#as for the prompt i like it and i think there is a lot of wiggle room despite one of the words having only one definition

[dior-luxury]

hiiiii hope you're having a good day! Can I request Idia, Azul, Ruggie, Jamil, Lilia, Ace + anyone else you like with a reader who has a crush on them but is utterly convinced there's no way he likes them back? Just "he's so cute and I love him but he's way out of my league, oh well back to daydreaming" Thank youuuu ~ 👾 nonnie

You Being Convinced They Don't Like You Back

( ✧ ) ────── pre-boyfriend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . ruggie . azul . jamil . idia . lilia

- [𝐩:𝐬] Self-deprecating thoughts / Low self-esteem . Mutual pining . Angst with a happy ending . Romantic insecurity . Fluff

Note: I literally am in LOVE with this prompt hello 🥹 thank you so much for requesting 👾 nonnie! I hope my writing exceeds your expectations ( ´ ω ` ) .

Ace Trappola

The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon, the hum of distant conversation muffled by the towering shelves of books and the occasional creak of an old wooden chair. You sat in the farthest corner, your favorite spot, hunched over your notebook but not really writing. Not really thinking, either.

You were doodling again—him, of course. The slightly messy hair that was always a shade redder in the sunlight, the crooked smirk that came out right before he teased someone (or charmed them), and those stupid little hearts he sometimes made with his hands just to be annoying. Ace Trappola.

You sighed and dropped your pencil, watching it roll off the desk. “Ugh, why is he so cute,” you mumbled under your breath, face down in your arms.

It wasn’t like he knew you existed in any special way. Sure, you were classmates, sometimes group partners, sometimes sparring partners in flight class. He joked with you a lot, yeah. But he joked with everyone. He winked at everyone. He didn’t look at you the way you looked at him—soft, lingering, completely lovesick.

You were convinced Ace belonged in a whole different universe than you. He was bold, charming, magnetic. And you? You were… fine. Okay. Passable. Not his type, whatever that was. So you kept it inside. You giggled with your friends about how cute he looked in his uniform, you wrote little daydreams in your journal and then crossed them out, and you tried to survive the actual conversations with him without letting the pink in your cheeks get too noticeable.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that Ace had been hovering outside the aisle for the past five minutes.

He’d come to return a book, seen you, and almost walked away. But your muttering had stopped him cold.

He leaned a little closer, his heartbeat just a bit too loud in his ears. Did you just call him cute? No way. You were probably talking about some manga character.

But then you sighed again and muttered, “He’d never like someone like me. Not when he’s... him.”

And something in Ace's chest twisted.

He stepped out casually, pretending like he hadn’t just eavesdropped on your heartbreak. “Yo,” he said, tossing the book on the return cart. “Didn’t know you talked to yourself. Should I be worried?”

You jolted upright, face turning crimson the moment you saw him. “A-Ace?!”

He leaned on the edge of your desk, eyes scanning your doodles. “Wow, that guy looks exactly like me,” he teased. “You got a little crush or something?”

You tried to cover the page, but it was too late. Panic surged in your chest, your throat tightening as every possible excuse dried up on your tongue.

Ace tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly into something softer. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Was that about me back there? What you said?”

You froze. Busted.

He laughed—gently, not the loud, showy kind. “You think I’m out of your league? That’s rich. You literally do everything better than me except math, and I still think about how you beat me in Spell Target last month.”

You blinked, stunned.

Ace grinned wider, leaning just a bit closer. “So... maybe I’ve got a little crush too. Don’t go writing me off like that next time, yeah?”

Ruggie Bucchi

It was late afternoon, and the Savannaclaw lounge was mostly empty—except for you, perched on the steps outside, and Ruggie, balancing a tray of snacks with a practiced hand. You’d offered to help, but he’d waved you off with a grin.

“Relax, I got this.”

You smiled politely, folding your arms tighter. Not that he’d notice the way your chest fluttered when he smiled like that. That sly, sleepy-eyed grin that made your stomach dip every time.

Ruggie was… everything you weren’t. Fast-talking, adaptable, clever, confident in a way you never could be. He made jokes even when Leona was glaring daggers. He knew how to turn scraps into something useful. And you? You were just you.

No way he’d be interested in someone who wasn’t cool, cunning, or at least a little dangerous. He needed someone who could keep up with his sharp tongue and trickster nature. Not someone like you who blushed too easily and got tongue-tied every time he looked your way.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve, sighing. “He’s way out of my league,” you whispered to no one.

Unbeknownst to you, Ruggie was returning from the lounge, just in time to hear that.

He paused in his step, the grin faltering as the words sank in.

Out of your league? Him?

He tilted his head, watching you. You looked… soft. Tired. Not just from today, but maybe from carrying that weight in your chest. The kind he knew too well. Ruggie bit the inside of his cheek and walked over quietly, plopping down beside you without a word.

You looked up, startled. “Oh! You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He offered you one of the sweet pastries he’d snagged from the kitchen. “You looked like you needed somethin’ sweet.”

You took it, hesitating. “Thanks…”

The silence lingered a moment too long. Then Ruggie said casually, “You know, I heard what you said.”

You froze.

Ruggie turned his head to look at you, his smile smaller now, more sincere. “You think I’m outta your league?” He snorted. “That’s a laugh. You’re the only one around here who’s nice to me without expecting somethin’ in return.”

You stared, lips parting, but no words came out.

“I notice things, y’know,” he continued, voice lower now. “How you bring extra snacks just in case someone forgets lunch. How you patch people up after training. How you always wave to Grim like he’s the main character or somethin’.”

You smiled weakly. “He thinks he is.”

Ruggie chuckled. “You’ve got no idea how easy it is to like you, do ya?”

The air went still.

He leaned a bit closer, a mischievous spark lighting back up in his eyes. “So, what d’you say we make this official? You stop pretendin’ I don’t like you, and I stop stealin’ snacks to get your attention. Deal?”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded—furiously.

And Ruggie, with a smug little grin, nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Knew you liked me, too.”

Azul Ashengrotto

The lounge was closed for the night, lights dimmed, the usual chatter of customers replaced by the quiet shuffle of papers and the gentle clink of glass as Azul organized the bar. You sat alone at one of the side tables—he’d offered to let you hang out while he finished work, a kind gesture wrapped in professionalism. You didn’t question it. You were just happy to be near him.

Azul was perfect. Not in an untouchable way, but in the dangerously magnetic way. His intelligence, his poise, the calculating way his eyes always seemed to know more than he let on. He could make a deal with a king and still get the better end of it. He ran a whole business while juggling classes and contracts and never once looked like he was struggling.

Meanwhile, you were just… you. No cunning. No genius intellect. Just someone who barely passed alchemy and still got nervous speaking in front of people. Azul was miles above your league.

So, you admired him from afar. You listened carefully when he spoke in class, hung onto his every word when he got passionate about potion theory, and then pretended not to ache when he’d smile politely and move on without knowing how he affected you.

Tonight was no different.

You watched him from behind your drink, your heart fluttering as he adjusted his glasses, sleeves rolled to his elbows. You sighed under your breath, “He’s so beautiful. And way out of my league. Oh well. Back to daydreaming…”

Azul looked up.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his mer ears were… sensitive. The words hit him harder than expected. You thought he was out of your league?

He swallowed hard, turning away quickly to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks. Was that a joke? Were you playing him? No, no—your voice had been too soft. Too sad.

He closed the ledger and made his way over to your table, rehearsing something casual to say. But he couldn’t do it. The usual charm slipped. He sat down across from you instead, unusually quiet.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said too quickly. Then, after a breath: “I overheard something just now.”

Your heart dropped.

“I didn’t mean to. But you said…” He paused, searching your face for any trace of irony. “You think I’m out of your league?”

You froze. Busted again. Why did the universe keep doing this to you?

Azul looked… uncertain. Vulnerable. His fingers tapped the edge of the table in a rare moment of nervous fidgeting. “You have no idea how intimidating you are to me.”

You blinked. “Me?!”

“Yes. You’re so—genuine. You smile without scheming. You care without a contract. That’s not something I’m used to.” His voice dropped, soft and serious. “And I’ve liked you for a while. But I didn’t think someone as… sincere as you could ever return that kind of feeling.”

Your chest clenched. “Azul, I… I do. I have. For a long time.”

He gave a breathless little laugh. “Then perhaps… a real date? No contracts, no business. Just us?”

You nodded, overwhelmed but glowing. And for once, Azul Ashengrotto looked flustered. Adorably so.

Jamil Viper

The sun was setting over Scarabia, painting the desert sky in shades of gold and crimson. You sat at the balcony edge of the dorm’s main building, legs dangling, fingers absentmindedly picking at your sleeve as you watched the horizon burn.

Jamil was training below—moving with that smooth, graceful precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much attention he was getting. But Jamil never asked for attention. He earned it quietly, consistently, and refused to let it change him.

You had it bad. So bad it was kind of pathetic.

He was calm, composed, mysterious in the way that made your heart race just a little. But also kind, thoughtful, and far too selfless for someone with his level of talent. You loved the way he took care of others, even when they didn’t realize he was doing it. You loved the way his eyes lit up when no one was watching and he actually let himself enjoy something.

And of course, you’d convinced yourself he’d never return the feeling.

You were ordinary. Not someone with elegance carved into every step. Not someone with a voice that could silence a room. You were nice, and dependable, but not the kind of person who got someone like Jamil Viper.

You sighed and murmured to yourself, “He’s so cool and so out of my league… but I love him anyway. Guess I’ll just keep dreaming.”

Unfortunately, your voice carried.

Jamil paused mid-step, hearing your words. The rhythm of his movements faltered for just a second. He glanced up, spotted you on the balcony, and blinked.

Your eyes met. Panic.

He jogged up the steps—not fast, but direct. Intentional.

You stood, heart racing. “J-Jamil, I didn’t know you—”

“I heard you,” he said, his voice even, but there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “What you said.”

You turned crimson. “That was—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not for you to—”

He held up a hand gently. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nodded, too stunned to speak.

“I’ve spent a long time trying not to like anyone,” he said slowly. “Because it’s easier. Because I don’t get to have things I want. People expect me to stay in the background, to be useful—not to be seen.”

Your breath hitched.

“But then you came along. You’re kind. You notice things most people overlook. You see me.” He looked away for a second, a rare flicker of vulnerability. “And I didn’t think I was allowed to want someone like you.”

You were stunned. “Jamil… I see you because I care. I’ve always cared.”

He looked at you again, softer now. “Then maybe we’ve both been idiots.”

You laughed shakily. “Definitely.”

Jamil stepped closer, a real smile pulling at his lips. “Then let’s stop pretending. I like you. And I’m not letting you drift away into daydreams anymore.”

Your heart soared. Maybe… just maybe… you were enough for him all along.

Idia Shroud

The glow of the computer screen lit your face as you sat cross-legged on the floor of Ignihyde's rec room—aka Idia's fortress. You’d been invited to a co-op gaming session, not unusual since you’d proven yourself in battle simulators, strategy MMOs, and the occasional horror VR run.

But what was unusual… was that Idia had invited you.

You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. He was probably just being friendly. Maybe he appreciated that you didn’t make fun of his Otaku shrine or that time he totally short-circuited a project trying to install AI voice lines of a waifu into Ortho.

Still, every time he laughed softly at one of your dumb jokes, or his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a controller—you felt that dizzy, heart-thumping feeling in your chest. And you reminded yourself, for the millionth time:

“He’s brilliant. Cool in a mysterious, tech-wizard way. That anime hair glows. He’s basically a boss-level character. And me? I’m just a side quest.”

So you kept your feelings locked behind your own firewall and resigned yourself to the background.

Tonight was no different. After you won a particularly chaotic match, Idia leaned back in his chair, hoodie half-draped over his head, giving you one of those rare, sheepish smiles. “Y-you’re really good at this… I mean, I knew you were decent, but like… whoa. T-totally NPC-crushing it.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “Guess I just like playing with you…”

He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but if you’d been watching closely (and you always were), you’d notice the way his avatar just… idled.

You were about to awkwardly fill the silence when you heard it—his voice, quiet, uncertain. “You know, I always thought you were… like… out of my league.”

Your brain lagged.

“Wait—what?”

Idia pulled the hood further over his head, hair flickering in shades of anxious pink. “I mean, you’re normal. Like, good at talking to people, and helping Ortho with projects, and you actually listen when I go off on anime world-building lore instead of hitting skip like everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “But I thought I was just the sidekick here! I mean—you’re… you. I figured there was no way someone like you could like someone like me.”

He glanced up, eyes wide and glowing faintly. “No. You’re not ‘someone like’ anything. You’re just… you. And you’re kind of my favorite player two.”

Silence stretched.

And then he blurted, fast and fumbling, “So—uh, do you wanna maybe do a… real date co-op thing? Like a—non-digital questline?”

You beamed. “I’d love to.”

And somewhere in the corner, Ortho’s little scanner lit up green. “Successful confession: confirmed.”

Lilia Vanrouge

The Diasomnia garden was especially quiet in the evening, the moonlight bathing the stone paths in silver as soft wind rustled the leaves. You often came here after a long day—it was peaceful, and you could just… think.

And of course, he was often there.

Lilia.

Sometimes humming an old lullaby. Sometimes practicing aerial flips. Sometimes just tending to the strange, glowing plants with that serene little smile. He was enigmatic, ageless, playful in a way that made your heart ache. He flirted with everyone, joked like he’d seen centuries of stories unfold—and maybe he had.

You were utterly, hopelessly, in love with him.

But you’d buried it. Because how could someone like Lilia Vanrouge—mysterious, powerful, ancient, and radiant—ever love someone like you?

“He’s basically immortal. I’m mortal, awkward, and sometimes trip over nothing. He’s been alive since kingdoms rose and fell. I’m just trying to pass my midterms without dying of stress. He probably sees me like a cute stray cat or something.”

So instead of confessing, you smiled, nodded when he teased you, and let the daydreams pile up where he couldn’t see.

Tonight, you didn’t notice him approach until he sat beside you, quiet and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Lost in thought, little one?”

You startled slightly, then laughed. “Yeah. Just… life stuff.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, gaze flicking over your face like he was reading something written across your skin. “You've been sighing a lot lately.”

You tried to deflect. “Guess I’ve just been thinking about someone.”

His eyes twinkled. “Ah… a crush, perhaps?”

You flushed. “Maybe.”

Lilia tilted his head, fangs barely visible behind his grin. “And what is this mysterious someone like?”

You bit your lip. “He’s… incredible. Playful but wise. Mysterious. Totally out of my league.”

That grin faded—just slightly. “Out of your league?”

You nodded, sighing. “Yeah. He’s someone who probably sees a million people every day and never notices someone like me. Which is fine. I’m just… daydreaming. That’s all.”

Lilia was silent for a beat. And then he did something you hadn’t expected.

He took your hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “for someone who’s lived as long as I have… very few people surprise me anymore. But you? You always do. With your honesty, your kindness… and the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

You froze.

“I do notice,” he added, voice lowering, soft as dusk. “And I would be a fool not to return the favor.”

You stared, eyes wide. “Wait… you—?”

“Yes.” He smiled, a touch bittersweet. “And I’ve been waiting for the right time to say it. But it seems we’ve both been sitting in our little corners of longing, haven’t we?”

You nodded, heart hammering.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to your knuckles. “Well then… perhaps it’s time we step out of the daydream.”

[radaverse]

Reminded me of a recent convo at an english class about art, ai and ai art.

"Ok but what's it with all the AI hate?" The mini essay answer lol

I personally don't 100% hate it since if used well, it could be a good tool for research. It can answer specific questions while giving you quotes and links from articles to look at by yourself (Not too reliable though), and could save you some trouble (Eg: You want to do medical research for writing but also avoid graphic imagery, could work for that)

B u t

People are using it to completely replace their creativity and that's lazy. And unreliable. Wasn't the point of AI just being a research tool?

Here's why I think it's wrong:

AI does nothing but quote, so that means it takes human-made writing to make its own. And that usually doesn't bring quotes like it does with info, so that's theft don't you think?

Unreliable. Often makes up things and doesn't understand characters in such depth as a human would.

It's fake. The AI doesn't write, it mimics. Whatever it makes, it's not real, deep, emotion or effort-filled.

The class video brought a question. Would you like a robot as parent or teacher?

The robot could act like one. Teach you useful things, cook for you, give you advice, comfort you. But deep down you'd know it's not real. It's just a result of data mimicking. The robot is not feeling, it's pretending to feel.

Same thing is about art. It can and often does look good and sound good, but it's still thoughtless parroting. No effort, no thought, no feeling. Not real.

--

Gonna be honest, when I first found out about AI it astonished me. (I live somewhere where tech isn't so techy so techy things bewilder me) But soon I started to find out why it's so discouraged, and rightly so it is.

Look, if you can't write well and feel like you have to rely on AI, maybe do lots of research and dm to make mistakes, that's what makes writers writers.

You'd feel proud of your work and improvement later. You'd miss that out if everything was made by a machine. You'd not be a writer but a prompt maker. A faker. Sounds bad, cuz it is.

I hope this can be helpful to people who genuinely don't understand why using AI as creativity replacement is wrong, but lol this is just my view of it

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[muqingslover]

I just wanted to ask you (since I saw this prompt before and I wanted to hear your take on it), in a Cherry Magic AU setting, MC can hear the thoughts of the lads men. Who do you think would have the most unhinged train of thoughts/ stream of consciousness?

I just have a feeling that Zayne would be the most surprising/unhinged since he's so calm and collected, even cold on the outside, so he has to keep a lot inside. (Or maybe I'm just biased because I'm a Zayne girlie and he's my pookie)

I absolutely love the way you write! The flow is so nice and easy to follow. Overall, it's relaxing and entertaining to read what you write!!

