#but then putting aside things so they can help one another

[justcreatininthedarkness]

I really love this prompt, so I had to write something.

after the death of Jackie's lovely grandparents, his family got the estate and their cat. It was all fine and dandy as they started to move in, most things being as they were when his grandparents had lived there. The antique furniture was somehow in perfect condition, not a single scratch from the cat.

Jackie's room was going to be in the attic, so he started to clean out all the old junk. Sorting through stuff that would be worth money and old trash, keeping the antique and the yard sale pile separate. He found some old family photos and portates, setting them aside for later, most likely just planning to throw them away after getting photos of his grandparents.

After a while his parents called him down for dinner. on his way down he nearly tripped over the cat, causing it to meow up at him, it had such a tiny and kitten like mewl. He picked up the fluffy calico and headed to the kitchen. "What was the cats name again?" He asked as the cat jumped from his arms and sat down by its bowl. "I dont remember, it might've just been chat. You can rename her if you want." His mother said as she put together a meal from what they had at the moment. "That's a boy cat," He lifted the calico up by its sides. "See, he has balls." His father laughed at that but his mother didn't find it as funny. "Jackie, I dont want to see a cats genitals before I'm about to eat." The cat wiggled out of his grip, then he sat down to eat with his family.

After dinner he had almost forgotten about the pictures until he tripped over a box of them, making them scatter. With a sigh he began to pick them up, notice a cat in a few of them. A lot of them. Old ones. At first he thought it was just another calico cat, maybe an ancestor of the current cat. But then he noticed over the decades worth of photos, that the patterns stayed the same. Always the same.

He quickly checked the back of the photos, the ones that included the cats name all had him as Sasha. Same pattern. Same name. Same cat.

He rushed downstairs with the photos to show his family, almost tripping over the cat again, but this time he swiftly ran past instead of picking him up.

When he got to his family he frantically told them about the cat as they sat on the couch, they did not look concerned at all. Not one bit. They laughed it off and told him to get ready for bed. When the cat rubbed against his legs he jumped and whisper yelled "I know your secret." Before he ran off again.

He closed the attic door and locked it. Ignoring the meows and scratching that followed a few minutes later; he curled up in his bed and tried to sleep, hoping that this was just a bad dream.

When he woke up the photos in his hand were gone. Maybe it was just a dream after all. As he sat up with a yawn he spotted the cat, sitting at the edge of his mattress. Just a dream. Please? "Hey... S-sasha, that's not actually your name though, that had to have just been a dream... Right Sasha?" The cat meowed in response to his words. He quickly leapt up and ran for the door, it was still locked. It couldn't have been a dream. How did the cat get up there? How was it alive? He heard it's small feet patter forward and he quickly unlocked the door before running downstairs.

He spent his whole day avoiding that cat, spending most of it with his mother as he helped her clean up the house a bit.

The cat kept following him, somehow getting into locked rooms and watching him from windows when he was outside.

He couldn't run forever, and he watched in dread as the cat slowly approached hid bed when he finally had to sleep. He wanted to run, to scream, to do something, but he had stayed awake and avoidant for two days and he couldn't keep his eyes open, no matter how scared he was. He felt paralyzed as his eyes slid shut and he felt something else get on his bed. "Shhh, no one has to know. Let's keep this a secret, ok boy?" What felt like a hand touched his face, two fingers prying one of his eyes open. "Right?" The figer in front of him was still rather small and surprisingly humanoid, it was just a bit smaller than him. Sashas hair was long and fluffy; it was patched with browns and blacks, with streaks of white. His skin was similar. His eyes were still big and cold brown.

He managed a small nod, then Sasha let go and got off the bed as Jackie quickly fell asleep, more likely from magic than exhaustion at this point.

(Sasha btw. I had to draw him. Might draw Jackie next.)

I had to sit down and think about how I would make a person calico. I actually really like it. might render it later.

I need to stop drawing feminine men though...

Your grandparent passes and your parents inherit the palatial estate as well as the care for its cat. After going through several family records you realize the cat has been inherited throughout the generations. You try telling others but they forget. Now it keeps trying to be alone with you.

