#but Ani is a bajillion times better

[winnie1emon]

✧.* what happens after mattheo finds his sweet bsf moping after a bad date..?

bsf!mattheo x angel!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx 2.2k

cw: MDNI!!, smut, bsf!mattheo, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, finger sucking(?), lots of praise, mattheo is maybe kind of a perv idk lol, p link in the middle

a/n: sorry it took me a bajillion years to do this... sleep schedule is in the works :( + requests are open :3

Mattheo quickly flipped over the muggle Playboy magazine he had gotten his hands on the previous summer and fumbled with his zipper as he heard his dorm door swing open. Needn't to turn around as he recognized the familiar sound of your heels clicking across his floor as you kicked them off and slumped onto his bed, he clumsily shoved his small collection of magazines into his drawer.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "How was your date, he ugly?" He did not bother to turn around and face you, adamant about not showing you his flushed face.

Truth be told, your "date" was terrible. You had waited at the Three Broomsticks for hours, garnering pitying looks from Madam Rosmerta while you awkwardly stirred an on-the-house butterbeer, waiting for your blind date to arrive.

"Bad..." you managed to mutter, your voice trembling slightly. You had begun suffocating as your face was planted on one of his pillows, raising your head up for air and seeing the tear stains you left on the pillowcase.

Slightly surprised, he furrowed his brows, turning around his chair to get a full view of you, sulking, face-first on his bed. "Why? What happened?" he questioned.

"Didn't even show," you sniffled out, not looking up.

Concern washed over his face as he got up, readjusting his pants for the second time, before sitting gently beside you. He placed a palm on your shoulder, pushing slightly to get a view of you. You didn't resist, turning your body around, and giving him a clear look at you.

His heart ached at the sight of you; your dried-up tears, the red hue in your eyes, and the remnants of tears clinging onto your bottom lashes.

Mattheo brought his thumb to your face, swiping away at your cheek. "He didn't?" he asked softly. He meant to sound comforting and understanding, but his voice had a subtle tone of hope that you didn't catch over your small hiccup.

You shut your eyes, feeling new tears form as he pulled you up off your back, allowing you to sit against his headboard. Kicking off his slippers, he brought his feet onto the bed and sat beside you, placing your head on his shoulder with his arm slung over yours.

You both stayed in that position, silent, for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was something familiar to make you feel better. Mattheo fidgeted with his sheets with his free arm and you felt most of the tears come to a stop. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you turned towards him.

"You're a guy right?" you asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

You stifled a small giggle before resuming your more solemn mood. "Do y'know why he wouldn't come?" you asked tentatively. Met with silence and his gaze set straight ahead, you prodded, "Like... think he saw me and left?"

"No. No way."

Mattheo had answered you quickly, even surprising you. You had expected a teasing yeah or a reluctant no from him, but he seemed dead serious. It wasn't like Mattheo was rude to you, merlin, you were probably the one person he was the nicest to, but he'd usually never pass up on an easy opportunity to make a joke.

Moving closer beside him, you peered curiously at his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm, but there wasn't any. "Really?"

The sight of your doubting eyes, the slight quiver in your lips, and the feel of your body pressed against his arm as you sat on his bed was all too much for Mattheo to handle. He wanted to scoop you up and mumble reassurances into your ears, but a part of him that he so desperately wanted to push away, wanted to fuck you senseless and show you how serious he really was.

Fuck. He knew it was wrong to feel this way when you sought comfort from him and nothing more, but he could hardly suppress his thoughts. Not when you stumbled into his room as he was about to relieve himself-- especially not in the strapless dress you wore for your date.

"Mm, yeah," he barely got out. "You're... beautiful."

You hummed appreciatively, feeling an unfamiliar blush creep up your face. Mattheo was your friend, and he had complimented you a few times before, but this was strangely... intimate. Grateful for him, you let your head sink past his shoulder and onto his chest and allowed one of your hands to play around with the material of his shirt, the soft cotton rubbing against your fingertips.

Tracing patterns on his shirt, his toned torso underneath; so close to your touch, you allowed yourself to be mesmerized while drawing swirls and stars on his shirt until you felt his body go taut and he cleared his throat.

"Oh-- sorry," you said sheepishly, retracting your hand. You sat back up, having your head properly rested against the headboard.

"No, don't be," Mattheo said. "I'm just, just a bit out of it right now," he told you, turning to face you.

"Yeah..." you noted. "You look a bit flush." You examined his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy hue and a very tiny bead of sweat on his forehead. You pushed yourself off the headboard, sitting straight up on the bed and your eyes wandered over him. "Are you," you began to ask in concern before your heart leaped into your throat from the sight of his very obvious boner. "...okay?" you finished, swallowing thickly.

"Don't even worry 'bout me," Mattheo shrugged off, oblivious to your wandering eyes. "Feeling better now?" he asked you, your tears from earlier no longer apparent.

Your brain still short circuiting from the sight of his boner, you paused before snapping back into reality.

"I-- uh, I don't know..." you said biting your lip. "I was really excited to go, but I guess he wasn't."

Mattheo searched for the words to say before you spoke again.

"Maybe I got the date wrong. Oo, oh! Maybe the place wrong?" you tried to convince yourself. "Merlin, who am I kidding? He saw me and decided not to show," you groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress, I was kind of doubting buying it when I was at the store and-" you rambled before being cut off by a cool hand on your chin turning your head around.

"Hey- what are you doing?" you smiled sheepishly, caught off guard.

"Stop talking about yourself like that. You know it's not true."

You chortled, confusion etched onto your features, but nothing on his face resembled a joke.

"Stop joking, I'm actually sad," you finally drawled.

"M'not joking," he said. Before you could retort, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss.

Your mind clouded for a brief moment before you began to kiss him back.

For such a seemingly rough guy, his lips were soft and welcoming. You could go days without pulling away, your hands running up his back as he cupped your face. Kissing him felt natural, something that you didn't have to work very hard to do.

You let your body take over and kiss him without worry and he seemed to do the same as he slipped his tongue in, taking you by surprise.

Knowing he already crossed a line by kissing his best friend, Mattheo couldn't hold back the amount of arousal coursing through him at the moment. Without thinking, he allowed a hand to trail down from your face, feeling the lines of your waist until it found your thigh. Pushing the blue silk dress upwards, his hand rested on your ass.

Not protesting at all, you leaned closer, with his hands beginning to guide you onto his lap. You both sunk on the bed, having you straddle him. The cool air hit your bare skin as he brought your dress even upper, the dress folding inside out on your waist. His hands ran up and down your ass, stroking the lace of your underwear.

He slipped his hand underneath the material, feeling the skin of his palms on your unclothed ass, groping and grabbing blindly. You continued to kiss him, resting on top of him warmly until you felt his hand ghost over your bare folds causing you to pull away from the kiss and elicit a moan.

You looked at him curiously, parting your lips before he asked, "Can I?"

Before you could contemplate, your body was already deciding as you immediately nodded up and down. His fingers trailed lightly on the outside of your slick cunt and you could hear him murmur to himself but the sound was blocked out of your ears as your mind was clouded with thrill.

Burying your head beside his head and into his pillows, you let out a shrill whimper as you felt him insert one finger. Slowly, he pumped it in and out of your cunt, slowly increasing in speed.

Entering another finger, your whimpers grew into moans and he turned to look at your heated face.

"Fuck, you're cute."

Unable to respond, you attempted to give him a sheepish smile that sent him over the edge.

His fingers pumped in and out of you with uncontrollable fervor, your fluids coating his fingers as you leaked out. You writhed around on top of him, small squeals escaping your lips as you felt your orgasm near.

"M-Matt..." you mewled. "I'm gonna-"

"Shh, shh," he said, bringing his free hand to caress your head. "You can come. Come on my fingers for me." He buried his fingers deep inside, curling them slightly as he found your g-spot.

No longer able to contain yourself, you let your orgasm happen, your cunt tightening over his fingers. Panting, your body went limp which gave him time to flip you over so you were below him.

Watching the look you sported as your orgasm washed over you, the way you were beneath him, and how your lips were swollen from your previous make out, Mattheo could've sworn he was going to come right in his pants.

Wasting no time, he pulled down his pants, boxers following, allowing his cock to spring out, the tip already leaky with precum.

Pulling down your soaked underwear, he positioned himself between your legs. He pushed in slowly, each agonizing second torturing you as you desperately wanted him.

He rocked his hips and you had expected him to go slowly like he did with his fingers, but he quickly set a pace, hardly waiting for you to adjust.

The world felt unreal to you, having your best friend's cock inside of you when just moments before you were moping about some mystery guy...

Mattheo tugged down the top of your dress, the lack of straps allowing your tits to pool out. Fondling greedily, he couldn't even contain himself.

"Can't believe he lost this before even getting it," he groaned under his breath. "Fucking clown."

Unable to get a word out through your whimpers and mewls, all you could do was blush bashfully at his words.

He brought his hand to cup your jaw, slipping his thumb into your mouth. Teasing, he pulled his thumb to the edge of your mouth, contorting your lips as he laughed to himself. "You look adorable."

He continued to tease, finding the faces you made amusing as he continued to use his cock to kiss your cervix. You were about to unravel again, your cunt gripping onto his cock as your cries grew louder, your hands scratching his arms. "Gonna come?" he asked. You nodded quickly, a sign for him to slow down.

"Are you?" you asked tentatively.

"Not yet. Wanna savor my time with my favorite girl," he cooed, leaning into your ear.

Your surprise couldn't last long as you came for a second time, your face scrunching up. You breathed heavily, still allowing your body to process while Mattheo took the time to pull out and turn you around, your knees sinking on the bed.

Mattheo wanted to frame that moment right there and then. Capturing the sight of you; back arched down, ass up in the air practically inviting him inside your glossy cunt, face buried into the sheets.

"I hope you're forgetting about that guy. I would throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if I skimped out on a date only to find out it was with you."

Entering once more, he threw his head back before letting out moans of his own. Unlike during missionary, he went in patiently, admiring the view of his cock sliding in and out of your folds.

"I'm going to come just looking at you like this, I swear. Want me to? Want me to come inside?"

"Y-yes!" you managed to sputter out. "Please..."

"The day I say no to you; just know I'm under the imperius curse." And with that, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside to coat your walls. "Shit..."

He pulled out, leaning down to watch the remnants of his arousal seep out of you. He pulled you upwards to sit on your knees on his bed before hugging you by the head, caressing you with his hands roving your body.

"Bet you're glad he didn't show now, huh?" he joked gloatingly.

"Yeah."

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

[lushlovers]

frat joe with drunken confessions definitely !!!!

Drunk Promises, J Burrow

summary; joe being absolutely gone and rambling about things he shouldn't.

warnings; swearing, kisses, mentions of drinking, drunken rambling

word count; 700 something

note; i'm so bored and tired but i can't sleep so i decided to fulfill this request while i have some downtime:)) also hey?? Its been like a million years, more frat joe coming soon;)!

The porch is spinning and Joe swears he sees three different door knobs after he's struggled with only you to help him drag his heavy limbs around. He attempts to reach for one of them but misses, swishing his hand around before he finds it to unlock and shove the door open. You mumble every swear that comes to mind when it slams into the rubber stopper on the wall, surely waking up everyone in the house and a few houses down, "Welcome to my humble abode, gorgeous," he smirks, stumbling into the wall, trying to play off the fact that he nearly fell over by leaning on it with arms crossed over his broad chest.

When your eyes meet him, his brows raise playfully. At this point it's taking everything out of you not to bust out laughing at his advancements, he's not one for compliments unless he's high as hell or drunk out of his mind, "I've been here more times than I can count, but thank you," you shake your head as you unstrapped your heels, leaving them to rest on the shoe rack.

After he'd struggled as much coming up the front steps, you're thanking God he chose the bedroom on the ground floor rather than up or downstairs. "To my bed then," he asks hopeful as all hell and you nod, taking his hands and leading him straight to his bed. He falls back onto it slowly scooting himself toward the headboard.

Quickly you bolt to the kitchen in search of hangover relief and some water before he gets any stupid ideas whilst left alone. Upon your return, you're greeted by a shirtless Joe who's struggling to get his jeans from around his ankles. Shaking your head for the thousandth time, you tug them off, discarding them in the hamper in the closet. "Eager for me?" You scoff at the ever-deepening of his voice and allow him to unzip your dress.

When his hands swiftly push the fabric from your shoulder, "Not tonight, Joey. Why don't you get some sleep" you step back and he continues attempting to pull you back into him. Joe watches intently as you find one of his LSU shirts folded atop his dresser, give it a smell test, and climb into bed beside him.

"Pathetic excuse for panties," he mumbles through hiccups, using his index finger to snap the elastic against the meat of your hip. You roll your eyes and as you inch away from him his arms wrap even tighter around you, keeping you plastered into him. He grinds his hard-on into the back of your thigh holding onto your hips moving you only where he sees fit.

"Sleep, Joseph," you murmur against his pillows but of course, he's relentless with his wet, sloppy neck kisses. This time you sit completely in bed, snatch the pillows from behind your head and throw them onto the floor. You fumble in the dark for the throw blankets at the foot of his bed, once you've found them you make your spot on the floor, but before you even put the pillows into position he's mumbling and hiccupping through protests.

"mmmm, baby noo, get up here with me. I sleep a bajillion times better with your body next to mine," when you meet his eyes they're glazed over, almost like he wants to cry but is fighting it with every fiber of his being. You're quite shocked, never has this man ever cried in your presence and for that to happen right here, right now, wouldn't shock you with the way he's been acting since his third drink. "And you're drunk, I don't want you to do or say something you'll regret, honey."

He's melting internally at your use of that sweet little nickname you love to use when he's been drinking, "I'll be quiet about all that, mama, I promise" You sigh, and give in as soon as a pout begins to show itself on his pretty, perfect face, picking up your stuff off the floor just as fast as you had put them down. Before you're even back into his bed, he's giggling and scooting over to leave much more space than you need to keep his promise.

[cheriecoke]

hi rylie!! thank you sm for the recs! and since you said your inbox is open …

could i maybe request a fic where nanami proposes to you? like a spur of the moment thing where it’s not really the “right time” but he just springs out the question bc he wants you forever 🥹😮‍💨

thank you a bajillion! <3

my everything

FEATURING: nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: after nanami remembers how short life can be, he realizes he wants to spend the rest of his with you.

CONTENTS: takes place during jjk 0, slight angst per usual, marriage proposals, sorcerer!reader, nanami's pov, happy ending

note: thank you for this sweet request!! i kind of took it and ran w it, but this was so much fun to write :) i hope you enjoy lovely!! <;33

Kento couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid.

The gnawing feeling of dread was as heavy as the ring in his pocket, the one that he now regretted hanging onto for so long. Shinjuku streets were drenched in the blood of so many curses, humans, and sorcerers and it sickened him, reminded him that life could be cut short at any moment. There was a reason that he’d quit Jujutsu so many years ago, and he started to wonder if he’d made the right decision in coming back.

Kento sorted through the bodies, scanned the mangled corpses for any sign of your familiar face. He never spotted you, but he wasn’t certain if it was a relief that you were nowhere to be found.