[ AAA THANK YOU SM FOR THE KIND FEEDBACK! it means everything to me I'm so so so glad you enjoy it! 💕🫂 I actually didn't know what Cherry Magic was but omg?! it's so cute!? I just had to do this! ]

Coming in hot in first place we have the IT boy himself.

His thoughts are not technically unhinged as they are just OVERWHELMING.

You would be having lunch and Caleb's sitting across of you like 😊 while his mind is filled with so much stuff.

'Their lips are a bit redder today...Is it because of the spice? I should tone it down next time, oh but they look so cute like that. Their eyes are all watery it's so damn cute, so cute so, so so cute— Huh? They're staring? Oh *I* am the one that's staring. Look away look away, yeah, alright, smooth.'

His thoughts are extremely noisy all. the. time. It's pretty much about everything, but especially you.

I also feel like he repeats a lot of words regarding you like he'd immediately go 'Cute, cute, cute cute cute—' when you laugh at what he said or have an internal panic if you did something to tease him 'Too close oh god— They're close, close, close, too damn close— I can feel their body warmth—'

CATCH HIS LYING ASS POOKIES, I mean ahem.

Guys this man will have the most innocent smile on his face when he claims he'd never do something and when you take a peek inside his thoughts he is most definitely thinking about doing it.

"I have no reason to steal your clothes. C'mon now pipsqueak— Yes, yes, I pinky promise I'm not messing with you this time."

'Shit shit shit shit shit. I didn't have time to wash it yet— Why are they doing laundry today anyway? They usually only do it on Friday nights.'

Second place belongs to none other than to the neighborhood freak.

Now Xavier is a mix of absolutely empty no thoughts at all to freaky ahh stuff.

He will have a nonchalant face but his thoughts? oh dear lord.

"My throat feels a bit sore because of the weather recently."

"Let's buy some cough drops for you on our way back."

'I wonder if I can still do it tonight...I wouldn't want them to hurt their throat more. Oh. If I cover their mouth shouldn't it be fine? What should I use...Wait, I should ask them later about it...........I wonder if they'll sit on my face again.....that was nice..........Kinda sleepy.'

He is also the only one of the crew that is not particularly embarrassed, freaked out or even worried that you can read his thoughts.

If anything, Xavier believes it makes communication a whole lot easier. Sometimes he's so tired that even speaking takes a lot of energy from him so being able to tell you what he wants just by touching you is an advantage.

Yes, he will absolutely think about freaky things on purpose only to see your face turning red.

I think fishie takes third place.

#Meangirl alert. /hj

Rather than it being about you it's more about his brutal honesty in general. Lord have mercy when he is grading projects from his classes.

Rafayel is someone that calculates his words (and actions) A LOT, which means this is a nightmare for him. He doesn't want you to see past the fun, sassy persona he shows you.

Especially if the subject about his past came up because then things could get real ugly, real quick.

"I would never hurt you like that, Raf."

'...That sounds like a cruel joke. You don't know that. You don't know anything about me. About us. How is this fair? How can I tell you about what you did— About what *I* had to do when you look at me like that?'

"...I know. I trust you."

You would also realize he is actually a lot more apathetic towards others than expected. The humans' opinions/ problems are simply not something he can bring himself to genuinely care about unless they affect him or you directly.

Lastly, he hums and sings A LOT in his head. Usually they're very old, beautiful songs from his homeland and it's really nice to tune in his private radio station.

Maybe controversial but this man's thoughts are clean as a whistle.

Unless he is actively doing something sexual Sylus is not thinking about anything remotely dirty.

Personally I believe his mind is quiet in general. He has an internal "To-do list" and that's what you will hear for most of the time.

'Oh, their water bottle is cracked. I should get them a new one soon. The twins' new jackets are being delivered today, that's good. It's getting colder already I don't want them to get sick again. The new supplies will need my signature so I must return before the sunrise. Tomorrow the new restaurant they mentioned opens, I'll make sure to ask them for dinner. '

On the other hand, his thoughts can also be quite vulnerable and insecure towards your relationship with him.

Almost every night when he holds you in his arms you will hear him think 'Please stay with me.' and he sounds so genuinely afraid.

You will also hear him think a looooot of 'I love you' during the day at random times. He's just a large, lovestruck puppy looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

The calmest thoughts but the cutest of all of the boys.

Like, you don't understand he's sooo damn cute.

Zayne may look like he'd rather be anywhere else but here and then you touch him and what you get is

'...I wish I had gotten the limited cat keychain from the cafe. Perhaps they'll rerun it next spring. I'll take them with me then........We could get matching ones....Well, if they agree to go with me. Or I could bring it to them as a gift, that would be nice too.'

Another one that has an mental "To-do list". During work hours he's extremely focused and his thoughts rarely, if ever, stray from what he's doing.

When with you his mind is calm (unless you're teasing this poor man because then his mind is going into OVERDRIVE.) and his internal comments are suuuuper soft and loving.

'Their hair is styled today...it looks really nice. Should I tell them? ....No, it's best not to. Hm....Oh, right. I have some leftover candy from my appointments today, I'll give them some instead.'

10/10 experience guarantee.

[screamlet]

hi hellooo for the intimacy prompts: ♟ Patching up a wound

well hello i'm back and it turns out i did have another one of these! in the same urgent care/dr. donna universe as the other patching up a wound fic. 1.2k, established bucktommy, future fic, set about a year+ after 8x15 (so canon compliant for 8x15). from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

and this is the last one!!!!!!!!! thank you all for the prompts!!!!! they're all available here and i'll post them to the ao3 at some point.

---

"Hey, you're back!" Dr. Donna says cheerily. "They should have told you at the front desk, though: I don't do loyalty cards. The 10th visit isn't free."

"No offense, but let's not see each other eight more times," Tommy says as politely as he can manage. (He can't manage much.)

Dr. Donna shoots him a wry look. "I don't just do stitches. I showed up for other parts of medical school, too, I promise."

"It's okay, it's me this time," Evan says, proud of his several-inches-long gash for some reason. "I was fixing this wooden post in our garden and, I don't even know, this happened."

Dr. Donna checks out Evan's bicep and winces. Tommy hasn't looked at the wound since Evan yelled in pain from the yard; they immediately covered it with some paper towels before jumping in the car to urgent care, but it's still too vivid in his imagination. "Jeez, it sure did happen. Shirley already gave you a tetanus shot so I'm just here for the fun part, huh?"

"Let 'em rip," Evan says. "Or not, since they're stitches. Hey, do you use the same kind of stitches for everything you sew up or do you mix it up? Like is it your choice or do you have to use a different kind of stitch for—"

Tommy's been doing a great job, he thinks, of Saturday afternoon moral support here at their local urgent care, but he's still not great with the stitches thing, with the doctors thing. People would think, pretty reasonably, that seeing as much trauma and outright carnage as he does on a daily basis for the past 20 years would mean that he's used to it, he's seen it all, and that's true—except. This is someone he loves getting a needle and thread jabbed through their skin several times because he let a particularly large bird distract him from repairing one of their raised garden beds. It's not the same thing.

"Evan," Tommy interrupts. "I love you so much, I do, you're the love of my life and there's no one I'd rather share all of this with, but you have got to stop talking about sewing your skin together before I throw up everywhere."

"Ooh, that'd be messy," Dr. Donna says. She looks away from Evan's arm and asks Tommy, "Do you want to lie down in one of the other rooms?"

"Yeah, Tommy, it's okay," Evan says. "Seriously, she's so quick."

"I'm so quick," Dr. Donna, Evan's new best friend, assures him. "Shirley, get him a compress and some smelling salts, and put him in room 6, huh?"

"No, I'm fine, I am," Tommy says, even though lying down sounds amazing right now. "I'm here for moral support and I'm doing it, right? I'm being so supportive. I just—"

"Tommy," Evan says, his voice gentle. "I promise, you'll be a lot more supportive if you're okay in another room, alright? You're making me nervous."

"Okay," Tommy says slowly. "Okay, I'll go, but I'm not abandoning you, I promise, I'm just—"

Evan tugs on the front of Tommy's shirt and pulls him in for a quick kiss. "You're not abandoning me. I know that. I'll be right out to get you, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy says. "I'll be right in—that room she said. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I know you're not," Evan says. "I know you're here."

---

Shirley takes him to another room and helps him to lie on the exam bed. The lights are dim, he's got a cold compress, and for one reason or another, he's trying to remember Ian McKellen's monologue from The Two Towers. Through fire and water, from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth…

"Something something, smote his ruin upon the mountainside, ugh, I know that's not all of it," Tommy grumbles under his breath. Suddenly there's a quiet knock at the door and it's Evan, smiling like they're anywhere else doing anything else.

"Shh, you're good, don't sit up," Evan says as he pulls over a stool. "I'm all set. You wanna hear how many?"

"What'd you bet, 12?"

"I guessed 12 and I got 15! Same as you!"

Tommy closes his eyes. "You're so excited about that."

"What? We have matching scars. That's pretty cool." Evan pauses. "I wonder if she gave me an extra so we'd have the same. Dr. Donna wouldn't do that, right? Is that malpractice? I guess it was just a coincidence. I don't really care."

It's a short rolling stool, so Evan stands up and leans over Tommy. He lifts the compress so he can press a kiss to Tommy's forehead, then puts it back. "I'm sorry I got all carried away with gross stuff. How are you feeling?"

"Stupid. Really stupid." Tommy sighs. "I've popped shoulder joints back into place, tied off bleeds with tourniquets and t-shirts and whatever I have, literally held someone's guts together once, and I just…"

"Hey, hey." Evan leans down again and kisses Tommy's lips. "Stop apologizing, you don't have to prove you're a big tough guy. I know you are. Everyone's got their stuff. I can make myself a little sick just thinking about cutting up raw chicken breast. It's gross as hell."

"This isn't gross kitchen stuff," Tommy protests. "You needed me for something serious and I—"

"Chickened out?"

"Once I can stand and open my eyes for more than five seconds, I'm kicking you in the shin."

"Yeah, that's fair." Evan kisses him again. "Tommy, it's okay. When haven't you come through for me when I needed you?"

Tommy tries nodding without making himself nauseated. "Let's make a list of acceptable urgent care conversation topics on your phone, I'll keep some good noise-canceling headphones in the glove compartment, and neither of us will ever get injured again, okay? You heard Dr. Donna, she doesn't do discounts."

"Actually, since she teaches at the medical school, too, she's giving a talk next week or so about some new research in—" Evan catches himself. "Research in medical stuff. I'm gonna go to that and you have the house to yourself."

"Sounds like a blast, send her my best."

Tommy opens his eyes to the dim room and Evan standing over him, looking so soft and concerned. "I'm okay."

"I know you are," Evan says. "And this doesn't count, okay?"

"Doesn't…"

"You didn't leave me," Evan whispers. "I know you never will."

Tommy doesn't have anything else to say, so Evan kisses him again, then presses his ear to Tommy's chest, right over his heart. Tommy lifts his hand and rests it on Evan's head, fingers flexing gently in his curls until Evan stands up again.

"Oh, wait, actually," Evan says.

"You're too excited, please stop this ride."

Evan digs into his pocket and holds up a handful of lollipops. "She let me take one of each of the citrus ones, and a strawberry one. They're all yours."

Tommy sticks them all in his shirt pocket for easy access later. "When you run off with Dr. Donna, remember that I tried to be a good boyfriend, okay?"

"Shut up," Evan laughs, kissing him again. "Redheads… are a little my type, but not as much as you are."

"Are you helping or hurting, Evan? Helping or hurting?"

[txttletale]

I've read a lot of your arguments against IP, and often come around to your perspective. But most revolve around "Art", and I don't think art is a representative example of the things that IP law currently covers.

Art is very context-dependent. As you've said, just by presenting something as art, it becomes art. If I cover your song or trace over your drawing, I've created a completely new piece of art. Because generally, the Art is the Product, with all of it's context.

Art is also very artist-dependent. Give 100 artists the same prompt, and you'll get 100 distinct pieces of art. You'd have to be unrealistically specific to get two different artists to create "artistically fungible" pieces. If that's even possible. The Art encodes the Artist, if you will.

This isn't true of most types of IP. Two chemists may find fungible, even identical experimental set-ups; two inventors may create fungible products, even if they have different production lines and histories; two soft drinks manufacturers may create identical recipes; two mathematicians may give fungible proofs, which are the same "Maths" even if the papers are distinct. In each case, the Thing is the Idea, and the Thing is entirely independent of it's Creator.

How does abolishing IP (beyond just abolishing copyright law) affect creators of things that aren't Art? The only reason I can benefit from my New Ideas is that I had them first; there's nothing intrinsic to them that is "of me".

i mean frankly i think that Art is the friendliest possible territory for defenders of IP, as taking the discussion to things that actually matter immediately hits the subject of "IP law actually kills people".

'inventors' are not, in fact, able to benefit from their new ideas: your two chemists' discoveries will be owned by the company that employs them. i think the concept that 'patents drive innovation' is observably total nonsense when it comes to actually important things like life-saving medicine. even under a capitalist system, patents are the most. while i talk about art a lot because i'm an artist and i think about art constantly, i think that pharmaceuticals are the grounds on which copyright abolition is most obviously correct and most urgently necessary.

there are many policy interventions that have been proposed to incentivize private medical R&D under a capitalist system that would be far less murderous than patents -- government awarded prizes or 'finder's fees' for instance. but honestly i think that baseline effective and humane public health is completely incompatible with capitalism and this is so self-evident that you will even see social democrats saying it

[dykefruit]

@mikkeneko I might actually disagree with your point about the difference between calculators and ai. I think we agree that ai writing everything for you is not a 1-to-1 relationship of just taking the hard work out of writing essays. It’s taking the thinking out of writing essays. You don’t learn to write essays in school because that’s a direct skill you need, you do that in school because it’s vital to developing your own cognitive thinking skills. You said above “the cognitive skill being obsoleted here is more than ‘how to write an essay’… [it is] being able to generate new thoughts” and I completely agree.

And I used to agree that saying “calculators make us dumb” was nonsense. I majored in math, I spent my life doing math and I used a calculator for a lot of the latter half of my life thus far. I still use a calculator, it’s quicker and makes complicated calculations easier. But since I’ve started teaching math, I’ve noticed that so many of my students have little to no number sense, and I think part of this is over reliance on a calculator in their early education. I was teaching a unit on logarithmic functions, and my students couldn’t comprehend anything because they still didn’t have the intuitive number sense for basic exponentials. They couldn’t rationalize what was happening because they couldn’t internalize that 2 cubed = 2x2x2 = 8. They just type into a calculator 2^3 and write down 8. Many of my students can’t rationalize basic multiplication in their heads. They’re showing me that they haven’t truly learned math in years, and they’ve been passing classes by just memorizing enough formulas and plugging the right things into their calculators in the right order.

Much like the essay can still be written “well” if you give ChatGPT the right prompt, the calculations can still be performed if you input the right numbers in the right order. But I’m not trying to teach them how to calculate numbers, I’m trying to teach them to think. You don’t learn trigonometry and algebra bc you will need them day to day, you learn them because they stretch your brains ability to think critically, to analyze information and rationalize relationships between sets of information. Many of my students are missing fundamental thinking skills because they’re relying on a calculator to do the thinking for them and they know they can pass the class if they memorize the right formulas.

In short, you’re right that “most people don’t need to do more than cursory math on a day to day basis”, but it’s clear to me as a teacher that the cognitive skill obsoleted by calculators in more than just do basic calculations, it’s that actual ability to understand logical relationships, especially (but not limited to!) quantifiable relationships and the ability to think and analyze information in that logical sense. I think rather than calculators being a nonissue where genAI is an issue, the negative effects calculators have on the development on children’s thinking skills were foreshadowing the potentially detrimental effects of genAI which is more capable of replacing critical thought.

So I think, that for those of us who choose to think, who choose to use our brains and make them stronger, things like calculators (and possibly LLMs) might potentially become tools to aid us, but I’m directly witnessing the effects of over reliance on such tools. Of using them in place of critical thinking.

In fact, I think LLMs do have potential use cases that do not inhibit but actually supplement critical thought, much like a calculator can make calculating an answer to complicated integrals a bit quicker. When I was planning to do a semester in Berlin, I realized that my academic mathematic German was not up to par, so I asked ChatGPT to write a proof in German for an invertibility theorem I had just studied. It very accurately mimicked the grammar and syntax expected of mathematical proofs in German in ways that a direct translation would have missed. Of course, the proof was incorrect, the logic didn’t track and the formulas were faked, but the formatting was perfect. Not surprisingly, LLM M’ed the L perfectly. It was a useful tool that—in this situation—did not replace my thinking skills but supplemented them.

One final statement: I am also somewhat inclined to disagree with you, that cognition is morally neutral. Biologically speaking, I agree that conservation of energy is morally neutral, but I would counter that as members of a society, willful ignorance is not neutral. I think we are obligated, to ourselves and to each other as members of a society, to absolve our ignorance and pursue some level of critical thinking ability so as to better support ourselves and our communities. Whether or not you’re a communist, I think this quote speaks to a lot of social ideals: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” I believe that, as members of a society and of a community, willful ignorance is no longer morally neutral; deliberate detriment to one’s own cognitive ability is a detriment to one’s entire community.

generative AI literally makes me feel like a boomer. people start talking about how it can be good to help you brainstorm ideas and i’m like oh you’re letting a computer do the hard work and thinking for you???

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

halfway there (fully smitten)

written for @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween pop up event!

rated G | 2,832 words | on AO3: halfway there (fully smitten) | prompt: half-o-ween meet cute, modern au, flirting, steve harrington is simultaneously super charming and on his game AND easily flustered

Steve would do anything for his kid siblings.

