#SHE NEEDS TO BE LESS LONELY SO BAD SHES DESPERATE FOR CONNECTION

[yb-cringe]

“i know im not doing the right things. or trusting the right people. i want to do the right things and trust the right people. but its hard when emotions get in the way”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Foresight (Daemon Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: The only time modern reader actually uses her intuition and hits the nail right on the head. 

Warnings: I barely know by now. Smut. Fingering.  Oral sex (F receiving) Non-con/ Dub con. I mean, reader consents, but you have read this series. Pregnancy. 

A/N: And… It’s a wrap, folks! My first series. Think of this as the epilogue. As always, you can shout at me in my asks. 

Previous parts here.

There is a certain irony in this, you think. You were once someone of no importance in a world filled with millions of people. Then, you were a servant in the Middle Ages. Now, you are a Lady of a noble house, married to a Prince. 

Yet, it’s the first time you are held in such a way. A slightly longer chain than the one for your wrists connects your ankles together. Despite being in one of the highest positions a woman could be in these times, you have never had less freedom.  

Now it’s a new girl, delivering your food. No matter how hard you try, she never answers your questions about Mina or what is happening outside your rooms. You discover it is because she doesn’t have a tongue. And she is terrified of even looking at you, too. You wonder what Daemon has done to her. 

Was she born like that? Did another Lord punish her? Or worse. Did Daemon take her tongue? Trying to guess what happened to her is good entertainment. Unfortunately, you soon realize it frightens her too much when you speak to her. You wouldn’t want to cause her a heart attack, and so, you have to quit it. 

You feel like an asshole. But you are desperate for company, to get someone to speak to you. The hopelessness you first felt has started to feel much like realization. You are not leaving. You are stuck with Daemon. 

To keep your mind occupied, you try to remember as many details of the time you are living in. You start with the cutting of tongues as your inspiration. Someone did something similar in the show. You didn’t pay as much attention to the story as you would have if you had known it was going to become your life.  

But someone had. Surely. What was it, with Westeros, and the forceful taking of the organs? They cut hands, tongues, fingers, eyes. God. 

If you remembered something else, it could be useful. Unfortunately for you, you had been too fixated on how hot some people looked to follow subplots. The exercise is useless, but you start writing what you can remember on parchments and hiding them from your captor. 

You feel like you are going insane. The only thing you do is pace and read, pace and read, all day. Something is wrong with you. You feel strange, like you are wearing clothes a size too small. Uncomfortable. Cranky. Sensitive. Lonely. 

You read once, that human beings have more needs than just eat, sleep and shelter. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. People need to own things, they need friends and intimacy, they need purpose. Otherwise, bad things happen. 

Oh, but what? Could all your symptoms be explained by it? If you had a phone, you could look it up. Hell, even if it was the sixties, you could search it in a book. Not in the Middle Ages. Or well, Westeros. 

You long for Daemon’s company. He comes every afternoon and sits near the fireplace. You talk to him because there is nothing else to do. From time to time, you repeat that you are not a dreamer. He laughs. 

“You wouldn’t be this perfect for me if you weren’t.”

He is very cultured, and interesting. It's something you are desperately attracted to. It’s not only that you are now in what it’s effectively solitary confinement, no. Deeper than that. Just like Rhea, Daemon is one of the few people in the Runestone that can read. His mind is more open, he is less superstitious. Talking to him makes you less lonely. 

There is no way you can rationalize it, though. What you are doing is wrong. It’s a betrayal to Rhea, to someone you loved more than you could ever love him. But you are weak, too broken down by grief and fear to oppose him.  

You need someone to tell you everything will be alright. And Daemon makes sure he is available for the job. He fights off your loneliness when you ask him to. 

Sometimes, Daemon sits next to you on the bed and talks about Valyrian history or traditions. His tone is soft, and calming. His face lights up when you show an interest in the topic or ask questions that prove you are following his monologue. It’s like seeing an entirely different man. 

Before, you would have resented being babied in the way you are. Daemon treats you as if you were a little girl, one he entertains with tales and praises when she is good. Now, you crave the comfort of it. 

You still bathe together. Daemon never touches you, though. Not after the night you tried to escape. Sometimes, he just looks at you. You sit there, basking on the freedom of being able to move without the cuffs. You are no longer embarrassed of your nakedness. 

The chains frightened you, at first. You are not stupid. You are married to him, in chains and in a room bare except for the bed. What else would you think, if not rape? But Daemon was smarter than that. Insidious. Slowly, he had been coaxing you to let him touch you. At first, you squirmed like your pants were on fire when his hands were on your skin. Then, you had slowly come to accept it as part of your routine. And lately, to crave it. 

He had been conditioning into it, you are sure. First, the offers to tend to your wounds, then, massages to your sore ankles and wrists. It was a merely chemical thing, you tried reassuring yourself. Your brain had come to associate endorphins with his touch, and so, like an addict, you sought more. 

But you knew, it was no long now before you weren’t able to resist him. It was not a thing of physical strength. He wasn’t going to grab you and force you down. No. It was more complex than that. 

Daemon had acquired himself a dreamer, according to him. He was not keen on alienating you, but seducing you. He intended for you to be the one to come to him. Worst thing? You were so touch starved, and so lonely, it was working. Stockholm syndrome, surely. 

The next chain would be a child. It was the obvious thing to do, to keep control over the Vale and you. You would never leave if you were pregnant. What would you do, in your world, with a child that could potentially tame dragons and whose legal existence you couldn’t prove? It would surely be too late for abortion, and most probably, time would have passed. How to explain your disappearance? 

And of course, there is the fact that your body is rioting against your brain. No matter the phase of your cycle, you are perpetually horny. The smallest of touches or looks make your mind spiral, you daydream about sex and feel the urge to jump Daemon’s bones almost daily. 

Maybe there is some truth to whatever they are serving you. The milk and wine are always laced with spices, to make you more agreeable to his advances. At first, you thought it was silly, but by your current state, they seem to be working. You are desperate to be able to masturbate. But bound hands are not particularly useful. Besides, you have an inkling that’s not really what you want. 

Every night before bed, Daemon takes the cuffs off and lets you walk around your room. You make small laps around the room, sometimes he tries teaching you the dances people do at feasts. Then, he gets you ready for bed. 

Daemon rubs salve into your wrists and ankles. You don't ask him, but you know it has to have some aphrodisiacs on it. When his hands touch your skin, it feels electric. You knew aphrodisiacs existed in your world, even if they were fickle and old wives tales. But in a world where there is magic and dragons? Why not? 

Even if not, the whole thing is an assault on your senses. The room filled with incense and candles, the baths, the soft silky clothes. The silence. Usually, when people are not busy enough, they get horny, right?

Perhaps it's the mirror. There is one placed in your room for baths, once you are not on suicide watch. You see yourself for the first time in months, and nearly don’t recognize your reflection. Your hair is longer, falling messily down your back. The sheer shifts you wear, specially tailored for you, make you look put together and sensual.

Collarbones exposed, accentuated hips, bare arms. Botticelli’s Venus comes to life. The image arouses you. You feel naughty in all the right ways, sexy, desirable. 

Each night, Daemon’s hands rub the salve slightly higher. You find yourself yearning for his touch, anticipating the moments you will get with him. He massages your calves. Your forearms. He kisses your shoulders. You mewl, desperate. But Daemon doesn't do anything. 

You share secrets like they are oozing out of your pores. Aemond's birth. Criston Cole and Rhaenyra fucked. Lucerys. Joffrey. Harwin Strong. Alicent and the rat looking man. Daemon dutifully repeats them to Viserys. 

Were you meant to feel this way? You had never expected it, not in a million years. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff. Any second now, and you could plummet down. But what a fall it would be. 

Tonight, he is on his knees. Despite being in a dominant position, sitting on the edge of the bed, you don't feel powerful. Daemon has a way of entering a room and just making anyone else fade into the background. He overpowers anyone easily, by sheer presence alone. 

Daemon grabs your ankle and gently rubs at it, spreading the salve. He has said he doesn't want you to scar, or hurt. But your newest cuffs have padded interiors, making this whole act pointless. Neither of you voices it. 

You shiver. His hands massage your calves. 

“Daemon.” The first mistake. You have never, not once, called out his name before. It comes out soft and whiny, in a sweet whisper. 

“Should I stop, dreamer?” He gives you a coy look, as his fingers go higher and higher. Ankle, calf, back of the knee. His hands are warm against your skin. Daemon seems to have a fascination with touching you. He cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tries. 

You say nothing. Daemon kisses your ankle, then your leg. He mouths along your knee. You feel so aroused, you think you are about to pass out. You shouldn’t give in, you know, you know. But it’s the sweetest torture. 

He stops right above your knee, looking at you with mischievous eyes. You pant, looking at him like you are about to murder him if he dares deny you now. 

“My poor little dreamer, have I neglected you so?” Daemon smirks, and parts your legs, making room for himself. “Don’t worry, we will fix this right away.” 

“Stop it.” You mutter, but before you can start explaining to him why this is a bad idea, you feel a sharp sting on your thigh. You moan, feeling utterly confused. In your aroused state, the sting of the bite feels almost pleasant. 

“It doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” Daemon soothes the hurt with his tongue. He looks hungry, pupils blown and hair mussed just so. “Besides, I have been very patient with you, have I not?” His fingers dig in more harshly. He is right, of course. He could have fucked you already if he wanted to. It's not like anyone would come to your defense. 

“You have.” You agree, shakily. His tongue draws little ribbons over your inner thigh. You cannot stop moaning, for some reason. And you are no stranger to sex, not as Daemon thinks. You were not a virgin when you got here. Despite knowing this screams of consent issues and that he is trying to manipulate you, you cannot help it. 

You wonder how Rhaenyra and Laena ever stood a chance, being mere girls when they met him. If everyone told you this was wrong, but the first time he touched you felt this pleasurable, would you believe it? 

No. You are more than enough proof of it. 

“I will make it good for you, little one.” He kisses higher, this time. Along the juncture where your leg meets your hip. “It's a kindness most wives don't get.” 

“I know, but…” You stop talking and melt into a sight when he rubs a finger over your labia, spreading the wetness there. You know if you keep talking, he will be able to hear exactly how much his touch is affecting you. 

“I just want to look at you. And kiss you a little.” Daemon says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. His hands rub soothingly along the outside of your thigh. “I won’t take your maidenhead… Yet.” 

Maidenhead. What’s that supposed to mean? You try to remember, certain that you have heard it before. Rhea mentioned it? Or was it the girls? Maidens. They called maidens women who were virgins. God. He thinks you are still a virgin. 

He won’t fuck you, tonight. You hope that his plans for just touching and kissing include an orgasm because you feel like you will go mad if you don’t come tonight. 

You could tell him the truth. But what would you gain? Daemon only believes what pleases him. You have told him time and time again that you are not a dreamer. You even tried telling him you were from the future. His words still ring in your ears. 

“A world where men and women are equal? And there are no Kings? Oh, my poor confused little thing. You have been reading too much again.” 

So telling him would be no use. He might believe it another attempt at getting him to let you go. Or he might actually believe you and try to eviscerate any previous lover of yours. Or gauge their eyes out. Perhaps cut a hand. That’s who Daemon is at his core. 

No, it’s better this way. Playing along will get him to be gentler, and he won’t even be able to tell the difference. 

“Won’t it hurt?” You ask, and it comes out just the right amount of shy to be believable. It’s easy, leaning on the lingering fear of the fact that this is Daemon you will be going to bed with. Your body reacts to him like it has never reacted to another lover before, yet you shouldn’t be doing this. He is skilled at it. Whoever he was fucking before, she has trained him well. 

But now that you have allowed yourself to think, your hesitance takes hold. This is wrong, in so many ways. You shouldn’t be doing this. Yet, you want him so much, you feel like you might burst into flames if you don’t get him right now. 

The lure of the forbidden, in all its glory. 

“Not tonight.” He kisses your inner thigh, open-mouthed. You tense in anticipation. Daemon can be giving when he wants to be. 

“I don’t want it to hurt.” You close your legs, trapping his hand between them. Your lower lip lightly sticks out, playing the part of the disgruntled little girl. 

 Daemon chuckles. One of his fingers rubs teasingly over your clit. Being a brat always seems to rile him up, and you feel smug at knowing him so well. 

Oh, god. What are you even doing? Are you seriously contemplating ways of manipulating him during sex? You shouldn't even be thinking of fucking him. It's disgusting. 

It’s not. Not when Daemon’s hands are on your thighs, not when his lips are on your skin. You are just too needy for it. Too many nights have passed since the last time you had been touched in such a way. 

His hands knead into your thighs. The touch is greedy, possessive. He makes a tsking sound, and rubs a tight little circle over your clit. 

“I’ll warm you up to it. Don’t worry.” 

“I don’t… We really shouldn’t…” You plead, weakly. You are trying hard not to succumb to the pleasure. 

“Why not?” He asks, pressing his finger over your hole and making you nearly sob in pure neediness. He is not entering, just threatening with it. Both holding you in place and feeling you flutter around him. 

Daemon waits for your response, but when you don’t answer as quickly as he hoped, he starts sucking a bruise on your inner thigh.

“Because it’s wrong! You killed Rhea. You have no morals. And… Besides, it’s not me. I don’t want it.” You try to scramble away, suddenly regaining your senses. It must be the oils. Or the food. Or whatever he puts into your wine. 