[eviesaurusrex]

Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

[waiting-for-motivation]

dark red

summary: No matter what, Max loves and supports his girlfriend like a golden retriever would love a black cat.

pairing: Max Verstappen x Goth!Reader

warnings: the sweetest and purest fluff

words: 1022

a/n: daniel will always be part of my formula one fics :) also big thank you to my lovely muse @graveyardcannibal <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

The thing Max enjoys the most is staring at his beautiful girlfriend. No matter the time of the day, the light always seems to hit her at just the right angle. She could wear a trash bag and still look gorgeous in his eyes. Max really fell head over heels for her.

So it does not surprise (Y/n) at all to see his reflection in the mirror in front of her. He watches her precisely draw her eyeliner. Concentrating on the black lines is hard, when his blue eyes notice even her smallest movement.

“Get a hobby, creep“, she comments with a sarcastic undertone, still looking over her shoulder with a smile on her lips. While Max is already dressed, she still has to finish her make-up and put on the outfit, her boyfriend helped her pick out. Sometimes (Y/n) feels bad for him, keeping him waiting for her, but then she remembers how much he likes to gaze at her.

Max can only laugh at her words, leaning forward to take a closer look at all the brushes, powders and pencils. Although he watches his girl use them on a regular basis he has no clue what they are specifically for. Though one he knows: her dark red lipstick, which she is reaching for right now.

“No, wait before you put that on“, Max almost screams, caught off guard by his own forwardness. With a confused expression, (Y/n) turns towards her boyfriend, the lipstick in her right hand. The moment she opens her mouth to ask what has gotten into him, Max presses his lips to hers. This is explanation enough.

“You smooth bastard!“, (Y/n) exclaims after they part, keeping the intense eye contact with Max. He shows her a cheeky smile, then nods towards the mirror, encouraging her to finish her make-up. The lipstick is the final part. Max watches in awe as (Y/n) places a napkin between her lips to matten the dark color.

Then she turns towards her outfit that lies on the neatly made bed, right next to her boyfriend. (Y/n) gets dressed, so focused she does not notice Max standing up and cleaning up her make-up tools.

“You don‘t have to do that“, she murmurs as she turns around and catches Max inspecting her brushes. Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Max zips up her full cosmetic bag. He simply loves doing everything in his power for her, from smaller tasks to presenting her yet another corset.

"Need any help, schatje?", Max asks, setting the bag aside and reaching for his girl who is struggling to lace up her newest corset. With a huff, (Y/n) turns her back to him so that he can easily tighten the corset, careful not to strangulate her. After tying a bow, Max wraps his arms around his girl and starts kissing a trail from her ear to the collar of her shirt. One of her hands wanders to his fluffy golden hair.

"Don't start what you can't finish, Verstappen", (Y/n) warns her boyfriend, reminding him of today’s qualifying race and the job he has to do. At least, she will be with him on the paddock. For her, it will be the first time there, so she is rather excited and a bit anxious.

Together they leave their hotel room and drive to the racetrack. Again and again, Max throws a glance towards his girl on the passenger seat, actually so often that (Y/n) has to remind him to keep his eyes on the street. They quickly arrive and manage to get into the Red Bull garage without much attention from cameras or reporters.

"Remember you can always go into my driver room if it gets too much. I will find you as soon as possible afterward. Have some fun, schatje", Max tells (Y/n) with a concerned expression, even more nervous about her first day on the paddock than her. Her smile comfort his nerves, the sweet kiss following tells him she will be fine. Then he leaves to do some media stuff with his teammate.

Although the last few days, all (Y/n) could overthink about where the worst scenarios that could happen, the next few hours without Max are rather pleasant. Knowing a few of the drivers already because Max invited them to his home in Monaco, she has no problem in finding someone to talk to. Daniel is very delighted to see her, pulling her into a warm hug and forcing her to do a twirl for him, showing off her black outfit. She even meets some other girlfriends, which mostly compliment her on her make-up.

Before the qualifying race starts, someone from Red Bull escorts her back to the garage, claiming Max wants to see her before the start. There is a whole crowd of mechanics and strategists around him, so (Y/n) waits till he notices her, meanwhile touching up her lipstick.

