along your collarbone, mapping you out with touch. And you take it as permission to do the same. Smiling against his mouth when he makes a low, rumbling sound that might be a purr or a growl when you reach to touch his wings. His denta nipping at your bottom lip, before he presses his face against your neck, giving you better access to those faintly trembling wings. “Sensitive?”

• “You have no idea,” he growls against your soft skin, barely resisting the urge to bite again. You shift in his lap, soft skin rubbing against his spike where it’s pinned between you both, aching like he hadn’t just had you. Those fingertips skim over the surface of his wings, exploring where they join to his frame and he does bite then, harder than he means to. Hearing your sharp little gasp as his hands slide down on your hips to help lift you. Groaning a protest when you slide one hand between you leaving his left wing, but finding him and he feels your soft hand on his spike to guide him to you. That little sound you make, as your forehead bumps against him and you lower yourself with his help so sweet. Taking him deep again as you straddle his lap. “Primus,” he growls. “This is mine.” An addiction curled about his spark.

• You’re going to be sore later, but you’re not ready for this to end just yet, either. His low, possessive words should rub you the wrong way, but if you belong to him, then he belongs to you. Servos flexing on your hips, he almost lazily rocks against you. Taking his time without the frantic urgency of the first time, so you explore each other in touches that are somehow so much more intimate this time. “Why don’t you stay this size?” You murmur, his servos tracing along your rib cage pressing gently to make you squirm, his optics half shuttered as he lets you move yourself against him, letting you control the pace.

• “And make it easier for Megatron?” He vents softly, shuddering as you barely lift up and roll your hips, your slick heat gripping his spike. “Do that again.” You smile up at him, expression wicked, but repeat the movement that makes it so hard to not drive his hips up to meet you. To take back control and roll you under him, claim you hard and fast again. Your little hands slide against his chassis, bracing yourself and he just wants this moment to last.

• Mouth parted, the tip of his glossa curling against the corner of his lip, he looks obscene. His expression almost animalistic as he makes that low, rumbling noise again and you bite your lip to not laugh, because it sounds so much like he’s purring. And this is so much better than trying to figure out how this changes everything between you both. That worry can be for later, for now you want to savor this. Ignore that uncertain ache inside you that whispers that you’re already so lost. That you might be falling in love and that drives home how terrible an idea that is. Because long term? There’s no way you can see this lasting, so you push those fragile thoughts down, bury them in the moment. The feel of his hands on you and his spike inside you, because it doesn’t have to be any deeper than enjoying each other. Even if it’s going to destroy you in the end.

Previous

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[hanjiwuver]

Hii can u maybe do something with catching boyfriend Jeongin fucking a plushie while moaning your name

Jeongin Drabble #1:

*~fucking a plushie~*

pairing: jeongin x reader

tags: nothing really, just desperate jeongin baby fucking a little teddy bear :3

lucky has prepared your order!!🐶 smut below the cut!!!! ~*

you and jeongin have been dating for 6 months now. so, he should know better than to do something as..obscene as this.

taking your boyfriend on a date to the fair should’ve been a wholesome, happy memory. but, when you win him a special little bear plush from the prize booth, you didn’t expect to come home to the poor thing ripped open at the bottom and his cock stuffed in the lining.

Jeongin was feeling a bit antsy waiting for you to come home. he was hard in his cozy, white pajama pants, but he rarely jerks off, he just waits for you.

but tonight was different. he laid in your shared bed, the blanket cast between his legs and that damn plushie was pressed against his nose. he was trying so hard to wait for you, but even just your scent on the things around him drove him crazy.

his hips rolled against the blanket as he sniffed the bear, heating up his face and somewhat dampening his pjs with sweat. he groaned and gripped the plush harder, so close to giving up, until he heard his phone buzz.

he dropped everything to pick it up, hoping to see that you were finally on the way back home, only to see..

”hi, sweet boy! im so so sorry but im gonna be late tonight :( ive got some things i need to finish before i leave. but ill bring home a suprise!”

jeongin rolled his eyes and laughed a little in disbelief, just his luck. he felt a warm drop of liquid on his thigh, looking down, he sees a few droplets of precum starting to ooze off his reddening cock.

Fuck it. theres no way he’s making it another couple of hours.

just then, he catches a sweet, little, brown thing just begging to be fucked into out of the corner of his eye. he started to wonder what the soft stuffing would feel like around his cock..that trail of thought led him to an awful idea.

he slowly picks up the bear, noticing a small rip in the bottom of it, how convenient.

he hesitantly places his hands on both sides of the hole and rips a bigger hole in it with one fast motion. big enough so he could at least squeeze his cock inside.

he smears his precum to the rest of his cock, teasing his red tip around the bears torn, fabric rim. he wondered if this was a bad idea, but its all to late as his body unconsiously presses his hips forward into the stuffed hole he made.

“mm..fuck.”

he rubs his cock along the soft fur of the bears outer, enjoying the unfamiliar sensations on his cock, before pressing down on the bears tummy and squeezing himself in the tight, soft cunt of the plushie.

he knew from the first test stroke that this bear was tight, but he kinda struggled to fit in it for a second. and once his sensitive cock was all the way in, plush against the sweet stuffing, he swear he could feel himself throb in his hand from the outside of the bear plush’s tummy.

he immediately pushed the bear face down, gripping the sides of it and pounding away as hard as he could with the fabric resistance.

“soft, so fucking soft..”

he moans your name as he fucks up into it, the scent of your sheets swirls around him, and he borderline growls as he invisions you below him, taking his long cock so well like you always do.