“Oh?” Daemon presses your hips down with an arm, and rubs around your clit again. He makes a show of taking his fingers away from you and admiring them in the light. Your arousal shines on them, sticky wet. “If you don’t want it, why are you dripping all over the bed? What is it, if not arousal?” 

“The oils! The incense!” You complain. His hand, soaked in your juices, comes to cup your face. 

“Oh, sweetling, no.” Daemon laughs. He presses his thumb on your lower lip. Despite your best judgment, you open up and taste yourself. “They are not meant to warm your blood. This is all you.” 

Your whole body feels hot with embarrassment. He has to be lying. It can't be. You can’t be this… This… No. No. He has to be lying. 

Daemon laughs even more at the face you make. He kisses your neck, then your collarbone. He pushes at the strands of your shift, kissing all over your breast. You feel too ashamed, still reeling at the realization that this is, in fact, all you, to push him off. You are the crazy woman who is begging to have sex with a killer. 

He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. You moan, arching your back to offer more skin to kiss. Daemon does so, greedily. 

He kisses your sternum, then your belly. He bites at the curve of your waist, making you squeal. His lips go lower, kissing over your womb. Then, your mound. And finally, your labia. 

Daemon pulls your lips apart and gently nips your clit, taking it between his teeth. Despite how gentle he is being, you jolt. It’s too much stimulation at once, and it’s bordering on the painful. Yet, he shows he can read your body well, because he quickly recovers and chooses to kiss your clitoral hood instead.

You moan again, all high-pitched. The vibrations of his laughter feel very pleasant against your sex. 

“That's it. Melt into it, little dreamer.” Daemon says, before going back to eating you out. This time, he sucks slightly harder. You tense in his arms. You can feel the pleasure rising and rising. Never has a partner driven you this fast towards an orgasm. 

It's too much and too little. 

“I… More, please.” You plead, petting his hair. 

He gets up, and kisses you, for the first time in months. You sigh into his mouth. It's then that he pushes his finger inside of you. Immediately, you tighten and tense around him, all sense of embarrassment gone. 

“This was just what you needed, wasn’t it?” Daemon whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe before speaking again. You buck your hips, trying to get him to move his finger. He complies, making a come and hither motion. His other hand rubs circles on your clit. “Yes, you needed someone to show you who you really were. My needy little dragon.” 

You try to swallow down your scream, muffling it with your hand. The praise, mixed in with the raspy, hungry tone it's delivered in, makes your head swim. 

“Come on, don’t fight it.” Daemon encourages, and bends down to take your nipple inside his mouth. It's enough to send you over the edge. This time, you actually scream, tensing under him. White, hot, blinding pleasure. And he strokes you through it, making everything more intense. 

As you pant there, coming down from your high, it occurs to you to return the favor.  It had been one of the best orgasms of your life, you wouldn't mind pleasing him in exchange. Your mouth watered at the thought of what else he could do. 

You place a shaky hand on his thigh, but Daemon pushes it away, gently. 

“You will learn to please me too, Wife. In time. But not tonight.” Daemon kisses your cheek, sweetly. 

“When?”

“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out.” It’s then when it sinks in. Daemon is never planning to let you go. You start to cry. What have you done? 

Daemon sighs. He starts rubbing soothing circles on your back, as if you were a child.  That night, he stays. You fall asleep in his arms, warm and relaxed. For the first time in weeks, you do not dream of Rhea. 

A few months go by. The season changes, from warm summer to harsh winter. And just as the season changes, so do you. 

You wake in your chambers, the bed next to you cold. Your ankles hurt. 

You put on a light dress, and go in search for your husband. As you pass the servants and guards, they give you respectful nods and greetings. 

Daemon sits on the Iron Throne. Viserys’s health has been worsening, lately. He looks up at you, taking his eyes from the parchment he is reading. His eyes greedily trace your figure. 

“I swear you get more beautiful every day.” He says, as you let your dress pool at your ankles. 

“Everyday I look rounder, more like it.” You complain. At the door, the guards discretely look away. If you want to parade around naked, so be it. It’s up to them to avert their eyes, if they don’t want to lose them, Daemon has instructed. 

No one dares oppose him. Not anymore, with you by his side. Viserys’s reign might just go down as one of the bloodiest in history, with how hard the two of them have been working to rid the realm of any future enemy of Rhaenyra. 

He laughs. 

“You do not. You look like my dreamer.” 

You roll your eyes at him, cradling your belly. His breathing hitches, minutely. There is arousal in his expression, once again. The more obvious your pregnancy becomes, the more he wants you. Daemon likes how your body has changed, how there are stretch marks on previously smooth skin, how your breasts are fuller. 

“My ankles hurt. Make it better?” 

What was life before him? You can barely remember how you functioned before, having to make all the decisions and thinking. Trusting him is easier. Daemon loves you. He wants the best for you. 

You don't hate him as much as you thought. You might even love him back. No. You love the pleasure he gives you, you are hooked to it. You need him like a heroin addict needs her next fix. 

Before, you used to be a good person. You cared about others. Now, you care about yourself, the baby and him. In that order. 

You had plans. You had a future, a career. Now, you live the day. If you think too hard about tomorrow, you feel like you can't breathe. So you don't. It's easier, this way. 

Daemon likes you more like this. Not a little girl anymore, but a woman. One he molded into his perfect partner.  Strong, but never stronger than him. Smart, but not enough to escape him. And a little broken. Still with a bit of fire, still a little rebellious. But never trying to get away. 

He says you are more of a goddess than a woman. Special. Holy.  Before, your courses aligned with the moon, your pregnancy timed just right. The baby should be here just when spring turns to summer. What could you be, if not a little goddess? 

The mysteries of womanhood fascinate him. It’s made even worse with your knowledge of the future.  He seems to think all you know about pregnancy is part of your powers as a dreamer. Once, you made the mistake of telling him the baby could hear him. Daemon has never skipped a day of talking to them since. 

You barely think of Rhea, these days. Daemon keeps you away from Runestone and occupied with other matters. Matters that are much more pleasurable to think about than your past. 

“Come, Lady Wife.” 

And you do. 

You wear other kinds of chains now. 

[queer-cosette]

I headcanon that Sunset’s reformed self is her natural self and how she was when she and flash first started going out, but then she changed into that bully she was and things went bad. To where she became crappy to even him.

I LOVE. Yeah I feel like Flash is the sort of guy who wouldn't date someone for popularity so he must have seen something good in Sunset when they dated. I like to think that her good parts were always there but the closer she got to realising her plan (the portal to Equestria reopening) the more consumed she got by her dark thoughts. Like, look at the evolution of her Fall Formal/Spring Fling Princess pictures

so like, Flash sees this weird lonely new girl who doesn't know what a car is, and he reaches out and connects with her, and Sunset clings to the affection that she believes Princess Celestia withheld from her, and suddenly slowly finds herself popular enough to win I'm guessing Spring Fling queen (photo one). And because she's never learned how to give love as well as just taking it, it goes to her head and reignites her desire for power, and then she wins Fall Formal and as her thirty-month stuck-as-a-human period suddenly has less time to go than time spent waiting already, she starts planning for what she'll do when the portal opens back up. And Flash can see her slowly losing herself to her worst impulses, getting crueler and colder and more callous, but he wants desperately to believe the girl he asked out is still in there, so he holds on and hopes. And then one day a few months after Sunset wins her second Spring Fling crown, when the portal is due to reopen in just a few weeks, Flash realises the girl he asked out is almost entirely gone, and maybe if he draws a line in the sand then she'll take a good hard look at herself in the mirror and see how much she's changed, but Sunset pushes through the breakup without a visible care, telling herself that Flash and his soft heart were holding her back, that she needs to be ruthless if she wants to take the throne of Equestria.

The worst part is that without Flash holding her back, Sunset's underhanded behaviour stops being sneaky and backstabbing, and she takes it as the go-ahead to start openly threatening people who piss her off. It doesn't matter if they crown her the princess of the Fall Formal - by the time it's supposed to happen, she'll already have the real crown and be back in Equestria with her teenage zombie army. Who needs affection when you can have all-encompassing corrupted alicorn power?

[mackmp3]

tell me about christopher ecclestons doctor vs david tennats doctor

or explain what the hell is goin on with the daleks

or you could tell me about (insert musician)’s influence on music

just some options for you to lore dump to :)

RAHHHHHHH OKAY THANK YOUUUU this will be um. super spoilery for doccy whomst.

okayyyy so christopher eccleston plays the ninth doctor who tragically only gets one season AND HE'S SO FABULOUS he's really funny and sarcastic and he says 'fantastic! :D' a lot and is also a massive dork and yayyyy i love him - the interesting thing with nine is that we dont see his regeneration. like we don't see him come into being but its implied that the incarnation before him was horribly injured in The Time War and then became nine, who wanders around alone for a bit racked with guilt and lonely and full of regret and all that fun stuff until he meets ROSE :DDD who pretty much says you're super weird & offputting but also the most interesting thing that's ever happened to me and he's like cool uhm. maybe i do need friends after all so then he takes her on a date to the destruction of her planet to show off that he wasnt kidding about the time machine bit. he also has a really cool leather jacket. and a northern english accent and a sliiiiightly butch lesbian buzzcut. anyways he's very fabulous and also kinda tragic but yeah!! i love him.

BUT THEN universe under massive threat from daleks etc the only way to save the world will be massively catastrophic etc etc so he sends rose home to save her. and she is understandably super upset by this so she ABSORBS THE HEART OF THE TARDIS (pro tip : usually people dont survive that) so she can get back to him, resurrect this other guy who kissed them both and rewrite time so that this will definitely always happen & also destroys a whole lot of daleks. this is called BAD WOLF (<- the capital letters are important. to me.) and its killing her so nine kisses her to pull it out of her (she doesnt remember this) so it kills him instead. then *magicical girl transformation* he explodes into golden light and becomes david tennant!!!!!

david tennant is the tenth doctor and I LOBVE HIM FORVER ADN EVER my specialest little scrunkly girlboy pathetic wet cat terrifying alien guy-shaped-being <33333. rose is understandably like wtf who're you (because the doctor Never does timelord 101 and tells them about regeneration and the two hearts thing) and he is sad about it. so he takes her home. then passes out in front of her mother and sort-of-boyfriend who're also like wtf. anyways he's fine and rose pretty immediately is like wow this guy is actually beautiful & way less grumpy now and they go n do a whole bunch of stuff and they very clearly love each other A Lot (like she loves him when he's nine too of course but it changes) and in my head it's teenage lesbian undefined relationship mutual obsession b/c those be the vibes. a Thing happens and she end up trapped in an alternate universe from which she can never return and the doctor manages to hologram himself in there for a minute to say goodbye and HE ALMOST SAYS I LOVE YOU TO HER but the connection runs out. a lot of other stuff happens and ten is actually pretty scary at points in a way that nine never gets to and A Lot happens to him. my beautiful babygirl she has Every Problem.

see cos the doctor is actually massively emotionally repressed and while nine was a lot closer time-wise to destroying his own planet, ten was coping a whole lot less. ten is often described as the most emotional and most human of the doctors and thats probably true but he's also the most afraid of that vulnerability - he just cant help showing it. he's full of love but he's also full of a desperate sadness and guilt. a lot of guilt. nine has this guilt and the love he just has found a way to not be so raw with it. he is far more measured with his emotions. i reallllllllyyyyyyyy wish we could have seen what would have been done with his character had we got more time with him but alas t'was not to be.

like a good example of that is when we meet nine he's been alone for some time and appears to be more or less okay with that, maybe not super happy but more or less adjusted and functioning. when ten is alone for a while he sort of loses it a bit until he find someone..... like after he and rose get separated, and i mean IMMEDIATLY AFTER, he meets donna who I LOVE :D but he's still so racked with grief that he kills a whole race of spider things and canonically would've destroyed himself along with them if she hadn't been there to tell him to stop. (like legitimately there's an episode, Turn Left, about what would've happened if the doctor died and it's uhm. its unnerving to say the least). ten can't deal with being alone but Also can't deal with loving someone. especially when he is so very aware that he has to lose them.

ten has three seasons & then a year of specials, and he has and then loses the most companions of the doctor and the way he deals with this is Fascinating. he is separated from rose, martha leaves of her own volition b/c she realises that she cant spend her whole life living For Him and that she deserves her own life too, and then he has to wipe donna's memory to save her (she gets it back like. fifteen years for her and ~1000 years for the doctor later but thats a whole thing). like nine does the whole 'no one can get close to me because i will always end up hurting when they die/leave and that will usually be my fault' thing BUT TEN. TEN feels the same way he just can't help himself from making friends and falling in love (grayaroace) with everyone he meets and still being emotionally destroyed when they die. nine's way of coping with the guilt of the time war is to push people away in the first place and ten's is Never Stop To Think Never Stop To Examine Feelings. so yeah. lots of fun.

ALSO the daleks!! theres a ton of lore to them as well, but in short they're genetically modified creatures who have been selectively bred by this guy davros (who has major darth vader vibes. down to the voice and the mechanically supported body) to only feel hate and want to destroy everyone who is not a dalek. they're these weird little things that kinda look like rubbery octopuses inside the metal thing (they're not robots they are actually alive) and they suck. also they're really hard to get rid of like. i swear at least five times the doctor says 'this is the last of the daleks' like bestie just you wait about half a season. the daleks and the timelords (the doctor's species) fought The Time War which really really sucked and they're mortal enemies. so yeah!

