#and she's the only person who can relate to that burden

[glittergoats]

the awful feeling of watching yourself become obsessed with a rarepair in a small fandom

[muu-kun]

Speaking of fashion, I will eventually have the appropriate amount of time to dedicate myself to a proper attire headcanon post. For now, I only have examples for silhouettes pertaining to dresses gathered. Which at this point can ultimately be narrowed down in explanation as Muu holding preference for a bodice that does not require even just a modest breast size.

Although he does wear bralettes (which is not out of gender dysphoria or euphoria on any account actually. Instead, it is more so like a running joke with himself at this point due to the fact he's actually had an infatuation with wearing them since he was a sixteen year old boy that found a bra lying in the street) he doesn't do so with the intent of applying padding to them-- especially when considering the fact he has some minor gynaecomastia due to stubbornly persistent baby fat going on. He can deal with those, but he definitely doesn't want to even so much as imply he has "real breasts."

He also isn't one to gravitate towards those built around the necessity for breasts due to the fact that he does not wish for the attire adorning his body to appear as though something (or somethings) is missing. Which is also the given reason why even in his decision to wear what is considered women's underwear underneath the dresses similar to above, he does not engage in the act of tucking. Yes, that does come within treacherous territory per the fact that he is then advertising himself as a flamboyantly youthful individual with an occasionally visible (and not incredibly well endowed, mind you) genitalia outline in his attire. That's not even to mention the detectability of his disabilities on establishing conversation with him.

Beyond that, he's not too partial to much else. Length and material is otherwise irrelevant as long as he can freely move within it to accommodate an in-between active and sedentary lifestyle. He would also best appreciate those that are not overwhelming to the senses in one manner or another-- this includes itchiness, heaviness, lack of breathability, and so on. Textures usually aren't too worrisome to him, however, as he has been raiding the closet of his female friends (such as Hannah of @kannojo predominantly) for years, so by now he knows what he does and doesn't like with enough ease that even unexpectedly finding something is unappealing to him van be easily remedied without any fit.

The bottom line with all of this is while Muu strictly wears what is primarily marketed as women's clothing, he does not do so out of the desire to be a woman. In fact, he's asked that question within himself many times only to come up with the same conclusion each time: He is simply an aged up boy caught up in having to navigate too many things at once, therefore eccentricities intended to lighten his load have transpired. Being that 99% of abusers have been men throughout the years, and women his sanctuary from them, it became sensible at some point for him to cease one struggle for favor of mirroring his safety while he sources through another. Muu has no idea even how to be a person yet, let alone a gendered one.

That is also not to say he wishes to abolish entirely in favor of utilizing they/them pronouns. In fact, it still remains quite the opposite. At this time in his life, he's not looking to be othered more than he always has acquired for himself. Being gridlocked into a perpetual state of regression in his present has been isolating enough as is that he doesn't wish for more beyond that. It also has intriguingly been almost beneficial in keeping some of his identity centered, though, as being so interwoven with his inner teen provides connection with the perspective of character held back then.

When he was sixteen, he was very self assured in nearly all aspects in life until led to second guessing the bulk of them. Of those is one of which where he was well adamant that he was a boy with a preference for he/him pronouns to demonstrate that. And while he's been able to find appreciation for femininity that he'd have otherwise mocked in his youth, that is as far as it goes for the time being. Working beyond the semantics of that just isn't on the table at this time in his life.

Where he might go with it during Pride Month is still up to him, but, really, his focus is far more centered on fulfilling and answering other aspects of his person at this time. Generalized comfort and safety are of the utmost importance to his emotionally led manner of living. Once that is established, whether or not he opts for reintroducing what is considered men's attire back into his wardrobe is completely up in the air.

[mggslover]

Unrequited love

In which reader has been haunted all her life by the ghost of unrequited love, always reminding her of everything she could never have. That is — until she met Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: angst x fluff x smut (18+) Content warnings: spoilers for s8e12, very angsty but no worries there's a happy ending Word count: 5,4k A/n: for anyone who can relate to not having their love reciprocated, I'm hoping you'll find your spencer reid soon

It’s stupid, really, to love someone so wholeheartedly. It’s even more stupid to expect them to love you back.

Never in your life had anyone reciprocated your love — hell, no one had even accepted it. Unrequited love was a burden that has clung to you all your life, a thread of rejection woven through the fabric of your earliest memories. 

You remember the moment clearly, when as a little girl you found your mother hunched over the dining room table, furiously wiping away tears she did not want you to see. You watched from afar, making sure she left the room when you tiptoed to the table, finding a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook. Your small finger traced the letters of the handwritten note. The words were jagged, some unfamiliar, making you skip them. You experienced a rush of pride and excitement when you could make out some words: leaving, sorry, woman, goodbye. It was the first time you’d read something that wasn’t written in the large colorful books Miss Abigail assigned in school. It wasn’t until a few days later, when your mother explained that your father wasn’t coming back, that the weight of the note fully sank in. From that moment on it felt like your fate was sealed. 

In middle school you had some friends, but when the moment came to pairing up for school trips, it was you being the one left out. You always had someone you would call your best friend, but you’d never be theirs. Someone always seemed to be better, more lovable, more wanted. 

In highschool, you got your first boyfriend, Timmy. You weren’t sure you loved him, but you wanted to be seen, to be noticed. So when he asked you out, you said yes. For a while, you reveled in the feeling of someone showing you off. That was until the day you overheard his friends, talking by the lockers.

“I swear, his tactic is working!” one of them said. “Jessica dumped James the second she saw Timmy walking hand in hand with Y/N through the hallways.” 

“Oh shit, man,” another friend laughed. “If I knew that, I also would’ve used a fake girlfriend to get to Hannah.” 

A fake girlfriend. The words echoed in your mind as you started to make sense of the situation. It suddenly clicked how Timmy only showed you off in public, only kissed you in the busy hallways, where people could see. It was never about you.

You decided to give love one more chance in university, but when a night that was supposed to be the first of many, ended in a one-night-stand and a “I’m sorry, but I don’t really see you that way”, you made yourself a vow: no more chasing love. You stopped giving your love to people who would never truly appreciate it, and instead, you gave that love to yourself. The library became your refuge, spending endless hours studying to give yourself the future you deserve. You passed your exams with flying colors and never forgot to reward yourself after every small victory. And when you landed a position at the BAU, making it as an FBI agent, you knew you made the right decision to never fall in love again. That was until you stepped into the office, and you saw him. Spencer Reid. 

—

“And this is doctor Spencer Reid,” your boss Hotchner introduced him with a nod. 

He was tall, awkward in the way only someone who was brilliant could be, but he smiled warmly as he waved a hand at you. “Hi.”

You smiled back and stuck out your hand instinctively. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

He blinked at the gesture, looking uncomfortable. He swallowed, his voice uncertain. “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like shaking hands.”

You tilted your head and laughed. “That’s totally fair. Do you know how many germs your hands carry?”

His eyes widened in surprise, as if no one had ever said that before. “I-I actually do! The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to-”

“Kiss?” you interrupted, a grin spreading across your face.

The words came out simultaneously, and you both laughed. A sound that felt... easy. Like something you hadn’t experienced before.

Someone you would later come to know as Morgan, who had been leaning against a desk, looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised in disbelief as he shook his head. 

It was then you realized — there was something special about Spencer Reid. It was something unspoken, something more than just the intellectual connection. Before you even knew it, you had fallen in love.

—

You never confessed your feelings to Spencer, but you felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you. Every morning, you arrived at work with an oversweetened cup of coffee for him, and in return, he made sure you never went without your favorite sandwich from the shop around the corner, especially on days when you were too absorbed in a case to remember to eat. On your days off, you took each other on trips. Sometimes to a museum where you would explain the art in great detail, and he would pretend not to know any of the facts, just to hear you talk. Other times, you’d go to a movie screening, where he would simultaneously whisper translations of the foreign dialogue to you, making you giggle when his breath tickled your ear. You convinced yourself that this was what love was: understanding someone to the point of not needing words.

But how foolish were you to have forgotten about the shadow that lingered behind you, always ready to remind you of everything you could never have.

—

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! Have you heard the news?” Penelope squealed in delight as she rushed toward you, the rhythmic click of her heels making a melody against the office floor. 

You glanced up from your desk, raising an eyebrow. “Based on the excitement, I’m going to assume you're not talking about the wildfires in California.”

“Oh no, no,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m talking about big news. The juicy kind.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair as you sipped your tea. “Alright Pen, bring it on.”

Penelope’s grin widened. “Spencer has a girlfriend!” She yelped, hands flying to her mouth as she realized just how loud she’s gotten.

You blink as you try to process her words. “He finally adopted a cat?” 

Penelope shook her head vigorously. “Y/N, I mean a real girlfriend. An actual human being girlfriend!”

You scrunch your forehead, the words not quite connecting. “I don’t think I understand.”

Penelope leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Derek told me that Blake told him that Spencer’s been making calls... to a woman.” She glances around quickly, making sure no one can overhear. 

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your smile drops at the familiarity of the situation. Spencer had been leaving the bullpen often recently. You’d always assumed it was because he was still struggling with his headaches and didn’t want the team to get worried. Not in a million years would you have expected Spencer was seeing someone.

Penelope continues speaking, but her words fade into the background as your thoughts spiral. “Excuse me,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you push yourself out of your chair and rush to the bathroom.

Once inside, you lock the door behind you. Your chest tightens, the familiar weight of a panic attack settling in as if it had never left. Your breath comes short and shallow, the room spinning slightly as you grip the sink. The air feels thick, suffocating even. For the first time in years you find yourself back in this situation, fighting to breathe.

—

After a while, the whispers and giggles about Reid's love affair had died down. Still, it took Spencer some time to feel comfortable enough to share more about her — Maeve Donovan, the brilliant, lovely woman who had stolen his heart. Being his best friend, it was you who he turned to. The one who had to endure all the little details of their intimate phone calls.

And you tried, you really did. You tried to be the supportive friend, even when each word about Maeve felt like a thorn twisting in your chest. You’d joke, asking him if he was sure Maeve wasn’t some sixty-year-old man catfishing him, or teasing him about how it didn’t count as a relationship if you’d never actually met the person. The snark was the only way you could cope with the sinking feeling every time he smiled when her name came up, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of her. But Spencer was oblivious to your remarks. No matter how hard you tried to plant seeds of doubt in his mind, it never seemed to have any effect.

It was a sad thing to admit, but on nights when anxiety kept you awake, you couldn’t help but wish for their relationship to end. You prayed for a chance to tell Spencer how you really felt. You convinced yourself there would be time, that everything was going well, and eventually you’d find the courage to speak up. But on nights like these, you deeply regret never having thought of the possibility of another girl realizing how incredible Spencer is, and making a move before you ever could. 