Satoru stood at the edge of the street, his forehead lined with sweat, the pale bandages falling away from his icy eyes. Briefly, he dropped the façade that always lingered, and it was obvious how tired he was. How much everything had beaten him down in the last decade and refused to let up.

In that moment, Kento felt sorry for him. Then, Satoru resumed his usual air of arrogance, straightened his back, and the natural balance fell between them once more.

In just a few strides, Kento was upon him, his hair unruly, shirt wrinkled as the tie remained still crumpled around his hand. His muscles ached and he longed for a shower—though any of those trivial thoughts were outweighed by his incessant need to find you.

“Where is she?” The words hung in the air before Kento realized they’d left his lips at all.

Satoru hesitated, almost unwilling to hand over his confession so easily. “I sent her back to the school.”

Kento clenched his fists, but Satoru was defending himself before any irrational actions could be taken.

“She insisted, Nanami.”

Still, he couldn’t help but wish that Satoru had ignored your pleas, even if Kento was unsurprised that you’d volunteered to stand by the students’ side. You weren’t the type of person to let a few first and second years go up against a special grade on their own, no matter how strong they were.

Satoru was squeezing Kento’s shoulder before he had even noticed the movement. Something in his expression had darkened, and though Kento normally would’ve shoved him off, put some distance between the two of them, he wasn’t sure he could remember a time when Satoru Gojo looked so somber. “I wouldn’t have sent them there if I wasn’t certain they’d be alright. I’m not as cruel as you might think.”

Kento knew that he had never behaved warmly towards his ex-classmate, but his opinion of the man was not as low as Satoru believed. For better or worse, Satoru loved his students, and though he pushed them, Kento knew he would never put them into an undefeatable danger.

He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest as Satoru’s hand fell away from his shoulder. “Just take me to her, Gojo.”

Satoru nodded, his lips curling down into a frown before he was teleporting them both back to the high school. There, the sight was even more dismal than Kento had expected. Many of the buildings had been destroyed and there were clear residuals from many sorcerers and curses. It was chaos, a grim sight to behold, and they weren’t even past the gate.

The anxiety twisted up in his chest, and inwardly, he prayed, hopeful that you were as fine as Satoru believed. That Geto, in every inch of his darkened heart, would hesitate when it came to killing an old friend.

“Hey,” Satoru said, tying up the blindfold once more, tightening it across his snowy hair. “She’s fine. This, I’m certain of.”

Kento’s lips were too dry to even offer a thank you, even though Satoru probably deserved it, for all the sacrifices he made, all the time. Instead, he nodded, and turned away from the tall man, haunted by a memory of him once as young as the students that had been left behind to protect humanity.

The leaves and gravel crunched under Kento’s feet as he ran up to the school, taking in the sheer destruction that had befallen the place he’d once called home. It made him ache with a longing for a simpler time, even though he could never go back, and the boy he’d been was long gone.

It was a brisk night—the kind of night that you normally would’ve spent bundled up inside, a bowl of hot soup between you, a movie running while you rested your head against Kento’s shoulder, dozing off before the credits rolled.

That’s how his night should’ve gone. Instead, he was searching every crushed piece of building, every pile of rubble in case your body had been caught between it.

Kento knew that the life of a sorcerer was a miserable one, that it was easy to lose the people you cared about, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to go on for much longer if he lost you.

The ring was even heavier in his pocket, weighing him down, making it near impossible to move. If you hadn’t survived, Kento would never forgive himself for waiting so long to propose.

He called your name, ripping off his glasses in any attempt to see you better, wondering where you could’ve disappeared to, hoping that you hadn’t died alone.

The grounds, it seemed, had been hollowed out completely, and for the first time, Kento wondered if Gojo was wrong about his old friend.

Panic clawed up his chest, scratching at his throat, sending him into an illogical spiral before a small, shaky voice from behind him brought him back to reality, a light that parted through the black night, so sweet and heavenly to his ears.

“Kento?”

He turned, blinked as you swayed on your feet, making your way slowly down the steps of the main building. You walked awkwardly on your ankle, though you pushed on, heading towards him despite the pain.

For a moment, he watched, and then he was upon you without even acknowledging his movements, two long strides that brought him back to his salvation.

Kento pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the undeniable truth that you were still alive, even as you winced from his stronghold, your arms limp at your sides.

“Fuck,” Kento said, kissing you on the top of the head, your hairline, forehead. His eyes were glossy with tears that had been held back by his remaining shreds of hope. “You scared me there for a second, sweetheart.”

Your hands were on his chest, tracing his bicep before you curled your fingers around his jaw, bringing his gaze to your own. The touch was light, searching for any wounds that hid under his stained button-up. “I’m okay,” you said, softly, even though your face was bruised, your ankle twisted, and you were bleeding from more places than one. “Are you?”

Kento nearly laughed, wondering how you could even think to ask that question when he was untouched compared to you. Though, the amusement died immediately when you looked at him with so much concern that he melted, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance. “I’m okay.”

You nodded, expression serious as you attempted to ingrain the words into your mind, convince yourself that everything would be alright, even though things hadn’t been that way in nearly a decade. You kept your hands on him, as if waiting for some wounds to appear, for him to start bleeding into your palm, even though his injuries went no further than some sore muscles.

“And everyone else?”

Kento pulled you into his chest, running a hand up and down your back, wishing that he could heal you as easily as Shoko could, that a gentle touch could fix everything that had ever soiled your life. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, and as far as he knew, that was true. “A little beat up, but they’re alive.”

You exhaled, nodding into his chest as you rested your weight on him.

Kento would gladly bear it, would carry you all the way home if need be.

Briefly, you were silent, before you squeezed your eyes shut painfully and grimaced. “I got the students to Shoko, but they were all so hurt, so badly,” you swallowed, digging your fingers into his shirt, and Kento suddenly hated that Satoru hadn’t sent him with you, even if he was needed in the city. “Geto—”

You stopped yourself, and said nothing more, heartbroken by a boy you had too many fond memories of to ever see in a malicious light. It was difficult for everyone who’d ever known him back then, even if he hadn’t been that way in a decade.

Kento swallowed and you pushed away your tears, buried whatever conversation had transpired earlier between you and the dark-haired sorcerer.

Though, you’d resolved to be everything that Geto was not. That, at least, had been one positive outcome of his betrayal. “It’s not your fault, love.”

“I should’ve been more prepared to kill him, Kento. I’m not as strong as him, but I should’ve been able to hold him off until Gojo—” You choked back a cry before standing straight, shaking your head. “I tried too hard to reason with him. I left it to a student, and—”

“Hey,” Kento held your cheeks tight in his palms, forcing you to gain a better perspective of the situation. You looked up at him with soft, lost eyes, and Kento was filled with a swell of adoration for you, for the strength that came with the vastness of your heart.

Despite all you’d suffered, you’d managed a smile, been the light in Kento’s life, even when he’d wanted to do nothing but wallow in his own misery. If not for you, he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve come back to being a sorcerer at all. If not for you, Kento would’ve been lost, without an ounce of meaning in his life.

You were so foolish for thinking you hadn’t done enough, when you’d done more for him than he could put into words. Kento’s love for you was enormous, and in that moment, he would’ve let the rest of the world collapse in on itself if it meant you’d be safe and happy.

“Any of us would’ve done the same. Do you really believe that Gojo would’ve so easily killed Geto without speaking to him first? Would I have?”

The look didn’t dissipate from your irises, but you didn’t disagree with him, and that was enough. Kento kissed you, deeply, putting every ounce of affection into that single touch. Everyone had made it out of the night alive, and you’d been there for the students when it mattered the most. That was more than he could say, at least.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else, Kento,” you said, blinking at him once more with those sad eyes, ones that he never wanted to see on your normally bright expression. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, even though he knew that there was no way he could keep it, an oath that was almost destined to be broken. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You and I both know that you can’t be sure of that,” you said, backing out of his embrace to wrap a protective arm around yourself. The smile that graced your lips was sad, defeated. “Our world is not merciful enough.”

Kento knew that better than anyone, and he’d been reminded of it that evening. Reminded of the loss that befell those who wanted to fight for a better world, and even those who didn’t. Death didn’t give any warning, didn’t choose based off anything more than a random draw. “Then I’ll promise to love you until the day I die. That, at least, is a vow I won’t ever break.”

The ring in his pocket was practically vibrating now, reminding him how little the non-necessities of life mattered to him. All this time, he been waiting for the perfect moment, to plan everything down to the very last detail.

It seemed meaningless now.

You squeezed his hand, your face brightening despite your sorrow, lips tugging up sideways. “I can promise the same.” Kento’s heart swelled, and you kissed his cheek before dragging him a few steps forward so the two of you were walking in time together. “We should go check on the students. I want Shoko to check my ankle too. I’ve suffered worse, but it’s starting to swell pretty badly.”

Kento nodded, though his mind was too busy whirling with fears of a wedding that might never happen, that you might never know he was going to propose if he didn’t do it soon. You could be snatched away from him at any moment, or perhaps, he could leave this world with the ring still in his pocket, and you’d only know once you found it on his corpse.

Kento wouldn’t forgive himself, even in death, if he didn’t do what he’d been wanting to do for months.

With one arm around your shoulder, he reached the other into his pocket, twirling the box. He wasn’t even sure why he carried it with him that night when he could’ve so easily lost it in the middle of battle.

Yet, there it was, lingering, the constant weight in his pocket that rested against his hip. He swallowed, and you looked up at him, your lips falling back once more into a frown.

“Hey,” you said, slowing your pace, concern evident in your expression. “Is something wrong? Did something happen in Shinjuku, Kento? I didn’t mean to just brush off—”

Kento shook his head, shushing you quickly. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind, and he wrapped the tiny box up in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head again before holding the box out, presenting it to you calmly, without any spike in his normal tone. “I just was thinking about how I was going to ask you to marry me.”

You stopped completely, your pupils blown wide as you took the box from him with shaky hands, blinking back down at it before meeting his tender brown eyes. “Kento?” you said again, calmly, as if waiting for him to explain.

A beat of silence passed between you. Kento, suddenly, felt nervous around you for the first time in a long while.

“Truthfully, I was going to prepare a long-winded speech and buy you some flowers and take you out for dinner. But,” he cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he flipped the lid of the velvety box, revealing the sparkling ring he’d spend hours searching for. “I love you too much to waste any more time. Somehow, until tonight, I’d forgotten how short life can be. I just want to spend every moment I can as your husband.”

Your eyes became glossy as you stared down at the beautiful gem, lifting the ring out of the box to slide onto your finger. As expected, it fit you perfectly, shimmering in the pale light, the perfect complement to your skin. Kento gently took your hand, kissing the knuckle right below the jewelry.

“I’ll propose again to you properly,” he said, laughing quietly, though if it was because of your silence or the joy lodged within him, he couldn’t be certain. “Without all the blood and the—"

“Kento.” Your lips were on his before he could finish his sentence, harsh and passionate despite your injuries. Fingers curled around his chin, holding him into place, making him forget all the horrors that had occurred that evening. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a grandiose display to know I want to be with you forever. I love you too much.”

Kento’s chest warmed, that bundle of affection within him bursting, making its way through every ounce of his being. There, you seemed to glow brighter, every day making you more beautiful than before, and he wondered how it could be possible that he could feel so much for one person.

He relaxed, unknowingly tense, and kissed you again on the forehead, his arms around your shoulder once more. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

You smiled and caressed the harsh bones of his cheeks, shaking your head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” You laughed, pulling him down by the tie, pressing a kiss between his brows to ease the wrinkle there. “Besides, now you’ve turned this awful night into something special. I don’t have to remember this day with a bitter taste in my mouth.”

Kento returned your smile, but it was still weak, even with all of the adoration he felt for you.

Though, when you beamed at the ring, your eyes soft, all of the previous despair gone, he knew that everything would be alright. Perhaps his timing had been less than ideal, but he would do it over and over again if only to ease away the misery from your face.

“So, then you will marry me?” he said again, wanting to hear the words from your lips, even though there was no doubt in his mind.

You rolled your eyes playfully, noticing his teasing smile and indulged him. “Yes, Kento.” You kissed his cheek, letting out a sharp exhale. “I’ll marry you. I would’ve always said yes, even back when we were silly, lovesick teenagers.” You sighed theatrically, adjusting his tie. “Who knows why. You had such a ridiculous haircut back then.”

Kento’s cheeks grew warm, splitting with the force of his smile, one that only seemed to appear with you at his side. Despite all of the horrible things that had happened in all of your lives, he was grateful that there were good moments too.

“Well, I still managed to win over the prettiest girl in the world, didn’t I?” he said, ghosting the words as he laced his fingers with your own, squeezing tight. “Now I get to call her my fiancée.”

You mumbled something less than kind under your breath, but Kento could feel the warmth on your cheeks, the flush the began from your neck.

He laughed, continuing his path back to the infirmary, where the students were likely waiting for you to return safe and sound. “Come on, I’m taking you to see Shoko. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s injuries to get any worse, would I?”

And though the both of you knew your injuries were minimal, your eyes brightened as the skin around them wrinkled, and Kento knew that whatever happened after this, he would live and die a happy man.

[queermania]

I think the reason jensen “can’t win” when it comes to destiel is his own fault. Like people are justified to be a little weary of jensen comments on destiel because of his past comments and remarks. Obviously it was a while ago but you can’t expect people to take what you say in good faith when you never had any before

not to be an asshole but this sounds like a bit of a skill issue. if you think one or two comments made years ago hold more weight than everything he's said and done in the time since, then i don't know what to tell you. i'm certainly not going to tell you that you have to get over something that hurt you (and i really do get why people are hurt by some of the things he's said and i'm not going to defend those things), but i am going to say that if you sincerely can't get past it, then you might need to move on from supernatural in general, because it doesn't seem like you're having any fun now and it seems unlikely that you will have any in the future.

because here's the thing: i do think you can expect people to take what you say in good faith when you've been acting in good faith for years now.

and he has been! he's been doing things like talking about how the more affectionate and/or emotional ways he plays dean specifically with cas get cut, talking with glee about the handprint, sending reaction videos to the confession back and forth between him and misha, liking tweets related specifically to the confession, complimenting misha's performance, calling dean's monologue in the trap his "confession," wanting to have the confession in despair filmed on his phone, being most excited for dean's storyline with cas in the last season, saying that dean should have told cas he loved him too, saying dean's biggest regret is that he couldn't save cas, creating a production company with a mission statement about diversity and then actually delivering on that, talking positively about a destiel reunion and how he wants to see that, the bajillion reports about how happy he is to sign destiel/queer dean fanart and do destiel/queer dean photo ops, etc.

the fact that he's even expressly acknowledged that he didn't handle everything perfectly in the past and is clearly trying to do better.

like, at a certain point if you are not taking what he says in good faith, it actually is on you. it's a choice you've made.

