#I've never wound up in that category

[pathologicalreid]

hazardous materials | s.r.

in which Spencer takes care of you after an accident in the lab

margovember

chemist!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: chemical burn, lab safety was ignored, first aid, cute banter, tattoos, chemist!reader, kisses word count: 1.24k a/n: every time i write chemist!reader i get bed chem stuck in my head except i've never heard the full song

“Time?” You asked, using the heel of your shoe to slam the door shut once you made your way through. Haphazardly, you dropped your backpack on the ground in front of the coat closet before rushing toward the bedroom.

Spencer was sitting on the couch, a glass of water on the side table and a book in his lap, he glanced over at you when you stopped at the back of the couch to say hi to him, “Forty minutes.” He reached out for your arm, a careful gesture just because he wasn’t ready for you to be out of his view yet, but his hand caught on your forearm.

You hissed at the contact, pulling your arm back and shaking it out, “Tight grip,” you tried to wave it off, but Spencer wasn’t easily convinced.

“I barely touched you,” he said, snapping his book closed and standing up, following you into the bedroom. “Let me see your arm,” he asked, opening the door when you tried to close it behind you.

Spinning on your heel, you shrugged at him, “Not without a warrant,” you told him. Your eyes burned as you begged yourself not to cry at the pain.

Your boyfriend reached out for you again, this time pulling you in by your belt loops, he herded you into the bathroom, holding onto your hips as he beckoned for you to sit on the countertop. The granite was cold even through your jeans, and Spencer took your discomfort as pain as he pulled your shirt off.

You grunted, frowning while he pulled your long sleeve over your head and dropped it in the laundry hamper, “It’s cold,” you grumbled, slouching as Spencer inspected the wound on your forearm. It looked a lot worse now than it had when you left the lab, the burned skin starting to develop a yellowish hue. “I have somewhere to be tonight, you know,” you reminded him.

This would be your second outing with the BAU ladies since you were first introduced to them a few months ago, Garcia had arranged tango lessons, and Emily was meant to be your dance partner. “What did you burn yourself with?” He holds your arm timidly, pinching your wrist between his index and his thumb and eyeing the burn with growing concern.

“Uh,” you hummed, bracing yourself for what is bound to be abject disappointment, “Nitric acid.”

Spencer set your arm down, resting it burnt side up on your thigh while he buried his face in his hands, “Baby,” he said from behind his palms.

When he said it in that tone, it was easily your least favorite nickname. “I didn’t think it was concentrated enough to burn,” you tried to defend yourself, looking down at the obvious mistake you had made. “It must have been mislabeled and no one caught it,” you told him, trying to shrug it off.

Dropping his hands, Spencer resorted to crossing his arms in front of his chest, “A lot of chemicals have been getting mislabeled lately.” It was an accusation, but not toward you, though you tended to be more lenient on lab safety than most of your colleagues.

“I…” You faltered, flexing your fingers and feeling the skin on your arm pull, “Yes, but—”

Spencer shook his head, “No, you have to talk to her.”

The her in question was your grad student, Leslie, who had made a similar mistake with hydrochloric acid last month, also leading to a chemical burn on your arm. You frowned at Spencer, making your expression as pleading as possible in hopes that he’d drop it.

“This can’t keep happening,” Spencer said, “I know you don’t want to make her feel guilty, but maybe she should. Maybe that’s how she learns.”

You furrowed your brows at him, “It wasn’t her fault.” You felt defensive over your lab assistant, knowing that she had asked you to be her thesis advisor made you feel the need to protect her.

He pressed his lips in a thin white line, “It was,” he corrected. “If you don’t say something, I’ll send an email to your boss.”

“Spencer,” you said, shoulders slumped in disappointment and the faint feeling of betrayal.

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer gingerly took your arm back in his hands, “I know that’s your thing around the lab, not wanting to cause trouble. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, but I need you to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you keep being so flippant about these ‘accidents.’”

You knew what he was doing, turning it into something you could do for him instead of something you’d do for yourself. “I’ll talk to her on Monday, and I’ll redo the UV spectroscopy on the nitric acid,” you surrendered, giving yourself the weekend to figure out how to broach the topic.

He set your arm down again, opening the cabinets in the bathroom and shuffling through miscellaneous belongings. Between the two of you, you had quite a remarkable collection of first aid, the basket that Spencer pulled off the shelf was intimidating, “Here, hold your arm over the sink,” he instructed, guiding you gently so he could rinse the burn with saline. “Does that hurt?”

“it’s just cold,” you answered, watching him make sure any debris was flushed from the wound.

His head bobbed, setting down the saline container and moving to coat the wound with a panthenol cream, “Were you wearing your hazardous materials pin?”

Your face warmed at his question. The one time you’d been the root cause of a spill, your boss responded by gifting you an enamel pin with the hazardous materials pin, “I was.”

“Maybe it needs to be bigger,” he proposed, filtering through the bin of first aid supplies and hunting for something specific, reading the labels on everything before he put it on the burn.

The corner of your mouth quirked up when you noticed he was trying to lighten the mood, “Or have lights on it,” you offered, imagining a border of LEDs around the pin.

Spencer hummed, finding silver sulphadiazine to cover the wound with, “Now, there’s an idea.”

You laughed breathily, “I could get it tattooed,” you waggled your eyebrows at him. “It would make a nice tramp stamp,” you told him, watching his gentle fingers apply dressings to your wound, securing them as carefully as he can so your skin doesn’t get irritated.

“But then I’d be the only one to see it,” he countered playfully, inspecting his handiwork.

Conceding, you nodded, “Unless the people in the lab get comfortable with a lot of things really fast.”

Softly, Spencer leaned forward and kissed you, “I want to keep an eye on this tonight,” he whispered against your lips. “If it doesn’t get better by the morning I’m taking you to urgent care,” he told you, kissing you again before gathering the first aid wrappings and putting them in the trash can.

He stepped out for a moment, returning with an old Princeton t-shirt of yours. You gingerly pulled it over your head, making sure not to bump your fresh bandages as you did so, “But what about my dance lessons?”

You hopped off of the countertop to be met by Spencer standing right in front of you, his hands placed gently on your waist before he whispered, “I can teach you to tango perfectly fine in the living room.”

[badathumanemotions]

Strength in Submission

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Unsub Disarms Spencer, Bruised Ego, Light Angst, Massage, Hand Job, Riding, Creampie, Dom/Sub Undertones. WC: 4,566 While apprehending a suspect Spencer is disarmed and held at gunpoint with his own gun. Spencer is fine except for the bruised ego. When they get home Y/N gives Spencer a little tlc. (Not Proof Read)

The bullpen was a pattern of shuffling papers and murmured conversations, a welcoming sight to the chaotic scenes they'd just left behind. One by one, the members of the BAU team filtered in, the weight of their latest case etched on their faces.

Spencer slumped into his chair with a sigh. The adrenaline that had fuelled his pursuit of the unsub was waning, leaving exhaustion in it's place. Despite the successful apprehension, a sour taste lingered. He'd been caught off guard, disarmed, and forced to his knees with his own weapon pointed at him. It was a humiliation he'd never felt before, and it clung to him like a second skin.

Morgan, ever the joker, had taken it upon himself to lighten the mood on the drive back to Quantico. He'd cracked one joke after another at Spencer's expense, poking fun at his lanky frame and the way he'd been tossed around by the unsub. Spencer had forced out a few laughs, knowing it was his friend's way of saying "you're okay," but deep down, the barbs stung. He was aware of his physical limitations, and having them pointed out so bluntly, even in jest, was a harsh reminder of his vulnerability.

Y/N, sitting at her own desk, watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and concern. She knew Spencer's mind was a fortress, but she also knew how much he valued his self-reliance. She could see the cracks in his armour, the way his shoulders tensed with each of Morgan's quips. She decided to wait until they were home to address it, to give him the space he needed in the moment.

The drive back to the office had been filled with Morgan's unrelenting banter, a constant stream of quips and jibes that had everyone else in the car chuckling. Spencer had rolled his eyes and feigned annoyance, playing along with the act. But Y/N knew him better than anyone. She could see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes darted over to her, searching for reassurance that she wasn't laughing at him too. She reached over and squeezed his hand, offering a silent "I've got you" that seemed to ease the tension, if only slightly.

Once the paperwork was spread out before them, the team dived in, their eyes scanning over the gruesome details of the case one last time before they could finally put it to rest. Spencer's pen danced across the page, his mind racing to organize his thoughts and find some semblance of order amidst the chaos. The familiar rhythm of the office was comforting, the steady click of keyboards and the rustle of documents a lullaby that usually helped him focus. But tonight, it felt different. He was aware of every glance thrown his way, every smothered giggle that followed a shared look between his colleagues.

Morgan caught his eye and winked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You know, Reid, maybe we should start calling you 'Damsel in Distress' around here," he said, his voice carrying across the room. The others chuckled, and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. Y/N looked up from her own work, her eyes flashing with a hint of annoyance before she schooled her features into a more neutral expression.

"Careful, Morgan," she warned, her voice low and serious. "You wouldn't want to be the one needing saving next time."

The room fell silent as Morgan's smirk faltered. Spencer felt a twinge of gratitude towards Y/N for standing up for him, but he also knew that she wasn't one to tolerate his teammates teasing him in a way that might wound his pride. He offered her a small, appreciative smile, which she returned before refocusing on her paperwork.

The rest of the evening at the office passed in a blur of case analysis and reports. Spencer was grateful for the distraction, throwing himself into his work to avoid dwelling on the day's events. But every time he felt the weight of his team's gazes, he couldn't help but feel a little less like the brilliant agent he knew himself to be and more like the man who'd been overpowered by a criminal.

Morgan, seemingly oblivious to the tension he'd created, continued to regale the team with tales of Spencer's rescue. Y/N's grip on her pen tightened with each retelling, her eyes never leaving her work as she listened. Spencer's cheeks burned as he tried to ignore the laughter, focusing instead on the cold, hard facts laid out before him.

"And then, out of nowhere, Y/N swoops in like some kind of superhero," Morgan said, his arms outstretched dramatically. "Takes the guy down like he's nothing more than a ragdoll. It was like watching Reid's own personal bodyguard in action."

The room erupted in laughter, and Spencer couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Y/N's help - he did, more than he could ever express - but the way Morgan was telling it made it sound like he'd been completely helpless. And as much as he tried to ignore it, the teasing was starting to get under his skin.

Finally, the reports were signed and the case was officially closed. With a sense of relief, Spencer and Y/N gathered their things and headed for the door. The cool evening air outside was a welcome change from the stuffy office, and Spencer took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease.

In the car, the silence was palpable. Spencer stared out the window, his mind racing with thoughts of the day's events. He could feel Y/N's eyes on him, but he wasn't ready to talk about it. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers was the only sound accompanying them on the drive home.

When they finally arrived, Spencer slid out of the car, his movements stiff and mechanical. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that clung to him. As they climbed the stairs to their apartment, each step felt heavier than the last. He was worried about what Y/N thought of him now, after seeing him so helpless. Would she still find him attractive? Would she see him as the strong, capable man she'd fallen for, or would she see the weakness he felt seeping through his pores?

Y/N could feel the tension in the air as she unlocked the door, her hand lingering on his lower back. "You okay?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Spencer forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the day. "Yeah," he said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. "Just tired."

He stepped into the apartment, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings for some semblance of comfort. The living room was a mess, but it was their mess, a testament to the lives they'd built together. He dropped his bag by the couch and headed for the kitchen, needing something to do with his hands.

Y/N followed him, her eyes never leaving his back. She knew he was hurting, and she knew exactly what he needed. She could see the tension in the way his shoulders were hunched, the way his spine was as stiff as a board. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to whisper sweet nothings into his ear and make it all go away.

But she also knew that wasn't what he needed right now. No, what Spencer needed was for her to show him that he was still desired, still loved, and still the man she saw when she looked at him. So, instead of letting him retreat into his own thoughts, she stepped up behind him, placing her hands firmly on his hips. He tensed, but she leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his back, her breath hot on his neck.

"Let me give you a massage," she murmured, her voice low and seductive. "You've had a long day."

Spencer stiffened at her touch, the heat of her hands seeping through his shirt. He knew what she was doing, trying to ease his bruised ego with physical contact, but a part of him was too proud to accept it. He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for any sign of pity. But all he saw was desire, raw and unfiltered. It was a heady mix of emotions, and for a moment, he was torn between anger and arousal.

"I can manage," he said, his voice tight.

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, her grip on his hips tightening. "I know you can, Spencer, but sometimes, it's okay to let someone else take care of you." She turned him around to face the bedroom and gave him a gentle push. "Take off your shirt and lie down."

Spencer's pride warred with his exhaustion. He knew she was right, but the thought of admitting defeat, even in something as trivial as a massage, was hard to swallow. Still, the promise of her touch was too tempting to resist. He sighed and did as she asked, his shirt landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. The coolness of the room hit his bare skin, making his nipples pebble as he lay face down on the bed.

Y/N's footsteps were silent on the carpet as she approached, her eyes raking over his form with a hunger. He felt her hands hover above his back, tracing the line of his spine before finally making contact. Her thumbs sank into the soft flesh at the base of his spine, her fingers digging into the muscles with a firm, assertive pressure that made him moan. It was a sound that was part pain, part pleasure, and she took it as the invitation it was.

Spencer had always loved the way Y/N's hands felt on him, but tonight, it was different. It was like she was claiming him, marking him as her own. Her grip was strong, her fingers sure, and every stroke was a declaration of her dominance. He could feel the power in her touch, the way she could so easily overpower him. And instead of it making him feel weak, it sent a thrill through him, straight to his core.

He tried to resist, to push back against her, but she was having none of it. Her weight settled on top of him, her thighs straddling his waist, her palms pressing firmly into the mattress on either side of his head. "Let me do this," she murmured, her voice a gentle command.

Her fingers began to knead his shoulders, her grip tight and commanding. Spencer felt his body relaxing under her touch despite his initial protests. He was aware of her thighs, strong and solid, holding him down. The weight of her was surprisingly comforting, a stark contrast to the helplessness he'd felt earlier.