“god, slutty fucking pussy, hm? makin’ me wait..taking me so good, fuck..”

he pulls the bottom of his pajama shirt up into his mouth, so ready to ruin this small bear with his warm cum. his eyes roll to the back of his head, chanting your name so loud he doesn’t even hear you enter the house, calling his name.

hes so close. drool stains his shirt and threatens to drip down his chin. his hips start to stutter as cum reaches the tip of his dick, seeing sparks of pleasure as the fuzz of the bear rubs just right on his cock. just a little more-

“Jeongin!”

his head snaps towards you, eyes wide at being caught, but its far too late for that. his red cock is already spraying cum into your nice plushie present you remember getting him. painting its fur and soggying up its insides.

by the time he comes to, hes hiding his face from yours, so extremely embarrassed at the perverted state you caught him in.

when he doesn’t hear you say anything, he uncovers one eye to look at you, when he sees you frozen in shock with another stuffed bear in your hand, he perks up in confusion.

“…suprise! i thought you liked the bear i gave you last time so i bought you another one! i mean…im glad i did seeing how you loved this one to..death.”

you say, eyeing the fucked up bear. truthfully, you don’t feel that weirded out, and jeongin seems to laugh at the situation, making you both feel alot lighter about it. you make your way over to the bed to kiss and give him all the love.

“couldn’t wait for me? did i leave you with nothing but a dumb, little bear plush to stick that pathetic cock in? poor boy…ill buy you all the little dollies you need to keep you company.”

[mustainegf]

high sex with kirk. just being his best friend but you get so horny from the weed that you just HAVE to fuck. need that NEOWWW

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA?? AND SOOO KIRK

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ¹⁹⁸⁶

We were lounging on the old couch in Kirk's basement, the joint being passed back and forth. The room was dark except for the lava lamp, its slow hypnotic glow casting a dim light on everything. Everything was seeming a little funky, like the weed was hitting us a little bit harder than it usually did. My head was foggy in the right way, my body felt heavy, it was sinking deeper into the cushions.

Kirk took a long drag, his eyes half closed. "Man, this stuff is good," he managed to say in a slow, lazy tone. He passed the joint back to me and I hit it, feeling the smoke burn slightly before I let it out in a soft, hazy cloud.

I turned to him, and something caught my eye. He shifted in his seat, almost uncomfortably. It took a moment for me to realize what was going on, and then when I did, I couldn't help but laugh. "Kirk, are you…?" I laughed, motioning to the very obvious bulge in his black jeans.

He groaned, tossing his head back onto the couch. "Don't," he muttered while covering his face with his hand. I was already laughing, that uncontrollable, high pitched giggle that comes when you're way too high and everything feels way more hilarious than it should be.

"I can't help it!" I sputtered, giggling. "It's just there!" I waved my hand in a general direction at his lap, and he groaned again, his cheeks flushing a little. "What's got you all worked up, huh?" I teased, nudging his arm.

He was groaning, but at the same time he was smiling, the corners of his mouth twitching up, he couldn't help but find it kind of funny too. "It's the weed," he mumbled. "It always makes me… you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "Horny?" I asked, barely suppressing another laugh. He nodded, clearly embarrassed which just made it funnier.

"Well," I said, smiling wryly, "what are you gonna do about it? 'Cause it doesn't seem like it's going anywhere." I relaxed back, my head resting against the back of the couch.

Kirk chuckled, running a hand through his messy black hair. "I don't know," he said, shifting uncomfortably again. "Just trying to, like, think of other stuff."

I looked at him, then at the bulge, which wasn't very clearly going away. "You sure about that?" I asked, grinning. I could see frustration on his face, but it was rather comical, in a weird way.

I couldn't stop myself. Without even thinking about it, I reached over and pressed down on his crotch, right on top of his jeans with a giggle. "Maybe 'little Kirk' just needs some help going down," I laughed.

The second my hand touched, though, he let out this low, almost helpless moan. I froze a second, my eyes wide. "Whoa," I said, laughing but also a little surprised. "Did that actually feel good?"

He bit his lip, half lidded eyes on mine. "You have no idea," he said, voice rougher now, almost desperate. "I told you, I'm too fucking high for this shit.

I blinked, teasing still but intrigued a little now. "So you're saying this isn't going away, huh?" I asked, pressing down again, this time harder. He moaned again; his hips shifted slightly under my hand.

I should have stopped there. Should've let it go, made another joke, moved on. Something about the way he reacted stirred something inside me. Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the way he looked at me-his eyes dark, needy. And I felt my body spark up, a burn started low in my belly.

"Well, what are you gunna do about it?" I asked, my voice lower now, maybe not quite as teasing.

Kirk looked at me, his eyes hot. "I can't… it's not just gonna go away," he growled, his voice low. "Not without, you know…" His eyes flashed to my lips and my pulse sped up.

My mouth went dry, but I forced a smile, keeping it light despite the fact that I was beginning to feel it, too. "What, you need me to fix it for you?" I teased, but there was heat behind my words now.

He didn't say a word, but the glint in his eye said it all. And before I could really think about what I was really doing, I moved, scrambling on top of him, straddling his lap. His hands came up to rest on my hips, like he’d been waiting to do so.

"This is probably a terrible idea," I said, but I was already tilting forward, my lips grabbing his.

"Probably," he agreed, but then his mouth was on mine, and the rest of the world went away.

It was a sloppy kiss, all fire and need. His hands slipped up underneath my T shirt, his calloused fingertips grazing my skin and shooting shivers down my spine. I could feel how hard he was beneath me, the rigid length of his arousal pressing against me through his jeans. I rocked down on him, and he groaned into my mouth, his grasp on my hips clenching tighter.

I pulled back just far enough to tug my shirt over my head, flinging it aside before reaching for his. He helped me, tugging it off in one smooth tug. His chest was hot to mine, heart pounding just as hard as mine was.

I leaned down, pressing kisses along his jaw, down his neck, while my hands fumbled with the button of his jeans. "Let's see if we can help 'little Kirk' out," I whispered, smirking against his skin.