[covenha]

Synopsis: Seonghwa watches Hongjoong crash and burn and decides to revisit a good ole tactic to help his buddy out. This is a two-part spin off of the simp!verse. Pairings: nerd!hongjoong x fem!reader Genre: crack, technically angst?? but it gets better in the next part I swear, fluff honestly god bless hongjoong's heart Warnings: none that I can think of tbh but if i missed anything please lmk! WC: 808 a/n: I am finally back and this is my proof of life. had a bajillion exams and things to study for so I took an unintended hiatus but I finally have time since it's christmas break and I am so excited to be extending the ateez simpverse! as always, none of the characters' behaviors in this fic represent their personalities in real life. and reblogs and feedbacks are always deeply appreciated and keep me motivated to write these things so they are highly encouraged :))

Nerd!joong takes a long look at himself in the mirror, he’s sporting a brand new letterman jacket over his simple blue jeans and white t-shirt. He looked put together. So why was he so nervous today? 

Well, it’s a bit of a long story. You see, today was not just any ordinary weekday for Hongjoong. Today, he will finally muster up the courage to talk to a girl he’s had the fattest crush on since he first laid his eyes on you in his introductory Philosophy class. 

With a jittery kick in his step. He gets ready for his commute to school, calling out to any deity out there for some good luck. 

“God, what’s got you so worked up today? If you shake any harder, you’ll be putting Mrs. Hong’s rose toy to shame.” Seonghwa points out his nervous body language. Hongjoong is staring at the entrance to the amphitheater with laser focus. He’s fidgeting with his fingers and his legs are bouncing up and down. 

“I’m just waiting for her to get here…” Hongjoong trails off, not daring to look away from the door for more than a few seconds. 

“So, you’re really going to go for it? I mean, from what I hear she can be a little cutthroat, Joong.” Seonghwa warns him, but his words shoot through his ear and out the opposite. 

There were rumors going around that you were not exactly all sunshine and rainbows. You seemingly had a neutral face plastered on your face, only showing a smile every now and then with your small circle of friends. Seonghwa would describe you as “such a scorpio” with your sharp gaze, almost resembling a black cat in a way. Jongho and Wooyoung had heard that you were quite blunt and straight to the point. And although there is nothing necessarily wrong with that, they feared it may be too much for Hongjoong’s heart. But alas, he was smitten with you. 

From the way you look so cute when you’re concentrating while taking notes, or how you tugged at your sleeves when the weather grew colder. So when you finally walk through those doors, his heart picks up its pace and his eyes widen. 

You looked beautiful today. Of course, you always looked beautiful to him. You settle down in your usual spot on the left side of the seats and he slowly makes his way towards you. He takes a deep breath as he nears your seat and then stops right where you are seated. 

“Can I help you?”, you ask him. 

He realizes he had been standing beside your seat for an uncomfortable while, merely just staring at you. Oh God, you probably thought he was a creep! Quick, do something. Compliment her! Girls like compliments right? 

“I like your scarf!” Hongjoong manages to blurt out, in spite of the massive brain fart going on inside of his head. Unfortunately, he says it a little bit too loud, causing people in the area to shift their focus to the both of you, making you want to shrink into your seat. In the distance, Seonghwa can be seen face-palming as he watches his friend crash and burn in real time. 

“.... thanks?” you mutter. 

“Uhm, I was wondering what your ideal type of guy is?” Hongjoong finally musters up the courage to say something with actual substance. This was the moment he had been waiting for. All those weeks of yearning, the longing glances at you in class, the sudden get-up with his outfit today. It all led to this moment where he finally has the courage to- 

“I like guys who don’t talk to me.” Your words put an abrupt stop to his train of thought. 

“Oh.” 

“Joong, it’s gonna be fine. There’s plenty of other people in the world! Maybe she just isn’t the one for you.” Seonghwa tries to reason out with a tipsy Hongjoong in their shared dorm room. 

“But she was gonna be my wiiiiiiiife!” he whines at his friend. 

“We were gonna raise some kitties with a cute little catio in the back of the house and, and, and I was going to cook her breakfast in the mornings and we were going to live happily ever after with our scorpio babies!” he rambles on, distraught at his planned future with you not going exactly to plan. 

“Hongjoong you guys are not married.” Seonghwa corrects his drunk friend. 

“We are in the sims!” He pouts. 

Seonghwa sighs. Hongjoong was deep into his feelings for you and confirmed Seonghwa’s deepest fears. Hongjoong was a simp. (On this blog we love simp!joong!!)

And as he stared at his forlorn simp of a best friend, he knew what he had to do. He had to consult the Reddit gods. He was going to use the power of manifestation. 

[doughguts-art]

What is your stance on the "Elsen is one guy who cloned himself a bajillion times" comment from the 15th anniversary livestream

My stance is that I respectfully disagree (for lack of a better term). Since “all elsens are clones of one person” wasn’t ever stated/explored in-game, I find it more fun to explore other Elsen origins for my projects instead. Mortis Ghost has also said in the past that people are welcome to play fast and loose with lore, and that’s what I was doing before I was ever introduced to the clone discussion. It’s easier for me to ignore that newer addition than to overhaul my original ideas, so that’s what I’m doing. I have no issue with people who decide to use that lore for their own works, but it doesn’t apply to mine.

With that being said, what’s MY lore for Elsen? For me, Elsens as we see them in-game are the result of 3 things:

Human’s evolution after the “apocalypse”. Elsens are what Humans are in the far future, as the lingering effects of the apocalypse (cough cough radiation) changed the very essence of what Humans are from the past.

Hugo’s influence as a “god” of this world. What we see is what Hugo specifically makes, so Elsens are the cartoony square-headed humanoids because that’s what we are made to perceive by Hugo.

The Batter’s/Protagonist’s perception. They all look the same because it is just easier for them to look the same. It is unnecessary for them to look any different than each other to the Batter, so we barely see any differences.

In my games, “Tiny Terror” and “Project GoldFinch”, the Elsen are more visually different than the original OFF’s because they are not filtered through the Batter’s practical lens. Non-important NPC Elsen are intended to have more variety, because they are supposed to be more individualized than what the Batter saw. Now I can’t say “everyone’s different” because I think I’d die if I had to make every NPC unique, but I’m trying to change up certain details so you’re not just talking to the same Elsen in a dress-shirt and tie.

“So, that’s how they look, but how are they made, if not cloning?” Glad you asked, I have a few explanations that usually (but not definitively) depend on which Zone they reside in!

The Zone’s Minimum Quota: Each Zone has an undefined number of Elsens that have to exist within it. There can always be more than the set number, and there usually is in any given Zone, but if a death of an Elsen would mean going under, then a fully adult Elsen will appear in another area once that death occurs. This new Elsen will have a basic knowledge of living, but will have to be taught to do specialized tasks. This is more common in Zone 3 than the other Zones, and it's the reason Enoch’s sugar industry has been sustained for so long.

Cloning (via the Big Elsen in the Room): YES OK I have a cloning piece of my lore too, but it’s not exactly what Mortis Ghost described, so I don’t count it as the same. This version of cloning is heavily inspired by tzalmavet’s idea of the Big Elsen. Sometimes normal-looking Elsens will grow and slough off of the Giant One (that I have dubbed Biggs for my story). Some of these Elsen are kept in the Room, but most are sent to the larger Zones. Unfortunately the ones that are sent away don’t survive for long outside of the Room because of genetic instability caused by leaving and the rapid mutations that results from it. All of the Elsen that come from Biggs are genetically the same despite any differing mutations, and consider themselves siblings. They can identify each other as such even if they are meeting for the first time.

Creations of the Guardians: Guardians can create Elsens if they choose to excerpt the massive amount of energy needed to make one. This was done mostly in the beginning of the Zones, before the Quota was established. It is very impractical to perform now that there are other easier ways Elsen can exist. The creation ritual requires “scaffolding” (usually made of plastic, metal, or meat), and a Guardian to infuse energy into it. The scaffolding + energy will create an Elsen with whatever features and knowledge the Guardian wishes to give them. Japhet was the Guardian who created Elsens using this method the most, which is why he considers the Elsen of Zone 2 his children (even if not all of the Elsen within the Zone are made by him anymore).

The Traditional Way: Elsens can just make other Elsens the same way Humans can make other Humans, though infertility rates are VERY high in most of the Zones. Zone 3 is pretty much completely infertile, it is very rare to see a child in Zone 1, and Zone 2 has the most children with enough to have a small school. Elsen babies grow and mature at the same rate as Humans do.

There are also miscellaneous "Special Cases". Some of my Elsens have unique origins separate from the ones I listed above, but I’d like to save the spoilers for my game to when it comes out, haha!

That's all for now, I hope you found my statement and lore explanation entertaining! I am excited to share more in the future.

[ilikekidsshows]

Thank you so much for pointing out how Marinette’s stalking is the correct narrative parallel to Chat’s sexual harassment. I find it so telling of Maribug stans when they avoid mentioning this to bring up her other flaws like being a bad leader, because it’s a way for them to pretend like even at her worst, she’s still “not as bad” as Chatdrien.

If we’re going to treat Chat’s overly flirtatious attitude as sexual harassment, then we damn sure better treat Marinette secretly following Adrien around as stalking. But of course, the fact that one is condemned and not the other is just pure bias. I can at least respect the fans who admit this, but the ones who pretend like they’re equally critical of both are so infuriating.

Personally, I was happy to write off their actions as just being romcom gags (you can tell just by looking at how many older iconic Hollywood romcoms engage in deeply toxic behavior when we examine them from that point) even after a retcon told us to actually take their behavior seriously. But as pointed out, only one party genuinely apologized for their behavior and corrected it, and that party is not Marinette.

So yet again, we end up with a case of stans wanting to hold other characters to higher standards than they’re willing to hold the literal lead of the show. I’d probably question if there was some underlying sexism in supporting how the narrative consistently enables Marinette’s victimhood, but that’s also just White Feminism 101.

---

I've seen the discourse loops Marinette stans rely on so many times that I've learned to spot them. Also, I'm pissed off enough to bring it up instead of politely ignoring it. Basically, after getting so many Marinette stans in my inbox whining about "double standards", I got wise to their ways.

The “sexual harasser Cat Noir” is the only card in their arsenal for this kind of discourse, so of course they’re going to pull it indiscriminately. It’s because the only defence for it really is “romance genre trope”, which basically amounts to “bad writing”, and, if they can get anyone criticising Marinette to admit other characters are written poorly, they can go “Gotcha! So everything Marinette ever does wrong ever that the story and writers defend is just bad writing too!” because, as long as they can create that false equivalence, they can shut down any criticism towards the main lead, never mind how these behaviors are not treated the same by the narrative or the writers to begin with. And, like, the worst thing about this false equivalence is that it’s so wide-spread that even people not just covering for Marinette buy into it, thinking they also can’t really criticize the way Marinette’s written specifically, because all characters are badly written to some degree in this show.

And, like, ignoring the elephant in the room that is Marinette’s stalking even when discussing Adrien’s equivalent sexual harassment is based on the years-long taboo on bringing the stalking up period. Like, the stalking has been the biggest ixnay in this fandom if you wanted anything you say to be taken seriously instead of as “bad faith salt”. Like, when I was comparing how the show demonized Chloé for her bad trauma coping while excusing Marinette for hers, I referred to the stalking as “unsavory behavior” because that’s how ingrained the “don’t use the word: stalking” was, and a Marinette stan claimed I was demonizing Marinette for “having anxiety” when literally everyone else could tell the post was about the stalking. Marinette stans take the idea that the stalking is a taboo topic so for granted that they’ll gladly ignore its very existence.

You can also bet none of the people whining about fairness/double standards/hypocrisy in salt are telling the bajillion Adrien or Alya salt blogs on this website to salt on Marinette for the sake of keeping things balanced.

[sgiandubh]

This was a work Outlander event and posts. No way to determine how they feel about each other from today's Social media promotion. 12 minutes apart just shows it was a coordinated attack for audience involvement. When you have something about their connection unrelated to Starz, Outlander, then it will be interesting. But so far after 10 years, everything between these 2 still is work related. Nothing new. Even Sam coordinated his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL 'birthday'. It's all promotion. Do you have anything not related to Outlander showing a relationship?

Dear Work Event Anon,

I could really set my watch by you guys popping in here each and every time a breath of fresh air floats over this fandom. Since you seem to have a problem with people being happy about something, I figured out you'd actually be better hearing what I have to tell you:

I am not sure I am interested in what you have to say, Anon. You certainly chose to step in here completely uninvited, unwanted and at your own risk. At this point in time, I am actively hesitating about you being bored, daft, cruel or simply desperate. A bit of each, to be honest and the mix might vary.

Two social media posts might not be able to determine how These Two feel about each other, Anon. But, I wasn't exactly discussing that. I was discussing their entourage reactions, in my first post, something you probably understood very well, since I do not think you are visually impaired. I was also pointing out the fact S shared C's post in record time, something that did not happen in a good while. That is all.

Sam coordinating 'his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL's anniversary' (not birthday, punk - that is for people only!)? You must be kidding, pumpkin. Hasn't your Marketing Expert Supremo explained to you yet that The Kimpton Hotel & Restaurant Group, LLC is, in fact an international boutique hotel brand, based in San Francisco and owned by the InterContinental Hotels Group? Hasn't she explained to you that, as all the other international hotel brands, their marketing strategy is also focused on event management and planning, with a separate dedicated website to boot?

Hasn't she told you there is actually a dedicated event management and planning webpage on Kimpton Charlotte Square's website?

It features everything you'd need to properly organize any type of event. As is the case for a bajillion other luxury hotels all around the world:

Same wallpaper, same picture frames. Matchy-matchy, as Ye Olde Troll would say. Heh. And this is how we know the pop-up shop was organized in the hotel (connecting) private Dining and Drawing Rooms:

You also seem to not be aware that such events are never planned last minute. He did not 'coordinate' anything, punk. The opportunity was there and he took it. As simple as that.

If you think you do God's work by trying your very own version of the Chinese water torture, i.e. asking the same damn questions over and over again, well...You have no idea how wrong and clueless you are, Anon. What makes you think people will actually engage with a broken record?

And last but not least, I don't give a damn if you find my page uninteresting. Now be a doll, Anon - scroll on and fuck off.

