#but I feel like Sally would have at least mentioned that if that were the intention

[chronurgy]

Gortash is the sort of person who definitely spent a bunch of his time in hell thinking about all the things his parents must have bought with the money they sold him for and planning how to get his revenge on them by taking it all away. That should all belong to him now, thank you very much, since it was bought with his blood money. And I think when he escaped and got back to Baldur's Gate and found out that they were still living in the same squalid shack in the lower city it made him even more fucking furious with them. They sold their son to a devil and they couldn't even leverage that into a better fucking life! What useless, worthless pieces of shit!

[januaryembrs]

Hi!! Could I please order a spicy hot chocolate for Spencer Reid? (Like you know, the ones that people put cayenne pepper in?!)

You’re an incredible writer and human!

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND | Spencer Reid x Reader

description: your brother brings home his dorky college classmate, Spencer

length: 2.5k

warnings: spicy, SMUT (omg Em attempts smut and even then its pretty tame but why are my hands shaking), minors dni! heed my warnings this is not for you minors!! nipple stuff, mens genitalia mentioned, Spencer and reader get horny for one another oop. I really hope this is okay I've literally written smut once and even then I second guessed myself so much. SEASON ONE GLASSES SPENCE. BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND SPENCE. smut under the cut.

You felt eyes on you without even having to turn where you were stuffing laundry into the washing machine, your face sweaty with the midsummer heat. 

“Jesus Christ, you look like Hot Topic threw up on you,” Your brother’s voice resounded as two sets of footsteps entered the kitchen, and someone cleared their throat where you were bent over, denim shorts riding high up your ass cheeks. 

Flicking a look over your shoulder, you pulled the spoon full of peanut butter out of your mouth, yanking a headphone out of your ear to address him. 

“Don’t shit your pants, dickbrains, it’s all I have until my clothes are clean,” You snapped at Ryan, tongue dancing with the creamy, sweet spread, and your eyes dropped to his left where his best friend fussed over his sweater cuffs, a duffel bag on his back, and your eyes softened as you saw Spencer looking flushed in your kitchen, “Hi, Spence,” 

“Hi,” He peeped shyly, and you smiled widely at the obscenely tall boy who had been to your house a number of times. Ryan had met Spencer on the first day of college, or at least his first day. For Spencer, it had been six years already, his third doctorate well underway, and the two had quickly bonded over something dumb and nerdy you’d never bothered to take note of. You clicked the dials on the machine to a low setting, pouring some detergent into the drum and pressing the ‘Start’ button.

“You guys doing homework?” You asked, fixing where your shirt slouched off the side of your shoulder, exposing your lack of bra and baring your collar bones, and you were quick to catch the way Spencer’s hazel hues fell there with something fleeting and guilty in his expression. 

“We’re not twelve years old calculating how many watermelons Sally and Jess have all together,” Your brother scoffed, screwing his lips in annoyance, just as much as any twenty year old pumped full of hormones and energy drinks. “We’re writing a paper on thermodynamics; Spencer’s staying over tonight,”

Rolling your eyes at his know it all snark, you pulled a face back at him, despite the fact you were one year older. You looked to his left where Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets, his cheeks pink as he caught himself like a fly in honey in one of your usual arguments. 

“Do you want a drink, Spence?” You offer, ignoring Ryan’s shitty attitude, heading over to the fridge and swinging the door open, your fathers bottles of beer clinking together where they lay flat on the top shelf. 

“Soda would be great, please,” Spencer murmured, trying not to stare as you leaned over, those little, black hot pants skirting up so far his face felt feverish and he forced himself to look at the linoleum tiles in a scrambled attempt to control his thoughts. 

He felt like a kid again, with a stupid little crush on the older girl who batted her lashes and called him Spence and smiled at him like you knew exactly how you made that big brain of his turn to mush when you spoke to him. 

Handing him a Coke, he tried to ignore the way your cold fingers brushed and avoided your gaze at all cost.

“Thankyou,” He said, his voice cracking in the very middle of it in a way that made him feel like a total loser, and he heard you giggle, his neck growing a prickling hot. 

Before you could say much else, his friend grabbed his sleeve, tugging him in the direction of his room where you couldn’t bother them anymore. 

Spencer was thinking about your laugh the entire afternoon, until they gave up writing and turned to watching Star Trek, the evening air quickly turning humid and dark, and he begged the tightness in his boxers to leave him be for even just a second.

Only, he found no such luck, tortured by the thought of you being just a single flight of stairs away from him. 

–

You were doing dishes by the time you heard him again. Assuming it was Ryan, you made no effort to greet him since it usually was only responded with a grunt or cuss anyways. 

Except you could tell by the footsteps that were too careful, the presence that was too soft, even by the way he cleared his throat nervously, that it certainly wasn’t your obnoxious brother who had come into the kitchen for a midnight snack. 

Whirling around at the sound, Spencer stood on the other side of the dining table you'd been sitting at just a few hours ago eating pasta and listening to your mom recounting her stressful day in the office. Thin, framed glasses perched on his nose, ones you’d never seen before, glinting in the light from the oven as he blinked at you behind the lenses. 

“Spence,” You said with a tired smile, eyes dropping to his shirt and plaid trousers, “Cute jammies,” 

He paused for a second, looking down to the grey Doctor Who set, a diagram of the TARDIS splayed across his chest, and he blanked when he tried to figure out if you were kidding or being genuine, “Thank you. You too,”

He didn’t know why he’d said it, maybe because that’s just what you do when someone is being kind, except only then did he look at what you were wearing, and impossibly so it was even more scandalous than what you were wearing earlier. 

A tank top, if he could even call it that with how far it rode up, and a lacy pair of blush underwear, a pretty white bow resting just below your belly button. 

Following his gaze as it devoured your exposed appendage, you grinned at him devilishly, “Sorry, it gets pretty hot in my room at night,” 

“Y-yeah I can imagine you-you’re hot,” He stammered, realising what he said when you raised a brow at him, “B-because you’re a floor up, I mean, and heat rises because hot air has a lower particle density than cool air although some physicians believe-”

“I know what you meant, Spence,” You said with a smirk, moving around the table to stand in front of him, your feet padding softly against the cold floor. Looking up at him with a tilted head, you inspected the frames you realised were a mahogany brown now you were close enough to see them properly, you peered past the lenses and right into where his doe eyes stared back at you, skittish and flustered, “Are these new?” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously, “I used to wear glasses when I was a kid but now I wear contacts,” He said, rubbing clammy palms over his trousers. He could smell your detergent from here, the same one he’d seen you pour over your laundry just a few hours earlier, ‘Blossom breeze’ or something girly and sweet and floral like that. He didn’t know the brand, but it was entirely intoxicating, except he suspected it had nothing to do with the liquid and more to do with the fact he could see your nipples pressing against your shirt when you stood so close to him, “Girls don’t really think scrawny guys in glasses are.. hot,” 

You sniggered, though your brows furrowed the slightest bit, “Who told you that?” 

“Lot’s of girls, more than once actually, it’s just kind of common knowledge,” He fumbled, his chest pricking with nerves when your fingers moved up to grip his waist gently, thumbs danced down his hip bones, the gentle touch alone stirring his cock into a painfully hard stance. He gulped, the sound loud in the sombre twilight of the kitchen, and for a guy who had aced every single test he’d ever taken, who played chess against himself for fun to guess his next five moves, Spencer had no clue where he existed outside of your body so close to his, looking at him like he was a puppy begging for treats if he gave paw. 

“I think those girls are absolute boneheads if they can’t see how pretty you are, Spence,” You said his name as if it was the only one that had ever mattered, and he couldn’t help how his chest swelled at the sentiment, even if he wasn’t so off guard as to actually believe that. You’d always had this way of making people feel special, he saw it at your family barbecue last Summer, when your cousins flocked around you like you were their Queen Bee, how you seemed to make waiters and waitresses alike flush under your preening smiles and 'please's and 'thankyou's whenever you took Spencer and your brother out for dinner. 

“T-thankyou,” He replied after a thick breath, his chest rattling as you pulled him towards your calm figure, and he let himself be guided like he were leashed, “Y-you’re pretty too,”

He wanted to tell you so much more than that, that you were beautiful like all the popular girls at school were, only humble and kind like the golden part of you glittered inside too, except before he could even attempt at expanding on his three pathetic little words he’d stammered through laboured breaths, he effectively got fully disconnected from his brain when you leaned in towards his face and brushed your nose against his, testing the waters. 

Your gaze trailed up to his innocently, so close he could feel your minty breaths fanning over his bottom lip, and he guessed you’d already brushed your teeth ready for bed. 

“You really think I’m pretty, Spence?” You asked naively, even if he knew it was just because he forgot how to speak when you were too forward, as if you were trying not to spook a deer. He nodded quickly, his eyes zeroing on where your mouth was mere centimetres away from him, one single shiver in his spine and he would be kissing you, and like you’d heard his train of thought, you pushed your lips against his softly, his body jolting with an electric shock. 

There could be sirens surrounding the entire house and he would be none the wiser, because in mere seconds his blood was rushing through his eardrums, sounding like radio static, and it was only when he felt the vibration of it against his mouth did he realise you’d whined, and his hands sprung to life, cupping both your cheeks and tugging you closer to his face as if he was clinging onto every second of the feeling. 

Spencer groaned, a sound he didn’t even realise he was going to make until he felt your fingers squeeze him lightly, and he snapped back into his body like a hair tie slinging him back into a world where the girl he’d had a teeny, tiny, maddening crush on for months was making out with him in her kitchen. 

“‘Gotta be quiet, baby, my parents are asleep,” You said, breathless as you ripped yourself away from him, despite the fact he was insistently pulling you back towards his mouth, and you smiled up at his urgency, “You ever kissed a girl before, Spence?”  

He sighed, and you’d never counted him as sassy until you heard it, almost spoiled and bratty now you’d given him a taste of heaven and held it back from him for the sake of small talk.

“Once, at recess in fifth grade, but it wasn’t like this,” He said, yanking you back towards him ravenously, and you let him devour your lips again, grinning into his desperate mouth, “Never been like this,” 

You weren’t sure whether he meant himself or what was likely a peck on the lips between kids as a dare, but you didn’t think too hard about it, as you slotted yourself back into his rough hands, calluses on the insides of his right fingertips from the years holding a pen so hard he might just break it. He felt your mouth open, and he followed your lead, your tongue feathering out with a shyness you showed nowhere else. And it was like every single statistic and number and fact about sharing saliva flew out of his head with wanton need as he dove right for the source, the tip of his tongue meeting yours with a warm nudge and he heard you mewl in pleasure. 

Spencer didn’t know what had come over him. Only moments ago he’d been too nervous to even look at you in fear of stumbled around a few syllables and calling them words. Yet here he was, his glasses slipping down his nose and pressing against the bridge of your own, your chest pressed so close to him he could feel your nipples pebbling against his TARDIS shirt, and it was like it was then he remembered you had no bottoms on except your panties. 

He hooked a hand underneath one of your legs, hiking it up to his waist and pushing even further up against you, the sudden movement making you gasp, your lower back hitting the dining table as his pubic bone ground against the ball of nerves that had been aching since you caught him shuffling around your kitchen in his damn Doctor Who pyjamas. 

Sliding his broad fingers up, your skin spread into gooseflesh and it was your turn to become putty under his touch as he bravely grabbed a handful of your arse, though his touch was still light and uncertain if he was crossing any boundaries. The change in position meant you felt yourself leaning back, your spine spreading out like a cat in warm sunlight, and he was quick to accommodate you, ever eager to please as Spencer was, moving away from the warmth of your mouth and kissing his way down to your pulse, the feeling of it making both of you hum on quietened tones in pleasure. 

“Why have we never done this before?” You asked breathlessly, your chest rising frantically as you gasped for air, a hushed moan bleeding into your airways. 

Spencer held you upright with one of his long arms, thought his mouth devoured a path over your collar bones, heading right for where your breasts lay in wait, and he didn’t even bother trying to remove your top as he kissed over your nipple with hungry, warm lips. 

“I dunno, probably because Ryan wouldn’t be too happy with me trying to fuck his sister while he’s eating dinner,” Spencer said without thinking, his tone sharp and witty as ever, like the noises you were making and the desperation in your touch seemed to rewire his thoughts into something overindulged. 

But you laughed, loud enough you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from waking up the whole house, because you had no idea how you’d explain to them why you and Spencer had ended up half sprawled on the dining table as he practically fixed himself onto every inch of you. And without warning he chuckled too, the vibration blowing over your skin that was already humming with excitement. 