He laughed breathlessly, but it degenerated into a groan when I finally succeeded in unzipping his jeans, sliding my hand inside. His cock was hot and pulsing, and I couldn't help but stroke him slowly, teasingly.

"Fuck," he hissed, hips bucking up into my hand. "You're killing me.”

I smiled, enjoying the control I had over him in this instant. But I was just as riled up now, my own body aching with need. "Then let's make it better," I said, getting up briefly to remove my jeans and underwear, just as he did his.

When we were both naked, I climbed back onto his lap, his cock pressing insistently against my entrance. I hesitated for just a second, meeting his eyes, and everything felt more comfortable, more real. But then he kissed me again, and I felt myself fall a little bit in love.

I sank down onto him slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. He filled me completely and for a moment we just stayed like that, savoring the feeling. Then I started to move, rolling my hips in slow, steady motions, and he matched my pumps, his hands clamping onto my hips and guiding me up and down on his length.

It was messy, sloppy, but in the best of ways. We were frantic, our bodies slick with sweat. I rode him quick, my nails digging into his shoulders while his tip rubbed my G spot relentlessly.

Truthfully, it didn’t take either of us that long. The weed, combined with everything going on, just had both of us on the edge.

The tension built and built within my body, tighter and tighter until I just could not hold it back anymore. I came with a soft cry, my whole body trembling around him, and a few moments later, he followed, his hips jerking up into mine as he released inside me. Warm spurts heated me from the inside.

We stayed that way for a moment, both of us breathing hard, still tied in each other's arms. Then I fell against his chest, and he wrapped himself around me, holding me tight as we came down from the high.

"Well," I said after a minute, my voice still tired, "that was…"

"Fucking crazy," he completed, and we both erupted into laughter, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.

We were high, tangled up in each other, but now the calm was in, that lazy satisfaction after the storm. I burrowed my face into his neck, feeling his heartbeat start to slow down beneath my cheek.

"I guess weed really does make you horny," I said, smirking against his skin.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. "Apparently.".

We spent some time just lying there, cuddling, our bodies still buzzing from the high, but much more relaxed now. No trace of awkwardness whatsoever, no weirdness-just two of us, laughing, holding each other, absolutely comfortable in the aftermath of everything.

Finally, I drew back far enough to take a good look at him, my fingers brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. "So… round two?" I joked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. "Maybe after a nap.

[lvmoure]

Jump Then Fall CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x childhoodbff!reader

Summary: In which you loved him the moment you turned 7 years old. In which she fell first but he fell harder.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Part 2 Part 3

You were only seven when it hit you for the first time: a fluttery feeling, soft and strange, but warm like a summer breeze. The source of this unexpected feeling was none other than Carlos Sainz, your best friend since you could remember. He was the boy who sat next to you in class, the one who chased you around the playground, and the one who always let you have the last cookie at lunch.

It was a sunny afternoon, the kind where the sunlight spilled across the playground in warm, lazy beams, illuminating everything in a golden hue. You and Carlos were at your favorite spot by the swings, taking turns seeing who could go the highest. Carlos grinned at you, his cheeks flushed from the thrill of the game, his laughter bright and unrestrained. You felt your heart race, pounding in a way that seemed strange and exciting all at once.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Carlos called out, waving his hand in front of your face. He was laughing, his eyes squinting with joy as the wind tossed his dark hair in every direction.

You snapped out of your thoughts, cheeks heating up as you stammered, "Of course I am! You were saying… uh, something about soccer?"

Carlos groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I was talking about how we should form a team, and I was going to ask you to be my teammate. But now I'm not so sure, since you're off in dreamland!"

You felt your face warm even more, but you managed to laugh. "Fine, I'll be your teammate, but only if you promise to pass the ball sometimes!"

He laughed, pretending to consider your terms. "Deal," he said, reaching out his pinky. You linked yours with his, feeling a spark—a small, inexplicable jolt that made you freeze for just a second. But Carlos didn't seem to notice; he was already excitedly planning your imaginary soccer team's strategy.

As the two of you chattered away, you realized how much you loved moments like this. Little did you know, these small, simple moments would be the foundation of a love that would grow with you, one that would shape your every feeling for years to come.

Years passed, and the innocent feelings you had as a child grew complicated, layered with insecurities and fear of change. By the time you reached high school, Carlos was no longer just "that boy next to you." He had grown into someone everyone noticed, with his easy charm, his passion for sports, and the same unfiltered laugh that always made you feel like the only person in the room. It wasn't just the small things that made you realize you were in love with him; it was everything about him, the way he treated people, the way he never held back.

You watched him from across the cafeteria, trying not to be obvious. Carlos was surrounded by his friends, laughing and animated, and you could see why everyone liked him so much. But you kept your feelings locked away, never daring to say a word. You were terrified of what would happen if he knew—terrified of losing him, of the awkwardness that might come with a confession.

"Are you staring at Carlos again?" your friend teased, nudging you playfully.

You jolted, quickly looking down at your food, cheeks flaming. "No, I was… I was just lost in thought."

"Yeah, sure," she said with a smirk. "You've got it bad, and you know it."

You groaned, hiding your face. "I can’t tell him. It’d ruin everything."

"He’d probably be flattered," she said gently. "But I get it. Some things are scarier when it comes to best friends."

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way. But you couldn't risk it. So you kept quiet, holding your feelings close and letting them simmer in silence. There were moments when he looked at you, really looked, and you'd find yourself wondering if he could see the way you felt. But every time, he'd just flash you a grin or make a joke, and you’d brush it off, convincing yourself that he couldn’t possibly feel the same.

You told yourself that being close to him as his friend was enough, even if it hurt sometimes to keep the truth hidden.

The day he introduced his girlfriend to you, it felt like the world was crashing down around you. You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces.

"Hey, this is Isabela," Carlos said with a bright smile, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. "Isn't she amazing?"