[smilepilled]

a compilation of love letters (/community, familial, friendly, fellowship, etc.) from me, marcela, to many different people who have had a positive impact on me. please take your time to find your own blog, and please have a lovely day. i may update this throughout time, so keep an eye out for your blog handle here!

will not be in any particular order. ❤️‍🩹

BEFORE YOU GO, PLEASE KEEP IN MIND — I MAY NOT FULLY BE ABLE TO CORRELATE YOUR BLOG AND YOUR DISCORD ACCOUNT! that's a skill issue from me, and it doesnt mean i dont care-- its just extremely hard for me, personally. ive been trying to get better at it, but i hope my messages still manage to be something nice even if i didnt manage to link your blog to your personal discord presence. sorry, and thank you ♡

@radiomogai — 🎙📻📡🧮

i think not enough people say this, but you're a very important figure in the mogai community. your disclaimers and warnings to the masses that lurk through many tags and blogs are not only heard, but cherished. i remember being intimidated by you up until actually interacting with you, and youre a joy to be around. i still laugh at the time i made the christmas picture and added you as an actual radio; you are remembered fondly. i greatly appreciate your presence in this community beyond the archival, because you yourself are great. as in, a lovely company, a dear friend. i have so much i owe to you way above the themes or archival, but you also do a great job with your archive. i greatly respect you, and feel happy in your presence. thank you for being here, seriously. i hope i get the chance to do more to help you out whenever you need it. you're the one of the most patient and gentle people ive seen in this community, and its almost shocking with how people test patiences all around. thank you

@rwuffles — 🟩🟦🟥🟪🟨

mogaiblr jesus... indeed! you make such lovely things and you genuinely terrify me when i see that your queue is still at 400 after a bajillion posts (positively terrific). aside feom that, you are genuinely such a ray of sunshine, watching you play tetris leaves me in awe and the moments ive shared with you are very cherished to me. i like talking to you and youre incredibly kind, despite people testing you and The Horrors. i hope i can get to talk to you more, so i can properly get to communicate how cool you are to you, directly. your presence is strong and felt throughout the entirety of the spaces you're in; but don't forget, you're not a president or a professional, you're one of your fellows. should you ever need help or time to breathe, im sure your community will have your back-- i can definitely say i do. please be kind to yourself, and please take care. youre genuinely precious to be around and im sure a plethora of people agree. you are the little golden critter amongst us, and i feel like maybe sometimes you may not feel like it-- dont worry, we will always be here to remind you. youre the sun where your community basks and dances, and you're here with us too! thank you

@scr-ppup — 🪖🌫💣🥽

i genuinely love the stuff you cole up with, and the kindness that you extend to people-- the one of which youve also extended to me. maybe its a silly thing to mention, but youve helped me a lot in times where i couldnt even do a simple little descriprion for a flag. and it means a lot to me, regardless of how small this gesture may be to other people. you are genuinely so comforting to be around, i know i may be wrong but i feel like i have a huge bodyguard behind me chatting and drinking tea when im near you. i really like seeing you interact with people and im always happy to interact with you, even if it happens not so often. your creations never cease to amaze me and theres times where i squeal seeing something you make. you are truly one of the most badass, yet kindest people here. i mean it. thank you

@gender-mailman — ❤️‍🩹💌🩸🔪

you were one of the first people i had courage to interact with in mogaiblr, if i remember correctly-- back when i was themed as a velvet worm. your blog and presence SCREAMED friendliness (and BPD), and i just felt really reassured in it. regardless of your scrumptious creations (pallettes and symbols 🤌), you're such a ball of energy and you're so silly, and of course, extremely easy to talk to. it really makes me smile remembering when i was afraid to ask about when i should join the Evil Mogai Business, worried it'd be phrased poorly, and you just said that you did exactly what i was planning-- it was such a relief. despite the lack of recent "bug talking to you" activities, i want to thank you for the comfort youve brought to me, and the kindness youve shown whenever i talked to you. you're one of the most passionate and easily-talkable folks i know, bonus points for you being brazilian. thank you

@lovesse — 💥🎀💄💗

you are THE "popular IT girl" figure in this community, to me (unsure if you're a girl, im going purely from vibes though). as in, i've looked up to you since the very beggining. your presence is strong and assuring, and your creations are the fucking peak of this realm. some of your terms resonated so well with me that i wondered where the cameras were (jokingly of course). but aside from that, you've always been a very positive figure to me, and i'm always very happy seeing activity from you. i know you've been through a lot in this community, and i hope you don't mind bringing your presence in it up, but you've done so much for it and i need people to acknowledge it. we don't know eachother very well, and we haven't talked much outside of tumblr evil business, but your presence makes me glad. thank you for always being such a great lighthouse for the seadwellers in this community. youre a greatly inspirational figure and you are charm-maxxing (/platonic, "girl you rock!" coded?). thank you

@laughdiamond — 🌻🌿🌾🌱

you!!!! youuuu started ALL of my curiosity or this community. if i had someone to thank for making me deep-dive into goodfaith, mogai and community, its you. your blog was the first i found after the times i lurked in pinterest for the time i hoarded xenogenders and microlabels-- a linked post, and i found my way to your blog. the yaoyao conductor theme, extremely eyecandy-ful, i remember getting sparkly eyed at your blog and creations. i think i know a good amount of them from memory (but its always difficult to remmeber the names, thats my skill issue whatsoever), which goes to shoe just how much of an impact your presence around these parts had. and im not trying to be parasocial, you genuinely did help me, eye-to-eye telling you this. im sorry i never properly expressed to you my appreciation, up until it was far too late (seen as youve left this place, with rightful motive). you're always gonna be a fond memory to me, you're the nostalgia blog of this community for me. i full-heartedly thank you to no end for what your blog has done to help me, regardless of being < the blog that got me into mogaiblr >. dont ever apologize for it, either, i knoe theres negative aspects to this space but YOU are a part of the good aspects. once again, thank you for your lovely creations, thank you for what youve done for me, and thank you for your presence in times before. thank you

@lunentity — ✨️🔮🌙🪩

YOU! the moon in its mystique magnificence, giving terms to people like meteors with fun gifts from the cosmos. you are such an ICON to me, genuinely such a huge inspiration as well. talking to you is also never scary or the like, youre such a kind and easy-going person. surely im not the closest to you, but it doesn't take away from what i say, you are extremely easy to be around, and thats something i really appreciate. im always happy to tag you in a post with the moon mentioned, or something that i see and go "OH! MOONY WOULD LOVE THIS!" on the spot. you are extremely kind and sweet, like a cold day when youre wrapped in 4 heavy blankets playing animal jam with a bag of snacks and soda. your presence is felt in what is reassuring and friendly. i have not checked up on you lately, but i hope you're okay, and all is well for you. you're such a kind and heart-warming person, i am grateful for our interactions and convos. thank you

@kiruliom — 🧸🌸🌊🩸

we may not interact a whole lot, but YOU are so whimsical. no, seriously, you are so joyful its astonishing. and you always manage to keep your cheermaxxed status despite speaking up on multiple important topics, which i find very balance pilled and awesome. youre not scary despite your ghostface motifs, and i think youre like a uncle/aunt figure (whichever word you personally would use), a kind of distant yet kindly relative in the eyes of the liomogai community; which i also strive to be, so its nice to see YOU recreate it so well. we havent talked (much?) personally, so i think this is more how i view you currently havent spoken not to you in personal. you remind me of the animal jam Crystal Sands OST, and thats one of the biggest compliments i can give-- its very directly related to you being comforting, so i hope you know your presence is very welcoming. your terms are a CHEF'S KISS to me, and i feel very happy whenever you post. i think

@buntress — 🐇🧨🔪🔗

i look up to you like an autistic little thing staring up with HUGE bug eyes. i am to this day so sorry and apolocheeseful for the pride star incident, but i know youve since understood that i made a mistake and youre chill about it. i LOVE your terms, and i swallow your posts without chewing on them like a sucuri giant brazilian snake. genuinely feel very happy when i see a post from you, or when interaction occurs. youre so so cool and kick-ass to me, youre like the big sibling that i see being punk rock and cheer on. i dont even know if youre older than me, probably so, but regardless youre SUPER cool. like the punk rock hare of the punk rock club. despitw that, you're super kind and nice to talk to, and i want to make sure i get some more interaction action (/caseoh phrase) with you, because you're genuinely super friend coded. im sorry i didnt say much, but i hope its enough to at least make you smile, you definitely deserve it. thank you

@the-astropaws — 🥀🪶♥️🧸

prepare for trouble, and make it double... to the two QUEERS running this blog, you two are too kind to be real sometimes. i genuinely love the stuff made around these parts (the blog), and how you speak up about issues in the community with eloquence and well-put wording. i appreciate this blog and the two persons behind it; you two are super swell to be around. i still remember the purple theme and it makes me happy to remember that i remember the theme, becahse it means you two made your way into my head properly. thank you for your presence so much, its so stress-free to send an ask or talk to you, and i know we may not have interacted a whole lot but i appreciate your presences greatly. thank you so so so much for being around, and for your gentle words. thank you

@rabidbatboy — 🪰🩸🦴⛓️

alright... who's SLURRING it up around here? okay, anyways, your posts and creations have given me so much closure and happiness. and thats that. your roachgirl, muttgirl, roachdyke and gay flags are so good it makes me want to recite popular tiktok phrases like "DROP ANOTHER COINING POST, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!!" or the like. your presence is INCREDIBLY strong and felt whenever you're around-- i can easily, immediately go "oh thats the fightclub guy! thats the uncledyke! ohhhh thats the punk ass dude from tumblr! oh hell yeah!" when i see you talking. and despite the fact you are a very strong figure, you're ironically really easy to talk to! i actually used to be very intimidated by and < Oh My God You Can Actually Kill Me If You Decide To Do So Please Spare This Bug> towards you, but noe you're just... fellow uncle. fellow dudebro. i feel very happy whenever i see you because it means youre out there rawdogging life, and that means i've got a chance too. i love your fight club references and your entire vibe, you are very positively what i can describe as "the type of person that makes me want to get competitive". but even with that, youre incredibly patient and generous (despite how people test your patience). thank you

@nqvo — 🦢🪞🌫🪷

my nephew. my sweet nephew. oh you absolute struggler, you NEED to make more terms that people will love instead of assets that people will steal. you get so rightfully pissed at the things ed*tblr has going on, and i think you would profit from a change of space, because holy hell does it hurt when i get close to editblr instead of coinblr. you're always so fucking angry and i'm HERE for it! i love listening to you complain and make the points you make, because SOMEHOW you're always correct about things, and it baffles me that your rage is contained despite the horrors you witness and endure. but aside from that, i treasure you as family and im so glad to know you and be able to share a GROUPCHAT with you. whenever i hear you talk of your interests and when you have the faggotry episodes, i feel very happy. your happiness is important to me, and i better fucking see you start being nicer and nicer and nicer and nicer to yourself. youre unbelievably well put together considering how much people push your buttons, sometimes i wish i could send meteors to the people bothering you, or that you give them a piece of your mind. but you and i know its not worth it, so i'll also be glad to hear what you have to say in the < melancholic rupture far deep into the sea >, amongst our friends. people like you a lot, son (/like a old dude talking to a young lad), and i hope you see that its all because you're YOU, not anything else. your bravery and your perseverance make me hope for better times, and i hope you can let yourself ask for help whenever you need it-- to me, or in general. your friends love you, and we all got you. thank you

@praysia — 🎧💠🎀🔌

tranny... faggot... dyke... slur-a-tron... my best friend in slurhood. the slurmaxxer. you are such a lovely friend and i love to hear your yap sessions, and i absolutely adore when you talk about your manmade horror yaois. i love slinging slurs at you and when you use the :pathetic: emoji. you are genuinely such a great friend and your presence makes me raise my arms into the air and go "THE SLURS ARE HERE!!!!". please never ever shut the fuck up or im gonna die miserably like a slug with salt on it. please never give up. youre very motivational to me because youve been through so many life-ending things and still you persist. i like to punch you and stuff haha cool dynamic, but i also genuinely appreciate when youre around. i may not know you all too well on the idyera iceberg, but i sure as hell appreciate you regardless. youre like if the phrase "man's best friend" was a person, because youre a stupid dog and one of the best friends i have, even if you havent unearthed your most horrifying life stories near me. i dont need you to, i just know youre my good friend fagalo. dearest fagoba seradykei mutual. i will hase you with hammers and hold you up into the air. thank you for being here to this day, you fucking liberal!!!!!! youre a joy to be around and i always smile when im near you. youre like a fountain of joy, despite being a mentally ill bitch; youre seriously a lovely person to be around, and i hope you feel like you can rely on me when you need help, even if youre more of a haf than me. thank you

@arachnwife — ⚙️🌈🔪🎉

you are so correct all the time it almost makes me angry (positively). i love seeing you in convos and i love the stuff you make, and im SOOO fucking happy you made a icon blog because ive been complaining about exclusionist icon makers for the past months, and youre like jesus christ coming back for making a icon blog without being a prick... i love conversations with you, and whenever i spot you its like the animal jam best guess game and im winning the spider questions. i also have a passing feeling, a slight suspicion that you might like ticci toby (just a mere impression HEHSHRHKRKTK). youre so chill its almost like eating ice cream and getting brainfreeze-- without the agony though, positively chilling. thank you for being around. i really really want to talk to you more so sometimes i show up and say something and pray for god to bestow a convo upon us. but i'll keep putting more effort into talking to you, because you are PAWESOME! very nice to be around you. keep up the good shtuff up dude, i really appreciate it. thank you

e

@icwdtea / @puriette-archived — 🐶🧣🍰🍁

OUPY!!!!! THATS OUPYYYY!!! THATS OOMPHIEEEE!!!! MY OOMPHIE OUPYYYY... THE MUSIC MISER!!!! you are the physical manifestation of the autumn season to me. i can layer clothes, get nice and cozy, feel the chill fresh breeze on my face, but never will i have to freeze, overheat, or be uncomfortable around you. you've gone and you go through so much, and it only ever seems to make you be kinder to defy bitterness-- and thats something big. something special, shiny, precious, and i think it perfectly represents you; youre warm like < three fluffy blankets > during a freezing winter night, a sweet and soft slice of cake with tons of chocolate involved (icing, filling, etc.), youre like a hug from a old friend you havent seen in forever. you, too, are like the word "man's best friend", much like our slurmaxxing canine friend; you are the peace after a horrible storm, you are the tbeautiful things in life, a smile exchanged between one and a stranger. you are the sweet melodies of music without vocals, the gentle humming of a loving familiar, the warm air around a fireplace. your kindness and your loveliness may be accompanied by rabid behavior, but that will never take away from your love-natured self. you are so many goof things i cannot say, and i hope you know it goes beyond just being perceived-- its something you are, and im grateful for you being around to this day. i hope we can talk more often. thank you

[subway-boss-jericho]

:D!!! THE STICKERS ARRIVED!!

I still have to get an Etsy page set up- I have a couple of friends who have experience to help me out! And I also still have to tackle college for this last semester so time will probably escape me- but!!! THEY'RE HERE!!!! :D AAAAAA

Not the best pictures because the lighting here is a little wack but!! AAAAAAA THEY'RE REAL!!

I am not going to put a bajillion tags on this post because I don't wanna push any kind of promo or whatever until I have a shop properly set up, but !! I am, so excited. I can barely contain myself. These are the normal 4-inch stickers and I'm working on saving up for the holo 5-inch ones now :D I decided to get them printed matte, not sure if gloss would have been better, but I can probably do a mix of both when I reorder :> !!

[1arkspur-aconitum]

SOULS OF POETS (s.r.)

SOULS OF POETS DEAD AND GONE, WHAT ELYSIUM HAVE YOU KNOWN?

[PART ONE OF THREE]

IN WHICH: Spencer discovers more about Juniper’s previous work history, and it is not to his taste.

PAIRING: Season3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: angst

CONTENT: strip-clubs, common BAU violence, the team being little shits, established secret relationship, Spencer being mean, not a happy ending (in this part at least)

WORD COUNT: 8k… (I got a bit carried away)

PUBLISHED: 16/10/24

TO SAY THIS ISN’T HOW I was expecting today to go would be an understatement.