[raccoonhearteyes]

Part I  | Part II  | Part III | Part IV  | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI

December 18th, 2018 

It has been over a month since Lexa saw Clarke. Or accidentally fucked her after falling asleep on her roof. She was just so warm. And kind. And being pulled into Clarke’s orbit is just too easy. Lexa knows that if she sees her, she won’t be strong enough to walk away. Even though it’ll be better for her. So instead of risking the temptation, Lexa has avoided any place she may run into Clarke. She refuses to go near the gallery. She avoids the whole borough where Clarke lives. She won’t even let herself get coffee somewhere if there’s a chance a flash of golden hair and baby blue eyes will send her spiraling again. 

Lexa usually loves the holiday season in the city. She loves the lights and the display windows. This year, seeing happy couples kiss at the Rockefeller tree, families cozied together in the winter chill just makes her feel hollow and empty. 

The Darkness preys on weakness, and skates by Lexa. Lexa’s too depressed to walk away and make him chase her. When he takes a lap the second time, he slows to a stop in front of her.

“What’s the matter Lexa, no holiday spirit this year?” 

“Hard to be cheery when you spend it alone.”

“What are you talking about, I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“You’re not exactly the company I’d ever hope for.” 

“Hm, still hung up on your artist, then?”

In the past twenty years, he has been cruel and relentless in trying to get her to give up her soul. He taunts and times his appearances on the days when she feels the worst. But he is still the most consistent aspect of her life, the only person or devil that remembers her. That she can carry a conversation with without worrying about being forgotten. While he’s shown up at bad times, he sometimes shows up just to check. They talk about things other than stealing her soul every so often. Sometimes he’s the outlet she needs for a more serious conversation that a stranger won’t have. 

And tonight, for whatever reason, he seems less likely to convince her to give up. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit. Maybe she’s projecting. Maybe she really is just that desperate for some semblance of human connection. 

“I feel like I lived an entire life with her in these past six months. I know her better than most of her friends do, but I’m not even a blip on her radar. So now I'm just killing time.”

“Until what?” 

“Until I die. Until I give up and let you take my soul.”

He seems genuinely surprised at her confession, then she continues, “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” 

“Known what?”

“That offering a life in which you don’t age seems like something that would last longer. But no one lasts longer than a standard lifetime, do they? People barely last a full lifetime.”

“The best kind of deals are the ones where you think you’ve won,” he shrugs arrogantly.

Lexa is fuming with anger at this point. Who preys on foster kids with lofty promises and rigged deals? This is so wrong, and yet she’s still so trapped, so lonely, that he still might win. 

“So, is this you waving the white flag?”

Lexa is about to say yes, to end it, and let him take her soul if it means the heartbreak stops. But suddenly, there she is. Wrapped in a knit scarf and a beanie, art supplies sprawled over a park bench as she draws the scene. Clarke. She looks beautiful, and seeing her there at this exact moment feels like a sign, and it gives Lexa the courage to tell the Darkness, “Not today.” 

-----------

Like a moth to a flame, she’s drawn closer to Clarke. But she’s wary of getting too close. Close enough to bask in her warmth, but not so close that she burns her wings. It’s a delicate line to tightrope her way across. Especially in the aching loneliness of the holidays. 

Clarke is drawing people, as she always does. So Lexa decides to stand near enough that she’ll inspire another piece, but not so close that she risks falling into conversation with her. That’s too risky. Too easy to fall back into her orbit. Too easy to get sucked into another devastating heartbreak. 

So Lexa is content to watch from afar. To watch Clarke's eyes light up when she captures a moment on the page. To watch her smile at the little kids learning to ice skate below the massive tree. To watch the colors of the tree reflect off her blonde hair and the snow get caught in her lashes. It makes her chest swell with longing, so full it begins to ache. 

It’s not her fault a family asks her to take a photo of them. To get the full tree in the frame she had to take a few steps back. It’s not her fault that happened to be in Clarke’s direction. It’s out of her control that Clarke watched the whole interaction, watched the silly faces she made to get the baby to look in the right direction. 

She was trying to avoid her. To be close, but not too close, but Clarke noticed her this time. It’s not her fault. 

“That was adorable,” Clarke says, gesturing at the small family happily peering at the photos Lexa had just taken. 

“I couldn’t let the baby ruin the photo by looking over there,” Lexa blushes. 

Clarke just smiles at her, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Lexa doesn't try to continue the conversation. She very intentionally turns her attention back to the tree and the ice skaters below, but she should have accounted for Clarke. Clarke, who has no hesitations in starting a conversation with a pretty stranger, who always talks to new people like they’re old friends. 

“Can I draw you?” she asks. 

“Sure.”Always. She knows she’s breaking a promise to herself, but instead of being rude or dismissive, she caves to blue eyes and a soft smile. 

Clarke has her turn around to face her, lean back on the railing and prop her elbows on it. She wants to get the whole tree in the background, and Lexa tries to steady her breathing to prepare for the intimacy of sustained eye contact while Clarke draws her. Again.   

They make idle chit chat while she works. Lexa keeps her answers short, just shy of curt. She doesn’t return the questions because she already knows Clarke’s answers. Instead, she focuses on the pink tongue poking out between Clarke’s teeth. The little freckle above her lip. Those eyes. Lexa blinks and Clarke is teasing her about something she said over fries. Those eyes are full of mirth and still feel like home. She blinks again and sees the same cocky twinkle looking up from between her legs. 

She has to get out of here. 

But Clarke’s not quite finished, and Lexa is a glutton for punishment. So she stays to model, letting Clarke's eyes trace the curve of her ass. The jut of a jawline. It’s a divine sort of torture. 

But she can’t let it go any further. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. She’s not strong enough. She’s too afraid to get caught up in a conversation. To end up tangled in bed with Clarke yet again. Her heart can’t take it. 

The second she sees Clarke finish, she literally runs away. It’s not her proudest moment. Or her most well-thought-out, but she’s on survival mode now, and it is what needed to be done. 

Safely on the other side of the rink, she takes one last look at Clarke, who just finished signing her name to the bottom of the piece. Lexa watches her look around in confusion. Glancing down at the piece then up, looking for the model and seeing nothing. Not recognizing the face. Not remembering the brief conversation they had while she worked. Drawing a blank. And Lexa’s heart shatters once again.

[procrastinatorproject]

I was talking to some friends about the PIC season 3 finale yesterday, and I had a bit of a realization. I have since rewatched the final two episodes (and also the end of season 2), and am now newly felt with so much rage and sadness.

Here's the thing: the Big Dramatic Climax that season 3 gave to Jack Crusher? That is what was missing from the "arc" they wrote for Agnes Jurati during season 2.

Let me explain!

I have talked many times about how I think Jurati was served extremely poorly by her storyline in season 2. It was bad then, but it is apalling when contrasted with Jack Crusher's story in season 3.

Both of them share a similar conflict: we are told that they feel lonely and long for a form of connection they have never been able to find. At the same time, we see both of them surrounded by people who clearly love them and care deeply about them, but apparently that is not enough to break through their feelings of isolation.

Both of them are more or less told that the Borg are their way out of loneliness. With Jack, it's the Borg Queen's motherly voice talking to him in his head since he was a kid, with Jurati, it's another Borg Queen, telling her seductive tales of grateness. But they both don't primarily let themselves be assimilated to escape their loneliness.

Jack runs to the Borg Cube in a lone wolf, impulsive manchild effort to Get Answers For Himself despite the fact everyone around him is trying to help and he is playing exactly into the Queen's hands. Jurati first let's the Borg Queen into her head to get information out of her that will save her friends. It's risky, and there's definitely an element of hubris there, but it's more the self-sacrificial kind.

Jack runs into the Cube to shoot the Queen, but the Queen tells him that joining her is the only way he will ever stop feeling that terrible loneliness. She taunts him: "If you could shoot me, you would have done it already." And she is right. Jack drops his phaser, has a big scream of manpain, and then accepts his fate.

With Jurati, the Borg Queen is holding a French cop hostage and promises the only way Jurati will ever be anything but utterly and completely lonely is to give herself over to the Queen. Jurati is tempted and torn and deeply intrigued. And then she shoots the Borg Queen. Dying and desperate, the Queen tells Jurati that if she dies, the part of her that is already in Jurati's brain will die, too, and Jurati will know nothing but gnawing emptiness and loneliness forever. They could be great together! And Jurati believes it and is visibly so tempted - and then she shoves the Queen's hand away and tells her "We are nothing together!"

And only then, with her dying breath, does the Borg Queen offer the one thing that has kept her alive this whole time, the one thing that finally convinces Jurati to let herself be assimilated: "You need me to get home."

Jack Crusher is faced with the Borg Queen offering to fulfill his deepest, most painful desire, and he allows her to assimilate him. Agnes Jurati is faced with the Borg Queen offering to fulfill her deepest, most painful desire and even though she wants to give in, she pushes back and pushes back, but finally allows herself to be assimilated when it's no longer just about her.

(And yes, the Borg Queen keeps insisting that Jurati is lying to herself when she says she "only" allowed the assimilation to rescue her friends, and that seems fairly true. It's very clear that Jurati is feeling inadequate and lonely and believes the Queen's words about greatness and connection. But whereas Jack gives into that pull pretty much immediately, Jurati does resist it until it becomes about more than herself. Would she have eventually given in if the only thing on offer was a promises the Borg Queen made her, and her alone? Maybe. But what we actually see on screen is her rebuffing the Queen twice despite being extremely tempted. So maybe not.)

Once they are assimilated, we get an insight into both Jurati's and Jack's experience with the Borg hivemind (though a very small hive in Jurati's case).

Jack's mind is in blissful limbo, finally at peace. He is happy. He has found the connection he has always longed for. He is loved and his way of seeing the world is finally validated as The Correct Way. Meanwhile, his assimilated body is raining down destruction on countless Starfleet ships and stations.

Jurati, on the other hand, is resisting and fighting the Borg Queen every. step. of. the. way. She gives her more control because she needs help to save her friends, and the Queen lies to her and manipulates her, all the way until she can fully take over Jurati's body. But even then, Jurati still repeatedly wrests control back, desperately trying to stop the Queen every chance she gets. There is no togetherness, no connection, no blissful loss of self in a greater whole.

I really want to emphasize this: We do not get to see a single scene where Jurati feels any real benefit from her connection to the Queen, which isn't then immediately revealed to have been a deception. The one moment of glory, the one moment that could have been a "see how great we are together?" is her big musical number at the Europa gala (and to a lesser extent the evening leading up to it, though in my opinion, Alison Pill very much acts it like Jurati is serious when she tells the Queen that none of this is fun or enjoyable. We've seen Jurati when she's conflicted. This is not that). But every. single. positive. experience. at the gala is immediately made moot when it's revealed it was all a tactic the Queen was using to manipulate Jurati. Any connection or togetherness that might have existed throughout the evening is immediately turned against Jurati and she is basically shown that believing in those things was a mistake, because they were a lie.

So, how is it, that when it comes to the climaxes of their stories, Jack is the one who leaves the Borg behind and Jurati is the one who chooses to stay?

When Picard links himself up to Jack and tells him he isn't alone and Picard loves him and understands his loneliness, Jack rebuffs him. He rejects the hand Picard is reaching out because Jack is "where he belongs": one with the Borg, finally at peace. He makes it clear that he sees the person who lovingly reaches out to him, but it's not enough.

The one time, the only real time, somebody reaches out to Jurati, it's Rios at the gala. He tells her that he sees her, he cares deeply about her, he's here to listen and wants her to talk to him so they can connect. But we don't actually find out how Jurati feels about that. She's using her glib deflecting, jokey persona to isolate herself from real emotion, but she seems to melt a little when Rios tells her "I care about you. You know that." And then the Borg Queen destroys the moment by kissing Rios before Jurati herself has a chance to take a position on what he's been saying.

Does she not believe Rios when he says he cares about her? Is Rios's care not enough? Is it only romantic love that would make her whole? Would even romantic love never be able to live up to the Special Relationship the Borg Queen is dangling just outside Jurati's reach? We never find out. Jurati is never allowed to reject the hand that is held out to her.

And then, there's the actual climax.

Imagine you're writing a story. Your character has been getting seduced by this enigmatic, sinister force and has finally given in and joined them, even though that could mean destruction not only of themselves but of everyone and everything they love. What is the endpoint of that story? What is the decision your character needs to make for their arc to feel satisfying? What has it all been building up to?

In the vast majority of cases, that decision, that central question at the core of their story, will be: "will they decide to remain with the seductive force and fully give themselves up (maybe changing the force for the better along the way)? Or will they reject them and return to their humanity?"

Jack gets to make that decision. We see him feel connection, acceptance and peace, finally, for the first time in his life, when he joins the Borg. And then Picard comes and offers Jack an alternative. Tells him that there is another way to escape the loneliness, and demonstrates it through his willingness to die for/with his son. And Jack Crusher, being presented with these two options, chooses to go with Picard.

We never see Jurati make that decision. We never get a moment where the narrative acknowledges that maybe, just maybe, there might be another path for Jurati to not feel lonely anymore. The writers might say it's what they're doing, but they don't show us that. When Rios tells Agnes she's not alone, we don't see her agree or disagree, it's entirely left hanging. And after that, there is no moment where anyone steps between Jurati and the Borg Queen and says: "She is lying to you about this being the only way forward, there are other paths out of loneliness and isolation. Please, choose to come with us."

We don't even see Jurati struggle with the conundrum of "should I give in and let the Borg Queen take over or should I try and stop this in some way?" (Which, incidentally, was pretty much Agnes's big turning point in season 1, where we very clearly see her trying to decide whether to follow the mission Oh assigned her or to put an end to it - and then pick the latter path by dosing herself with the hypospray, disabling the tracker at the risk of her own life.)