You forced a laugh, pushing down the wave of jealousy and sadness that threatened to spill out. "Yeah, she seems great," you managed, feeling like every word you spoke was a lie.

Isabela was everything you weren’t—confident, beautiful, and effortlessly charming. She seemed to know Carlos in ways that you didn’t, ways that you wished you could. You watched them together, the way he looked at her, and it tore you apart. But you stayed by his side, putting on a brave face and pretending that you were fine.

"Are you okay?" Carlos asked one day, noticing the sadness in your eyes.

You forced a smile. "Of course, I’m just tired."

He gave you a long, searching look, as if he could see through your mask. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But you couldn’t tell him this, not now. So you just nodded, hoping he’d never find out how deeply you were hurting.

Years passed, and one day, Carlos showed up at your door, his face pale and eyes rimmed red. Before he could even speak, you wrapped him in a hug, sensing the heartbreak he was carrying. Isabella had broken up with him, and he was devastated.

"I thought we had something real," he said, his voice breaking. "But she said she couldn’t handle it."

You held him close, soothing him with gentle words, even as your heart ached at the sight of his pain. Part of you felt relief—relief that he was no longer with her, that there might be a chance for you. But mostly, you just wanted to be there for him, to be the shoulder he could lean on.

"I’m here for you," you whispered, your hand running comfortingly over his back. "You’re going to get through this, Carlos. I promise."

He looked at you then, and for a moment, something seemed to shift in his gaze. But he was hurting too much to notice it, and you were too afraid to hope.

Months after the breakup, Carlos found himself looking at you in a way he hadn’t before. It was small things—like the way you laughed at his jokes, the way you always knew when he needed comfort, or the way you were just there, unwavering in your support. He began to realize that maybe, all this time, the person he was looking for had been right beside him.

He wanted to tell you. Wanted to confess that he felt something he couldn’t quite explain, something warm and soft that made his heart beat a little faster. But he held back, afraid that maybe he’d missed his chance, that his feelings would only complicate things.

For now, he decided, he’d admire you from afar, letting his feelings settle and hoping that one day, he’d find the courage to tell you.

Because love, he realized, was worth waiting for.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S behind the cut; "from Andromeda to your eye". tw: internalized dehumanization; dehumanizing it/its pronouns. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

It wants to be saved, like it thinks it’s something worth that. It wants to be–it wants–it wants Superboy’s arms around it and Superboy’s lies in its ears and to never, ever have to go back to the Agenda, even though it knows there’s no way it’s really escaped the Agenda. Not for good. Not for real. 

The Agenda made it, and it isn’t something anyone would actually save. No one’s ever saved anything the Agenda made. 

It knows Superboy tried to, though.

But it still never should’ve come here. Never should’ve done this. Never should’ve come to Superboy like–like it really thought–like it really thinks– 

“C’mon, just–come with me, okay?” Superboy says, his voice all tight and twisted up.  It–understands that. Understands that Superboy needs to take it somewhere else. Somewhere with fewer staff around, where it can be secured until either Cadmus decides what to do with it or the Agenda comes and gets it. 

“I’m sorry,” it chokes again. The first thing it ever said was a lie to the security at the door; the first thing it ever really said was an apology to someone it never should’ve gone to. 

That apology’s still the only thing it’s ever really said. 

“It’s–fine,” Superboy says, his voice stiff. “I get it. It’s fine. Just–c’mon.” 

It nods, weak and useless, and Superboy stands up and pulls it up with him, and it tries to stop crying, and he wipes the tears off its face with the heel of his glove and it just cries harder, because why would he even bother to do that, why would he even care to, that’s–that’s– 

He should’ve thrown it out. Should’ve attacked it. Should–should just– 

He’ll lock it up. He’ll take it to a holding cell and lock it up and–and he won’t leave it there for good, it knows, not if . . . not if he can help it, anyway, but . . . 

But maybe he won’t be able to help it. 

It cries some more, and Superboy wipes the tears away from the underneath of its eyes with his thumbs. No one’s ever done that before. It’s never cried before either, but–still. No one’s ever touched its face or hugged it or lied to it over things no one else would ever even care to. 

No one’s ever done a lot of things, because the clone’s only existed for a few days, but those are things it wouldn’t have thought anyone ever would. 

“What do you want me to call you?” Superboy asks as he cups its face with one hand and its shoulder with the other. It sniffles, messy and ugly, and scrubs its own glove across its eyes. Of course he asked that, it thinks. Of course he asked that like that, it thinks. Not what’s your project designation? or what’s your name?; just what do you want?

Of course he asked like that. 

“‘Babe’,” it says, because that’s not what he calls Wonder Girl, and it’s much, much better than the idea of ever hearing its subject number in his voice. 

“Movin’ kinda fast there, babe,” Superboy replies with a crooked little grin, and it almost cries again. It thinks he’s–teasing it, maybe. Making a joke. Because he thinks it’s the kind of thing that could actually laugh or find something funny or . . . 

“Sorry,” it says, scrubbing uselessly at its face. “Sorry, just–not my subject number. Not–not that. Please.” 

“Hey, far be it from me to turn down a pretty girl asking me to call her ‘babe’, you’re not walkin’ that one back on me,” Superboy mock-scoffs, flashing it a wider grin and–and– 

And Superboy sees a girl when he looks at it. He sees a girl, and a “her”, and . . . and something to comfort. Someone to . . . 

He sees a person, when he looks at it. 

It–it knew he would. It knew that. 

But he does. 

She buries her face in her hands and starts bawling, and Superboy just wraps her up in his arms again like he’s not bothered by that at all and grips her tight, making rough little hushing sounds–or maybe rough little soothing sounds–against her hair. 

She still doesn’t know how to stop crying. 

The Agenda never thought she would, so why would they have taught her how to stop?