Those feelings of jealousy turned into big regret, when Spencer came bursting into the bullpen, panic and fear evident in his eyes. He was frantic, certain that Maeve had been kidnapped. His suspicions turned out to be tragically true, and your world crumbled the moment the gunshot rang out, taking Maeve from him. Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as Spencer broke down in front of you, and you couldn’t even reach out to comfort him, believing it was you who caused this. That the ghost you knew as unrequited love, finally gave you what you wished for. 

You wanted to scream, to turn back time, to take back every selfish thought. But now wasn’t the time for regret. When Spencer locked himself in his apartment, unwilling to speak to anyone, you made it your mission to be there for him. You were the only person he let in, and when the door creaked open, you were struck by the sight of him — pale, hollow-eyed, and worn down in a way you’d never seen before. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. The two of you cried together, until his neighbor shouted at you both for the noise. From that moment on, you’d take Spencer to your apartment. Making sure he had a warm, homemade meal waiting for him as you’d binge Doctor Who episodes, trying to get him to smile even just a little. Slowly, he began to open up, the weight of his grief pouring out in quiet conversations. And you made sure you listened to every word as you held him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

As the weeks passed by, the weight of the situation was becoming overwhelming. It wasn’t easy hearing the love of your life talk about another woman. The way he spoke about her, like she meant more to him after just a couple of months than you ever did in all the years you stood by his side. It was almost too much to bear. When you overheard a moment between Reid and JJ, where Spencer mentioned how he would’ve had kids if it weren’t for Maeve dying, you realized you couldn’t keep going like this. You needed time to process what you were feeling, to grieve what you’d lost — even if it wasn’t really yours to begin with. So, you called in sick for the next case. Hoping you could clear your mind, while the team was out of state.

—

So here you were, experiencing heartbreak like all those times before — rotting on the couch with a pint of ice cream as you watched reruns of Love Island. 

You jumped when a loud banging echoed from the front door. Your surprise faded as quickly as it came, knowing there was only one person that would bother you this late an hour. 

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up!” Spencer’s voice rang out, firm and insistent.

With a sigh, you shuffled to the front door, trying to steady yourself before facing him. The moment you opened the door, you were met with Spencer, brows furrowed in concern and annoyance.

“Where were you? You didn’t show up on the jet, and you’re never late,” he said, brushing past you to step inside.

“Sure, let yourself in,” you muttered under your breath, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t feeling well, had a headache,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

Spencer paused, taking a quick glance around the room. His eyes landed on the TV blaring in the background and the half-empty pint of ice cream on the coffee table. He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“Your TV is on full blast, and you’re eating ice cream,” he said, his tone skeptical, clearly aware of your lie.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, I just needed a break.” 

“A break?” He scoffed. “You never take breaks. We practically had to force you to stay home when you got shot. You’re always there, no matter what. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

As much as you appreciated hearing that he needed you, this wasn’t the time to feel flattered by it. “Spencer, I know,” you started, your voice taut with frustration. “I just had my own things to worry about.”

“What things?” He stepped closer, his tone rising. “What could be more important than your work? Then being there for a friend when he needs you?” It was obvious how upset he was.

“I was worried about you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I called you every day, and you didn’t pick up.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and a bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. “What about me, Spencer?” you snapped. “Have you ever thought about me needing a break? Or am I not important enough for that?”

“Oh, please.” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You’ve always been there for me, but suddenly you can’t pick up your phone because you need time for yourself?”

“God, you’re such an ass,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Me? I’m the ass?” His voice pitched higher, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yes, Spencer! I told you I wasn’t feeling well. I needed time off.”

“You could’ve just picked up the damn phone!” he yelled. “Do you even realize how worried I was?”

“It sounds like you were more worried about yourself than me,” you countered in an icy tone.

His face twisted in frustration, but then his shoulders sagged. “Is that what you think? I was worried about you. Can you even imagine what it was like for me to call and get no answer?”

You swallowed. For a split second your mind drifted to Maeve, thinking that he might’ve felt the same fear as when she didn’t pick up the phone. You quickly put the thought away, he didn’t care about you like that.

“If you’d just asked Hotch, you would’ve gotten an answer right away,” you responded, crossing your arms in defense.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so Hotch knew?”

“Of course, Spencer. He’s my boss!”

“And I am your friend! I always tell you everything before I let anyone else know.”

You rolled your eyes, frustration taking over. “Well, that’s on you. Just because you feel the need to bother everyone with your problems doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

The instant regret was written all over your face as the words left your mouth. Spencer’s expression shifted, looking completely stunned.

“Spencer, I didn’t mean-”

But the damage was done. His shoulders stiffened and his jaw tightening before looking away.

“Please, Spence, I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” your voice trembled as you reached out to him, but he instinctively took a step back.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry,” you pleaded. “I don’t know why I said that.”

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, but you said it. And you meant it.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow it felt heavier. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced with something worse: disappointment.

“Spencer,” you whispered, the sound barely audible. You were terrified to say anything else that could upset him.

He gaze fell down, before he looked back up at you. His expression had softened slightly, though the hurt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you really think I bother people with my problems?”

“No!” you replied in a desperate cry. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think that at all. I’m so glad you opened up to me and trusted me with your feelings.”

“And yet…” he trailed off, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You ignored my calls. You avoided me. And then you said that. Jesus.” His hands fell to his sides as he let out a tired sigh, exhaustion etched into every feature.

“Spencer,” you started, but he interrupted. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at you like he was searching for answers he couldn’t find. “If you’re glad I talk to you about my feelings, why did you shut me out?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question bearing down on you. “It’s just… a lot to handle, Spence,” you admitted. “I’m not a therapist. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. I want to be there for you, I really do, but it takes a toll on me too.”

“It takes a toll on you too?” His voice rose, and you cursed yourself for triggering another outburst without meaning to. “I’m the one with ‘the problem’. I’m the one with the dead girlfriend! All you had to do was be there for me when I needed you.”

You exhaled heavily. “I’m getting a drink,” you muttered as you made your way over to the kitchen. Spencer followed behind you, not willing to give up yet.

“Of course,” Spencer said, with a sarcastic edge. “Grab a drink. That’ll fix everything.”

Ignoring him, you grabbed a glass and poured a generous amount of whiskey. You raised it to your lips, savoring the burn as you swallowed.

He crossed his arms, watching you with a raised eyebrow. “You know what? Go ahead. Keep ignoring the problem. That’s what you’re good at, right? Avoiding things.”

Your hand trembled slightly as you set the glass down. “I know you don’t believe me,” you said, your voice shaking, “but I am trying.”

“Trying?” Spencer’s laugh was humorless. “You didn’t even call me. You just disappeared. I needed you, and you left. What kind of ‘trying’ is that?”

“God, Spencer, I didn’t want to avoid you. I wanted to pick up the phone, to explain everything, but I couldn’t. I knew I’d just hurt you more, and I couldn’t-” Your voice broke against your will. “I couldn’t risk ruining all the progress you’ve made.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his furrowed brow easing as confusion replaced his anger. “You’re not protecting me by keeping whatever it is that’s bothering you to yourself. You’re hurting me even more by shutting me out. I want to be able to help you when you’re struggling, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened. You bit your lip in an effort to stop the tears and confessions from spilling out.

He gently cupped your hands in his. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me in. Let me help you like you’ve helped me.” 

Your chest ached as you stared into his glistening eyes. How could you possibly tell him? How could you burden him with the truth when he was already carrying so much? But the way he looked at you, so desperate — it broke something inside you.

The words escaped before you could stop them. “I’m in love with you.”

It felt like the world had stopped. Spencer stood completely frozen, his heart skipping multiple beats. Then he loosened his grip on your hand, and you immediately regretted speaking up.

“You.. you’re in love with me?”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest.

He stared at you in silence, his gaze unreadable as he processed your words. After a long pause, he spoke up. “You’re sorry?”

At this point, tears were streaming down your cheeks. “I’m an awful friend.”

“No, no, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping closer. His heart ached as he reached up to gently cup your face, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. He hated to see you cry. “You are not an awful friend — you’re wonderful.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not wonderful, Spencer. I listened to you grieve every night, and still I felt jealous because she got your love, even if it was just for a second.”

His eyes widened. “Jealous?” he asked softly. “You were jealous of Maeve?”

You cringed at his words, shame tightening your chest. “I know, it’s disgusting. I get it if you never want to see me again.”

“Is that what you think? That I’d stop wanting to see you?” He shook his head. “How can you think I’d judge you for having feelings for me?”

“Because I blame myself, Spencer!” you cried. “I should’ve been happy for you, but I wasn’t. And now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s my fault.”

He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of that. You didn’t make any of those things happen,” he reassured. “They were just… they were just an unfortunate turn of events. You didn’t have any control over it.” He held you tightly against him, trying to comfort you as his heart ached. 

“You shouldn’t touch me,” you sniffled, but you weren’t able to pull yourself away, needing his touch.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “I should touch you,” he said firmly. “I should hold you, and comfort you, and be there for you. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what I want to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice quivering with emotion. “I did feel jealous, but please, don’t think for a second that I didn’t care. I’d do anything to bring her back.”

“I know you care,” he murmured into your hair. “I know you do. That’s why I could never think of you as a bad friend.”

You cried against his chest, as the weight of all these months finally came crashing down. His arms tightened around you, grounding you. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

You shook your head. “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.”

“Yes, I should,” he said. His arms didn’t loosen, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go. “Your feelings matter. Your happiness matters. I don’t want you putting yourself aside for my sake.”

Something in his tone gave you the courage to lift your gaze. His eyes searched for yours, and they were filled with an emotion you hadn’t dared dreaming of. Carefully, he reached his hand out, his thumb brushing against your tear-streaked cheek with a gentleness that made your chest ache. 

“I mean it,” he firmly repeated. “You matter to me, more than you probably realize.”

It was out of instinct that you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand calming you down.“You can still talk to me,” you said quietly. “I just… I needed a break. But we can still have our talks.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know. And I’ll take you up on that.” 

His hand remained on your face as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “I care about you. I always have, and I always will.”

The proximity was impossible to ignore as his thumb traced slow, soft circles on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice quiet and pained, “for not realizing sooner how you felt about me.”

“It’s fine, Spence,” you replied with a shrug. “I should’ve been more obvious.”

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, his heart heavy with remorse. “You were, I should’ve known. Penelope and JJ never treated me the way you did.” He admitted. “I wasted so much time. I could have had you, but I was too blind to see it.”

“You… you would want to be with me?” you asked, surprise noticeable in your voice.