Instead, in season 2, we are only shown the outcome of Jurati's decision. Her choice to make the Borg Queen an offer happens offscreen. We don't have any insight into Jurati's thought process, we don't see her agonizing over her different options. Hell, we don't even get confirmation that she knows she has options!

Jack Crusher has his dad standing in front of him and the Borg all around, and he gets to choose which of them he trusts to help him feel less alone. Jurati has the Borg Queen, who has been deceiving, manipulating, and abusing her all season, and no other alternative. And she doesn't choose, she is shown to have chosen.

I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating: the character who does make a decision, who is offered two clear paths and gets to pick one, based on everything that has happened to them throughout the season, the real focus of the Borgati storyline, is the Borg Queen. What the season 2 writers give us is not Jurati's character arc, it's the Queen's.

Jack Crusher is a main character. He gets to learn and change and grow, and, in the end, he gets to make a decision about his fate (on screen, which is what counts in this kind of Holywood-adjacent storytelling). Jurati is a supporting character in someone else's story.

We don't know why she ends up choosing the Borg. Is it because she hopes creating a voluntary collective will eventually give her that feeling of connection? Is it because she did actually feel something other than annoyance, dread, and betrayal while she was sharing her consciousness with the Borg Queen, and she wants to keep that feeling? Is it because she thinks assimilation is going to be terrible, but at least it's better than what she was feeling before? Is it a desperate tactic to save her friend, who is currently bleeding out at her feet? The writers never tell us.

Jurati's passionate speech to the Borg Queen about creating a new collective never touches on what she, Jurati, actually wants. At no point does she say that she thinks doing this will be good for her. She explains how it will benefit the Borg Queen, she lays out how it is a net positive for the world. But never once does Jurati say that this new collective is what she wants for herself.

Don't get me wrong, Jack Crusher's story is written terribly! His motivation is weak, his growth is minimal, he faces absolutely no consequences for his actions, his reasons for running to the Borg in the first place are childish (and while the character is supposed to be 23, that is undercut by casting an actor who is just way too old for the role, not just in looks but also in how he acts), and the fact that Picard, the man who spent two seasons learning to find purpose, joy, and familial and romantic love, tells Jack Crusher that the only thing that has given him a real reason to live is the bio-son he met half a week ago? Is an insult of such magnitude I will still be yelling about it in a decade.

But this one thing the writers got right: they allowed Jack the space to actually make the defining decision of his own character arc. And the fact that they were capable of this all along and chose not to do it for Jurati? That hurts incredibly deeply.

Would I have liked Agnes's story in season 2 if it was actually hers and we saw her being offered the choice between the Borg and humanity and choose the Borg? No, probably not. In my opinion, it goes against everything that defined Agnes's story in season 1 and warps her character in a way that I, personally, find deeply hurtful and troubling (hence why I usually distinguish between season 1 Agnes and season 2 Jurati). But at least I wouldn't be so angry every time I saw a reviewer point to "Jurati's arc" as something season 2 got right.

And now, after rewatching the finale of season 3, I finally have a much clearer way to illustrate what was missing and why it makes me so angry and sad. The writers had it in them to tell a story about a lonely person seeking connection and being made to choose between finding it with the Borg or wihtin humanity. They wrote exactly this story for Jack, and had him choose humanity. With Jurati, they might have intended to write a story about a lonely person seeking connection and have her choose the Borg in the end. Instead, they wrote a story about the Borg that has a lonely person in it, but in the end that person's feelings, characterization, and choices aren't all that important.

And seeing that praised as "Jurati's arc" will never be anything but devastatingly painful to me.

[mar64ds]

Reasons why Papyrus could be the Knight

-Papyrus is the only main character from Undertale that we haven't had any interactions with. Even if we can only talk a little bit with Mettaton we can at least talk to him, with Papyrus we don't even get that and we might not be able to see him in a while

-His absence is acknowledged in the steam page of deltarune in a super vague way

[I.D. : "Meet new and endearing main characters, as well as familiar faces like Toriel, Sans, as more. Huh? Papyrus? No, he's busy. Sorry"]

-Both Sans and Papyrus are most likely related to Gaster, who is an extremely important character in Deltarune. Everyone tends to only focus on Sans's connection to Gaster but we can't ignore the fact that Papyrus is just as important in his backstory as Sans. The thing is we know nothing about them in Undertale, we know more about Sans and Gaster, so the majority of people don't really think about Papyrus when it comes to stuff related to Gaster. Wouldn't it make sense if we got to know more about Papyrus's connection to Gaster in this game?

-Sans and Papyrus in Deltarune are probably the same ones from Undertale. Sans remembers this but to our knowledge Papyrus probably doesn't, and Papyrus is known to be "forgettable". A major event could have happened in his life that made him forget things

-Papyrus has a really strong obsession with being a royal guard, sure, it's because he wants to be popular, but why would he think that? Undyne isn't popular, she says so herself, she is a heroine but she isn't popular or has friends only because she's a royal guard, neither do any of the other members. Yet he still believes this very strongly, and even wears a royal guard costume all the time. Maybe in another place... he used to wear something similar, a knight armor you could say. Maybe he really wants to be like that again but he doesn't remember why

-Being The Knight doesn't necessarily mean being a bad guy, we barely know anything about this mysterious character. Even if the role of The Knight was antagonistic, there is a chance that Papyrus wouldn't fully realize or admit that he was doing something wrong (maybe he isn’t even doing anything wrong at all!), NOT because he's dumb or naive because he isn't, but his heart could be in the right place while someone else could have other intentions (not necessarily evil either, but maybe with their own intentions). Why do I think this? Because something similar to that already happened in Undertale with Papyrus and Flowey

-Papyrus loves puzzles, but I doubt there aren't any in the outside world of deltarune. It feels like he would fit in better in a Dark World

-A common pattern that I have seen in Deltarune is a strong theme of loneliness (I made a whole post about this but I can't find it lol I'm sorry). Kris is the lonely weird kid of town, Susie isolated herself and pushed everyone away, Ralsei has been alone all of his life, Lancer used to be disliked by mostly everyone until he met Susie, Noelle is a shy and insecure girl that misses her sister a lot which makes everything feel scarier to her, Berdly is terrified of being on his own without Noelle, Darkners in general feel abandoned, Dess is lost and all alone, the main undertale characters seem a bit less happy than in undertale because the majority of them aren't friends with each other and their friendships are what helps them grow in undertale, Jevil was locked away from everyone else, Spamton lost his friends and ended up all alone, ... yeah, do you see the pattern? Now, which Undertale character would you say fits this theme the most? Could it be the skeleton that so desperately wants friends? It could be, especially now since all he does is stay home and not talk to anyone else

-Paraphrasing Papyrus in Undertale, 'maybe all you need to make friends is give them puzzles and then battle them'. He could be trying to help others and also help himself make some friends with this whole thing about being the Knight

-Bonetrousle is Papyrus's theme, it's also the theme that plays in many trailers, it used to be the main battle theme for Deltarune. Papyrus's room is absent of music in Undertale. Papyrus's theme song is just full of mystery

-Papyrus only uses majuscules when he speaks, just like Spamton and Jevil, I don't think anyone else does this. Papyrus doesn't start a sentence with an asterisk either unlike everyone else... that's so strange and there is no explanation for it

-We barely know anything about Papyrus, he's incredibly mysterious. If another character was this mysterious everyone would think they could be The Knight, but Papyrus is constantly seen as just a funny character and nothing else so many people don't even consider him as a possible Knight, even if he doesn't end up being the Knight he needs to be brought up way more as a possible candidate

-Papyrus is my favorite character and I want him to be important in Deltarune, that's all

If anyone wants to add more reasons, go ahead! This is all I could think of right now

[fictionsmooches]

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?”  Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit.  “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

[inthatyearwe]

thoughts on choi woong

ive been constantly wondering why i gravitate so much towards choi woong and i didnt think i could ever put it into words until i rewatched (multiple times) ep. 12. choi woong has such a radiance that pulls other characters to him. he becomes their home (in some way) and comfort. he is constantly making sure everyone is okay even if he is still hurting.

With Jiwoong

in ep. 12 it showed the difference between jiwoong and woong and how they deal with their abandonment issue. jiwoong has created a scenario in his head that is this pauper while woong is the prince and has been living with self pity. whereas woong chose a different lifestyle. i saw a lot of posts about how woong would share everything with jiwoong because woong never felt like those things were never his. however i dont think that. i think the reason woong is able to share everything is because he knows what it feels like to not have anything. woong was willing to take care of him when he was drunk and spewing nonsense and even when he was sick. if i was woong, i would have honestly cut connections with him A LONG TIME AGO. tbh watching the last couple episodes, i truly feel like woong likes jiwoong more than jiwoong likes woong. this isnt a bad thing but i dont think jiwoong thinks of woong as a friend as much as woong does.

With NJ

choi woong and NJ has a really interesting dynamic because NJ is really the outsider in the drama. she doesnt really have a connection until she meets choi woong. it was noted that she was a fan of him and as she became closer to him, she started this unrequited love (i wont call it a crush because this isnt a crush lol). it was also revealed how with choi woong, he became a comfort to her too. woong became NJ’s safe space. she was allowed to be whoever she wanted to be through woong. i think having someone like this makes such a difference in a person’s life. i absolutely love how she highlighted how shes enjoying the little things in life through this unrequited love considering how we all saw how lonely she was in the beginning.

With Yeonsoo

sooo much to say about these two people but something i really wanted to focus on was yeonsoo’s eyes. i dont know if you guys remember in the previous episodes, sol-yi talked about how yeonsoo’s eyes were soul-less and yet in ep. 12, there was soo much happiness in her eyes. i love two things= eyes and hands. i have always believed eyes are able to tell the full story when words aren’t available. and thats exactly what i saw in yeonsoo in ep. 12. 

also, i wanted to point out how childlike she was. at a time when she had to grow up while everyone her age was doing things that fit their age, she met woong. through him, she was able to be the kid that she desperately needed to be. i absolutely love love the scene where she lays down on the ground with him. (i have posted about this before)it was mentioned how she hates people who do stupid things after getting drunk, but she immediately laid down next to him while she listened to him talk. the things people do for love, huh lol 

i felt like rambled on but i have so much feelings about woong and his comforting ways. 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

If Bella was somehow bitten somehow and woke up alone during New Moon, but the Cullens didn't find her (I don't know if this is still 'Edward mercy kills Bella' territory but if it is then maybe her gift knows this and starts blocking Alice) and she became a nomad, would she still do the diet and if so for how long?

This is shockingly in the realm of possibility and not necessarily in the land of Edward mercy killing Bella.

Though there are some dangers Bella would have to avoid somehow for survival.

Bella is Bitten Alone in New Moon

We have one vampire who meets Bella during New Moon and another who with very little difference in the timeline would have run across her: Laurent and Victoria.

In the case of Laurent, he and Bella have a chat, he decides Bella smells delicious and he'll spare her the pain of being slowly murdered by Victoria, and just as he decides to go for it he gets run down and eaten by giant wolves.

Bella survives her vampire encounter.

In the case of Victoria, she never really gets close enough to do damage until the fight between Edward and Victoria and Riley and Seth in Eclipse.

So we have a few ways this could go:

Laurent's a few seconds ahead of Sam and company. He manages to get a good bite in and doesn't crush Bella on impact. He's run off by the wolves and Bella survives.

The problem here is that Bella has now been bitten and there's no coming back for her. It's a tragedy, and the wolves will feel a shared sense of failure and burden that they failed to save her, but she's dead anyway. They have to kill her before she fully turns.

Bella's gift, while powerful, doesn't appear to help in this kind of situation. Though, that said, in her dire need it could suddenly give her the ability to project illusions like we see in Renesmee. Doesn't seem to be how Bella's gift typically rolls, but hey, this is her darkest hour.

Otherwise, Jake could pull his alpha move much earlier in order to save Bella's life. He ignores Sam's order, flees with the turning Bella, and dumps her in the wilderness somewhere with a note from Jake that she must never return to Forks. She wakes up alone, only guessing though not knowing what Jake has done for her, and stares blankly at the wilderness.

If Victoria catches up to Bella, well, it's not looking good. All too likely, Bella dies painfully, and Victoria leaves a video tape of the entire ordeal in the Cullen house for when they eventually return (as they surely will).

Though, that said, the ease with which Victoria accomplishes this and the complete lack of Cullen intervention could catch her off guard. Perhaps... Edward doesn't actually give a rat's ass. That says terrible things about James' needless death, but Victoria's holding this girl hostage. She will die, in the most painful manner imaginable, and the Cullens aren't there.

Victoria might turn Bella out of pity or else turn her as she figures out, in part from Bella, that Bella becoming a vampire is Edward's worst case scenario. However, in that case, it's unlikely Victoria would abandon Bella, so Bella wouldn't be on her own.

Which, I think for this post, makes Jake's alpha sacrifice the most likely path. He dumps Bella's half-vampire body somewhere in nowhere Canada.

Bella After the Bite

Being dumped in the wilderness helps a lot. For one, Bella already has unbelievable control, for another this is Edward's penguin scenario. There is no one else out here for her to eat even if she wanted to.

So, following the diet is easy.

And it's something she'd very much wish to do. Bella sees the world of vampires divided into two types of vampire: the good Cullen vampires who don't eat people and the bad vampires who, well, eat people.