[your-local-simp-writers]

Ghosts and S’mores

Word Count: 1743

Warnings: None

Dick Grayson x Fem! Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The pumpkin patch was a vibrant tapestry of fall colors, a lively spectacle filled with families and friends enjoying the crisp autumn air. As you and Dick wandered among the towering rows of pumpkins, laughter and chatter surrounded you, weaving a tapestry of joy that was infectious. The sweet scent of hay mingled with the spicy aroma of cinnamon from nearby stalls selling warm apple cider and baked goods. It was one of those perfect October afternoons that felt like a scene from a movie, and every moment felt imbued with magic.

Dick was clad in his favorite leather jacket, the one that seemed to radiate his effortless charm. His dark hair tousled in the gentle breeze, he flashed you a playful grin as he strolled beside you. “Look at this one!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside a pumpkin that was surprisingly large and oddly shaped, with deep grooves and a slightly crooked stem. “This one’s perfect for carving! Just imagine the scariest jack-o’-lantern in Gotham with this bad boy!”

You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up a smaller pumpkin, perfectly round and smooth. “As much as I love your enthusiasm, I’m not sure Gotham is ready for a pumpkin that terrifying,” you teased, turning the smaller pumpkin in your hands, contemplating its carving potential. “I think we should aim for something a little more charming. You know, something that reflects our style.”

Dick stood up, brushing off his knees, and approached you, his mischievous glint unmistakable. “We should do matching costumes this year. How cute would that be?” he suggested, leaning in closer, the excitement in his voice palpable.

You raised an eyebrow, holding the pumpkin to your chest, feeling your heart warm at his enthusiasm. “Alright, Mr. Grayson, what are we dressing up as this year for Halloween?” you asked, a smile dancing on your lips.

Dick’s grin widened as he dropped his hands on his hips, striking a goofy pose. “How about this: I’ll be a graham cracker, and you’ll be a marshmallow! Together, we can be a s’more!” His laughter echoed in the air, infectious as he picked up a pumpkin and held it up to his face like a mask, the playful absurdity of the idea sending you into a fit of giggles.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, shaking your head in disbelief. “I love you, I swear I do, but there’s no way I’m dressing up as a marshmallow. I have my dignity to think about!” You teased, though your heart danced at the thought of being a couple in matching costumes.

“Oh, come on! Just think of the photo ops!” he insisted, doing a little twirl with the pumpkin as if it were a trophy. “Imagine it—two adorable treats, making everyone else jealous with our cuteness!”

Rolling your eyes but unable to suppress your smile, you responded, “Fine, fine! But we have to come up with something better than that. You’re the horror movie expert. What do you think?”

Dick glanced at the pumpkins around you, mock-serious as he crossed his arms. “How about you dress up as Sidney Prescott and I’ll be Ghostface? I can totally pull off the scary vibe!” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “That’s actually a great idea! I could even carry around a fake knife to chase you with!” The thought of him running away from you, feigning terror, made you giggle even more.

He feigned a look of horror, eyes wide and hands up in mock surrender. “You wouldn’t actually stab me, right? I’m your boyfriend, not your victim!” he exclaimed, stepping back dramatically, making you laugh even harder.

“Just saying, it depends on how convincing you are in your role!” you replied, your playful banter making the atmosphere even more cheerful. The two of you continued to explore the patch, debating over which pumpkins would serve best for carving.

After a bit more wandering, you finally settled on a pumpkin, holding it up triumphantly. “What do you think? This one has the perfect balance of cute and spooky!” you announced, turning it slightly to show off its unique shape and texture, your excitement bubbling over.

Dick nodded appreciatively, his gaze softening as he looked at you, then at the pumpkin. “I think it’s perfect! But if we’re doing Ghostface and Sidney, we have to go all out. I can’t just wear a mask and call it a day.”

You grinned at his determination, leading the way to the checkout area with your chosen pumpkin in tow. “Agreed! We should definitely take the time to make our costumes look awesome. This is going to be the Halloween to remember!”

Once you paid for your pumpkin, Dick insisted on carrying it back to the car. “This baby is all mine! I’ll guard it with my life,” he joked, cradling the pumpkin like a precious trophy. As you made your way to the car, the sunlight bathed everything in a warm golden glow, and you couldn’t help but glance at him, feeling your heart swell.

Later that evening, you found yourselves in your cozy kitchen, the soft glow of fairy lights illuminating the space and creating an inviting ambiance. You spread newspapers across the table, lighting pumpkin spice candles that filled the air with a comforting scent, crafting an atmosphere perfect for a cozy night in. Dick set the pumpkin down with exaggerated care before turning to you with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Alright, I’ll get the carving tools!” he declared, bounding to the kitchen drawer. You watched him rummage through the utensils, his enthusiasm contagious. As he turned back with a small carving knife and a spoon, he struck a dramatic pose. “Prepare to be amazed by my pumpkin artistry!”

You leaned against the counter, watching him work, the way his brow furrowed in concentration making your heart flutter. “Just don’t mess it up too badly. We need to impress the other partygoers,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“Mess it up? Please!” he scoffed, pretending to be offended. “I’m the king of pumpkin carving! This pumpkin is going to be the talk of the party.”

You smiled, moving to your own pumpkin as he continued to sketch his design, a mix of horror and humor. The rhythmic sound of carving filled the kitchen, punctuated by laughter and playful jabs at each other's artistic choices. You shared stories about past Halloweens, recalling funny moments and childhood costumes, the atmosphere light and filled with joy.

“I remember one year, I tried to be a vampire but ended up looking like I had a bad case of toothpaste on my face,” you said, laughing as you recalled the memory. “My mom still has pictures of me, and it’s one of the most embarrassing things ever!”

Dick burst out laughing, putting down his carving knife to clutch his stomach. “That’s too good! I can’t wait to see that picture! I can totally picture you with a little cape and fangs that are too big for your mouth,” he teased, moving closer to get a better look at your pumpkin.