“Do you think we could do this more often?” You asked, raising yourself up onto your elbows as his hands spread over your stomach, riding your top up just the smallest bit so he could kiss over your stomach, his pupils blown out into planets behind his glasses, his cheeks tinged raspberry red, his gaze drunken like he was in some sort of sugar rush only ready to stop when he’d gotten his fill, though at the rate he was going Spencer thought that day might not actually come. 

You were a drug, a nectar he’d never come close to, and he felt like every kiss to your skin only made that well in his stomach dig deeper and deeper, possibly never running dry as his every thought overflowed with drops of you, and your smell, and your taste, and your tongue. 

Missing your lips, he moved back up to your face, crashing his mouth back onto yours as your fingers raked through his hair, the sensation jolting his rod like appendage into you own pelvis, the two of you shivering with the feeling of it. 

“I think we can arrange that,” He murmured, and you grinned up at him devilishly as he fiddled with the cotton hem of your underwear nervously, his boldness wearing off as he saw that glint in your eyes that spelled trouble. But he understood that nervous and excitement felt so similar it was easy to mistake one for the other, perhaps even mesh both together at the same time, and the logical explanation for his clammy hands and racing heart seemed to soothe him the slightest bit. 

He loved sleepovers at your house.

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ hidden deep inside ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ percy jackson x mortal reader ୨୧ is it foolish to think that greek mythology is real and that your boyfriend is a part of it? find part one: i know all your secrets a/n: (1.4k words) finally part two is here! sorry it took so long x 🩷

A month. You had a month until your lovely boyfriend Percy Jackson had his birthday.

You'd walked through almost every store in your city eight times before realizing you had no idea what to get him.

As horrible as it sounded it was true. What kind of a girlfriend couldn't think of a good gift?

You'd quickly given up trying to find clothes he'd like. Which shade of blue would he like best in his shirts? Was it too easy to give him clothes in his favourite colour? What if you'd overdone it and he no longer likes blue?

No clothes then.

You'd look at jewelry, you knew he prefers silver over gold. but he didn't like things that jangled and made noise. A ring then. But as you looked at the prices of the few you thought he'd like. Your heart broke as each one rose higher than the last.

No rings then.

You'd thought about cologne, none of the stores had the specific one he liked most. 

Then you saw a store that sold skateboards but you knew his friend, Annabeth, was getting him one. she'd thankfully told you before she bought it what she was getting him so you knew not to get it.

You briefly passed a bookstore before remembering how Percy made clear how he had difficulty reading. 

Everything you'd thought of it just didn't feel right. It didn't feel enough. Percy always put thought into the gift he showers you in, and while you try to reciprocate that, his birthday was different. 

This had to be the gift.

He had mentioned a restaurant he'd found, one that served all his favourites and you'd tried to get a reservation but they were all booked out.

He'd told you stories about how his mother used to give him blue candy from the store she used to work at but when you talked to her on the phone she mentioned how she was gifting it to him once again.

He'd tell you of the times he'd go to montonk with his mother but you had no idea how to get him there without him noticing. 

Perhaps you should just tell him. Tell him you didn't have any surprises but you still wanted to spend time with him. You could make his favourite food and do whatever he wanted. You could stargaze and he could relax, he could tell you more stories and have a peaceful day.

Stories. Percy loved stories! Of course, if you couldn't buy him a present you could just make him one. He couldn't read English well, but you knew he could read Greek, ancient greek. 

You'd been on a date at a museum and there was a statue holding a slab of writing. Offhandedly you said that you wished you knew what it said, Percy automatically read it out. He'd quickly brushed it off that he was joking but you knew better than that.

Over the year you two had been together and the year prior you both were friends for, you knew to take notice of the odd little slip up he has. 

When he's asleep and mumbles something in another language, one you'd bet was ancient greek. 

When you both visit the beach and his tanned shoulders and back over various scars. the odd white streak in his hair that he never has to dye to stay there, and from the baby photos sally showed you, he wasn't born with it. 

And finally there was his father. You'd never met the man but Percy often talks about him, and the strange family business at sea he works for.

You were researching and trying to learn greek, modern greek so at least you might have a headstart on the ancient language next. Planning to write the story, his story in a language he could understand.

But the more Greek mythology you read the more foolish you thought you were becoming.

A part of you, the part who loved a good fantasy story enjoyed the idea of it all. Stories of tragedy, love and war. Of heroes and gods alike. It all seemed far fetched of course but a nagging part of you wanted to believe it to be true.

Which was ridiculous. How could both science and mythology be true at the same time? 

Could the Earth rotating on its axis be the reason for the sun rising or could it be Apollo and his chariot? 

The reason for thunder and lightning is that Zeus was having a bad day or that there's a buildup of electric charges in storm clouds? 

Do you dream because your brain still thinks it's awake while you sleep or because Morpheus blessed you with a dream?

Is it possible for both to happen at once? That the sun is both at once? That the lightning is both together? That dreams have reasons?

Surely not... that would be absurd.

However it would make more sense about the weird horse that follows Percy everywhere, seriously that horse has strange vibes. Like he can understand your questing gaze, not to mention if you looked at him close enough you're sure you can see wings.

Or the time you briefly met Percy's brother on the way to work. You were running late and Tyson, you later learned his name was, knocked on the front door looking for Percy. 

They had something to do at work together and had come to pick him up. You were in such a rush to not be later than you already were, it wasn't until later when you thought back on it. 

You were sure Tyson only had one eye, but it was blurry like one second he was fine then next his eyes shifted into one in the middle of his face, before quickly disappearing again. You just assumed it was because of the busy morning you had.

The more you remembered the more that deep nagging feeling in you got stronger. To the point of it almost hurting.

Nevertheless you kept learning and kept writing, it wasn't completely accurate (not by a long shot), you just hoped it was somewhat understandable.

By the time you were finished the entire book percy had almost spoiled the surprise for himself three times. You could tell he was becoming more and more suspicious especially when you would continue to brush his questions off.

But it would be worth it. Hopefully.

His birthday couldn't have come any quicker. You both promised Sally to visit and have dinner with them but you got him all to yourself in the morning.

Everything was going to plan.

You'd made him his favourite breakfast without any error. 

You'd both gone on a morning walk around the city just like he said he wanted to, all without any incidents. 

You'd both bought lunch to take back home where you two watched a movie he got to pick.

After all of that, you finally worked up the courage to give him his gift. You'd left to grab it where you'd hidden it away. 

You looked over the birthday wrapping paper double checking everything was still perfect before running back into the living room where percy patiently sat.

"I really hope you like it, Happy Birthday love" You mumbled nervously as you handed the wrapped gift to his waiting hands.

"I know I will, beauty" His easy smile soothed your worries.

He carefully unwrapped his present, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he flipped the book over. His eyes followed the greek letters on the handbound cover.

The Tales of Perseus Jackson.

A modern day hero.

Written by his love sick poet.

He delicately opened the cover to read the dedication page.

For Percy,

Whether love is a chemical reaction or a arrow shot by Eros

I love you more than words, although the muses can try.

Happy birthday my love.

He looked up at you, tears threatening to fall past his waterline. He looked at you like you'd just hung the stars in the night sky, suddenly you felt a little silly. Why were you ever worried?

He raced up to tightly hug you, his head buried in your shoulder. His whispers of 'I love you's and thank you’s' melted your heart. 

It was all worth it. The late nights, the travelling to libraries, the endless studying.

You realized you'd do just about anything to see that wide smile on his face.

[boldlyvoid]

Falling For You.

[REQUEST] spencer reid x BAU!reader but they're in a secret relationship, and basically she gets him to watch all these romcoms, so when he makes a reference to something like Notting Hill or You've Got Mail and then the whole secret is blown.

warnings: mentions of lila archer, spoilers for 90s/2000s rom-coms, co-workers to lovers, love confessions, implied smut, secret relationships.

word count: 2.4k

It was no secret that the newest team member had a thing for romantic comedies. From the little jokes she made with Penelope to the quote from Pretty Woman on her travel mug, she was a walking Rom-Com reference.

Hotch understood some of the references, JJ would talk her ear off about her favourites, and even Emily and Derek would jokingly re-enact that scene from When Harry Met Sally every time they had a team lunch. It was only Spencer who didn’t get the jokes, and after having to explain them all to him 1 too many times, she finally invited him over to watch some. 

The first one they watched together was Can’t Buy Me Love. Patrick Dempsey, a loveable nerd has been saving up all summer to buy the telescope of his dreams when the girl next door accidentally ruins her mom's favourite dress and needs to buy a replacement… he ends up buying it for her on the condition that she pretends to date him so his Senior Year can be his best year yet. Spencer likes the movie overall, he wishes someone in his high school took enough pity on him to make him popular. But his favourite scene is when they go to the abandoned airplane graveyard and watch the stars in his homemade telescope. 

“I can make one of those,” Spencer whispers to her. 

“Really?” 

He nods, “It would be pretty easy… maybe we could go star gazing someday too?” He asks, biting the bullet and making this movie date the first of many dates they’d go on. 

—

The next movie they watch is Never Been Kissed. Drew Barrymore is a nerdy reporter who goes undercover at a high school and gets to relive her teen years while falling in love for the first time. Spencer likes this one because he can relate, he never had his first kiss until well into his 20s… and she was an actress, too. When he explains that to Y/N she can’t believe it, but he has the magazine photos of them saying goodbye after the case to prove it. 

“Have you kissed many people since then?” She asks, wishing he’d move a little closer to her and steal one. 

He nods, “a few.” 

“anyone good?” 

He shakes his head, “no, I’m saving the best kiss for last.” 

She looks puzzled? “What?” 

“My best kiss will be from the girl I end up marrying,” he gives her a smile and moves his hand over to hold hers. 

“Oh,” she bites back a smile and looks down at their interlocked fingers. “Have you at least met her yet?” 

“I think so…” 

“Well, then shouldn’t you kiss her to find out if she’s the right one?” She teases, leaning into his space even more. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he teases, he cups her face with his free hand and rubs his thumb over her cheek, “are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

She nods and leans in all the way this time. Effectively pressing their lips together. And even for a first kiss, it sure does feel different. It feels like her last first kiss ever. 

—

Keeping it a secret at work is hard when all they want to do is stare at each other with googly-eyes, they’ve fallen head over heels for each other and not told a single soul. No one knows about their movie dates or their real dates either. No one knows they’ve spent a whole night kissing or that they really, really, don’t mind sharing the hotel room with the two queen beds. And they definitely don’t know that they only slept in the one. Together. The whole week they were away. 

After the case ends, they head back to her apartment for their mandated 48 hours off with the pan to watch as many movies as they can. 

The third movie they watch is You’ve Got Mail. 

“Rival bookstore owners hate each other in real life, yet on the internet manage to fall madly in love with one another. Based on an older movie called The Shop Around The Corner, it’s a beloved story brought to life once again by the one and only Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.” 

She explains every movie like this before they put it on. He’s honestly only watching them because he loves listening to her talk about them. 

“You see, they both have partners in real life but they email each other every day, as friends… but you know what it's like in movies like these,” she smirks. “Best friends who have a lot in common find it easy to fall in love.” 

“That they do,” he agrees. 

He raises his arm over the back of the couch and she sits back, leaning into his side just as his hand lands on her shoulder. They snuggle up close, she hits play and he watches with glee, not knowing this was going to become his favourite movie by the time it’s over. 

His favourite line is when two cars honk at each other and their drivers get out to argue, followed by Meg Ryan saying “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Which is something Tom Hanks says to her in an email earlier that morning.

He loves the way the old man recalls a woman of his past and called her “enchanting” because what a wonderful thing to say about a woman.

He giggles when Tom Hanks tosses aside Pride and Prejudice cause he just doesn’t get it the way Meg's character does. But ultimately, he picks it back up because he wants to get to know her through her reading history. 

“I sympathize with Frank,” Spencer whispers as he brings out a typewriter when they have a perfectly good computer at her house. 

“I know,” she laughs. “I love the tablets at work, I can’t believe you still have Penny paint the files out for you.” 

You are a lone reed standing tall, waving boldly in the curet sands of commerce. Frank compliments Kathleen, or at least he tries to. 

Spencer giggles again. “I remember what it was like being a lone Reid,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

She gets all flustered, so madly in love with him that she wants to scream it from the rooftops but it feels way too soon. They’re only 3 movies into their relationship. Maybe at 10, she’ll tell him. Till then, she looks over at him and steals a real kiss. 

Kathleen is so passionate about her books in the same way that Y/N loves her movies. Spencer sees so many similarities between them that it’s really no wonder that Tom Hanks’ character falls in love with her. Passionate, kind, beautiful women will always have a place in Spencer's heart. 