Max is already sitting in his car, when he waves (Y/n) over with a bright smile. Someone presses his helmet into her hands which she gives to her boyfriend the moment she arrives at his car. He keeps it in his laps, gazing at the gorgeous girl above him. (Y/n) leans onto the car carefully, not wanting to cause a scratch or worse.

“There you are, schatje, wish me luck“, Max murmurs. His blue eyes glisten from not daring to blink. The giggle coming from (Y/n) causes his heart to flutter like a million butterflies. He smiles dreamily.

“Good luck, Maxie“, (Y/n) whispers as she presses a kiss to his cheek, aware of the cameras on them. Taking a step back and watching her boyfriend hide his handsome face under a balaclava and finally his helmet, she catches a glimpse of a red lipstick mark on his skin. She can only smile at this little incident.

Of course, the next day there are a lot of pictures circulating on the internet. Everyone can see the admiration in Max Verstappen‘s eyes as well as the red mark on his cheek, he wears like a medal of honor. He simply loves his girl with every fiber of his being.

[estellardreams]

[Demon King Red AU belongs to @purble-turble] (Lore ramble incoming below)

Okay so... This idea kept circling around in my head and I finally decided to draw it.

Before the question on Lady Bone Demon on the DKR AU, I was always curious on what could've happened if she was ever released.

... At least I'm glad she wasn't. Because if she was then it would've horrifically backfired very quickly.

Taking place mid-season 2 in the timeline, Lady Bone Demon is eventually released by Spider Queen due to discovering the digging site. One thing led to another, she got the key, and released her. Cue the og possessed DBK fight being replaced with a possessed spider queen fight.

This would last for the finale of season one and the opening season two special in terms of time. Once that crashes, LBD retreats into Bai He, infiltrating King Red's council as assistance to return his darling to him.

Now, her main goal at the moment is to grow strong enough to destroy her biggest threats. She assumed King Red wouldn't be a problem.

She was so, so wrong.

King Red was unlike anything she was expecting. Arrogant, paranoid, obsessive, and extremely intelligent. She couldn't even sneak around without cameras glaring her down. Not to mention her and Macaque getting increasingly aggressive with each other over "this bastard put me into this mess" (aka Macaque sided with Red for, one; Wukong and two; to avoid LBD's deal. And LBD for needing to go through the trouble of getting released (even if it was by chance) and jumping between bodies in an attempt to find her perfect match) type of dynamic.

But once LBD regained enough of her power and helped Red "achieve" his destiny of getting his darling MK back, she turns on him.

As the two fight, she begins to take in some of his power, growing stronger by the sheer fierceness of the fire. Her form stabilized rapidly and just as she was able to physically remain out of Bai He's body, the two strike at the same time...

Causing a cataclysmic soul fusion. Macaque rushes to rescue Bai He and brings her out of harms way, hiding from the smoldering figure.

There's no more King or Lady. A new being remained.

And they were even worse than anyone could've anticipated.

So yeah... Mini plot aside on this hypothetical they can control both fire and ice. Though the fire is now blue and the ice is extremely cold. They're two extremes fighting for balance with their only anchor being to shape the world into an image they desire.

Although LBD isn't fond of MK, Red absolutely is and that part overpowers hers, making them absolutely obsessing over their love. To the point that once they got him back, he was locked up in a room of nearly impenetrable ice for his safety. The space is well hidden in the fortress that many rescue attempts have failed because of it.

And Macaque, oh Macaque... His plan backfired in the worst way because not only was he now FORCED to work for his new ruler, but also anytime he tried to escape or step out of line he'd get punished severely. With Red's half being okay with using physical force (though preferring technology to subdue) and LBD holding seething anger towards the shadow monkey for abandoning her, you get a recipe for pretty severe physical abuse. Think of broken bones, frostbite and second degree burns.

And then you got everyone else, who were all forced to evacuate lest they get swallowed up by the raging blue fires and ice spikes taking over the city. After all, you gotta destroy everything to start over, right?

Which leaves us with this turnout: Megapolis and many surrounding lands have become uninhabitable, both MK and Macaque are tortured in the fortress, and there's an extremely powerful soul fusion of two demonic figures with their worst traits amplified and bouncing off of each other.