“Shut up! I was only eight! I thought I looked cool!” you retorted, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably. His laughter was infectious, and soon you found yourself laughing along.

“Okay, but let’s be honest. You were probably the cutest vampire ever,” he said, leaning in closer to inspect your work. “And I’m not sure what’s scarier: my pumpkin or the thought of you with a cape.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his compliment, a flutter in your stomach as he leaned in to examine your pumpkin closely. “Thanks! I’m going for spooky-cute, you know? The perfect balance,” you said, focusing on carving the jagged smile.

After a bit more back-and-forth, you both paused to admire each other’s work. Your pumpkin had turned out beautifully, the jagged smile and piercing eyes giving it a menacing yet charming look, while Dick’s creation was… well, unique, to say the least. It featured a goofy, lopsided grin that was more silly than scary, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“I think yours might scare off all the trick-or-treaters!” you teased, pointing at his pumpkin. “It looks like it just got done running a marathon!”

Dick chuckled, feigning a pout as he crossed his arms. “Excuse me, but that’s exactly what I was going for! The ‘scary but adorable’ vibe.” He gestured grandly toward his pumpkin. “This little guy is going to steal the show!”

You shook your head, still grinning, but then your expression softened as you looked at him, your heart swelling with warmth. “Honestly, I love it. It’s so you—full of fun and unexpected charm.”

His gaze met yours, the playful energy shifting into something more intimate. “And I love you,” he said softly, moving a little closer, his expression sincere. “I love how you make everything more fun. You’re the one who keeps me grounded, even when I’m pretending to be a horror icon.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you leaned in closer, playfully nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, I’m glad to keep you on your toes. Just remember, I’m still the one chasing you down at the party!”

“Only if you promise to keep it PG-13,” he said with a laugh, leaning back against the kitchen counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’d like to leave some mystery for the next Halloween party, after all.”

With the room filled with laughter and love, you both settled into a rhythm, finishing up the carving and lighting candles to place inside the pumpkins. The flickering flames illuminated the room, casting playful shadows and filling the kitchen with the warm, cozy glow that made everything feel perfect.

You admired your handiwork, the warmth of the candles reflected in Dick’s eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I think we make a pretty great team, don’t you?”

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Definitely. Here’s to many more adventures and memories together. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

You both leaned in closer, sharing a gentle kiss, the world outside fading away as the glow of the pumpkins surrounded you in a cocoon of warmth and love. In that moment, everything felt perfect, the bond between you deepening as you embraced the spirit of Halloween together.

[mama-qwerty]

I know I try to be encouraging.

I try to be upbeat and offer support.

But this . . .

There's nothing encouraging here.

Hate won. Full stop. That's what it boils down to. One candidate personified hope and healing and moving forward to make things better for everyone, and the other personified hate and anger and fear and greed, and dragging us back to the time when rich white men ruled and everyone else better just shut up and appreciate the scraps they're given.

And this country, this fucking country, picked HIM.

I want to say it's rigged. Republicans can't win an election without huge amounts of shifty practices, such as gerrymandering districts and tossing out mail in absentee ballots, and making it harder and harder for areas that are primarily blue to vote. Phony 'vote registration' websites have been created, tricking people into 'registering' there when it simply collects their data for unknown purposes. Thousands of people discovered their registration was suddenly suspended or tossed out entirely when they'd had no problems voting in the past.

I want to say this whole system is rigged beyond repair.

And maybe it is.

It certainly seems that way, when people seem to vote against their own personal best interests.

But fear is an easy motivator. Republicans use fear and hate and anger to fuel their campaigns. Why talk about what you're going to do for the country, when you can pin all the bad stuff on the other guy?

"SoandSo wants to fling our borders open and let all the riffraff of other countries in to they can eat our pets and rape and murder us good Christian Americans! SoandSo hates babies! SoandSo thinks Christmas should be canceled! SoandSo would let children change their gender without their parents' permission!"

All so pearl clutchy, but all things that their base fears or hates, so it motivates them to vote to keep these horrible Dems from *checks notes* helping people.

I'm disgusted. Disheartened. Angry. So very, very angry.

But mostly I'm just feeling hopeless. Helpless. When Biden dropped out and there seemed to be a big surge in excitement for Kamala, I was hopeful.

Now I see that this country is full of hateful people who would rather have a senile, selfish, stupid, greedy prick of a white man in office, than a progressive, caring, intelligent, experienced woman of color.

We're fucked. There is no silver lining to this. His first term was bad enough, when he didn't really know what he was doing. Now he's had 4 years to plot and plan and gather his sycophants and bootlickers and yes men and things will be so much worse.

America's been circling the drain for years. Biden did what he could to salvage things from the damage of Trump's first term. Now we've just flushed everything down the crapper.

Fuck this country. Fuck the hate. Fuck the people laughing at all the 'liberal tears'. Fuck them all.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Incidentally, if you've ever wanted your Durge to fight like Bhaal for some reason - or would like to have Bhaal hunt them down in person if they resisted him - Bhaal's usual in-person tactics are wandering the area in stealth assassinating a bunch of guards (usually sowing panic, sometimes allowing them to scream leaving the bodies on display or even giving them a slow death so their comrades can watch them die) and then entering open combat with what little is left and then just really casually killing them all.

Knives is good, but killing people with your bare hands is best. Never be ashamed to just fucking punch people.

Bhaal also flat out doesn't care about healing, as you may have seen in the feral ending, and will keep fighting until the physical body collapses. Also gets more aggressive when an opponent manages to land a hit: he kills you, not the other way around.

Furthermore: be unkillable. Just fucking refuse to die no matter how many killing blows your opponents give you until they're literally yelling 'why won't you die??' at you. So ultimately all hitting Bhaal back does is make him murder you harder.