Y/N's hands moved down to his back, tracing the contours of his spine with a firmness that spoke of her desire to dominate. He could feel his own arousal growing, his cock straining against his pants as she gripped his hips, her thumbs pressing into the indents of his back dimples. The sensation was both humiliating and thrilling, a heady mix that had him squirming under her.

Her thumbs played in the divots, pressing down just hard enough to make him gasp. Spencer felt his body responding, his muscles tensing and releasing as she worked her way down to the small of his back. Each movement was deliberate, a silent reminder of her strength and his vulnerability. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "Do you like that?" she whispered, her voice a seductive purr.

He couldn't help but nod, his face buried in the pillow. It was embarrassing, the way she could so easily reduce him to this pliant, needy state. But it was also exhilarating. Y/N had always had a dominant streak in the bedroom, but tonight, it was amplified.

Her hands trailed down his spine, each vertebrae a bump under her fingertips. She marvelled at the way his skin felt, so smooth and delicate. He was like a sculpture, all sharp angles and planes, his ribs visible through the translucent skin. It was a stark contrast to her own more rounded form, and it only served to make her feel more powerful.

With a wicked smile, Y/N leaned down, her teeth grazing his earlobe. "You're so fragile," she murmured, her breath hot against his neck. "So breakable."

Spencer's cock twitched in his pants at the words, his body responding instinctively to the promise of pain and pleasure mixed in her voice. He knew she didn't mean it in a derogatory way, but rather as a declaration of her desire to be the one to handle him, to be the one in control. It was a heady feeling, one that he'd never admitted to craving, but here it was, laid bare before him.

Her hands slid down to the waistband of his pants, her fingers deftly unbuttoning and unzipping before sliding them down his legs. He lifted his hips to help, feeling a rush of cool air as she exposed him to the room.

"Now, be a good boy and stay still," she said, her voice a low purr that sent shivers down his spine. She climbed off him, leaving him lying there, vulnerable and exposed. He heard the sound of her moving around the room, the rustle of clothing as she shed her own. His heart raced, his cock hardening further in anticipation.

When she returned, she had a bottle of oil in one hand and a wicked glint in her eye. She straddled him again, her knees pressing into his sides, and drizzled the oil onto his back. He felt the cool liquid run down his spine, pooling in the small of his back before she began to spread it over his skin. Her hands were firm, working the muscles with a determination that was both soothing and exciting.

Spencer moaned into the pillow, his hips moving involuntarily as her fingers danced over his sensitive flesh. Her touch was like fire, searing away the last vestiges of his pride and leaving only a raw need in its wake. He knew he should be ashamed of the way his body responded to her dominance, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

With a swift, surprising motion, Y/N flipped him over onto his back. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal as she straddled his hips. Her grip was firm, her movements precise, as if she were handling something incredibly delicate. Spencer felt a thrill run through him as she effortlessly manoeuvred his body.

Her hands roamed over his chest, tracing the path of his collarbones, then down to his defined hip bones. Her touch was reverent, as if she were worshipping every inch of his slender form. She squeezed his hips gently, the tips of her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin. He whimpered, his cock standing at full attention, and she couldn't help but smile at his reaction.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "So delicate and vulnerable."

Spencer felt a thrill at her words, the way she admired his body as if it were something to cherish. It was a stark contrast to the teasing he'd endured from Morgan and the other agents, and it filled him with a warmth that had nothing to do with the massage. He'd always been self-conscious about his build, his lack of bulk, but with Y/N, it was as if she saw something in him that no one else did. Her hands continued to roam, her touch gentle yet firm.

Her fingers slid down to his cock, wrapping around it with a sure grip. Spencer's hips bucked involuntarily, and he couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped his lips. She began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his. He watched as she squeezed, her thumb tracing the sensitive underside of his shaft.

The oil made her hand glide over him with ease, the slickness adding to the sensation. Spencer's eyes fluttered closed, his body responding to her touch despite his attempts to remain stoic. He could feel the heat building within him, the tension from the day's events mixing with the pleasure she was giving him.

Y/N leaned down, her breasts brushing against his chest, and captured his mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. Spencer's hands came up to grip her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. She broke away, a smug smile playing on her lips as she took in the desperation in his eyes. "You want more, don't you?" she whispered, her voice dripping with sweet, taunting malice.

Spencer nodded, unable to form words. He was lost in the sensation of her hand on his cock, her power over him. Y/N chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his skin. "Ask for it," she whispered, her grip tightening ever so slightly.

He swallowed hard, his pride battling with his need. "Please," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. "More."

Y/N's smile grew wicked. She leaned in closer, her mouth grazing his ear. "More of what, Spencer?" she whispered, her grip tightening a fraction more. "Tell me what you want."

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers. "I want you to ride me," he said, his voice steady despite the tremble in his body. It was a simple request, but one that filled him with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Y/N's smile grew into a full grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his neck. "Is that so?" she murmured, her grip on his cock not loosening. "And what makes you think you can handle that?"

Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly, a challenge in his gaze. "You're the one who said I was yours to take care of," he said, his voice a low growl. "Prove it."

Y/N's smile turned predatory, and she leaned down to kiss him, her teeth grazing his bottom lip before she pulled away. "Alright," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "But remember, you asked for this."

Spencer felt a thrill of excitement as she pinned his arms above his head, leaving him utterly at her mercy. He was helpless, just as he had been earlier with the unsub, but this time, it was by choice.

Her movements were deliberate and calculated, positioning herself over him. She reached down, her hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, and guided it to her entrance. Spencer felt the heat of her, the wetness that beckoned him in. He bit his lip, his body begging for release.

With one swift motion, she sank down onto him, her thick thighs enveloping his hips. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as she filled herself completely. Y/N sat forward, her hands gripping the headboard, her eyes locked onto his. "Is this what you wanted?" she taunted, her voice thick with desire.

Spencer could only nod, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She began to rock back and forth, her movements slow and deliberate, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through him. He could feel her wetness, the way her body gripped his, the heat of her surrounding him. It was overwhelming, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

Y/N trailed a hand to his neck, just holding it there. The gentle pressure was a reminder of his powerlessness, her thumb resting lightly on his pulse point. She could feel his heart racing beneath her touch, the throb of his arousal matching the rhythm of her own. It was a heady sensation, knowing she had this effect on him.

Spencer's eyes fluttered closed as she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate dance that had him panting for more. He could feel every inch of her, the way she took him in, her muscles clenching around him with each movement. It was exquisite torture, the kind that made him want to beg for release.

But Y/N had other plans. She didn't bother being careful or delicate. She thrust with harsh movements, coming down on his cock with a force that would break a lesser man. Spencer's body jerked with each impact, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He could feel the bruises from earlier in the day, but the pain only served to fuel his arousal.

Y/N didn't bother with gentle strokes or tender kisses. She took what she wanted, her hips moving with a ferocity that had him gasping for air. She was relentless, her body a force of nature that he couldn't hope to contain. He was at her mercy, and the realization sent him spiralling closer to the edge.

With each rough thrust, Spencer felt his body respond, his hips jerking up to meet hers. His cock was slick with their combined arousal, sliding in and out of her with ease. Her fingers dug into his wrists, a constant reminder of his vulnerability, and it only served to make him harder.

Y/N leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest, her eyes blazing with a fierce need. She brace her weight onto his wrists, pinned to either side of his head, and slammed her hips down to meet his, the force of her movements leaving bruises on his skin. The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure that flooded through him.

Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open in a silent scream as she fucked him with a passion that bordered on violence. He could feel the bruises forming, each one a brand of her dominance. It was exhilarating, the way she claimed him, took him, used him.

Y/N's eyes were glued to his face, watching every twitch and spasm as he neared climax. His whimpers and moans grew louder, his body taut with tension. She knew he was close, and she wanted to be there when he broke. She leaned down, her teeth nipping at the underside of his jaw. "Come for me, Spencer," she whispered, her voice a dark command.

Spencer's eyes snapped open, meeting hers. He could see the hunger in her gaze, the need to watch him fall apart. It was a heady feeling, one that made his cock throb with need. He could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, it hit him like a wave.

He arched off the bed, his body shuddering as he came, his seed spurting into her with a force that left him gasping. Y/N's eyes never left his, her expression a mix of satisfaction and dominance. She watched as the pleasure washed over him, her own climax building in response to his.

Her hips ground against his, her movements frantic now, chasing her own release. Spencer's body was a blur of pleasure and pain, his whimpers and moans growing louder with each passing second. Y/N could feel herself getting closer, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. And then, with a final, violent thrust, she was there, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Her body convulsed around him, her muscles tightening as she came, her nails digging into his wrists. Spencer's eyes were squeezed shut, his body shaking with the force of his climax. She leaned down, her teeth grazing his neck, and whispered, "That's it, baby. Give it all to me."

As the last tremors of pleasure subsided, she slowly released her grip on his wrists, her body still straddling his. Spencer's chest heaved with each ragged breath, his eyes glazed over with the aftermath of their intense encounter.

Y/N leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, her hands running soothingly over his bruised skin. "You okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and concerned.

Spencer took a moment to gather himself, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. He nodded, his eyes opening to meet hers. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse from his earlier cries. "I'm okay."

Y/N studied him closely, her expression a mix of concern and desire. She knew the power she held over him in that moment, and she didn't want to abuse it. "I'm serious, Spencer," she said, her voice softening. "If you're still upset about earlier, or if I hurt you too much—"

He cut her off with a chuckle, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of their passion. "No, Y/N," he assured her, his voice still breathless. "It's nothing like that." He reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her plump lower lip. "You didn't hurt me," he said, his eyes searching hers. "You just... reminded me of what's important."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any trace of doubt or dishonesty. But all she saw was raw, unfiltered truth. She leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with affection. "And what's that?" she whispered, her voice a gentle caress.

Spencer took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "That you're here," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "That you care about me, that you want me." He paused, swallowing hard. "And that no matter what happens, I'm yours."

Y/N's heart melted at his words, the fierce love she felt for him swelling in her chest. She leaned down, pressing her lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled away, she was smiling, her eyes shining with affection. "Always," she murmured, her voice a gentle promise.

But she could see the shadows lingering in his gaze, the remnants of the day's events. She knew he was still processing what had happened, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. "Seriously, Spencer," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "If you're still upset about earlier, we can talk about it."

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he nodded. "I'm... I'm not upset," he said, his voice still a little shaky. "I'm just... I don't know. It was just a weird day."

Y/N's expression softened, and she leaned down to kiss him again, this time more gently. "We can talk about it if you want," she offered, her hands moving to cradle his face. "Or we can just lie here for a while."

Spencer considered her words, his mind still racing with the events of the day. He knew she was right; he needed to process what had happened. But right now, all he wanted was to feel her close to him, to bask in the warmth of her love and support. "Later," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed. "Just hold me, please?"

Y/N nodded, understanding that sometimes words weren't enough. She shifted, her body curling around his, her hand resting on his chest as she felt the steady beat of his heart. The quiet filled the room, the only sound their mingled breaths.

[soracities]

how do you know when you're getting good at poetry? everybody dunks on halsey and rupi kaur's poetry, and i never really got why and idk if that's what i sound like

Honestly, I don't think there's ever a point at which you "know" you're getting good at poetry--I think "good" and "bad" are kind of vague and amorphous (and distracting) categories that don't do much in helping us understand the feel and impact of certain writing, chiefly because they can also be deeply subjective. How a poet views a particular work and how a reader views it will be very, very different because their relationship to the work is different. I also think "good" is a sort of external category that does not (or should not) carry into the act of writing itself--when you make "is this good?" the chief consideration as you write, you're not actually present in the writing: you're focused on the finished product, not the process, but the process is the most important thing: that's where the poem actually meets you. I think growth, in writing, is less about knowing if you're "good" in this regard, and more about being able to have confidence, or simply just trust, in the writing as it happens.

There's a famous saying somewhere that a work of literature is never "finished"--it just stops. I think skill, when it comes to writing, lies in recognising where this point is, in learning and developing how you navigate what it is you want to say, and how you say it. Some poems, eventually, reach a point where you can take them no further and you know there is nothing more to be said in them or through them. Some poems reach a point where you can take them no further, but there is still something left to be said in them. Those poems get revisited, worked, and reworked again, until they (maybe) get close to the first category: this may mean you work on them for a few weeks, or for years--but either way you are prioritizing the process of making the poem, not how it will be received. "Is this a good poem?" in my view at least, is not really the relevant question--what's relevant is "is this true to what I wanted to say?" Leonard Cohen famously wrote over 100 drafts of "Hallelujah"--I don't know if the central question for him here was just a matter of his skills as a songwriter.

Regarding Halsey and Rupi Kaur, I've only been able to read Halsey's poems through previews on Google Books so I don't know what other people's critiques are--based on what I saw, though, I don't know if it makes sense to criticize their quality as "poems" when she is primarily a songwriter and a lot of those poems wound up as songs. I'm more familiar with Rupi Kaur's writing, though, and others like her (Atticus, Michael Faudet etc), and while I have a personal policy of not getting into Kaur online (there's an ask here which is about as much as I'm willing to say regarding my feelings on her writing)--I can get into this trend or poetry "style" as a whole. And to be honest I think the chief issue here with poetry like this is that poetry, by definition, involves a deep and intimate relationship with language: this holds true regardless of whether the poem is simple, or complex, whether it's 5 lines long or goes on for 50 pages. As I said in that previous ask, it's not something you can reduce to a formula, nor is it a matter of mere reportage or a collection of statements: what makes a poem has nothing to do with line breaks (prose poems exist), but everything to do with how the language moves, how the language of a poem engages with its own content, with itself, and, as a result, with the reader.

The kind of work that proliferates on Instagram does not have that kind of engagement with language--they are, to me, pieces of information more than anything else. They reduce language to a series of stock phrases that act, not as actual words, but as images (and I don't mean this in a visually evocative way). It tries to evoke something that requires a thoughtful and sustained examination in order to be expressed, by surpassing the reality of what that examination actually requires. It tries to ape the effect of a powerful poem without the work that goes into actually being able to make that kind of a poem in the first place: and that work is a sustained encounter and confrontation with the language used and its relationship to what it tries to convey, in understanding that words are not interchangeable blocks you move around willy-nilly but that they have weight and intention, that they interact with each other to build up an idea or a feeling or a landscape in the most accessible way (insofar as language can make anything accessible, at least). But this is rarely, if ever, felt in IG poetry because it refuses to recognize or respect the demands and requirements of the medium it uses.