He would.

It’s just…

“Why’d it have to be this Saturday?”

“Because that’s the halfway mark?” Dustin says as if it was obvious, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“Oh you’ve got to–” Steve scrubs a hand down his face; Yeah. fine. That makes sense. It is called the ‘Halfway to Halloween’ craft fair. “You don’t even like crafts.”

“There’s going to be more than just crafts.” Dustin says, again, like it should be obvious. “C’mon Steve, even Max wants to go. Like, actually wants to go.”

Steve looks over at the Max in question, gazing up at him with her usual scowl on her face.

“She doesn’t look like she wants to.”

“Yes she–”

“She does.” she says.

“See??” Dustin gestures excitedly towards her.

Steve sighs again. Of course she’d want to go, she’s always been all about that spooky crap.

He looks down between the two hellions he’s so proud to call his siblings.

Internally.

Internally he is.

He sighs again, turning away from where they’d corralled him at the end of the hallway.

“C’mon Steve where’re you–”

“I gotta call Angie,”

“But–”

“I have to call off our date, dingwad!"

Dustin insisted that they be there right when the fair opened at 10 am, but after a syrup incident at breakfast and a couple bathroom breaks, their two hour drive to the 4H grounds the show was being held at, turned into two hours and 45 minutes, landing them in line at 10:10 am.

They waited their turn to pay the entrance fee, Dustin bouncing on his toes the whole time, and as soon as the bright orange bracelet was on his wrist, he was off. 

Surprising Steve further, Max was right on his heels, scanning seriously over the first line of vendors.

“You shits better have your phones on you!” Steve calls after them, getting offhanded waves in return.

He watches them go a little on ahead, sliding between the already hearty crowd much easier than he would, then turns to look at some of the vendors’ wares himself.

It was not a great place to start paying attention, to be completely honest, the racks and tables filled with all sorts of stuffed animals with bloody gashes, exposed broken bones, and dangling bloodshot eyes..

His shock must’ve been fully apparent because the bearded man behind the stall table guffaws at his expression.

“S’not for everyone, kid. I get it.” he says when Steve apologizes.

There are people selling their collections of movie memorabilia, specialty indie costume companies selling their scarily (ha) detailed rubber masks, some folks are selling crystals, some are selling crochet, some have tiny taxidermied mice..

It’s honestly kind of overwhelming.

He stops at one end of this barn (the second in the grounds’ row of five that were full up for the occasion), leaning up against the open double doors.

He’d originally been concerned about the cool cloudy weather, thinking it’d be too cold to be walking around outside like this, but a lot of vendors had space heaters plugged in behind their booths, and there were so many people bustling through and around the space that the wide open doors were a blessing to his already sweating brow.

Taking advantage of his spot out of the flow of people, he opens his phone to check on where the gremlins were (two barns down already what the hell??), when Dustin’s text comes through.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and continues on.

The next booth he comes to is another with taxidermied things, though these are all bugs. Different beetles, bees, and butterflies pinned into shadow boxes.

For some reason, he gets kinda stuck at the display of colorful wings. He’s never really liked bugs, never had a strong opinion about butterflies, but these things are… seriously beautiful.

Some he remembers the names for without having to look at the little tags the vendor wrote up for them; Monarch for one, and he knows this blue one is an Emperor Butterfly from that Animal Crossroads game Max got him hooked on for a while a couple years ago, and he’s inspecting the pattern of greens and oranges on another when he feels someone brush up against him.

Suddenly aware of how long he’s been standing in front of the display, probably blocking a whole bunch of others from getting to look too, he glances back, stepping out of the way with a “Shit, sorry!”

“No worries man, I can look just fine from right here.”

Steve’s busy looking down at his feet to make sure he’s stepping around the boxes stored under a nearby display table, “No, really, I just got caught up looking at them;” he finally gets his feet in a safe spot, and turns to the newcomer, “They’re all really–”

He’d made the mistake of looking up at the source of the voice, and now his own is stuck in his throat.

Steve’s a sucker for all things 80s, the aesthetic (a new word introduced to him by Max) at least, and this guy looked as if he was plucked right out of time and delivered to him on a shiny silver platter.

A mess of dark frizzy curls, deep dark eyes, ripped skinny jeans and some sort of band tee under a leather jacket and denim vest..

Even the sun decided to point out how much of a simp he was about to be over this guy, choosing that moment to break through the clouds outside the doors and give hot 80s metal guy a hell of a glow.

“--pretty.”

Hot Metalhead smirks and ohjesusfuckingchristhehasdimples.

“You’re not too bad yourself, big boy.” the man says, and Steve swears he can feel the other man’s gaze trail over him. “You got a favorite?”

He gestures back to the display of bugs, and Steve shakes his head clear, “Uh.. The orange one maybe, the Monarch? But this one is really cool.” he points to the green/orange one.

Hot Metalhead nods, “The Madagascan Sunset Moth, that one’s my favorite.” then he levels a smirk at Steve, “Seems you’ve got good taste, pretty boy.”

Something kicks to life behind Steve’s ribs, and suddenly he feels completely back on his game. He slowly drags his gaze over the other man, lingering on his lips (chapped, but perfectly pouty even in their smirk), “Seems like I do.”

Steve meets the man’s eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something else when they’re broken from the moment by none other than Max.

“There you are! Do you ever check your phone?” she gripes, pulling him out of the booth

“What–Max?” A rock sinks into his stomach, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help picking something for Lucas,” she puts her hands on her hips and it’s like he’s looking in a mirror.

The rock rolls out his stomach with the roll of his eyes, and turns to say something to Hot Metalhead, but he’s already a couple booths away, bending low over a table of books.

“You can flirt later, I really need your help!”

Sighing, but figuring he can find Hot Metalhead later, he follows Max to a bigger movie memorabilia booth in the center of the next barn over.

Eventually, they settle on two gifts for Max’s “He’s not my boyfriend nor do I want him to be.” boyfriend (“He’s not my boyfriend, Steve! Urgh, you’re the worst.”): a Freddy Krueger sweater, and a jersey boasting the Haddonfield Butchers, with the last name Myers and number 78 on the back.

“Are you sure that’s not secretly for you?” Steve asks, clocking the reference immediately. He had, afterall, been made to sit and watch Halloween close to a zillion times over the course of he and Max’s foster journey together.

“No, it’s for him. It's something I like fused with what he likes." She reasons.

“Sure, sure,”

Max wanders off again after that, and so does Steve, scanning the crowd for messy brown curls as he scans the other vendors.

Eventually, he comes to a booth covered in pins and earrings. 

He immediately thinks of Ms. Hender– Claud— Mom when he sees all the earrings, and starts looking through the spinning racks, snapping a picture to send to the goblins as he does

“Find something you like?”

Steve glances up, one of the two ladies manning the booth has stood from her chair, the strawberry blond with the ponytail, smiling brightly at him. A pair of cigarette earrings hang from her lobes, one new and one half burnt down.

“Yeah, sorry, I was sending a picture of these to my siblings,” he picks up the fangs, “Our mom would love these.”

The woman holds out a hand and he passes the set to her, “Awesome, let me get them bagged up for you!”

“Do you want a different color?” The other woman says, looking through a basket of what looks like even more pairs of earrings; she’s a dirtier blond with a choppy bob and freckles.

“Another color?”

“Y’know, black, orange, purple, glow in the d–” that’s when she looks up at him, “Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s brain goes into a jumbled state of ???????????

“Uhm, yeah? How’d you–”

“You went to my high school!”

A rock plunges into his gut, “Oh, uhm.. I’m sorry? I don’t–”

“You dated Tammy Thompson.”

He feels his face pull into a cringe, “Yeah, that was… yeah.”

“She was on American Idol!” the strawberry blond says.

Steve finds himself laughing, “I don’t know how she made it, she sounds like a muppet when she sings.”

“She does!” She laughs at the same time Choppy Bob says an indignant “She does not!”

The rock is back, “Oh, sorry.. Was she a friend?”

Ponytail laughs again, saying “No,” at the same time as Bob but continuing on with “Robin here had a biiiig crush on her.”

 Bob, Robin apparently, goes all splotchy, “Shut up Chris!”

Chris just waves her off, “Oh he’s fine, he’s one of us, did you not see his pin?”

Steve looks down at his own chest, Max’s gifted bi flag pin glinting up at him from his jacket, then back up at the two; the lanyard around Robin’s neck jumps out at him, striped in pinks and oranges and whites, and Chris has what looks like one half of a heart in colors matching his pinned to her sweater.

“Huh.” Robin says, looking perplexed, “Who’da thunk?”

“You’re telling me.” Steve jokes, finally getting Robin to smile back at him.

Suddenly, and at the same time another potential customer comes into the little stall behind him, Dustin comes out of the woodwork to tug at his arm, “Finally, there you are! Stop flirting and come with me, you gotta see these cars!”

“Whoa, dude! Chill out for a second, okay? I’m trying to pay the nice lady.”

“Well hurry it up dude,” he mocks, “They’ve got the Ghostbusters’ hearse back there!”

Dustin squeezes very impolitely past the other person in the booth, and Steve turns back to Chris, “Sorry, brothers you know?”

“He’s got a point, the Ghostbusters one is pretty impressive,” She says as Robin accepts his $10 bill for the jewelry, and passes him back a small bag and a card, “I wrote our cell numbers on the back, we should all meet up again sometime!”

“Course! I’ll let you know how my mom likes ‘em, yeah?”

Steve squeezes out the stall and Chrissy picks up her phone. 

Dustin was right (what’s new?), this last building is packed full of hearses of every shape and size. 

A 1940s era one, a slightly newer model painted entirely in matte black, one with a padded coffin hanging half out the end for people to pose for pictures in. But the real star of the show, at least according to Dustin, was the one for one remake of the Ghostbusters’ white one.

Steve follows him down the row, pausing at the hood of the replica to take a picture of the giant slime ghost plush in the passenger seat, then on to peer into the cab.

He was still inspecting all the old dials in the dash through the open window, when someone says, “See something you like?”

“I was told by a very reliable source that yours was the one to beat.” Steve says, taking in the shockingly low number of miles on the odometer, “And I gotta say, still having the original dials in the dash is pretty cool– Hey! It’s you!” 

The guy leaning his weight onto the car’s roof with one hand grins, “Hello again, your majesty.”

“Majesty?”

 “You liked the Monarchs, remember?” Hot Metalhead pushes himself up off the car and offers Steve the same hand, “I’m Eddie.”

“Steve.” he breathes, taking Eddie’s hand in his. 

Eddie shakes his hand once, his fingers calloused and warm, “Well, King Steve, what brings you all the way to my neck of the woods?”

“I heard there was a super special hearse back here so I had to come see it for myself.”

“Good eye, Stevie”

“Only if it’s easy on ‘em.” he says, starting to get his normal voice back, “‘Easy on the eyes’ y’know?”

Eddie just laughs, “Yeah big guy, I got it.”

Steve’s face is on fire. He clears his throat, finally letting Eddie’s hand go. He notices a familiar pin on the front breast pocket of his denim vest that he hadn’t noticed before, this one striped in shades of blue, green, and white, the opposite half of Chris’ pink, purple, and blue one.

“Oh, hey! You know Chris?” Eddie's face flashes into confusion, so Steve clarifies, “She’s got the same half heart pin as you…?”

“Chrissy you mean? Tiny? Ponytail? Bangs?”

Steve shrugs, “That sounds right.”

“Has a girlfriend about yay tall? Freckles?”

“I mean, she didn’t stand up..”

Eddie considers him for a moment. “Nope. Never heard of ‘er.”

Oh god he’s a dork.. Steve’ll never survive this.

“D’she send you over here?”

“Kinda? Dustin wanted to see the cars anyhow so..” he holds his arms out at his sides, “Here I am.”

“So this curly-haired menace is yours then?” Eddie asks, turning to stand at Steve’s side and gesturing to where Dustin is talking with a balding man at the end of the car, “He’s been talking my Uncle’s ear off each time he’s come by.”

Steve nods, “Him and the redhead who’s… around here somewhere– there!” He points out Max as she heads outside into the sun, making her hair glow bright, “She’s my foster sister, Dustin’s mom took us both in about a year ago now, she was really great to take us in together, even with me being ‘aged out’ and all.. I wanted to make sure she had something stable going forward y’know? And I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that but.. There it is..”  

His face is going to be permanently red at this point, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his rambling, looking at him with a mix of amusement and something else in his expression. “You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want, Stevie.”

“Is that your way of asking for my number?” Steve asks on impulse.

Eddie laughs, “You give me way too much credit Stevie, I’m not even remotely close to that good of a smooth-talker,” he reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone, “But no way am I passing up the opportunity.”

Steve smiles and takes it, entering his information into Eddie’s phone, “Apologies to your uncle by the way,” he says as he sends himself a devil face emoji from Eddie’s cell, “Dusty can get to be too much sometimes. I hope he’s not giving you too much trouble?”

He hands back the phone as his own chimes in his pocket, taking it out and passing it to Eddie.

“Not at all; Wayne’s more than happy to talk about anything to anyone who’ll listen; He’s already told me everything he knows.”

“Don’t you mean ‘taught’?”

“Not in the slightest.” Eddie grins at Steve’s laughter, punches something into his phone and passes it back. “There you go, big boy, one brand new phone number just for you.”

Steve looks down at the screen, ‘super hot sexy metal deathlord eddie 😈🤘’ is at the top of his message screen.

He looks up at Eddie, who just waggles his eyebrows at him; Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t keep himself from smiling. “Perfect, thanks.”

“No problem…” he mimes looking down at his phone, “‘steve’.”

“Oi! Can you two flirt your way to the gut trucks, or are Dusty and I gonna have to get some grub ourselves?”

The two jump apart at Wayne’s words, both their cheeks burning (brighter in Eddie’s case).

“Yeah, yeah, shut your yaps, we’ll go get something.” Eddie grumbles, striding off toward where the food trucks are parked, pulling Steve along with him.

if you don't have one around you at this time, this is a real thing that happens in my area every may!! and it's on the 10th this year!! all of the things mentioned are things i've seen at my fair; my own pair of vamp fang earrings are truly a favorite pair of earrings i own :o) spiderweb divider from @saradika-graphics! vampire earring pic is from this etsy listing!

there will also be a part 2 to this tomorrow, LINK HERE!

[cvnt4him]

You’ve given me bunny Izuku brain rot 🙏🙏

I was thinking maybe he starts doing rabbit courtship behaviors, which rabbits don’t have a lot of, but bucks do chase and circle does. Which would be pretty funny— Izuku trying to get Reader to run, and then when that doesn’t work he sprints away hoping she’d follow, and then when THAT doesn’t work the poor little guy tries circling and binky-ing around Reader. Meanwhile she’s just like WTF? 😭

Male rabbits don’t nest, but maybe he would as a desperate, ‘look! Look! Look how good I can be for you!! I can do this!! I would be such a good mate!!’ (he’s been pushed to his last straw, guys)

Also I have a feeling the brat would scent EVERYTHING, including reader lmao

I mean surely at some point Reader would realize Izuku has human-level intelligence, even if he has more instincts than a normal human. Maybe it would be, in teary desperation after he’s been rejected every single time, he does research on Reader’s laptop. (over human courting rituals ofc lmao)

Anyways, feel free to take whatever brainrotting you want from above as writing prompts! I’d love to see it!!

HAHSURUEUE THIS IS DELICIOUS.

mating season rolled up on izuku a lot quicker than he expected. He thought he could try to resist it at first but, his urges grew too strong. He needed to mate; to breed, and not just anyone but you.

Izuku couldn't help trying to get your attention, he figured if you realized what he was doing that what he was doing normally rooted with bunny courting methods and stuff you'd understand and help him! But that wasn't the case....at all in fact.

Truth be told you hadn't exactly learned how to take care of a hybrid. You thought it'd be as easy as taking care of a child, or maybe a cat. Something you've done before, you've babysat and even owed animals once upon a time.

You weren't exactly sure what izuku was doing but it sure was adorable....at first. He'd started getting more clingy and all in your face, staring at you , following you around and whining at you. When you'd look down at him he'd get this eager and excited look on his face, his ears standing at attention and his eyes widening.

His nose twitched faster than you recalled and his tail wagged behind him he slightly turned his head to the side, but instead of investigating you simply chuckled and patted him head. Now of course, your touch was all izuku wanted. But that was so brief and so bare, he wanted more.

Izuku whined to himself getting slightly grumpy, he wouldn't give up not just yet. You noticed he'd started following you around a whole lot more. So much so that it got annoying. He was always present and those once adorable eyes grew a little creepy with growing time.

You finally humored him and tried to figure out what he wanted. Izuku was nervous about telling you what he wanted, he was anxious and couldn't get it out to you in words with his nerves so he did his best to express it the best he could. His natural instincts, once again he was under the impression you knew what you were doing getting involved with a hybrid and keeping it.

You started to follow izuku asking him what he wanted and he was quick to run away his eyes still staring back as he zoomed across the hall sliding on his feet and soon sitting in his hands and feet to keep him steady. He tilted his head and you couldn't help but to giggle at the cuteness, be was so fast and so adorable you weren't sure what to do

“ oh, izuku, you're too cute!”

You walk away ultimately breaking izukus heart. No matter, he wouldn't give up just yet!!

His antics just grew more and more hectic, once again you didn't know too much about bunnies or even hybrids. You knew with him being half hybrid he had ears of a bunny, instincts for the most part, and even grew tons of body hair and hair period. Haircut days were the worst..