His expression filled with disbelief. “Of course I would. How could I not? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re caring, you’re beautiful...” His voice dropped to a tender hum. “You’re everything.” 

You looked away, as doubt crept in. “You’re just confused,” you said. “I gave you a lot to process all at once.”

“I’m not confused,” he said steadily, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not about this. I know how I feel. I know that it’s you that I want.”

Your heart ached at how convincing he sounded, but you couldn’t stop your uncertainty. “You’re not over her, Spence.”

The mention of Maeve made him swallow, his gaze flicked downward for a moment. “I know,” he said quietly, as he looked up at you. “I know I’m not completely over her. I may never be. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted. “I’ve wanted you for so long. It doesn’t feel fair that I get to have you now.”

Spencer gently urged you closer. The simple comfort of holding you in his arms felt overwhelming. “You deserve everything, Y/N. You’ve been here for me from the start. You’re one of the most selfless, most loyal, most caring people I know.” 

The warmth in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch, made it impossible to look away.

“I need you,” he said, his voice a raw confession. “Not talking to you these past days was torture. I can’t do this without you. I need you in my life, Y/N. Not just as a friend.” He paused, his next words coming out in a whisper. “You deserve to be loved, please let me be the one to do that.”

You felt your breath catch. No word in the dictionary could describe the way you were feeling. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips parted in surprise, before his eyes flashed with emotion. “Yes. Please.”

His hands cupped your face, before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was everything — raw, urgent, and filled with years of unspoken longing. A desperate whimper escaped your throat, conveying the need you’d kept bottled up all this time. Spencer seemed to feel it too, deepening the kiss as his fingers threaded into your hair, afraid you might slip away.

He effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter, his body fitting perfectly between your legs as you wrapped them tightly around his waist. The closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy your need. Your fingers found his tie, fumbling to loosen it before letting it fall to the floor.

They continued their path to the buttons of his shirt. Spencer groaned softly against your lips, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. Your palms met his bare skin, causing his grip on your hips yo tighten. The air around you grew hotter, as every inch of his body seemed to react to your touch.

“God, Y/N…” he roughly murmured. His forehead rested briefly against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. But his hands never stopped, sliding down your sides and pulling you even closer.

You continued your exploration, your fingertips tracing the planes of his chest and shoulders as if trying to memorize him. 

You’d always imagined taking your time when this moment finally came — savoring every touch, every kiss. But now that it was happening, you couldn’t stop the rush coursing through you. The need to feel him everywhere, to prove that this was real.

“Spencer, please,” you whimpered against his mouth, your voice filled with desperation.

“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured, knowing exactly what you needed. His hands slid down to your thighs, gently parting them to make room for himself. His touches made you desperate for more, and you let out a quiet cry of relief as his fingers moved to his belt, the soft clink of the buckle filling the air.

You didn’t want to waste any time, tugging your pants down your legs in a frenzy, eager to meet him halfway. Spencer’s gaze flickered to yours, his eyes dark with need, and in an instant, his mouth was on yours again.

His kiss was hungry, all consuming. One hand grasped your waist, holding himself steady, while he used the other to hook beneath your leg, lifting it effortlessly to pull you in even closer.

You threw your head back as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your wet folds. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he slowly pushed into you, the stretch intoxicating. Your fingers gripped his back as you sunk your nails into his skin.

The sharp bite of pain drew a low, guttural groan from him, his face buried in the curve of your neck. His breath was hot against you as he murmured your name like a prayer.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you gasped, as he began to move, his hips rolling into yours. 

His breath hitched at your words, and he pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. “I know, baby,” he mumbled. “We’ll make up for it,”

A soft giggle escaped you, but it was quickly swallowed by a moan as his pace quickened. 

“Oh, Spence… I’m already close,” you confessed, never having reached an orgasm this fast.

“Thank God,” he groaned, his voice rough with desperation, as his grip on your hips tightened. He guided you to meet his thrusts, the intensity of his movements growing erratic, overwhelmed by pleasure. 

Unable to resist, you cupped his face, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss as you moaned and gasped for breath. 

Your walls clenched around him, drawing a string of delicate moans from your lips as your head fell back. Spencer took full advantage of your exposed neck, sucking and biting on the skin, claiming you. His thrusts grew deeper. He was determined to hit the spot that he knew would make you cry out in pleasure.

Spencer’s low, breathy groans filled the air, and you could tell he was close. Your legs began to shake around him, and as if perfectly in sync, your release crashed over you at the same time that he shuddered and spilled into you.

“I love you,” you gasped, the words leaving your lips over and over as your orgasm rushed through you. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t tell if it was the sheer intensity of the feeling or the flood of emotions you’d been bottling up for so long, but what you did know is that you meant every word.

Spencer stayed close, his breaths uneven as he gently rocked into you, drawing out the shared high. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to brush your hair out of your tear-streaked face. His eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he truly saw you — every part of you.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you too.”

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Reading these popularity polls and feeling like I'm going lowkey insane

(WSJ Chapter 102 Popularity Poll, released September 7, 2018)

(Official Anime Site's 4th Anniversary Popularity Poll, conducted in August 2020)

(VIZ February 2021 Popularity Poll)

Anna being more popular in fanon that Don illustrates the phenomon of a fandom being willing to do one of their least favorite things (appreciate a female character) in order to avoid doing another one of their least favorite things (appreciate a character of color)

[libraryspectre]

I really like how The Goblin Emperor deals with the sexism of elvish society. It's not a super major theme, but especially in relation to Sheveän it's so interesting. I don't remember the exact quote but when Maia and Idra are talking about her and Idra mentions his father used to say she would have been a great soldier, the gist is that she might have been a more content and better person "if she had been given a burden equal her strength". You can clearly see that Sheveän does have great strength that isn't fit for court politics. She's forceful and strong-willed and not particularly capable of the subtlety required for political machinations or an effective coup. It feels ridiculous to expect her to be a nice lady of the court, but that's the only social role open to her.

As far as TGE engages with sexism, the overall theme, more than anything, is "look at all this potential we're letting rot on the vine because we won't let women participate." Kiru was only allowed to be a nohecharei because there were literally no qualified men (and they were hoping Maia wouldn't notice, lol). Then there's Vedero and her group of scholarly women who weren't considered worth educating. Csethiro has a lot of potential and ability for someone who's been reduced to "emperor's fiancée". Sheveän probably WOULD have made a great military officer! #womenswrongs

And it's interesting how this affects Idra, as a young man born into this society. It seems like having Sheveän as a mother has given him some awareness of how ridiculous this all is, and he's resentful that his grandfather didn't treat his sisters with the same favor he was given as a grandson. You can see the shape of something like a women's rights movement forming, since Idra and Maia as two of the most powerful people at court (once Idra comes of age, anyway) are troubled by the state of things, and are making friends and allies of these cool, interesting women who want more opportunity. I'd like to see how that progresses.

[geospiral]

I've seen before people say that one of the main reasons Mizisua often gets mischaracterized as being the only “healthy” couple in the series is because people take Ivan’s, a character who tends to have a very unreliable perspective, admiration and jealousy of their relationship at face value, and while I do agree with this on some level, I think it's more people misunderstanding why Ivan feels that way about them and especially Sua.

To put it bluntly, Ivan feels that way because Sua had with Mizi what he couldn’t have with Till. Yes, in part because he wants the same closeness that the girls had with each other, but also, most crucially, because Sua was able to have that kind of relationship while hiding the more “twisted” parts of herself. The Confession comic and the untitled comic where Ivan antagonizes Sua about her choice to sacrifice herself are both the best sources of showing this and also what I think people are referring to when they talk about Ivan’s venerative perspective on Mizisua. 

Starting with that untitled comic, while I think that Ivan always intended to die instead of Till, I don’t think he necessarily believed that he would have to “sacrifice” himself in order to do that, so while he is a hypocrite, I don’t think he was when confronting Sua here (I’ll talk about this more with the Confession comic). He’s not relieved here because Sua’s going in with the same selfish plan that he has for Alien Stage; what he’s relieved about is finding that her relationship with Mizi isn’t infallible, that despite what good intentions Sua may have, she is still capable and willing to hurt Mizi in part due to a selfish desire (she doesn’t want Mizi to die but also doesn’t want to live with the burden of being in a world without her).

He relates this selfishness to how he is with Till because while Ivan may not want to actually hurt him, he does so because he thinks that's the only way to get Till’s attention, to be close to him (ex: fighting as children and stealing his things), but also it seems that he ends up hurting him even when he has no intention to do so, like with the Cheer Up comic.

(translations by sorrowcure)

Now talking about the Confession comic, Ivan says again that Sua is “twisted” when listing their similarities with the “When I found out that wasn’t true…” line referring to their differing situations regarding the person they adore.

He sees that she can be selfish like him (the sacrifice, Sua hiding the truth about the world from Mizi) but that she never hurts Mizi directly while the two were still alive and that they were always happy.

Going back to what I said about Ivan not planning on sacrificing himself, I think he believed that it wouldn’t be necessary and that Till would be the obvious winner of their round whether he pulled the same move he did with Acorn or if they performed in a straightforward manner like Ivan previously did in the third round. It doesn’t seem that Ivan accounted for how bad Mizi’s disappearance would affect Till and that he might try to throw the round himself (stopped singing), but besides that, Ivan’s logic doesn’t seem that baseless given that Till has basically always been more popular than him and is viewed as being an artistic genius.

The panels where he realizes that he was being hypocritical towards Sua in that untitled comic is what solidify this idea in my mind.

(translation by WhataFruit)

Basically, I don’t think those two comics and that Ivan in general necessarily glorifies Mizisua as a whole but as what he wasn’t able to achieve and desperately craves.

[ughdontbeboring]

pull up

Harry da Souza x woc Reader

(can be enjoyed by anyone)

You pull up and that shouldn’t be a surprising how that affects Harry.

tags/warnings: smut, a bit of a daddy kink I mean come on look at him, reader is late 20s/early 30s and Harry is however old he’s supposed to be 🤷‍♀️

sidenote: as a WoC reader is always written with that in mind. Though no description or complexion in this fic just a relation to another character.

this isn’t the original fic I had planned but a little idea I wanted to test the waters with Harry as I’m still working on the other I already mentioned.

No description of ethnicity but reader when I write is always written with myself in mind. It’s soooo self indulgent.

if you like it, love it, fuck with it leave some love. I DO NOT give permission for my shit to be used anywhere by anyone.

Minors DNI

You continue your stealth mission of making a quick pasta alla vodka as your post sex meal while you waited for the inevitable knock at the door of the two story penthouse. You had received the call only moments ago about her unexpected -though you should have expected it- arrival and request to come up from the doorman. 