The Monkie Kids are mainly hiding out wherever possible, most of the time at Flower Fruit Mountain in an attempt to avoid the carnage. Now, their only hope is to find the samadhi fire to vanquish the Lady Bone Demon from King Red... Then, they gotta deal with the other problem.

Not a perfect plan, but it'll hopefully work out, right?

[Edit: Okay I think I'll just call this the Charcoal Bone King AU it's got a nice ring to it anyway]

[arget-star]

For Thy Sweet Love

Umemiya Hajime x F!Reader

tags: fluff, reader and ume are married with two kids, not beta read. if you see any spelling mistakes, no you don't

wc: 2k

about: There's someone new at the park today. Umemiya, happily married with two kids, isn't a fan of how this man gravitates towards you

“My nephew loves this park,” says a voice to your right. You glance over, unsure if the young man is talking to you or into a phone you can’t see. He catches your eye and grins—no phone, then. “Last week, he said the swings were his favorite, and now he claims the slides are the most fun he’s ever had.”

He sticks out a hand in greeting. “Nishida Hideo. A pleasure to meet you.”

There’s no harm in making a new acquaintance at the park. It’s nice, knowing the other frequent visitors, making your trips here less lonely on the days Hajime’s stuck at work. Puts you at ease, surrounded by people you can chat with. You accept his handshake, offering your name in return, silently appreciative his touch doesn’t linger once you gently pull your hand away. “How old is your nephew?”

“Six. He’s the little terror currently reigning as king atop the slides,” Hideo replies, tilting his head in the direction of said slides. You follow the gesture, eyes landing on a little boy whose black hair has the same cowlick as his uncle’s. His tiny fists are planted atop his hips, mouth moving as he explains the rules of whatever game he and your son—also six—have created. At least, you hope it’s just silly rules, instead of something rude or the age old you can’t play with me.

You squint a little, right hand raising to shield your face, and see the smile on your Yuzuru’s face. That same wide, open grin he inherited from his dad. Your lips quirk up as you turn back to Nishida. “He seems to rule his subjects well.”

“Is that your son up there?”

“Mhm. Also six. He loves making new friends.” Yet another thing he inherited from Hajime. Nishida’s nephew shouts something, raising his tiny arms up and stepping aside. Yuzuru, with a loud laugh also courtesy of his father—honestly, you’d hardly know Yuzuru was also yours if he hadn’t inherited your hair color—positions himself belly-down on the slide. Pushing himself with his arms, he goes flying, landing in the woodchips covering the park ground, giggling like a maniac all the while. You sigh fondly; you’ll be cleaning woodchips off him until bath time tonight.

Nishida’s nephew follows suit as soon as Yuzuru stands up. They brush themselves off, then climb back up the staircase next to the slides, presumably to do it all over again. A handful of woodchips cling to the back of your boy’s shirt, and his fellow conspirator has one stuck to his cheek.

“To be a child again,” Nishida says wistfully. “They make me tired just watchin’ them.”

A small snort escapes you. “Try parenting. It’s just as exhausting as you think it is, and yet, there’s nothing in the world I love more. Do you watch your nephew often?”

Nishida gives you a sidelong glance, like he doesn’t quite believe how people could willingly love something so tiresome. “Every couple weeks or so. My sister and her husband own a shop on market street. I try to help out by takin’ him off their hands.”

Yuzuru flies down the slides again. This time, when he pops back up, he gives you a wave. You eagerly wave back; some days, you can hardly believe the tiny baby you once cradled in your arms every night has grown into such a big kid.

“That’s kind of you. Which shop—” You begin to ask, cutting off as movement catches in the corner of your eye. A newcomer has arrived at the playground in the form of your three and a half year old daughter. Shiori’s tiny pigtails bounce as she toddles along, calling for her big brother. You smile again—she’s fearless, so long as Yuzuru’s around. The boy in question momentarily abandons his game, turning towards his sister. You tilt your head, looking for Hajime. He shouldn’t be too far behind your runaway girl.

Nishida, now busy shouting a hello to his nephew, misses the commotion. Just as well; despite the sunny day, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine as you finally spot your husband’s approaching figure.

Umemiya Hajime is not a jealous man.