And because it is lacking in this engagement and recognition, these poems are also, for the most part, lacking sincerity--and this, to me, is one of the most crucial things when it comes to writing. I recall one IG poet whose work was in the same class as someone like Atticus, but I also recall one of his poems which genuinely moved me--and it moved me because, unlike everything else on his account, that poem felt sincere: the structure and the language wasn't any different to anything else he wrote, but in reading it, it was not a question for me of whether it was "bad" or "good"--what made the impact was that it was honest: and the difference showed. You can't come into a poem with ulterior motives. You can't come into it without an understanding, or respect, for the language you use. I'm absolutely not policing what people should or shouldn't read, and I'm not saying people are wrong for liking these poems, either, or that Halsey, Kaur, Atticus et al., are wrong for writing them. Expression is expression, and what speaks to you speaks to you. And to be honest, it is a different kettle of fish when you are writing something purely for yourself (and I think allowing yourself to partake in any kind of artform, without worrying about needing to be good at it, is deeply important for the human spirit)--but because they are putting their work out publicly, if we are going to be evaluating what they write and how they write it, that evaluation has to be rooted in an understanding of the art form they intend their work to be a part of.

For me, these are the main issues I have with these writers and their work and why I just do not like them. But I also want to stress that, ultimately, what you sound like in your own poems, anon, does not matter as much as being sincere to yourself does. As I said, I don' like using terms like "good" and "bad" and I think that often they're fairly reductive (and sometimes outright pointless) categories to use when we talk about and assess poetry--more than anything else, the key to building a robust and informed discernment when it comes to poems is to simply just read--read a lot of it and read widely. The broader and richer your repository of poetry (and literature in general) is, the more informed you are when it comes to all the different ways language can move through a poem, and all the different impacts it can have as a result. It deepens and enriches your understanding of all the different ways of looking at something, questioning something, expressing something. Your vocabularly grows and deepens; your net of associations--visual, linguistic etc--strengthens. And when this understanding grows you are able to place the things you read into a much wider and far more informed context. And this in turn allows you to grow as a reader and a writer. I hope this helps you a little, anon 💕

[writer-in-theory]

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened. 

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him. 

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape. 

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy. 

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though. 

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it. 

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore. 

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior. 

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’ 

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months. 

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first. 

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past. 

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same. 

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony. 

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know. 

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home. 

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too. 

[nerdieforpedro]

He told me his name

The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x plus size female reader

My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 1.3k

Summary: It's not clear if you enter The Mandalorian's orbit or you enter his, but slowly the two of you are growing closer.

Warnings: vague mentions of mechanic work, HANDS (It's my thing about Din okay?!), fluff, some violence, blood, injuries and first aid

Notes: I've wanted to write another Din fic for a while and didn't have any sparks. Then I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin 's Din fic (Sorgan girls Are Easy) she put out yesterday which is excellent. I had my spark. ⚡️ Though the fic I wrote isn't similar to hers at all. Not even in the same category. 🤣 My fic is very moody. I might write a follow-up one shot to this.

Dividers are by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist / Din Djarin Masterlist /Our Journey Across the Star Ocean

Lingering near your workstation had you curious, but you chalked it up to just being curious about how you worked. You’re aware that your organization, separation and tinkering can be slower than other mechanics but it also means you don’t need to double check your work as often.

The Mandalorian was intimidating and never rude or even commanding. In fact he was polite and let Peli speak to him pretty casually. You only said hello and goodbye.

That’s why it struck you with surprise when Peli asked during one evening card game with the droids if you’d consider riding with the “walking tin can” as she put it. You blinked and asked why you, shouldn’t he be asking her to come with him. She told you that she had a business to run and she’s not gallivanting around with a trigger happy bounty hunter who has to keep track of an adorable but absurdly strong baby. 

“You need some excitement anyway. You’ll just waste away here without any good memories or fun stories to tell. It will just be a life of regrets of paths not taken.”

Her words rang in your head as the small green child sat in your lap. The Mandalorian was at the controls, silently charting their course. Was this a good decision?

He allowed you to come with him when he got his tracking fobs and when he turned in his bounties. The first touch was between your shoulder blade to your back, guiding you and the child through the market back to the Razor Crest.

The second was when his gloved hands touched yours while trying to improve your aim using a blaster. His voice was more gentle than his normal flat one. Closer to what he used with Grogu but still not as much warmth. It was enough to have you believe him to be kind.

The third happened after he brought a bounty back to the ship and he saw Grogu patting your cheeks as you spoke to him. Explaining about what different bolts did, it looked like you were organizing your tools again. His gloved hand was placed on your shoulder which had you peer up at his t-visor. He gave you a nod and went to inventory his weapons. Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Maybe he believes you to be useful, a smile creeps along your face.

Such small gestures continued until you took Grogu out for a walk. 

It was a fairly green planet and Din said it was safe, you didn’t wander far from the ship as it was still in view. The first crawling plant you saw and shot it through and through with your blaster. The second, nipped your leg but you were able to knock it off and shot it twice. On the way back to the ship you were clear, but one jumped the gangway and a tentacle sliced across your back before you were able to turn and shoot it. You limped back into the Razor Crest and were able to clean and dress your leg but not your back. Grogu wouldn’t stop screaming and you kept moving him away from you to not get blood on the poor child.

The bounty hunter saw you, quickly put his bounty on carbonate and grabbed the bacta spray. He spoke to his son and was able to calm him slightly as he ripped your shirt and bra to try and access the wound on your back but the blood and secretions in your wound from the tentacle made it increasingly difficult as you bled. 

“I apologize for this. I’ll need to cut off the rest of the back of your shirt to clean and apply the spray and…” He paused. The Mandalorian you know never paused, he was always measured in his speech, even with Grogu. “It may be easier for me to do if I remove my gloves. They’ve become too slick with your blood. Is that alright?” You found it puzzling that he was asking permission considering it’s one of the main tenets of his religion. You didn’t care either way as long as the bleeding and pain stopped. 

“It’s fine Mando. Do what you need to do. Grogu’s okay right? I didn’t get any blood on him, I think.”

You closed your eyes and heard the Mandalorian give a few curses as he removed his gloves, warm calloused fingers were dabbing your back and applying pressure. After holding it a few minutes, you felt the cool spray of the bacta and some patches being applied with more pressure. There seemed to be less pain and your back didn’t feel like a dripping pool so you counted your lucky stars and thanked the Maker that the bounty hunter had come back earlier than later. You felt something soft spread over your body and you were lifted off the floor of the ship and brought to your cot. How did he lift you so easily? Did beskar help with that? You didn’t think so, but you know next to nothing about the stuff. It was there that you drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke later, Grogu had tucked himself on your pillow with a small green hand on your cheek. It made you feel happy to see the little green one next to you, but you felt something in your hand. It was what had been on your back. Mando had one of his gloves off and was holding your hand with his bare one. His other hand was touching Grogu’s back but his glove was on. You turned away for a moment to let a tear fall. He cares about you, you’re more than useful, maybe.

Grogu remained asleep but Mando awoke, squeezing your hand in his. “You’re awake? Has the pain subsided? I should check-” You turned back to shush him and carefully sat up, the blanket falling off your partially and he released your hand to pull it around you. The back of your shirt was open and had fallen forward some when you got up, but not expose anything thankfully.  “You should keep warm. We’re on our way back to turn in the bounty. I-I am sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. They came out of nowhere. I was able to not get killed because of the blaster shots you had me practice and Grogu’s safe so-” Since you’re not holding Mando’s hand any longer, you grasp the blanket, to have something in your hand.

“You were not safe. You were hurt badly. Do…I would not blame you if you wanted to leave.” His register is low, not threatening, but there’s sadness in it. He was sitting at your bedside mere moments ago. You wished to hop back in time and keep still so you wouldn't wake him. Just to have stayed in that moment a bit longer…

“I refuse to go. I will not. You’ll have to toss me off. I’ve seen so many things and places and I want to see that much more. You’re stuck with me Mando.” The blanket drops as you release it and you grab his bare hand with both of yours. “I’m not going to but. I just don’t want to go.” Speaking as you lock your eyes on his t-visor, a deep hum is heard from the hunter, but you remain firm.

“I am called Din. Please do so while it’s just the three of us.” His thumb ran across your palm and tickled your skin making you chuckle. “You will remain and hopefully I will hear more of your laugh.” Your smile only grows with his answer. “Please rest for now. Our journey isn’t over.”

Part Two

Space Buddies: @linzels-blog @maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @missladym1981 @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @daddy-dins-girl @magpiepills @megamindsecretlair @anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter @alltheglitterandtheroar @mrsmando @drawingdroid @harriedandharassed @i-own-loki @lady-bess @undercoverpena @pedroshotwifey

[nico-esoterica]

More about celeb sps!

"But what about the millions of other people manifesting them?" 🤔⭐

There's the perspective that they've successfully manifested them in their personal realities, but I'm an elitist. In every other reality, I believe I am the only person my man would ever want to be with, consider, or fathom as a partner. I am the best of the best. I am the only person to ever exist in his world he'd want to be with intimately. I don't care who he's been with. I'm the best lover, best romantic partner, most attractive person to exist in their world. I am always infinitely better. I am what dreams are made of. Billions of the most attractive and good men in the world would kill irl to be with me or even be in the same room with me. Women and other identities too!~

This is how you need to think. If you think anyone's manifesting them? No, they're not lol. Because they'd never do it successfully or have the confidence and conviction to maintain it. They're also not you. And they're weak bitches! I said what I said. I've never thought small in my entire life and I have unwavering confidence, self discipline, and belief in myself. I am self-obsessed and radiate power, magnetism, and sex appeal. I'm also the most beautiful person I've ever personally come across, alive or dead. In a room full of the most conventionally beautiful people, my sp would only have eyes for me. Even in an industry full of surgical beauties! Idgaf! Even if I wasn't gorgeous, my sp would still think I was! Now, let's discuss stalkers and other criminals and what makes you different:

You're always winning in your reality, even if that winning is you losing, lol. You're winning in the assumption that you can't have what you want or who you want. That's winning but just not in your favor.

Even if millions of people are casting love spells or manifesting your person, they will always fail because you've rendered them ineffective in your reality. Also, AGAIN, you are YOU! Someone can only 'take' your sp if you THINK it's possible that they can be taken! That's why you need to STAND THE FUCK UP! Would you wanna be with you? I would wanna be with me! My sp is LUCKY that I even give a fuck the way I do lmao! I also personally believe whoever you're manifesting is manifesting YOU back! That's how manifesting people works objectively if you look at stories of couples who've described how it feels on both ends.

I don't consider stalking to be something celebs want but may be what they expect due to their job and not thinking they're in control of their realities, etc. I also put obsessive fans in that category because their emotional investment makes them money lol. But as a celeb who wants to be genuinely loved as a human being, I do believe they're manifesting the right person for them and that spectrum of possibility will involve someone that's potentially a fan or was one due to the magnitude of their fame. But this person would truly love and appreciate them. That's the difference. When Hailey Bieber and Victoria Beckham were manifesting their men as fans, they wound up in healthy and happy relationships with them. Thriving, tbh.

But the typical 'fan' is usually someone with piss poor self esteem, puts their fave on a pedestal, and may think they have to force themselves on their fave to 'get them to like them' when that's just abuse and assault. That's due to poor self concept and probably due to having an unhealthy relationship with them bc of social alienation from Capitalism, untreated/misdiagnosed neurodivergence because of lack of money and access to quality healthcare, and a combination of factors where their fave is the only 'good' experience in their lives. You're always telling yourself a story. With your sp, celeb or not, it's the same thing.

These people don't believe that they can successfully 'be' with their fave without breaking the law or bypassing personal boundaries and that lack of self belief is because of bad self concept and personal self esteem. They don't think they would ever choose them without them needing to force it to happen. When you're manifesting like Hailey, Victoria, etc, you're putting yourself on the pedestal instead. You're believing that there's no way in hell that celeb sp WON'T want you for just existing. I don't know those women personally but it takes audacity and that audaciousness is a result of a strong self concept about themselves and what they're capable of. But it doesn't have to be all that.

You don't even have to like yourself to manifest a celeb sp, but most people don't tell themselves that they can just exist and the sp will find them and fall in love with them.

That's the difference between a stalker, saesang, and toxic person vs another person manifesting them. You'd think there's overlap but there's a distinct difference in mindset. You don't need to be in creepy group chats full of criminals exchanging stolen personal info or do any weird shit but people do most likely because that's the only way they think they'll get access to their sp. They're still insecure, lol.

That's why people commit crimes anyway and is the way our system is set up. They're still manifesting that fraudulent access but they rarely, if ever, land the full blown relationship where their sp wants them back. Their sp not wanting them back despite all the weird shit (bc people irl DO have relationships w/ toxic people) is proof that they DON'T think or believe this person wants them. Otherwise they'd think it was cute or something because they'd see them as the one and only exception. That rarely happens with celebs, even though I'm sure it does, but that not being the norm means those people manifesting celeb sps simply don't think they can do it deep down.

That's why you're one out of millions or a billion, honestly. Even if someone seems very confident, unless they have consistent commitment to their inner story like con artist Anna Delvey, for example, then they won't be successful.

Because that's all it takes with anything, sp or not. It's the story you're telling yourself. It doesn't have to feel real. You just need to not change it.

Like I said, the other girls are weak bitches. It just is what it is.

[demonslayedher]

Nerdy cultural details about the Hashira

Some details can be hard to pick up without context or in translation. Here's a handful for fun:

Breath names:

The "Mushi" (蟲) of "Mushibashira" (蟲柱) does not necessarily mean "insect." It's also not the more commonly used "mushi" kanji (虫). Kanji is often formed with many components compounding together to make new meanings, and 蟲 is a crowd of three 虫. While it might be tempting to simply say that this is a whole bunch of 虫, I've also heard this described as 蟲 being the more abstract idea of the concrete 虫, or that 蟲 went through a resurgence in popularity shortly before the Taisho Period. 虫 is preferred nowadays for its simplicity.