A soft replied “of course” and you knew she’d be making her way up determinedly. Her steps quick and sure of herself not too different from your own. You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself about his taste in women even if it wasn’t the same.

You move the pot to another burner to let the sauced noodles cool a bit. As heavenly as it smelled you didn’t want to risk burning your mouth and being out of commission. You move to grab your favorite plate as the knock at the front door finally sounds through the first level of the living space.

Setting the plate down you head to the door a little hastily hoping it wasn’t heard through out the penthouse. Your bare manicured feet come to a stop as you open the door slowly and pose a bit. The dramatics absolutely necessary in this moment. 

You watch her eyes travel up your body and then widened in surprise as she finally takes your face in. 

“When the fuck did you get here?” She asks in complete shock but relief. 

“Last night technically this morning” you smile cheekily at her as you move aside allowing her in as she moves forward. You can see her brain working trying to figure out how she missed this.

“But-“

“I know” you say locking the door and following her into the kitchen.

“I should have fucking known” Zosia scoffs to herself. 

“What does that mean exactly?” You ask laughing a little as you grab two take away containers. 

“He would never turn his phone off and now it makes sense why it’s off and he’s not somewhere dead” she sighs almost annoyed but relieved. (Zosia and anyone who knew anything about you being with Harry knew when Harry starts being late it was because you were in town. Never MIA though this was new and Zosia was curious how the gangster would handle going missing involuntarily with news Tommy is missing)

“Zo!” You scold her. That was something you never wanted to think about. 

“Sorry but you know the Harrigan’s think he got nicked or worse. He’s never not available when they call….and only slightly busy when your..here but never just not available” her statement as reminder of the unbearable burden and dangers his job carries. 

You roll your eyes and flick your new nails dismissively in the air but Zo doesn’t take it personally she knows it’s not towards her. 

“God forbid he’s not ready to jump when they demand” you mumble as you fill the two small containers with food and pop the forks on top. 

“It seems too quiet, is he even here?” She asked ignoring your comment about their employers while looking towards the stairway. 

“Yes and he’s sleep so they’ll have to wai-“

“Gotta wake em’” she cuts you off gently but swiftly. 

“He’s sleep Zo, poor thing needs his sleep after what I put on him-“

“Ugh gosh can you not? He’s my fucking boss” she says eyeing you with her face turned up Ike she just tasted something sour. You just shrug as you lean against the counter facing her and the front entry way, your back to the staircase. 

“And if I refuse?” You question. She just stared at you like you both know that’s not an option not now and not with his line of work.

“You gotta wake em” she repeats. “He’s already going to be pissed you turned his phone off. You wanna make it worse?” 

“Oh I can handle him” you smirk at her watching her roll her eyes. 

“So-“

“Is that right love?” You hear mumbled softly beside you as you feel the brush of his nose, plush lips along your neck and his solid body press into your backside. From the smell and feel of him you could already tell he was freshly showered and dressed. How you missed him doing all that you have no clue. Maybe you were too freshly fucked senseless to notice while you thought you were cooking quietly. 

You gasp more from the feel of him than being scared as you shoot Zo a glare for apparently not warning you of the bear lurking up behind you. 

“Ok yea I’ll wait outside the door” she huffs as she turns toward the main entryway with her food. Harry moves in front of you, the mountain of a man blocking your view of almost anything else as he eyes you knowingly. You’ve been caught. You wouldn’t be able to plead your case that his phone simply died. 

“Oh! Brunch tomorrow and it’s on your tab for not telling your sister you are in town!” She yells as she descends down the entryway. You intentionally didn’t tell her your beautiful sister how had a different mother- hence you being American and her being British by nationality- because you wanted to surprise her but you did want just a day or two to have to yourself with Harry. He was a hard man to keep pinned down for longer than a moment. 

You roll your eyes as your hands find themselves laid on Harry’s board chest. 

“Yea ok. The usual spot!” You yell back as your eyes don’t leave his. 

He’s eyeing you with amusement and a hint of anger. You know he is pissed about you turning his phone off last night well basically early this morning but how else were you supposed to ganrentee yourself a grade a fucking session if you knew without a doubt his phone would ring he would have to run off? Not tonight baby you thought smugly to yourself while shutting it off. 

You landed around 2:30am and found yourself in Harry’s bed by 4am after he scolded you for not calling him to pick you up and how it was too dangerous to be riding around London so early and alone. Though you both knew you could handle yourself. The scolding didn’t last long before you were bent over the counter, cute panties and comfy lounge pants for traveling around your ankles, his face buried in your cunt. 

And just the same like the scolding you knew would come from turning his phone off wouldn’t last either. Harry was never really able to get mad at you. Frustrated yes annoyed even yes but mad never. That put you in a very rare group of people. 

Sometimes people who knew tried to use that to their advantage too. 

“You’ve been naughty since your pretty ass landed love, yea” he tisk above you. His serious blue eyes pinning you to your spot in front of the counter. You feel the beginning of butterflies in your stomach. 

“I-“ 

“Nah don’t and to ear’ it babe” he cuts you off. His voice is stern but there’s no real anger. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You pout as you look up at him. Then your hand is rubbing at him, feeling the thickness and length of him even while he’s soft before he can catch on. You feel his whole body stiffen at your unexpected touch. 

“Just wanted some time with you daddy” you mumble as you lean toward your soft lips kissing and nipping at his neck and up his chin.

He groans from deep in his chest as his buff solid body suddenly pushes you into the counter. The force causes the wind to knock from your lungs a bit. 

“Fucking hell” he grits as your pelvis ruts into him. You grip the counter while pushing on your tippy toes to try to get the friction lower and where you need it most as you feel your thighs start to slick. 

His large hand suddenly gripping your face, lips puckering slightly causes your rutting to falter as your eyes shoot open and land on his. 

“So you spoiled think you can just do what you want?” He questions as his hand grips you a bit tighter. 

“I-“ your words get caught in your throat when you feel his thick fingers brush over your lips and  you get lost in the feeling of the thick calloused

digits parting them to circle around your clit. 

“No panties love? Just walking around in my silk pj shirt with this tight little pussy out? What if it wasn’t Zo who came by? Hm? You’d like those men see what’s mine? See this wet pussy that belongs to me?” He asks the demand in his voice clear as he somehow expects an answer from you as he’s fingers work you good and fast. His voice getting huskier by the moment has he enjoys the feel of your wet pussy dripping down his hand so quickly. 

“Fuck” you manage to moan out weakly as you try to shake your head no, not really even sure what men he’s talking about because your brain isn’t functioning enough, just enough to answer him. 

You feel your body jerk as your orgasm builds quickly. You’re lost count since you arrived but this one feels different. Maybe because it’s rushed, maybe because you know he’s annoyed with you but also amused a bit at your bratty attempt to keep him to yourself or maybe it’s because you know someones waiting for him. Not just your sister outside his door but the oh so important Harrigan’s waiting for him to come save them, fix whatever problem they seem to find themselves in.

But he’s here making them wait a bit longer while he’s wrecking your cunt with his long thick fingers. 

The thought of it all is too much. The feel of him too much as you push your face slightly to the side so he can suck on your neck. 

You feel it closing in on you and you body starts to lock. His hand gripping your face tightly. His soft full lips sucking your neck. His fingers working you over fast and hard. He has no care to take this slow or let you savior it. Harry just wants you to cum before he leaves for God knows how long and you need to be quick about it. 

“You better fucking cum like a good fucking girl right now or I’ll walk out and leave you here crying on the floor waiting til I get back” he threatens in your ear before nipping it and pulling back to watch you. 

You loose it. Crying out you let the sensation wash over you as you twitch and your hips buck on his hand. The familiar feeling of your orgasm washing over you as the tears sip for your eyes at the overwhelming climax in the middle of his kitchen.

He watches you with a look you can’t quite describe or maybe you’re not ready too as you shake with the after shocks between his strong body and the counter while your slick drips down your thigh and his hand. 

He doesn’t pull away fully yet as you watch him bring his hand to his mouth. You hear the wet pop as he pulls his two fingers from his mouth. Wet but clean of your essence.

His mouth is on your without missing a beat and he kisses you passionately and it’s so sloppy as he licks onto your mouth letting you taste yourself and his minty mouth wash. 

You moan as he grinds into you, the familiar feeling of his hard cock sends your mind spinning. Your hand reach for his belt while you stand there dazed but his free hand stops you and you grown in protest.

“No. I gotta go babe” he says before pecking your lips that are still slightly puckered from his hold. 

You stomp your foot childishly.

“No. No” Harry says firmly. “I’ve had enough of that for the day love. Thought you were a good girl fo’ me?”

You want to be but it’s just not fair how little time you get with him.

“Fine. When will you be back?” you ask as you run your finger tips over this salt and pepper stubble, one hand slipping down his neck to play with the gold chain around his neck. You feel his body shutter under your gent touch. 

“Not certain but I’ll call ya yea?” He responds pecking your lips again and watching you nod before slowly back up and grabbing his food before he disappears down the main entryway behind Zo. 

You sigh as you send your sister a text. 

You: Make sure he eats

she responds moments later as you ascend the staircase with your favorite plate full of pasta deciding to unpack while you eat. 

Zo: I thought thats what you were for? 

You: 🙄

You: shut up, don’t make me come down and tag along as his to go meal when he gets hungry 

Zo:…

Zo: pasta it is sis 

You chuckle as you make it to the master bedroom. Maybe after you unpack you’ll finally get some sleep, quick nap since is was only 3:45pm and then meet some of your London friends for dinner later since you weren’t sure how long you man or you sis would be. You had to make your week worth it before reluctantly flying back home to the states. 

[alchemicaladarna]

I think part of the reason why I love HolyWater duo so much is because the level of care and compassion that tr!water has for tr!bad is so unfamiliar that it's sad but also really refreshing and cathartic. Now, I'm not saying that other people's hostility towards him isn't justified, because their villainous perception of him is valid to some degree, considering that he did terrorize a lot of people. I'm also not saying that before tr!water, he hasn't experienced kindness from other people on The Realm, because he had tr!pangi, tr!mocha, and tr!ros to some degree. He also still has tr!Lukey as his day old doughnut hamster self as far as tr!bad knows. And, despite everyone's perception of him lately, tr!Aimsey has also been regularly checking up on him and making sure he's fine even though he tries to hide his true feelings and push them away as well.

!Bad has so many issues and walls that he put up around himself for millennia- the only time he was more vulnerable being on Quesadilla Island when he was taking care of the eggs. And yet, from day 1, tr!water has figured him out instantly through simple patience and careful observance. She now knows many aspects about himself that people have spent months trying and failing to figure out. Tr!water is slowly breaking down tr!Bad's walls, but she does so without force and without judgement because she can relate to him to some degree.