This left such a mark on Bella that she has very little idea of what a vampire even is.

Bella would be horrified at herself if she became a bad vampire. In wanting vampirism she wanted the vampirsim she sees in the Cullens. Bella might be miserable and alone, without a friend in the world, but she would be horrified to choose anything other than the Cullen way of life.

At least, at first.

The Return of the Cullens

There's a few paths for Bella after she's dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Alice sees that Bella's become a vampire, an abandoned newborn, and is wandering aimlessly around the wilderness somewhere. Even though Edward has forbidden contact, this is probably enough to motivate Alice who was genuinely worried.

She likely goes behind Edward's back and tries to find Bella with Jasper and possibly the rest of the Cullens.

Edward, of course, is still in Rio being a miserable saint for leaving precious human Bella.

Eventually, they manage to find her, and there's a lot of miscommunication, very hurt feelings, and heartfelt apologies even from Rosalie because look what happened to this poor girl. Though they each, either reluctantly or more enthusiastically, agreed to leave this was not what they had in mind.

Bella forgives them quite readily, as she did in canon, because she has the self-esteem of a thimble. The Cullens are awed and very grateful, Rosalie would never have forgiven them for this.

It probably takes them both a) a while to decide how best to tell Edward and break the news to him b) a while to get a hold of Edward because he's ignoring all their phone calls.

Eventually they do, it's a shit show, for the purpose of this post we'll say he does not mercy kill Bella. He might actually be feeling too guilty for that. Instead he grovels on the ground constantly, begging Bella's forgiveness, and refuses to enter a relationship with her because he's unworthy.

This undoubtedly upsets Bella, because she's also unworthy and Edward knows it and doesn't love her, but that's not the point of this meta.

In this world, the Cullens keep Cullening after picking Bella up, Bella's adopted into the fold and made Edward's twin sister due to looking the most like him (which, of course, makes them look actually incestuous in high school to add to the Cullen mystique).

With the support of the Cullens, living the Cullen lifestyle, and having the control that Bella has there's no question of ever leaving the diet.

Bella stays on the wagon.

Bella Seeks Out the Denali

Alice is successful and doesn't see Bella's future for whatever reason. Edward will be so proud. Bella is left alone in Canada to eat moose.

Eventually, Bella decides that however great being a vampire is, she's lonely and miserable. She wants companionship.

Well, obviously the Cullens hate her, so even if she could find them they probably never want to see her again. But what about the Denali?

Bella's already in Canada, she could head over to the Denali National Park in Alaska, and surely the least she could do is actually introduce herself.

Of course, the coven sounds blonde, hot, aggressively female, and very intimidating. Tanya's history of wanting to bang Edward has Bella feeling very small and worthless. More, the Cullens may have told the Denali all about how stupid and ugly Bella, Edward's current human girlfriend, is and they've all laughed at her.

However, Bella's so desperate for companionship, for some connection back to her old life, that she goes for it.

She makes it to Alaska, wanders around until she eventually finds the Denali coven, and introduces herself. The Denali are weird assholes, but Bella's so oblivious she actually doesn't notice.

That said, they've had their brush with the law, and Tanya doesn't want a newborn running around by herself. Eleazar also gives a truly pompous, awful, speech about compassion to their fellow man. It's unbearable, Bella finds it charming.

They take Bella in, she can be the dark-haired sister. Her control is so good the three single ladies quickly take her clubbing and encourage her to sleep away her troubles with human men.

Bella quickly finds that, when you're on the vampire end of the equation, the relationship with human thing is kind of gross. These people smell like food, are squishy and overly warm, and have the substance of tofu.

Bella feels even worse about her relationship with Edward.

She sleeps with human men anyway so that the Denali sisters won't judge her/will think she's cool.

They're so proud of her.

Regardless, Bella stays on the diet as the Denali follow the diet. She will likely have a few accidents with her human lovers, and will be inconsolable, but the coven will be there to offer comfort and help her get back on the wagon.

Bella stays on the wagon

Bella's Low Self-Esteem Wins and She Becomes a Hermit

Bella can't return to Forks and she's so ugly, stupid and boring that even though she's a vampire if she met anyone new they'd realize how ugly, stupid, and boring she is.

Better to just forsake society altogether and live with moose.

Bella's able to do this for quite a long time. Years even. And it's... fine. But her life has no purpose nor any direction to it.

She becomes tempted by society. How many years has it been? Has the world changed since she left? Has Forks changed? Is Charlie still alive? Is Renee? What about her classmates?

Bella starts travelling and visiting human cities and, thanks to her control, she does very well.

However, it's very likely that one day she'll slip, she takes her control far too much for granted and all it takes is one mistake.

And that's where Bella starts getting into trouble.

She's horrified at first, of course, and that likely doesn't break her. She gets back on the wagon, but the second time it happens...

There are no consequences to her breaking the diet. She has no companions, no one cares. Why is she living in constant agony, every single day, for people who will one day die anyway? Why is Bella choosing to suffer?

As time goes on, as humans start to mean less and less to her and all the humans that she knew when human herself are dead, Bella starts forgetting the reason that the diet seemed so vital to her existence.

At one point, it stops meaning anything at all, it's just Bella pointlessly choosing to live in agony.

Bella falls off the wagon.

TL;DR I think it'd take a while, at least ten years, but if she becomes a solitary nomad, it would inevitably happen.

[tennessoui]

FeralObi anon here. How do you come up with these so fast?? Are you an infinite number of ideas and worlds in human-shaped form? I love both of those ideas. The first one kills me tho, Obi gets his first kind touch in years from lil Anakin. Also you can have lil Anakin coming home one day with a skulking, snarling nonverbal murder puppy and saying brightly, "He followed me home, can I keep him?" Schmi thinks this is definitely worse than the time he brought a krayt dragon home.

ah! hello! yes this is the first idea of a feral obi-wan who meets anakin when he's still on tatooine. i will also still do the second idea because like. i liked them equally as much rip me

but i told myself these were going to both be very short snippets and instead this one is uh 2k so i'll post the second one tomorrow instead of tonight!

(ficlet where obi-wan is captured by pirates/unspecified forces at a young age and then tortured for a decade before he escapes to tatooine when anakin is like 6. obi-wan, after a decade of torture is....not alright in this fic though he's only here at the end) (2k)

Shmi had known that when she sent her little Anakin away to follow after the stern-faced, warm-eyed Jedi Master, that this would not be the last time she ever saw her boy. She couldn’t explain how she knew, just as she had not been able to explain how she became pregnant, but she knew beyond a doubt that one day, she would see her little boy back in her arms.

She just hadn’t known it would be so soon.

“He died, Master Jinn died,” Anakin mumbles into the front of her dress, unwilling to move his head far back enough from her hug that he could talk clearly. “On Naboo. And the stupid Jedi council refused to train me even after I was so amazing in the air. Mom, I destroyed a blockade! Entirely! And they wouldn’t--they didn’t--” his little face scrunches up and then he’s bawling into his hands.

A slave, a born slave, knows intrinsically the injustice of the galaxy. It is not often they know hope.

“Oh my boy,” she whispers, smoothing a hand over the top of his head. She has questions. She has so many questions about everything he’s just said and what those strangers have put her son through, but the most important thing is a question she cannot wait until he has cried himself out to ask. “Is your chip gone, Ani? Did they remove your transmitter?”

Because she had sent him away from her so that he could be free. And that had been her own twisted version of hope, that her son could know a life she never would again. If the Jedi masters had proven to be just like every other master in the world, she would find herself sobbing into her own hands.

“Yeah,” Anakin sniffles and wipes at his ruddy cheeks, pulling back a few steps. “They removed it and everything. And--”

He pauses and drops his satchel to the ground in front of her. “They gave me credits. To buy you. For my trouble.”

He spits out the last three words like they’re the most disgusting thing in the entire world. As if Shmi’s freedom isn’t laying at their feet, mere centimeters away.

“Republic credits are no good here,” she hears herself say faintly.

“Padme, the handmaiden you met, she talked to the queen about me I guess,” Anakin mumbles, kicking his feet. “And when the queen learned that the Jedi didn’t want me even after all that, Padme says the queen says I’ll always have a place on Naboo. Me and my family. And then she took the Jedi credits and gave me these instead. It should be enough, Mom.”

Shmi sits down on the floor. With shaking hands, she opens the bag and looks inside. Yes. Yes.

There’s more than enough.

There’s enough to buy her freedom and take her boy away from Mos Espa. There’s enough to take her boy away from Tatooine completely.

“I…” she says. “Ani, I…”

“Padme said she’d send a ship for us,” Ani reports as if their lives are not changing right in front of their eyes. “In two days ‘cause I told her it might take a little bit of time to get Ben to come with us. But we can’t leave without him.”

This is said fiercely and with his arms crossed tightly over his little chest.

Shmi stares at him.

“I’ve already left him once!” Anakin says, stomping his foot. “But that was okay, because I knew you would bring him food and water and stuff. But if we’re both gone, no one’s going to be there for him.”

Shmi bites at her lip. There’s a lot of things happening very quickly right now, and she doesn’t know how to process half of them.

Her son has come back, after only being gone for a week and a half.

He has apparently either endeared himself so much to the queen of Naboo that she was willing to give him the money necessary to buy his mother from slavery and also promise him sanctuary on her planet. He says he’s done this by single-handedly ending a blockade, which is something she just cannot even think about right now.

He has told this queen--queen--that he will gladly live on Naboo with his family. Yes. Alright.

His family seems to include his imaginary friend, Ben.

Anakin has been talking about Ben for years now, ever since he was six and a half years old and sent by Watto to retrieve any scraps he could from what looked to be a crashed pod in the Wastelands. She’d let him ramble on about the ghost of a friend, because she’d known it to be something all children go through and experience. She hadn’t thought Anakin a lonely child, not with the friends he made in Mos Espa, but she’d always known that Anakin had a wandering spirit, ill-suited for Tatooine. If he liked to imagine an older man from a strange world hiding in the caves of the Wastes, then she wasn’t going to say anything.

“You have been leaving him food, haven’t you, Mom?” Anakin asks, almost accusatory. “I told him to expect you and everything.”

No. Shmi has not been traveling to the edge of the Wastelands every day during her precious few hours of free time in order to leave food to be picked apart by womp rats and desert critters and not her boy’s imaginary friend.

“Ani,” she says cautiously, quietly, “we cannot...we won’t be able to bring Ben with us when we go.”

Anakin, predictably, does not react well. “Why not!” he yells, backing away from her even further and looking as if she is the enemy. “Padme’s fine with it!”

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?” Shmi asks desperately, feeling cold suddenly even though the heat of the mid-morning sun has not abated at all.

If anything, her son looks more offended. “He’s not imaginary! Saying...saying that he’s not coming with us...is...is a bunch of poodoo!”

“Anakin!” Shmi gasps.

“Come on,” her boy says forcefully, grabbing at her hand and tugging her towards the door. She gets on her feet reluctantly and has half a mind to pull back just because he needs to learn that this sort of behavior is not okay, war hero or not. “We’re going to buy you from Watto. And then we’re going to go visit Ben!”

---

Buying her freedom takes less time than Shmi Skywalker ever thought it would. It feels distant as well, as if it’s happening to someone else.

It doesn’t help that her Ani is impatient and surly by turn, spilling the coin out onto Watto’s counter and barely waiting for him to finish counting it before he’s looking at the price of renting a four-person speeder parked outside.

“You won’t survive out there on your own,” Watto sneers, even as he’s passing her the kill-switch of her own slave chip. “Days. It’ll be days until the Hutts find out there’s a newly freed slave with no connections out there in the open. Ripe for the pickin’.”

Watto doesn’t have to tell her any of this. She knows. Gods, does she know.

But Anakin seems so sure about possessing the favor of the Queen of Naboo, or at least her handmaiden, which might be close enough to the same thing. She thanks Watto--she thanks him and then doesn’t even know why--and meets Anakin outside.

He’s bouncing around the speeder, little hands clutching his satchel to his chest. “Good!” he says when he sees her, hopping onto the machine and putting the parcel between his feet. “I got Ben something called a fig on Naboo, but I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to go bad. Apparently they’re sweet.”

Shmi goes along with it. Shmi doesn’t know why she goes along with it, but she does. She can see this is important to her boy, and though she’d rather spend the afternoon and early evening saying goodbye to her friends, she will allow Ani to say goodbye to his imaginary friend. Maybe she’ll even talk to it. “Hi, hello, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed the imaginary blue milk and delicacies I’ve left out for you this past week and half. Oh no, it was no bother. My son insisted.”

The ride is quick--Anakin has always been a driver to push the limits of any engine he comes across--and before she knows it, he’s dismounting on a piece of desert and rock that look exactly the same as the last four pieces of rocky terrain they’ve past.

“Ben!” Ani calls, satchel clutched firmly in his hands as he makes his way deeper into the crevices of the landscape. “Ben, it’s Ani! I’m really sorry that I left! Ben? Ben! I’m back now! Ani’s back!”

It’s actually...quite pathetic, to watch her boy speak so pleadingly to the cold stone faces of the rocks around them, but if this is what he needs to do to say goodbye to his life on Tatooine, Shmi won’t say a word.

“Ben--” Anakin draws in a breath to call again, but then there’s movement out of the corner of Shmi’s eyes, and something jumps from the rock down to land on her boy.

She screams and darts forward, but the thing on top of her son snarls at her in guttural warning.