For textual illustrations, I collected some sections of Bhaal's fight/assassin scenes because I could. Also Cyric and his beloved pony:

"There's something beyond the outer curtain," he said, trying to gain Cyric's interest. He removed his scabbard and placed it upon the dusty banquet table. "Or so the watch says." Cyric had little concern for what lurked outside the walls to frighten his men. He decided to change the subject and asked, "How is my pony? That fellow carried me well, considering how hard I rode." "With rest it'll recover - provided someone doesn't kill it first," Dalzhel said, returning to the fireplace. "There are those who grumble that it has eaten better than the men." "It's proven more use!" Cyric snapped. The pony had carried him nearly one hundred and fifty miles over the last three days. A war-horse could not have done better. He considered threatening death to anyone who touched the pony, but rejected the idea. The order would breed resentment, and someone might take up the challenge.

You hear that, Cyric. 'Someone.'

I like to imagine Mask is laughing her head off in this scene, considering she's almost definitely aware of Bhaal lurking in the shadows spying for Myrkul and murdering two guys and listening to this conversation, and she knows exactly what he's going to do having heard that.

Sometimes Bhaal doesn't even kill them. Immediately.

Two of the men were pointedly looking away from the well. Since it still provided water, it was the one item the castle's periodic inhabitants kept in good repair. A moan, low-pitched and feral, issued from the well's depths. Tied to the blood-smeared crossbar was a gray cord that descended into the dark pit. Dalzhel stepped forward and grabbed the cord. Without speaking, he began to pull. An anguished scream rang out deep down the well. Dalzhel allowed the cry tocontinue for several seconds before dropping the cord. "What was that?" Cyric asked, peering into the black depths. "Edan, we think," Dalzhel reported. "He's still alive," Fane added informatively. "Every time we try to pull him up, he screams." Though he had seen many slow deaths, and had caused one or two himself, Cyric's stomach turned as he tried to imagine what had happened at the other end of the rope.

Cyric peered inside. Alrik faced the corner, kneeling in a pool of his own blood. He held his hands cupped in front of his stomach. A barbed, wooden tip protruded from his lower back, suggesting that a stake had been driven through his body. Because of the barbs, the stake could not be removed without dragging Alrik's intestines out with it.

"No!" A high screech followed. It did not fade, even after the man's throat should have gone hoarse. Cyric turned toward the gatehouse, unsure of what he would find. Few humans were capable of the efficient brutality with which Alrik and Edan had been tortured. Still, the thief moved at his best pace. If he appeared frightened of the murderer, his men would no longer be afraid of him - and that was an invitation for mutiny - Dalzhel and Fane followed close behind. By the time they reached the gatehouse, the scream was no longer audible. A dozen men had gathered in the stairwell, standing in a line running up to the second floor. Their torches cast a flickering yellow light on the walls. The men did not even notice Cyric when he arrived, so Fane bellowed, "Out of the way! Stand aside!" When the onlookers made no move to obey, Fane muscled a path up the stairway. Cyric and Dalzhel followed, eventually reaching a doorway. Five men stood inside, staring at a crumpled form in the center of the room. A dark pool was spreading about their feet, and the barest whisper of a croak came from the shape on the floor.

-

Cyric and his lieutenant were thinking along the same lines. During his life, Cyric had known many evil men. Not one was capable of what he had seen tonight. "Have the men gather in groups of six," the thief ordered. "One group in the great hall-" A terrified whinny sounded from outside, interrupting the instructions. "The stable," Dalzhel observed. The men mumbled, but stood still and waited for their orders. Again, the pony whinnied, this time sending chills down Cyric's spine. "We'd better have a look," he said, cringing at the thought of what they would find. The men on the stairs reluctantly started to ward the stable, Cyric and Dalzhel close behind. By the time the hawk-nosed man reached the ground floor, the pony was quiet. As Cyric stepped into the courtyard, a ghostly wail whistled through the castle. Outside the stable, ten men stood with their swords drawn, peering inside and clearly reluctant to enter. Cyric slopped his way across the ward and pushed them aside. Grabbing a torch, he entered the stable, his sword arm aching with the desire to lash out at something. The pony lay dead in its stall, a withered and puckered hole over its heart. The lips of its muzzle were twisted back in horror, and one eye stared directly at Cyric. Dalzhel approached and stood next to his commander. For a moment, he observed in silence, wondering whether or not Cyric was mourning the beast's death. Then he noticed something on the beam over the stall. "Look!" A circle of drops had been drawn in blood. Cyric had little trouble recognizing the Circle of Tears.

This is exactly how I play BG3 from the perspective of areas full of not-yet-hostile enemies:

"Milord, Captain Beresford bids me inform you that two guards are absent from the outer curtain." Deverell frowned then asked, "Is it still raining?" The page nodded. "Aye. The drops are as red as blood and as cold as ice." The boy could not keep his fear from showing itself in his voice. Deverell stopped whispering. "Then tell Beresford to worry no more, and we'll discipline the derelicts come morning. I've no doubt the guards are hiding from the strange weather." [...] The page entered again and approached Lord Deverell. In the room's silence, it was impossible not to hear his whisper. "Milord, Captain Beresford orders me report the absence of three sentries from the inner curtain." "The inner curtain?" Deverell exclaimed. "There, too?"