Izuku was more silent than usual but his eyes were always on you. He always had to be close to you, but never too close unless you asked him to. There was something with him,he refused to get too close unless he heard you ask or seen you motion for him to come.

He'd started circling around more, laying on top of you and more. Hed start running away from you like he was trying to get you to chase him, you understood that the more it happened and whenever you'd pretend like you would you'd see him jump high into the air, especially if you were outside.

You'd only I giggle and laugh at his antics and kiss him everywhere, silly thing. However he'd move himself from your grasp, visibly upset. You didn't quiet understand what he was doing, izuku didn't hop as much as he probably should and used to. He was formerly a wild hybrid before you kept him as your own so only God knows how high he can really jump. You only seen him hoo whenever he's extremely excited or when youre playing so whenever he jumped as high as he did you were more proud and shocked than anything.

Izuku didnt know what else to do... He felt like he was being clear with his hints why hadn't you made a move! Hes been so good and has been doing his best to get your attention but nothing worked! He was growing more desperate by the day, and desperate times calls for even more desperate measures..

You came back from work, you weren't overly tired like normal. You still had a bit of energy to maybe cook instead of eating left overs then climbing in bed with your recently mire energetic bunny. That sounded like heaven. You announced to izuku that you were home, not that he hadn't already heard the door open and shut plus the sound of your foot footsteps and shuffling.

You walk into your room to see izuku sitting on the floor and your covers were made into an odd .... shape? You couldn't exactly describe what it was but it looked like he'd put all of your covers and sheets and even pillows into a little circle in a sort almost like a birds nest. Honestly it seemed extremely comfortable, it was rather big and spacious. And boy was he adorable.

His eyes were wide and his ears were down a small frown on his face as his nose twitched fastly, you seen him sniff the air almost smelling your new scent that traced the air. He loved the smell of you, now especially that you smelled exactly like him.

He'd been rubbing up against you more, his chin all over your face and even rubbing his body all over yours the best he could at night. Sometimes his constant shuffling would upset your sleep especially because you work early when you're not working from home, so you had nothing better than to do besides push him off of be bed

Luckily for him, scenting you already worked! You hadn't noticed but with zuku growing even more desperate this was another sign of him being territorial. If this worked then that would make you involuntarily his!, even more than you already are, of course. Izuku is extremely territorial alot more than you'd think, you had to quickly instill it in his brain to NOT use your entire house as a toilet when he first moved in.

Then he was covered in hair like a damn fur ball and his eyes were always blown wide, since then hes calmed a bit and has definitely been tamed....for be most part. He would often leave whatever of his he could around to signify another way of him marking his own territory. Something slight that you wouldn't pick up on. And of course, you never did.

You cooed at izuku moving closer and rubbing his head against your lower tummy, scratching behind his ear the way he likes and emitting a low groan in return, you hear a small "miss you", leave his mouth as he rubs his head against your body.

The next day you went back to work izuku was quick to grab your laptop and do what little research he could. Of course he had no fucking clue what he should search up. Just typing in whatever he could, like "how to mate with humans" he ends up watching a 20 minute long video about sex education and honestly he feels up to speed.

He reads on google and other platforms that normally women like to be wooed while others like straight forward "rituals" izuku knew well enough you probably wouldn't like if he just pushed you down onto the bed and took what he wanted. But then again there was a part of him that got excited at the thought of it ..you finally understanding and letting him have it, finally letting him take you the way he needs.

His poor little mind fogging at the thought, his ears dropping as he stomped his feet in the bed at his own frustration. What was he to do when you didn't understand! He was too flustered and nervous to speak, for a hybrid that talks with any chance he gets unless he's upset, he has been really silent for the past weeks. There's no way you haven't noticed!

Tonight was the night. Izuku absolutely refused to let this moment slow away from him, he felt like he was going to explode everywhere. You came home a bit tired, you didn't have it in you to cook. All you wanted was to hold your furball to bed.

“ hey izuku, m’ home baby.”

He hears your grumble out with a sigh. Izuku was under your covers lying down in a burrito, he was facing the headboard as you could see the out print of his tail wagging at the sound of your voice. You giggle and crawl in bed with your work clothes still on you pull the cover back from his head to see him turn his head away from you

You heard a little sniffle leave his body and a wave of concern washed over you.

“ awh, zuku what's wrong baby?”.

You brushed his hair out of his face before you turn his face towards you to see tears welling in his eyes. He whined and seen the way you absolutely melted at the sight of him.

Izuku nuzzled his face into your neck, you could hear little hiccups leave him as struggled to whisper out to you.

“ ...want you.. s’bad..”

You pull back from him you hand still in his hair as you stroke it, he looks at you with his eyes blown wide like they used to be. You place small kisses to his freckled cheeks and see the way his saddened look is replaced with something else. His breathing changes and he moves closer to you, his eyes trailing down to your lips within and instant.

It felt like izuku began looking over you, his ear spiking up and his breath seems to still as well, his nose still twitching fastly as his shaky body moved closer to yours. His forehead moves to yours and he leans it agaisnt yours. You hum to yourself and stroke his cheek, izukus whole body shivers at the sweet touch of you.

He couldn't help himself any more, he tried to be patient and he feels like he has been for ever! Izuku smashes his lips onto yours and immediately whines into the kiss his tail wiggling as he moans climbing on top of you and rutting into your thigh. His breathing was heavy and it's like he couldn't be away from you anymore.

You were in for quite a night.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

I mentioned in a letter about autism that one of my special interests is sun safety which prompted multiple people to request a letter about that (which is really kind and touching!) - so let’s talk about sun safety! 

First things first: sun safety means protecting your skin from the sun or more specifically, from harmful UV radiation. There are two main reasons to protect yourself: in the short term, you avoid painful sunburns and in the long term, you lower your risk of skin cancer. 

Most skin cancers are caused by too much exposure to UV radiation. UV radiation damage is cumulative. This means that it adds up over the years - which is why it’s so important to practice sun safety every day rather than just on especially sunny days. 

Skin cancer is actually the most common cancer and it can affect people of all ages. 

Luckily, it is highly treatable if detected early  and treated promptly - but it is still a serious and even lifethreatening disease. Depending on the type of skin cancer, it can spread rapidly and it can kill you. The biggest reason to practice sun safety is to prevent that! 

I think a lot of messaging around sun safety nowadays wrongly focuses on anti-aging benefits. It’s true that UV damage can also contribute to wrinkles and skin sagging - but focusing on that can falsely portray sun safety as an optional beauty thing rather than a necessary health thing. Wrinkles and saggy skin are a normal, natural part of getting older - skin cancer isn’t.

UV radiation isn’t the same every day. You can check weather apps or websites and will find daily UV levels there. You need to practice sun safety if the level is 3 or higher. Depending on where you live, this may be nearly daily or only during summer months. Many people find it easier to just practice sun safety every day (so it becomes an automatic habit like brushing your teeth or showering, something you just do as part of your routine without needing to consciously remind yourself) while others prefer to check the UV level daily and base it on that. That’s just a matter of what works best for you personally. 

So, what does sun safety entail? You’re probably thinking of sunscreen and that is an important part of it, but not all of it! A fun way to remember all the steps is „Slip, slop, slap, seek, slide“: 

Slip into clothes

Slop on sunscreen 

Slap on a hat 

Seek shade 

Slide on sunglasses 

Slip into clothes: Skin that is covered by clothes is protected from UV rays. So a shirt with long sleeves offers more protection than one with short sleeves! (But of course you also need to prevent heatstroke, so it’s key to find a balance between covering skin and not overheating). All clothes (except for sheer or hole-y fabrics like lace) will protect you well but the ideal choice would be dense fabrics in dark colors. 

Slop on sunscreen: All skin that isn’t covered by clothes needs to be covered in sunscreen. We will go into more details on sunscreen below. 

Slap on a hat: Wear a wide-brimmed hat to protect your scalp and get some extra protection for your neck, ears and face, too (though you should also cover those body parts in sunscreen!). Baseball caps are better than nothing but do not offer the same protection for your neck and ears. 

Seek shade: It’s a myth that clouds or rain protect you from UV rays. Shade however reduces them! So, use natural shade from trees, get into a gazebo or bring a sun umbrella. 

Slide on sunglasses: You can get skin cancer around or even in the eyes as well. UV radiation can also increase your risk for other eye conditions. So make sure to get sunglasses with UV protection. Look for a label that says it offers UVA + UVB protection (more on that below). 

And of course: staying inside will protect you! Obviously you can’t stay inside forever (that would be bad for your physical and mental health in other ways) but it can be a good idea to stay home during hours with especially high UV levels (8 and above). UV levels are often highest around midday. 

Some more details on sunscreen: 

The best sunscreen brand is the one you feel comfortable using daily. Whether it’s chemical or mineral, expensive or cheap, no matter what the texture and way of application (gel, lotion, spray, roll-on etc.) is… none of that matters if you hate using it and end up not making a habit out of it. Sure, if you wanna get nerdy with it, some offer more protection than others. For example, gels or lotions usually offer more than sprays, simply because there’s more product that actually ends up on your skin rather than in the air. But if you can’t stand the feeling of lotion on your skin and will realistically only use sprays, then a spray is the best option for you! Go with the one that you actually like using. 

Much more important than the exact brand are the following criteria: 

Choose one that’s at least SPF30 but ideally SPF50 or SPF50+. (This means that it’s a high level of protection. More specifically, it means that it multiplies the time your skin is protected from UV rays by 30/50.) 

Choose one that says „broad spectrum“ or „UVA and UVB“. (This means that it protects you from different kinds of UV radiation. This is a very oversimplified explanation but you can say UVA rays are longer than UVB rays, so they harm different layers of your skin.)

Choose one that’s water-resistant. (This means it’ll keep up 50% of its protection even if you get wet or sweaty. Important: you still need to re-apply after swimming!). 

A quick note on chemical vs. mineral: they both achieve the same goal, they just do it in different ways. Chemical ones basically absorb the UV rays and turn them harmless, mineral ones physically block the UV rays from reaching your skin. Both have their pros and cons in usage (Mineral ones work immediately after application and are often more gentle to dry or sensitive skin but can leave a white cast and feel heavy on the skin. Chemical ones are lightweight and transparent on the skin but can need up to 20 minutes to work and can be irritating for some people with dry or sensitive skin). But they both work well to prevent skin cancer. It’s a question of personal preference. 

How to use sunscreen? First of all: It’s important to use enough. You need around seven teaspoons for your whole body. If only some body parts are exposed, a good guideline is: one tablespoon for your head and one tablespoon for each limb. 

It‘s also important to really cover all body parts (that aren’t covered by clothes). Don’t forget your ears, neck, scalp (if not covered by hat), hands, feet (if not fully covered by shoes) and lips (there are lip balms with SPF!). 

You need to re-apply (or head inside) after two hours. You also need to re-apply after swimming or heavy sweating (like after a workout). 

Try to store your sunscreen in a dark and cool place. Hot temperatures can make it expire more quickly. Check expiration dates of unused sunscreens before use. Replace opened sunscreens after twelve months. Old sunscreens can be less effective and some ingredients can turn harmful when expired. 

Remember that makeup products with SPF can only be an addition, not a replacement of actual sunscreen. You simply don’t use enough of them to work as sunscreen. Oftentimes, you’d need to use a ridiculous amount of product to even reach the promised protection. The only exception would be the mentioned lip balms (since most people wouldn’t put actual sunscreen on their lips). 

Last but not least: know that black people and other people of color need sunscreen, too! Your skin color doesn’t offer automatic protection. Or, well, it might offer up to SPF 13 - but as we have seen above, that’s not enough to protect you from skin cancer. Plus, if you have white doctors, it’s a sad reality that they may not be as trained in recognizing skin cancer on dark skin. Skin cancer tends to be diagnosed later in black people. Which is all the more reason to protect yourself! 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

P.S: and of course: don’t use tanning beds. They do not provide any health benefits and are not a safe alternative to natural sunlight. Instead, they’re heavily linked to skin cancer, especially in people younger than 35 years old. Even one single session can increase your risk. It’s just not worth it. 

[noperopesaredope]

For me, it honestly shows me that you don't actually enjoy my writing nor truly like anything I create. I and many others do put a lot of love into what we write, even if it's simple. Even if someone might not put a lot of "work" or "effort" into the fic they wrote, they still took time out of their day to come up with the plot, beats, flow, tone, writing style, etc. Not to mention actually sitting down and writing the damn thing.

Even if the fic's concept came from a writing prompt, they still had to come up with a lot in order to make it. And if they didn't get a prompt, then they literally did a lot of work from scratch. And if they didn't take any story beats/arcs/subplots from canon, that's even more impressive. Even stories the writer felt they didn't put effort into took some form of effort, no matter how small.

So not only is it insulting for all the reasons everyone else has stated, but it tells me you don't actually enjoy my work itself. You don't truly want to know what happens next because it will have no actual intent or thought behind it, even just a little. It won't take into account anything I may have set up or established beforehand, or any of the twists or surprises I had planned.

My current fic (which might take a minute to update since I'm making some changes) has a lot of story beats and stuff I'm proud of that AI won't be able to predict or think up, not will it have any unique ideas I may have been planning to add that the reader and AI didn't see coming, but that the reader might honestly have liked/loved. And I feel like the reason they love my fic is because of that kind of stuff.

I hear that art is about the process and the enjoyment/emotion of creating, that it is enriching for the artist. But I think that it also indirectly applies for the reader as well. I come to a fic/book because I want to see the ideas that the writer will come up with, the way that they plan and plot stories or make characters or their writing "voice".

Personal sidenote: The "voice" is something that AI can actually have a really hard time capturing even with the patterns and whatnot, since tone and stylization are really important in a lot of ways. It may capture the flow of a sentence and common word choices/usage, but not things like the writer focusing more on descriptions and inner monologues more than action, or the other way around.

Anyway, an AI could not give me a plot twist. It'll never look into the author's notes and see the unexpected plans. It'll never comprehend foreshadowing. Generative AI would not be able to write the end of a mystery novel that is already halfway finished, since it could not think up a satisfying conclusion all on its own based on the clues and whatnot that have already been introduced/established.

I come to read because I want to hear someone else's ideas and stuff, even if it's slightly predictable at times, because nobody can write their work but them. And even if someone else might, it certainly wouldn't be Gen AI.

This is the worst timeline. (x)

[wynn-43]

good a lot?

PT 6 of as much or as little!! this isn't the final part but... there is a lot that happens.

series masterlist

bang chan x gn! reader wc: 2.7k warnings: kissing, heavy makeout session, very suggestive, they talk a lot at the end, reader has a little breakdown and heals a bit UNDER 16 DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE a/n: i didn't cry whilst making this idk what you mean. also... are y'all wanting smut at the end of this? bc i think i might be down

“Are you sure about this?” Chris asks, his voice gentle.

The two of you are sitting on the couch, your legs pressed tightly against his.

“Yeah.” You murmur, tentative but also excited.

You lean in, your heart racing as your eyes gently fell to his lips.

“Wait.” You pause, leaning back. His eyes flash with concern.

“What do I do with my hands?” You ask and he lets out an exasperated laugh.

He maintains eye contact with you, gently lacing his fingers with yours.

You feel as though your heart is going to leap out of your chest.

“How about, you leave this one here, and if you need to stop just squeeze my hand twice.” He murmurs and you hum, nodding in response.

“You can like uh… hold my face…? With the other one. Or play with my hair? I don’t mind.” He whispers, suddenly slightly shy.

You nod, trying to ignore how you heat up at how cute he is.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks gently, his eyes inquisitive but soft.

“Yes. Are you?” You ask, trying to take deep breaths.

“Yes.” He says, offering a small smile.

You nod, blinking rapidly as you try to calm down.

“Hey, just look at me.” He whispers, prompting you to look into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“I’ve got you, it's going to be okay. If you need to stop at any point we can, it’s no big deal.”

You hum as he gently strokes the back of your hand.

“Now, just trust me. I’ll lead you.” He whispers and you nod, breathing out slowly.

“Good job, baby.” He says as you lean in. 

Before you can short circuit, his lips are on yours- soft, gentle and steady.

Somehow, it isn’t awkward. There’s no bumping of noses or clashing of teeth, just his lips on yours and a gentle, pleasant sensation in your chest.

His lips move with a quiet certainty and his breath is warm on your skin as the rest of the world slowly fades away.

You hum into the kiss, shocked at how good it feels and you feel him smile against your lips in response.

You shock yourself by kissing him back, not perfectly, but your lips move against his as you feel fireworks explode in your stomach.

He leans back and you almost try to follow him, the feeling of his lips on your lingering.

“Everything okay?” He asks gently as you both regulate your breathing.

Your eyes are fixed on his lips as you nod, spacing out slightly.

“Lovebug?” He asks gently, squeezing your hand.

“Can we please do that again?” You ask, the words escaping before you can stop them as your eyes flicker up to his before going back down to his lips.

He chuckles at your honesty but you see a light pink dusting his cheeks.

He nods and before either of you can register it your lips are pressed firmly against his again.

The kiss is tender at first, tentative. But as he begins to kiss you back you begin to gain confidence. You reach up, entangling your fingers in his soft, curly hair, making him groan into the kiss.

You feel yourself smile against his mouth as his hand gently rests on your hip, somehow pulling you closer towards him.

The feeling of his lips on yours is oddly grounding- it makes you feel whole and real. It makes you feel safe.

You completely lose track of time, wholly unaware of how much time has passed. 

He pulls away again and you're suddenly aware of how out of breath you feel and how fast your heart is beating.

He looks at you fondly and you recognise the soft dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Slow down, love.” He murmurs, rubbing soft circles where his hand still rests on your hip.

“M’ not going anywhere.” He whispers as he gently nuzzles his nose against yours.