Sure, we end up on some of the most bizarre cases in the FBI, but the chances of this happening are slim to none—I am not Dr. Reid, so I am unable to give you an exact statistic, but I reckon it would be in the 1:1 bajillion ballpark.

Normally the cases are bizarre because of M.O., or because the people we deal with are strange; I still remember that one interview Emily and I had with that frankly absurd woman with way too many garden gnomes inside her house. Or the time Derek and I found a dude in his bath, stark naked, the tub filled with what I have told myself was milk, and have refused to ponder any other possibilities since.

All that to say, we get weird shit at the BAU.

Yet when I walked in this morning and saw the photos, and read the case file, I was more nervous for this than I had been for any bomb or kidnapping case.

To the others, it looks perfectly average. Localised crime scene, moderately high-risk victims, a clear comfort zone. New York City isn’t far from D.C and we have a good relationship with the police working on the case already. Seems simple enough.

But even as I sit on the plane, knees up to my chest, I still feel as if I can’t take a proper breath. As I try to force myself to take one, I catch Emily’s concerned glance from across the aisle. She knows me too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to adjust. Dropping my knees underneath the table, I spread the photos across the table in front of me. Women’s bodies–hands and feet removed–shoved into the bins out the back of a strip of clubs ranging from gay bars, to strip joints, to your average night-out with the girls club.

Shoved into bins. Nothing better than rubbish.

To my left, Spencer is busy pouring over a map of the NYC suburbs. He’s armed with his favourite set of coloured pens, slender fingers idly tapping the lid on his chin as he thinks it over. Spencer, as always, looks adorable. Messy hair, loose tie, those cheekbones–the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. With his lips parted in focus, I can’t help but let my knee press against his under the table.

He smiles privately, not once looking up from his map. It’s the only concession to tenderness he’ll give me at work. The only one he can whilst we’re keeping our relationship hidden from the team.

‘So, when we land, I want us to hit the ground running,’ Hotch announces, drawing all of our attention to him. He looks at us gravely in turn. ‘We have to handle this one with tact, especially considering the subject matter–JJ and Rossi, I want you guys to head to the police station and help us get set up.’

‘That should be fun.’ Rossi says without a trace of humour in his tone. ‘The local police always get antsy about us treating these cases like they’re important–’

‘They are important.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding a lot harsher than I originally intended. Rossi stops mid sentence. All eyes turn to me. Flushing, I pick at my fingernails as Spencer jostles my knee gently. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off that people treat them like they aren’t.’

‘I know that, but the local police don't always.’ Rossi reminds me gently, flashing me the palms of his hands. A classic sign of apology. I incline my head and don’t say anything else. Emily is still watching me from across the aisle with those perceptive eyes of hers. ‘So JJ and I will do our best to get them on board.’

‘The rest of us are going to head to the main club that’s been targeted,’ Hotch has an air of disapproval in his tone, sending me a quick glare to remind me that I am the source of his anger. I sink lower into my seat, biting my lips shut. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘See what we can find out about the place, the locals.’

‘Are you okay?’ Spencer murmurs to me under his breath a few moments later. The rest of the team have devolved back into their previous conversations, so the sweetness in his voice isn’t as easily detected. He is looking at me with those annoyingly perceptive, wide brown eyes. It’s like he’s peering deep into my skin and I don’t like it.

‘What? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I close myself off, folding my arms and trying to work some of the tension out of my jaw. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not Spencer’s fault, and even genius Spencer Reid doesn’t have all of the pieces to finally puzzle this together.

‘I don’t know…is it because we’re going to New York City?’

‘What’s made you think I don’t like New York?’

‘Well…I know you lived there for a while after you dropped out of Cornell–’

‘I took a break from Cornell, I went back eventually.’ I scowl at him, brushing some loose strands of hair away from my face. Spencer quirks his eyebrows but I can tell he’s laughing internally at me. ‘I completed that degree, thank you very much. I just…’

‘You just what?’ He bumps his warm shoulder gently against mine.

‘This case…’ I pick up a picture of one of the bins–the woman inside has her legs spread, blood crusted around where her feet used to be, the short skirt she was wearing shoved up around her hips. She seems so painfully familiar. ‘There’s something…there’s something personal about it.’

The next time I look at Spencer, his lips are slightly pursed, eyes narrowed. If I were to lean in, I’m ninety percent sure that I could hear the cogs in his brain working. The idea of Spencer finding out concerns me more than I want it to. Rechecking my microexpressions, I plaster on a mildly bored smile. He doesn’t believe it. I can tell immediately. Yet he still can’t put a pin on why I’m lying.

‘I feel bad,’ I say, doing my best to pace the words to a steady, ordinary beat. ‘These women are as deserving of respect as anyone else, and yet somehow they always end up being the ones covered in rubbish.’

Spencer nods slowly, apparently satisfied with this, but the narrowness to his usually wide eyes doesn’t fully lift. I can tell that I have not heard the last of this. Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent–at least he won’t have to wait long to find out, because I know that as soon as we get off the plane, I’m on a deadline. An hourglass with only a teaspoon of sand left.

I lean back into the seat and wait to meet my terrible fate.

Elysium is everything you would expect from a strip-club.

Bleak and unassuming exterior, with one door manned by a beefy looking security guard, and several cameras aimed at the entrance. Inside it’s dark and seedy, the walls painted black to better enhance the vibrant colours of the strobe lights. They pulse in time to the music; a classic pop song I recognise, pumped through massive speakers at an almost deafening volume. The beat is so nostalgic I resist the urge to tap my foot.

We step into the main room and my heart stammers. It’s still laid out the same–a big raised platform at the back of the room with three poles, two currently in use. The women curve around the silver poles, the low lights slicking off of their curves. There’s a catwalk down the centre with a few loose notes blanketing it like leaves. The door to the right with the big neon ‘PRIVATE’ sign above it sits resolutely locked. The extensive bar has several scantily dressed women lean against it, talking to the patrons. It’s so familiar that I am suddenly twenty one again, walking into this place for the first time.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice says and I drag my attention from the bar.

The lady talking to Hotch hasn’t changed either. She’s still got that impossibly divine smooth skin, but she’s swapped the belly button piercing since I last saw her. It’s now a golden teardrop embellished in green that swings as she moves. Long dreads hang down to her waist and she’s dressed in the little gold number she always saved for big payouts. She must be planning on scoring high tonight. Despite myself, I let my face split into a broad smile.

‘Yes, actually could–’ Hotch starts, pointedly looking at her face rather than the rest of her body. Spencer is trying not to look at her breasts and failing–and I don’t think Derek even makes the attempt to be discreet. He’s like a kid in a sweet shop. The woman lifts her hand to silence him, brown eyes settling onto mine.

‘No fucking way.’ Tia takes two steps towards me, vibrant eyes scouring my figure. The last time she saw me, I would have been caught dead in a pair of suit trousers and a button down, yet here I am. I flare my arms away from my body, as if to say ‘yes way’. ‘June–Junebug!’

‘Hi, Tia.’ I laugh as she throws herself at me. Her strong arms wrap around my shoulders and she presses her body tightly against mine. The team is openly ogling at me as the stripper gives me the biggest, friendliest hug ever. I don’t look at them, though, face buried in her neck. She smells like cigarette smoke and vetiver perfume. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly visit.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ Tia grins, gesturing at the gun holstered at my hip before she grabs me again. When she speaks next, she shakes me to punctuate each word. ‘Ugh, I’m so glad to see you! You don’t visit us enough, and you said you would.’

‘I know, T, I’m sorry.’ I extricate myself from her arms, wincing awkwardly at my team. I feel very exposed. There will be time for explanations later, though, and right now I’m busy basking in the warmth of an old friend. She’s right. I haven’t visited nearly as often as I said I would. Regret seeps through my pores. ‘We’re here to ask some questions about the murders that have been going on?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Tia immediately loses the air of excitement, brow furrowing. She inspects the team as a whole again, noting the way they’re looking between us with a curious air. When she looks back at me, she raises a quizzical brow. I shake my head–explanations later. Tia, ever the saint, doesn’t push the issue. ‘Come on, do you want to head to the back office? I’ll get some of the girls together but Harold is already in there, waiting to talk to you.’

‘Harold still works here?’ I blink, surprised.

‘Yeah, he does–his hip is bothering him more now, but he’s still kickin’,’ Tia loops her arm through mine and starts to lead me through the strip club. I can hear the sounds of my team whispering behind me as they fall into line, but I pointedly ignore them. Nosy buggers. ‘You would know that if you came to visit.’

‘I already feel guilty about it,’ I knock her with my elbow. ‘No need to make me feel worse.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Tia presses a sticky, lip gloss kiss to my cheek as we stop by another inconsequential door. It’s been painted black to match the walls, designed to be unobserved by the patrons. The amount of secret spaces in this place is unprecedented, rat runs sprawling through the bowls of Elysium. It took me months to learn where all the nooks and crannies were. I scowl petulantly. ‘You remember where you’re going?’

‘Of course, I mean, how could I forget?’ I flash her my cheekiest of grins.

I cross my arms as I wait for the team to catch up with us, leaning back against the wall.

Derek is currently casually flirting with one of the barmaids–someone I do not recognise–which doesn’t surprise me. Hotch is scouring the layout of the place, pointedly avoiding looking at the half-naked women gyrating around poles, or meandering around laps.

Emily has that shit-eating grin on her face, striding towards me and Tia, and Spencer is staring down at his hands as he follows in Emily’s wake.

Thinking about it, I wonder if Spencer has ever even stepped foot in a strip club before. It doesn’t seem like his kind of vibe, but you never know. Spencer is always full of surprises.

‘I’m gonna get Jas, she’ll die when she sees you.’ Tia grins as Emily arrives, bouncing off into the crowd. Tia has always been my favourite; she was the one who took me under her wing when I first arrived at Elysium, who gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have anywhere. The fact that she’s still here hurts my heart like a bruise. We always said we’d get out together.

‘You, ma’am, have a lot of explaining to do.’ Emily grins at me when she gets within earshot, grabbing my elbow. She loves this.

‘There isn’t much to explain,’ I try, but then Derek appears on my other side and I know I am done for. ‘Seriously.’

‘What, so you’re just casually friends with strippers?’

‘What’s wrong with being friends with strippers?’ I retort, turning pleading eyes to Spencer.

Spencer Reid looks as uncomfortable as possible–his shoulders are tense, hand to his lips, that slight frown between his eyebrows. He’s physically trying to make himself smaller by curving his shoulders inwards. Whenever someone nearly naked walks past him, he deliberately makes a lot of space. If his eyeline drifts for more than a few seconds, he’s instantly staring down at his feet again, cheeks blazing red hot. When he meets my gaze, though, he cannot hide the subtle hint of interest. It becomes clear that Spencer is not the person I should look to for help.

Balls.

‘Hey, you know I’m not complaining–’

‘Shut up, Derek, you’re just salty because she kissed me.’ I shove him in the chest, realising I’m not going to get any help from anyone involved. I’m on my own. Turning away from them, I rap on the door. ‘I can feel your stupid grin, Morgan–and yours too, Prentiss.’

‘Ooo, the last names, someone means business.’ Emily teases, but a voice from inside the room invites us in, and I take this as my saving grace.

I open the door to the small back office, holding it wide with my foot so the rest of my team can trickle in. The office is relatively small, lined with filing cabinets, and manned by a desk covered in papers and an overflowing ashtray. Someone has replaced the wooden chairs with two comfier looking arm chairs, though they still look slightly weathered in the dim light. The ceiling fan above is still laden with cobwebs and dust, perpetually unused. Yet another thing that hasn’t changed.

Once the door is shut behind us, I turn my attention to the man sitting behind the desk.

‘June?’ Harold spots me first, his Texan voice thickened by tar and smoke. He has more wrinkles around his eyes now, but the smile is as blinding as the last time I saw it. Harold’s beard is streaked with white, and when he pushes himself to his feet, the silver cane is new, too. ‘Junebug? Is that really you?’

‘Alive and in the flesh.’ I smile, reaching out to hug him as he hobbles towards me. Harold was the one who gave me that moniker barely two days after I started working here. There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t make me feel like he’s being condescending–in fact, it just reminds me that someone loves me enough to say a nickname with such adoration. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tightly. I try not to focus on how he feels thinner underneath me.

‘So,’ Harold says, stepping away from me but not letting go of my waist–I don’t know if it’s for support or just for show. I don’t really mind either way. He inspects the rest of my team, who are standing awkwardly around. None of them can hide the thinly veiled amusement from their faces, nor the bright curiosity. ‘These your friends?’

‘Yup.’ I nod, not meeting any of their eyes. There’s too much going on right now. Shame is a powerful emotion and even though I know I shouldn’t feel it, I can’t exactly control my own brain. ‘Uh, SSA Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan–and that’s Dr. Reid looking uncomfortable in the corner. We’re with the FBI.’

‘The FBI huh?’ Harold affixes me with that appraising stare before pushing away from me. I follow him, keeping my arm out for support. He plops himself down in his chair and leans back. Waggles his cane at me. ‘I never thought one of my best dancers would make it up into the big leagues like that. Good on you, Junebug.’

And there it is.

It takes Spencer about three seconds to process that information. About two times faster than it does for anyone else in the room. I can see the realisation burning red hot behind his brown eyes when he jerks them to me. I can’t hide my expression quickly enough–my blink is all he needs to confirm what Harold said. Spencer’s eyes cloud for a second, lips parted.

When he cocks his head curiously, I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s imagining in that brain of his. What a little shit. When his eyes focus again, he sees my look of disapproval and flushes. Then, his expression changes–closes off. Becomes unreadable. It’s an annoying talent he has and one of the most frustrating things about him.

‘Thanks, H.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the mercilessly gleeful grin on Emily’s face. ‘Guys, this is Harold, he’s the manager here–if something happened, Harold is the one who’s most likely to know about it.’

‘You were a stripper?’ Derek blurts out. Of course he would be the one to ask first. It just encourages Emily, though. Soon enough, both of them are peppering me with questions like they’re rubber bullets.

‘How long did you work here?’

‘Yeah–were you good?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Do you still dance?’

‘Was she good?’ Derek directs this last question to Harold, evidently not satisfied with my silence.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, it’s not exactly relevant, is it?’ I snap, feeling a familiar burn of anger and shame. Spencer has remained, thankfully, silent, but is watching me with that blank expression. It’s unsettling. ‘Can we focus? I’ll answer your questions later, we’re here about several murders, let’s not get distracted by the fact that I used to be a stripper.’

‘You ain’t told ‘em till just now?’ Harold says from his seat, voice tinged with amusement and something that strikes me too much as sorrow. When I look at him, he’s surprisingly sad. It hurts me right in the centre of my chest. ‘I can understand that. There ain’t any shame in it, though, Junebug. You loved it here. Sure, you were at rock-bottom, but e’ryone who comes here is. It’s an absolute joy to see you doin’ somethin’ fulfillin’.’