Protective, certainly, and fiercely loyal to those he loves. Never once in all the years you’ve been together has he acted out of jealousy.

Yet now, you feel the same aura that so frightened any and all who opposed Bofurin and commanded the utmost respect from his fellow members. You think Nishida asks you something, but all your focus rests on Hajime, wondering what, exactly, has ruffled his feathers.

He grows closer, features becoming distinct, and it’s then you notice the edge to his smile, the hard glint in his eyes. The tails of his coat snap behind him, in time with his purposeful strides. He doesn’t look like a father who just spent the last twenty minutes calming down his tearful little girl from a scraped knee.

Umemiya Hajime looks every inch the former leader of Bofurin.

An arm wraps around your waist before you can think of anything to say. His right arm, you note, which he uses to tug you closer. You spare a glance first for your children—slides abandoned, they happily chase each other up and down the jungle gym steps—then to Nishida, whose face has gone carefully blank.

“Haji—” You begin, then stop. You don’t know what to say.

A rogue piece of hair has come loose from its usual slicked back style. Normally, you’d brush it aside, laughing as he uses your proximity as an excuse to kiss you senseless. He’s not feeling play now.

In mirror to your own greeting earlier, Hajime sticks out his left hand to Nishida. Sunlight glints off the golden wedding band adorning your husband’s ring finger, and you know he was planning this the moment he began stalking over here.

“Great day to be at the park, isn’t it? Umemiya Hajime. My wife’s such a great conversation partner, isn’t she?”

Nishida stares at Hajime for a heartbeat, then slowly accepts the offered hand. From your place tucked against his side, you can feel the tense line of his muscles, a snake coiled to strike if provoked. You don’t have anything against Nishida, and his nephew plays quite nicely with both Yuzuru and Shiori. You want to be annoyed, even a little angry, but you know Hajime. He wouldn’t act like this unless he had good reason.

“Y-yeah, she is,” Nishida replies, quickly retracting his hand. Nervousness has replaced his earlier ease, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart over to the children, who have commandeered the swing sets. Yuzuru must have helped Shiori onto one; now he’s twisting her round and round while she kicks her legs in delight. One of her pigtails has started to come loose. Nishida’s nephew propels himself on the other swing.

A throat clears. Nishida’s, you realize, as he casually slips his phone out of his pocket. “I should be getting back. Thanks for chatting with me,” he says to you, phone still in hand. Another look at Hajime. “…I’ll see you around.”

“Have a great day!” Hajime calls as Nishida scurries away. His nephew pouts. Your children halt their own game, offering loud farewells of their own. There’s a moment where you think someone will start throwing a tantrum—Nishida’s nephew, mainly—but the man quickly scoops his young charge into his arms and carries him off.

Hajime releases you with a sigh once Nishida’s retreating figure disappears, all that coiled tension dissipating in a puff of air. He smiles at you like nothing happened. “What were you thinking about for lunch?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is he not going to say anything? It takes a moment for your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth, and when it does, you can’t stop the hiss that escapes. “Hajime, you didn’t have to scare him off like that!”

He tilts his head, gesture almost boyish. You know better. “He said he had to leave.”

“Because of you!”

“Baby—”

“Mama! Mama! Pus’ me, p’ease?” Shiori shouts. You sigh, glaring at Hajime to let him know this conversation isn’t over. Plastering a smile on your face, you happily trot over to the swing sets. Yuzuru has claimed the one left empty by Nishida’s nephew, leaving his baby sister to wiggle pitifully in her seat. A bright, floral patterned bandage sticks to her right knee.

“How’s my brave little girl?” You coo, planting a kiss atop her head. She giggles, sticking her leg up while you set about fixing her loose pigtail.

“Dada fixeded me!”

“He’s quite talented at patching up owies, isn’t he?” Against your better judgement, your hands still, chin tilting up to find Hajime standing alone where you left him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you and the kids with undiluted joy.

You’re still upset with him, but the look on his face tempers some of your annoyance.

“Mhm!”

“I’m glad, my love.” Pigtail fixed, you gently take her tiny hands in yours, placing them around the metal chains holding up the swing. “Ready? One, two, three!” On three, you give her a light push, sending her soaring into the air.