Tr!bad gives her armor, tools, weapons, and gifts that will help her survive- like he usually does with anyone who asks- but then she also doesn't want to burden him further by asking him for more resources. Tr!water first saw him as someone who could help her level up and gain power in this realm, but as she spent more time with him, she began to see him as more than a resource, a monster, or a means to an end. She perceives him as his own person and a genuine friend. I think tr!Bad also cares for her more than he is willing to admit, if the super op armor and his reaction to her potentially dying because she wasn't wearing the armor doesn't say it already.

Many people have already pointed this out, and I'm sure my early morning ramblings don't make much sense, but something about tr!bad finally being seen by someone as more than the resources and exploits he could hand out to people, more than the deals he could make with them, and more than the terrible villain he's usually painted as, just really tugs at my heartstrings and makes me so goddamn emotional.

[cattonicdragon]

Man your work is great :D could you do Astrid hiccup tuffnut ruffnut and snotlout with a small jolly reader(4 feet tall) that riders screaming death or a titan wing catastrophic quaken.(I just like the this short joyful person next a GIANT creature that looks like it squash you like a bug it's just a bit funny to me XD)

Astrid,hiccup,the twins(separately) and snotlout x reader who’s a short ball of joy and rides a screaming death

Decided to do screaming death cus I love them

<<WARNINGS:abit of angst,snotlout not likeing spitelout,mentions of injuries(dragons mainly),snotlout needs a hug,spelling errors probally>>can you tell I don’t know how to do warnings?

HAS BEEN PROOF-READ

Astrid

She is absolutely stunned

Your so tiny.and yet you managed to tame the screaming death

She nearly had a heart attack the first time stormfly and the screaming death play fought,she still nearly dose after she gets used to them

She knows your screaming death won’t hurt stormfly,but as the good dragon rider she is she gets worried for her dragon

She may not admit it but she’s extremely cocky over the fact that one of the dragon riders on their side managed to tame the screaming death,with is defiantly no easy feat 💀

She genuinely questions you on how on earth you managed to tame the screaming death

She’s amused by the size difference between you and your dragon

Little ball of joy and a island destroying demon/pos

Due to your small size she can easily pick you up

She picks you up under your arms and you can only dangle there

You’ll just have to hope your screaming death is feeling nice and might scare Astrid to put you down

Don’t think you being small is all fun though.

Is stormfly is particularly pissed off by the screaming death she will pick you up by the scruff of the neck and run/fly off with you

A chase will ensue,that may or may not have to end up with hiccup and/or having to sort it out

She admires how you can stay so sweet and joyful

She may or may not admit it but she adores your personality,in hard times you can seem like a bright light in a endlessly dark hallway,and she couldn’t be more grateful

Hiccup

Also nearly has a heart attack

The screaming death defiantly had some bad blood with him and toothless

But with you,it’s like a big cat/dog and almost completely docile

How?

Ok well maybe the fact that he made the screaming death plummet face first into a rock wouldn’t help

Your tinny compared to hiccup and even tinier compared to the screaming death

He worries that you may become a large target for dragon hunters

Toothless and the screaming death,don’t exactly get along

I mean years of hatred and bad blood isn’t going to fix easily…

But the you and hiccup will find them curled up together

You don’t understand them but that’s ok

He asks if he can examine the screaming death,or maybe ride it.riding is a less likely option though 💀

He will wince or cringe if he sees any scars or damage he may have caused

He can relate to you being positive and joyful alot

But can also be abit jealous,how can you stay so joyful even in some of the most stressfull situations

He’s so unimaginabley grateful that your there for him during the entire time

You decrease his stress tones

It also feels like a weight off of his shoulders with the burden of having such a great relationship with a endangered and powerful dragon,you’ll stick together and get through it though

He also picks you up,and makes fun of your height.

Ruffnut

Probally one of the only ones who dosnt almost have a heart attack

If anything she’s jealous that you managed to tame such a cool and destructive dragon

Begs asks if she can have a ride just one please?

Will try everything and anything with the screaming death

You will need to supervise 24/7 sorry not sorry

She brags about you all the time

She loves your short size and will toss you over her shoulder/hold you like a log

She’s teases you about your size WAY to much,please tell her to put a sock in it T.T

Barf,belch and the screaming death become the faces of Loki day

Barf and belches personality might have slightly affected your dragon but oh well

Loves to cause distruction with you

If you don’t go on a mission she’s not going either,even if tuffnut begs.

She enjoys your joyful personality and loves that there’s someone that slightly carefree

She also feels like she can be more reckless now that there’s a island destroying dragon on the riders team

You will have to keep an eye on her,or lecture her.either works

Will Loki you hard,unless the screaming death is around.she dosnt want to become 🧀 today thanks

Tuffnut

Also dosnt get a heart attack

Instead he gets destructive zoomies

He begs you,like hands and knees and everything

For one chance to either ride or cause destruction with the screaming death

Jokes on you though if you say yes to either,the other will happen anyways.there’s no winning in this situation sorry

Surprisingly knows when to give the screaming death space

He’s reckless but sensible

Will bribe the screaming death to go on destructive trips constantly

He makes fun of your height,more than ruffnut

Chiken and the screaming death surprisingly get along the best,unlikely but wholesome friendship for the win

Chiken by proxy loves you a lot aswell

So if tuffnut loses chiken he checks you and the screaming death basically first

Somehow carries around a stall with him so you can get to high places when need be

Will kick ruffnut off barf and belch for a ride if you asked

Man Is whipped for you

Don’t leave tuffnut alone with the screaming death though,either he or someone else will die

He at some point becomes something of a second rider to the screaming death,it’s a lot of bribing and treats though and also the fact that he encourages the screaming deaths destructive tendencies

He likes your joyful ness,will also try to bribe you to help him get out of situations he gets himself into

Snotlout

Probally faints during first encounter

Is very worried for everyone’s saftey,it’s a similar situation as to when they took in the injured singetail

Complains a lot about the fact that allowed to bring the SCREAMING DEATH to berk/the edge

He admires you Aton

Your short,shorter then him and look at you go!

Gets a bit jealous of you and may think he’s not good enough

Give him a hug :(

One time during the longest day he ended up snuggling against the screaming death,and survived.after that day they grew abit closer which was sweet

He enjoys your optimism and it’s a good balance since he can be abit pessimistic sometimes

If his dad ever comes to visit and your around he finds himself gravitating towards you,he feels safe with you

Hook fang and the screaming death like tug of war.why?,who knows

They like to play catch with each other aswell,again no idea why

He asks if you want to ride with him and hookfang quite a lot,it’s his way of non verbally getting recognition and validation

He finds himself being a lot less pessimistic when your around and just in general,your jolly personality is infective and effective

He likes to just hug you when he’s feeling down of tired

He picks you up places you in places where you can’t get down easily

He pisses off the screaming death.quite a lot

He likes writing books for you and indulging in your hobbies aswell

Shows you off a ton,as long as you don’t mind though,he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

He likes knitting things for you

He also likes it when you both are in the same room,you can be doing something different or even just being quiet,as long as your there he doesn’t mind

He likes to spar alot aswell,but he never lets it get to the point where either of you get hurt

He’s very protective of you despite the fact he dosnt really need to be

He just cares alot

[kaibutsushidousha]

What are your thoughts on orihime?

Ichigo's little group of friends exist to be basis of Bleach's arcs. The Soul Society arc is envisioned as Rukia's arc, which is a no-brainer because Rukia is a Shinigami. The Lost Agent is envisioned as Chad's arc, and even if it fails that role, the choice is understandable due to Chad being a Fullbringer. The Blood War is envisioned as Uryuu's arc, obvious again because Uryuu is a Quincy. But Orihime is a Fullbringer, so realizing what makes her fit at the center of the Arrancar arc requires a little more thought.

Well, I'd say the answer can be found about as early as possible. Orihime simply isn't like any other character in the good side. A whole lot of characters in Bleach have tragic pasts, but only Orihime is shown having a tragic present. The other Karakura people have comfortable houses with providing families. The Seireitei is a high class place directly contrasted with the poor Rukongai. The Visored and Xcution are united communities. Unclear about the Quincies in Silbern because we never the status quo there before the times of war.

Meanwhile, Orihime lives alone thanks to cutting ties with her parents at age 4 and losing her brother at age 12. She survives out of part-time jobs and financial support from distant relatives who determine how much money she gets based on her grades. The status quo of Bleach is pretty rough on her, and if I'm not forgetting anyone, her alone. She's doing what she can to survive under a constant threat of hunger, which is something Bleach otherwise only portrays as the lifestyle of a Hollow. I'll get back to this later.

The point here is that Orihime's life sucks. But that's not a thing that ever shows. Orihime in public is just a silly airhead constantly presented as the most cheerful person around. Her screentime in normal school situations is marked by her filtering her unpleasant reality with outlandish imagination. Her antics make her look really stupid, but we're shown that she isn't as she has 3rd best grades in their school. Intentional as her silliness is, she can't afford to be a bad student because that affects how much bread she gets to every month, as mentioned above.

And Bleach wastes no time explaining why she's like that. Still in volume 1, it's already established that Orihime spent her whole life being protected by others. First Sora, then Tatsuki, and now Ichigo. And because she grew up like this, her greatest wish is to not be a problem.

She let Sora bite her because life going on without him was being a problem to him and having to protect her was being a problem to Ichigo. She puts on a smile at school and keeps her conditions a secret to avoid being a problem to anyone who could care about her living situation. She let Ulquiorra take her because she didn't want to be a problem to anyone willing to fight Aizen for her sake. Her experience in Soul Society should have told her that this last one would backfire tremendously, but in her moment of weakness, she couldn't fight against her ingrained habit of avoiding being a burden.

Another key point of her early characterization is obviously her relationship with Ichigo. He was just a cool funny guy at first, until Sora's incident made him interesting, so she asked Tatsuki about him, and only really started caring after hearing about Masaki's death. This happens in a volume where she takes the cover and her opening poem is "If I were the rain [...] could I tie hearts together?". The rain is the symbol of Ichigo's grief, and Orihime falls for Ichigo by associating the lost of his mother with the loss of her brother. She connects best by relating to suffering, which shows later in the many, many, many times she's shown healing Arrancars after years practically living like a Hollow when in the world of the living.

This is kinda of a sudden change of topic, but things are sorta moving in chronological order here and the next big checkpoint is Orihime's first fight, so I'll conclude the talk about her position there and now talk about her powers.

Orihime gets Shun Shun Rikka, a Fullbring centered around rejection of events. Like Bleach abilities tend to do, this power goes incredibly well with Orihime's established characterization. Reality sucks for her but she keeps things by rejecting it through her filter of imagination. She can attack with this power, but it's best suited as a shield (preventing causing problems for others) or healing (making people forget their problems).