‘Stop it, Harold,’ I say, the words choked somewhere in the back of my throat. A tingling sensation behind my nose threatens to make me sob. His words carve away at something within me, a part of me I haven’t thought about since…well, since I left Elysium. Avoiding looking at the others, I step around to the withered old man. Rest my hand on his shoulder. The next words are a breath of sadness. ‘Thank you.’

He understands that that’s not just for his words today. It’s for everything.

Harold gives me that sad smile again and rests his own hand on top of mine. It’s a connection I haven’t had in a while–Harold always reminded me of my father. Seeing him again is like seeing the ghost of my dad. I can’t afford to break down in front of the others, not when we’re here for a job, so blink furiously at the silver lining around my eyes. I plaster a smile on.

‘Bishop,’ Hotch says, voice low and measured. His words are not unkind and he is the only one out of the entire team that does not look disturbed, surprised, or horrified. Realistically, Hotch probably already knew this about me. I imagine it’s on my file somewhere. ‘If you need to go to the police station, you can. We can handle the questions here.’

‘It’s alright,’ I say, taking a deep breath and schooling my features. I do my best to forget where I am, who I am with–I try to become Dr. Bishop, the FBI agent working on a case that she has no personal connection to. ‘I can do it. Besides, I think Tia might kill me if I leave before she can accost me again.’

‘Alright, then.’ Hotch nods briskly, and the questioning begins.

Hotch leads it, as usual, Derek and Emily still staring at me with those aghast expressions. I don’t care about them, though. Whilst Hotch and Harold discuss the recent murders (three of the girls had been new dancers at Elysium, some of them regulars) and if Harold saw anything suspicious (a few odd cars, but most people who come here are unusual or strange), I keep my eyes trained on Spencer. I want to see what his reaction is, to gauge if I should start thinking about damage control.

He’s busy scouring the room, taking at each of the pictures on the wall. They're all of the dancers Harold has employed. I’m up there somewhere. I wonder if that’s what Spencer is looking for. He stands with one arm across his lower stomach, the other brought up to his chest. Long fingers rub the sharpness of his jaw idly. His eyes work furiously across the walls, committing everything to memory.

Spencer has always been good at disguising his microexpressions, so I doubt that I can ever truly work out what he is thinking from just observing him. The blankness hasn’t gone from him.

I hope he’s relaxed, though, and not severely freaked out. I have no idea what I would do if he was severely freaked out.

‘Hey, Junebug!’ Tia’s melodic voice cuts through my panic crisis-prepping brain fog as she steps into the room, making Spencer jump. I turn to look and see that my gorgeous friend is dragging yet another gorgeous friend into the office. The other girl is tall, willowy, with ice-blonde hair that she’s been carefully maintaining since I knew her. She is wearing a pair of thigh-high blue boots and the tiniest lingerie set I have ever seen. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, this one was a nightmare to find.’

‘It’s true!’ Jas squeaks, her eyes widening as she lays them on me. I barely have enough time to process her being there before she launches herself at me. Despite the fact that she is all bone, Jas is surprisingly strong, and squeezes her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long, what the fuck, June, where have you been?!’

‘Whoa, there, Jas,’ Tia chuckles, gripping Jas by the shoulders and extricating her from me. Grateful, I rub the spot where Jas’s acrylic nails dug into my skin. ‘Give her some breathing space. She’s with the FBI, silly, didn’t you hear me say that?’

‘You’re such a bitch.’ Jas scowls at me as she shakes Tia off, and hits me hard in the upper arm. I yelp in pain, staring at her with an affronted look. She pats the spot where she hit me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I just missed you.’

‘No need to get violent.’ I remind her, turning her around to face the rest of my team. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions about the recent murders?’

‘FBI?’ Jas scans my team, her eyes widening as they sweep over each member. Her gaze lingers on Spencer, and I can see the familiar glint of interest sparking in her eyes. She lets out a long, low, appreciative whistle that seems to echo around the small office. I can tell immediately what’s going through her mind, and I brace myself for what is about to happen. Jas angles her head like a cat watching a bird. Her posture shifts. ‘Well, hello there. Aren’t you the most handsome man I’ve ever seen?’

Spencer’s reaction is immediate and intense. His face flushes a deep crimson, the blush spreading down underneath his collar when he realises that she is talking to him. His eyes, wide with surprise and discomfort, immediately lock desperately on me. The way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, is so endearingly awkward that I can’t help but find it utterly adorable.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I watch Jas saunter seductively towards him, hips swaying with each step.

‘Jasmine,’ I interject, my voice is thick with warning, hoping that that hides the jealousy I’m feeling as she begins to circle Spencer like a shark. She trails a hand across the back of his shoulders and I have to resist the urge to physically remove it. Only I am allowed to touch Spencer like that. ‘Behave, please. That’s my colleague.’

What I really want to say is ‘that’s my boyfriend you’re pawing at’, but I can’t. Not when the team is standing right there, watching with varying degrees of amusement. The secret aspect of our relationship hasn’t bothered me as much as it does right now. I don’t know what to do.

‘Oh, come on, Junebug, you’ve never been a prude.’ Jas flashes me a familiar, mischievous grin as she casually straightens Spencer’s collar from behind, her nails scraping across his shirt. I know that expression–I’ve seen it on her several times before she scores a big payout, and Jas always scores big. Bitter jealousy twists in the base of my stomach. ‘If I remember correctly, you would have been all over this one a few years ago. Let me have my fun. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘I–I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.’ He stammers, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he finds the ceiling very interesting. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. Part of me wants to intervene, to yank her away from him and put an end to this little performance. But another part, a part I am decidedly not proud of, wants to see what Spencer will do. It’s a test of sorts, though I am not sure what I am testing or why.

‘Dr. Spencer Reid.’ Jas purrs, drawing out each syllable as if it’s fine wine. She completes her predatory circle to stand in front of Spencer, giving me an excellent view of her pert behind. It’s not exactly hidden in the thong she’s donned. She twists a stray strand of his hair around her finger. Spencer flinches away from her touch, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I want to tell her to back off but Derek’s amused expression stops me. ‘A doctor–you’ve always loved a man with brains, Junebug. So, Spencer, what brings you to Elysium? Looking for some extracurricular studies?’

‘We–we’re here about the, the recent murders…’ Spencer chokes out, his voice strained and higher than usual. He’s still staring resolutely at the ceiling, as if trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation etched into the plaster.

‘Yes, we are.’ Hotch cuts in, his voice taking on a sharp and authoritative tone. He places a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jasmine. I feel a rush of gratitude towards my Unit Chief for doing what I could not. ‘We’re hoping you could help us by answering some questions, not by accosting a Federal Agent.’

‘I suppose.’ Jas pouts dramatically, but there is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She knows she’s pushed the boundaries a little bit too far. Her shoulders slump in defeat, but she turns back to Spencer. ‘I guess I can behave. But only if the good doctor here promises to buy me a drink. What do you say, gorgeous? Care to hear some stories about our Junebug’s wilder days?’

‘I will buy you that drink, Jasmine.’ I interject quickly, my words coming out harsher than intended. My hand shoots out, curling around her upper arm as I tug her a few steps away from Spencer. I fix her with a stern look, eyebrow raised in silent warning. ‘Leave Spencer alone.’

‘Fine, June, you absolute spoil sport.’ She hisses at me, but there’s no real venom in her tone. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement, as if she’s enjoying this power play. It wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Why don’t all of us go out for a drink, then, if I can’t have Spencer by himself?’

‘Can we focus, please?’ I sigh, not liking the way both Emily and Derek have perked up upon hearing the possibility of getting the juicy information about my ‘wilder days’ as Jasmine so kindly phrased it. ‘We are here on official business–we can gossip later, alright?’

‘Alright, alright, message received.’ Jas rolls her eyes but finally relents. She sits down on Harold’s desk, looking expectantly up at us. ‘Ask away.’

‘Don’t think you can escape, Juniper Bishop.’

Balls.

I turn around sheepishly, one hand on the door to my hotel room. I was so close. If I hadn’t stopped to stock up on snacks, I might have escaped, might have managed to prolong the inevitable until I felt ready to face it. That’s the unfortunate thing about the inevitable, though. It always comes around eventually.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and JJ. I only need to take one look at the blonde to realise that they have already dobbed me in, and have caught her up to speed about what happened at Elysium. They stand there like hunters spotting prey and knowing it has nowhere else to run.

‘Seriously, guys? Now?’ I sigh, leaning against the doorframe and readjusting the snacks in my arms–the vending machine was limited, but it had Oreos, and that’s good enough for me. Hair falls into my face as I hang my head. ‘I was just gonna watch a film and go to sleep…’

‘Not happening.’ Emily announces, striding over to me and grabbing my upper arm. ‘We’re going to the bar.’

‘The bar?’ I say, dragging my feet but letting her lead me over to the others. I don’t like the way they are looking at me. I feel like a student being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a scolding. ‘We haven’t solved the case yet, surely it’s a bad idea to drink on the job?’

‘Then order a soda.’ JJ grips my other arm and they frog march me towards the top of the stairs.

‘Guys.’ I whine, trying to dig my heels into the plush carpet, and failing spectacularly. It’s no use. I am dragged rather roughly down the stairs and towards the hotel bar, my protests falling on deaf ears. ‘Come on, this is ridiculous–’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Spencer, save me!’ I call, looking over my shoulder to spot my handsome boyfriend by the lift, his head angled curiously as he witnesses what is essentially my death march. JJ and Emily take no prisoners, though, and continue to haul me towards the bar.

‘We’re just gonna ask her some questions, that’s all.’ Derek says, talking to Spencer as if he’s just found out that I am a suspect in a gruesome murder. Spencer blinks, confused, and starts to trail after us. ‘Care to join?’

When we reach the bar, I am deposited unceremoniously into a booth, being wedged in by Emily and opposed by JJ. Derek and Spencer don’t take long to join us, the former drifting off towards the bar with a firm warning not to start without him. The latter sits down beside JJ. I glare at them, arms folded across my chest, Oreos abandoned on the table.

‘You brought this upon yourself, you know.’ Emily says, all high and mighty. She rests her elbows on the bar and cocks her head at me. ‘I mean, I knew there was something…different about you, but this? This is not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh my God.’ I groan, staring down at the table rather than at their three pairs of inquisitorial eyes. Spencer’s gaze is the hardest one to avoid and the worst one to meet. He’s guarded his expression so I can’t fully read it, but judging from the way he has his arms crossed, he isn’t going to come to my rescue. Evidently he’s just as curious as the rest of them. ‘Was all this really necessary?’

‘You were the one trying to hole up in your room.’ JJ says with a casual shrug, glancing over to where Derek is paying for a selection of drinks. ‘Forgive us for trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘There isn’t anything to get to the bottom of!’ I say, voice rising in volume and in pitch. ‘I think you guys are making this out to be worse than it actually is.’

‘Aw, come on, hotstuff, we’re just curious.’ Derek says, putting down a circular black tray in the middle of the table. He divvies off the drinks, placing what suspiciously looks like a G&T in front of me. Despite my earlier reluctance to imbibe, I’m kind of grateful. I might need alcohol to get through this. Once he’s done, he pulls up a stool and heads the table. ‘Can you blame us?’

‘Yes.’ I retort, slumping back in my seat and scowling. ‘Fine. Fine. Ask away.’

‘How come you never told us you used to be a stripper?!’ Emily cuts right to the chase, leaning forward even further. If her eyes could get any wider, they would. She resembles one of those weird marsupials with the long fingers that tap on trees to eat the bugs.

‘It…it never came up.’ I shrug, running my finger along the edge of my glass and glancing at Spencer. He’s still utterly unreadable, stirring the ice around his drink with a straw. He’s watching me carefully, probably looking for any microexpressions or tells–fucker knows me too well at this point. Unlike him, I’ve never been good at hiding things. ‘It’s not exactly something you just casually tell people, especially when you now work for the FBI. It’s…frowned upon.’

‘I suppose I can understand that.’ JJ concedes, taking a sip of her drink. ‘When were you working there?’

‘Oh, maybe, like, five, six years ago?’ I copy her movement, letting the gin blaze down my throat. It’s relaxing.

‘So…was this before or after your PhD?’

‘After. I was in the middle of completing another undergrad at Cornell when…well, when I started to dance.’

‘Another undergrad?’ Derek says, apparently more surprised at my academic achievements than the fact that I used to get naked and dance around for money.

‘Yes, Derek, another one.’ I laugh, sipping my drink again and let myself watch Spencer watching me. ‘I was bored after finishing my PhD and felt like doing another degree–it was psychology, which now that I think about it, is kind of ironic.’

‘So…were you dancing to pay off your debt?’ Emily asks, her curiosity piqued. Her bright brown eyes sparkle with intrigue. I’m apparently the most fascinating thing she has seen in quite some time. ‘I mean, degrees are expensive, were you having money problems?’

‘No, it wasn’t the money.’ I confirm, eyes flickering down to trace the pattern of the wood. I have to be careful here, and I have to choose my words with the utmost precision. God, sometimes talking to these guys feels a lot like sitting an exam. ‘It was…well, there were a lot of things going on, and I felt very out of control. I don’t know, I think dancing gave me the control…and the escape…that I needed.’

‘There are other ways to get control.’ Spencer finally speaks, and I almost flinch at the rawness of his words. When I look at him, he’s staring down into his drink. His tone is laced with disapproval. ‘Why…why would you do something like that?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I have no shame in it.’ I say, somewhat harsher than intended. ‘I loved dancing. It was empowering and freeing, and brought me a lot of joy. But I started it for the wrong reasons, and unfortunately it facilitated habits I really should have been trying to break rather than…well, rather than indulging.’

‘And, according to Harold, you were good. In fact, I think he said you were one of the best.’ Derek grins cheekily at me, eyes roving over my body. I can see Spencer tense out of the corner of my eye at Derek’s words, his shoulders closing inwards. This is dangerous territory.

‘Stop picturing it, Morgan–never gonna happen.’ I flick an ice cube at him, but laugh to show him I am actually teasing.

‘Wait, really?’ Emily sounds genuinely upset, gaping at me. The concept that Emily Prentiss was actually considering asking me to dance for her blows my mind.

‘Oh, come off it, I’m not gonna strip for my coworkers!’

‘Even if I paid you?’ Derek flirts, leaning towards me and flashing me his characteristic wink.

‘Oh, Derek, sweetheart,’ I let the words roll around my tongue, let them drip seductively from my lips. I focus all of my attention onto him as if he were another patron eager for something from Elysium. My eyes trail slowly across his handsome face, lingering on the firm jaw, sticking to his slightly parted mouth. Derek swallows–hard. He leans in just a little bit more. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford me.’

‘Damn…’ Derek blinks as if clearing his eyes off water. The others (minus Spencer) are laughing at us, and I join in. Derek, to his credit, moves past it with dignity. ‘Worth a shot, eh.’

‘You’re a pig, Morgan,’ JJ steps to my rescue, sneering at our coworker. ‘What would Garcia say if she could hear that?’

‘Hell, she’d probably ask me to split the cost with her.’ Derek winks at me again, but I don’t indulge him this time. I’m watching Spencer, and my heart is sinking.