Their 4th movie is another Meg Ryan classic; When Harry Met Sally, and now Spencer understands why Derek pretends to have an orgasm when he eats a good salad… 

Their 5th movie is Notting Hill and Y/N can tell he doesn’t like it very much because unlike William Tucker, the actress who kissed Spencer never talked to him again after that. 

Their 6th movie, however, is Pretty Woman. And while they shared a bed all through the last case, they’ve never really slept together. So watching a movie all about sex and falling in love really didn’t help the frustration they were both feelings. By the time the movie ended, it was almost midnight and they should’ve been getting ready for bed. 

She gets up and heads to her room, expecting him to follow but he just stands in her doorway, watching with a bit of anxiety in his gut. 

“So…” Spencer asks. “What happens after he climbs up and rescues her?” 

She stills, her heart fills with love and she quickly makes his way to him. She cups his face in her hands, staring up at him. “She rescues him right back.” 

“Indeed you have,” he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips. “You know what all these movies have in common?” 

“What?” She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“They all fell in love pretty quickly, I mean just look at Vivian and Edward, it took them less than a week,” he explains. “So I don’t feel too crazy when I say… I love you, Y/N. I love you so very much.” 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispers between kisses. 

They kiss and kiss and he walks with her, leading her toward the bed where they fall in and make love for the first time. It's hot and close and emotional. It's slow and steady and perfect. It’s everything both of them have dreamed of when they finally met the one. 

— 

On their second day off they watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 13 Going On 30, 50 First Dates, A Walk to Remember, 10 Things I Hate About You, and The Holiday. They would’ve gotten to more if they weren’t so wrapped up in one another. By the time they go back to work, they’ve gotten through half of her list of favourite movies. 

He’s not sure if it’s luck or coincidence or what… but their next case happens to be in New York. 

When they land, they get into their Bureau-issued SUVs and weave in and out of traffic on their way to the scene. They’re honked at multiple times and Spencer just smirks to himself. It’s not until they get out and they’re honked at once again, with some guy yelling at them to get out of his way, that Spencer turns to her and says. “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

She giggles and shoves him, “Shut up.” 

“It’s not the fall?” JJ remarks, not knowing why he’d say such a thing or why she’d react like that. 

“Hey, isn’t that…” Emily thinks it over for a second. “That’s a line from you’ve got mail!” 

“How would Spencer know that movie?” JJ laughs it off. 

Spencer turns to beat red with embarrassment. “I’ve seen it…” 

“You’ve seen you’ve got mail?” Derek even rides him for this slip-up. “And when do you have time to watch rom-coms?” 

“I’ve seen the original,” he lies. “It’s based on The Shop Around The Corner. My mom liked it before she got sick.” 

“Okay,” they drop it there. 

Thankfully. 

And by the time the case ends, 3 days have passed, the unsub has been booked into Jail at 9am and they’re free to go home. If they want to. Derek suggests they all go out for breakfast, and Hotch says he rather go home and sleep. JJ wants to go shopping and Emily’s right there with her. 

Spencer on the other hand, he opens his phone and sends Y/N a message. 

“There’s a place in Riverside Park at 91st street where the path curves and there’s a garden. I’ll be waiting there for you.” 

She digs her phone out of her pocket seconds later and smiles, a small sigh leaves her as her shoulders slump. She’s so in love with him it's unreal. 

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asks her. “Do you want to come with us?” 

“No… no, I have a friend in town I want to meet up with.” 

“Looks like it’s just me and you for breakfast, pretty boy,” Derek teased, wrapping his arm around Spencer. 

He shakes his head, “Actually, I was thinking about going on a little sightseeing adventure, you know I only come to new york for work.” 

“Fine then,” Derek drops it and he, Emily and JJ watch as Spencer and Y/N head off, out of the precinct and in different directions. “I bet you ten bucks they’re meeting up.” 

“Hold on,” JJ says as she calls up Penelope. “Hey, yeah, can you tell me where Spencer and Y/N’s GPS pings in 20 minutes?” 

“I can… why?” Penny asks nervously. 

“No reason. Just a hunch.” 

When Penelope eventually calls her back all she has to say is Riverside Park at 91st Street and they know. 

—

Y/N gets there first, she’s never seen this place in person before. The flowers are even more vibrant than in the movie. There are bees dancing around every other flower, couples walking around hand in hand, people on dog walks and moms with their strollers. It’s just an average early morning in New York. 

And then she sees him. He comes rounding the corner, he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper… at least she thinks they’re flowers. 

What they don’t notice is their friends on the other side of the garden, watching them get closer and closer until they’re chest to chest. He wraps his free hand around her waist, she cups his face in her own hands, and she stares up at him like he hung the stars just for her.  

“I wanted it to be you,” Spencer whispers what was originally Meg Ryan's line. “I wanted it to be you so badly.” 

“You sure did save the best for last,” she knows exactly what he means. 

Just as they lean in to kiss, as his lips meet hers, they hear it. Someone is playing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” just for them. They smile into the kiss, shocked that their life is playing out like a perfectly written movie and then they see them.

It’s their own friends who played it. They’re clapping in the distance, “Woo!!” Emily cheers.

“We knew this would happen!” Derek throws in for good measure. 

They can’t help but laugh, Spencer pulls her in for another kiss, a longer, more hearty kiss. He loves her and he wants everyone to know. 

When she pulls back, she looks as though she could cry, so he extends the bouquet to her. It’s a bunch of yellow, newly sharpened number 2 pencils tied up with string. 

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

“Not as much as I love you,” she says as she takes them, gladly. “Not even close.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

I love your writing am and i always seem to go back to your sally face fic and i would love something similar to that but with sally and i would love to see if you could incorporate substance use (ex. weed) not to a dangerous extent but almost seen as inviting. with ftm reader again! ofcs you can take this request and do what you like with it!! i just love your writing sm and i want to see more sally face content:)

❝ If you think I’m pretty put your hands on me, know I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it ❞

Sal Fisher x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | vers. bttm. reader | NOT PROOFREAD + written on phone | wc: 4K

warnings: recreational use of marijuana, some guilt from Sal because he vowed not to smoke as a child but r! reassures him, Sal mentions painkiller addictions, mentions of hospitals and wounds, mentions of scarring, shotgun kisses, handjobs, fingering, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock)

masterlist ; "I was the boy who was on your side"

authors note: I FORGOT TO FILL THIS UHM UHHH IM BACK?

*song on repeat: Romeo by Until The Ribbon Breaks

He's been drumming his fingers across his knees for a full 20 minutes now. A never-ending symphony of thumps occasionally disturbed by pauses of silence as he picked at the ripped edges of his jeans. You suppose you understand the anxiety that was racking through him, despite the reassurances you'd given him, he was bound to have some second thoughts. "Hey, baby," you tap the steering wheel, an elbow propped onto your window sill panel. Despite your eyes being glued on the road, you're acutely aware of his gaze on yours.

"Ya' didn't have to come along if you didn't want to," at your words he shakes his head. "No — Sorry, I didn't mean to come off that way, baby." Sal reaches out and places a hand on your knee, squeezing it just enough to have you decompressing your nerves.

"No, no. I didn't mean to make you feel bad," you clasp his hand and squeeze him back, the road will be fairly emptier now that you've driven past the bridge. "You just look a little nervous is all, I was jokin' 'bout you needing to follow along. I was just teasing you, Sal." "I know. I wanted to spend time with you, (Y/N). Which is why I followed along even though I knew you were just fucking with me," he sighs, allowing the song playing on the radio to filter in the silence for a few seconds. "It's just, buying drugs, makes me a liiittle nervous."

A chuckle escapes you and you risk staring at Sal for a bit. "You've dealt with poltergeists and the like, the baloney incident, and buying a little ganja is making you sweat?"

“Shut up,” he groans as he slips his hand up and lands a muted smack on your thighs. “Poltergeists can land me in a psychiatrist's office, this could land us in jail.”

“At least we’ll be together in a small cell,” you coo and Sal rolls his eye with a scoff. “We’re not gonna get caught, ya’ big baby. I’ve done this a thousand times with Larry, Todd, and Ashley — we’ll be fine. Promise.”

It went more than fine. Underwhelming actually. He had expected a more intense, whispered, exchanges with some weirdly firm handshake while the other dude slipped you the weed. He had even lifted the hood of his hoodie up to make the both of you less identifiable. It was adorable.

Your dealer had come down from their apartment. Sal seeing her brightly coloured pink tie-dye sweatpants from the slat of the stairs, and the cheerful wave she gave you once she took notice of your car.

“Was wondering when you’d text. I got your favourite.”

She’s leaned on your rolled-down windows, discretely holding the pink paper bag of weed in front of her chest and bouncing it around. She extends her other hand first, and Sal is silent as you reach for the cash from the cup holder.

In that pause of conversation, she takes notice of him and recognition is crystal clear.

“O-M-G, is that Sal, the boyfriend?” You chuckle while Sal stutters in surprise. Handing her the cash, she graciously exchanges it with the bag.

“Yeah, he’s following along with me running errands.” “Cute,” she coos. After a few pleasantries, she leans away. That small pink paper bag between your legs barely able to distract your boyfriend from her excited wave of goodbye — that you return obviously.

“You talk about me with her?” you glance at him for a second then laugh. “Dude, most of us get our weed from her. She eventually gets to know the side characters in our lives the longer she interacts with us.”

He scoffs, crossing his arm as he leans back in the seat.

“Side characters? Seriously?” “Duh,” you pick the bag up and shake it in his face teasingly. “Everyone knows the main characters participate in drug culture and the side characters don’t.”

“This is the peer pressure my father warned me about.”

You giggled at his joke as you place the bag between your thighs again. This time, Sal’s eyes follows it.

He’s seen you and Larry smoke before. Hell, most of his friends smoke on the back porch while he’ll be mindlessly cleaning up as he waits for all of you to herd back inside. He’s never felt left out, you guys were simply respecting his wishes is all. He wasn’t much of a fan of drinking or smoking. But he wouldn't stop anyone from doing it, as long as no one got too inebriated.

Though, for some reason, he just can’t take his eyes away from that pink bag.

“Mhm, next thing you know, you’ll look like those anti-bullying posters. All the stoners will point and laugh while you have big ole’ sad cat eyes.”

The imagery makes him laugh softly and he glances at your face as the scenery zooms past beside you.

When you reach home, the house is empty. A note was left on the kitchen fridge by Todd, something about him and his boyfriend going on a date.

Just you, Sal and Gizmo.

It makes his palms clammy and his nerves turning up his sensitivity a few notches.

You greeted Gizmo with a few chin scratches. Settling on the living room couch with crossed legs, you open the bag one handedly while you lean over to the catch-all bowl on the coffee table for the lighter and your MP3 player.

All the while, he stands in the kitchen threshold. Like a kid who knows they’ve done something they’re definitely shouldn’t have done — the guilt was just radiating from him. It made you toss your head to the side when you took notice of him, a joint hung loosely between your lips.

“You good, baby?”

He nods, your words setting him into motion as he sits on the couch.

“I’m not gonna smoke inside,” you reassure with a smile. Why else would he stare at you like that, right?

He nods again. Oddly quiet. Gizmo yawns and sinks further down onto the couch, watching the TV show with an almost human-like concentration. Nobody says anything about it anymore. He’s just a little guy, really.

You lean over, joint plucked out and resting between the second knuckle of your pointer and middle finger this time, and give his cheek a kiss.

“See you in a bit.”

He watches like he always does. There’s nothing to clean. It’d be weirder if he attempted to look busy. So he glances at the TV, then at Gizmo and then at your back as you sit down on the porch. He can hear the muffled sounds of you flicking the lighter, and shortly after he sees the white smoke that slithers upwards into the air along with the sounds of your favourite band quietly playing.

You thought you hadn’t closed the sliding doors properly when you hear the approaching footsteps. Turning your head to check, you’re surprised to spot Sal walk through the doors to move and settle next to you.

You cough out some smoke. Attempting to fan it away with your hand while you reach to put out the joint in the ash tray that Ashley had made. But Sal stops you as he knocks your knees together, his thigh pressing against yours as he peers at you.

“Sal?”

“...Say hypothethically, a side character wants to dip his toes in some drug culture." Your eyes widen considerably at his confession.

“Huh?” you squeak out. Sal sighs, regret creeping up on him as he scratches the back of his head. The smell of the weed doesn’t exactly help either — it was so distinct.

“Wait, no, sorry. I’m just, this isn’t because of peer pressure is it?” You did mini-hops, getting close enough to him for your thighs to press together. Yet you still held the clay ash tray an arms length away, especially as you note the sharp inhale and exhale he'd made.

Sal’s deadpanned expression makes your eyebrows jump.

“This was dumb,” He admits. “No — no, it isn’t. I was just caught off-guard. Are you...curious?”