“No, Ben,” Ani coos, stroking at the face that yes, is human, now that it’s not in unnaturally fast motion. “That’s my mom, Ben.”

Ben--Ben??--growls anyway, pinning the boy--her boy--beneath him with his legs and arms.

“She’s fine,” Ani murmurs gently, one hand reaching up to stoke over the beginnings of a beard on Obi-Wan’s face “Oh Ben, I’m sorry.”

The man on top of Shmi’s child finally looks away from her and at her boy, which is both better and worse.

“Ani,” Ben drawls out, as if the word--or perhaps forming the word--hurts him.

Anakin is happy. Shmi can tell he’s happy without even being able to see much of him. It’s like the very air vibrates with his joy. “Yes!” her son says. “Ani. Ben.” He taps the man’s chest. “Ben. Ani.”

The man buries his head into Anakin’s hair, hands rubbing up and down his sides and his arms and his face.

Shmi needs to say something, wants to say something about this strange man touching boy like he owns him, but the memory of his growl and the flash of his golden eyes stops her from stepping forward.

“Anakin, get away from him,” she hisses instead of stepping forward and tearing the stranger off of her son. She has the distinct feeling Anakin wouldn’t let Ben go anywhere, not with the way his little hands are holding so tight to the man’s shoulders. The man’s shoulders that are covered with one of her old tunics that Anakin had told her became unsalvageable after its last wash.

“No,” Anakin says, tightening his hold on his...friend. “He says you didn’t give him food the entire time I was gone! He’s hungry.”

Shmi thinks there’s a very good possibility that this Ben is going to eat her, but she knows not to say anything of the sort. Not when it’s two against one.

“He hasn’t said anything!” She cries instead.

Anakin huffs at this and pats at the feral’s head. “Maybe not to you, but he talks to me.”

Shmi stares at him and wonders if there’s something she’s supposed to be doing or saying here. The man won’t allow her to tear him off her child, she knows that automatically. But she can’t--she doesn’t know--

“Anakin,” she tries, desperately.

But Anakin doesn’t even look at her, too busy petting over the man, who has at least allowed him to sit up. “Hey, I’m sorry, I thought she would,” he tells him in an undertone. “I really thought she would, but I’m back now. I’m not going anywhere without you again--”

He extends his hand and Ben presses his cheek against it with enough force that it pushes him back slightly.

“You’re coming to Naboo with us, Ben,” Anakin promises, clutching at the ends of the man’s long hair. “Or I’m not going at all.”

To Shmi, it sounds like a threat.

The way her son’s eyes flash an unfamiliar golden color makes her feel cold as a Tatooine night. She shivers, but no one notices.

[honeypiehotchner]

illicit affairs (Spencer Reid one-shot)

This is wayyy overdue! It’s just been sitting in my drafts, waiting for me to edit her, but she’s finally here. This is very loosely based on Taylor Swift’s song of the same title. And it’s 100% me writing out some feelings through fanfiction, so it’s also loosely based on true events. Enjoy!

Summary: You and Spencer have been “dating” without a label for a few months now, until you witness something that has you wondering if it was too good to be true (as always).

Warnings: it’s so dramatic. Angst with a happy ending!

Spencer has no fucking clue what he did.

Well, to be more accurate, Spencer has no idea if he even did anything at all.

One second the two of you were acting as normal as ever, attached at the hip and nothing less, and the next you’re barely able to look at him. You won’t speak to him, you insist you’re fine, and you ask him to leave you alone -- please.

A new case comes and he thinks things will fall back into their rightful place. He expects you to sit with him on the plane, but you choose the farthest seat away from him. He expects you’ll be paired with him when he says he’ll go to the local station to work on victimology, but instead you agree to Morgan’s offer to look at the crime scene.

He’s desperate. He’s a so-called genius, and he’s losing his mind.

“Morgan, help me out here, man,” Spencer pleads, cornering Morgan when he’s getting a coffee. He’s just returned from the crime scene with you, but of course, you’ve ducked away from Spencer.

Derek’s eyebrows raise. Slowly, he turns around, eyeing the desperate genius. “You’re asking for my advice?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Spencer whispers, eyes cutting to you, but only for a second. He doesn’t want you to think he’s creepily staring at you all the time. So far, you haven’t caught him (that he knows of).

“Well, what did you do?” Morgan asks like the answer should be blatantly obvious.

“I don’t know!”

“Alright, let me rephrase that for you,” Morgan’s tone is bordering on teasing, but he can’t help it. The resident genius of the BAU is having trouble talking to a woman. Who knew? “Have you done anything that would lead her to believe you’re not interested in her anymore?”

“What? No!”

“Think, Reid,” Morgan replies, tipping his cup of coffee in the air. “And when you figure it out, apologize.”

He leaves without another word. Morgan joins you and Emily back in the room where the team has set up base. You share a particularly heated look with Morgan, but he shakes his head, letting you know he didn’t betray your confidence. You relax.

Spencer doesn’t know this, but earlier when you were riding with Morgan to the crime scene, you confided in him.

It had been completely accidental. Something about car rides brings out the need to ask for advice. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s the road to focus on, or the case to segway into, you don’t know. But what you do know, is that when you confided in Morgan, he shook his head, and called Spencer a dumbass.

“Hypothetically,” you had begun, and Morgan remembers wondering if you were going to talk about the case, but you didn’t. “If you’ve been talking-- flirting with a guy and going on a few dates over the past few months -- but there’s no label -- but so if you’ve been doing all this and then you suddenly see him outside his apartment hugging another woman -- like arms around her waist kind of deal, face in her neck...what does that mean?”

Morgan had nearly slammed on the brakes. Reid? A two-timer? He never would’ve guessed. The kid could barely get his words out when he first met you, and now he’s playing you?

“Well, hypothetically,” Morgan played into your game. “I’d be suspicious. Personally, I don’t just hug any woman like that if I don’t have other intentions,” he shook his head. What you’re describing is intimate, especially for Reid. “You’re right to think something else is going on.”

“Who said it was about me?”

Morgan looked at you with his usual knowing stare. Sometimes you forget you’re all profilers. You’ve made deals not to profile one another, but you’re sure it still happens. You all have another silence agreement to never voice it aloud, unless needed.

“Fine,” you caved, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know, I just-- I was going to drop off his stupid jacket that he left in my car the night before, and I saw him hugging her right on his doorstep and she kissed his cheek and I just-- I bolted. I don’t know.” You had let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought he was different.”

“If it helps,” Morgan shrugged, “I’ll kick his ass.” He might protect Reid like a mother hen, but he’s not afraid to give him a hard time, either.

“No, no, don’t,” you groaned. “I’m just gonna keep my distance. No sense in putting effort into something that clearly is never going to happen.”

“Oh, come on, don’t talk like that,” Morgan said. You used to talk that way all the time when you first started at the BAU, but it slowly died out the more you hung out with Spencer. Morgan connected the dots, but never told you.

“You know I’ve never been in a relationship?”

This time, Morgan did slam on the brakes.

“What?”

“Never,” you shook your head, motioning for him to keep driving. “Not one. They all fall through. I started thinking something was wrong with me, you know?” Morgan gave you another look, his sad, big brother one this time. “But then Spencer and I started getting closer, he took me on what I thought, I guess, were a couple of dates. I mean, he paid and drove and walked me to my door and all that cute shit. That’s a date, right? I mean, he never kissed me on the lips, but it’s Spencer.” You didn’t even look to see Morgan’s reaction, but he was nodding. “I started to think maybe it was never me, maybe it was the guys--”

“It was the guys,” Morgan argued. “Alright? You’re amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you. It would be a damn honor. Don’t let that head of yours convince you otherwise.”

You shook your head, the crime scene rapidly approaching. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

You were out of the car and introducing yourself to the police on the scene before Morgan could even blink.

Morgan can only hope Reid had a good reason for having a woman at his door and hugging her, and letting her kiss his cheek. Reid doesn’t give hugs to just anyone, let alone accept a kiss, so whoever it was, obviously she was more than a friend.

The thought of Reid being a player makes Morgan smile. On the one hand, he’s a little bit proud. On the other, he’s pissed. It’s one thing to have one night stands with women who are into that sort of thing, but it’s another to drag someone along -- someone like you, someone who is too good, who deserves better than that.

Morgan had thought about telling you to just talk to Spencer, in hopes that there was a good reason for what you saw, but you’ve made it painfully clear over the past two weeks that you’d rather keep your distance instead.

So, he lets you. He can’t say that he blames you, really. Not after what you told him. He can only hope Spencer will figure this one out before it’s too late.

+++

After the case is closed and you’re back home, you immediately head for the shower. Cases are exhausting enough, but avoiding Spencer made it worse. Going from being attached at the hip to trying to be anywhere except in the same room as him took a toll on you. Not to mention, dodging everyone else’s worried looks. Morgan is the only one you’ve confided in, but that hasn’t stopped Hotch, Emily, JJ, and even Garcia from constantly asking if you’re alright.

Once you’re finished showering and in your pajamas, you head back to the living area. Spencer’s forgotten cardigan lays on the arm of your couch, lonely.

You know you shouldn’t, but you shrug it on anyway. No harm in wearing it. Not like he misses it. He probably has a hundred others.

You head to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, hoping it’ll soothe your nerves and help you drift off to sleep before your mind has the time to make you think of Spencer.

Too late.

Sighing heavily, you place the kettle on the stove. You hum a song while you’re at it, knowing that you’re being endlessly dramatic.

It’s not like you had sex with Spencer. Hell, the most the two of you did was hold hands and you kissed his cheek. He kissed your head once, though you think it was an accident.

Still, there was never a label. Why are you so upset?

Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby/Look at this idiotic fool that you made me

It’s stupid, really, how hung up you are over this. A few dates don’t exactly mean anything at all. Flirting nowadays can mean nothing, too. You don’t understand any of it.

You cup your cheek gently, foolishly wondering what it would feel like if Spencer’s hand was there instead -- maybe even as he kissed you, but you don’t want to get too carried away. It’s not like anything will ever happen now.

And you know damn well/for you I would ruin myself/a million little times

Maybe you just need more time. This was the first time in a long time that you had let your guard down, let yourself go on dates. So many times it had all gone wrong, so you closed yourself off and focused on your career. You thought since you were stable at the BAU that now it was okay.

You thought Spencer -- Spencer Reid, of all people, you really thought he would’ve been different.

Maybe it’s just your type. Maybe that’s who you attract. The men who don’t want anything serious and never will. They’re stuck in Peter Pan mode. You must be Wendy. It must be a curse.

The kettle boils and you cut the burner off, fixing your tea.

You’re just walking back to the living room when there’s a knock on your door. You freeze, your panicked mind expecting the absolute worst, until you hear Spencer’s voice.

“Y/N?” He calls out. “It’s Spencer-- You probably knew that already.”

You smile into your tea, but you make no move for the door. You want-- no, you ache to let him inside, but you know it’s a bad idea. He’s probably here to ask if you’re alright, and you don’t have the energy to answer him. He’s probably going to go back to his girlfriend after this. You really don’t know that you can handle a face-to-face rejection.

“Y/N, please,” Spencer says again, pleading. He knocks once more, quietly. “I see lights are on, so I’m just going to...assume you can hear me.”

You walk a step closer. You don’t want to let him inside, but maybe you can listen. That won’t be too bad, right?

“Y/N, I’m...I’m sorry.”

Oh, tears. Stupid, stupid tears. You wipe them on the sleeve of his cardigan, glad that they’re at least falling quietly right now.

“I don’t know what I did, but I’m...I’m just sorry and I miss you and it’s killing me that you won’t even look at me. I…” Spencer pauses, and you walk closer, biting on the sleeve to keep from letting out a sob. “I’m sorry, I don’t… Please, just tell me what I did.”

You press your back to the door, sliding down until you hit the floor. You keep your knees against your chest and set the mug of tea down next to you. The noise causes Spencer’s ears to perk up.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Spencer,” you barely speak loud enough for him to hear. “It’s me.”

“Please, tell me what I did,” he pleads, voice breaking. Is he crying, too? “I don’t know what it was, but I’ll fix it. Or I’ll try-- Please, let me try.”

“Spencer…” You sigh, tears falling down your cheeks with no restraint. “Be honest with me, are you seeing someone else?” You pause, choking on a sob. So many times you’ve had this conversation, the rejection, finding out you weren’t the one they wanted. Too many times. But none of them ever hurt this bad. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” Spencer nearly falls over. Why on earth would you think that? “What are you talking about? Of course not.”

“Don’t lie to me, please,” you groan, pressing your hand to your forehead. This is pathetic. You shouldn’t be showing him how upset you are. And through a door, no less. Can you get any more dramatic?

“What are you talking about?”

“I was at your apartment, Spencer,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your cheeks. “I went to drop off this stupid cardigan of yours and you-- You were hugging a woman outside your door and I saw it and I saw her kiss you--”

You cut yourself off, choking on another sob, and Spencer sighs. He understands now.

“Open the door. Please,” he says.

“Why?” You reply quietly. “If you’re just going to reject me, please, just do it through the door.” The last thing you want is for him to see you like this when he tells you he’s seeing someone else, that he didn’t even know you liked him, and so on.

“I’m not rejecting you,” he says softly. “Please.”

You know it’s a bad idea, but how much worse can things get?

You stand to your feet and open the door, careful of the mug of tea on the floor. Spencer’s heart drops at the sight of you. Tear stains on your cheeks, red eyes, your quivering lip as you try to hold things together, and...his cardigan hanging off your shoulders. Somehow the last tops it all off, sends a strike of pain right to his heart.