In either case, it's not necessarily "insects." Rather than being limited to six-legged creatures, "mushi" is a catch-all term for many kinds of creepy-crawlies that simply do not fit in other categories of animals, so spiders and centipedes and worms are all part of it. Actually, the term was originally used for snakes!

Next, what are picturing when you hear "Stone Hashira"? Something in your hands that you can throw? A big stone to lay on for warmth after training in a waterfall?

You could think even bigger than that, because the "stone" kanji used is "iwa" 岩. This is usually something at least as big as the boulders Himejima pushes around to train with, but it could just as well be a whole cliff.

So then how about that issue raised about how you can never refer to "Flame Breath" as "Fire Breath"? This might be a review since it gets brought up a lot, but it's worth restating because it makes a lot of sense in context.

First, we have two kanji to work with: 炎 for flames, and 火 for fire. To make a long linguistic history short, Japan adopted written pictographic characters from China, smashed and smooshed them around to fit the spoken Japanese language, and eventually many kanji wound up with multiple pronunciations. Case in point, 炎 is "hono'o" in the context of Flame Breathing (Hono'o no Kokyuu), and "en" in the context of "Flame Hashira" (En-bashira).

火 likewise has multiple pronunciations, but a common one is "hi." Another simple kanji that can be read "hi" is 日, the sun.

Therefore, even if they are written differently, "Sun Breathing" and "Fire Breathing" would sound the same, as "Hi no Kokyuu." This also makes it easy for "Hinokami" to be construed as "Fire God" instead of "Sun God." But why stop there, really? If you want to get into older Japanese, sometimes phonetic "hi" was used in simple reference to the power of gods.

Symbolism:

This is still somewhat linguistic rather than symbolic, but you know how Sound Breath is derived from Thunder Breath?

It's worth pointing out that "Kaminari" (雷) in "Kaminari no Kokyuu" is in reference to the sound, as opposed to something like "Ikazuchi no Kokyuu" for "Lightning Breath" in reference to the sight. We can get really, really nerdy about Japanese words for thunder and lightning and how they relate to Kimetsu no Yaiba, so I already did that here.

What's more interesting to me in regard to Sound Breath is that it takes the "sound" concept of thunder and pushes it--this time with a bit of a firework motif, again in a way that would stress the sound instead of the dazzling light. Both Uzui and Zenitsu have exceptional hearing and are exceptional users of their Breath techniques, so this is either curious that a discerning sense of hearing might help, or ironic that they use such loud styles with their sensitive ears.

Moving on to snakes! There's really no shortage of serpent symbolism, so we'll just focus on a handful of examples. I have already written extensively about the positive associations snakes have with riches, especially white snakes. This is ironic, given Iguro's distasteful paste driven by riches.

Some of the other positive associations with snakes are that they are a water element animal on the geomancy system borrowed from China. Makes sense that this Breath would be derived from Water Breathing! There are many shrines dedicated to snakes and their gifts of rain and clean water, however, water can also be dangerous. A common interpretation of a major legend about an eight-headed giant serpent, the Yamata-no-Orochi, is that it symbolizes the destructive power of a flooded river. But hey, at least snakes are often equated to dragons for having the same water association, so that's pretty cool.

Setting aside the water association, the serpent itself can likewise be considered in negative lights. In the centuries leading up to the Taisho Period, it became commonplace in Buddhist teachings and entertainment to compare jealous women to snakes. This association with woman also adds another layer of cruel irony to Iguro's past.

On a happier note, let's move on to cherry blossoms!

Well, not always happy, seeing as they are known to scatter tragically soon (I am shaking my fist at you, Gotouge). Cherry blossoms are also heavy with all the directions you can go in with symbolism, and I don't have any particular take on why they are part of the overall motif of the Love Hashira (see here for a little commentary on why it is "Koi" 恋 and not "Ai" 愛).

However! I do want to point out something very clever Gotouge did!

You know how Mitsuri's hand guard looks like four hearts that all meet at their pointy ends? This is actually a traditional cherry blossom motif!! Not a very common one, which is why I find it so sly.

Personal Names:

Bear with me, this section will get slightly more speculative, as names are always up to interpretation. I should know, I've done a lot of that for this series.

Remember how kanji can be read in multiple ways? Here's something simple you'd see right away in Japanese but that gets lost in translation to most other languages. Both Sanemi and Genya have 弥 as the second character in their personal name (as "mi" or "ya"). This was not the case for all their siblings, but it's cute that the two of them share it anyway.

So what does it mean? In modern kanji dictionaries, it's pretty bland: "increasingly." However, this kanji has more interesting use and associations that that. It was originally 彌, which carries more of an image of a stretched bow, or how something might go wide and disperse. As a child's name, this might include some hope that they might grow big and tall and go to great places. It is also commonly used in expressing the names of Buddhist deities in Japanese, but it is used only for the "mi" sound instead of the meaning in these cases. (Still, 弥 is one of the "Namu Amida Butsu" characters all over Himejima's haori, which also adds a little cuteness to his associations with Genya.)

So how about someone else with a name that closely matches his brother's? We get a pretty good explanation of Yuichiro (有一郎) and Muichiro (無一郎), with 有 and 無 being opposites (to exist/to not exist). While 有 might be more straightforward in wishing for Yuichiro to have all his needs met, the "mu" in "muichiro" is for "limitless/infinity/etc, etc."

But also!!

It bares distinct resemblance to a common Zen phrase, "Honraimuichimotsu" (本来無一物), with "muichimotsu" meaning "nothing exists" (and therefore, you have nothing to worry about, just be happy).

Speaking of resemblances, "Tomioka Giyuu" has two kanji in common with the name of the mangaka of Hunter x Hunter and I sometimes wonder if he was named in homage. But that is neither here nor there, and I'll just finish today by focusing on "Giyuu" (義勇).

This is pretty basic and straightforward: "loyalty/justice" and "bravery/courage." Pretty lofty. Put them back together and it's basically a set term for "heroism."

However, put it together with other terms for squads or armies, and this is the now the word for "volunteer soldier" or "volunteer army." Historically, it would continue to be used a few decades after Kimetsu no Yaiba takes place, but the decades prior, there were "Giyuutai" organized volunteer troops as well. Perhaps Giyuu had ancestors who fought as volunteer soldiers? Who knows.

[forcedtogrow]

Fuck I had to start jacking off to your posts I get so wound up by the thought of my pathetic body and cock and the contrast between us and how lucky I'd be to gaze at your huge cock but humiliated by your degrading of my little clit dick,, oh god I've never even thought about this fetish until now,,

I get a lot of horny asks like this and recently I’ve been dreaming about using scrawny guys like you as strokers for my cock. Not that any of you would mind getting used by me. It would be the best day of your life to feel my dick twitch in your mouth.

If you’re still a skinny little twink you should be embarrassed atp.. so I’ll force you to “flex” to show how pathetic and lazy you are. You’d ofc be rock hard but I wouldn’t know because your dick is too small to see, not worth comparing when you’re not in the same category as me. My veiny calloused hands wrapped around your waist holding you down and using you like a pocket pussy.

I need body comparison worship more…I want to get groped at the gym by jealous twinks. I want a pathetic puppy boy jerking himself off while I lift, only stopping to bring me a protein shake or suck me off. Been having a lot of alpha fantasies since I doubled my dose and it’s been hard to be a normal member of society.

[forgave-me-not]

I DON'T THINK I LIKE YOU ANYMORE ☆ B.S.

Ben would sew you into the fabric of all of his clothes if he could. But alas, he cannot, so kissing you is the next best thing. Now he just has to figure out how to do it. word count: 3.2k warnings: fluff, like two curse words, a bit suggestive at the end

There's flying - with its long lines, endless bag checks, whining children - and then there's waiting on a flight. Today, you've been placed in the latter category, patiently waiting for your best friend to come home. How long had it been since you'd seen him? Two, three months? It didn't matter. What you did know is that his presence was sorely missed.

You and Ben had managed to do almost everything together - from growing up to playing sports and attending the same college. But that was before the world was big, before things were different. He had his own thing now, something you could only observe from afar. And as much as you loved that he'd found success in his niche, you were glad he was taking a break and finally coming home.

You'd paced the waiting area near the terminal for nearly 45 minutes. I look antsy as hell, you thought as you glanced at your watch again. You weren't nervous. That's impossible. It was just Ben. You simply hadn't seen him in a while. It wasn't anxiety; you had a lot of pent-up enthusiasm that needed to be let out in one way or another. Still, you looked wound up. You sit down and look around at the people around you. A mother feeds her toddler some animal crackers. Hmm, maybe she's waiting on her part-. Before you can finish your thought, you see that familiar form striding its way over to you, and you're back on your feet in a flash.

He's wearing a baseball cap, typical Ben, but you can see his face perfectly fine. Eyes just as bright, smile just as toothy. He's been just fine.

You walk around the young man, looking for any discrepancies.

"Why are you appraising me like some prize-winning bull," Ben said, slightly amused at you circling him in close inspection.

"I've gotta make sure you're all here," you declare, looking up at him. "Did you get taller?"

"I dunno. Let's get outta here, you little scumbag," Ben says with a laugh.

"Anything in baggage claim," you ask in an attempt to check off all the boxes he could miss.

"Nope."

"Alright then," you say with a smile. Ben wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls his carry-on with the other as you lead him toward your car. You lean into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He smells familiar with his sandalwood cologne and shea butter lotion. Oh, how you missed that smell.

The two of you make it to your car, an older model SUV your dad had handed down to you once you'd turned sixteen. There were a lot of memories in that car, some you and Ben swore to never speak about again. The sound of the trunk slamming snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Geez, Benjamin. Always so rough," you remark with an eye roll.

"My bad, my bad," Ben says defensively, putting his hands up to show he's genuinely sorry. You shake your head and lean against the driver's side door.

"The sky looks beautiful," Ben says quietly, leaning beside you. He was right. The red, orange, and pink shades made the surrounding area look otherworldly; not even the sounds of planes taking off and the nearby highway could detract from it. Ben tore his eyes away from the sky and glanced over at you. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Pretty," he whispered, not meaning to say it aloud. "Hmm? What'd you say," you said, taking your eyes off the drifting clouds. Ben froze, feeling his face get hot. "Um, nothing. The sky's pretty, that's all."

"Oh...alright. Well, B, the sky is wonderful, but I've gotta get you home." You turn to open your car door, but a firm hand reaches over and closes it. "I don't want to," Ben whines. Sometimes, you're shocked he's actually twenty-one years old. You cock an eyebrow at the hand on your car door. Ben quickly removes his hand and clears his throat.

"We haven't seen each other in a while, and besides, I have like two weeks to be home. Let's do something." His arms are crossed, Ben's signal that no will not be an answer that comes out of your mouth.

"You sure? Not too tired from your flight," you say with furrowed eyebrows.

"Nuh uh. Besides, I need a burger."

"Ugh," you groan. "I oughta make you drive." Ben lets out a laugh and spins you around in excitement. He quickly trots to the car's passenger side, opens the door, and plants himself in the seat, adjusting it for his long legs. You laugh. Like a child. "You're a punk, you know that, Shelton," you say accusingly as you start your car and back out of the parking spot.

The two of you sat in one of those authentic American diners. There was a coffee pot on every table, paintings of the food they served on the windows, and floors that were a bit slick from the kitchen grease. Ben had smashed his burger in five minutes flat; he'd said something about missing seed oils and red dye. You'd snorted and told him he better appreciate it since you were paying.

The waitress came over with the chocolate milkshake you had ordered. You thanked her and stirred the drink. Ben was attempting to build a pyramid out of toothpicks. You smile at him.

"So, how's the tour going," you ask, sipping your drink.

Ben leans forward against an elbow and begins to trace the squares of the checkered pattern on the table. "Good. You win some, you lose some, but it's fun." He picks at the fries he didn't eat and flicks the salt off his fingers. "But we always talk about me. What's up with you?"

A grin spreads across your face. "Well, there's this guy," you start. Ben's nostrils flare. He sees a flash of confusion on your face and tones down his obvious displeasure. You let out a slight cough and continue. "He's in my World Philosophies course this semester, and uh, he's pretty cool." You say the last bit quietly, sensing that Ben is judging everything you say and do. Honestly, you only brought it up because it was the first thing to come to mind. You didn't want to discuss the guy anyway, so you changed the subject.

"I kept the letter," you said casually before taking a long slurp from your milkshake.

"What?"

"Remember when you had that phase of sending people handwritten letters?" Ben nods. I only wrote you letters, though, is what he wanted to say. You always talked about the men in those classic books you love to read writing letters.

You smile and reach into the pocket of your jean shorts. Out came a folded, yellowed piece of paper.

"I usually carry it in my wallet, but I wanted to remember to show you. God, your handwriting was so funky."

"Was not," an embarrassed Ben responded, putting his head in his arms so you wouldn't see him blush. The tips of his ears were still red, though. You giggle.

"Was too, you bum."

"I was nervous, okay. What 19-year-old is sending handwritten letters nowadays anyhow," Ben stated, rolling his eyes. You tilted your head and pointed at yourself. "Uh, this guy." Ben let out one of his signature laughs, and one of the veterans sitting at the counter turned to look at the two of you. Ben shot him an apologetic look and turned back to you.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I barely even remember what I wrote," Ben said, running a hand through his hair. The waitress came by and placed the check on the table. Before you could do anything, Ben put his card down.

You chuckled. "Well, let me read you my favorite part to jog your memory then." You cleared your throat and began:

"Something you said once popped in my head after the win today. You told me that when I matured, I'd be a great; how do I do that? I know that we're thousands of miles away, and you'll probably be asleep or out to lunch when this makes it to you, but I promise now, right now, that I'll be great, for you, ok?

And I wanted to say that I miss you — like, a lot. Take care of yourself; I'll be home soon."

You didn't even need to unfold the paper; it was imprinted on your brain from reading it over and over.

"Wow. I really wrote all that, huh," Ben murmured with a smile. Damn, she really likes that letter. Didn't even glance at it. He picked up his card off the table and signed the check. "Huh, maybe my handwriting is a little funky." You grinned, threw a ten-dollar bill on top of the tab, stood up from the table, and headed out of the restaurant. Ben jogged after you.