-

The halfling had no idea what it was that the guards were fighting, but he knew that it had torn through them with frightening speed. [...] The guards knew little more about their opponent than Sneakabout. Orrel had seen something crawl down a dark corner of the inner wall. A moment later, a timid-looking man had stepped out of the shadows and walked nonchalantly to the keep's entrance. Orrel and another guard had stepped out of the foyer to challenge him. He had knocked their halberds aside, then slipped a dagger out of his sleeve and killed them both with a single, long slash. A third guard had yelled an alarm, which had also proven fatal. The stranger had thrown a dagger through the guard's throat, silencing him in midscream. Fitch, the sergeant, had ordered the survivors to retreat inside. He felt foolish for running from a lone attacker, but the smooth efficiency with which the man killed left no doubt that he was no ordinary assassin. Because their assignment was to protect the keep tower, Fitch thought it wisest to retreat and bar the door, then send a man to call for help. His strategy didn't work. The doors were thick and heavy, designed for strength instead of manoeuvrability. As the sergeant and a guard pushed them into place, the stranger stepped out of the foyer. The guard died an instant later, the attacker's fingers wrapped around his larynx. Brandishing his sword, Sergeant Fitch yelled his last order to the men on the stairs. "In Azoun's name, keep him downstairs!"

To Adon's left, the stairs descended in a gentle, clockwise spiral. Five feet down, another torch hung in a sconce, casting its dingy light upon the cold stone steps. Where the stairwell curved out of sight, the shadows of four Cormyrians were retreating up the stairs. Each silhouette held a polearm. Judging from the shadows, it appeared a single man was pursuing them. One of the Cormyrian silhouettes lunged. A flurry of activity followed then a weak chuckle rolled up the stairs. An instant later, a man screamed in agony. The other three guards retreated another step. Their chain-mailed backs were visible to Adon now, but the attacker remained unseen. Adon could not believe a single man pressed so fiercely, but the shadow appeared to be nothing more. [...] A clamor arose outside the tower as word spread that the keep was under attack. The tattoo-headed man turned to listen for an instant then calmly returned his gaze to the two guards in front of him. The stranger stepped forward, slapping their halberds aside as if the weapons were no more than sticks.

He also has stupidly high AC:

The remaining live soldier shifted to the other side of the landing, then raised his sword. The guard was deliberately giving the god an opening so Adon could attack. Heedless of the trap, Bhaal stepped forward, and Adon swung his mace at the avatar's head. The god easily ducked the blow. Before the Cormyrian could slash, however, the Lord of Murder punched him in the abdomen. The man barely retained his balance and stumbled back on the landing [...] The Cormyrian obliged with a vicious overhead slash. Bhaal sidestepped it easily, moving backward toward Midnight's chamber. The magic-user's door flew open. Midnight stood in the entrance to her room, dagger in hand. She had been watching the battle in silence, cursing the loss of her spellbook and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Finally, it had come. She thrust the blade into the avatar's back. Bhaal's eyes widened in surprise. He started to turn, and Adon seized the chance for an easy attack, smashing his mace into the avatar's ribs. The god's knees buckled and he tumbled down the stairs, roaring in a rage. The avatar came to rest six steps down, Midnight's dagger still planted in his back. "Is he dead?" Midnight asked. Bhaal rose and glared at the magic-user, cursing in a language no human could duplicate. Without paying any attention to his wounds, the Lord of Murder jumped for the landing. The Cormyrian yelled and leaped to meet the avatar, blade flashing. Bhaal met the guard in midair, blocking the soldier's swordarm with a bone-crunching blow and simultaneously driving his fingers into the man's throat. The avatar reached the landing with the guard's gasping body in his hands, then dropped the corpse down the stairs without a second thought.

Bhaal lifted a hand and felt the wound. His fingers came away bloody. Without so much as turning around, he kicked backward, catching the cleric in the ribs. Adon flew into his chamber, crashed into his bed, then crumpled to the floor gasping for breath and wondering how he would ever pick himself up.

If you don't have a knife at hand, stabbing them with your own broken wrist bone is fine:

Without warning, Bhaal stopped and spun on his pursuer, jabbing at Cyric with the sharp bone protruding from his severed wrist. The fallen god followed the jab with an open-handed strike from his other hand. [...] Cyric was at Bhaal's back. The thief attacked with a vicious slash he hoped would cleave the avatar down to the breast bone. But Bhaal heard him coming and, easily breaking free of Dalzhel's hold, pivoted out of the way. The God of Assassins caught Cyric's arm, then used the thief's own momentum to throw him ten feet into the brush. As Cyric sailed past, Dalzhel snatched his sword off the ground then plunged the blade into the avatar's rib cage. Bhaal snarled and kicked the Zhentish soldier in the stomach.Dalzhel fell backward and landed with a crash. The Lord of Murder casually plucked Dalzhel's sword from between his ribs and tossed it aside. Then he leaped onto his opponent's prone form, thrusting the splintered stump of his wrist into Dalzhel's throat. Dalzhel screamed once then fell quiet.

Just wholesale beating the living daylights out of an opponent is also good, and I think this might be one of Bhaal's favourite memories (and fyi Cyric did not win the fight between them. Mask did):

Cyric slashed. Bhaal easily dodged, slapping the thief's sword hand aside. Cyric kicked, hoping to keep his attacker away. The avatar blocked the foot, then stepped in close and clipped his opponent's jaw with a fist as hard as stone. Cyric's ears rang and his head swam. He tried to swing his sword, but Bhaal hit him once more. The thief felt his body going limp. The Lord of Murder struck his jaw again, then his stomach, then continued pummeling Cyric until he dropped his weapon and flopped to the ground in a half-conscious heap. While Bhaal battered Cyric, Adon and Kelemvor rushed toward Midnight.

[livebloggingkidshows]

Mayhaps it’s because I’m randomly extremely wired, but so far this episode is so funny.

[scarlettroubles]

RIP Megumi

[oodlesodoodles]

laughter

[karmilleryn]

I love that Nora can make even most of the sad shit still funny:

[scarletackrmn]

I think about the time @devine-fem gaslit someone that Jay Nakamura is actually Jason Todd and with Jon. Literally at least once a week that shit lives rent free in my head.

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

When you see a post about romance or kissing or sm and just for a second you can't help but think of the person you're in unrequited love with.