You wipe some more tears away with the sleeve, motioning for him to start talking. “Go on.”

“She’s an old friend. We did kiss before, once. But she’s not my girlfriend. She was in town and wanted to stop by to tell me she’s getting married...to her girlfriend of three years.”

You nod slowly. For some reason, that doesn’t even make you feel better. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Spencer asks, hopeful tone and all. “Are we okay?”

“What are we, Spencer?” You ask, eyes still watering. “I can’t keep going on the way we were going, you know? It’s agonizing, I just want to know what’s going on in your head.”

Spencer smiles softly. “I want you to...to be my girlfriend.”

Your ears are deceiving you. They must be. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I thought it was obvious,” he chuckles. “That’s one of the things I talked to her about -- her name’s Jess. She invited me-- us to the wedding. I was gonna ask you to be my girlfriend-- I still want to, I mean, if you’ll have me.”

More tears spring to your eyes and Spencer’s heart jumps, thinking he did something completely wrong.

“What happened? Did I say something?”

“No,” you shake your head. “God.” You wipe at your cheeks before turning and retreating back into your apartment. Spencer has no choice but to follow you.

He spots your mug of tea and places it on the coffee table as he shuts your front door gently with his foot.

“I’m so...stupid,” you mutter, jumping when you see he’s followed you inside. He’s not unwelcome here by any means, you’re just an idiot. A huge idiot.

“You’re not stupid,” he argues. “I wish you would’ve talked to me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you this has happened to me before?” You murmur pathetically, propping your body against the arm of your couch.

Spencer’s heart breaks more. You won’t look at him again.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, clasping your hands together, fighting the shakes. “I should’ve talked to you, I just-- This has happened before and those times it was… Well, you know.” You finally look up at him, tears falling. “The first time the guy didn’t even try hiding it. The second one did, but not very well because I still found out. The third wasn’t even aware that he was flirting with me, I guess. I don’t know how you can take someone on dates for months and not be aware, but he said he wasn’t.” You pause, looking away again. “I just saw a pattern and I freaked out and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispers, even though you still feel like it’s not.

You shake your head.

“Y/N, it is,” he presses on. “I should’ve...talked to you about how I’m feeling, but I was scared. You’re the first girl that’s-- I don’t know, liked me for me, I guess. Dorkiness and all.”

You chuckle, and Spencer nearly grins. He got a laugh. That’s something.

“How about we both make a deal to communicate better?” He offers. You nod, so he keeps going. “I’ll go first. I really want you to be my girlfriend.”

You can’t help but smile now, all dumb and trying to hide it in the sleeve of his cardigan. “I’d really love to be your girlfriend.”

“Yeah?” He asks, almost like he wasn’t even expecting you to agree, but you nod, confirming it for his genius brain.

The kiss the two of you share is a long time coming. It’s gentle and warm, relaxing your muscles and easing the tension you’ve held in them for the past two weeks. Spencer gathers you in his arms, keeping you close, with zero intent of ever letting you go.

+++

When you walk into the BAU the next morning, you are painfully reminded that you are surrounded by the best profilers in the country.

It’s no secret that you and Spencer have been “dating” for a while, but you never showed PDA -- partly because the two of you were fumbling around your true feelings, and partly because you’re not too sure how relationships stand with protocol here.

Apparently, despite coming in fifteen minutes apart from one another, everyone can see right through you both.

Morgan is the first to say something. He catches you when the elevator doors open and you have Spencer’s cardigan hanging over your shoulders. In your defense, Spencer forgot to grab it when he left your house sometime this morning, so you were just trying to return it -- again.

“Late night?” Morgan raised his eyebrows.

Realizing your mistake, your eyes widen. “Shut up.” You step off the elevator and point a threatening finger in his face. “Not a word.”

Morgan’s hands raise in surrender, but he still has that goddamn smile on his face. “Might wanna take off that cardigan, sweetheart. You’re too obvious.”

Angrily, you shrug it off and walk into the bullpen.

Spencer is at his desk, so you shove his cardigan into his chest. “You forgot this.”

Upon seeing that it’s you, Spencer’s lips stretch into a grin. “Thanks.” He pauses, folding the cardigan over his arm. “I was kind of hoping you’d keep it,” he whispers, eyes darting around to be sure no one is listening. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. “Give it to me tonight, then,” you wink, earning a light blush on Spencer’s cheeks.

Hotch watches this encounter from the railing and smiles. He’s sure neither of you will do anything to warrant him giving you a stern talk about relationships and work, so he won’t mention anything for now.

Instead, he retreats back into his office, glad you’ve finally gotten over yourselves.

Garcia catches on when you come to visit her in her office only to find Spencer already standing there. He’s animatedly talking about Doctor Who, but stops abruptly when he sees you. It doesn’t take a profiler to understand the glances, the smiles, and awkward goodbyes that were shared so you could ask Garcia a question.

Prentiss is just glad the two of you will look at one another again, but the way you keep glancing over her shoulder to see Spencer is more than obvious. It’s so obvious that Prentiss and JJ share a knowing look, but say nothing. They should’ve placed bets.

You and Spencer catch each other’s eyes more than a dozen times every hour, and he follows you to the break room to conveniently get a coffee at the same time as you.

Yeah, you’re not being obvious at all.

Neither of you notice that the team has caught on, so you take your chances when you find yourselves alone in the break room. You can practically hear the conversations the rest of the team is having out in the bullpen, so you let Spencer pull you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head.

This is a lot for Spencer, and you too, if you’re honest. Hugs are something you never found yourself enjoying, but when you’re tucked into Spencer’s chest, you never want to leave.

You’re both too busy holding one another to hear Hotch’s footsteps as he enters the room. The clearing of his throat is what finally breaks the two of you apart.

“Agent Hotchner,” you blurt, straightening yourself and taking one too many steps away from Reid.

Hotch smirks. You haven’t called him that since your first day. “New case. Looks like a short one. Conference room in five minutes.”

And he leaves as quick as he came, chuckling under his breath.

You and Spencer share a look before dissolving into laughter and fixing your coffee. You don’t try to walk out of the break room separately, knowing that there’s no use.

Especially not when you get cold on your way to the conference room, and Spencer promptly wraps you in his cardigan.

[galadae]

I don't know if you're doing these asks yet or not, but please 17 and 25 for Bri? <3

ahh thank you! I wasn’t going to ask for any bc most people don’t know all my OCs but I’ll take it :)

17. Are they more shaped by nature or nurture - who they are, or what has happened to them? How have these shaped who they’ve become as a person?

Ooh. Much more nurture. The Spire falling really changed her. Believing she was the only wayfarer alive, even for a few years, left her lonely and exhausted. She didn’t feel like she had the time or freedom to deal with her emotions for a longest time. There wasn’t a lot of room for healthy grief or mental health breaks when she had to find another job ASAP just to survive. She’s become more adaptable simply because she expects things to go wrong. She’s not a complete pessimist and she’ll still give people the benefit of the doubt if they seem trustworthy. But she’s not really surprised when things go to shit anymore. And she’s so so tired of things going to shit. Her patience runs a lot shorter than it used to. So she copes by bottling up her emotions and being snarky towards anyone who seems a little too into themselves.

She’s always liked connecting with people, belonging somewhere, but that became harder after the Spire. She tried to find people she could trust before Karth. The fact that she had to move around so often made most of those relationships fade eventually. She’s less likely to make new friends now, even if she wants to, simply because of lifestyle. Deep down she’s desperate for anything or anyone that can anchor her and help her feel like she has a real place in the world again.

25. What do they need and want out of relationships, and how do they go about getting it?

Whether the relationship is platonic or romantic, she needs something comfy and consistent. People she can count on to be there for her unconditionally. People who will help her get up when she’s had a bad day, or week, or year, who take care of her when she can’t. People she can have fun with, be herself with. And unfortunately she’s loyal almost to a fault to people who have done this for her in the past, even for a moment. (I can’t possibly foresee any problems from this. Nope. None 😬)

For romance, she wants intimacy, but not necessarily sex (she enjoys sex but if her partner isn’t into it she’ll be fine with cuddles lol) Bri’s ultimate relationship goal is just sharing life with someone. Even if it’s just small moments. I don’t really know how to explain it more than that. She’s pretty low maintenance, she just wants to be understood.

How does she go about getting it? I think whenever she finds someone she wants to get closer to, whether platonic or romantic, she goes out of her way to make them feel accepted and safe. She’s pretty pessimistic on her own but if they’re feeling bad she’ll do her best to cheer them up. She’s very protective. She might do this because she wants them to love her back at first, but it is sincere despite that.

I hope all this made sense! i had to retype all this because the app crashed 🥲

[reidswritings]

I’ll Fight For You

authors note; uhhh happy new year! this is just a little something i wrote when i was feeling sad and wishing i had a spencer. i am in NO WAY trying to romanticize depression lol also this is kinda based on the song moonlight by future islands (this isnt edited so if you saw a mistake, no you didnt)

word count; 2.5k

warnings; depression and anxiety

Heavy. So, so heavy. That’s how she felt. She felt like the whole world had its ties on her and they were dragging her down, down, down. It felt like the darkness had finally caught up with her. She felt as though she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It was all too much— too much of an effort, too much of a task, too much to even get her body to sit up. 

She had been fine the night before— that’s what she was trying to convince herself. 

She hadn’t been.

No, instead she had been declining and everyone who knew her could see it. They could see it on her face, they could see it when her usually contagious smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. They saw it in the way she apologized one too many times. They saw it in the way she constantly zoned out. They saw it get worse and worse and worse every day. 

Bit by bit they watched as the disease clawed its way from the depths of whatever cave it lived in and did its very best to drag her back down into the darkness with it. 

They saw it all. They were just too polite to say anything. Too polite, too uncaring, too preoccupied. Too whatever. A part of her wished they hadn’t been too whatever. A part of her wished they cared enough to reach out. 

Though, she thought, maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t. Maybe it was a good thing they let her be. Maybe it was a good thing— it gave her the opportunity to get over whatever this was by herself, in peace. 

The Tired Girl wasn’t kidding anyone. They all knew what this was. This wasn’t some funk she’d get over. This wasn’t just a bad day. This was just her life. This was just how she had to live. This was her condition rearing its ugly head—her depression. It always happened to her at the worst times. It happened when she first fell in love. It happened when everything was going well at work. It happened when nothing was wrong in her life. It happened when her life was absolute shit. It always happened when she least expected it. 

It just always happened.

Beside her, she felt the comforter pull. It pulled away from under her chin, letting in the cold air. Letting in the bad thoughts. Letting in the intrusive thoughts. Letting in everything she desperately wanted to keep out. She felt him move from the bed, his hand patting her back. He leaned down, fingers tangling themselves in her knotted hair, kissing her head so softly she wanted to cry. She heard him grunt as he stood, bones cracking alongside the stretch he gave— she listened as he did the same thing he did every single morning. 

She heard him gulp down the glass of water from the night prior, she heard him walk into the bathroom connected to their room and she heard him hum to himself as he started his day. She listened as he twisted open the cap to his contacts, then his glasses case. She heard him opened the face wash and then the toothpaste. She heard it all, stuck in the bed like she was chained to it. Stuck in the bed like she was prisoner to it. 

She heard him do all these things and once again, like clockwork, she began to feel her body seize up. She felt her blood boil, she felt herself become so angry she could hardly stand it. 

She wished she could move. She wished she could get up to be with him. She wished she could partake in their morning kiss. She wished they could laugh together in the bathroom mirror, toothbrushes in hand and toothpaste falling down their lips and chins. She wished she could share a cup of coffee with him. She wished and wished and wished. She wished she wasn’t so angry at the world, at herself, at everything. 

Oh, how she wished she could just be there. 

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time wasn’t relevant to her anymore. Her unfocused eyes were watching the curtains. They were pulled closed, dark and depressing— much like herself. She remembered when they bought the stupid drapes. 

The had bought the blackout ones, hopeful not to be woken up by the sun raising. She liked it at the time, she thought it was a good idea. . . at the time. Now, the goddamn curtains were hurting her soul. She wanted to pull them open. She just had no energy. She just couldn’t move.

So, she sat, staring blankly at the god awful blackout curtains. Until he blocked her view. Her eyes focused, meeting the beautiful hazel eyes she fell in love with. His mouth was moving but her ears hadn’t caught up yet. She could tell that he was sighing, defeated. She blinked, unmoving. She felt bad, she felt so fucking horrible. She felt horrible for her, for him, for everything. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to move— to make it better. To fix things. 

She watched his hand reach out, slowly, settling on her covered arm. She could feel the warmth through her shirt and that made things a little better. Not much, but when you’re that sick, anything helped. No matter how big or small. 

She wanted to smile, thank him for being there for her. She wanted to kiss him like her life depended on it. She wanted to give him all the things he deserved— but still, she was unmoving, frozen.

Everything hit her at once, she could throw up. She could cry, she could scream, she could throw a fucking fit. She wanted to be left alone, she couldn’t handle anything. He was talking, she was catching the tail end of it. “—ou alright?”

Thick with sleep, with sadness, with morning haziness, her voice was loud, “Huh?’’

He spoke again, “I said, are you alright?” She could feel his thumb rubbing against her arm and it hurt. It hurt. Everything hurt. She shook her head, eyes closing again. She felt her face scrunch up, in annoyance, in pain, in sadness, in everything she wished she wasn’t. 