"Wanna do something fun," Ben asked, a little out of breath from chasing after you.

"You wouldn't know fun if it spit in your face," you quip back, letting your Southern accent come through.

"What about, I don't know, carnival fun?" He smirked and pointed at a sign across the road. You stood on your tip toes to look over his shoulder.

CARNIVAL IN 3 MILES!

"Good grief, always dragging me into something. You're driving this time, by the way." You threw your keys at his chest and tried to hide your smile.

All carnivals smell alike. Animals, fried food, sweat, and vomit will always produce the same odors, no matter where you are. But the scent that hit your nose, nor the joyous screams and yelling, didn't dampen your mood. The multitude of necklaces you wore clinked as you bounced on your toes.

Ben hands the man at the ticket booth a twenty, and the two of you make your way inside. "Here." You hold up Ben's hat. "Might wanna put this on."

"Oh, thank you," he says as he bends down. Understanding the message, you push his hair back and snugly put the hat on his head. "There you go, B."

Neither of you wanted to do anything particular, so you just milled about looking for things to do. Ben beat you at the high striker, but you got him back with your perfect shot at the duck shooting booth. He was now, begrudgingly, lugging around your three-and-a-half-foot panda for you while you snacked on cotton candy.

The sun sank behind the treeline, but it was still sweltering with the humidity and the other sweating bodies surrounding you. Ben watched as a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. He swallowed thickly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. After meandering around a bit more, both of you grew tired of walking around and decided to sit down. The benches near the food trucks make for a perfect spot; you could watch people, Ben could watch you.

You scanned the area. A little girl wailed at a game booth nearby. Ring toss. But she's so tiny. You looked at the two adults beside her, most likely her parents. They appeared at their wit's end and on the verge of breaking down themselves. You glanced over at the bear. He still needs a name. Oh well.

"I'll be right back," you told Ben, who looked at you confused. Grabbing the panda from the spot next to you, you adjusted the straps of your tank top and made your way over to the family. Her parents noticed you first. "Is it okay if I talk to her," you asked with a sheepish smile. "Be our guest," her mother said, surprised.

"Hi there. What's your name?"

The girl sniffled and wiped her nose. "Maia."

"That's a beautiful name. Well, Maia, I won this panda right here, but I think you could use it more than I could. You have to promise me one thing."

Maia nodded enthusiastically, very ready to receive a stuffed bear almost as big as her. "Promise me that you won't give up so easily. And don't make things too hard for your parents," you said with a soft smile.

"Yes, ma'am. I promise," Maia said sweetly, tears all dried. "Are you a fairy," she asked as you handed over the bear. You barked out a laugh. "I guess I am now, sweetie. Bye for now. And be good." Maia grinned up at you and hugged your legs tights. You bent down to hug her back and glanced at her parents. "Thank you," her father mouthed at you. "No problem," you whispered back. Maia waved at you and skipped back to her parents. You waved back and turned around to where you were sitting.

Ben sat with his head against his hands, grinning like an idiot. "What are you looking all dopey at," you asked him. He stood up and looked down at you. "Just watching you. It was cute, that's all."

You chuckled as you walked away. "You sound like a creep out of context," you called over your shoulder. You walked for a bit and then stopped in front of the Ferris wheel. The bright lights and colorful seats swinging caught your attention. The sun had set, and the wind was finally picking up. You closed your eyes and rocked back and forth on your heels, humming a tune. Ben studied you from the side. All of your piercings. How your thumbs hooked around the belt loops of your shorts. That tattoo on the back of your elbow.

"Shit," Ben sighed. "I'm not sure I like you anymore."

Your eyes snap open as you turn to look up at him, the colored lights of the carnival dancing across your face. "What," you say incredulously.

"I said," he says with a drawn-out breath. "I don't think I like you anymore." A mischievous smile spreads across his face, adding to your confusion.

"What the hell is he on today," you murmur. Ben steps in front of you and places his hands on your shoulders. "What the hell am I on? You're what I'm on, that's what." He sighs. "And I'll shout 'Hey, I love this girl' from the rooftops if I have to. What can I say? I'm in love with you. Who in their right mind wouldn't be?" You push him off of you and put your hands on your knees. Ben's face drops from excitement to worry, worry that you might hate him and never see him again after his very public confession. But all of his anxieties are soothed once he hears your laugh. "Ben," you say through incessant giggling. "You're such a dork." The man frowns at you like a sad child.

"I'm sorry for laughing, B," you say, looking at him. "Come here." And it's the first real hug either of you have had all day. Ben feels you press your ear into his chest. "Are you listening to my heartbeat," he asks with a confused smile. "Yeah. Just want to make sure you're real before I say anything else." You give him another quick squeeze before stepping back. "I love you too, Ben. With all my heart."

"Promise? You're not lying, are you?"

"Pinky promise, baby. You know I don't lie to you."

"Yeah, I know." He had that dopey look on his face again. He really is in love. I got lucky.

"Let's continue this conversation in the car, shall we?" Ben asked as he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your forehead.

"We shall," you said with a smirk.

The cooler temperatures of the night had brought out the crowds. Still, neither of you would be there long enough to experience the carnival full of people. Not that it mattered anyway. There were more important things at hand.

Ben held your hand and led you through the droves of people back to the entrance. You watched his broad shoulders move under his t-shirt as he uttered his apologies and excuse me's to passersby. When you made it out of the gate and to the parking lot, which was really just an empty field, it took everything in you not to break out into a sprint. You wanted to scream and dance and cry all at once, but you suppressed those feelings and calmly walked to your car.

Ben led you to the front of the car and patted the hood, requesting that you hop up. You obliged and sat face to face with your best friend, the man you loved. He smiled and bit his bottom lip. "You're so pretty," he whispered before taking your face in his hands. "Hmm, you should see yourself," you hum.

"What? You think I look pretty?"

"I always think you look pretty."

You caress his face and look into his eyes. The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Ben quickly gazes at your lips, breaking eye contact first. Having had enough of the silence and suspense, he leans in and kisses you. You snatch his hat off and throw it on the windshield behind you to keep it from being awkward. Ben smiles against your lips. The kisses are soft, like he doesn't want to break you. His lips trace your cheeks, jawline, neck as you whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears.

"Could y'all get a room or something," a voice calls out, bringing you back to reality. Ben bristles, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck from embarrassment.

"Jesus Christ, Robert. Leave them alone; they're just kids. Besides, you're the one invading their privacy. This parking lot is empty, hon." The man mumbles something to his wife.

"Sorry, dears. This old man won't bother you anymore. Have fun," the lady says as she drags her husband to the ticket booth. You lift your head from Ben's shoulder and wave at her shrinking form. You turn back to Ben, who's trying his hardest to stifle his laughter, and you smile. "Here, I have a better idea," he says. Ben helps you down from the hood of the car and leads you to the rear door of your vehicle. You grabbed his hat off the windshield before either of you could forget. He opens the door and swivels his head to face you. "Only if you want, of course."

You looked down at the ground, suddenly shy, and nodded. "Yeah. I want to." Ben beamed at you before moving over to let you clamber in ahead of him. He climbs in and shuts the door behind you. Once again, you two are side by side, face to face. Ben's fingers snaked under your tank top and traced patterns on your lower back.

"So, what exactly is the plan," you asked softly, gazing into his eyes.

Ben leaned in to kiss your neck. "I was just going to figure it out as we went," he said, kissing behind your ear. "If that's ok."

"That's perfect," you hummed, running your hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. The two of you were in your own little world, and neither had to tell a soul. It would end up as just one more secret that your car would have to keep.

author's note: finally getting this out of my system lol. can't believe I wrote all of this, geez

[syrena-del-mar]

Examining the Use of Movie Posters in Dead Friend Forever, Episode 8

So, for the past few weeks I've been paying attention to the different movie posters in Non's room and we finally got a clear shot of the posters in Episode 8! A big thank you to @lukaherehelp, @slayerkitty, and @fiction-is-queer for helping me identify, track down, and discuss all the movie posters and their possible significance.

Before we jump in, I think there are some interesting trends that have come from the chosen movie posters that have been plastered on the walls. First, all the movies either have kids dying or kids involved in some capacity. Second, two of the posters were in Spanish (does this hint that New was in a Spanish-speaking country?). Third, several seem to be in the horror films. Fourth, most seem to take place out in nature (a la cabin in the woods.)

El Fuera de la Ley -> The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976)

Interestingly enough, Clint Eastwood's The Outlaw Josey Wales is the only legitimate poster that I have been able to find that Be On Cloud has chosen to use. I'm attributing this to mainly be due to American copyright laws.

For those that aren't familiar with U.S. copyright laws or just copyright laws in general, the law protects any tangible, intellectual property. Under the Copyright Act of 1976, as amended in 1978, any work that is made for hire, the copyright endures for a term of 95 years since its first publication. Movie posters do fall under this category. But this term of 95 years only took effect starting from January 1st, 1978, meaning that any work prior to this amendment was still controlled by the 1976 act. Under the 1976 act, the initial term of copyright was 28 years from the date of publication or registration. After the initial term, it could then be extended for 67 years for a total 95 years, but the copyright holder would need to actively extend the term. The Outlaw of Josey Wales came out in 1976, and assuming that the did not pursue copyright for the next 67 years, the copyright term would have ended in 2004. Meaning that Be On Cloud would be able to use the original movie poster without having to pay for the right of use.

Now onto the actual relevant portion of the plot. Josey Wales, a Missouri farmer, seeks revenge after his wife and son are murdered by pro-Union militants led by Captain Terri. Refusing to surrender to the Union, after the war, he ends up with a bounty on his head. Captain Terrill hunts down Wales and opens fire on him. Struggle ensues, Terrill draws out his sword and tries to kill Wales, but instead Wales take control and forces the blade through Terrill's chest and finally avenges his family. There is still a bounty for Wales, but locals cover him and tell the Rangers that came looking for him that he had already been killed. Ultimately, Wales has found his peace and rides off in the sunset, while you're left being unsure whether he survived or died of his wounds.

Now, I'm thinking this is where we're heading for the ending. After it's all said and done, I think this may play out in two different ways: either we'll never really truly find out whether Non made it out alive or we'll never know who the actual killer is. Either way, with the ending of The Hidden Character and coupled with the ending of this movie, I really think we're heading towards the direction where we're going to end up with a rather ambiguous ending. And if Non is confirmed dead, will it be Phee to be the last one standing after having avenged him? If Non's the writer and Phee is the killer, by Non's new storyboard and following Wales' story, he would.

La Madre: Love Never Dies -> Mamá : El Amor De Una Madre Es Para Siempre (2013)

‘Mama’ is a supernatural horror film that follows two young girls, Victoria and Lilly, who disappeared the of their parents' deaths but are later found abandoned in a forest cabin after 5 years have passed. They are taken in by their uncle Lucas and his girlfriend Annabel, but strange occurrences reveal the presence of a malevolent entity they call "Mama." As Annabel struggles to bond with the girls, Mama becomes increasingly possessive and dangerous, threatening their safety. Annabel offers Mama her lost child's remains to soothe Mama's anger but Lily's call interrupts, leading to Mama's return as she attempts to take the girls. Victoria chooses to stay with Annabel, and Mama and Lily fall off a cliff, before becoming spirits that turn into moths. At the end, you see one of the moths land on Victoria, likely showing the Lily would always be with Victoria.

Now at first glance, I thought this was just in reference to Non's tumultuous relationship with his mother, which I'll get to that in another meta, but the more I think about it seems like it parallels the corruption of innocence and the monstrosity found in humanity. In ‘Mama’, the corruption of innocence occurs not only to the children but actually to Mama herself. She becomes a malevolent entity after the loss of her child and becomes obsessed with the sisters in a twisted form of motherly love. Meanwhile, Non's life is irrevocably altered by the actions of the THC gang. They initiate the beginning of Non's life imploding on him. He's rendered a victim of relentless harassment and violence. The psychological and physical trauma that the THC gang put him through eventually breaks him and what little of his sanity that he had left. They destroyed him, intentionally. There’s no true remorse from any one of them, sans (maybe) Jin. Monsters do not always come in the shape of supernatural entities and the THC gang has proven that. They relentlessly tormented Non, manipulated and exploited him for their own gain, while showing little regard for the life that they, quite literally, traded in return for their own success. They may be haunted by te supernatural, hunted by a killer, but they were the first monsters.

"A ghost is an emotion bent out of shape, condemned to repeat itself, time and time again until it rights the wrong that was done." This quote comes directly from the movie and really sums up everything that the THC gang has been living and fearing. Non's movie is has come full circle, it's finally being performed the way he wrote it. There's no more hijacking of his film and changing the ending depending on who is skimming through the script. Instead, who ever is laying out these murders is fixing the changes made and following what Non wanted. And if he gets his way, nobody is going to survive this time around.

Considering the ending once more, it's going to be interesting if the DFF's ending parallels Mama's. If so, who is going to be the hypothetical sacrificial lamb? Will it be Phee? Tan? White? Or, has it been Non this whole time?

Whisper (2007)

Quite frankly, I'm not familiar with this movie at all, but I'm going to do a quick recap from what I could find online. In "Whisper," Max Truemont and his fiancée Roxanne seek a fresh start by opening a diner, but face financial obstacles. Max agrees to join his former partner Sydney in kidnapping 8-year-old David, son of a wealthy woman, for ransom. After the abduction, tensions rise among the group as suspicions emerge, exacerbated by David's ability to manipulate minds. It's revealed that David's mother is the mastermind behind the plot, claiming David is a demon with mind control powers. She urges Max to kill David, but she dies by her own hand when he refuses. Max ultimately kills David, unintentionally causing Roxanne's death in the process.

I think the obvious parallel here is the kidnapping that occurs. Yet, in 'Whisper', trust and betrayal are central to the plot where Max places his trust in Sydney only to betrayed when loyalties are questioned. Meanwhile, Non gets dragged into the movie by Jin, the one who places himself to be the friendliest of the group and is the only one that seems to want to have Non around. Out of everyone, Jin appears to be the closest to Non. Hell, in the present Tee even states that if Non were to visit anyone after disappearing for so long, it would be Jin. But we know that's not true, arguably the biggest betrayal comes from Jin. First, he films him getting sexually assaulted. Second, he lets Non get kidnapped by Tee and Top. Thirdly, he completely lies to the police officer about not knowing what happened to Non and actively frames Non as a promiscuous kid that ran away with his teacher. Jin was actively a bystander to Non's torment. Both narratives highlight the fragility of trust and the consequences of betrayal.