If your head were any less fuzzy right now, you would be internally screaming.

But all you can think about is how good kissing him feels.

“How are you feeling, lovebug?” He asks gently as he squeezes your hand, his touch beginning to pull you out of your kiss-induced daze.

“I-” You hesitate, still reeling from the kiss.

“Want more…” You whisper quietly and Chris is so grateful you can’t feel how much he’s freaking out inside.

“Yeah?” He asks softly. “Like what, love?”

You feel as though your face is on fire. You hadn’t thought about what more might entail, but you felt an overwhelming and desperate desire for it.

The question lingers between you and you feel yourself hesitating and starting to overthink.

“Hey love. Don’t overthink it, I won’t judge you or anything. Just need to know how to help you.” Chris mumbles as he continues to trace circles on your hip.

“I think I want to keep kissing you…” You pause as your eyes flicker nervously between him and the wall. “But like… more?”

“Like making out?” He asks gently as he smiles and leans closer, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Y-yeah.” You mumble, your voice quiet as you feel yourself somehow blushing even harder. “But I don’t know how…”

Chris smiles softly, it’s the kind of smile that would make you melt if you were less anxious and overwhelmed- soft and reassuring but slightly shy, almost like he’s nervous too.

“Want me to show you?” He asks, his voice soft but playful.

You nod, subconsciously squeezing his hand a little harder.

“So, it’s like kissing but slower and more intimate.” He explains, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s not about being perfect or anything, it’s about paying attention to your partner and how they react.”

“You can tilt your head, part your lips slightly, whatever feels right. You don’t have to do anything fancy, just do what you were doing before and I’ll lead you.” He continues, his voice calm, but you notice a soft blush on his cheeks.

“Do people actually use tongue when making out?” You interrupt, blinking owlishly as the question slips out before you can stop it.

Chris chuckles, hesitating slightly at your directness. “Uh, yeah. But we don’t have to.”

“Does it actually feel good?” You ask, your voice laced with uncertainty.

His face flushes a deep pink at your question. “Uh- in my experience yeah… But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I think I want to at least know what it feels like…” You murmur, your voice soft as your heart races at the thought.

“We can go slow.” He murmurs, gently squeezing your hand.

You nod, still slightly uncertain.

“But what do I do? Like…what do I do with my tongue? And how do I know when to do it?” You ask, feeling that soft, safe and comfortable feeling, despite the fact that you were certain your face was on fire and that your heart was beating at a record pace.

“Uh-” He pauses, trying to work out how to explain.

“Well… it’s when it feels right, like just when you feel like it, you can try gently brushing your tongue against mine.” He explains gently, continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of your hand.

You nod, processing the information.

“You promise you’ll be honest with me if I mess up?” You ask, trying to breathe evenly.

“You won’t, but I promise.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you nod.

Chris leans in slowly, giving you a moment to pull away if you need it. His lips brush yours, gently, and you feel the warm feeling in your chest again. You kiss him back, shyly, as the two of you begin to find a rhythm again.

You instinctively reach up, entangling your fingers in his hair, somehow pulling him even closer.

His hand stays entwined with yours, holding you gently and grounding you. His other hand gently trails along your jaw, guiding your face closer to his.

He opens his mouth slightly against yours, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirror him. You feel the slightest touch of his tongue against yours and you feel a new sensation flicker in your stomach.

It’s not overwhelming, he isn’t demanding anything, he isn’t even asking. He’s patient, letting you find yourself and set the pace.

In a burst of confidence, you try it, you gently brush your tongue against his, hesitant but eager. He hums softly in response, a sound of quiet encouragement that further sparks the sensation in your stomach.

The two of you fall into a soft rhythm, a slow and unhurried give and take of lips. His lips gently part again, and this time you take the opportunity without thinking too much. It’s easier now, less scary. You still feel a little shaky, but he’s right there, holding you, soft but firm.

When the two of you eventually need to breathe, he leans back, smiling at you gently as you regain your breathing.

“You okay?” Chris asks quietly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Just… a lot.”

“Good a lot?” He asks, a quiet hope evident in his eyes.

“Good a lot.” You reply, still trying to regain your breathing.

He looks at you, almost like he wants to say something but is stopping himself. Instead gently squeezing your hand, there’s a soft invitation in his eyes, a quiet inquiry.

There’s no more thinking, no more second guessing. You’re not sure you’re even thinking anymore, you just do.

All of a sudden your lips are on his again, it’s still soft, still gentle, but there is an apparent need in the way you touch and hold each other. 

One hand still stays intertwined with yours, but the other wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, until you're almost sitting in his lap.

Your confidence grows, you wrap your arms around his neck, threading your hands into his hair as lips move against his.

This time, you open your mouth first and when he mirrors you, gently brushing his tongue against yours, you follow him. It still feels new, and slightly strange, but slowly a quiet confidence overtakes your initial hesitation, and the feeling melts away into something warm and sweet.

Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, drawing a soft sound from him that causes that sensation to flicker in your stomach again.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, holding you close, anchoring you to him and this moment.

There aren’t any real thoughts in your head, just a sensation and a quiet, desperate need for more.

Slowly, your kisses turn from gentle brushes of the tongue to something more intimate and warmer, something wanting.

When your tongue slides deeper and your touch turns more deliberate, he groans, soft and needy in a way that makes that sensation in your stomach curl into red-hot.

Your lips part wider, your tongues lathing against each other in a slow deliberate rhythm. As his tongue presses against yours, you begin to understand the appeal of this. The sensation of his tongue gliding against yours, the taste of him, the warmth of him, the way you’re pulling each other closer like you can’t quite get enough.

You tilt your head a little more, chasing him and this feeling, a soft moan escapes you, quiet and desperate.

Chris pauses, just for a moment, his lips hovering against yours.

His eyes flicker open, finding yours, concern evident in his gaze. Worry that he had gone too far.

“I’m okay.” You murmur, your voice hushed and breathless as you gently squeeze his hand.

“I just… liked it.” You whisper, feeling yourself flush as you try to breathe evenly.

“Yeah?” He asks, a playful smirk gracing his lips as his concern fades away.

You nod, flustered by his confidence.

“D’you wanna keep going?” He asks, softly squeezing your hip.

“Please.” You whisper, your lips already gravitating towards him.

There’s no hesitation this time, your lips crash into his and your tongues slide together like they were made for this. 

You drag your nails along his scalp, making him groan into the kiss.

His free hand slips just under the hem of your shirt, not in a way that asks for more, but in a way that tethers the two of you to this moment.

You shift closer, you’re sitting in his lap now, you wrap your arm tighter around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He gently drags his teeth along your lip, making you whine. 

You feel his lips curve upwards slightly into this kiss, and your noise only seems to spur him on.

The kiss somehow turns deeper, the drags of your tongues grow more deliberate, more slow and intimate as you pant into each other's mouths.

Your fingers twist slightly in his hair, pulling his body flush against yours. He responds almost instinctively, parting your lips even further with his tongue, drawing a ruined, almost desperate moan from your chest.

He continues kissing you, like he’s trying to memorise every part of you with just his mouth, like he’s starving and this moment is enough to keep him going forever.

Slowly, your kisses slow down, turning into gentle presses of his lips against yours.

Finally, he slowly pulls away, smiling when he notices you instinctively following him.

“Hey.” He murmurs, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink at him, dazed from the life-changing sensations you just experienced.

“Good.” You murmur, flushing as you start to process all that happened.

“Yeah?” He asks tentatively, his eyes searching yours- just in case.

“Yeah.” You murmur, gently smiling at him.

“Was I okay?” You ask a moment later, the spiral of overthinking slowly kicking in.

“You were perfect.” He responds, earnesty evident in his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, quietly, as if you’re afraid of the answer.

He takes a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want to turn this into something you’ll regret. Into something you’ll look back on and feel like you weren’t ready for.” He murmurs, gently rubbing soft circles where his hand sat on your hip.

You feel that now-familiar sensation glowing in your chest, safety and comfort.

“I could never regret you.” You whisper, your voice almost silent as you sniffle slightly.

“Wait, why are you crying? Are you okay?” He asks, slightly panicked.

You nod, emotions piling up and beginning to spill out.

“I’m fine. It’s just- it felt nice. And I was beginning to convince myself it never could. Thank you.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper as tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

His eyes soften and he gently wipes away your tears, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He whispers as he pulls you close. “I love you more than anything and I’m always here for you and whatever you need.”

Upon hearing his words, you break- years of anxiety, of shame, of feeling broken and wrong crumble and you sob.

You sob for all the nights you sat there pondering if you’d ever feel whole, the years of relationships that didn’t work out because they just didn’t understand, for all the times you’ve ever cried about being broken and for all the times he’s been there to reassure you you’re not.

You sob for all of the night you laid there, tears in your eyes as you wondered if you’d ever feel whole. You sob for all the relationships that didn’t work out because they just couldn’t understand. You sob for everything you felt like a horrible person for flinching from peoples touch. You sob for every time you desperately craved to be held, despite knowing it would hurt. You sobbed for every night you cried, curled up in a ball and feeling like you were broken. And you sobbed for every night he told you you’re not.

“I’m glad I could make it good for you.” Chris murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your hair as he holds you close, tethering you.

You bury yourself in his chest, like being close to him is the only thing keeping you safe and connected to this world.

And honestly, right now, it feels like it is.

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

Taglist: ʚ✩ɞ

@jennibahng @itzkingbo @velvetmoonlght

[hungharrington]

please could i request a smutty fic with “i like being close to you. you’re warm” & “is this okay?” from prompt list 1? maybe some soft, cozy, sexy time after a group bonfire on a cool summer night? 🫣🫣🫣 and maybe x curvy!reader?

anon i'm so sorry i hijacked your request so badly, its not smutty nor did i do too much with a curvy!reader, please forgiv..... what this does have is lots & lots of mutual pining fluff <3 getting together, gn!reader, 1.7k, sfw but beware this blog is 18+

in the firelight

The logs glow a bright orange, flames curling around them like hungry tongues. The low sound of crickets fill the trees around you, a chorus of the natural world, the soundscape of wilderness all around.

If you strain your ears, you can hear the soft sounds of the lake nearby, water lapping at the shore. Combined with the crackling of the fire and crickets, you can’t help but sink back in ease.

You’re at Steve’s lake house— well, his parents’ lake house. It’s a little down south from Hawkins, tucked away from civilisation, and decked out with the swankiest furniture set good money can buy.

It had been unused when you arrived, plastic covers still on.

“Mom bought before she found out about Dad’s next affair. Haven’t been down here since then, either of them.” Steve had quietly told you on the way in.

So, you’ve all got the honours of breaking in the new stuff — Eddie especially, who tore the plastic cover off the table with a rabid fervor. He then tussled with it, eventually launching it into Robin’s head as hard as he could. It had quickly dissolved into a vigorous game of tug of war until Steve warned them to knock it off.

But it means you’ve all pushed the beach loungers around the fire. Earlier, you had roasted all manners of things over it, enough snacks and sweets to count as dinner.

Now, you’re one of the few stragglers left gathered around it. It’s late, the sky dark.

There’s only three of you out here. To your left, Steve sits at the end of his own lounger, straddling it with his legs off either side.

He’s got a poker from inside the house in his hand and he’s bravely taken on the task of making sure the fire burns strong. He’s prone to poking it now and then, expression serious.

Watching him makes you laugh under your breath. It’s endearing, you think, the way he still doesn’t quite slip out of caretaker mode, even without the kids around.

Directly across the fire from you, Eddie sits in a much more relaxed way.

There’s a joint held loosely between his lips, still burning, and he’s gazing into the fire as if it holds the answers to life.

In fact, you wonder how long it’s been since he’s blinked.

A wind passes through the clearing, inspiring a shiver from you. The temperature is dropping as night falls, but you don’t quite want to go inside yet.

It’s a soft atmosphere outside. The smell of the fire is like an old memory and you’re enjoying your less than subtle glances you get to share with Steve, the way his eyes reflect the firelight as he smiles back at you.

It’s actually making you delusional enough to entertain the idea that your big fat crush on Steve might not be so severely one sided.

When you go inside, the bubble will pop. Sue you if you just wanted to prolong that a little longer.

You shiver again as another breeze blows through and Steve notices the motion. He frowns, brown knitting together.

“You cold?” He asks, hazel eyes concerned.

“A little,” You admit. You tuck your sweater closer around you and wonder if you should move closer to the fire.

Abruptly, Steve clears his throat loudly and jabs the poker into the fire, his head now facing the fire’s only other occupant. The harsh motion into the fire, sparks flying, seems to startle Eddie out of his stupor.

His lazed eyes drag over to Steve and then after a long moment, he seemed to blink in realisation because he springs to his feet.

“I take my leave.” He announces, voice still strained from the smoke.

He tumbles forward into a bow that has you concerned about his hair catching fire— but he straightens up before anything sets alight.

“And I bid thee birds o’ love goodnight,” He says, more pointedly this time.

Your eyebrows scrunch together at his words. Birds o’ love?

Steve, however, only jabs the fire again and Eddie disappears along the path up to the house.

“Should we be worried if he’s gonna make it back alright?”

You’re peering over your shoulder, watching the metalhead go. It’s not far to the house but there’s only lights right by the stairs. And he’s stoned to high heaven.

“Nah,” Steve’s voice is suddenly much closer, right beside you, and you jump as you turn back. You hadn't heard him move by he's sitting on the edge of your lounger now.

“Budge up, I’m keeping you warm.”

Bewilderment flounders through you, warm and fringed with nerves. For a moment, you just stare at him before something clicks and you sit up to shuffle to the side.

The loungers are big and roomy. However, evidently they are not designed for two people to lie side by side.

As Steve squeezes in, your body ends up pressed flush against his warm and toned one, thigh to thigh. He leans back easily but you’re still frozen a bit, apprehensive about your next move. If you lie back, you’ll be practically lying on Steve’s chest.

You’re mouth twists in your nerves.

Leaning back means leaning your weight up against him, nearly goddamn cuddling. Your twitchy gaze meets Steve as you look back at him — but he only smiles handsomely, beckoning you down with a tip of his head.

Christ almighty, you have such a crush on him.

You close your eyes momentarily and send a quick prayer to whoever’s listening—either grant you strength or some insane luck that gives you want you really, really want.

You lay down and melt into his side. Your cheek finds his shoulder, squishing against it, and your heart worms its way up your throat in nerves.

You hope he can’t feel how hard your heart is beating.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, murmuring now he’s much closer. The smoke of the fire swirls with his cologne. He's warm like a furnace. “Not too close f’you?”

“I like being close to you,” You say without thinking.

A second later, you realise how betraying that might sound, body stiffening as a fluster rolls through you.

“'Cos you’re warm.” You tack on quickly, as if that’ll save it. You very purposefully keep your eyes on the fire, away from his prying gaze.

Fuck, fuck. That’s basically a confession. You’re basically cuddling, legs touched, your head touching on Steve’s shoulder and you just said that.

Steve gives a quiet laugh that rumbles his chest.

“That’s good.” He says quietly.

Then he inhales deeply, a breath you feel under your cheek. He releases in slowly, calmly, then swallows.

“And…” He’s turned his head towards you, your faces close. Something nudges at your jaw—his hand, sliding gently across the skin to cradle it.

“Is this okay?” He whispers. This close you can see individual eyelashes. A part of you quietly yearns.

You have no clue what’s happening.

You know what you think is happening — which is that Steve, handsome, caring, entirely out of your league Steve, might be about to kiss you.

“Yes,” you say, just in case you’re not dreaming the whole thing. “I, uh- you— what is happening right now?” You whisper, hardly daring to breath.

Your eyes roam Steve’s face fervently, searching for something, anything to explain this.

But there’s only an ardent fondness in his face, a softness in his gaze that’s directed at you.

Your heart reaches a concerning speed, pounding in your chest hard enough it must be bruising your ribs. The skin pressed against Steve's blazes warmer than any other part of you, your thigh against his, his hand resting on your face.

“What’s happening is,” Steve says softly. “I have been waiting for Munson to leave for twenty minutes, so I could come over here and,” He swallows, eyes dipping down to your lips momentarily. “hopefully… kiss you.”

You blink.

“Why?” You whisper.

You scrunch your eyes closed the minute you say it, scowling at yourself for potentially stepping on your own damn moment. Never mind if it was the burning question you had, never mind if Steve just wanted to kiss for the night.

You’d take it even if it wasn’t quite what you yearned for. You'd take anything he offered to you.

Steve laughs lightly and your eyes open. His eyes are still tracking over your face with an adoration you can’t quite believe.

“Why?” He echoes.

The hand on your face shifts, his thumb petting along your cheek gently. You see him swallow and realise with a spark that it’s because he’s nervous.

“Because I like you.”

It’s a whisper. None of that charm, just a genuineness that threatens to make your heart explode. His eyes shift across your face, as if committing it to detail in the shadow of the firelight. “And I have for awhile now.”

Your lips wobble a bit before they form their smile, catching up before your mind can grapple with the idea truly. He likes you. Steve likes you.

“Okay,” you say back stupidly.

Fuck. You’re really crushing this whole interaction, aren’t you?

But Steve only laughs again, his thumb tracing another line over your cheek. “Okay? This is okay?”

Heart bursting, you nod against his shoulder, already tilting your face up towards his. You hope you don’t look too eager—then remember it really doesn’t matter. Steve likes you.

Enough to come sit by you, to lean in first, to take the leap and say the words even though it's scary.

Leaning in, his nose brushes you, just the softest graze. It pulls a sharp breath from your lungs in nerves, but Steve only pauses there. Lets you sit in the moment, then melt into it.