She then proceeds to not do much in Soul Society, then early into the Arrancar arc, she loses to Yammy and gets to negatively compare herself to Rukia, who did well in her first on-screen fight ever. Her feelings of uselessness pile up and compound into the 5 lives scenes, which as I already told you before, I consider the emotionally powerful dialogue Kubo has ever written. Not much to comment on it, the moment speaks for itself.

For Orihime, the bulk of the Arrancar arc is spent interacting with Ulquiorra. It's a really challenging experience for her because Ulquiorra has zero emotional depth. He was an ancient Hollow with no eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, being unable to perceive the outside world until Aizen broke his mask. Starrk, Barragan, and Grimmjow's backstories establish that Arrancars inherit experiences from their Hollow selves. Breaking their masks didn't change who they are. But Ulquiorra has no experiences because his Hollow life was spent entirely in the nothingness of himself.

Orihime has always been engaging with people through a smile-shaped web of lies, social conventions, and bravado, but Ulquiorra still haven't experienced humanity enough for that to work on him. He responds only to cold truths, so Orihime's typical conversation strategies are proven useless. It forces her to change her ways. She can only teach him about the heart by being honest and direct. Arrancars are about literal broken masks, but Orihime makes herself part of their story by having her metaphorical mask broken.

After that, we have the Lost Agent arc, which doesn't really take Orihime further (and doesn't really need to since Arrancar was her main focus arc) but does an amazing show of progress for post-Ulquiorra Orihime by introducing Riruka, a tsundere who hangs with Orihime a lot. While Riruka is as full of walls and bravado as Orihime originally was, this Orihime gets to be effortlessly vulnerable, recapping her horrible backstory to her new friend, being called creepy for her apparently fake smile, and clarifying that she actually can smile for real because she was already saved from her past.

The final arc doesn't do much with her aside from putting her in the final boss battle, so I guess I'll use this space to talk about how her progression in combat participation feels really well-paced. She goes from being squarely away from major action in Soul Society to not interfering with the fight but making a point to stay near the battle vs Grimmjow to start tactically throwing shields vs Ulquiorra to getting Ichigo actively ask for her help vs Ywhach.

Ok, that last is probably more about Ichigo himself having learned to ask for help 10 minutes ago after cringing at Uryuu's inability to rely on his friends and taking him as an antithesis model (pun intended).

But still, I love this kind of step-by-step character growth model, it reminds me of how Yugi and Atem's dynamic grew from Yugi unaware to Yugi aware to them starting to talk to them working together vs Pegasus to Yugi dueling alone to Yugi defeating Atem. Always great to see an author commit to a flowchart of development like that.

[sturniololuvz]

can you do a fluff fic where y/n and the triplets are best friends, but she’s the closest to chris? maybe one night she’s been broken up with in a horrible way and she’s crying and she asks the triplets if she can come over and spend the night? chris maybe relates to her the most and is extra caring and loving towards her? (i love your work sm🩷)

thank uuu

“You Can Always Come Here”

It was just after 11 when the group chat pinged.

Nick was mid-scroll on TikTok, Matt was half-asleep, and Chris was getting water in the kitchen when he heard it first — the ding that made him instinctively check his phone. One glance at the screen had him freezing.

Y/N:

“Can I come over? I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Three dots danced at the bottom like she wanted to say more, but they disappeared.

Then came another:

Y/N:

“He broke up with me. Over text. Said I’m too much.”

Chris stared at the message for a second, heart sinking into his stomach. He didn’t wait. He was already grabbing his keys.

Nick and Matt read it too, voices low.

“I’ll make the pullout,” Matt murmured, already moving toward the guest blanket stash.

“I’ll get the snacks she likes,” Nick added.

But Chris was already out the door, hoodie half-zipped, phone clutched in his hand as he sent her a quick text:

Chris:

“I’m coming to walk you over. Wait outside, yeah?”

He found her sitting on the curb outside her apartment building, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t even look up when he approached — she just felt him before she saw him. And when he dropped down next to her, she crumpled into him without hesitation.

Chris wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

“He didn’t even call,” she choked out, voice cracking. “Just… left. Said I care too much. That I’m exhausting.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say what he wanted to — about how cruel that was, how wrong, how someone who actually loved her would never make her feel like a burden for being soft, for feeling deeply. Instead, he held her tighter.

“You’re not too much,” he said softly, forehead resting against hers. “He was too little.”

She let out a breath that was half a sob and half a laugh, shaking her head. “You always know what to say.”

“Only with you,” Chris murmured, helping her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

⸻

By the time they made it to the triplets’ apartment, the couch was made up, her favorite tea was steeping, and Nick was pretending not to hover while Matt tossed her a fuzzy blanket.

“You can take the couch,” Matt offered. “Or Chris’s bed. We’ll make him sleep in the bathtub.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “She’s taking my bed. And I’m not sleeping in the bathtub.”

Y/N looked at him through red, watery eyes. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

Chris shrugged like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Next to you. If that’s okay.”

Her bottom lip wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t just heartbreak — it was gratitude.

⸻

Later that night, with the lights off and Chris’s room filled only with the sound of rain and their slow, steady breathing, she turned to him in the dark.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris didn’t speak at first. He just reached for her hand under the blanket, interlacing their fingers like it was muscle memory.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

She blinked up at him, barely visible in the soft light from the hallway.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he whispered. “And I mean that in the realest way. You break? I break. You hurt? I hurt. There’s no version of this world where I wouldn’t want to be the person you call when everything falls apart.”

A tear slid down her cheek — but this one wasn’t heavy. It was light. Releasing something she’d been holding too long.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chris gently wiped the tear from her face with the back of his hand.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time that night, she believed it — that she was safe, that she was loved, and that no one could ever make her feel like too much again.

Because with Chris… she was exactly enough.

⸻

[asterkatt]

MAJOR ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS

(DO NOT MENTION ANYTHING PAST DORMONT PLEASE!!)

okay so. wowie. just started act 5 of ISAT and my goodness do I have some thoughts. wowie. wowzers. while I was playing I didn't really get the chance to voice my thoughts because if you've played act 5 you know there is no time to do so. you are getting hit with one emotional train after another. no time to think no time to breathe only time to suffer. but the power of doing a let's play gave me time to think while editing so I jotted down some thoughts that you're now getting. you're welcome. (these will not be coherent at all just. as a heads up. sorry in advance) okay so. first friendquest I did was Mira's (which makes sense considering she's the first one that you run into). one of the things that really stuck out to me is that she - not just now, but even pre-game - has only tolerated the teasing from everyone. She has to remind herself that they're not being mean. she has to remind herself that they're not being mean. I just... she shouldn't have to do that. and that's one of the things I love about this game - the characters are so in depth and so well written that yeah, sometimes they unintentionally hurt each other. we see it over and over and over again with Siffrin. their family will tease them, they'll brush it off, but we'll see that he never really lets go of it. I have a feeling it's the same with Mira. she's okay with Siffrin teasing her, because "it's fine, everyone does." then continuing to say that she probably just has the "kind of personality where it's easy to want to tease me"?? MIRA NO- augh. my heart breaks for her. she struggles with her identity and purpose just like. well. just like everyone else in this game actually. that's. okay. (bookmarking that realization for later). something that's really interesting about Mira's friendquest in particular is how much she seems to be projecting onto Siffrin. I feel like out of everyone, she's looking for someone who can validate her struggles the most. It goes further than looking for someone who can relate - she wants someone who can relate and tell her that everything will be okay.

so, when Siffrin says what he does, she lashes out at them. the thing I found most interesting (and heartbreaking) about how she responds is that she isn't just putting Siffrin down - she's putting herself down at the same time. I'd even argue that she's calling herself out with her line of "always talking as if you're better than me! as if you know me!" because I feel like she struggles with not knowing who she is either. after all, who is she if she can't change in the way that her belief as a housemaiden calls her to??

and of course, this is all solidified in what she says next: "you're just as lost and useless as I am!!!"

because yeah. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. feels lost and useless. she doesn't know who she is if she can't follow the change belief in the way that is required of her. she doesn't know why the head housemaiden burdened her blessed her. she doesn't feel like she's capable. she wasn't able to stop the King before, how is she supposed to do it now?? she overthinks and worries about everything and I'm sure that includes all the choices she makes. I'm sure she's had doubts about all of her family members in one way or another - but she's chosen to trust them. to trust them to help her on this impossible, hopeless, last chance quest. and Siffrin just made it clear that she was wrong to do so.

watch me collapse into a inconsolable heap on the floor because of this game

[earthlybeam]

Could you describę,how Thranduil's beloved has a problem with accepting her own body. Thinking that,Thranduil loves her less,which of course is not truę. Because of this,she starts to eat less,less,and less meals,and she starts to lose more and more węight. Her dress starts to hang. She is getting weaker,frailer. Thranduil sees this after a long timę,when she is already very bąd,assuring her that she is for him,the most beautiful elleth everewherę.🥺🖤🌌🧝‍♂️🔥

Trigger Warning: Anorexia

This story touches on themes related to anorexia. Please proceed with caution if this topic is sensitive for you. Your well-being is the most important, so take care of yourself and prioritize your mental health.

I’ve written this from the perspective of “she” (you, the reader), but it’s not overly detailed as I want to remain cautious and considerate. As someone in recovery from anorexia, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to navigate these topics. Writing this was both personal and difficult, but I wanted to create something meaningful for others who might be struggling or healing . I apologize if it doesn’t delve deeply into specifics—I intentionally kept it this way to avoid triggering myself or anyone else.

To anyone reading who is struggling with anorexia or disordered eating, please remember you’re not alone. Recovery is possible, even when it feels out of reach. Be kind to yourself. ❤️‍🩹🫶✨

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil is often lost in his own duties and the responsibilities of his realm, but even he cannot miss the gradual change in his beloved. At first, it wasn’t as noticeable—small things that he might have dismissed had his keen senses not been so attuned to her presence. She would push her plate aside at meals after only a faint nibble, offering a quiet explanation that she simply wasn’t hungry or had eaten earlier. Her tone was soft and convincing, so much so that he hesitated to question her further. It was not unusual for elves to sometimes abstain from food when preoccupied, and he attributed it to fleeting restlessness rather than anything deeper.