Sal nods sheepishly. You lean back on the heel of your hand, the other still holding onto the tray, your finger mindlessly keeping the still-lit joint perched between your digit and the rim of the tray. You think for a moment, then huff in amusement.

“Damn, you still manage to surprise me even after all these years.”

“You’re making it sound like we’ve been married for 50 years,” he retorts. “We will be, I’m just practicing these phrases out loud so you don’t get heart failure in the future.”

This time, Sal’s shoulders shake as he laughs. It dies down as he sees you take a drag, and breathe out the plumes of smoke. Not directly at him, but in his general direction. The smell isn’t something he’s used to. Not this close anyways. Usually, it’s just stuck on your clothes but you reach for the bottle of Febreze strategically placed near the sliding doors anyway so it's more muted.

It. . .doesn’t completely suck. The earthiness of it making his shoulders less tense. You watch his reaction closely, the corners of your lips in a gentle curve as he leans back onto his hands.

You take another drag and Sal’s enraptured at the way the end of your joint glows bright orange. He feels almost envious of the way you swallow the smoke, how you harbour it within your mouth before it slips past your lips. You’re looking at him, just basking in the moment for a little longer before you ask him to play your favourite songs.

It was just beginning to get dark, the sky was setting up for its finale of the day and he was enraptured as you explain what shotgun kisses were.

"I have smoked a cigarette before," he says, brows furrowed as he unbuckles his prosthetic. "Yeah, and nearly coughed up both of your lungs. This will be smoother for you, trust me."

"So I just inhale what you exhale?" "Mhm, easy as pie, right?"

His placed his prosthetic next to him, turning his head and immediately seeing your face invading his vision. "Hi," he smiled at your attempt to keep your smile at bay by chewing on your lower lip.

"Hi," he replies, his anxiety lessening at the sight of your confidence and giddiness. You bring the joint to your lips. He can hear the paper burning and sees tendrils of smoke escaping through your lips. Your words echoed in his brain as you lean in further.

“Just breathe it in slowly, baby."

He feels the smoke across his face, your lips pouted as you blow it his way. Sal breathes it in, sucking the smoke in just like you’d demonstrated earlier. He coughs like you said he would. His eye-watering as he moves to sit and you carefully pat his back as he does.

“Shit,” your eyes squish at his flustered expression. His first time trying a cigarette playing briefly through your head. Though this time it wasn’t even half-bad.

“You did great. Didn't burn on the way down if you smoked it yourself, right?” he got what you meant. He was coughing but he didn't feel like the back of his throat got thwacked by a whip of burning paper and tobacco. The ride was smoother, way smoother with your help. “It feels like the smell is stuck onto my teeth." Sal only complains to see you look at him with that fond gaze. You took another drag as he smacks his lips a few times. Your eyes flutter close, sighing in relief, and tossing your head to the side as you feel yourself loosening up.

“Why do you think I always brush my teeth before I kiss you?”

Sal protests softly as you take another hit and you laugh as he leans in.

“Isn’t that too much — “

You breathe out and Sal seems stunned for a moment, so you apologize but he simply leans in further.

“If this'll be my first time getting high, I want it to be with you.”

"Slow down, baby," you bumped your foreheads together, cupping his jaw in your hand. "What's the rush, hm?"

Curiousity was a valid enough reason to start smoking, but your Sal wasn't the kind of guy to jump into these things head first. It wasn't anything special to him, all of your friends smoked and drunk. He wasn't some pre-teen being excited to finally "grow up" and get in with the cool kids.

Hell, even during his 21st birthday, he'd taken his first drink and smoked his cigarette and decided that he didn't enjoy any of them.

Sal sighs, dropping his weight on you. His head balanced between the curve of your neck and shoulder. You simply thread your fingers through his hair, combing out the indents of his buckles and straps from his hair.

"You think I can't take it?"

"Oh, I definitely know you can't."

He protests with an indignant but whiny 'hey' but settles. His arms wrap around your waist and despite the uncomfortable angle of your torso facing him while your legs faced ahead as they rested on the stairs, you stay like that for a bit.

He eventually pulls away and leans back onto his arms again, reaching for his prosthetic though only to fidget with it on his lap.

"...Is it bad I feel bad? Not physically, just...morally?"

Your silence urges him on. So he continues; “Drinking fucking sucks, and cigarettes don’t make sense to me. But weed as a concept always seemed...appealing to me.”

He feels your chin on his shoulder and he subtly breathes in the smoke that teases him as you exhale.

“But?”

“Argh, it’s stupid. But as a kid, in the hospital there weren’t a lot of people that got as messed up as I did. But the ones that were? Christ, babe, they were in so much pain. Even when the wounds were already scars.”

Your brows pinch. You squeeze his hand and he stops toying with feeling the shape of the bolts to instead gently press the pads of his thumb over your nails.

“The doctors scared me with the whole speech. Painkillers being addictive and all that, it made me scared to ask for ‘em even when the skin grafts felt like they were on fucking fire.”

He shuts his eyes and brings your hand to his face, the pressure and warmth across his jaw and cheek making the phantom pains ebb to nothing.

“I made a promise to my younger me that I would never end up like the adults I saw. I just, don’t want to be in constant pain.”

“You aren’t, Sal. And you won’t be.”

You put out the joint, turning his face to you and planting a kiss on his lips. He breathes out a sigh of relief through his nose and you tilt your head to deepen it. When you pull away, you both linger in the afterglow of it for a second.

“I’m here for you, Sal. If you ever stray from the path, I’m here to guide you back, right? You’ve got me and Larry, Lisa and your dad, Ashley, Todd, Gizmo —” his smile widens as you go on about the precious people in his life.

“Thanks,” he kisses you again and you happily reciprocate.

“By the way, you’re right, you should always brush your teeth before you kiss me when you’re done smoking up.”

Sal laughs as you shove him back, watching admiringly while you light the joint up again.

“...Can I have another hit?”

“You just said my breath smells like ass —”

“You’re overreacting!”

By the time the two of you walk back inside, Gizmo’s nose is twitching. You hadn’t taken too much too be completely useless, just to start feeling that buzz and take the edge off. Sal had expected more of a droopy, drowsy, feeling when he entered the house.

He still feels like himself. A little light on his feet, but still himself. You had paced him from his little smoke-sucking sessions — teasing that he just wanted to kiss you which wasn’t entirely untrue. But you always pulled away just as his eyes would flutter. Most likely you getting back at home for saying your breath smelled like weed. Little tease.

You spray your clothes down, then ask Sal if he’d like to chill on the couch. Something in his brain perks up hard enough to make his penis do the same. He feels a bit shameful of it, but then again, everything you do could make him hard.

The other day you’d been wolfing down some cheesy fries with Ashley and somehow it made Sal have to think of baloney to shut his penis down.

Gizmo’s tail flicks knowingly as Sal sits at the end of the couch, which was his cue to set off to the basement instead. When Sal hears the TV turns on from there, he simply decides to never question how dexterous Gizmo's thumbs were.

You're laid out on the couch with your tummy showing and your eyes just a bit hazy. He knows weed affects people differently; why does it make his lust for you feel so thick? Like cloying, thick, honey dripping down from the back of his throat. Fuelling him in an unfamiliar, alien, way. He climbs over you and the half-lidded gaze you look up at him with makes his mouth feel drier than it is.

This lust is new. It’s more languid in it’s desire — akin to a beast stretching its back only to flop down to its side and show its belly. Still undeniably dangerous, yet so inviting with its soft underbelly and demure paws.

You seem to recognize this beast, lips stretching into a toothy grin.

“Need something handsome?”

He narrows his eyes at you. Then, he places a hand on your chest, fingers brushing along your collarbones before it slowy slips downwards.

“...I really wanna finger you.”

He seems to catch himself. Through that haze that makes him caught between wanting to curl up next to you for a nap or fucking you nice and slow, he finds the part of him that remembers embarrassment.

But before it could throw away his new lazy bravado, you surge up to kiss him, moaning the second your lips made contact.

Stoned Sal decides pants are way too annoying very quickly on. He huffs and puffs at the obstacles that are called buttons and zippers. When he finally undoes them, he pulls your jeans below the swell of your ass and brings the heel of his hand to your clothed cock.

The pressure has your teeth brushing over your lips.

“I love your dick,” he murmurs, “it’s just s’fuckin’ pretty.”

You moan airily, wishing he’d pull your pants all the way down but he is just too entraced at the sight of the wet spots he’s seeing. He traces the fold of your cunt and your breath hitches as he presses a finger through. Not enough to be inside of you, but enough to have your dick twitch.

He brings his thumb to rub against it and you groan.

“Let me take my jeans off, Christ, Sal.”

He chuckles, suddenly abandoning your pussy to pin your hips down. “Barely touched you and you already wanna spread your legs f’me?”

You glare at him, feeling your cheeks heat up as you hitch yourself up onto the couch and stubbornly shimmying out of your pants. He simply watches, uncaring of the less-than-delicate display. You toss your jean away and your underwear follows along, piling onto the floor somewhere.

“The weed is making you so chatty, hm?” you don’t get much out of you after that as Sal immediately claims your lips again. He doesn’t even wait for you to lay back down as he brings his hand between your legs.

Not exactly hasty but not taking his time either. He pulls away enough that the spit between your lips break, but you can still feel him groan when he feels the dewdrops of moisture on your cunt; the slick that coats his finger makes him whisper your name.

“So wet,” he marvels. Your legs twitch at his movements. Sliding up and down, pressing in just to make your breath hitch but never fully slipping inside.

Oh fuck.

Stoned Sal likes to tease.

Your dread is shortlived as he descends his kisses to your neck. You groan, clutching onto the back of his shirt as he mottles your neck with unapologetically languid kisses.

You’re whimpering underneath him as he hums and groans. Using his teeth and making hickey after hickey, dark and tender — he’d even brush his teeth along them just to hear you gasp.

Meanwhile, he continues to torture your poor cunt. Bringing his thumb into the fray again as he rubs circles on the tip of your cock. The tip of his fingers spreading your slick around your lips, making it messier and messier.

“Sal, please just fuckin’ finger me already,” you whine out. Turning your head away and arching your back as he sets his eyes on your nipples.

“I’m already — Shit, Sal. I’m already so hard.”

He knows. You don’t have to remind him.

“Don’t make me beg, baby, please.”

Sal bites down on your nipple just as he pushes his finger inside of you. He groans at the feeling of your boypussy clamping down. Fuck, you felt good.

So soft and warm and wet and tight.

He slips another finger in and neither of you are surprised at how eagerly your cunt lets it in.

Sal’s lips pause in their conquest as he looks down between your legs. Fuck, what a sight it was. The happy trail you have that always makes his cock jump in his pants — there it goes again — and that beautiful dick that he always loves choking on to that boypussy that he’s convinced is made for him.

He starts pumping his fingers. In and out in a steady rhythm. Adoring every noise that comes out of you. You take them well, all the way down to the base and when he angles his palm just right your hips buck to grind your cock against his hand.

Fuck, you were perfect.

He kisses you. Breathing through his nose as he bites down on your already swollen lower lip — relishing in this. In you.

He adds another finger and you mewl. It makes him laugh.

You were usually much more headstrong. When he teases, you tease back. The weed is working in his favour, you were so pliant. Melting under him and already close to your first orgasm.

When he curls his fingers, you toss your head back, mouth opening in a silent scream. Your hand dives between your legs to rub your cock and Sal watches your face as you jeek yourself off.

“Just like that, just like that — Oh, oh—ah! Fuck!”

He doesn’t falter his pace, moaning out curses as you clamp down around his fingers.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum for me.”

His voice undoes you.

You buck your hips as wetness covers his hand. He groans, praising you as he continues to pump in and out. You let him, simply curling your toes and panting as you just kept on cumming and cumming.

When he kisses you this time, he doesn’t even let you breathe. Just swallowing your noises as he finger-fucks you through your orgasm and makes you barrel to your second with no breaks.

You clutch at his shirt, feeling lightheaded but unwilling to ask him to stop.

“Keep going, Sal. Please, please.”

How could he say no?

[mrsoftthoughts]

We need to discuss all the implications of being a pregnant mortal in the Riordanverse when the baby you're carryingn is a greecoroman demigod

Because you can't look me dead in the eyes and tell me that that thing would be a normal pregnancy down any standards

I mean, there's a good chance that this it's only Rick forgetting about the math once again, but Sally's pregnancy should haven been either 3 months or between 11-14 months, and i feel like baby Percy would have wanted to stay there the longest possible because idk, just being comfy in his momma belly full of liquid

And i don't even want to think about being esperanza Valdez with a fetus capable of fuckin combust at any moment, beryl grace getting electroshocks everytime that Thalia kicked or anything that could happen with Maria di Angelo and her Two kids of the lord of the death

And Also exist the possibility that the mortal body isn't taking well having a interspecies fetus that maybe has a chance to act like ambrosia or nectar making that you feel like if you were burning from your insides because way too much Divinity too handle

And no, i'm not done yet, there's more.