The fire crackles and pops loudly and you hear the soft hooting of an owl in the trees. And only when you relax—when you tilt your head up and close the gap first, lips ghosting across his—does he kiss you.

Steve's mouth presses against yours softly, the shape of his lips fitting like a daydream, and when your eyes flutter close, you remember only the hazel of his eyes.

(if u wanted, i would maybe do a smutty part two if people were interested?!)

[szilverer]

Reisz doesn't have a canon sex (simply bc i couldnt decide in the beginning, and there would be no memories of being socialized as a girl or boy anyway, so it wouldnt be particularly relevant. at this point it doesnt matter since they can have anything they want inside their pants anyway) and while that would def lead to some Really interesting transmasc/transfem & other Gender hcs, there would be dark corners of the fandom with ppl fighting each other over their interpretations 💀 oh well

What Reisz did have, however, was a lot of canon sex, so they'd prob get shoved into the crazy horny lasciviously flirty trope when they in truth have a perfectly average libido and don't even act on it much anymore

They would correctly be read as a bloodthirsty berserker creechur methinks... but there would also be occasional misinterpretations shoving them into the "aggressive, picks fights if you look at them wrong" type of character

also (somber realization) oh god. muscle mommy trope...

Hyacinthe is a gloomy, stoic woman with a strong sense of justice; so she's automatically also. Just A Bitch.

Part of the fandom would girlbossify her way too much and forget her desperate socially awkward sheltered failgirl origins 😔

Alternatively, she's mischaracterized as an obsessive yandere for sure (while even at the height of her seeking she was fully aware of how unhinged she was becoming & desperately tried latching herself onto the hinges instead! The last thing Cinthe wanted was to end up being harmful/toxic towards her [nemesis spoilers] and actually tried to give them as much space as she could. This was in fact a major factor that led things to end up the way they did so this is the worst offender lol)

On a brighter side she could have a lot of neat transmasc hcs too :3c (it's something i've considered myself- still unsure how much of her deal is just being unhappy with victorian gender roles though)

Seeing it on th dash and now I am so curious abt it...if your OCs were popular enough to be a proper fandom, how do you think they would be mischaracterized by the fans at large? What tropes do they fall into? What tropes would they be forced into? Are there things you think would be picked up on accurately?

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Honestly the whole AI and jobs thing is... a lot. The economy is already in shambles, so jobs which can be done cheaper are.

I work in marketing. I don't exactly care for it, and I think most of us now just ignore adverts (or at least the ones that look like ads). There's something very Odd about how - as that post said - its becoming robots all the way down. An algorithm gives you SEO keywords, an AI uses that to make text and images, and another algorithm pushes it out to users. Who ignore it. Robots talk at each other.

The issue is that as this is happening, society just stagnates in capitalism. If AI takes the jobs of every writer, designer and photographer involved in the marketing process then in a perfect world those people would be able to create the art they want. But we don't live in that world. We live in a world where 80% of those people (save the 20% who get to stay to feed in prompts) will lose their jobs and be unable to get another in that sector and then... yeah. They get jobs they hate, or get trapped in job hunting, or suddenly can't afford to pay bills or rent or afford food and then they're fucked.

Maybe - like me - they have a second job doing the thing they love. They write books. They paint. They create amazing designs. But the world we live in devalues art and everyone else who loves art is also struggling with food and bills and money so those things aren't enough to live on, unless you're extremely lucky.

Despite people saying that distress and hard times makes good art, that's bullshit. Artists who are ALIVE make good art.

I'm not even sure what my point is here. I'm not after advice. But I often look to the future and think, well. Now what.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you have any rules for requests?

Thank you for asking and respecting my boundaries!

I do have some that I've started over the course of running this and other writing blogs:

1. I will not write overly Gore, Yandere, or Rape. I might have implied it or have it offscreen in a quick one sentence passage, but these themes make me uncomfortable, so I don't make them main topics. If you send in a request, I'll likely post it with a rejection notice so that others who see it might be willing to pick it up. The only time I won't is if the ask is rude/too detailed.

2. As a personal choice, I don't really enjoy writing multiple crossovers. This means I like to stick to the DC or DP universe's for this blog. Occasionally, I might use elements of a third option, but it's really hard for me to make it work since I'm not putting in an honest effort.

3. My blog has blanket permission on all prompts/chats/requests as long as I'm credited for the original. If you want to reblog and add more, you can. If you want to write an extended fic on another website, you can. If you want to draw based on something I wrote, you can. If you want to post it on tick tok with a voice reader, you can. If you would link me so I can geek out about it, please do so.

4. I don't do tag lists because they are too much of a hassel to keep an eye on. I also don't like seeing such a big wall of usernames. I try to keep my master post organized with the latest updated date on there if you would like to follow the Aus and find all the parts. The index will show you where each Au is organized.

5. I'm twenty-seven years old (I have no money, no prospects, I'm a burn to my parents, and im frighten). This means that while I don't mind getting NSFW asks or implied NSFW jokes/writes, I ask that if your underage DO NOT send them in. It's for both your safety and mine that you don't interact with that material until you're older. (I think I'll post the NSFW stuff on Ao3 as suggested)

6. I'm a multi-shipper. Since none of these charaters are real, I am known for moving them around and changing their circumstances to make pairs. My favorite genres in writing is fantasy and romance, so if you don't like a ship, please understand that it won't stop me from writing it. Unless requested for a gen fic in the ask, I will change almost all prompts into romance because I like reading/writing that kind of stuff.

That's all I can think of on the top of my head. If you sent in an ask and haven't seen it yet, it's because I haven't gotten the time to answer it.

Currently, I am behind by a lot in my inbox but that's mostly due to my final for my 16 week course, my work's audit and end of the fiscal year budget, I have five close family graduations, two weddings and one baby shower all crammed into the same month of May.

I'm also suffering from a bit of writer's blog on some aus.

But I swear I will get to your asks as soon as I can I'll jump around some to try to get pass the writer's blog, but once things calm down I'll go back to the order in which I receive the ask.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Dolls World [Spencer x Reader]

Photo Credits: Left (@starvingphilosofer) Center (@heyvs) Right (@anjukaji)

Prompt: A kidnapper is kidnapping women and torturing them. When y/n gets taken, Reid does everything he can to save her, but it’s too late. 

Pairing: Spenver x BAU-Reader

Category: Angst/Whump/No Happy Ending. 

Word Count: 11.1K

Content Warnings: Kidnapping, burns, torture [reader], intimidation, fear, submission. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! I know it has been a long, long time since I’ve posted, and that’s for many reasons that I don’t want to get into today. I return with a hecking long Spencer fic, and I hope you enjoy it. That being said, thank you to everyone who has kept up with me, or to any new readers or followers! Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! P.s. I haven’t edited this a lot for grammar, I’m just now jumping back into writing, sorry for any major errors. Love Levi - ❤️ 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/h/c = your hair color 

y/e/c = your eye color 

y/l/n = your last name 

As Spencer listened to the witness give his comments on finding the body in the field, his breath billowed up like smoke in the cold autumn morning. He shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around his slender frame, and locked back into the conversation. “Yeah. When I saw the body at first, I thought it was some kind of prank. It looked like a mannequin, and I got out of my truck to put it in my truck bed to haul it to the dump. It was when I touched the body that I realized it was a person in there.” The rugged-looking man shuddered at the memory of the cold, clammy skin of the victim. Reid nodded along. It must have been a real shock. He cleared his throat and asked, “What did you do when you realized it was a person?” The man shuffled on the ground and replied, “Well, I called the cops, of course. What else was I supposed to do?” Spence nodded again and asked, “You said you thought this might be a prank. Do people play pranks on your property often? Would you say you have any enemies?” The man let out a nervous laugh and replied, “Every now and then. There are some damn kids down the road that have done a thing or two. Vandalism, letting the chickens out, but they wouldn’t do whatever… whatever this is.” The comment couldn’t stop Spence from looking back at the victim and cringing harshly. 

y/n was close to the body, leaned up against a fence with a camera documenting every odd element of the victim. The bright flash only made the scene more eerie. The light flashed off the porcelain mask that was half slipped off the young woman’s face. Apart from the mask, which had a shocking likeness of the victim's face except for its paleness, and the outfit, like that of a little girl, nothing seemed to be wrong with the body. The woman’s eyes were open, glazed over, and staring into the sky that was cloudy and threatening to rain at any moment. Reid couldn’t help but look at y/n for a moment longer as she nimbly knelt on the ground to take the shots needed for further examination. The man standing beside Spencer cleared his throat, and the genius whipped his head forward again as the man asked, “So, are we done?” Dr. Reid let out a soft breath and nodded yes. Being given the all clear, the man moved away and down the gravel path toward the small barn on his property in upstate New York. 

Derek rambled up toward the lean agent and said, “Imagine how Garcia’s gonna be when she gets a load of this.” Spencer didn’t want to think about that and just gave a soft grunt as a response. Morgan furrowed his brows and asked, “What’s wrong, pretty boy? Not in a talking mood.” Derek followed Spence’s gaze to y/n, who was now talking to Emily and Hotch about the victim. Morgan let out a chuckle and commented lightly, “You know you could just tell her, Reid. The worst thing is that she says no.” Dr. Reid huffed and said, “That’s easy for you to say, Morgan; women seldom say no to you.” Derek was about to respond to Spence’s self-deprecation, but the pair was called over by Rossi as they were headed back to the station to regroup and deliver the profile now that they had his new piece of the puzzle. 

Back at the Idaho Presinct, McAllen Presinct, Aaron and Morgan stood at the front of the room. The rest of the team flanked them to add any needed information or grab anything either man needed. Hotch started by reintroducing the team and then jumping into the profile: “Good morning, and thank you for taking the time to listen to us. We’ll make this as brief as possible so you can get back to your shift and look for these missing women. The profile we’re about to give you may have some changing variables. The usefulness for you with this information is trying to find a suspect that matches said description we are about to give. Even a feeling is a good place to start with a case like this. 

Morgan stepped up and continued, “This case is made harder because of the vicinity to the border and, more importantly, the city of Juarez. The number of people fleeing that area due to the drug trade might be a great cover for the unsub or unknown subject. He might also be luring victims across the border with promises of sneaking them into the States. That’s a possibility, it’s also a possibility that one of the cartels is having a new initiation for new members of taking a mark and torturing them to death, which is already common practice with many gangs. Either way, the unsub has found a great place to kidnap and kill people. Aaron then spoke again, clarifying, “The unsub has a specific type of woman that he is looking for, as all of those taken so far have had y/h/c and y/e/c and a specific body type. These factors make it easier to identify possible targets, but so far, no correlation has been found between the missing women, and with the addition of the first body, it seems that there might be some kind of ritualistic element involved as a mask highly resembling the woman’s face was found on the body. We’re going to analyze the mask and see if anything comes from it. We will let you know. As for now, we suspect a white man in his thirties to fifties, with possible ties to the cartel, looking for women to exploit or for an unknown personal use. If you have any questions, please let Ms. Jareau or any of the team know, and we’ll be happy to answer them. That’s it for now, thank you for your time. 

The BAU did what they could with the limited knowledge they had so far about the victim and the unsub, but mostly it was a process of eliminating the primary and secondary cartel rings rather than outright finding a culprit. The guess was that the unsub was a domineering man who saw women as objects to control, but with machismo being such a large part of the culture in that part of Texas, that descriptor defined a lot of men’s views of women. It wasn’t until a spectral analysis of the mask that was found on the victim came back that any real progress was made. The mask was mostly made of plaster and reinforced porcelain, which was a strange find. Not only that, but a larger amount of terra cotta powder was found in the mix as well. As Aaron brought up this fact to the sheriff, the man nodded his head and replied, “Yeah, well, the terra cotta makes sense, there’s an abandoned saltillo and terra cotta plant on the far side of town. It’s mostly used for drug deals now, but I have no clue about it. Ain’t nobody I know around here that would use anything porcelain. Most stuff at the store is Talavera or plastic.” Hotch acknowledged the information and said, “Thank you, Sheriff. Morgan, Reid, y/n, I want you to go out and check out the grounds of that old kiln and factory. See if there’s any sign of life or the victims. Go in hot, we don’t know what this unsub is capable of yet.” The trio nodded and checked their gun holsters before moving out into the cold, bright Texas sun and toward the van. 

As Morgan, Spencer, and y/n moved southward, Aaron, Rossi, and Emily stayed behind to call around about the new leads and have Garcia work her magic on the new info. It was a nice feeling to have something to do after such a lull in the case. 

At the plant, the trio got out of the van that y/n had been driving and looked around the outside first. It was mostly dusty, with the sides of the metal and cement structure old and soot-covered from the fire of the kilns. The tall, brittle grasses moved slowly with the wind. As the team walked to the back of the large building, they saw a few junked-out cars that were rusting and had parts missing from under the hood. Most shocking, however, was a nondescript white Subaru that had no license plates and dark-tinted windows. y/n raised an eyebrow at Derek and Reid. Morgan pulled out his gun and said, “We’re not alone, it seems. Let’s head inside and see who we find.” The other agents slipped their guns out of their holsters and kept them lowered to the ground for safety as they slipped off the safety. 

Morgan took point and walked to the front of the building and tried to slowly open the door. Unfortunately, it gave out a loud creak, meaning that the person inside most likely heard their approach. Not wanting the unsub to possibly get away, Derek softly called, “Let’s split up. I’ll take the center, Reid, y/n you take left and right.” The other agents nodded as they threaded their way through rows and rows of shelves housing dusty orange stacks of tiles and shingles and all manner of pottery. There wasn’t a back door to the building, so the unsub only had one way out, through a member of the team. All of the lights in the building were out, and as y/n moved carefully along the side of the wall, trying to stay as hidden and shielded as possible. Plumes of silt and dust filled the air each time she took a step, and she had to pull her shirt over her nose to stop from coughing at the particulates filling her lungs. 

Reid was doing the same on the opposite side of the building. He felt something in his stomach twist, and he looked to his left. There was an old metal staircase that was roped off with a faded sign reading, “Mangers only.” He took a moment to asses. It was possible that the unsub was in one of the upper offices. However, Reid assumed that the kidnapper would have made noise if they had tried getting up the stairs, and he would have heard that. With that in mind, he continued moving forward toward the back of the building. The lanky agent was moving faster than Morgan or y/n as his sense of dread increased. He made it to the back of the building and saw the few small, sad windows letting in light into the dim space. Spencer turned around and wondered if the unsub was possibly upstairs. Just as he did this, he heard a creak from the upper level, but it was too late as a figure wearing a mask dropped from the second floor and onto Spencer. 

The figure wasn’t big, but the impact was enough of a surprise that Reid stumbled backward. The figure was holding a loaded gun and smacked Spencer on the temple hard enough to stun him and draw blood. Reid saw stars for a second and grunted. The sound of the commotion echoed through the large room, and y/n and Derek came running. As soon as they saw the figure on top of their friend with a gun pointed at his head, they both slowed and lowered their weapons. The masked figure said, “Good choice. You’re both going to do everything I say, or you’ll be cleaning your colleague's brains out of this dirt. If I even sense you’re trying to trick me I I’ll shoot, do you understand?” 

Helpless, Derek and y/n clearly nodded yes. The figure replied, “Good. You, girl, step over here nice and slow. I have the keys to the car in my back pocket. Come and get them. y/n shot a very small look at Morgan, who nodded for her to do as she was being told. y/n took a step forward, but the figure said, “Stop. First, take your gun and the other agent's gun and set them on the side of the wall over there.” The unsub just turned their chin over to the wall with the windows a few feet away. y/n sighed and disarmed Morgan. She was slow and cautious with her steps. She made sure the unsub could see the weapons with each step so the person wouldn’t do anything to Reid. As soon as the first task was done, y/n continued slowly and painfully doing as she had been told. She didn’t step too close to Spencer, even though she wanted to see how the genius was. Instead, she kept a wide breadth and moved behind the sub. The person was a woman as y/n got closer to the figure. It was obvious despite her baggy clothing. y/n moved her hand to the woman’s back left pocket and fished out the keys. 

Once the keys were free of the unsub's pocket, she said, “Good, now go stand back by the other agent. If I see you do anything with those keys I’ll remind you again that I have a happy trigger finger.” y/n nodded and again moved back to Derek’s side. Both Morgan and y/n cringed, and the woman pistol-whipped Spencer in the head, rendering him unconscious and bleeding in the dirt and silt. The woman then pointed the gun at Morgan and said, “Alright, you two. Move slowly toward the door If either of you try shit it’s curtain for all three of you. Now put your hands above your head and start walking along the left-hand side wall in a single file. The girl goes first. The agents did as told, even though it went against every instinct in their bodies to leave Reid on the ground like this. When Morgan got to the wall, he felt the barrel of the unsub’s gun at his back pressing into the fabric of his shirt. Both y/n and Derek considered how much of a distraction and damage could happen if they could only throw or tip one of the tile-laden shelves over. However, there was too much risk in such an act. No matter what they’d thought of the unsub before, she was far more accomplished than either of them had ever expected. Once the painful process of getting to the door of the building was finished, the woman barked, “Alright, stop both of you.” Both agents again complied, and without any notice, the unsub hit Derek on the head like she had with Reid. The tall athletic agent crumpled to the ground and y/n whipped around to retaliate, but again was met with the barrel of a loaded gun. 

y/n was pissed off that both of her friends had been harmed and asked, “You better have a grand plan here.” There was a scoff and a look of defiance behind the eyes of the unsub who replied, “Oh, I’ve got plans for you. You’re just his type. Now, little miss, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get into that car while I have this little toy pointed at you the whole time. I’ll get into the passenger seat, and you’re going to drive and follow my directions. And don’t think that I’m not willing to kill a fucking FBI agent. There are lots of women that I can use for him, but I think he’s really gonna like you. So let’s get this show on the road before either of your friends wakes up.” The unsub gestured with her chin, a sharp and jagged movement for y/n to move toward the car, which y/n did. y/n kept her hands above her head as she walked. She squinted into the harsh sun as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, which contrasted with the dark of the building interior. 