Twenty minutes later, everyone’s safely buckled in their car seats, hands thoroughly cleaned courtesy of your stash of baby wipes in the glove box. Hajime passes around a water bottle from the driver’s seat, while you stand at the back passenger door, shaking woodchips out of Shiroi’s shoes.

“Mama, can we listen to Bluey?” Yuzuru asks, idly running a toy motorcycle up and down the car window.

“In a minute, baby,” you reply. Shoes free of debris, you shimmy them back onto Shiori’s little feet. She’s clutching the metal water bottle in both her hands.

“T’anks, mama.”

“You’re welcome,” and it’s accompanied with a loud smooch to her forehead. You take the water from her, stealing a quick sip. She giggles, waving as you close the passenger door. You clamber into your own seat with a relieved sigh. Park days are fun yet exhausting.

Yuzuru, never one to forget anything, pouts. “Mama, can we listen to Bluey now?”

The car engine roars to life. You fiddle with your phone, queuing up the latest Bluey album while telling Shiori yes, you did see how fast she went down the slide, and you know she’s hungry, reassuring her that lunch will be made as soon as you get through the door at home. She kicks her legs out again, pretending she’s still on the swings. Your hand snakes between the car door and the seat, questing fingers latching playfully around one small ankle. “Got you!”

She squeals, delighted, kicking harder now. “Shake her off,” Yuzuru encourages, and now you laugh, releasing your hold.

“You’re too strong for me, my love,” you say, shaking out your hand.

“’Cause I eats my gebtables,” she replies seriously.

Haji laughs, grinning at you as he backs the van out of the parking spot. It soothes the remainder of your irritation—that smile of his always makes you melt. “That’s right, baby,” he agrees.

Shiori asks for more water. You oblige, passing the bottle back. Yuzuru starts humming along to Bluey. Hajime rolls slowly to a stop at the intersection. It’s all so normal, so perfect. Almost enough for you to forget about Haji’s odd behavior.

Yuzuru may have inherited most of his father’s looks, but he got his knack for persistency from you. Gently, you prod Hajime’s arm. “What was all of that about, earlier?”

He sighs. Flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, looking at your children in the reflection. They aren’t visibly paying attention, although your son listens to far more than he lets on. Scary, how often he asks about things you were positive he wasn’t within hearing distance for.

Hajime’s hand flexes around the steering wheel, like he’s fighting off the urge to rub the back of his neck. You squeeze his shoulder this time. He’s the most responsible driver you know—and it makes your heart ache whenever you think of why.

“I was a little jealous,” he admits, softly.

“A little?”

“…a lot,” he concedes, flicking on the turn signal. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Something about his manner set me off.”

You frown in thought, playing back your interaction with Nishida in your head. Nothing struck a warning bell inside your own head. Other than the strange look he gave you when you said how much you loved being a parent. Overall, you’d considered Nishida nice enough. Not someone you’d want to become best friends with, but a decent enough park companion.

“I thought he was gentlemanly enough,” you say carefully, trying to see the interaction through your husband’s eyes. Maybe Nishida ended up a bit too far into your personal space, towards the end of your conversation. Half of your attention had been on Yuzuru by that point; the other half was worried about Shiori’s wounded knee.

“It’s how he kept watching you when you weren’t looking. Like he was sizing you up.”

You didn’t feel anything untoward coming from Nishida. Then again, Haji’s always had a gift for reading people and their intentions. You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, always and forever.”

Those impossibly blue eyes of his land on yours. “I love you.”

Yuzuru, no longer occupied with Bluey or his motorcycle, blows a raspberry. “Gross!”