He moved his hand, the one that was just too soft, to her cheek. She wished it was soothing, she wished she could lean into his touch. The Worried Boy nodded, “Okay, okay. What can I do? How can I help?’’

The girl shrugged. She was sighing, heavy, it carrying everything that she had bottled up the past weeks. She knew what she needed, but she was too afraid to ask. Too afraid to voice her thought, too afraid she’d be too much. Too afraid that this would be the one thing that he deemed to be too much. 

He pulled the blanket back up to her chin, hands hovering. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying, thinking of anything that might help his Pretty Girl. Her mind was creating lies, telling her that she was worthless, that he hated her, that she was nothing. 

It was a whirlwind— her mind. She willed it to stop, unsuccessfully, she curled further into her dark position. She felt his hands leave her, finally. A breath of fresh air rushed through her lungs, comfort and calm filling her veins. She could finally breathe— until she couldn't again. Her mind began again, throwing the nasty at her. It told her he didn't love her, it told her he didn't want to touch her. It told her she was too much. It told her all the things she didn't want to hear. 

It told her all the things he tried too hard to make her forget on the good days. 

"Hey." his voice cut through the fog, loud and strong. It was her light at the end of her dark tunnel, "Stop that."

He let out a breath, it fanned on her face, she welcomed the heat that followed. “I’m sorry.”

He was shaking his head, sad and feeling all the feelings for her. He wished away her bad thoughts, he wanted her to return to the usually bubbly girl she was. 

 Her world was suddenly shifting again and her mind becoming no less clouded, heavy as ever. The boy who she loved with her entire being, pulled her arms to her chest, sliding in bed behind her. His lips were moving against her ear, words brushing her skin. 

Her ears were picking up on the sweet nothings her pretty boy was murmuring, but her mind was on a different path. Her mind was fogged. It was like she was watching, listening, through a fogged up piece of glass. 

She could feel his arms on her body, it was comforting. And before she knew what was happening to her, her mind was swirling again. It was sharp. She found her voice, strong in the disappointment that was her illness. “Spence— Spencer, I-I.”

She stopped, depression kicking her in the ass. Spencer’s voice was louder. “Don’t, don’t stop. Keep going, push through, Y/N/N.”

“I’m so tired. I feel like. . . everything is just so hard right now, Spence.”

He sighed, she did too, eyes heavy and lethargic. She was so fucking tired, she felt like she could pass out any second. She felt like she hadn’t slept in ages. Her head fell back on to his shoulder, his hands bursting away the knotted hair away. If she wasn’t in this funk, she knew her heart would’ve skipped a beat at the simple gesture. Breath heavy on her lungs, on her body, on her mind and soul, she exhaled.

Her boy nodded, squeezing her just a little extra. “That’s it. Let it out.”

His hands were moving again, brushing against her cheeks. He was wiping, lingering. Her eyes caught his hand when he finally took it away, it was wet, glistening in the small amount of light that illuminated the two. 

“I’m sorry. . .” The broken girl breathed. She wasn’t sure why she did so. All she knew was that it was second nature. Saying those words was up there with the need to breathe, pressing and dire. 

“. . .Why?” It was just as quiet as her cries— the ones that she barely had a clue were happening. 

Despite the ignorance, she cried harder, eyes and face scrunched up tighter than Spencer had ever seen. Her breath had caught, faster than they both wanted. Her heart seized up, sad and lonely— despite the pretty boy beside her. She wanted to be anywhere other than where she was. She was tired— tired of feeling the way she did. Tired of feeling like she wasn’t enough for him. Tired of feeling like she was more a burden than a blessing. She was just so, so fucking tired. 

She knew she could talk to him. She knew that. Of course she did, it was Spencer— she could tell him anything and he’d never, ever, in a millions years, judge her or make her feel like less for having her own thoughts and opinions.

So, it was usually easy to talk to him. It was easy because she loved him. She loved the way he responded, she love the way he would light up every time she sat him down and told him everything. It was easy because he would get this look on his face that she rarely ever saw. He would get this look that she loved more than anything in the whole world. More than chocolate, more than her favorite movie, more than her friends, more than everything. 

Y/N’s most favorite thing in the whole world was the look that crossed his beauty whenever she talked to him. When it happened, it was like the whole world had stopped. To, Spencer, it was like everything in his world had become. . . secondary. Like, nothing else mattered to the pale boy except the words that were leaving his pretty girl. His eyes would grow all wide and innocent and it warmed Y/N’s heart every damn time. 

She quickly learned that to see her favorite look, she had to talk. To him. About everything. Even the ugly. Even her deepest darkest secrets. And she did, quite often too. So, when the broken girl cried out in-between sobs and choppy breathes a very heart-wrenching, “I don’t know!” Spencer knew something was amiss. 

His hands were back in her hair, pulling it away from her eyes, her forehead, opening up the girl to the light he so desperately wanted to share with her. “Hey, just breathe.”

Cries still there, just not as present, she sat up. Looking at her boy through the blurry vision that were her tears, she said, “You don’t deserve this.”

He didn’t answer, he only raised his hand, to place on her shoulder, probably. She flinched away and hurt crossed his features before he placed his hand back down onto his own leg. She continued, head shaking, “You know that, don’t you? You deserve someone who can get up with you in the morning. You should have someone who doesn’t wallow in their own pity and despair. You deserve more than me, Spence.”

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N.” His voice had a bite of sadness to it. Y/N could tell. His eyes were far away, though maintaining eye contact. 

“Understand?” Her breath stilled finally. She was perplexed with her beautiful boy. An action that happened quite often. 

His beautiful eyes returned, he shook his head slightly. His mouth turned up at the side and he let out the smallest of chuckles. “Y/N, I-I— You mean everything to me.”

The boy cleared his throat, probably to flush away the tears that threatened to show through his voice. Then he continued, looking at his pretty girl. “I will tell you until the end of time. I’ll tell you until it gets through that thick skull of yours.” He chuckled at that, a finger tapping against her temple. 

“Spencer, I’m just so, so tired. Tired of everything.”

Her boy sighed, sad again. “ We fight for each other. You fought to clear my name, you fought to get me clean. . . again. We fight for each other, Y/N/N. And right now, I’m asking for you to make the choice to stay, because I cant do this without you, Y/N. I’m gonna fight for you. I’ll fight for you, until I don’t have to anymore.”

And for once, 

For once,

For once, she realized, she wasn’t quite as alone as she had thought. She wasn’t the only one that experience this kind of sadness. She realized that her once small, dark world was no longer small and dark. 

Not with Spencer Reid pulling her through the dark, never ending tunnel. Now, she wasn’t cured, not by any means, of course. But, it hurt just a little less knowing he was right there with her. 

Knowing he was her light in the dark storm of life. And that was all she needed. 

[multi-lefaiye]

ALRIGHT after having a Brain Bad moment that actually lasted like three hours i think i am going to jump headlong into the concept of making eden’s story its own thing

i don’t know how to word the basic premise so far into a snappy summary, but it’d center around Eden stumbling into magic in a world where magic is NOT a known and accepted thing, and all the consequences that follow. Featuring my usual heaps of metaphors and symbolism, Eden’s daddy issues, and a story that I’m summarizing in my head as “local transmasc pHD student goes fucking feral and probably almost causes an apocalypse.” It’s fine!

brain a bit too fuzzy for picrews right now so uhhh here’s the list of important characters so far:

Eden Linnaeus - 28, trans male, he/him A pHD student who has thrown himself into his studies without abandon. Eden struggles to make connections with others to begin with, and he clings to his identity as a prodigal genius to make up for how deeply lonely he is. He is very self-destructive and impulsive at the best of times, and his desperation to prove himself better than his father has made him bitter. At his core, Eden is driven by a lack of self-worth and a need for others’ approval, though he’d never admit it, and he hides his anxieties under a rude, cocky veneer to drive others off.

Hannah Linnaeus - deceased (died at 32), cis female, she/her Eden’s mother, who passed away when he was 12 years old. Hannah was generally a kind woman who did her best for herself and her family--unfortunately, though, she was a rather neglectful mother, which only grew worse after her husband Abdiel left her. Her chronic illness made it difficult for her to work consistently to support herself and her children, and ultimately overworking herself led to her death when she was 32.

Michael Linnaeus - 25, cis male, he/him Eden’s younger brother, who looked up to him throughout their childhood but has grown apart from him in recent years. Generally a very kind and understanding person, though he has significantly less patience for his brother than he used to. The two have completely fallen out of touch, and Michael doesn’t know where Eden is now. He does miss him, but he isn’t willing to reach out at this point.

Abdiel Linnaeus - late 50s, cis male, he/him Eden’s father, who walked out on him and the rest of the family when he was 7 years old. Abdiel was never a particularly attentive or loving father or husband, so in hindsight perhaps it wasn’t a surprise when he left. What was a surprise, however, was that he cut the family completely off financially, doing nothing to support Hannah or their sons. Abdiel was known for his incredible scientific work and the many advances he made in the field of medicine, and Eden has dedicated his life to destroying his father’s legacy.

Kader Al-Masri - 29, cis male (?), he/him Eden’s childhood friend and ex-boyfriend, who has grown apart from him in recent years as they’ve moved on to live separate lives. Still, Kader tried to keep in touch, and he does want to remain Eden’s friend. Unfortunately, their relationship has become very strained in the aftermath of a nasty, explosive argument they had, during which Kader told Eden that he’s just like his father Abdiel, that he’s going to die alone if he keeps treating others the way he does. Kader ultimately wants to do good by those around him, but everyone has their limits.

Laurette Wright - 28, trans female, she/her Eden’s only friend at university and academic rival (though it’s very one-sided, for the most part). Laurette is in the same pHD program as Eden, but they’ve never gotten along. At most, the two have a begrudging respect for each other as both being “misunderstood geniuses,” and they tolerate each other’s presence. Doesn’t mean they’ll be nice to each other, though.

[keylimegreendog20]

I’m 16. The older I get, the more I realize how shitty some people have treated me in the past.

Because I’m autistic, it takes me longer than others to understand when or why people make fun of me or manipulate me.

I’m only now realizing how many people have taken advantage of my barely-noticeable-but-clearly-there social “deficits.”

It’s not that I’m bad at socializing. In fact, I can be very good at it.

I don’t click with too many people, but when I find people I love, I love them hard.

Growing up, I was always different. However this difference wasn’t really that unexpected, I was homeschooled until I was in 5th grade, my family was vaguely hippie (think natural childbirth, no tv, as I already said, homeschool, committed Ana Baptist Christians, brown bread, few packaged foods, etc), and I had always been a bright and “mature” child. If anyone, including me, noticed I was different than my peers, it could easily all be attributed to these things.

I must stress that I did have friends growing up. Even being homeschooled, my two sisters and I were far from cut off from the world. We had 8 friends in our neighborhood alone that we played with endlessly. It’s not that I lacked social connection, in fact I was very rarely lonely as a child. Being the oldest of three by four years, I also had a little sister who was always in a state of wanting to play with and follow me, which I usually adored.

When I was in 5th grade, I felt that I was ready to go off into the world. After much consideration, my parents agreed to send me to the local public school for one year. Over all, my memories of that year are quite fond. I was good at making friends, and most people liked me.

But despite my good friends, there were always bullies. In my class of 24 kids, there was a group of four girls who for some reason felt the need to pick on someone. I guess they decided I was the easiest target. I’m not sure what exactly it was that made them realize it would be so easy to bully me. But for some awful reason, in the middle of the school year, the “wHaT aRe ThOsE?!?” vibe made it big. For anyone who doesn’t remember, this was a video of someone making fun of another person for wearing crocks (I think?).

The thing was, coming from the weird family that I did, I most certainly was not connected to Vine. In fact, I’d never even heard of the platform! So when these girls started coming up to me and going “WHAT ARE THOSE!!!!” and pointing to my crocks (my favorite pair of shoes back then, I tended to be very attached to items of clothing for periods of time, another unknown autistic trait, and at that time my bright pink crocks were the shoe of choice for a good year and a half, even in the winter), I had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. I understood that they were making fun of me, and I understood it had something to do with my shoes, but I couldn’t figure it out much beyond that.

See, contrary to popular belief, autistic people usually DO know when you are making fun of us. We just don’t often know why, or how to best respond to this.

And so the cycle began. These girls made fun of my shoes. I can’t remember how I responded exactly, but whatever I did it only encouraged them to do it more. The more they harassed me, the more they realized how helpless I was to defend myself. It was so cruel, when you really think about it, to pick a target you know can’t fight back.

In hindsight, these girls were only trying desperately to feel powerful in a system that made us all feel powerless. All of them were sporty “tomboys,” which was still acceptable at age 10, but was gradually becoming less so. I was actually introduced to the word “gay” when someone made fun of the ringleader of the group by calling her that. As girls, we were already at a disadvantage in our school and in our world, and we were starting to feel it.

This was only the very beginning of a lot of cruel people taking advantage of me because of my autistic traits. Did they think to themselves “Wow, it’s an autistic girl, she won’t understand if we bully her, let’s be super mean” ? No, I don’t think they did. But did they,  consciously or not, realize that I was different, that I was other, that I was vulnerable and naive? Definitely. And that’s what’s so painful.

The message of this story is not “don’t be mean or bully someone, they might be autistic!” While that is a good takeaway, I must say that a much better one is this: do not be mean or bully anyone, because they are human. It doesn’t matter if someone is autistic, neurotypical, or something else entirely. While it is especially cruel to target an autistic person, it is cruel to hurt people because they are people, and whether you understand it or not, they have emotions.