A Demigod can be born troug a C-section without the Doctors seeing something that a mortal definitely shouldn't? Who knows how a Demigod looks when they still in the uterus, there's even a chance of them having a minor scale "real" form as their parents, a now the doctor is fuckin blind

And how many times some of the mortal parents being really freaked out about this and knowing that they can't keep the baby have tried to get an abortion, in the best case it would work and now everything is ok... But you can even abort a Demigod?? At least through mortal methods, because i feel like there's a pretty big chance that this doesn't work

There's also a chance of this doesn't looking like a pregnancy at all, being honest this born from my headcanon of the Apollo kids gestations being unnoticeable ( since that apollos reaction towards sally pregnancy was really weird) and that i already mentioned in a previous post, but what if there's also the chance of you being completely oblivious towards this and then BOOM !! Baby

And then we have that the possibilities are low but never zero for a "pregnancy" like the ones of Castor and Pollux and Helen and Clytemnestra happening nowadays ( If your don't know of what I'm talking about, I just have one thing to say: Eggs)

And ofc... That we shouldn't look away for the possibilities of Mpreg with mortals being the ones carrying the baby, the limit with weird things here is inexistent to this point ( I'm not talking about Darren Knowles here btw, unless that you pull out the trans!Darren headcanon it's obvious that the one that give birth to kayla was Apollo, not for being a god, but because this man is such a bottom)

As a summary: Don't get pregnant from a god. I think there's a chance of it being terrifying.

[cherievol6]

in love in italy

hey!!! long time no see…sorry i’ve been off the grid - i’ve been working loads. i just randomly wrote this (I was feeling very poetic after reading Sally Rooney lmfao) hope you enjoy!

being with harry in Italy brings on some intense feelings that you just need to confess.

warnings: very brief mentions of sex, other than that it’s absolutely heart wrenching fluff.

word count: ~1k

.

You’ve never felt like this before.

At least, not when you're in the middle of having sex with someone.

This wasn't just someone though, it was Harry.

Sweet and gentle Harry, whom had made everything feel a little bit lighter for you since the moment you met. Here he was, skin so close to yours it felt like he was trying to meld you both together like clay. His head was dipped into your shoulder, his breaths heaving but blissful. You felt like a pot of boiling sugar bubbling up to a gooey caramel and oozing into the bed below you. He made you feel as though one look from him or one kiss from him would make you shed every negative piece of your mind.

"You okay? You're awfully quiet after that." He half laughs, referring to the intense scene of love that was just displayed in the early hours of the morning, in a random villa in Italy. You’d woken up to get a glass of water and returned to bed to find Harry awake. A quick good night kiss turned into wandering hands and clothes being stripped to the floor. It wasn't quick, or impatient, the way you'd held eachother. It was intense, and thick and heavy — like there was something lingering for the two of you. You feel a few tears slip to yours ears and on to the pillows. Harry still hasn't noticed, gently stroking the leg around his waist. You scratch your fingers in his hair and let out a shaky breath.

You always found it hard to hold in your cries, since you were small. They swelled your chest like a balloon, and with a sharp gasp of breath the balloon pops and Harry's snapping his head up quickly and brushing your hair out of your face.

"Woah, woah. What's wrong?" His voice is panicked and you don't find yourself trying to avoid his gaze, which is strange. You don't feel upset, you feel overwhelmed. Harry always said it scared him how every time you looked at him it felt like you were reading his mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow, the warm room making you feel flushed. Or was it this nagging urge to tell Harry something you’d kept to yourself for so long, out of fear of scaring him off so early in your relationship.

You smile, and he must think you look manic, grin growing the more you look at him, his constant over concern for you, like he couldn’t bear to think of anything bad happening to you.

“I feel good.” You say quietly, running your thumb over his mole next to his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s good.” He kisses you softly.

“Do you feel good?” He nods at your question without hesitation.

His eyes seem to gloss over akin to yours, and the words are literally behind your teeth when he says, “Always when I’m with you. You make me feel so safe. I can’t describe it-”

“I love you so much, Harry.” The tears are no longer tears, rather streams of saltiness that saturate your hair and Harry’s hands. He seems to deposit the last of the air in his lungs before he can speak again. Like your words winded him.

“You love me?” His voice is timid, and his hand is now shaking.

“You know that thing, where people paint in acrylic on a canvas, and it looks good, but kind of dull? A bit moody?” Harry nods, with a small smile creeping up his face. You always were one for the metaphor, “and then they paint it with that shimmery gloss and it makes the painting look so different. Like it’s brand new, and you’re finally seeing it in its best form? That’s how you make me feel. I wasn’t bad before, I just needed something…or someone to make me more vibrant. You do that for me. And I love you for it.”

He laughs, and the movement makes his tears fall out of his eyes and on to your cheeks. You are the most emotionally intelligent person he’s ever met in his life and he can’t believe that you’re in love with him.

“You always come up with the most beautiful metaphors...” he kisses you again, like staring at your face for too long brings on the urge to just devour you whole. “I genuinely think my entire life was created to coexist with yours, and just hear every piece of your mind that you’ll let me.”

You pull him down again and kiss him again. You were insatiable for his kisses, they were like oxygen for you. He’s still crying, and you’re still crying, and all you can hear around you is his heavy heartbeat and the owls in the trees around you. Your favourite place to be with Harry was in his Italian house. It felt like no one in the world existed or cared about the two of you when you were within these walls.

“I love you. I have done for months and I will do for a lifetime. Okay?” His brows are pinched together, in a sincere and reassuring way. Like he needs you to know that he’s not going anywhere.

“Okay.” You smile widely, until your cheeks hurt and your eyes wrinkle. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Now that it’s out in the air it feels like the only form of communication between you both in this moment. Harry rocks against your hips and kisses your neck, and you begin to breathe shallow. You whine when he connects your lips again.

“Show me how much you love me, H.”

.

[estcaligo]

Sebek and Romance: Additional Thoughts (or part two) after reading his Halloween SSR vignette and finishing the event but mostly about the vignette

- Part one - Sebek and Romance - My translation of the vignette

In my previous post, I speculated about two major influences on Sebek's understanding of romance and romantic feelings - his parents and books and I was right :)

So, what else can we conclude from this vignette?

1. Verbal expression matters

The most important takeaway is that verbal expression of feelings and thoughts is everything to Sebek. We can definitely say his primary love language is words. For him, verbalizing - both the pleasant and the less pleasant - is a must. Just. Say. It.

However, words (not only as a love language) can be tricky, as it's all about what words you choose. With physical touch, for example, it's simpler. But with words, you need to choose carefully when delivering your message. I think we've all experienced at least one uncomfortable situation caused by a poor choice of words.

And where does Sebek learn this art of wording? Books, of course.

That's why I'm amazed at how well-written Sebek's character is. His values and views align perfectly with his hobby. His emphasis on words and verbal expression, along with his being well-read, suggests he's on his way to mastering communication that aligns with his values.

2. His observant nature

The part where Sebek mentions noticing Sally's feelings for Jack actually flipped my view of him a liiittle bit. We often assume he'd be oblivious to feelings or accuse someone (like the Prefect) of “bewitching” him. But here, we see the opposite: he notices the romantic tension between Sally and Jack right away and doesn't get weird about it. So, we can assume, when the same situation happens to him, he'd likely be calm, polite, and eager to reach a logical conclusion as fast as possible, depending on how interested he is in the person.

In general, Sebek is self-aware, attentive, and genuinely smart - not just “book smart" (a little too trusting of Lilia's advice, yes, but well...) And since he knows quite a lot about romance, even if he's not “chill" about it, he would still approach his romantic feelings with total adequacy.

3. Mention of his parents

To my surprise, when Sebek mentioned his parents' story, he didn't address his father in a condescending way. He didn't even call him “human” once. This says a lot to me. Yes, Baul's influence was strong, but his mother's love and energy were stronger. He still loves his father - in his own way. His only dissatisfaction with his father is that he's human, but that's a topic for another post. They still an exemplary love couple to him and that's wonderful.

4. His admiration and loyalty to Malleus

The part where Sebek talks about his determination to stay by Malleus's side was both heartwarming and inspiring. I still hope we'll get more insight into why he's so dedicated to this idea (I have some theories, but maybe for another post).

What we see here only strengthens Sebek's character as loyal and determined. And, once again, he emphasizes how he expressed (verbally) his desire to serve. Words and verbal expression are deeply important to him. Naturally, since loyalty and devotion are core parts of his character, once the target of that devotion has earned it, one can expect similar adoration and loyalty toward his partner as well.

In conclusion?

Sebek is amazing, and he should be reminded of it every day. With words. Out loud. Just. Say. It.

Bonus point: I loooove that he has a playful side and can be so cheeky - doing it totally on purpose lol. That scene where he adds to Jack's jealousy? Sebek, you menace :)

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

Okay Alder so I thought of this while studying and I must share (and concentrate, dammit). Anyway I started randomly thinking about TOA but with one of the female goddesses, because I feel like it could be a really interesting exploration of feminism and the lack of autonomy for women and stuff, and I was like "Well which goddess would it be?" and then I was like HERA.

Hear me out. So like idk why exactly it happens, maybe Zeus just got fed up with the fights or something, but anyway Hera is forcibly removed from Olympus and stripped of her powers, turned mortal, etc. She meets Meg, who I feel like she would honestly like a lot, despite being a demigod. I can see her trying to teach Meg manners and how to be a lady and Meg just being like "Nope. I must pursue my destiny of being a chaos gremlin." I would still have her at least try Percy's apartment, because while of course he would tell her to fuck off, I think Sally would have some sympathy and I think they could have a really interesting conversation woman-to-woman, especially as survivors of abusive marriages.

I'm going back and forth between Hera being a middle-aged mortal (because I doesn't really matter to her what she looks like), but I think it would also be really interesting if she was a teenager, because teenage girls have far less power than grown women, and it would be really interesting to have her be the same age as many of Zeus' victims.

Anyway thought?

OKAY. SO. THIS IS ACTUALLY SOMETHING I'VE TALKED ABOUT WITH CHRONIC ON DISCORD. A WHILE AGO.

the main difference is that we were discussing how ToA would go if Apollo was joined by Hera in punishment, and by god it was a god-tier idea. spoiler: the moment they figure out what is going on, they immediately turn on the other and blame them XD

CUE THE FORCED STEPMOTHER-STEPSON "THIS IS OUR GET-ALONG ROADTRIP" ACTION!!!!!!

and even in this version, I do agree that this would be a excellent opportunity to really dig into woman's struggles in today's day and age, and even compare/contrast them with the ancient world's! because let's face it, there were pros and cons in both times. tho i'd say we have more pros nowadays, but that ALSO depends on where you live and all that. very complex but also not if you really try :3

BUT. your mention of Hera & Meg bonding REALLY made me excited because Chronic and I have talked about this too! This would be SUUUUCH an interesting dynamic!! Hera could help boost Meg's self-esteem, not only just helping her feel comfortable in her body when she's wearing more "fancy" clothes (because those are the clothes usually forced onto her by Nero, so Hera helping her essentially "reclaim" them for herself can be Female Empowerment whoop whoop!), but also just by gaining more confidence in herself.

On the flip side, I feel like Meg would be a GREAT person to get Hera to "loosen up" per say. You can't convince me Hera was Stone-Cold her whole life. nuh-uh. and you bet I think Meg could draw that old Hera out from that mask.

not to mention that Hera knows Demeter quite well. that would be an very interesting conversation between her and Meg, especially since Hera may be a bit unsure what to say since Meg was left to suffer under the thumb of an abusive emperor for years without her mother ever knowing. I think Hera might struggle with balancing making Demeter look good (perchance this be an opportunity to dig into Hera's toxic idea of "perfect families"? making them look good even when you really shouldn't?) and being honest with Meg. Even though Hera is a crafty goddess, I don't think she'd be very comfortable with straight-up lying about her family- she values that bond far too much.