With that, ‘Whisper’ also revolves around the consequences of Max's actions. Max's decision to participate in the kidnapping of David set off a chain of events that screws up his whole life, quite literally causing the death of his fiancée. Here, Non's choice to continuously get involved with the THC gang really was the beginning of an end for him. Same with the decision to repay Por with the mafia's horse accounts... his choice to fix a problem with another problem shaped what little future he had.

Rivarium -> Vivarium (2019)

Again, this is another movie that I had to research. In "Vivarium," the concept of brood parasitism is starkly depicted through the introduction of a cuckoo bird. Gemma and Tom, a young couple, become trapped in a surreal suburban neighborhood called "Yonder" after being led there by a mysterious real estate agent. As they struggle to escape, they discover they are part of an experiment conducted by an otherworldly entity, with a strange child named "The Boy" at the center. Ultimately, the film concludes with The Boy assuming the identity of the dying real estate agent Martin, perpetuating the cycle of captivity and manipulation.

‘Vivarium’ explores the theme of cycles and repetition, as Gemma and Tom find themselves trapped in a seemingly endless loop of confinement and captivity. Despite their repeated attempts to escape, they always return to the same house, number 9, mirroring the cyclical nature of brood parasitism found in nature. Non finds himself in the vicious cycle of abuse and retaliation, where every time that he tries to fix one problem, he gets in another. No matter what he tries to do to dig himself up from his hole, it only leads to further escalation and harm to himself. @lukaherehelp and @fiction-is-queer made good points that in this case, Non is the 'bird' that the 'cuckoos', the THC gang, used for their own benefit. And now that Non is gone, the loop restarts, only now it’s Phee and Tan’s turn to infiltrate the group that has caused Non’s ruin.

The Devil (2010)

Now, this is the only movie poster that is not found in Non's room, but is actually located in Jin's.

‘The Devil’ revolves around five strangers that become trapped in an elevator. As they struggle to escape, it becomes apparent that one among them is the Devil incarnate, manipulating events and tormenting the others with a series of disturbing manifestations. Meanwhile, outside the elevator, a detective investigates the strange occurrences, gradually piecing together the connection between the trapped individuals and the sinister presence haunting the building. As the situation inside the elevator becomes increasingly dire, the characters are forced to confront their darkest secrets and sins, each suspecting the others of being the Devil in disguise. Once they deny their sins, the devil is able to claim their soul. The Devil is unable to claim the last survivor's soul, because Tony confesses and repents for having killed a family in a car accident and fleeing the scene.

This one I find to be incredibly interesting, because I can't help but wonder if this is foreshadowing Jin's journey. To gain forgiveness, you first have to admit your faults. Jin has to first acknowledge the harm he has caused Non, since he constantly postures himself to be the 'nice guy'. Now the question is will he continue to be a coward and deny that he had any part in Non's disappearance, in Non's mental break down, or will he 'confess his sins' and face the consequences of the reality that he helped create?

Final Thoughts

If you read all the way through this... first off, thank you, because this might just be my longest meta.

I might just be reading way too into this show and maybe they just needed movie posters to demonstrate Non's interest in filmmaking, but Be On Cloud is known for paying attention to their minor details. Plus if Non's t-shirts can speak, why not his movie posters? Especially when they gave us such a clean shot of the foreground in today's episode.

Everything beyond The Outlaw Josey Wiles is pure speculation, since there's no exact movie poster that I could find. It’s going to be interesting to see if DFF's ending mirrors any of the endings in the referenced movies.

[trans-axolotl]

can I ask what a harm reduction self harm plan is? I saw you mention that and I've never heard of it before.

Sure! I'm going to put a trigger warning on this post for in depth discussion of self harm and self harm methods--please approach with caution!

A harm reduction plan for dealing with self-harm can look like many different things, but it's basically any plan for coping with self-harm where completely stopping self-harm is not the main goal. A harm reduction approach to self-harm recognizes that self-harm is a coping skill that people start using because it does meet some need, even if it also causes other problems or the benefit begins to get outweighed by the harms. Harm reduction can help you slowly start to work to understand what that underlying need is and work to meet it in other ways, without demonizing you for doing what you need to survive. Harm reduction can be an important way to take care of yourself and make some less risky choices, even if you're in a situation where you're not ready or not capable of stopping self-harming. Everyone's individual needs will look different, but there's several categories that can be good to consider if you're wanting to make a change in how you approach your self-harm.

One category is frequency. When you're actively struggling with self-harm, it can become really addictive. A harm reduction self-harm goal around frequency might look like making a goal for reducing how many times you self-harm per day, week, or month. Instead of traditional coping plans for self-harm where any instance of self-harm is seen as a relapse and might bring up feelings of failure, goals about reducing the frequency of self-harm might allow you to achieve positive changes that you feel good about, even if you're not stopping completely. For some people, it might help ease into doing healing work that requires a lot of emotional energy and processing, as you will still know that you have access to old coping skills and might not feel as bad about still being in a position where you're using them. It also might help you continue to feel committed to healing when relapses do happen, instead of seeing relapses as a catastrophic moment where if you're going to break your streak of days clean, you get into a "fuck everything" mindset and use riskier behaviors.

Another category is severity. We might not be ready to give up self-harm completely, but reducing the severity of the self-harm method we use might feel like a more accessible way to reduce the risk and take care of ourselves. This can look like making the effort to make more shallow cuts instead of deeper ones, less severe burns, or banging our heads on a surface that is softer. This can also look like switching from a more dangerous method of self-harm to a less dangerous form of self-harm. Even things like snapping a rubber band against your wrist instead of cutting could be considered a harm reduction approach to self-harm!

Another category that I like to focus on is environment. This is sort of a broader category that I like to use to focus on what other types of risk-reducing behaviors you can take. This can look like making sure that you always clean and sanitize your blades, that you have appropriate first aid materials and take care of wounds, that you only self-harm while sober, that you make sure the physical space you self harm in is clean and sanitized, that you tell a support person when you self harm or let someone else help with wound care--any of these things are things that could reduce some of the harms of self-harm. This could also look like setting up intentional self-care practices to use after you self-harm, whether it's sensory items, journalling, cuddling with an animal, using therapy coping skills, or distracting yourself.

A harm reduction approach to self-harm doesn't have to be restricted to the things I've listed above, and also can include goals about completely stopping self-harm! If you're in a place where you feel ready to stop completely, harm reduction might still be an helpful framework for considering how you want to engage with your self-harm urges and help you understand what path towards stopping self-harm feels most easily accessible.

I'll share what my personal harm reduction plan looks like. At different times during my life, my harm reduction plans used to be a lot more focused on reducing frequency and severity while still leaving room for regular self-harm. Now, my plan is with the goal of not using self-harm. However, if I do end up in a situation where I am using self-harm, my harm reduction informed goals are that: I use clean supplies. I self-harm indoors while sober. If I'm getting urges for a much more dangerous form of self-harm, I will let myself use cutting as a less risky form of self-harm. I practice safe wound care and leave a certain amount of time for those wounds to heal before self-harming in the same place again. If I self-harm more than once in a week, I let a support person know and ask for help with accountability.

My advice for anyone who's interested in taking a harm reduction approach to their self-harm is to embrace education and self-inquiry. Education about things like safer cutting and burning, anatomy, and wound care are really important so that you can actually know the risks and know what steps you can take to make things safer. I think self inquiry is also a good step to take when you're making any sort of coping plan. Really looking at your individual situation and figuring out what things seem the most achievable, what role self-harm is playing in your life, what triggers are connected to your self-harm, how you feel before and after you self-harm, how you want to feel, what parts of self-harm feel helpful and what parts you don't like. This can be a great thing to do with a support person if you have someone who you feel like can help you process this and give their perspective.

Here's a link to a google drive folder full of zines and workbooks about self-harm harm reduction. Trigger warning for continued discussion of self-harm, self-harm methods, anatomy, some mentions of suicidal ideation, and a photo of self-harm scars in the Icarus project zine.

Last thing I'll say is that it's okay to start small and give yourself the compassion to embrace where you're at. If reducing the frequency seems too hard right now, trying to always use clean blades is an amazing step! If changing anything about the way you self harm doesn't feel achievable, adding emotional self care into your self harm routine is still a win. If you never get to a place where you feel ready to stop completely, that's okay too--any and all steps you're taking to reduce the risk are so important and are worthy of celebrating.

Feel free to ask any other questions!

[badathumanemotions]

Release

Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader MDNI Category: Smut CW: Fingering, Oral (fem), Nipple Play, Squirting, Scissoring WC: 5,043 Emily catches on that Y/N is sexually frustrated and shoots her shot. (Not Proof Read) Master List

"You know, Y/N," Emily Prentiss said, her eyes locking onto her colleague's over the rim of her coffee mug, "you've been looking stressed lately."

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it sounded genuine. "It's just work," she replied, trying to wave off the concern. But Emily wasn't buying it.

"It's more than that," Emily said, her voice a gentle challenge. "You're wound tighter than a drum. And if I know one thing about you, it's that you need to let off some steam."

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. She had been feeling the tension build up inside her, like a pressure cooker with no release valve. Her personal life was a desert of unfulfilled desires, and the long hours at the BAU weren't helping. But she had never expected Emily to be the one to bring it up, let alone offer a solution that was so… intimate.

Emily set her mug down with a soft clink on the table. "Look, I've been there," she said, her voice low and understanding. "Sometimes, you just need someone to take the edge off."

Y/N's heart raced. She had always found Emily attractive, with her sharp features and commanding presence. The thought of Emily in that way, touching her, made Y/N's pulse quicken.

"What are you suggesting?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Emily leaned in closer, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I'm suggesting that I could help you with that," she said, her eyes darkening with desire. "If you want, of course."

Y/N's eyes widened, and she felt a surge of excitement and nervousness. She had fantasized about Emily before, but never thought it would go beyond her daydreams. "I-I don't know," she stuttered, trying to gather her thoughts.

Emily's smile grew. "It's just an offer," she said, placing a comforting hand on Y/N's arm. "But I can tell you this, if you say yes, you won't regret it."

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes searching Emily's for any signs of doubt. But all she saw was confidence and a spark of something else, something that made her want to say yes. "Okay," she finally murmured.

Emily's smile grew into a grin. "Good choice," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "I promise, I'll take good care of you."

The following evening, Y/N found herself at Emily's apartment, her nerves sparking like a live wire. The apartment was dimly lit, candles casting flickering shadows across the walls. The scent of vanilla filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of Emily's perfume.

"Are you sure about this?" Emily asked, her voice soothing, as she led Y/N into the living room.

Y/N nodded, her throat dry. "Yes," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. She was sure, or at least she thought she was. The anticipation was both thrilling and terrifying.

Emily stepped closer, and Y/N could feel the heat radiating from her body. "Good," she said, her eyes travelling down to Y/N's lips. "Because I've been thinking about this for a while."

Without waiting for a response, Emily leaned in and kissed her, her lips soft and insistent. Y/N's breath hitched as she melted into the kiss, feeling a rush of desire that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. The world outside the apartment walls faded away, leaving only the two of them in the warm embrace of the candlelit room.

Emily's hand slid up Y/N's arm, and she could feel the heat of her touch through the fabric of her shirt. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues exploring each other with an urgency that surprised Y/N. She had never felt this way before, not even with anyone she had dated. There was something about Emily's confidence, her dominance, that made Y/N feel both safe and incredibly aroused.

Breaking the kiss, Emily stepped back and took Y/N's hand, leading her to the bedroom. The room was just as dimly lit as the rest of the apartment, with soft music playing in the background. Y/N's heart hammered in her chest as she took in the sight of the large, inviting bed, the silk sheets thrown back in invitation.

Emily turned to face her, her eyes searching Y/N's for any sign of hesitation. "You can stop this at any time," she said, her voice a gentle murmur. "But if you're in, I promise you, it'll be worth it."

Y/N swallowed hard, her hand trembling slightly in Emily's firm grip. "I'm in," she said, her voice firm despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Emily's smile was all the encouragement she needed. She pulled Y/N closer, and their bodies pressed together, the friction sending sparks of desire through Y/N's core. Their kiss grew more urgent, and Y/N felt her knees weaken as Emily's hands began to roam over her body, tracing the lines of her waist and hips before moving up to cup her breasts.

Emily's thumbs circled Y/N's erect nipples through the fabric of her shirt, teasing them to hard peaks. Y/N gasped into the kiss, her hands moving to Emily's shoulders, then up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer. Emily's touch was firm but gentle, a stark contrast to the way she usually commanded a room, and it only served to make Y/N want more.

Guiding Y/N to the bed, Emily sat her down and knelt before her, her eyes never leaving hers. She deftly unbuttoned Y/N's shirt, revealing a black bra that barely contained her breasts. Y/N watched, her breath ragged, as Emily traced the edge of the fabric with her fingertips before reaching around to unclasp it. The bra fell away, and Emily's eyes widened in appreciation at the sight of her bare skin.

Y/N's heart raced as Emily leaned in, her hot breath ghosting over her nipples before she took one into her mouth, sucking gently. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she couldn't help but arch into the touch. Emily's teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and Y/N's grip tightened on her hair.

Emily's hands moved to Y/N's pants, unbuckling her belt with a practiced ease that spoke of experience. Y/N's breathing grew shallower as Emily unzipped her pants and slid her hand inside, finding the dampness that had pooled between her thighs. The touch was electric, and she let out a soft moan.

Emily's eyes glinted with satisfaction as she felt the wetness of Y/N's arousal. She stroked her gently through the fabric of her underwear, teasing her clit with the pad of her thumb. Y/N's hips bucked, and she couldn't hold back a gasp of pleasure.

"You're so responsive," Emily murmured, her voice a low purr of approval. "It's like your body has been waiting for this."