In the car, y/n carefully turned the key once her captor was inside, the unsub's gun pointed at y/n’s head the whole time. y/n kept her hands steady on the wheel and eyes on the dusty, barely paved roads they were traveling down. The first hour was very stressful and y/n had the feeling that at any might her brains might be blown out of her head. However, after that, the unsub seemed to start to fidget a bit. It seemed she was uncomfortable in her seat with the sun in her eyes and hot with her mask covering her mouth and nose. After a few more minutes, the woman gave up and took off the fabric covering her face, and took a deep breath. y/n still didn’t look at the woman but could tell something had shifted. All the bravado was wearing off as the woman’s adrenaline waned. y/n felt that if she kept not engaging and just doing as told, the unsub would break soon. True to her prediction, a few minutes later the woman said in a shaky voice, “I’m sorry for what’s gonna happen to you. I really am, but I can’t let him down.”

y/n took a split second to look at the blonde-haired woman who looked more like a suburbanite than a kidnapper. y/n placed her gaze back on the paved road and replied. “You don’t have to do this. Whoever makes you do it, we can stop them. We can keep you safe. We’re alone, all you have to do is let me call my team. You have me as collateral already, why not get help?” The unsub was struggling now as she tried not to cry as she replied, “I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’re life isn’t worth what not doing this will cost you. Now, no more talking. You can’t change my mind, just know that I’m sorry.” y/n’s hands tightened on the wheel of the car, with the way the woman was talking, perhaps there was hope of getting out of this situation before it got too out of hand. Now, what it came down to was timing. As much as y/n was concerned for herself, she couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer and how he’d looked sprawled out on the ground, blood quickly pooling below his head. The image was going to haunt her until she knew that he was okay. 

y/n and Spencer’s history was complicated by many things. The first was that when y/n had first joined the team, the genius was just coming off Dilaudid, and he had seen y/n’s hiring as a challenge to his role on the team. Therefore, he’d been a bit more than standoffish for a few months, and that had created tension between the team. Finally, Reid saw the failure of his actions and apologized, but the damage to their relationship had been done. It took months for the two younger members of the team to fully mesh. Then they had meshed and meshed well, and Spencer felt stupid for having been so rude at the start of their working relationship. They’d become pretty good friends and then, with a bit of hesitation from Spencer, went on a few dates. It was fun and it felt safe, and so when y/n had asked if he’d wanted to take it further, to try at more commitment, Spencer had gently rejected the idea. He had been too comfortable with what they had to want to risk losing it. That choice had hurt y/n, but she understood where Reid was coming from. After all, he was still only getting his feet back under him from his ordeal with drugs, but that didn’t mean that y/n didn't hold out hope that one day they might be something more. Now, as she got farther and farther away from the team and moved toward the unknown, she prayed that Spence was alright and that he’d find her. Deep down in her heart, she knew that somehow Spencer would always find her in one way or another. 

Reid’s head was pounding, and it felt all fuzzy. Even the low voices in the background seemed distant and far off, even though he knew they were right above him. Then suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, he came back to awareness. He was strapped to a gurney being wheeled toward an ambulance, and the bright light of the outside momentarily blinded him. That didn’t stop him from trying to sit up, but one of the paramedics held his shoulder down and said, “Hold on there, buddy. Everything is going to be okay.” Reid tried to respond, but his mouth felt like cotton. Thankfully, Emily saw him gain awareness, and she and Rossi moved over to his side as he got closer and closer to the ambulance. With some effort, Spencer said, “Where are Morgan and y/n?” Emily shot Rossi a look before replying, “Derek’s already on the way to the hospital. It looks like he got hit a little harder than you.” Spencer nodded, eyes wide, waiting for a comment about y/n. It seemed to take a moment before Rossi then said, “And y/n, well, she got taken by the unsub.” Reid’s eyes went wide, and he repeated, “She was taken?” Emily nodded yes, but quickly said, “But we have a lot of information about the unsub now. Morgan was able to tell us a lot before he was carted off. We have a BOLO on the car, and I’m sure we’ll find y/n soon.” As sure as Spencer was that the BAU was doing everything they could to find y/n a pit of dread formed in his stomach like a thorn in his side, but he didn’t have time to ask for more details as he was loaded into the transport vehicle with Rossi shouting, “We’ll see you at the hospital,” before the doors were closed. 

Before Aaron or Dave even got to the hospital, Reid had been told to lie back down three times as he tried to get up and get some more paper. He was going through sheets and sheets of it, as the drugs he was on were making it hard to remember important details about the unsub. When Hotch did arrive, the leader of the BAU considered saying, “Are we writing a memoir now, Reid?” but refrained. Aaron knew that Spence’s relationship with y/n was complicated. Instead, he just gave the facts they had so far. “y/n’s phone was thrown out of the unsub’s car seventy miles from the warehouse. Garcia is triangulating the area to see if she can find out any more information. Morgan told us what happened to him. I’d like to hear your side of things.” Spencer nodded and looked at his notes, and jumped into his side of things, speaking at a mile a minute. In some moments, Aaron had to slow the agent down so he could catch up with what was being said. 

The hospital had diagnosed Reid with a minor concussion and was required to hold him for seven hours just to make sure that he didn’t have any worse effects than a headache and some blurred vision every now and then. The same thing applied to Morgan, who was also very anxious about getting out of his uncomfortable hospital bed and finding the person who had taken y/n. When he described his experience with the unsub to Emily, he had said, “You know she was such a small figure, I didn’t think she’d have the power to knock me out like that. I mean, her hands looked neat and clean, almost like she had her nails done. That’s not the type of person I expect to be out kidnapping women. I mean she drive a freaking Subaru!” Em had nodded and tried to calm Derek, who kept speaking. “I thought for sure when I came to that y/n would be right there with us, or outside somewhere.” There was a look of sadness and disappointment on Morgan’s face. Emily knew immediately that he must feel like he had failed y/n in some way. The brunette-haired agent stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Morgan’s shoulder and said, “We’ll find her. Derek. We’re gonna get her back or die trying.” 

It felt like hours since y/n had been told to drive and just keep driving. The gas can was almost empty now, and y/n’s own energy reserves had long since left. It was hard for her to even keep her eyes on the road. Thankfully, after over four and a half hours of driving on unnamed roads, the captor and captive arrived at a quaint farmhouse with a white picket fence and an old red Ford parked out front. The house seemed to be three stories with a few pretty windows, and a mother-in-law's house a few feet from the outside of the main home. There was something about that space that leaked an eerie cold into y/n’s bones. Instinctively, y/n shivered and looked back at the main house. There was a little less comfort there, but at least it was better. 

The voice of the unsub shocked y/n back into awareness as she said, “Funny, everyone who comes here has that reaction. Maybe I should have know there was something wrong with him, but I’m just a mom, there’s not much I could do at this point.” y/n furrowed her brows. This was valuable information being given, but she was just too exhausted for the pieces weren’t quite lining up in her head to make a coherent picture. Agent y/l/h did see the large blond-haired man; she was assuming this was the unsub’s husband came up to the driver’s side door of the car. y/n knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. This was a make-or-break moment, maybe she could talk her way out of this, or make a run for it. The image of the woman with the doll mask flashed in front of her, and for a second, y/n considered that there might be a fate worse than death waiting for her inside one of those houses. However, the cold barrel of the woman’s pistol at the temple of her head was enough to remind her she was a federal agent, and she might not be the last victim of this pair of killer kidnappers. If it didn’t end well for her, perhaps it would mean she’d be able to save another woman put in the same position. Not that she thought she was going to die. She was going to do everything in her power to stay alive. 

The man got to the car quickly and opened the door to the car. He made no introductions as he dragged y/n from the seat of the car by her wrists and slipped them into a pair of zip cuffs. When this was done, the man dragged y/n toward the front door of the main house. The man was wearing a bandana that covered his nose and mouth. He hardly looked at y/n as they moved inside. y/n did her best to try and observe things around the first floor of the home. It seemed pretty sparse apart from some family photos and what was probably second-hand furniture that didn’t match at all. y/n looked at one of the photos near the steps up to the second and third floor. The picture showed the family smiling, though it didn’t reach anybody’s eyes but one of the little boys in the image. The mother and father were standing in the back, and each had a hand on a small boy. The father’s hand rested on the older boy’s shoulder while the mother’s dainty hands rested on the younger child’s plaid shirt. It was clear that y/n was looking too hard as her hair was yanked hard by the root, and the man manhandling her said, “Keep moving” in a gruff voice. 

y/n was pulled up all three flights of stairs. In the attic, y/n was hauled to the side of the room near the high window, and her hands were strung up by a hook hanging from the ceiling. The hook was high enough up that y/n’s feet didn’t have much purchase on the ground, and her arms strained as they took most of her weight. She pulled her eyes away from the man who was fiddling with some more zip ties and tried to get a sense of her bearings. The room was large, and there were bottles of cloudy-looking liquids of various colors along with multiple masks like the one found on the victim’s body. From looking out the window, y/n could tell they were very far from anything close to a city. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were multiple towns over from McAllen at this point. The idea was upsetting. They hadn’t driven near any major cities, so it was unlikely that the car she was driving had been picked up on any cameras. The vials on the shelf were a start to something. They looked like embalming fluid that a mortician might use, so perhaps the team could find that helpful if traces were left at the site. y/n found it strange that embalming would be part of the process, as the first victim they had found hadn’t been embalmed. She was so freshly dead, in fact, that rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet. 

As her legs were attached to the floor with new zipties and a chain, y/n wanted to beg for a chance to be let go, for anything else than what was happening at the moment. However, her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. She tried to say anything but coughed as a rag was roughly pushed in her mouth, followed by a long strip of duct tape over her lips. y/n struggled against the intrusion in her mouth and was quickly rendered blind as a blindfold was placed over her eyes. It became apparent to y/n that something was on the rag as her head felt woozy and she lost consciousness. 

Reid was out of the hospital and panicking over y/n. He hadn’t sat down or stopped moving for hours, even though the doctors had prescribed rest for the next week. Morgan was looking at the tire imprints and had matched them with the type of car the unsub drove, however, the popular model made the information almost useless. Frustrated and upset at not being able to make more progress, Spencer half yelled, “There has to be more. This can’t be all there is.” Hotch looked at the genius from across the table and said, “Reid, calm down. Getting worked up won’t help y/n or anyone else.” At the command, Spence slammed his hands on the table and snapped, “Don’t tell me how to feel, Hotch. I was there, you weren’t.” At the sudden hostility, Rossi quickly stood and said, “Okay, okay, okay, I think it’s time we had a breather outside.” The older agent stood and took Spencer’s arm in his and led the lean man outside the doors of the police station. Reid was flushed and crumpling the medical report he had been holding at the time as he tried to calm down. It was proving harder than he had anticipated. As he and Dave walked in an awkward silence down the empty street, Reid considered that perhaps all of his pent-up feelings for y/n were getting to his head, and her being taken had broken the dam to those buried emotions. 

y/n woke when she was roughly pushed by the shoulder. She grunted against her gag and could see that it was bright outside, possibly a whole day had elapsed since she had gotten to the home of the unsubs. Her blindfold was ripped off along with some strands of her hair, and she blinked back against the brightness of the morning light. It was the man again. It seemed she was going to be working mostly with him for a while, since she was here. That wasn’t a calming thought as he seemed much more guarded -- to the point that he was still wearing a mask to hide his face, even though she’d seen it in the family pictures already. 

The man stepped forward and lowered y/n’s arms from the hook holding them up, and she collapsed to the ground. Her upper limbs ached so much as the blood flowed back down her arms. y/n grunted from the pain as she tried to decide if this hurt more or less than having them raised. Without waiting for y/n to get adjusted, the man stepped back and grabbed some clothes from the floor and tossed them at y/n, stating, “Put these on, now.” y/n shakily looked at the clothes and saw that it was a maid's dress with stockings and long socks along with an apron. y/n didn’t like the look for this and what it meant for her, so she gave a protesting grunt and shook her head no. The male unsub didn’t seem surprised by this as he leaned down and grabbed a bucket. He heaved back and forward and splashed y/n with cold water that shocked y/n into more awareness. 

The water wasn’t exactly cold, but it was so frigid in the attic that it hurt like pins and needles on y/n’s skin. She watched as goosebumps rose on her exhausted arms, and the man said, “You decide, freeze in those clothes or change. I’ll leave you to it.” The unsub moved back to the door, unlocked it with a key, stepped out of the room, and then disappeared. y/n heard the lock click again, and once the sound of steps was gone, y/n let herself sag to the wooden floor. She felt like her whole body was covered with pins and needles, either from the cold or her having been suspended for a few hours uncomfortably. Much to y/n's chagrin, she realized that if she didn’t want to feel like she was freezing to death, changing into the other outfit was the best idea. She crawled to the pile of clothes, grabbed them, and turned her back to the door. She wasn’t sure if the man was going to come back to check on her, but if he was, she wasn’t going to give him a full frontal view. She might be in a tricky situation, but she still had her dignity. With effort and shaking hands, y/n stripped off her wet shirt and pants and quickly changed into the dress. The stockings and long socks were a no-go, but she used them to dry off as much as possible. When that was done, she instantly felt better and then tried to assess her tenable situation further. 

Rossi was looking at and updating the profile. He was tapping his pen against his chin when Aaron came up beside him and said, “Anything new, Dave?” Rossi looked at Hotch and then back to the board; “Well, the unsub being a caucasian isn’t a surprise, having it be a woman is. Though I think it’s most likely a team rather than just one person. The problem with that is that is that then we get more into the drug and cartel territory. It could be a gang initiation type of thing after all.” Hotch nodded along and said, “Women in the cartel aren’t unheard of.” Dave sighed and said, “I know. This is so frustrating, and I’m worried about Reid’s judgment, and not because he has a minor concussion right now.” Now it was Aaron’s turn to sigh, and he peeked over at Spencer, who was on the phone with Garcia. “I know. I’m going to have him, Derek, and Prentiss head back to the site where y/n was taken with some police and K-9 units and see if that can give us more leads. At least it will give Reid something to do. For now, all we can do is look at the records of the missing women who fit the profile so far and keep working. y/n’s tough, she’ll be doing everything she can to stay alive or get back here. 

It was a few hours before y/n was visited again by the man. He seemed agitated, and so was y/n. She was hungry and had to pee in the corner of the room in a bucket that had been placed there, she assumed, for her use. No matter that the act itself felt degrading. y/n had looked out the window, assessed her situation over and over again. All of her gear, including her badge, had been taken. She tried to get out of the zip ties holding her legs, but they were too strong for her to break, and there were no tools for her to reach in the attic. It seemed her only means of escape right now was going to be talking with the male unsub. 

y/n straightened when the man entered the room. She stood up to show that she wasn’t so tired that she couldn’t at least do that. He was carrying a metal folding chair and what looked like a cattle prod. y/n had never seen one before, but she could assume. She swallowed thickly when she made that observation. Not wanting to lose her nerve, y/n started talking, at first a bit shakily, but then recovering quickly: “I was speaking to your partner before, as I was driving her. I told her, and I’ll tell you the same thing. You don’t have to do this. There are programs. You can both get help from the government if you help me.” The man was now setting up the folding chair in the center of the room and chalking a small white circle about an inch away from each of the four legs. He acted as if he couldn’t hear y/n. Not deterred, y/n continued talking, saying, “You know it’s going to be different this time. I’m a federal agent. I can’t just disappear and not come back. My team, they’re looking for me. The BAU has some of the best FBI members in the nation. We were called here to find you, and I found you. I sure a hell don’t plan on letting you take more women. Not while I’m alive.” y/n realized that her last sentence might have been stupid, but she was scared and all she could think of was the face of the woman with the mask, and the face of her teammates. Yes, they drove her crazy sometimes with their antics and snooping into her personal life, but she realized now that she missed them so much. As hard as she tried to see all of them clearly, Spencer’s handsome, sharp face always stayed the longest and clearest. 

y/n was lost in that thought but snapped out of it when the man said sharply, “Sit, now.” y/n bit the inside of her mouth and was about to protest, but the man could see this and said, “Sit or you get 7,000 volts in that pretty hide of yours.” The man had picked up the cattle prod and turned it on and upped the level of electricity running through its prongs. y/n could hear its eerie hum from where she stood. Not wanting a very painful experience, y/n had once been tasered in her N.A.T. days; she did as she was told. The unsub nodded, almost happily as he said, “Now, you’ll sit still, back straight and head up and not move. No moving, no talking.” y/n opened her mouth to say something, but the man held the cattle prod dangerously close to her face. Realizing the man wasn’t joking, nor was he planning on moving anytime soon, y/n did as told again. She realized with a sinking feeling that this situation wasn’t getting any better. For now, all she had on her side was time and the fact that only one victim had been found, which could mean that the unsub was still pretty bad at this and might slip up sometime. 

It had been over an hour, and y/n’s head felt so heavy holding it up that she thought she might faint. The unsub seemed to have no plans of leaving or losing focus as he still had the cattle prod pointed at y/n. Much to y/n’s misfortune, a small piece of dust got breathed in, and she tried to stop herself from sneezing, but couldn’t. After sneezing, the man moved forward and pressed the prod into her side, sending a huge bolt of electricity through y/n, making her jolt in the chair. y/n cried out in pain and said, “FUCK.” The unsub was unhappy about this and hit y/n again with the wand. y/n felt the searing pain go through her again as her body jerked momentarily. The unsub said, “And you were doing so good, bitch. Now we have to start again. What did I say about not moving? Now sit the fuck up and don’t say a word again. I know it hurts, that’s why I’m doing it. No words of pity from you either, I don’t care.” Tears and snot streamed down y/n’s face as she tried to do as told. It hurt so much she wanted to whimper. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long day. 