Chronic and I discussed this AU as if Hera was in a middle-aged mortal body, mostly so we had that aunt-niece bond with Meg, and stepmom-stepson one with Apollo, but also because of our thoughts on "what would Hera consider to be undesirable in a mortal form?", much like how Apollo was horrified to be in a normal teenage boy body. So we thought "wrinkles, probably. don't even need that many, just a few would probably make her freak out." because she is a god, and is def NOT used to normal things like wrinkles lol there were other ideas too i just can't think of them at the moment lol

I can see teenage Hera working for an AU where it's just her and Meg, or even with Apollo still! It would be extremely funny if at some point, Apollo just turns around on Hera and says, deadpan, "Okay, Mom." to a literal sixteen year old.

not. not to mention. how The Burning Maze could go. explore that Juno-Jason relationship/dynamic. Chronic once suggested that Hera could get seriously injured saving Jason, so there's food for thought >:3

also. can you imagine the Triumvirate's panic when they realize they don't just got one ex-god to deal with. they got two now, and it's the fucking Queen of Olympus herself.

boys i'd start running if i were you mwhahahaahah!!

[secret0codename]

MY HEADCANONS TICCI TOBY 🪓

Kid Toby Rogers 🧇

• Toby was a very quiet child, with very few or no friends. His best friend was Lyra. The girl was the one who kept him company the most, by far the only one. Confiante worked a lot and was hardly ever at home, when he was he tried to give the boy his attention.

• Lyra was the one who took care of him the most. When he was little, he had no idea of pain when he fell or noticed the bruises. At school, the children didn't understand why he kept squirming in his chair. In fact, he never knew how to deal with his tics. Tourett's was actually one of the disorders that caused Toby to suffer the most bullying. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to proofread.

• Toby once got a teddy bear that he wouldn't let go of. It was on his 4th birthday and he got attached to the teddy bear. Unfortunately, it burned in the fire, but he keeps some of the remains of it with him.

• His parents started having problems when he was 10 or 11 years old, it really affected his family a lot, he always blamed his father for abusing alcohol (We all hate that man)

Teen Toby Rogers🧤

• Toby grew up in a horrible environment, this didn't really shape his personality but it shaped his point of view about his parents, when he helped Lyra the girl got angry because he got hurt but he didn't feel it and didn't care. She always took care of him, he was always grateful for her.

• Toby didn't have any friends, but he can't deny that few people were kind to him. He studied at home when he was little. He only attended school to complete the second year, then he continued studying at home. Lyra helped him and later showed him her ideas. I think she wanted to study fashion, and she was very good at what she did.

• Toby has learned to deal with his tics, and his disorders in general. He understands that no one would ever be in his shoes, so he stopped paying attention to the comments, he never let anyone talk about Lyra or his mother... She may have been a little mean, but she helped him, enough for him to understand why she was late getting home.

• Toby liked to spend his time listening to music, and doodling on random sheets of paper. He never minded being alone, he actually preferred it. Unfortunately, the Slender figure in his window started paying attention to him, which changed his path.

• Toby killed his father 2 days after his sister's death. He was in shock, angry, and couldn't help but feel more hatred for his father. The sad thing was having to leave his mother with no one to live with. His daughter died, her husband was murdered, and his body was burned along with the house. His only son disappeared and never visited her (at least she never saw him).

ADULT TOBY ROGERS 🪓

• He actually became a wanted killer, but that never stopped him from being a "normal adult"; he did his "missions" mostly at night, leaving the day to be more free.

• Toby wasn't getting into relationships, but he has good friends. I can say that Jack and Nina are his best friends now. But there's always room for Lyra, he still hallucinates about her sometimes.

• Toby Smokes not at Masky's level but Smokes enough, the big weed user. Getting high alone for him is therapy not to mention that no one says anything, his clothes smell of smoke and weed

• Toby doesn't shave his beard, it's long and gives him a certain charm. Nina says she likes his beard but hates his mustache. Jack says that Toby looks good either way, he let his hair grow and got more sun on his skin, making it more tanned.

• Toby lives in a small cabin, he and Jack share the house, they get along well even though Toby is disorganized. Jack understands since the refrigerator has food and human organs, they both do their part and that's it. Toby has a good relationship with everyone: Nina, Tim, Hoodie, Jeff. Maybe he's not 100% with Jeff but he puts up with him. He loves talking to Sally even though she's a Poltergeist. He likes to see her floating around.

I'VE WANTED TO DO THIS FOR A LONG TIME >○<

Honestly, I don't speak English well, so I'm sorry for the mistakes. I had a lot of references to do this, but I love writing about Toby! It's one of my favorite creepy's. Coming in first place is Nina, Sally, E.J. and so on..!! Well thanks for reading!!! I'm Morgane ⦻ ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[helluverse-rewrites]

Random tidbits/headcanons

I mostly just made this because I think there's some things I forgot to put in the other posts so here you go Ig

Starting off with a big one, Millie proposed to Moxxie using sign language

Millie often translates for Moxxie when he's talking to others

Moxxie won't admit this, but it really means a lot to him when someone learns sign language for him. He grew in a place that told him that no one would learn such a thing just for a worthless, waste of space like him. So it contradicts what his father said to him when someone at least puts in the effort and tries

Not only is Sallie May trans, Millie now also has a trans brother

Verosika would probably listen to boyfriend asmr for shits and giggles

Asmodeus hates alpha male podcasters

In my rewrite, Moxxie is more apathetic than in canon, so the conflict in Murder Family is different. That's all I'm gonna say

Stella is the living embodiment of "I'm not just a regular mom, I'm a ✨cool mom✨"

Fizz has a shit tone of medical trauma

Octavia has crippling abandonment issues

^ this is because Stolas would constantly tell her as a kid when she would be crying "Cut this nonsense out or else I'm leaving you. For good." Stolas would also say he'd take Stella with her. So basically she thought that if she cried as a child, her parents would leave her

^ this is why she's so quiet and pretends she doesn't care about anything. She learned that everyone will leave her if she shows any emotion

Yeah she doesn't like to cry in front of people anymore (Stella is completely unaware of this btw)

She just bottles everything up in general

Stella will just accept anytime Stolas or Andrealphus yells or threatens her, but she'll attack you if you mention her daughter

After some character development, Fizz would be good friends with Moxxie I feel

^ They would play a game where they would see how much random shit they could say in sign language before people start to catch on how much they're bullshitting. They would be saying the word 'watermelon' over and over again. Everyone is confused while Millie and Asmodeus are laughing their asses off

If M&M were to have kids, they would definitely go for adoption (COUGHSINSMASCOUGH) also because Moxxie is trans so they wouldn't be able to have children biologically

^ also they're broke so they need more money before they even consider that

Millie often worries about Moxxie when she's not there to translate his sign language. It's not that she doesn't think he can handle himself, Moxxie has been surviving on his own for a long time before he met Millie. It's just that he has a tendency to force himself to talk when no one can understand what he's saying, and Millie knows it hurts and exhausts him

Millie's family adores Moxxie. I hate the trope of dad disapproves of daughter's boyfriend. It's just pretty annoying and oftentimes the boyfriend is the sweetest guy ever

Her family is the most accepting family in the Wrath Ring and upon first meeting them, Moxxie was certain they hated him

That was literally the opposite though, they even helped Millie set up the proposal. They just wanted Moxxie to be their in-law so bad

Striker is kind of an older brother figure to Millie, he used to have playdates with her when they were little

Stolas is the most powerful Goetia, which is something he brags about constantly

Asmodeus is a huge fucking nerd and loves reading

Moxxie and Blitzø constantly steals Millie's fidget toys for fun

Dw Millie thinks it's funny

That's all I can think about for now! If I think of anymore I'll do a part two

[yandereunsolved]

Dissect Me, Doctor - ,, yandere JPM with a psychologist reader

cw(s): yandere themes, dismemberment, suggestive themes, (James) necrophilia, noncon touching, cannibalism, mention of reader having breakdowns & panic attacks

✧ James found you by God's hand one fateful day. You could say it was more than a mere coincidence, eh? He had just finished killing one of the hotel guests. He was about to call Miss Evers in to clean up the mess when he spotted something sticking out of the dead gentleman's breast pocket. He plucked the card out of your pocket and read it allowed, 'Doctor...' His curiosity was the least bit piqued. Psychologists weren't exactly popular in the 1930s. The true study of the mind hadn't emerged, but James had always lived to study humans. To study their fight or flight instinct, how their bodies react to various torture methods, and how fear affects the human psyche. Perhaps he has found someone who shares his fondness for such things. It would be a great way to meet someone new. Considering Elizabeth refuses to speak with him, he has grown desperate. Not even defiling his killings tapered his already suppressed desires. 

✧ He got Sally to teach him how to use this magic witch named 'Wi-fi' who owns the internet—or something like that. Most new technology is just rubbish used to get people to make inauthentic connections. Although perhaps just this once, it can be used for the betterment of his temperament. He has Sally schedule an initial appointment at the hotel. Sally uses the excuse that James is bedridden and terribly ill (non-contagious), but he hates telehealth and just wants someone to talk to in person. You were skeptical because of the rumors surrounding The Cortez, but you were in desperate need of another client, and he was willing to pay extra—a lot extra.

✧ You had your first session in his room, and you immediately got strange vibes from him. He wasn't ill, that was for sure. Perhaps he was a little pale, but he probably hasn't gotten enough sun or vitamin D lately. He was even smoking! He was sitting all relaxed on a couch, dressed up in 1930s-esque attire, with a cane leaning against his lap. He introduced himself as James Patrick March, and you immediately understood why you were called. He either has a personality disorder or is a compulsive liar. Perhaps both. You asked him simple questions, such as his real name and when he was born. You were only getting nonsensical answers. He could not have been born in the late 1800's or early 1900's; that is ridiculous! 

James only felt himself grow hotter with each question you asked. It was like a fire had been lit beneath his skin, and he needed to put it out. Then you asked the question that really got him going.

"Since you refuse to use your real name, I'll just call you Mr. March. How is your personal life going? Are you currently sexually active?"

"I have peculiar interests and refined tastes. How do you modern people phrase it? 'Where there is a hole there is a goal'?"

✧ With that astounded expression on your face, he feels his urges compell him to end this lovely conversation early. That look would look perfect on your dead corpse. He takes the sabre out of his cane and tries to slit your throat; he narrowly misses. Somehow, you unlock his room door and bolt through the hallways. How promising. He walks through the winding hallways slowly. You scramble to find the exit, and he struggles with not just outright chasing you through the maze. No, he must preserve the hunt. After what feels like an eternity to you—only eleven minutes in real time—you finally trip over a stair and hit your head on the railing. Talented fox. You nearly escaped to the lobby. You are too much of a challenge to let go so easily. He's going to keep you to get his release. In more ways than one. 

✧ You wake up in the middle of the night in the same room as before. It's freezing, and your clothes are nowhere to be found. Your head is pounding, and you are barely able to breathe. James drugged you with some cocktail of drugs—some legal, most not. You feel blades ghosting your body. You feel them just barely slicing into your skin. It must be sleep paralysis, you rationalize. Something whispers sweet nothings into your ears. You are barely able to discern what those words are. 

"You taste... a dream."

"Never leave."

"The best prey— never leave me."

✧ You drift off once again before groggily waking up in a different room. You are still in the Cortez, now in room seventy-four. You feel much different today, weighed down and yet free. You don't have any marks on you that would indicate you were harmed last night. You feel the need to escape, but you are also incredibly confused. A maid is in your room, setting down a new set of clothes. She explains that you passed out after you tripped on a stair while leaving the session early. You accuse her of helping the strange man you interviewed who tried to kill you. She chuckles and says that you aren't his type. Her voice has a little bit of spite in it. That was the moment that you were introduced to Miss Evers. Quite possibly the only person who simultaneously envies you for getting all of James attention and pities you for your lack of self-awareness and intelligence in the situation.

✧ Before you are even able to shoo her off this JPM impersonator comes in your room and greets you. You are naturally apprehensive. He is naturally enthralled to see that his trophy prey has awoken. He cannot wait to just see how you react today. You try to leave and he explains that you never finished your session. You accuse him now of trying to murder you. He brushes it off and insists that you at least have breakfast with him before you leave. You are about to answer firmly when Miss Evers folding of a towel loudly snaps together. This 'James' scolds her and she gives him a doe-eyed look. Before you are even able to say no he is ushering you down the hallway in silken pajamas someone put on you while you were passed. The thought makes you shudder.

✧ You both were served a hearty and delicious breakfast. It isn't very filling to you, no matter how much you eat. It must be how queasy you are from yesterday. If it happened. Perhaps you had a mental break due to all the stress you have been through lately. You don't get a lot of time to think because you are snapped from your thoughts. This James speaks about your future together and how you will have a long and fufilling relationship. He asks you to give him a psyche evaluation. When you say no, he subtly threatens you with the thought of not paying because you didn't actually fill his full session. You reluctantly agree.

✧ He's both incredibly frustrated and intrigued by your persistence. How many times must he explain to you that he isn't a 'cosplayer' or someone with a personality disorder. He is simply the great James Patrick March. No matter. It will make you even more fun to play with.