But her habits grew more peculiar over time. More often than not, she would skip meals entirely, assuring him in gentle words that she had already eaten. Though her words seemed sincere, a faint doubt lingered in his mind. When he pulled her close during the night, wrapping her in his arms as they rested, the growing unease took root. His hands, brushing feather-light against her body, began to notice the subtle yet undeniable change in her. Where there had once been soft curves and warmth, there was now a startling firmness—sharp edges that made him pause, his brow furrowing slightly in the dim moonlight. Even then, he said nothing. Thranduil was no stranger to sorrow, to burdens that weighed heavily on the heart, and he respected her autonomy too much to press her before she was ready to speak. He told himself he would wait, that she would come to him in time. But as the days turned into weeks, his concerns only deepened.

In an attempt to ease her struggles, he began encouraging her to share breakfast with him in the mornings. He framed it as a small moment for them to spend together before the demands of the day pulled him away. She would comply, sitting across from him with a faint smile and picking at the food before her. She ate just enough to appease him—small bites that seemed painfully measured—but he watched her closely, noting the deliberate pace with which she moved. It was enough, or so he thought, to convince him she was eating, and he allowed himself to be reassured, if only for a short while. But the truth was far more troubling than he could have imagined. Once he left to attend to his duties, satisfied that she had eaten something, she would retreat to the privacy of her chambers or the nearest restroom. There, the food she had carefully consumed was discarded, her fragile body rejecting what little she had allowed herself to take in. This hidden ritual became her way of maintaining the facade, of keeping her pain and self-doubt hidden from him.

Over the course of months, her decline became impossible to ignore. Her once vibrant frame, so full of life and grace, seemed to shrink before his eyes. Dresses that once fit her beautifully now hung loosely, their fabric billowing around her as though the wind might carry her away. Her face, which he adored for its soft glow and gentle features, appeared hollowed, the light in her eyes dimmed. Even her movements, always so elegant and assured, began to seem too light, as though her body no longer held the strength to move with the same vitality. Thranduil noticed it all, though he told himself at first that it was not yet time to speak. He convinced himself that perhaps it was just a passing phase, that her appetite would return with time. But the weight of his doubts grew heavier with every glance, every moment spent by her side.

It wasn’t until a shared dinner one evening that the reality of her condition struck him fully. She sat across from him, her head slightly bowed, her hands trembling faintly as she held her utensils. He watched her take only a faint nibble of her meal before pushing the plate aside, her expression calm but distant. His piercing eyes, so often unreadable and aloof, softened with a mix of confusion and deep concern. As she rose from the table and quietly retreated to her chambers, Thranduil’s gaze followed her, his heart aching in a way he had not felt in centuries. The realization hit him with a force he had not anticipated: he had let this go on for far too long. Whatever pain or fear she was hiding, whatever thoughts had driven her to this state, he could no longer stand idly by. Though his duties had often drawn him away, he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face. His beloved, the one he cherished above all else, was slipping away from him. And this time, he would not let her fade.  

That night, Thranduil does not let her slip away into isolation as he has unwittingly allowed her to do before. His duties and the weight of his crown have often occupied his mind, but this time, he casts aside all else. His steps are purposeful as he ascends the stairs to their chambers, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He has been blind for too long, content to wait, to let her come to him when she was ready—but now, he understands that the waiting has cost them dearly. He will not lose her to this. Not to her own self-doubt. Not to her pain. When he reaches their shared quarters, the soft glow of candlelight spills into the hallway. Pushing the door open with a deliberate calmness, he finds her standing before the tall, ornate mirror by the window. Her arms are crossed tightly over her middle, clutching herself as though trying to shield her reflection from her own eyes. She stares at her image, her expression a mixture of sorrow and silent disgust. Her gown, once tailored to her graceful frame, now hangs loosely off her shoulders, the fabric falling limply where it once hugged her figure.

The sight of her, so lost in this quiet torment, tears at his soul in a way no battle or grief ever has. For a long moment, Thranduil cannot speak, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her frail form, illuminated by the soft candlelight. Her gown, once fitting her like a second skin, hangs off her frame as though it were meant for someone else. The sight of her hollowed cheeks, the way her arms wrap around herself tightly, makes his heart constrict with a pain he has no words for. He feels as if the ground beneath him has shifted—this is not the woman he adores, the one who once stood strong at his side. This is someone drowning in a silent, invisible battle, and he had not seen it. He finally steps forward, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability, shattering the heavy silence. “Why?” he asks, his tone laced with anguish. “Why have you done this to yourself, meleth nîn?” At the sound of his voice, she flinches, her arms tightening across her middle as though trying to protect herself from the weight of his words. She does not turn to face him, staring instead at her reflection, the shame and self-loathing in her eyes unbearable even to herself. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is brittle, as if it might break under its own weight. “Because… because I thought if I could just be better—if I could be worthy—maybe you would—” She cuts off, swallowing hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

Thranduil’s chest tightens as her words sink in, each one a dagger to his heart. “Stop,” he commands gently, though the sorrow in his voice makes it a plea more than an order. He takes another step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid she might break apart before his eyes. But she still doesn’t face him, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fall. “I look at myself,” she whispers, her voice breaking with every word. “And I see someone… weak. Someone ugly. Someone you couldn’t possibly still love. You deserve better—someone beautiful, someone strong, someone—”

“Someone like you,” he interrupts, his voice unsteady but firm, his own pain now laid bare. His hands rise, trembling as he gently turns her to face him. The sight of her tears, of her fragile frame, threatens to undo him, but he holds steady. He cups her face, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. “You do not see what I see,” he says, his voice low but thick with emotion. “You do not see how every part of you—the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way your very presence lights my path—makes this world brighter. You are not weak, nor ugly, nor unworthy. You are everything to me. You are my heart, my light. You have always been enough.” His voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time in an age, Thranduil’s regal composure breaks.

Her hands come up to grip his wrists as though anchoring herself to his words, but still, she shakes her head. “I… I don’t feel it,” she admits, her voice trembling, her tears falling harder now. “I don’t feel like enough. I feel broken, Thranduil. I feel like I’m fading away, and I don’t know how to stop it.” Her confession cuts him deeper than he ever thought possible. He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly as though his embrace alone might keep her from slipping through his fingers. “Then let me hold you together,” he whispers, his voice raw. “Let me remind you every day, every hour, if I must. If I have failed you—if I have not shown you just how much I love you, how much you mean to me—then it is I who must ask forgiveness.”

She sobs quietly into his chest, her fragile frame trembling in his arms, and he holds her as if she is the most precious thing in the world, his heart breaking for her pain. “But promise me,” he whispers, his voice shaking, “promise me you will not fade from me. I cannot lose you, meleth. You are the root of my heart. Without you, I am nothing.” For a long moment, they stand there in the quiet of their chambers, her tears soaking into his robes as he holds her as though his very life depends on it. And perhaps it does—for in her, Thranduil sees not just his love, but his purpose, his joy, his everything.

In the days that follow, Thranduil becomes relentless in his devotion. He refuses to let her battle this darkness alone. Meals are no longer solitary; he invites her to eat with him, crafting each moment with care, ensuring she feels cherished rather than scrutinized. His words are tender, laced with love and affirmation, as though he is weaving a tapestry of reassurance around her heart. When she falters—when the doubt resurfaces like a shadow in her mind—he does not let her fall. He takes her hand, guiding her into the sunlight of the forest, walking with her through the golden glades and quiet streams. He speaks not only of her beauty but of her spirit, her strength.

“You are no less a part of this world’s beauty,” he tells her one day as they stand beneath the sunlight streaming through the canopy. “You are its center. Without you, the stars would dim, the forests would fall silent, and my heart… my heart would break.” Day by day, she begins to heal. The despair that once gripped her loosens its hold as his love surrounds her, unwavering and infinite. He does not rush her, nor does he expect perfection. He meets her where she is, every moment reminding her that she is enough, that she is loved, that she is his. To Thranduil, she is perfection—not for her outward appearance, but for the light within her, the love she has always given so selflessly. He remains steadfast, a king brought to his knees by the one he loves above all else. For her, he would wait an eternity. For her, he would give everything. And in time, as the shadows lift, he knows she will see herself as he does: beautiful, strong, and deeply, endlessly loved.

Thranduil, with the depth of his love and devotion, took it upon himself to help his beloved heal, piece by piece, moment by moment. Each day, he made it his mission to remind her of her worth, to show her that his love for her was unshakable and infinite. He didn’t merely speak his love—he lived it, weaving it into their daily lives with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt.

The Mornings: Each morning, Thranduil would wake before her, lying still so as not to disturb her rest. As she stirred awake, he would press gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and the corners of her lips, whispering softly, “Good morning, meleth nîn. You are my first thought of the day and my greatest joy.” If she resisted joining him for breakfast, citing a lack of hunger, he would never pressure her. Instead, he would bring a tray to their chambers, filled with small, carefully chosen foods he knew she liked. “Just a little,” he would encourage, sitting beside her and eating with her so she would never feel alone. He never commented on how much she ate but celebrated each bite with soft smiles and warm words, making the experience gentle and unthreatening.

The Midday: As his duties called him to the throne room or council chambers, Thranduil would often find ways to keep her connected to him, even when they were apart. He sent her small notes, written in his elegant script, left where she would find them—a book she had been reading, a favorite resting spot by the window, or even tucked among the blooms of her favorite flowers. Each note carried his thoughts, like: “The world feels lighter knowing you are here.” “Your smile outshines the sun, meleth. I will see it again today, won’t I?” But it wasn’t just his words he offered. On days when her strength waned and she couldn’t bring herself to join him outside, Thranduil would bring the beauty of the forest to her. He would gather blossoms from the woods, arranging them in delicate patterns on her desk or beside her bed, whispering, “Even the most perfect bloom pales beside you.”

The Evenings: The evenings were sacred to Thranduil—time he could dedicate entirely to her. He would often draw her a warm bath, filling it with soothing oils and the petals of her favorite flowers. He would help her undress, and though she hesitated at first, he would take her hands in his and kiss her palms, whispering, “There is nothing here that is unworthy, meleth. Nothing I do not love.” When she let him, he would kneel beside the bath and gently wash her, his fingers tracing over the parts of her body she had grown to loathe. Her collarbones, once hidden, now too sharp in her eyes, he would kiss with reverence. Her arms, which she thought too thin, he would cradle, pressing his lips against them softly. “Each part of you is a piece of my world,” he murmured. “Without one, I would be lost.” Afterward, when she was clothed and resting, he would take her in his arms, trailing kisses over her skin. If she tried to turn away, he would stop her with a hand on her cheek, his eyes piercing yet soft. “Do not hide from me,” he would say, his voice heavy with emotion. “You are mine to love, wholly and without condition.” Every night before bed, he would kiss every part of her that she had grown to feel insecure about. Her wrists, her shoulders, her ribs—wherever her own fingers lingered in shame, his lips followed in devotion. He would press his lips gently to her stomach, his hands resting there with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Here,” he would whisper, “is where life and beauty dwell. Here is perfection.” He would trail his kisses lower, over her thighs, her knees, and down to her ankles, his lips brushing the places she thought unworthy, as though he could erase every doubt with his touch. He kissed the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her collarbones, and even her fingertips, murmuring soft words of love with every press of his lips. “Here,” he said with quiet reverence, “is strength. Here is grace. Here is the one who keeps my heart beating.” No part of her was ignored, no inch of her body was left untouched by his worship. And in his touch, there was no hesitation, no doubt—only love, pure and unshakable, reminding her with every moment that she was cherished beyond measure.