Y/N could only nod, her eyes fluttering shut as Emily's skilled hands continued to coax pleasure from her. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet she had never felt more alive. The way Emily touched her, the way she knew exactly where to touch, was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Emily's hand slipped beneath the elastic of Y/N's underwear, her fingertips gliding over the slick folds of her sex. Y/N's hips jerked in response, and she couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips. Emily's touch was gentle but insistent, her fingertips exploring every inch of her, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

Y/N's eyes snapped open as Emily's thumb began to circle her clit, the pressure building until it was almost unbearable. "Emily," she moaned, her voice thick with need.

Emily looked up at her, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Do you like that?" she asked, her voice a low, seductive whisper.

"Yes," Y/N breathed, her eyes wide with passion. "Don't stop."

Emily's smile grew, and she applied more pressure, her thumb moving in a steady rhythm that had Y/N's hips rocking against her hand. Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out too loudly. The tension inside her was coiling tighter and tighter, and she knew she was close to the edge.

Emily's other hand moved to Y/N's thigh, her fingers digging into the soft flesh as she applied more pressure to her clit. Y/N's legs began to shake, and she wrapped them around Emily's waist, pulling her closer, needing more of her touch. Emily's eyes never left hers, the connection between them as intense as the sensations building within her.

The pressure grew until Y/N felt like she was going to break apart. Then, with a cry that was half pleasure and half relief, she came, her body spasming under Emily's skilled touch. Emily didn't stop, though, riding the wave with her, her thumb still moving in slow circles as Y/N's orgasm washed over her.

As the tremors subsided, Y/N collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving. Emily sat back on her heels, her eyes never leaving Y/N's face. "How was that?" she asked, a hint of smugness in her voice.

Y/N could only nod, unable to form coherent words. The intensity of the orgasm had left her speechless. Emily chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent another shiver down Y/N's spine. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's face, her touch gentle.

"I take it that was what you needed," she said, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Y/N nodded, her breath still coming in gasps. "More than I ever knew," she managed to murmur.

Emily's smile grew as she leaned in to kiss her again, her hand still resting between Y/N's legs, her thumb idly stroking the sensitive flesh. "Good," she whispered against her lips. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

Y/N's eyes widened, and she realized with a start that she didn't want Emily to stop. She wanted more, needed more of this overwhelming sensation of being wanted, of being taken care of in such a primal, intense way. She kissed Emily back with renewed fervor, her hands moving to unbutton the other woman's shirt, eager to feel her bare skin against her own.

Emily's eyes darkened with lust as Y/N's shaking fingers worked the buttons, revealing a black lace bra that perfectly matched her own. Emily shrugged out of her shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and Y/N reached out to trace the line of her collarbone, her touch feather-light. Emily leaned into the caress, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

Y/N's curiosity grew as she explored Emily's body, her touch growing bolder. She slid her hand down Emily's stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her fingertips. Emily's breasts were full and firm, and Y/N couldn't resist the urge to lean in and kiss one, her tongue flicking out to taste the sweet skin. Emily groaned, her hand sliding down to cup the back of Y/N's head, holding her in place.

Their kisses grew more frantic as Y/N's hand found the clasp of Emily's bra. With trembling fingers, she released it, and the garment fell away, revealing her bare breasts. Y/N took one in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the nipple, eliciting a moan from Emily. She sucked and teased, feeling Emily's body respond to her touch.

Emily's hand slid down to Y/N's pants, her own urgency growing as she felt the heat of Y/N's desire. She tugged at the fabric, urging her to remove them. Y/N complied, lifting her hips to allow the pants to slide down her legs, leaving her in just her panties. Emily's eyes trailed down her body, taking in the sight of her in the soft light.

The black panties were damp with Y/N's arousal, and Emily's own desire spiked at the sight. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly began to pull them down, her eyes never leaving Y/N's. Y/N's legs trembled as the fabric slid over her hips, revealing her sex to the cool air. Emily took a moment to appreciate the view before pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of Y/N's thigh, making her gasp.

"You're so beautiful," Emily murmured, her voice thick with lust. She kissed her way up Y/N's thigh, her tongue tracing the sensitive skin until she reached the juncture of her thighs. Y/N's breath hitched, and she spread her legs wider, inviting Emily in.

Emily took the invitation, her hands sliding under Y/N's ass to lift her slightly. With a quick flick of her thumbs, she hooked the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, exposing her to the cool air. Y/N's eyes closed as Emily's hot breath hit her, and she felt a jolt of anticipation.

Emily's mouth was a sweet pressure on her, kissing and licking along the outside of her sex before moving to her inner thighs. Y/N's hips jerked, and she moaned Emily's name, desperate for more. Emily took her time, teasing and exploring until Y/N was panting with need.

When Emily finally pressed her tongue to Y/N's clit, it was a jolting sensation that had Y/N's back arching off the bed. Emily's mouth was hot and wet, and she knew exactly how to apply the right amount of pressure to drive Y/N wild. Her tongue flicked and swirled, and Y/N's hands tightened in the sheets, her body tensing with every stroke.

Y/N's breathing grew ragged as Emily's mouth moved lower, her tongue delving into her folds, tasting her sweetness. Y/N's hips rocked in response, seeking more of that exquisite sensation. Emily's hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as she continued her exploration, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin lightly, making Y/N squirm.

The sounds of their passion filled the room—the wetness of Emily's tongue against her flesh, the soft gasps and moans that Y/N couldn't hold back. Y/N's body was on fire, and she felt as though she was going to shatter under the onslaught of pleasure. Emily's touch was like nothing she had ever felt before, and she knew she was falling hard for the woman who was making her feel this way.

As Emily's tongue danced over her clit, Y/N's body grew taut with need. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly, the pressure building as Emily's movements grew more insistent. Her eyes opened, and she watched as Emily's head moved between her legs, her eyes closed in concentration. The sight was almost too much to bear, and Y/N's hands found their way into Emily's hair, holding her in place.

Emily slid a finger inside her, and Y/N's hips bucked upwards. The feeling was exquisite, and she never wanted it to end. Emily's finger moved in and out, setting a rhythm that had Y/N's body responding in kind. She added a second, and Y/N's breath hitched as she felt herself stretch around the new intrusion. It was a sensation she had never felt before, and it was intoxicating.

Emily's tongue never ceased its dance on her clit, and she felt her body tense as she approached climax. But just as she was about to fall over the edge, Emily slowed, pulling away slightly. Y/N whimpered in protest, but Emily just smiled up at her, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Patience," she murmured, before diving back in. This time, she slid a finger inside her, and Y/N felt something different—a spot within her that sent a jolt of pleasure through her body. It was like a button had been pushed that no one had ever found before. Emily's touch was unyielding, stroking that spot with a precision that left Y/N's eyes rolling back in her head.

The feeling grew, a crescendo of pleasure building deep within her core. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was tuned to Emily's touch, and she was powerless to resist the wave that was rising. Y/N's hips began to rock in time with Emily's movements, her body begging for more.

And then it hit her, a climax so intense it was almost painful, and she came hard against Emily's face, her muscles contracting around the invading digits. She cried out, her body shaking with the force of her release, and Emily didn't stop, her tongue still flicking against her clit as she rode out the orgasm. Y/N's vision swam, stars exploding behind her eyelids, and she felt as though she was floating above the bed, weightless and free.

But Emily wasn't done with her yet. She kept licking, her touch feather-light, the over stimulation sending aftershocks through Y/N's body. Y/N's legs tightened around her head, trying to push her away, but Emily was relentless, her mouth working Y/N's clit with a precision that had Y/N's toes curling. "Emily" she gasped, her voice a desperate plea, but her body was already responding, the pleasure building again despite her protests.

Emily chuckled, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation through Y/N's core. "You're so sensitive," she murmured, her voice a warm rumble against Y/N's thigh. "But you can take it, I know you can."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, her body still quaking from the aftermath of her first orgasm. Emily's tongue was unrelenting, continuing to flick and tease her clit, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her. She squirmed under the relentless onslaught, her body already beginning to coil tightly again.

This time, though, something felt different. Emily's touch grew more deliberate, her strokes more focused. Y/N felt something building deep within her, something she had never felt before. It was as though every nerve in her body was converging on a single point, a pressure building that was both exquisite and unbearable.

Emily's tongue moved faster, pressing harder against her clit, and Y/N felt her body tighten even further. Suddenly, with a force that took her breath away, she felt a spasm of pleasure so intense it was almost painful, and she squirted, the warm liquid spilling out of her and onto the bed. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she cried out, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Emily's eyes widened in surprise before a look of pure triumph spread across her face. She had pushed Y/N to a new level of pleasure, and the satisfaction was clear in her gaze. She didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck, savoring the taste of her release. Y/N's legs tightened around her head, and she could feel the orgasm still rolling through her, her body spasming with each stroke of Emily's tongue.

Finally, when Y/N's body had stilled, Emily pulled back, licking her lips. "Good girl," she murmured, a hint of pride in her voice. Y/N lay there, panting and trembling, her body still reeling from the intensity of the experience. Emily kissed her way back up Y/N's body, her hands smoothing over the damp skin.

Y/N opened her eyes to find Emily hovering over her, her own chest heaving with the exertion. The desire in her eyes was unmistakable, and Y/N felt a new urgency within herself. She reached up and pulled Emily down for a kiss, tasting herself on the other woman's lips. The kiss grew more passionate, and Y/N could feel Emily's arousal pressing against her.

Breaking the kiss, Y/N whispered, "It's your turn." She pushed Emily onto her back and straddled her, feeling the heat of her desire pulsing through her own body. Emily's eyes darkened with need, and she nodded, her hands sliding up Y/N's thighs.

Y/N leaned down to kiss Emily's neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp. She could feel the throb of Emily's pulse beneath her lips, and it only made her more eager to explore. Her hands moved to unbutton Emily's pants, and she felt the other woman's hips lift to assist her. The fabric parted, revealing black lace panties that matched her own.

With a smirk, Y/N slipped her hand inside, her fingers finding Emily's clit already swollen and begging for attention. Emily's eyes rolled back in her head as Y/N began to stroke her, mimicking the rhythm that had brought her to orgasm just moments before. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the slickness of skin on skin.

Y/N's movements grew bolder, her curiosity driving her to explore every inch of Emily's body. She slid her hand down to trace the line of her hip, her thumb slipping beneath the waistband of the damp panties. Emily's hips rolled upward, urging her on, and Y/N took the hint, sliding the fabric down her legs. Emily's sex was bare, and Y/N couldn't help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of her.

Without another word, Y/N dived in, her tongue eagerly lapping at Emily's pussy. She had never felt more alive, more in the moment than she did right now, with the taste of Emily on her tongue and the sound of her moans filling the air. She explored with reckless abandon, driven by a desire to give back the pleasure she had just received.

Emily's hands tangled in Y/N's hair, guiding her movements as she grew more and more lost in the sensation. Her legs fell open wider, giving Y/N full access to her body, and she couldn't help but push up into the other woman's mouth, desperate for more.

Y/N took her time, savoring every moment of this newfound intimacy. She had always been attracted to Emily, but she had never allowed herself to act on it, never dreamed it could be like this. Her tongue slid along Emily's slit, tasting her sweetness, feeling the muscles of her thighs tense around her head. Emily's moans grew louder, her body shaking with each pass of Y/N's tongue.

Emily's fingers tightened in Y/N's hair, guiding her to the spot that made her see stars. Y/N focused her attention there, her tongue flicking rapidly, feeling Emily's arousal build until she was sure she could come at any moment. But she held back, enjoying the power she had over her, the way Emily's body responded to her touch.

With a sudden jolt, Emily's hips bucked upward, and she let out a keening cry as she climaxed, her body tightening around Y/N's face. Y/N continued to lick and suck, drawing out the orgasm until Emily's grip loosened and she collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily.

Y/N looked up at her, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "How was that?" she asked, her voice a smoky whisper.

Emily's eyes were still closed, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "Incredible," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Y/N kissed her way up Emily's body, her lips tracing a line from her thighs to her navel, her teeth scraping gently against the soft skin. Emily's body quivered with pleasure, and she could feel the heat radiating from her core. When Y/N reached her breasts, she took one nipple into her mouth, sucking gently before flicking it with her tongue. Emily's back arched, and she moaned, her hands moving to Y/N's shoulders to keep her close.

Y/N's teeth grazed Emily's other nipple, and she felt the other woman's breath hitch. She knew she had found a sensitive spot and took full advantage, teasing and nipping until Emily's moans grew louder. Her own arousal was building again, and she could feel her clit pulsing with need.

With a seductive smile, Y/N sat back on her heels, her eyes never leaving Emily's. "Ready for more?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Emily's eyes snapped open, and she nodded, her chest still heaving from her orgasm. She watched as Y/N slid off the bed and stood, her own body feeling alive with anticipation. Y/N stepped closer, and Emily felt a thrill as she realized what was about to happen.

They positioned themselves on the bed, legs intertwining as they slot together. The sight of their bodies, both flushed and glistening with sweat, was almost too much for Emily to handle. Y/N's thighs pressed against hers, and she could feel the heat of the other woman's desire. Their eyes locked, and Emily felt a jolt of arousal as she realized that she was the one in control this time. Emily's gaze travelled down Y/N's body, taking in every inch of her, from the swollen lips of her sex to the peaked nipples of her breasts.

With a growl of desire, Emily reached down and wrapped her hand around Y/N's thigh, pulling her closer. They rolled their hips together, the glide of their wetness sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. The sensation of Emily's slickness against her own was intoxicating, and she couldn't help but arch at the feeling.

Their bodies moved in a frantic dance, hips thrusting and grinding together as they sought more contact, more heat. Emily's hand slid up to cup Y/N's ass, guiding her movements, setting a rhythm that had them both panting and gasping for air. The room was filled with the slick sound of their skin moving against each other, a symphony of passion that seemed to echo in the walls.

Emily leaned in, her breath hot against Y/N's ear. "You're so fucking wet for me," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I can feel how much you want this."

Y/N shivered, her breath hitching at the dirty talk. "I do," she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I want you so badly."

Emily's eyes darkened, and she leaned in closer, her mouth against Y/N's ear. "Tell me," she demanded, her voice a seductive growl. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

Y/N's breath hitched, and she felt a fresh wave of arousal wash over her at the raw, explicit words. She had never been talked to like this before, and it was exhilarating. "I want it," she managed to say, her voice trembling with need. "I want you to fuck me, Emily."