"Your delusions, doctor, are clouding your mind. So I suppose I will have to make you see the truth—one way or another."

He sets up small 'challenges' to see if you can pass them. He wants to test how long your mental fortitude will hold up. 

✧ The first of those was dismembering himself in front of your very eyes. He does it multiple times, and they are all random. He will pluck his eye out and stir it in his tea. He will cut open his chest and stuff his organs into your suitcase. He will remove whatever is covering his neck and finger from his suicide wound. He asks if you would like to feel it, stroke it, touch it, or play with it.

"Doctor, I understand you only deal with the human mind, but would you like to feel this and assess if it is real? Do you believe me now?"

He will stab himself in the heart during one of your sessions and tell you that this is what you do to him. In the most extreme cases, if he isn't getting your coveted attention, he will take himself apart limb by limb and place them on your bed like a cross.

✧ You begin to come to terms with the fact that, at least, this man is psychotic. Perhaps not a ghost, but definitely a killer and wickedly sadistic. You try so many of the phones in the hotel, but so many seem not to work. You try to find your way out once again, but you seem to be trapped within these walls. Which comes to one of his many other tactics: trapping you in The Cortez's hallway maze. He is able to distort the minds of his guests and make sure that they never get out. Like a rat trying to find an escape from a box maze that has no exit. He enjoys just slowly walking behind you and taking in your panic and your quick breaths when your clothing rides up on you. He is able to take a respectful peek at what he will inevitably see time and time again.

✧ He keeps you trapped in the hotel. You never even have a chance to get to the lobby. He has a nice breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you. He has his daily sessions with you. Outside of that? His torture. All of his torture. All of it. He threatens you with it subtly if you do something that he is displeased with. He'll even lock you in that death closet of his and make you stand right near the spike. Sometimes you prefer to be in there because you can hide from him. He likes it when you hide in his death traps. So he totally leaves you alone and totally just doesn't sit right outside your ability to view him.

You are coming to the point where those times when he is cordial are the times you crave. All part of his plan, of course. Although—he hopes that you will keep up the chase, he likes that fiery spirit of yours.

✧ You often find him getting release from his dead victims. You know because your relentless cycle of agony and pleasure stops. At least he doesn't force himself on you when you are awake. You end up doing your best to stay as far away as possible from him during that time. Only you always end up stumbling into the same room as him. You avert your eyes, yet he always has something cheeky to say to you.

"Ngh—darling, darling, wait! This.... this could be us. This could be me. You and me. Nothing could be a replacement for how your flesh feels against mine."

He always turns around and gives you one of those godforsaken winks of his.

✧ That isn't the only time his victims come into play. You are always suspicious of the food he serves you. It's either drugged or the meat could be made from his victims. You first learned that the hard way. You were served meatloaf, and James called in manloaf. He stated that it was made in this very hotel by the very guest who was trying to help you leave. You wanted them so bad, you can have them—in your stomach.

✧ Not even the Countess is able to help. Not that she tries. She is too busy luring more men in. She's forgotten about James mostly, except for the betrayal. She gives you a few warnings and some caution when she can. You are almost like one of her children. Perhaps she would help you if you really were in need. Maybe.

✧ You still get those sensations in your sleep. The feeling of fingertips ghosting on your figure. How the sheets seem to slip off your body. A warm presence keeps you close throughout the night. It often manifests in such strange dreams. It feels like James's thoughts are being injected into your own mind. You dream of him against you—sometimes he is brutally murdering you, and in others he is sensually caressing you. He always seems to tease and taunt you with those tantalizing images in your mind.

✧ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ — You often have panic attacks and breakdowns because of him. Your heart rate quickens as sweat rolls down your body. Your legs shake and give in. The entire hotel seems to spin around you. You have to seek him out for your own comfort. It's so twisted and vile. You can feel bile rising in the back of your throat when it happens. You almost have to crawl on your hands and knees to reach him. Yet, it feels like heaven. His skin is so soft and supple. His suit is always made of the most comfortable materials. His body is always so cool to the touch. In those moments, your body melts into his. That is, until your mind stops its dissociation long enough to realize the trauma you were going through. You are falling for him—a classic case of Stockholm syndrome. You couldn't stand for this. You need to fight against this, against him.

✧ Unfortunately, your non-belief in ghosts stops when you see multiple people you thought were dead trying to warn you. You see your patient, who was killed in this very hotel. They tell you that they're so happy to see you. They are so happy you are here with them. You have to put on your therapist hat again and calm them down. It all clicks. Other people you thought were guests here were warning you. You are being oddly welcomed into the space. The others are cautious of your presence and afraid to upset the owner, the one who holds so much power over them. That strange being that seemed to flicker in and out of your peripheral occasionally. You finally make peace with the fact that James Patrick March is indeed a ghost. You really do need to escape here.

✧ You steal the hotel's shipping schedule for their toiletries and linens. You make a plan to escape. You think you are so clever, and it really makes James hot under his white buttoned collar. He lets you think that you are so much more astute than him. It makes him a little desperate, but he won't show it. He needs your touch so badly. He needs you to love him so badly. He needs you to be his little trophy victim. He needs you to help him chase his highs. He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. You, only you.

✧ He confesses his undying adoration for you and clings to your waist as you try to walk out. He sighs and tries one more tactic before you step out the door. He promises to tell you the entire truth. You are caught off guard by this, and your hand slips off the door. He leads you to his trophy room and shows you his 10 Commandment killings. He directs you to the corner, where your body lies. You are covered in wounds that have long since dried out. Your eyes are lifeless. You have his name etched across your naked chest. You scream, shout, and sob. James gently holds you and soothes you even as you thrash, kick, and gnaw at him.

"You've been trapped here the entire time. Since that night."

As if that makes it any better. You aren't that stupid. You could connect the dots—lack of appetite, coldness, the odd sensations, everything. You are stuck with this monster for all eternity.

"Hmm, yes! I saw you and just knew that I had to have you. Have you gotten my diagnosis yet, my love? It's lovesickness, and your body is the cure."

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @doll3tt33 @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @marchsfreakshow @girlyfart @nahoyasboyfriend

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

[justrainandcoffee]

The sun always rises again (Farrier x fem!oc) Part I

Dunkirk

Farrier Masterlist

Summary: Farrier is in Sussex visiting his grandmother who is sadly dying. In a local pub, he and his best friend, Collins, met Marguerite in not the best circumstances. What started as a nice gesture quickly became in an inevitable attraction. || Collins plays his best cards trying to persuade his best friend to do something about the girl that he clearly likes and, maybe, he succeeds.

Warnings: Misogyny, sexual harassment. Mentions of war. Fluff. || Collins is the MVP.

Words: 3k.

1932

Marguerite Sarah Lewis was born in 1910 in London but when she was four years old, her mother and older brother moved to Sussex. Although French, her mother met her husband there and for the woman it was a special place.

1914 meant the beginning of one of the greatest wars that Earth faced until that point of the history and Mr. Lewis answered the called. And that's why Elise Lewis, the wife, took her kids and went there. The sea, the view, allowed the woman to imagine that one day soon she was going to see him back.

But that day never came. Nor in 1914 nor the next four years. In 1918, Marguerite was eight years already and his brother twelve. Both of them old enough to understand that their father was never coming back. Yet, Mrs. Lewis stayed there waiting for a ship that didn't exist.

Theodore Lewis jr, her brother, moved again to London when he was old enough to do it but she remained there in Sussex where she was still studying.

Her mother died when she was 19, in 1929. Maggie always knew that the poor woman never accepted her husband's fate. And now that she was older understood a bit better what she was feeling. Probably if Mr. Lewis had survived the war, then his wife wouldn't have died at the age of 43. But that was something that the Lewis siblings will never know.

The only thing that Maggie knew now was that she was the owner of her own destiny and needed to live in that world called adulthood.

She found a job in a local library first, where she worked for two years until she started to work as waitress in a new pub. The salary was higher and the tips were all for her.

In 1932, when she was 22, her life changed completely when she met him.

The pub was crowded as always. Men going there to relax after work was something that happened every day. It was full of loud men, laughing, chatting and making jokes while they were drinking beer.

Among them, two friends were having a conversation too. Their blue uniforms indicated that they were soldiers probably out of duty for a while. One had blond hair and the other brown shorter than the first one.

"Hope your grandmother can get well soon, Farrier."

"I don't think so. Until this point we're expecting the inevitable, but at least I'm here to be with her. Thanks for coming with me, by the way."

The blond, Collins, smiled "That's what friends do, Will."

Farrier nodded raising his pint of beer. "How's Sally?"

"It didn't work. But there's plenty of women in this world."

"And if men keep creating unnecessary wars soon the planet will be just populated by women. And humanity will be doom."

"Humanity is already doomed. But, if that's the case, then better I hurry up to get one before my death. And you should do the same."

Farrier shook his head "I don't have time for that. I always promised myself to be a good husband and father, not like my old man. If I get a girl, then it has to be for life."

"Sometimes you took life too seriously, William. Go Farrier, fuck some girls and you'll be fine."

William Farrier just hummed.

Collins decided to changed the subject and both men started talking about the new pilots that both of them were training. Young but smart men, ready to fight if the country needed it. Although both of them really hoped that it would never be necessary.

Maggie was praying in silence for the end of her shift. Sadly, she was used to men being rude and sometimes puting their hands on her body, but this time one in particular was crossing the line and she was quite uncomfortable. His friends were more drunk than he was and the only thing they managed to do was to encourage him to be nastier.

"Hey, doll, bring your pretty ass here, sweetheart! My mates and me want more beer. And unbutton your dress a bit more, love! Those two precious tits of yours want to know me."

The four of them of laughed so hard that Farrier and Collins that until that moment weren't paying attention at all, looked at them and both exchanged glances then.

Maggie looked at her both co-workers and friends, who same as her knew the consequences of working in that kind of jobs. They were young women in 1930s there wasn't much they could do there. Maggie just breathe and walked to them carrying a new tray and left it on the table but she wasn't quick enough and the man grabbed her by the waist and sit them on his lap, against her will.

"I have to go," she said trying to get up "I have work to do."

"Pretty sure your friends can cover you, love."

"No, they can't."

"Come on, sweetheart. I saw you looking at me. Let's have fun."

"I said no."

"She said no," mocked him, smirking at his friends who laughed again. "The little bitch, said no."

"She said no."

This time it was a deeper voice and the man in question turned around to see both pilots behind him. His friends looked down and pretended to be drinking their beers. The man let her go.

"We're just having fun."

"Get your ass out of here. Now."

He thought for a moment about starting a fight with them. He and his friends were four and the strangers were just two, but something in them make him reconsider his options. The blond was taller than him and the other seemed to be stronger. Not to mention that they were trained men. The group just recoiled and without further words, they left the place.

"Are you okay?" Farrier asked to Maggie.

"Yes. Thanks, sir. And you too," she said looking at Collins as well. "Usually I know people here, but those were new."

"Probably they won't come back."

"I hope not. You're new too."

"Temporary living here," Farrier commented. "My grandmother is sick and I'm just saying goodbye."

"That's sad, I'm sorry."

"Thanks, miss…"

"Marguerite Lewis."

"William Farrier, miss Lewis," the man said kissing her hand.

At their side, Collins was smiling and was waiting for the perfect to start teasing his best friend.

The days that followed, Farrier visited the pub every night. Sometimes with his friend, sometimes alone.

There was something in Marguerite that Farrier found fascinating. She had a pretty smile and his brown eyes and dark red hair made her even prettier. He had the chance to speak to her and discovered a good young woman. Maggie loved to read same way she loved yo bake. Once, she offered him one of her cookies and Farrier could testify that they were indded delicious. And even without knowing everything about him, she sent flowers to his grandmother's funeral when she knew about the sad news. Something that Farrier took as signal that she was really a good person.

They even spent a morning in the beach, talking and walking by the seashore. Her reddish hair shone in the sun and William wondered if the hair was really as soft as it looked. Or if her lips were.

"I used to play here a lot when I was a kid," she said unaware of his thoughts, "despite everything, I had a good childhood."

"Despite everything?"

"My father died in the Great War. I don't really remember him, I just know him because of the photo my mother kept."

"I'm sorry, Marguerite. That sounds sad."

"It was for my mother and maybe my older, he remembers him a bit more. You can't really miss someone you don't remember, right?"

"I guess. But still is a sad situation. No kid should grow up without a father."

"And yet…" Maggie looked at him and smiled softly "but it doesn't matter. That was long ago."

Not long ago for Farrier's liking. He was also a kid back then, but he remembered his mother talking about the mutilated soldiers she saw in the hospital were she worked as nurse. And the sadness in her eyes when years later her son told her that he was now part of the air force. But she never opposed to his decision.