The Small Things: Beyond the grand gestures, it was the little, unspoken acts of love that began to rebuild her confidence and trust in herself. Thranduil was attentive to her smallest needs, anticipating them before she even realized. If she shivered, he would wrap his cloak around her shoulders. If her hands trembled, he would take them in his own, rubbing warmth into her fingers. He began to guide her to the world outside their chambers again, never pushing but always encouraging. Together, they would walk the forest paths, and he would tell her stories of the ancient trees, the history of the land they walked upon. But always, his words would circle back to her. “These trees have seen thousands of years,” he once said, standing beneath the great canopy of the Greenwood. “And yet, it was not until you walked beneath them that they truly knew beauty.”

The Nights: At night, as they lay together, Thranduil would pull her close, her body pressed against his as he stroked her hair. “I will always love you,” he would whisper into the quiet darkness. “There is nothing you can do, nothing you could be, that will change that.” When she cried, overcome by the weight of her emotions, he would hold her tighter, his voice steady as he whispered reassurances. “You are not broken,” he would say again and again. “You are healing. And I will be here for every step, for every moment, for as long as you need me.” Sometimes, when words weren’t enough, he would sing to her, his voice low and melodic, the ancient elvish songs of love and light filling the space between them. These were his prayers for her, his promises woven into melody.

The Healing: Thranduil knew the path to healing would be long and fraught with setbacks, but he never faltered. When she doubted herself, he reminded her of her strength. When she pushed him away, he stayed. When she felt unworthy, he held her and whispered his love until she could no longer deny its truth. Through his daily acts of love—his unwavering attention, his patience, his gentleness—she began to see herself through his eyes. And though the darkness did not leave entirely, it no longer held her captive. Slowly, with Thranduil’s steady hand and boundless love, she began to find her way back to herself. And to him.

[swiftreader1989]

🚨🚨🚨

new theories I will consider going into the glorious rivals

FIRST THEORY: KAILEY IS LYRA'S MOM - kailey is alive and is lyra's mom. when reading the games untold I found the small bits of kailey and lyra's mom to be too similar: these are my reasons ↓ @emreads294 introduced this theory and made a great post abt it (go check it out!)

1.) kailey loves to dance, it's all she ever does and even in hannah's dream she appears to tell her to keep dancing and to teach her future daughter to do so as well. now I imagine kailey aka "lyra's mom" to also hold that true to herself, putting her daughter in ballet and what is basically so much of who lyra is. OFC lyra is going to be dancer if kailey loved it too. I can also imagine kailey being distraught, confused, and upset when lyra quits dancing her senior year of hs.

2.) kailey and lyra's mom both have very bubbly personalities and so much optimism just by the short bits we've seen of them. also kailey is said to have a bit of a short temper, who has that as well? LYRA. kailey LOVES to curse and say "bitch". guess who also loves to curse and has her own trademark aka "asshole", LYRA.

3.) kailey saying "you, glorious thing, you" comes up about five times in the hannah and toby's story. what's the next title of the next book? GLORIOUS RIVALS. now you're probably like yas you sound crazy rn and you're probably right... I do. but jlb never does anything unintentional especially if this phrase comes up so much in the span of such a short story. could this be foreshadowing of role kailey has in the next book and the rivals at play?

4.) @emreads294 brought up another great point as well and said kailey was known to be very nicknamey. meaning she loved to give people nicknames and what does lyra's mom call her? YOU AVOIDER. because she rarely calls her mother. something kailey would say...

5.) this is also random but kailey and catalina both have the same meaning aka pure. which I thought was cute and interesting if that's lyra's mother. we also do not know lyra's mom's name but her stepfather's? that's a little fishy and mysterious if you ask moi.

SECOND THEORY: TOBY SENT LYRA THE INVITE FOR TGG

-toby sent lyra the game invite in hopes to redeem himself for the guilt he's had for "killing" hannah's sister kailey.

-he says he will always be sorry for what he did to her and carries that burden. so when he finds out that kailey IS ALIVE & has a daughter named lyra. he's probably shook and thinks to himself that hannah not only had a niece but avery has a cousin.

-AND by reading toby and avery's relationship they are daughter and father. making lyra in a way his niece. so toby as an "uncle" gives her the invitation because if he can help anyone related to hannah out he will do so especially if he thought kailey was dead.

-who else would say "you deserve this" not eve or alice. they're both psychotic bitches who care for no one but themselves. I like to think uncle toby ate and sent lyra to the game!

what are your thoughts?!

[comradeboyhalo]

i love every aspect of bad and ros's deal because it fits so well in context of their relationship as a whole: bad seeing death as kindness, ros giving her life to someone who would enjoy the kill, and bad being contractually unable to explain anything.

bad and ros have always had this strange relationship that rarely anyone else was privy to. bad has helped ros with leveling and materials, gifted her a stacked netherite helmet, and refused to kill her despite it being pili1's last wish. ros confides to bad despite him being her direct opposition. she knows he's a danger to her, but she's fascinated by him nonetheless. there's something comforting in venting your feelings out to a monster, who feels so removed from her interpersonal relations with yellow.

bad is not a good person, and he certainly isn't always good to ros, but the soft spot is there. ros sees it, and that's why she frequently misreads bad as kinder than he actually is. she is the anomaly here, not him.

the disconnect between bad and the other trsmp characters reminds me of when aimsey was upset at bad for talking to ros alone because they mistakenly believed that he was manipulating her. when, in reality, bad was encouraging ros to open up to her faction and her friends, trying to reassure and alleviate her insecurities. i don't blame aimsey for assuming the worst: this is not a side tr!bad shows easily. if it's difficult to imagine bad giving genuine advice, then of course no other character would know or believe that bad really did try, in his own way, to save ros.

with all this being said, it makes perfect sense for bad to take the contract in hopes of delaying the inevitable and saving ros, only to ultimately choose death as the kindest outcome. it makes perfect sense for ros to open up to bad about her desire for death, and find comfort in knowing that bad is the one friend that will not be burdened in killing her himself. she has seen his immoral code and stuck around anyways, and he sees his past suffering in her. i don't believe death was the only answer for tr!ros, but i can see why she and bad believed it was, in a way that is uniquely understood only by them.

[drdemonprince]

so recently a girl I was hanging out w (we're both trans girls) indicated that she wanted to dominate me in the way I've wanted my whole life but I've never received (mostly not physical, sweet, predominantly psychological, soft, playing w the power dynamics, etc.). Since then I've been feeling some relief but also intense desperation, like I've been starving all my life and I've only just realized, and now the hunger pangs are eating into me.

I was just wondering if this resonates w how you understand kink and where this desperation could be coming from. I'm autistic, so I was wondering if it's desperation for the need to unmask? Or if it's about the shame of having kinky desires, and the relief that comes from getting affirmed that those things are ok? Is it really about a need for care, which I have received very little of my whole life? Or if I'm overthinking it— could I just have a deep gnawing hunger for submission in and of itself, where submission is, for me, as important as breathing?

Of course, I know you can't explain my own emotions, but any insight you have into the tangled web of desire, desperation, hunger, kink, care, relief, autism, trans shit, and isolation would be v v v appreciated. ty dr demon prince :)

I think what you might be responding so strongly to is the opportunity to express a side of yourself that normally has zero outlet. We can call it headspaces, or alters, or escapism, or playing a role, and certainly it has to do a lot with letting go and unmasking -- but the universal human explanation is that who were are is largely socially instantiated, and that it is impossible for us to be certain versions of ourselves without that self being welcomed, catered to, and interplayed with by another person -- the right person, in the right dynamic.

Kink can be so beautiful because it allows sides of ourselves that rarely find expression to interplay with others' also hidden or hard-to-activate sides. With one partner of mine, I get to be a slobbering obedient puppy for their nurturing, yet controlling mommy. Both of us are able to access sides of who we are that feel unreachable in everyday life, or unsafe to express. For them it's a gender euphoric experience that doesn't line up with their day-to-day identity and presentation; for me it's an escape from my mental burdens and the relief of being cared for. Yet it's also deeper. By playing at this long-lasting pet-handler relationship, I get to activate layers of trust and vulnerability with them that it would normally take years of processing and the exact right circumstances to reach. I get to collapse into their arms wailing without having actually been put through any real emotional ringer. I can be completely waylaid with emotion and need and become briefly dependent upon them and let them have full control over my body, without actually having to lose any of my freedom or having to worry about whether they can handle it.

That's just a personal and recent example. But I often feel that within kinky, headspacey social contexts, a different side of me is free to express itself and my ego doesn't have to mediate or hold the reins. I feel the same thing at Furfest, though it's not always sexual. I can just be a friendly, silly, huggy deer, and meet other people for their playful animal/toony energy too. Because we are all just being silly animals, I can relate to people that I might have very little in common with in terms of my day-to-day life. We don't have to talk about work, or our families, or political economy -- we can just dance and get stoned, cuddle and eat snacks, play videogames, compliment one another's outfits, live in the present right before us. all the over-intellectualization that normally separates me from people is just gone, and some more primordial feeling of animal comraderie is there.

And I miss that feeling of ease and friendliness DESPERATELY once furfest ends. It feels at times that when a bond or a social context like this disappears that some essential part of myself has been TAKEN from me. Because it doesn't just dwell within me. I can't just enjoy it alone at home. It has to operate within a living social dynamic.

It may be something like that for you. When I first discovered there was an entire community devoted to erotic hypnosis, my lifelong fetish, the universe seemed to open up with possibility and I was elated. I no longer felt doomed to a joyless daily existence. It turned out I could have real, meaningful fun, connect to other people, do something new that touched new parts of my brain. I could experience some of the sensations I had only ever dreamed about and believed were impossible to realize in actual life. I wanted to live in the hypno world forever (and I did get myself into some weeks-long waking trances that kinda mentally fucked me up because I was in such a frenzy, oops). It's a kind of love, finding your spaces, finding your people, finding the contexts in which some sacred part of you is free. It's a love of yourself, and the other person, and the context -- it's a love of being alive, which is often so sorely needed for those of us who are wired in such a way as regular life is usually unfulfilling or painful.