Emily's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the admission. "Good," she murmured.

Their clits slid together, making obscene wet noises that filled the room, each movement bringing them closer to the edge. Y/N's hips rolled in a silent plea for more, and Emily responded by pressing harder, the friction delicious. The air grew thick with the scent of arousal, their breaths mingling as they both chased the peak of pleasure.

Emily reached up to pinch Y/N's nipples, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger, making Y/N's back arch off the bed. The painful pleasure sent bolts of electricity straight to her core, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Emily felt the pressure building within her, the sweet friction of their bodies driving her closer and closer to the edge. With a guttural moan, she came, her body spasming with the force of her orgasm. Y/N felt the hot rush of Emily's release against her, and it sent her own climax crashing over her.

They collapsed against each other, panting and trembling, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. Emily's hand remained on Y/N's ass, her grip loosening slightly as she fought to catch her breath. Y/N's head fell to Emily's shoulder, her heart racing in her chest.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the heavy thud of their hearts. Then, Emily leaned in and kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of the connection they had just forged. Y/N melted into it, feeling something new and terrifyingly beautiful blooming within her.

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Emily's hand slid up Y/N's back, her fingertips tracing patterns on the damp skin. "You're amazing," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her own cries of pleasure.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, meeting Emily's gaze. "So are you," she replied, her voice just as shaky. She couldn't believe what had just happened between them—how intense and raw it had been. It was nothing like she had ever experienced before.

They lay there, their hearts slowly returning to normal, the tension in the room morphing into something softer, more intimate. Y/N's hand slid up to Emily's neck, her thumb ghosting over the pulse point. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," she admitted, her voice a whisper.

Emily's eyes searched hers, seeing the raw honesty in the depths of her gaze. "Why didn't you?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability.

Y/N took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the exertion of their passionate encounter. "I didn't know if you felt the same way," she confessed, her voice low and filled with emotion. "And I didn't want to risk our friendship, or our working relationship."

Emily nodded, understanding the gravity of what they had just done. But as she lay there, feeling the warmth of Y/N's body against hers, she knew that she had never felt more alive. "I've felt this way for a while too," she admitted, her voice filled with a hint of wonder. "But I didn't know how to tell you."

They shared a look that spoke volumes, their eyes locked in a silent conversation filled with desire and the beginnings of something deeper. Slowly, Y/N leaned in, capturing Emily's mouth in a gentle kiss that seemed to hold all the promise of the future.

[iamafictionfreak]

TIS THE SEASON TO BE MERTHUR!

Just... Look at them!

I miss everything about this show. Even the very bad CGI and the weak-ass plot points/armour/conveniences/contrivances.

One Christmas Eve, almost 11 years ago, the entire Merlin fandom was butchered into tiny little distraught pieces. It didn’t matter if your favourite character was Merlin or Morgana, Gaius or Gwen. The showrunners held no qualms in destroying your dreams for Gwaine or Perce. The writers did not hold back in their aim to crucify the smile on your face, to forever turn it upside down. No ship was spared. All hopes for the show to finally commit to their original intent, to bring peace between peoples, to save Albion, to allow Merlin his freedom and Arthur the truth, was brought to a bitter, fatalistic end.

Not that I need to repeat this to you, you know what happened, but it’s worth reiterating that this travesty occurred… on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS. EVE.

Christmas Eve.

The night before Christmas, the night before the day where all rules are broken and we can frolic like children around a decorated tree filled with twinkling lights, our collective hearts were shredded.

This event (once we recovered a tiny bit from the shock) gave birth to a plethora of astonishingly well written, poignant, devastating, hilarious fanfictions that had helped nurse our wounds, for nothing could TRULY heal (except a follow-up season with the original characters, come ON BBC) us.

After nearly 11 years of watching these brilliant entries grow, I never thought I’d jump on this bandwagon and write my own fic.

But I've had a few very shit years, as have many people around the world, and I started to wonder as we do when we want to prove magic can still happen.

My brain decided that it wanted my hands to write the most indulgent, likely over done fic in existence for the fandom. This thought stuck with me throughout the year – I was being STALKED by myself – and wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. This hasn’t happened in a long while.

Still… you’ll eyeroll at the idea. It's so OBVIOUS, I'm embarrassed by myself.

What if Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic from the get-go, from episode 1?

WAIT. Hear me out…

So, Merlin saves Arthur for the first time and Arthur SEES. He sees his eyes glow.

He knows he should tell his father, but his instincts are screaming at him. Honour is at stake. This stranger saved his life. How could he reward it with an execution? So, a chance needs to be given, doesn’t it? A chance for Merlin to give up magic forever and live a life of goodness, to turn away from evil and serve Arthur…

Except Arthur can’t help but wonder. About Magic, about Merlin and magic, about the law and all the whys attached and his place within this chain.

But he also can’t trust this peasant who cavorts with the devil, practices wickedness but smiles like a child and offers compassion to everyone. Someone so duplicitous must be dangerous… except Merlin’s an actual idiot! And it’s getting really difficult to keep his guard up.

But isn’t that how sorcerers work? They twist the mind with pleasing ideas, they tempt and coerce, they manipulate.

And slowly, Arthur finds himself being manipulated too. For how could he ever want to trust this man- but he does. He does.

And we’ve never been allowed to see Merlin deal with a S1 Arthur who’s in the ‘know’. Who’s forcing him to keep it secret, who’s threatening him with trial by fire, a young Arthur who’s ignorant, arrogant and so desperate to understand what he cannot trust.

Then there's the layers, royalty versus peasantry, friendship versus alliances, goals versus ideals.

I want to write a fic where this trust is built from the ground up. One of the things about the show that made it impossible for me to let it go is that the ‘relationship’ between Arthur and Merlin fits exactly zero categories, yet all of them.

Master and servant.

Friends

Family

Allies

Enemies

Romantic ideals

Platonic soulmates

Absolute Soulmates

I could go on. And it's one of those rare shows where the writing would be given more oomph if the males leads had dared cross a line or two.

Realistically, they weren't even friends. They were master and servant who'd become a little co-dependant. Arthur could never admit to anything more because of his station, but would he have been able to being completely himself around Merlin if he'd known the truth? We never see Arthur truly be himself. He wasn't allowed to be, not even with his wife. There was always a wall - it was how he was raised and any attempt to develop was killed by plot.

We never saw Merlin completely free, not with a single person. He started happy and healthy and innocent. A liar. He ended up bitter and terrified and angry and alone. Still a liar.

What would he have become if there'd been one person he could truly trust- not Gaius. Not a man already broken and brainwashed by his own self. A victim of the system just as much as he perpetuated the hate and completely unaware of the trap he lived in.

Many of the characters in the show have the versatility and potential to be written a trillion different ways, is it any wonder that fics continue to be written?

Well, I wanted to explore a slow burn development of trust, with Arthur learning how wrong he was, how much he’s trampled on, and all about the seemingly normal peasant boy who meant more to the world than Arthur could possibly understand. What would they have become if they’d been given the time, hm?

When they were young - yes, I'm going there - wild and free.

What of Morgana, what if she could have trusted? What if she could have understood? Would it have turned out differently? Would she have still become the other side of Uther's coin?

Would Merlin still have ended up alone?

There’s lots more I wanted to touch upon, it’s a big what if, but that’ll have to wait for another post.

I’m writing a 5 part prologue that occurs between episode 1 and 2. I’m hoping to release it for Christmas and then take the time to write the rest of the season.

Unless… you guys think it’s a waste of time? Let me know.

In the meantime, I’m STILL SUFFERING (fucking show) and it's making me write, write, write!

(gifs not mine)

[phyrexian-phucker]

Phyrexian Sexuality, Receptiveness, and Virginity

For a while I've been developing a headcanon system about the way virginity and sexual roles play out with Phyrexians, considering the fact that their oil is both reproductive and mnemonic. (I say "sexual," but that's not the most accurate word. What Phyrexians have going on is much more layered than that. Pun not intended.)

In short, a Phyrexian is said to lose their virginity when their oil goes inside someone else for the first time. In the context of infecting or compleating a non-Phyrexian, this is a reproductive act. With other Phyrexians, it's (usually) a vulnerable act of information exchange, offering the liquid essence of one's memory and being to be taken in by another, to become One. Oil transmits memories, and the donor is almost never in control of what gets transferred.

This dynamic gets reversed, though, when it comes to a higher-ranked, more powerful, or otherwise more mnemonically forceful Phyrexian putting their oil in a (perceived) subordinate. (For example: praetors or skilled ichor mages.) In that case it can be viewed as an act of dominance, injecting one's own worldview into another. So the dominance/submission significance of giving oil varies based on the relative perceived power of the individuals involved:

Between Phyrexians who are equals, the one who gives is seen as placing themselves in a position of vulnerability.

From a more powerful Phyrexian to a less powerful one, or from a Phyrexian to a non-Phyrexian, the one who gives is seen as dominant, imposing their will onto another and possibly altering the receiver's mind.

Either way, the connotation of having lost or further given up one's virginity is only applied to the giver.

Note that "giving" isn't confined to acts humans would consider sexual. For example, it could be...

Fucking someone else with a penetrative organ and ejaculating oil inside them. The first thing humans typically think of in sexual terms.

Injection.

Receiving oral.

Allowing someone to bite them, or drink from an open wound.

Giving a transfusion.

Flesh-fusing.

Way more esoteric sex acts made possible by the infinite variations of Phyrexian bodies.

(There are things that technically count as putting oil in someone else, like being bitten by a monster or splashing it on someone's skin, but I don't think that counts--it's not a deliberate, intentional interaction with the intent of exchange, and it doesn't transfer enough oil to have noticeable effects.)

In many situations, multiple individuals could also be considered giving (and also receiving), as oil exchange is often reciprocal. It's not that one person must fit each binary category.

These are of course just my ideas of the dominant cultural view, informed by all of Phyrexian society's norms and biases. The reality would be as complicated and impossible to generalize as with humans. Imagine a thriving Phyrexian kink scene playing with these dynamics.

[brigdh]

I was thinking about Izzy as a father figure, and his apology during his death scene, and trying to make it all make sense, and I've got a theory.

I think, perhaps, Jenkins wanted Izzy to symbolize the Good Father, in contrast to Ed's Bad Fathers (his actual dad and Hornigold).

Jenkins's exact quotes: “There is a nice parallel to have Ed treat him so badly at the beginning of the season and then come all the way around to where Izzy is this sort of father figure he doesn’t want to lose — because Ed usually kills his father figures.” And from another interview: "And he’s one person who kind of raised Ed right, because Blackbeard usually kills his parental figures." (Check this incredibly useful post compiling all of Jenkins's interviews.)

I think Izzy wasn't meant to parallel Ed's Bad Fathers, but to be their opposite. Ed kills his Bad Fathers (I don't think there's a suggestion that he killed Hornigold in reality, but we see him try to in the Gravy Basket); in opposition, his attempt to kill Izzy fails and then he tries to prevent Izzy's death and mourns when he can't. Ed's Bad Fathers abuse him and force him to be violent and hard; Izzy (over the course of S2) comes to support him, his retirement, and his relationship with Stede. Ed's Bad Fathers would never apologize to him – but Izzy does, and that's what's going on with his dying speech. Moreso than being about Izzy's own actions, Jenkins wanted to symbolize Ed's dad and Hornigold apologizing for the trauma they caused ("I fed your darkness"), and that's what Ed actually needs to heal and move on (well, he does in a sitcom-level understanding of psychology). Izzy's death, then, is a redemption not particularly of himself, but of Ed's whole category of Fathers.

This still isn't really fair to Izzy as a separate character – after all, he's not Ed's dad or Hornigold, he's possibly never even met either of them – and he doesn't function as a father figure to Ed in S1 or most of S2. Ed's his boss, his partner, but not remotely, not even symbolically, his child. We don't know exactly how young Izzy and Ed were when they first met, but it seems likely that Ed already had all of his foundational, self-shaping traumas by that point. Ed already needed the mask and protection of Blackbeard, even if perhaps Izzy had a hand in figuring out how to bring it into existence.

But, if you're Jenkins (or one of the other writers or directors involved, whoever came up with this plot), and you feel like you need to fix Ed's youthful traumas to have him believably move forward to the next chapter of the story, I can see how you'd want a story beat that's the opposite of Ed's core wound – not the Bad Father he kills thereby hurting himself, but the Good Father who dies thereby healing him. And who else could you remotely stuff into that role? Like, Izzy's not a good fit, but anyone else would be even worse. The fact that Izzy did have a good relationship with Ed in the past, that they did like one another once, and that Izzy spends S2 becoming even more open and encouraging is all necessary to make the distinction between Izzy and the Bad Fathers, to make Izzy the one who finally breaks the pattern.

...which still, like, kinda sucks as a plot point? But I think this might have been what Jenkins et al where at least going for.

[whitedahlia13]

Bestie give us some stydia rec( in like a alternative universe please

I haven't read a lot of Stydia AUs, but the ones I have read have been incredible. The kind you want to read and immediately reread.

.

Cold Bones. Yeah, That's My Love. by my friend, @kylermalloy. This one left me shook. It's delightfully dark with moments of Stydia so soft you will melt. Read. Enjoy. Cry. (Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Twenty Minutes; Cross My Heart Not exactly an AU, but this alternative 3b fic heals so many wounds.

Also, from one end to the other, which puts a completely different spin on post-3b Stydia. Found this on one of my deep dives into the Stydia category, and I was blown away. The fic I never knew I needed in my life. It's... It's... Just read it!

If you're looking for a fix-it for the movie that does not exist, I highly recommend Just Say You Won't Let Go, which happens to be by another of my awesome friends, @yourenotdonefighting. It's perfection. Proof positive that fanfic writers understand Stiles and Lydia better than their creator.

And, in case I haven't been plugging it enough 😉 I'm currently posting a (not-so) little fic called, That's Where You'll Find Me. It's a post 5x16 Teen Wolf/Wizard of Oz AU. I've been working on this one for years, and I'd really love it if you would come along for the ride. The first eight chapters are already up. Chapter 9 drops this Sunday.