The BAU was at a house an hour away from McAllen’s city center. The first victim had been identified by their family, and the team had gone out to question the members and see if there were any ties between y/n and the woman found in the field. Aaron, Rossi, and Emily were talking with the parents while Spencer, Derek, and JJ were in the victim’s room speaking with her little brother. Spencer was on the floor and was asking questions of the little boy who was playing with a toy horse. “You were talking about your sister, Caira. That she liked to go out without telling your mom and dad?” The boy nodded and replied, “Yeah, I’d see her sometimes when I was up late watching TV. She’d give me some chocolate or candy to keep quiet about her going out. I think she had a boyfriend or something, she went and said… yucky.” Reid chuckled. He had a feeling that the boy wasn’t supposed to be staying up late watching TV either, but he didn’t say anything about that now. The comment about a boyfriend stuck, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was significant. 

Spencer asked, “Why do you think she had a boyfriend?” The kid looked up and said, “Ugh. I guess she always talks about it. She thinks she’s old and will never get married. That seems to be the only thing my mom and dad talk about with her sometimes.” Here, JJ stepped forward and asked, “Oh, really? My mom and dad never did that for me. Do they seem happy or sad when they talk to Caira about having a boyfriend?” The boy paused his playing and furrowed his small brow before saying, “Mad. My sister wants to go out and date, but they want her to court, whatever that is.” Spencer looked at JJ and then around the room, the multitude of crosses told a story of high control and religious belief. Perhaps this was one of those families that expected women to stay at home until they were married, and dating was off the table unless it was under the guise of courting. JJ swallowed hard. She’d had friends who were in those kinds of situations, and it never seemed like a good situation. That uncomfortable feeling did give them both an idea where to look next: the church the family attended. 

y/n had spent all day being cattle prodded and sitting as still as possible, but not still enough to not be tazed. When she was left alone, she had just enough energy to pull up her skirt and see the burn scar where the electric current had entered her body. She cringed and then lay on the ground and let herself fall asleep. The next morning, y/n was woken by the sound of an augment just outside the door to the attic. She could hear the male unsub say, “It’s too soon. She’s not ready.” And then the woman who had taken her responded, “We have to! He’s asking for another new one, and you know how he gets.” There was a big sigh from the man that sounded like a concession, and then the door opened. The man was holding the cattle prod and some scissors, and y/n cringed at the sight of the items. Her body was so cold and stiff from yesterday that she could hardly move. The woman stepped forward and said, “We’re going to move you to where you’re going to be from now on. If you do well, when he’s not in the room, you can do as you please, eat, and even use the bathroom. This is a tester run for you, so don’t fuck it up.” y/n swallowed and wondered who this mysterious “he” was. Was there a third unsub? It was all highly unusual, and that was saying something for a BAU case. 

The man set the cattle prod aside and stepped close, cutting y/n’s zipties holding her feet to the ground. y/n knew that now was the time to fight, to run for it. Even two against one, she could make an attempt, but she was so tired. The lack of food and treatment from yesterday had left her with no reserves. In fact, she was shocked that she was awake right now. The man grabbed her hair and pulled her face up. He looked at the woman and said, “Give me the mask.” The female unsub stepped forward, and to y/n’s dismay, she was holding the masks that the first victim had been wearing. It wasn’t perfect, but it had an uncanny resemblance to her face. The man slipped the two elastic straps over her head, and the mask fit snugly to y/n’s face. The eyes had been cut out so y/n could see, and breathing holes drilled for the nose and mouth. Once this was done, the man looked at the woman and said, “You take her and explain the rest. You want the cattle prod?” The female unsub nodded no and replied, “No. You know I hate that thing. I’ve got my gun. I’ll just use that.” The man sighed and replied, “Fine, as long as you don’t get trigger-happy,” before standing and leaving the room. 

y/n was led out the door on shaky feet and legs. She felt like she might vomit, but stopped herself before doing so in the restrictive mask was a recipe for disaster. The eye holes weren’t very large on the face covering either, so it was hard to use her peripheral vision to see more than what was just in front of her. However, y/n didn’t need any of those things to feel the pistol at the base of her spine. She stumbled her way out to the smaller house just across from the main house. As soon as y/n got into the smaller home, she felt a huge amount of dread press on her chest. Everything was immaculate, and the scent of candles permeated the room. Not only was that unnerving enough, but the worst thing was the fact that there were three other women, also with masks, sitting in the chairs at the main table, looking either blankly out the window, the wall, or the clock. All three women, also wearing masks, turned their heads, nodded robotically at the woman and y/n’s entrance, and went back to their blank stares. y/n felt sick. It was like there was nothing left of the women in the room. y/n didn’t have much time to think about it as she was pushed into another room that was functioning as a dining room. There was a small table with four chairs, a window, and a cabinet full of china. There were lots of candles in candelabras on the dark wood table, dripping wax onto the surface. The female unsub led y/n to the corner of the room and said, “You stand here. You don’t move. No matter who or what comes into this room, you don’t do anything. If you want to live through the day, you’re going to do this. If you need to use the facilities, there’s a bathroom upstairs. Don’t take more than ten minutes before you’re back in this room. We have cameras everywhere, so don’t think that you can just try and run. My husband, as much as a pussy as he is, will shoot you if you step a foot out of this house. If you do as I say, I’ll give you some food tonight and let you sleep in an actual bed. 

y/n nodded and mentally agreed to do as told. She was still very convinced that the team was doing everything to find her, and she’d rather be found dead than alive. Given the last two days, y/n these unsubs were people who didn’t joke around or do power plays for fun. If they said something, they meant it. y/n moved to the corner and stood still, head up and back straight. The other woman in the room seemed to relax as she said, “Good. He’ll like that. He might not pay attention to you today, but you should pay attention to him.” With those cryptic words, the unsub moved out of the room. 

Meanwhile, an hour away in McAllen, the team was approaching a mortuary on the far side of town. They were very sure they had found the correct business that the unsub team lived in. The funeral home and morgue were split-level. Rossi and Spencer had noticed he oddities around a man in the Jehovah’s Witnesses records. That was the denomination that the first unsub had subscribed to and the services she had attended. The man, Rory McPine, had seemed a normal man on the surface, but looking into him more, his business seemed shady. He worked with a lot of chemicals, including porcelain and iron, another red chalking substance like terra cotta. There was also the money laundering and the one attempted trespassing charge that had been dismissed, oddly. The nail in the coffin of the team's assumption? The family home that Rory had tried to trespass on was next to the first victim's home. There was a young woman living there who was the same age as the first victim, and she attended the same church as the other two had. The facts all pointed to him. As the team screeched in front of the funeral home, Aaron stepped out and grabbed a megaphone, saying, “Rory McPine, come out of the building with your hands up. We have you surrounded.” 

Back at the small house, y/n was still standing in the corner of the room and looking out the window. Interestingly, another car had pulled up, and a woman got out of the car with a bottle of wine and what looked like a sympathetic demeanor. y/n thought about running forward and yelling for help, but she stopped herself. Maybe this was a test, and there was the fact that the female unsub had threatened death by shotgun, which y/n didn’t fancy either. After a short while, the sound of the door opening made y/n hyper-aware. After a second, a young boy with a life-size doll came into the room and sat down at the table. One of the other victims came in shortly after with a tray that held a glass of juice, an apple, and what smelled like a bowl of Kraft Mac and Cheese. The woman set the tray down in front of the boy and then silently moved back out of the room. It wasn’t the food that y/n was looking at, however, even if she did feel very, very hungry. What had her attention was the child-like “doll in the room.” As y/n kept looking at the item, she started for very much believe that the doll wasn’t a doll at all. Instead, she surmised that it was a child that had died and been turned into some kind of abhorrent plaything for the living boy in the room. y/n now knew what was going to happen to her. She was to become one of these things, like the other women in the room. She and the team had been wrong. The unsubs hadn’t had much experience; they’d had so much experience that they didn’t miss anymore, and she was to be their next collectible. 

Outside the funeral home, Rory was being taken back to the station for an interview. JJ and Spencer were going with the police, and the rest of the BAU stayed behind to process the scene the find y/n. But they wouldn’t find her here or in McAllen at all. But they weren’t to know that for a few hours yet. In the freezing interrogation room, Reid and JJ were playing good cop, bad cop with the supposed unsub. Even though Spencer didn’t look that intimidating, he could be very scary when he wanted to be, and he was doing a stellar job of that now. He wasn’t wasting any time trying to get y/n back. He slammed his hands against the hard table, making it and Rory jump as he shouted, “WHERE IS Y/N!” The man sat back, in p daze, and said, “Like I said, I’ve never heard or seen this woman before in my life.” Reid huffed and let JJ take a chance as the softer spoken liaison moved forward and asked, “Fine, you’ve never heard of agent y/l/n, but you have heard and seen Gillian Kary as fast as last weekend ago. Why were you trying to get on her property unseen? That’s not normal.” The man flushed and muttered something under his breath before Spencer shot him a glare that could melt lava. Rory sighed and said in an ashamed voice, “We’re swingers. If the church ever found out I was sleeping with a married woman, it would be curtains for me, but it’s looking like it’s curtains for me already anyway. I might as well throw my spiritual reputation in with the kitchen sink, too.”

At this revelation, even Spencer couldn’t keep up his tough guy facade, and he said, “You’re a swinger, really?” The man nodded, not having noticed Spencer’s change in tone as he replied, “I didn’t think I’d like that kind of life, but ever since my wife died, I’ve been lonely. When Gillian told me she had an open relationship, how could I refuse?” JJ and Spencer looked at each other with shocked expressions, and Reid asked, “What evidence do you have of this affair, and are you having affairs with other women in the area?” Again, Rory nodded, defeated as he laid out the complicated details of his personal life. It was like listening to a novella. When the interrogation was finished, Spencer called the team to give them the update and see if they’d found anything yet, though at this point he doubted it. There was a tone of despair with him as he made the call. They were no closer to finding y/n than they had been four hours ago. 

It was three agonizing days later until the tip came in from one of the unsubs themselves that led the team to the horror that was the Castel house. Derek had picked up the tipline phone when it had started ringing, and right away, he knew this was different. The tone was frantic, desperate as the woman on the other end of the line said, “I know where your missing agent is. You have to come here, fast.” Morgan flagged the rest of the team as he put the women on speaker and hit the record button. Derek cleared his throat and said, “Alright, stay calm. Where are you, and is the missing agent with you?” The woman said softly, “517, West Circle Dr. Hialgo, TX.  78692.” As soon as the address was given, Derek handed the phone off to an officer. Aaron already had the spot pulled up on GPS, and Garcia had transferred the phone to Spencer’s cell so he could still talk to the unsub as long as possible. Keep her distracted. 

In the vans, Reid asked, “Why call now? What has you so spooked that you want help from the FBI?” The woman on the other end of the line took a shaky breath and said, “My son wants me dead. I can’t die like those things. He’s wanted me dead for years. Please, please hurry. My husband can only keep Jimmy distracted for so long.” Spence cared less about that than getting to y/n, but it was keeping him distracted. The addition of who might be a third unsub was surprising, but he kept his calm. That calm didn’t remain as the vans finally screeched to a halt in front of the unsub's idyllic-looking home. There were police choppers in the air, and the whole team, plus a squad of officers, got out. Even before Rossi could get on the megaphone, a woman came out of the main house with her hands up, along with a boy and what looked like his father from another smaller structure. The child, upon seeing his mother, ran and began kicking, screaming, and clawing at her chest and face. He did so hard enough to draw blood from the woman’s cheek. The mother figure tried to fight off the boy, but she didn’t have to as a police officer pulled the child away from the woman. Right after she was cuffed and the older man was as well. Spencer, who was standing next to Derek, demanded of the woman, “Where are your victims. Where! Are! They!” The woman looked shocked but nodded her head toward the small house. Reid didn’t take any time to wait, or think, or do anything else but run to the little home and burst open the door to look for y/n. 

Thankfully, there was no bobby trap or deception, a he hardly noticed the other women who hadn’t moved much, even though there seemed to be chaos outside. In the central room, Reid found y/n. She was standing by the wall and looking out the window with no apparent response. Her mask was still on, and she was wearing a pristine maid outfit. Her left hand clung to a medical stand that had an IV attached. Spencer noticed it going into her arm, and he found this distressing. But what was most distressing was that y/n didn’t seem to notice him at all, even as he got close and called her name; there was no response. When Aaron and Emily entered the room and took in everything else, she still just stood stock still, not saying or moving at all. The only thing y/n seemed interested in doing was looking out the window with a distant gaze. 

In an attempt to get y/n to feel more comfortable, Spencer gently moved his hands up to her mask to remove it, but as soon as he attempted to pry it from her face, a horrifying realization hit him. The mask had been glued directly to her skin. There were breathing holes for her mouth and nose, and blank spots for her eyes, but the rest of her face was fully covered. It explained the need for an IV, but not what Reid could do to remove the mask. He turned to Aaron, mouth agape as he said in a whisper, “She needs 9-1-1.” Hotch nodded and replied, “They’re already on their way. ETA five minutes.” Aaron looked just as horrified as Spencer did, perhaps for different reasons, but Reid couldn’t look at his boss's face any longer like that. He turned back to y/n, who was back at the window looking out again, like it was her job. Even though it was against protocol, Reid took a chair from the side of the room and placed it behind y/n. He gently touched her hand and said, “Hey, y/n. It’s Spencer, why don’t you try and sit down for a minute? You must be tired standing like that all the time.” There was only silence, and when Reid gently pushed y/n into the seat of the chair, she only stayed for half a second before she was standing again. With nothing left to do but wait, Reid just stood by y/n, hoping in some way he could offer her some support, even if she didn’t know it was him, which was increasingly becoming a possibility. 

The next day, Spencer was waiting for news from the hospital, and Rossi and Emily were with the female unsub to get her story. The woman looked defeated; she’d already agreed to tell everything for a lighter sentence. Rossi was leaning forward on the table and said, “So you’re telling me your oldest son, Jimmy, he’s the one behind all this. Forgive me if I don’t believe you that a twelve-year-old boy captured and turned ten adult women into some kind of doll.” The unsub sighed and said, “If he could, he would. He’s always been a cruel boy. He had a hard birth, maybe that started it all off wrong.” Emily frowned and said, “Forget about the birth. Get to the part where you start kidnapping women.” The other woman flinched and said, “It was after I had my second son. Jimmy hung around his father in that workshop. All those chemicals and cutting animals open to preserve them. I think he… he got ideas. When Ben was five, Jimmy, he.” It didn’t seem like the woman would be able to finish the sentence, but Em slammed her hands on the table, saying, “What did Jimmy do?” Tears were streaming down the woman’s face as she said, “He cut up Ben and tried to stuff him in his father's workshop. My husband found him and… couldn’t bear it, so he finished the job. Jimmy liked the idea, he wanted to do me next, so we’ve been finishing substitutes, you know. I’m still his mother, he needs me.” Rossi wasn’t impressed and he asked, “Do you really think the courts will forgive you because you tortured women into becoming playthings for your son. Just because you didn’t kill them didn’t mean you haven’t destroyed their lives. I hope you get the sentence that you deserve, and I hope you remember their faces every day of your life, however long it is.” With that, the pair left the room. They had what they needed, and a story that would keep them up for days as well. 

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Spencer, Aaron, and JJ waited for information about y/n. It felt like hours because it was hours before a doctor came and called the small group back to the hallway near the entrance to the emergency room. There was a bustle of activity near the swinging doors. The man looked weary as he said, “Ms. y/l/n is as stable as she can be at the moment. She hasn't been woken since her surgeries, but my guess will be that she will be fully unresponsive to stimuli, as you’ve stated she was before arriving at the hospital. Apart from the uncertainty of her mental state, it was necessary to stabilize her. She was malnourished and needed treatment for severe burns on her side. It seems she was electrocuted multiple times in the same spot, which resulted in needed treatment of the skin treatment. There was a long pause before the man said the worst of it. “As for the mask removal, it was possible, but latex glue was used, and that is highly corrosive to human skin. Removing i,t unfortunately, only worsens the condition of the dermis. Most of Ms. y/n’s facial skin has been removed. The team is looking at starting a skin graft, but we need to let the patient stabilize first. Her recovery, whatever it might be, will be long and painful. She won’t be the same once she wakes, I’m afraid. 

The team took in the information with varying responses. JJ looked like she was going to be sick. Aaron was as stoic as ever, and Spencer gritted his teeth so hard that he could have ground diamond with them. After a few deep breaths, Reid asked, “Can I sit with her?” Hotch almost said something, but stopped himself, his telling Spencer it would make no difference wouldn’t help the situation any. The doctor hesitated but nodded, and he and Reid walked back to the room together. Aaron was about to call the rest of the team and give them an update, but JJ stopped him before he could, saying, “Spence won’t be the same either. You know that, right?” Aaron didn’t have to say anything as he gave a stiff nod and then walked off to make the call to Rossi. 

In y/n’s room, Spencer sat close enough to touch y/n. He looked at her face, which was almost fully wrapped in medical gauze. No one was there to see Reid cry, sobbing into his own shoulder. He whispered to an unconscious y/n, “I’m going to fix this, I promise,” but deep down inside, Reid knew y/n, his y/n was gone forever. She would always be someone else’s doll. 

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