"Do you like the sea, Mr. Farrier? I guess watching it from the skies is quite an experience."

"I do like the sea, yes. And it is, it's big and infinite. Indescribable."

Maggie looked at him for a moment and saw him lost in the memories of an experience she was never going to feel.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked. So he told her about the sky, the clouds, the cold air in his face. The feeling of parachute jumping.

His life, Maggie thought, it was extraordinary and there was no way that a man like him could find interesting the life of a town girl whose more fascinating experience of the week was to find a pound in the street. Or that beautiful ring that found one day walking through the beach. And yet, Farrier was ready to hear about her same way she was about him.

.

"You like her," Collins finally said at the end of their second week there, "I highly recommend you to do something because someone else can take advantage of your slowness."

"Like you?"

"I'd never do that to you. I know I'm more handsome but she's with you. I heard that there's a place where you can eat and dance nearby, invite her to go with you, William. I don't think she refuses the invitation considering how she looks at you."

Collins was right.

Maggie couldn't deny that she was captivated by the pilot from almost the beginning. He was handsome, attentive and a gentleman. William was the kind of man that her mother said she needed to find but that until the moment she knew him, she thought didn't exist.

Danny, one of her co-workers and friends, borrowed her one her dresses. Danielle's sister worked in a textile mill and she usually gave her sister clothes that the factory rejected despite their impeccable condition. The dark green dress that Maggie was wearing that night

So of course she said yes.

.

Danny, one of her co-workers and friends, borrowed Maggie one her dresses. Danielle's sister worked in a textile mill and she usually gave her sister clothes that the factory rejected despite their impeccable condition. The dark green dress that Maggie was wearing that night was one of those. Marguerite also allowed her friend to do her makeup.

"He's so handsome," Danny commented, smiling at her "and you're very lucky, Mags."

"Do you think I have a chance? I really like him."

"I think, you are the luckiest girl in whole Sussex."

Marguerite smiled. Never before a man paid attention to her the way Farrier did those days there. Sure she flirted innocently with some of young men in town, and kissed some of them years ago, but never did more than that. Never felt confident enough to do it because all those boys didn't seem to be looking for a serious relationship. But William wasn't a boy, he was a man and he acted like one.

Maggie looked at her in the mirror, when Danny finished her job, and smiled. The final result was better than she imagined.

Collins didn't tell Farrier who was the owner of the car that was parked in front of the house that belonged to William's grandmother, but somehow his friend managed to get one so he could go with Maggie to their date.

"Are you going to get in trouble for this?"

Collins snorted "please, have a bit of faith in me."

Farrier raised an eyebrow, suspiciously, but after looking at him several seconds let it go. "Okay then. Give me the car keys."

"Have fun, Romeo," Collins said throwing the keys at him.

.

Maggie didn't expect to have a good night like that one, although she dreamt about it. Feeling a happiness that didn't know it was possible to feel and her heart pounding by just looking at him. For a moment she felt stupid smiling at him almost all the time but she couldn't help it. Dinner was delicious and they spent the time to know each other a bit more. She even let him take her hands in his.

Maggie knew French because her mother used to talk in her native tongue in the house. Farrier asked her to taught him the language, if she wanted, because in his own words "you will never know when you're going to need it."

"But for that, you need to stay here, William, I can't teach you from the distance."

"Maybe I found a reason to stay," he answered. And for someone who, as his best friend claimed, took life too seriously felt as a personal achievement that flirty but also true line.

Dancing with William was lovely. Several other couples were doing the same with their partners while a singer sang and the orchestra accompanied her beautiful voice.

Maggie had her head resting on his shoulder and his hand was on her waist. Farrier could feel her perfume invading his nostrils. It was sweet with a delicate aroma of roses.

Your slowness.

Collins' words resounded in Farrier head. Fucking Collins. Who was he calling slow? His hand left her waist carresed her cheek. Both pair of eyes stared at each other before he leaned towards her a press his lips against hers.

Maggie put her hands on his chest and let him guide her. Despite his appearance, at least with her in that moment, Farrier it was gentle. When they pulled apart, he caressed her hair.

"I like you," Farrier confessed.

"I like you, too, Will."

And to confirm those words, they kissed again.

.

Farrier had only two weeks left before returning to work and he spent every moment with her. Even if she was working, William was there. He became part of the landscape of that pub and everyone there, even the owner, know who he was now. And when she wasn't working, they were in the beach or in her house.

The last night, she let him enter in her bed for the first time. He was her first time and Farrier, if that was possible, fall in love with her even more.

"I'll be back soon," he promised her while she was in his arms and she was holding her against his body.

"I'll be waiting for you."

William kissed her again and Maggie knew, no matter what would happen in the future, that he was the most correct decision she ever took in her whole life.

The months they spent separated, they communicate through letters and some calls when they had the chance to use a phone. Collins attributed his friend's new behaviour to him and in part, he was right.

Of course William returned to Sussex, this time alone, and he did with a ring in his pocket. The same night they saw eachother again, he asked her to be his wife and feeling a happiness that it was hard to describe, Maggie accepted his proposal.

Farrier sold her grandmother's house and the one his own old flat and moved to Sussex with her.

Marguerite Lewis became Marguerite Farrier just weeks later. The wedding in the church in that town was a celebration for the people living there, her brother that went from London to there and, of course, Collins.

His life those first years there were the happiest that Farrier could remember. His wife gave him two beautiful kids that he swore to protect with his life, same as her.

"One day I'm going to be a pilot like you, papa," his firstborn called Edward, said.

"Will you?"

"Yeah. Flying the skies in my own plane!" the boy exclaimed opening his arms and running around him simulating he was indeed flying. William caught his son and lifted him in the air and Edward started to laugh, still with his arms wide open like plane.

From the kitchen window where she was cooking, Maggie couldn't help but smile looking at them with pure love. Once, Farrier commented her that he always promised himself to be a good husband and father and it was clear now that he was fulfilling that promise.

While Ed stayed outside playing with his toys and their little girl, Clara, was sleeping on the couch, William went to where his wife was.

Marguerite smiled when she felt his strong arms around her and his lips on her neck.

"It smells delicious, Maggie."

"Thanks, honey. It will be ready in no time."

William placed a new kiss on her skin before opening the cupboard to search the plates and cutlery.

Life was good for the Farriers in that little corner of the world.

Sadly, it was already 1938.

_

PART 2

[yessir-rightawaysir]

SatAM Snivster mah dude

What in the hell was up with your hair detaching so easily and blowing away?

And why no growing it back? Was Robotnik too jealous to let you? 😂

Stress. It just never grew back. Julian shaves his head on purpose. There's no jealousy there, only laughter. Er, not that he'd have a full, beautiful head of hair either... I'm reasonably sure he's also bald, just not as bald as I am. Ugh.

Anonymous asked: Yo SatAM! Sniv One thing I noticed was you referred to Princess Sally as the leader of the Freedom Fighters. Yet she, some time later, told Sonic he was their leader. I found that interesting that she'd bestow that title on him and that you believed her deserving of it. Maybe it's just because she's the heir to the now defunct throne? Anyways, it seems to me you've got at least some respect for her, maybe even admiration? Would you feel any remorse if you had to kill her or that you have to be enemies?

Isn't she? The hedgehog is far too stupid to be their leader.

I have no respect for any of their lot, you are mistaken. But I would never kill her... I'd have a robot do it. Any remorse I would feel would be the product of Robotnik's fists as I doubt he would appreciate his lackey doing something he believes is his right. And he'd prefer her roboticized, not dead.

Anonymous asked: Hey satam!Snivley, a lot of your plans go fairly well until Robotnik lets his ego get in the way. Why do you keep putting up with it?

I have no where else to go. I'm a prisoner. What am I supposed to do, plot behind his back to overthrow him and then take over mobius myself? I would never!

Anonymous asked: [SaTAM Snively] What's your thoughts/opinions on Sally Acorn? Like what do you think about her?

Hhhhhhhhhh. Lord. I think she's intelligent and clever and a far too capable adversary. She's also been quite cruel to me. She's also the reason for some rather vicious repercussions from my uncle. I wish she was gone. I wish all of the freedom fighters were gone. I have no love for her or any of her ilk.

Anonymous asked: so, satam!sniv... in your last post, you mentioned that your uncle had to deafen himself-- I suppose that explains the prosthetics that replace his ears-- but if you didn't already know where I was going with this, do you know what's up with his eyes? something related, or something totally different?

This happened when I was far too young to remember quite clearly, but I believe he had degenerative eye problems? And they were only getting worse and worse over the years, so eventually he had them replaced. His vision is quite sharp now.

Anonymous asked: CHOP CHOP RAT-BOY WE WANT LORE

Do you have ANY IDEA how busy I am?! Of course you don't. No one does. I don't get a lot of free time. I should be sleeping right now, but unfortunately I'm a bit, uh, over energized from the little helpers I take throughout the day. Tomorrow is going to be quite awful.

Also, rat boy?? If you wish for correspondence from me perhaps you might try being kinder.

Except... I suppose I did respond to this. Hell.

[shnoob]

Sally Face HC’s (Cat or Dog person?): 

A/N: Hey!! Just wanted to say thanks to everybody for supporting and liking my stuff, it means so much to me and I appreciate it dearly :).  Leave any suggestions if you want to see something specific! 

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Larry Johnson:    

Although he loves Gizmo, he is 100% a dog person. 

I can see him specifically loving Basset Hounds or any dog really with floppy ears, kind of the stereotype of the pet looking like the owner. 

The apartments are too small to own a dog so I feel like he wouldn't have a dog BUT if he saw stray animals he would go back to his apartment to grab food/water and take care of them. 

If it wasn't a dog, Sal would 100% do the same and switch back and forth between who would check on the animal to make sure it was ok. 

If Larry did get a dog though, he would probably name it either something based on Sanity's Fall or even famous artists in history.  

Ash would 100% convince Larry to take pictures of Gizmo, her cat, and his dog together for Christmas cards and so be in on it. That's what their card was that year and continued ever since. 

The chillest duo ever 

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Sal Fisher:  

..I feel like this one is a bit obvious.

Sal has Gizmo and I feel like he wouldn't be one of those “cat guys” like Ash. 

However, as mentioned above he would be a sucker for stray animals that are in ads or on the side of the road. 

Since I personally headcanon Sal with insomnia (at least I think it's not canon? Idk?), he would take walks to cope with that so the critters he finds are many. 

I think at some point he did consider adopting another cat so Gizmo would have somebody to spend time with but ultimately decided against it. 

With Gizmo he 100% SPOILS that cat. Gizmo has his area, clothes, and anything that Gizmo may want/need. (Like have you seen Gizmo JEEZ) 

But yeah, no dogs around him! Just Sal and Gizmo

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Ashley Campbell:   

Again, loves Gizmo which I think is when the love for cats sunk in. 

Ash has always loved all different types of animals and I mean ANY, even insects she has a soft spot for and some of her art is even surrounded by animals. 

However, after meeting Gizmo, it set in that she LOVES cats. 

The first goal after she moves out is to get a cat where she tries convincing her roommate to look at shelters around their area for a cat despite the fact they cannot get one. 

If she were to get a cat (or cats) the potential names for said creatures are: Luna, Molly, Milo, Willow, etc. Depends all on the cat!! “The cat will speak to her” is what she claims. 

DEFINETLY SETS UP PET PLAY DATES. I'm not sure if people do this anymore but will find other “parents” of cats and try to have their pets bond so they can have more friends especially if she's busy or out doing something.

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[intimidating-fettuccine]

I'm really interested in the worldbuilding!! Are there any schools or educational institutions in the underworld? For like... teens or children creeps, but since you mentioned Sally doesn't have homework in the homework post, I take that she doesn't go to school or there aren't any schools in the underworld? What about children/demons who are born in the underworld?

Ah, I feel like I could have clarified better in the homework post. I honestly could have included Sally I guess?? When I was doing the homework post I was picturing when all of them were actively going to school, and Sally had never attended school before she died. She does get homeschooled by Slender, but that’s basically just a whenever she wants it kind of thing at this point as she’s already lived with him for like?? 60 years I think I said? But I don’t think he ever really gave her homework. If given homework though, she would have completed it on time.

Slender himself teaches any of the creeps that he takes in and educates them himself to at least a high school degree level.

There ARE schools in the Underworld though, as that’s how Slender and his brothers were educated for example. There are public and private schools and colleges for those born in the Underworld, but human proxies that are working in the Underworld are also allowed to attend them. I feel like there’s schools in every zone of the Underworld, so there’s a very large amount of them, and demons usually just attend whatever schools are in their zone that their parents would want them to attend.