He hasn’t touched his drink. It just sits in front of him, condensation forming a ring around the bottom. Spencer is staring down into it as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I know that if I looked under the table, his hands are most likely either fiddling with the seam of his slacks, or balled in his lap.

He looks…angry. Hurt. Betrayed, almost. I don’t really blame him. It’s a lot to hear, and I should have told him when he asked me about it on the plane. Spencer doesn’t ask for much, but what he does ask for is transparency. Truth.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I want to reach out and touch him, apologise for not mentioning it to him, and apologise for the fact that when I am telling him, it’s surrounded by our coworkers. I can’t reassure him in the way that I want.

What I want to do is hold him and kiss him and tell him that none of the past matters now that my future is his. I have never regretted keeping our relationship underwraps–it works for us, especially considering it’s so new, but…but right now, it sucks.

As I continue to watch him adamantly not looking at me, I wonder if I actually do know the reason why I didn’t tell him. Maybe I didn’t tell him because some small part of me didn’t want him looking at me like that. Like I am dirty, or impure, or whatever disgusting words people use for strippers.

‘So, let me get this straight.’ JJ is saying, seeing off the remainders of her drink. ‘You started dancing because you were in a rough patch. That’s fine. What made you stop?’

‘Hah, my mother.’ My laughter is dry, and I take another sip of my drink. ‘She’s very good at being disappointed. She basically sorted me out, sent me off to complete my undergrad. I haven’t danced since.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Sometimes, Em, sometimes.’ I smile at her, trying to squish down any thoughts of Spencer’s upset gaze. ‘I mean, not the sleazy pricks, or the teenagers who don’t know how to listen to boundaries, but I miss my friends–Tia, Jas, Harold–and I miss the freeness of it. If you guys haven’t had some kind of pole class or something, I seriously recommend it.’

‘You could teach us.’ JJ suggests.

I laugh dryly, swilling my drink. ‘You and Emily, sure, but Spencer and Derek on a pole? Could be questionable…’

‘Hey, I’ll have you know I would be a very good stripper!’

‘Whatever you say, Derek.’ I roll my eyes at him but I can’t stop the laughter. I finish off my drink and am very glad that I decided to accept it. Alcohol warms me from the inside. Makes this whole conversation so much easier. ‘So…are you guys satisfied? Can I go to bed–can I eat my Oreos?’

‘No way, Hops, we’re only just getting started.’ Emily grins naughtily at me and gestures for Derek to get another round. Before he can, though, Spencer is already standing and walking away from the table towards the bar without a word. Ouch. It’s clear he’s not very impressed. He hasn’t even finished his drink. ‘We still have so many questions.’

‘Like, did you have a stage name?’

‘What kind of dances did you do? Pole, group, private?’

‘Did you have a signature move?’

‘Do you still have a stripper playlist? If so, can I have it?’

‘Did you ever fall off the pole?’

‘What was the most money you made in one night?’

‘Did you have any regulars? Like, people who came in just to see you?’

‘Did any of them ever try to take you home?’

‘Did you let them?’

‘Oh my God, guys!’ I have to slam my hands on the table to get them to shut up, the words coming in a breathless laugh. I think Derek might have gotten me a double because the alcohol has loosened my tongue and I’m genuinely considering answering them. ‘One question at a time, please.’

It is then that Spencer returns, passing around the drinks quickly. He can’t even look me in the eye as he sits down and goes back to staring into his drink. My mind whirrs with ways to rectify this problem, but it’s not as if I can go back and change the past. Spencer has to come to terms with this on his own merit, and all I can do is wait.

‘Tell us everything.’ Emily gushes, taking a healthy swig of her fresh drink.

‘Everything? Do you think you can handle everything, Spencer?’ I don’t know why I call him out like that. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I chase the icky feeling away with a swig of another double G&T.

Spencer finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze–hurt, maybe? Anger? Perhaps even a hint of arousal. I can’t fully tell, and that scares me. Spencer opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Derek interrupts.

‘Hey, Reid, don’t tell me you’re not curious.’ Derek nudges him playfully, but Spencer doesn’t react. He just continues to stare at me, expression unreadable. I have no idea what that look is trying to say. ‘Come on, man, we all wanna hear about Junebug’s wild past.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ I snap, shaking my head at Derek. I don’t know why, but hearing that old nickname on his tongue upsets me. Derek shows me the palms of his hands in apology and I’m pleased to see that my little outburst has shifted his focus away from Spencer.

‘Come on,’ JJ sighs, cutting Derek and Spencer a curious glare. ‘Tell us everything.’

I hesitate for a moment, taking another drink. How much to reveal? I realise that I am going to have to toe a careful line between what is suitable to tell them, and what I want to take to the grave. They are my friends first, though. Colleagues second. There’s not much point in hiding anymore, not if they still want to go out for drinks with Jas and Tia when we’ve finished the case. There’s no going back.

‘Alright.’ I take a deep breath and start to pull at my fingernails. ‘But don’t judge me, okay?’

‘We promise.’ Emily says, voice so sincere that it almost hurts. She raises her glass in a mock toast, and the others follow suit–even Spencer raises his glass, though his movements are more stilted, eyes clouded with that mixture of emotions I’m driving myself insane trying to decipher.

‘I did dance under a stage name–it was Cassandra, or Cass. I chose it because–’

‘Because of the priestess?’ Spencer’s words are a mere mumble, but I am so attuned into him that I hear him. He’s looking somewhere in the region of my collar, but at least he’s looking at me.

‘Yeah. Precisely. She was this Trojan priestess that was cursed to see the future, but for no one to believe her, but I chose it because of what the name means, etymologically.’

‘Bless you.’ Emily teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, what does it mean?’

‘The Greek spelling is with a K, so ‘kassos’ means to excel, and ‘andros’ means over men. So her name literally means ‘to excel over men’. I was quite proud of that one.’

‘Damn…and did you? Excel over men?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I grin, taking a sip. ‘I did a variety of different types of dances–you kind of have to do all of them, really. No favourite moves, a couple of regulars that came in just to watch me, and yes, Emily, I do still have my playlist. To answer your question, Derek, a couple of them tried to take me home, and only one succeeded.’

‘What?’ Spencer’s word is perfectly formed, a bullet that pierces through the alcoholic armour I’d been establishing. I blink in surprise. He is staring at me with his mouth slightly parted, such a betrayed look on his face that I’m cut deep to the core. Spencer had seemed content to stay out of the conversation, but this is perhaps the first sign I get about how he’s actually feeling. ‘You slept with the people you danced for?’

‘Only one, and that was a long time ago–’ I say, wondering how only Spencer can get me feeling so defensive and so eager to alleviate his concerns.

‘It doesn’t matter when it was.’ Spencer’s voice is sharp, but he remains motionless, evidently not wanting to give away too much. The rest of the team are leaning back in their seats to get away from the tense energy now crackling between us. Emily is looking between us with a curious expression. ‘You slept with someone you barely knew, someone who saw you as nothing more than a–’

‘Than a what, Spencer? Go on, say ‘whore’, I know you want to.’ I snap back, slamming my glass down onto the table more violently than intended. Spencer flashes hurt eyes at me. ‘Jesus, Spencer, it’s my life–my old life–and I did what I wanted with it. I don’t need to explain it to you.’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ Spencer scoffs, voice laced with bitterness. ‘I’ve worked it out. You used to sell your body for money, let men ogle you and touch you and degrade you, and you slept with one of them just because you thought, what, you thought it was fun? That doesn’t make you a stripper, June, that makes you a hooker.’

‘What the fuck, Reid?’ My words are soft, but the meaning is harsh. I’m hurt. I’ve heard those words a thousand times, from a thousand different people, but hearing it from Spencer–my Spencer–sucks the life right out of me. It’s as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it. All I want to do is run away and hide, but I can’t. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You have no idea what it was like.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the crime scenes.’ Spencer’s voice is cold. Clinical. Detached. It breaks my heart a little. ‘I’ve seen what those men do to women like you, I know how they treat you, how they view you. And you willingly put yourself in that position–it’s…it’s disgusting and, and–’

‘Stop it!’ I snap, slamming my hands onto the table. His words hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. My eyes line with silver. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me, I can’t comprehend that he thinks that about me. I rise out of my seat, towering over the table. ‘Stop fucking talking, Reid. How dare you?’

‘Whoa, hey, easy now…’ Emily puts out a warning arm between us and I am suddenly reminded that the rest of the team are there. They have shifty looks on their faces. ‘Let’s all just calm down.’

‘No, actually–actually, I’m done.’ I sigh, seeing off my drink and gesturing for Emily to get out of the booth. ‘I’m leaving. Fuck this.’

I grab my snacks and my phone before pushing out past the rest of them and making a beeline for the door. I can hear their voices call out after me, but I don’t care. Even when I see Spencer rise too, as if making to follow me, I don’t change my trajectory. Thankfully Derek yanks Spencer back down into his seat. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. I stalk out of the bar as quickly as possible.

It’s only when I’m in the lift that I let the hot, salty tears start to fall.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[paper-starz]

i was so surprised by the lack of AUs in the My Friendly Neighborhood fandom! So, me and a few discord buddies decided to create our own! The Opposite Au! (Or the OPP AU for short)

its basically a personality swap with a few story changes!

(click read more for bonus doodles + character descriptions!)

NORMAN

Norman is THE BEST character on 'My Friendly Neighborhood' and he WILL remind you constantly!

He has like a bajillion fans and friends that are definitely NOT made up! Of course he has fans and friends from all over the world what do you mean he doesn't???

He's a bit of a diva... ok "bit" is an understatement. He genuinely believes that he deserves to be treated better than anybody else! He proudly displays a star on his door as a symbol of his supposed stardom!

There's a blurry line between fiction and reality for Norman. He believes his on-screen friendship with Lenard translates to real life, despite their mutual mistreatment of each other. Lenard is definitely NOT Norman's friend. (In fact, most of the puppets in this AU despise each other)

Incredibly overdramatic. He once laid down on the floor for 3 hours straight because someone ate the last chocolate chip cookie.

Norman is still very lonely.

JUNEBUG

Much more calmer and introverted than her OG counterpart. She would rather stay inside reading books than play outside with her so-called 'friends'.

She is the resident bookworm of the neighborhood, incredibly smart too!

Her demeanor is highly apathetic; even if chaos erupted in the neighborhood, she wouldn't even lift her eyes from the pages of her book.

She also speaks in a very monotone voice.

She still very much hates responsibility.

She and Norman have a sort of pseudo rivalry with each other, even though it mostly affects Norman. While others react to Norman's antics, Junebug's indifference to it annoys him the most.

Even if she's not currently reading books, she's usually staring off into space or thinking about something. Ms. Lilianna is not fond of her due to her inattentiveness during one of her lessons.

Has a horrible habit of sneaking up to people and scaring them due to the fact that she walks VERY quietly.

MS. LILIANNA

It's MISS Lilianna. Not Lilianna, MISS Lilianna! She is your teacher and you WILL show her some respect!

Miss. Lilianna is incredibly strict and uptight. If you so much as even breathe loudly she will get furious with you!

She does genuinely love teaching! She teaches math, science, english, history... but her favorite lesson to teach are RULES!

Currently, she has 874 rules in her rule book. Here are some examples:

22. No talking while she's talking, that’s rude. 23. No chewing gum 24. no smiling 25. no breathing too loudly 26. no running 27. no jumping 28. no laughing 29. no living 30. no screaming 32. no playtime 33. no snack time 34. no lunchtime 35. definitely no nap time. 36. No blinking more than once per minute! 37. You must sit at a perfect 90 degree angle 38. No writing with anything other than a blue ballpoint pen with a 0.735 mm tip!

Her favorite rule is rule #17: "Everyday is Teacher's Day!" You must give Ms. Lilianna gifts and hugs to show how much you appreciate her!

The most important rule is the "No complaining about the rules" rule! Or else you'll be sent to the principals office! Which is her. She is the principal, the custodian, the janitor, every and any faculty member of the school!

...Except for the Art teacher. Please don't show her any art, she will not understand anything. She lacks any and every sort of creativity.

Her favorite weapon to use is the classic ruler! Light weight AND teacher-y

Baldi's basics lookin' ass

LENARD

Anxious Dog Energy right there.

Poor Lenard is very shy and super self conscious. Like Junebug, he would rather stay alone than be anywhere NEAR people.

He has a bit of a stutter.

He is so anxious, that he's developed several self-defense mechanisms!

He will either SCREAM BLOODY MURDER

Or he will bite you

Or a combination of both.

Sometimes he'll bite for no reason whatsoever!

Lenard is TERRIFIED of being watched, especially while practicing. Memories of him being taunted and teased during the show's production still haunt him.

He's developed severe scopophobia because of this.

He will usually sing and dance in private. Though, he's not a very good singer nor a very good dancer.

GEORGE

The epitome of "I hate my job."

This George really hates being a taxi driver. I mean, wouldn't you hate being stuck as a taxi driver for the rest of your life?

After MFN got cancelled and the puppets got abandoned, George ripped out the 'T' in his taxi cab hat. He tried ripping out more from his taxi uniform, but stopped since his uniform were the only clothes that he's got.

He's now stuck in exitensial dread. What IS George now that he's not a taxi driver? He might've hated being one, but that was all that he's got.

He hates any and all vehicles with 4 wheels or more. All the taxi cabs in the studio are smashed, even the wheels have been taken out!

He still likes rats. However, it's mostly a "appreciate from afar" type of ordeal. The rats in the studio are vicious little beasts.

He once saw a puppet get too close to the rats. Let's just say that the puppet is now a pile of cotton fluff.

The only time he was genuinely happy during the show's production was when they were filming the Pirate's Cove film. It was his first experience of being anything other than his taxi driver role. He still has his pirates hook and he would fight you tooth and nail if you try and steal it from him

AND THATS EVERYONE (for part 1 ofc)

Thank you to my friends who definitely helped with this AU (you know who you are!)

Oh! And please click the images for better quaity!

[someoneinthevoid]

quick colored ref + hcs down below

basically the premise of this au(?) is that there was one individual that got fragmented into four separate beings, well sort of, and that's how they ended up as they are

anyway here are some hcs no one asked for

(things here are subject to change i hate and love worldbuilding)

THE HEART

He/him + Any Pronouns

Refuses to show any sort of skin, due to the fact he doesn't have a set physical form

Changes his form the most to suit the preferences of who their speaking to

Exists only in people's dreams… or whenever they're unconscious enough

Has like a bajillion different versions of the same mask

Has a few masks that are scribbled on by some children he looked after before, he cherishes it a whole lot

Actually he cherishes a whole lot of things, everything is sentimental and meaningful in his 'eyes'

Loves bright colors, his alternate coat is just pure white with lots of designs from multiple children

Overly optimistic, and eerily calm when he's mad. And he rarely gets mad.

THE SOUL

He/him + Any Pronouns

The Soul is a Non-Corporeal being, it jumps from one person to the next.

And by jump, I mean this dude quite literally possesses people.

Spot someone with golden glasses overworking for their 'passions' to death? Ahah, got him there.

The current vessel is a tired college graduate with a prosthetic hand

Prefers feminine bodies over masculine ones

The gold glasses is pretty much a staple to his new vessels, it's just neat

Minimalistic approach clothing wise, which pretty much contrasts with his whole fashion line

Fashion isn't the only thing he's been doing, he works with other crafts too. As long as they're derived from passion.

Passion can kill, he often overworks his vessels to the bone, quite literally. He had a LOT of favorite vessels for a reason.

THE BODY

He/him

Amnesiac, doesn't have any memories prior to the accident. Hates that he can't remember anything.

Is not close with The Soul and Heart. Hates the Mind but he's grown dependent on him.

Solitary man with an obligatory human form, he feels uneasy with his true form because of the Mind.

Rivalry with an individual called the Black Knight.

He hates the names that mortals give him. Though, he likes the name 'Silas'.

He's the only one that looks and physically acts the most like their old self prior to the accident, hence the title.

After singlehandedly building his faction, he makes sure that all of them have their proper needs and wants. Certified A tier boss.

80% stressed all the time. Those bags under his eyes are real.

THE MIND

He/it

The personification of a dead man's intrusive AND impulsive thoughts.

He's basically his consiousness, quite literally. The whole devil and angel on your shoulder shtick.

Exists in another plane of reality, you can only see him through the cracks and surfaces of mirrors, or basically anything with a reflection

Bound to that realm, quite literally. He is bounded with chains, and thorns that circle around his skin.

Has personal beef with the Body and that he always tends to piss him off every breathing second for absolutely no reason.

Veil over his head as a mockery of both innocence and purity (hypocritical of him) and symbolism of grief over the life they had before they were fragmented.

He's the only one out of them to remember who they were before. He hates how he knows there's nothing he could do about it now.

Half of his face is, well, exploded. Everyone has a common theme of their right eye being fucked up. The right side of his face is fucked up.

Was an avid magick user before, with dubious morality to say the least. Doesn't change the fact that he was smarter than the rest.

anyway i might do more once i get finished at lore + worldbuilding, and just draw better designs atp

[cyberphuck]

The Patreon Post

SO HERE'S THE DEAL: I do not want to make anyone have to pay to see my art.

Let's be real: there are like fifty bajillion other, more skilled, and better-known artists on Patreon putting out more detailed, more unique, more in-demand, and just more art than I am (or want to). I'm a self-taught, frequently distracted amateur who's had an iPad for a year. I'm not gonna pretend that I am going to be able to pull in more Patreon subs-- or keep them, for that matter-- on the strength of my random doodles alone. I have never really thought or even hoped that I could do that, because it would mean Doing Art As A Job, and I absolutely do not want to associate "drawing" with "work." (I also don't have the means, time, motivation or experience to self-promote and/or keep a small community of followers entertained, and even the thought of having to do all that on top of having to Draw For Work is terrifying.) There's the self esteem-destroying gutpunch that someone with BPD (me haha!) receives when they ask if something they created is "worth" a certain amount and are answered with silence. (If you have BPD, you know that 'silence' is so much worse than 'no.') I don't think that anyone is actually saying my work is worthless any more than I think stairs were invented to fuck over people with bad knees, but I want to avoid one for the same reason I avoid the other: hurts and bad for healing. And also, maybe most importantly, most of the fans of my work are my friends, and most of my friends are poor people. I do not ever want someone to have to choose between "Eggman weeping as he cradles a slain Speedy Gonzales" and "rent." Lots of people I know just don't have any money to spare even for professionally made entertainment, or, like me, sometimes they have money (yay, beginning of the month!) and sometimes they don't (booo, end of the month). I'm not gonna put a paywall between my friends and my art. So, as always, you can view all of my art on Patreon for free, without an account*. (*you will have to have an account to view NSFW stuff but this will be in the 'free' tier as well.) H O W E V E R. You guys I am so fucking poor. If you follow my blog you know the whole story already-- mental illness, chronic illness, chronic mental illness, surprise rescue puppies, surprise fines from the city, the fukken recently concussed clown show that is social services in my area-- and you've seen me having to crowdfund for everything from food to gas to dog emergencies. We budget down to the cent and have cut out so many things (like the meal replacement shakes for my eating disorder lol) and we're still not making ends meet. I've got friends who help, and they help a lot, but I hate the miserable, humiliating task of asking for help every single month. (You guys also know that I don't have family that can help me, even if shit goes critical. I was on my own while I was a homeless sex worker, on my own when we lived in a shed with no windows, on my own when we were in a house with no heat and only one source of running water, and definitely on my own now, in desperate need of mobility aids, house cleaners, and a god damn break.)

So here's where I'm at: I can't ask a few people for a lot of support, but I can ask a bunch of people for a little bit. If you like my art and want to help me keep making it, want to help me make shitpost replies to people on the internet, want to help me do free askbox art challenges: Put your doodle prompt requests in the askbox. You can even request stuff anonymously! Participate in polls about what prompts you wanna see. Reblog the art you like, show off the doodle you got, leave keysmashes in the tags. The more people see the post, the more statistically likely it is we'll find the one person on Tumblr with disposable income. Also, people should know they can get free art when the prompts are live! Sub to the Patreon if you can spare three bucks a month (you can also do Ko-fi if you don't want to make a Patreon account). Ko-fi is also a good place to just plunk something into the tip jar once in a while. There are Artcards and Monthly Sketch sub tiers on Patreon for a little bit more, but I will send an Artcard to pretty much anyone who asks as long as I have some left. The art is free, it will always be free. But if you can, spare a dollar (or three).

[dsnzfb]

Counting Numbers

OC writings :)

Cactus/Rose, 1.2k words, M/M, cold snz.

It's much fun to have your boyfriend be so observant of you that he knows you're sick before you do.

"-hhaAAiish!!"

"...Ten!" A grin spread on Cactus' face, confusing his boyfriend.

From behind a tissue, Rose choked out a "Pardon?" 

"You've sneezed ten times today now."

"Thanks for counting, I... I think? You usually just say 'bless you'." A pointed sniffle, the taller man lowering the thoroughly used tissue from his irritated nose.

"This many in such a short time? Are you feelin' good, baby?”

Rose frowned, "...Sensitive. Sorry, this must be so gross, I- hhiiTshh!!"

"Eleven. I don't think it's gross, you can't exactly control it. Well, you're tryin', but..."

"Hhah- ahh- hhaaAAa-!! aaSshii!! Hhatshhiew!! Gghwaagh.." he whined pathetically, accepting another handful of tissues from his boyfriend.

"What's that, twelve, thirteen?"

"If it keeps on like this," the redhead blew his nose softly, "We'll find out how high you can count."

"Bully! But not wrong. This is more than regular sensitivity, you allergic to somethin' around here? Did I forget to dust? Or are you comin' down with a cold?" Cactus traced a thumb over his cheek slowly, intimately, "Either way, you know I'm gonna look the fuck after ya, right?"

"Language..." Another sniffle, despite his previous efforts, "Ugh... I should send you away so you don't catch this thing, if I have fallen ill..."

"But....?"

"But I... God, this is so selfish, but I want you to stay. Take care of me, give me cuddles..."

"Hah, that's a cold, all right. Tch, poor thing, you only get this clingy when you're sick. Mind if I check your temp?" Cactus didn't expect a fever, but Rose had surprised him before. All he needed was a gentle 'mmm' for permission, and he clicked his tongue.

"Startin' to get a little warm, but that might just be that my hands are cold. Whatever, gonna make you rest and take medicine anyway, should help with those body aches you get when you're feverish."

"How do you remember all this?"

"I try so I can help better next time. It's not creepy, is it?"

"No, it's swee--aahiigGSH! H-hhah- hahchii!! Hhashhii!! Aaeeshiiiu!! ...Wah."

 "Bless you, baby. See, I've lost count already. I'm just gonna say you're gonna sneeze like, a bajillion times today."

Wrapping his arms around himself and dropping the crumpled tissue, a shiver ran through Rose's body, a sad and tired expression on his face as he accepted that he was, in fact, quite unwell. Without saying a word, Cactus pulled his scarf off and easily wrapped it around his boyfriend's neck, smiling at Rose when he looked up in surprise.

"But that's-"

"Shhh, shh. Gotta keep you warm. That any better?"

"....Mm, it is rather nice..."  

"Need anythin' else? Is it prime time for you to obtain a 'boyfriend hoodie'?"

Rose laughed, hiding his lower face behind the familiar-smelling scarf. "You give that up, you'll never get it back. You're lucky I know how much this scarf means to you, so... Mercifully, I won't steal this."

"You want me to carry ya to bed?" Cactus continued, Rose rolling his eyes as a response.

"Cactus, I'm not an invalid. It's a little cold, the sofa is more than fi... Fi... Ffi-IIishh! Iihtsshi! Iishiie! Tsshiew-iishhIiew!! AahptshHh! Kktshhiiu!"

His eyes snapped open as he realised what he'd done.

".....Oh mby god." A nervous sniffle, "I'm so sorry."

"Whoa, bless you, bless! Jeez, you good? We hit a hundred yet?" 

A thick, warm hand caressed Rose's hair. Slowly, his eyes closed again, leaning into the touch. It felt so nice against his aching head.

Wait, no, wait, stop distracting him.

"C-Cac, I sneezed on your scarf, how are you not mad? Are you mad? I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to, my nose just tickles s-so bad right now, even just mentioning it-"

"Bless you."

"Aag-hh- I- I haven't even- s-sneezed again yet...." Rose's nose scrunched up, nostrils twitching in irritation.

"Listen, Rose... I seriously don't mind. It can be washed. You need the warmth, and it was there. I'm not gonna be mad about you getting sick, I knew what I was signing up for when I put it on ya. You can let 'em out."

"G-ggh- no, it's... Don't wanna do it again... Bad enough I... I... Hhih-... Did it before..."

Cactus blinked at him, nonplussed. 

"You serious? It's already done, just let 'em out. Hey, better yet, get that tickle out with a biiiiiig sneeze. Big breath in, that's it. Think of dust. Think of, uh... A cute, fluffy dog."

This man was going to kill him. He couldn't. That's Cactus's scarf. He wears it every single day, no matter how hot it is. And here Rose was, sneezing into it and dirtying it! The disrespect of it all!

"I... C-cah-... Can't..."

"Yeah, ya can. Come on, imagine somethin' real tickly. Ooh, one of those stereotypical feather dusters! You know the ones, that come with the french maid outfi-"

"Caaaaac, s-stop, I.... I need... T-to..." Rose's chest shuddered with hitches, eyebrows tugging higher and higher, "Need... Need... Hhi-iih-!! Iihh...."

Stray fibres from the scarf itself weren't helping matters, yet he wasn't pulling it down, or taking it off. It brought a smile to Cactus's face, and it made him want to tease the florist relentlessly.

"Come on, I know you wanna. I know you gotta. It's really no problem, you can sneeze against me if you want."

"A-a-absolutely not! You- I... It's... Nng-ggh... Gghk-TSsh-! Iighshh! Ttsh! Ii-iih-iihTSHii!! Iktshiew! I-i-iisSHhiew! A-ah... Ahh'ttshHIIi!! G'ttSHHEw!! Aauaagh, oh, god..." 

Cactus blinked at him, "Whoa, bless you! Damn, that was a lot, are you do-"

"GghTSSH! HHht-tsshiew-iishHhew!! IitshHHEee!! Ii-h... Hht'shShew! P'tshiu!!" Rose interrupted him, the held-back fit tumbling out.

"Guess that answers that question. Jeez, bless you a kajillion times." The barista grabbed a handful of tissues, offering them up to his incapacitated boyfriend. They were taken gratefully, Rose motioning for Cactus to turn around with a single finger.

“Really?”

“Dod’t look at be. I’b a bess…”

He obeyed with a chuckle. He's seen Rose in much worse states, yet he was embarrassed by this. So cute. Cactus couldn't help a wide grin on his face as he heard Rose blowing his nose and groaning in upset, likely at the ‘mess’ he made of the scarf.

Snf!

“Cactus, I have to wash this before I return it to you. I'm not having you catch this because you wanted to do something nice for me.” There was a rustling sound that accompanied this, which Cactus surmised as Rose attempting to clean the scarf off at least a little. He snuck a glance, and smirked at his suspicions being confirmed.

“I mean, you will return it, but keep it as long as you need.”

“Caaac…”

“Look, you put it on, I'll get you some medicine, some tea, then we can snuggle and watch that show you like. Whassit. ‘Dick’s Deals’? It'll be like you never left England.”

Whether Cactus got it wrong on purpose or not, Rose almost choked with laughter regardless. “P-Pffft- do you mean ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal'? It's just bad daytime TV, you don't have to do that.”

“Ah, but there ain't nothin’ better when you're feeling like shit, right?” He stroked Rose's hair, smoothing it out after his intense sneezing fits left it disheveled, “You've done the same for me.”

“....Mmm. Don't be long, then. I want you here.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” 

[decompose1]

im so intrigued abt the name tell me abt jabberwocky please

YAY OKAY!!

Jabberwocky is a character i made for a superhero roleplay run by a friend of mine. Some people in this world have "Marks"- superpowers caused by a solar flare a few generations ago, displayed in the form of a tattoo/birthmark-like marking on the skin.

Jabberwocky's mark, "Alice in Wonderland", allows her to manipulate the size of her body and any object she touches. There is no known limit, and she CAN do it at will, but she also shifts unintentionally depending on her emotions. This can cause her to become GIANT or SUPER TINY if she were to get, say, really angry/excited, or really scared, respectively.

There's an extra layer of complexity to this because Jabberwocky has level 3/"high support needs" autism. She's cognitively/intellectually disabled and has very little understanding or control of her emotions! She's also fully nonverbal and only uses AAC to communicate (she cannot reliably write/type, either. Struggles with language)

The location they're in is a fictional continent with its own autonomous city-states (that'd take me a bajillion years to get into). The city-state Jabber was born into, however, sees Marks as extremely scary and dangerous, so they're kinda heavily criminalized and it's illegal to even USE your mark in public. But the thing is Jabber can't help it, her mark activates without her say any time she feels like. Emotions. So she's labeled a Villain and constantly got arrested for public mark usage until she ran away and joined a cult in the mountains that worships the sun and moon. But uh. The moon exploded. So the whole cult is super freaked out and increasing recruitment efforts, leading Jabber to become a missionary for them.

I'm playing her as a duo with her little sister, Tyche, played by a friend of mine :o). Jabber is 23 and Tyche is 19. They're best friends, very very close!! They love each other so dearly and they make me so happy to write. My girls...

uhhhh the premise of this RP though is that all the characters were recruited to this top secret paramilitary project to try to make the Land better in the middle of all this extreme political unrest and bad shit. Jabber is not there by choice, she was arrested and handed over as a deal. But if she completes the project they'll free her, so. Yay(??). Her sister did join by choice because she's a hero, and that coincidence is what reunited them!!

... THAT'S SO MUCH! thank y ou for your interest in my strange little lady. She's very sweet and also doing terrible awful cult recruitment because she thinks this is a good thing. I love her