[thegeminisage]

lucanis/rook good. lucanis/neve good. lucanis/davrin DEFINITELY good. but i think we are sleeping on lucanis/harding. here's a link to some of their banter, though i'm not sure it's everything in the game.

harding starts the game casually threatening lucanis (like davrin) with her very fancy demon-killing arrow. and yet, aside from the one line where he points out that she only has the ONE arrow, instead of getting bitchy with her the way he does with davrin, lucanis seems to respect her bravery. he notes in another cutscene (i'll get to it later) that her being so small physically might have made it easier for other people to intimidate her when she was young, so it's possibly he was making incorrect assumptions about her based on her size and easy-going nature, and is surprised to find she's made out of pretty tough stuff after all, despite of those things

she then throws him totally off-guard by assuring him she isn't brave at all, but terrified of him (or spite), and she knows that if he does lose control, it won't even be his fault - but she'll put him down no matter how scared she is. lucanis's reaction to this is to first try to laugh it off as brutal honesty, and then grow sober and TELL HER TO KEEP HER BOW CLOSE? one little shred of sympathy and kindness totally obliterated whatever combative sarcasm he was gearing up to give her with that "only one arrow" business.

later, lucanis urges her to watch their enemies rather than him - he's genuinely concerned that she's so scared of him and distracted by him she's going to get herself hurt.

lucanis, who canonically doesn't sleep and gets lots of bad dreams, talks through all of harding's dreams with her - from the silly and mundane to the genuinely terrifying - and goes out of his way to buy her spearmint to help with her nightmares. like he cares SO MUCH

after weisshaupt (on my playthrough, anyway) we learn that harding has since GIVEN her demon-killing arrow to him to prove to him she trusts him, and he wants to give it back to prove that he trusts her. it's genuinely very sweet

also after weisshaupt, harding comforts lucanis and tries to get him to stop torturing himself over his missed shot at ghilan'nain. she's not alone in doing this, but it's still good

COFFEE SCENE. not only does this scene prove lucanis pays close attention to harding, he looks at her with so much fondness here...and after this scene, their party banter involves her working through what he's pointed out about her. his dialogue implies that she shouldn't change to appease other people - because he cares about her well-being AND because he thinks she's great just the way she is.

NOT ONLY THAT, but harding realizes lucanis's evaluation was so keen because he himself is a little bit of a people-pleaser - and with that observation, once again manages to catch him off-guard. she surprises him throughout their relationship

one of my favorite bits with them is comparing notes on their various magical situations. both of them are firmly non-mages who have been unwillingly saddled with magical or magic-adjacent abilities. lucanis is the first to figure out why constantly using magic always makes her hungry (from experience) and he can also relate to being completely freaked out the first time her magical abilities manifested.

near the end of the game, lucanis admits that harding's reputation with the bow is more than earned, and even expresses interest in working with her in the future, after the war against the gods has ended, for an absurd amount of coin. i've seen people point to this banter as proof that lucanis doesn't know the value of money ("it's a banana, michael, how much could it cost? ten dollars?"), but he does his own shopping - he absolutely does know the value of money, he just ALSO places a high value on harding's skills and trustworthiness. i would dare to venture he is smitten!

also, this. OWWW MY HEART

[kayfabe-is-king]

Logically, I knew it was too early for them to dethrone Moxley. I knew that going in. But this man put his heart and soul into that match. When the entirety of The Conglomeration came out to level the playing field (including my queen Willow), there was a glorious moment of hope in my heart. Sure, my brain kept screaming, “Where’s Yuta?” but they did a masterful job of making me ignore that.

What broke my heart though was how they tossed Orange aside to have that chaotic melee of interruptions post match. Christian coming out was laughably unnecessary. I think it was meant to bring Jay and Hangman into the Death Riders angle but they could have done it without yet another tired “Christian coming in with that sad contract that we only remember exists when he drags it out” spot.

Then we have Darby deciding it was car derby time in the parking lot. All he accomplished was Claudio having to report “a crazy man smashed into our truck” to the insurance company. Don’t get me wrong, I love Darby. But if they’re trying to set up him dethroning Moxley… that is an insane misstep.

Yes, Darby is a homegrown star. Yes, he loves this company and believes in it with all of his being. But he is years away from being in a place character wise to lead AEW onscreen. He is still going through his angsty, emo phase and is far too reactive to be a leader right now. He picks fights he can’t win like that small dog at the park going after Rottweilers. That isn’t a leader, much less the one AEW needs at a time like this.

I thought there was going to be a massive twist that caused OC to lose. Something that added another layer to the Death Rider story. Something shocking that created another obstacle Team AEW had to overcome. But instead we got Yuta doubling down on being a pawn.

So now we have what? Orange Cassidy broken and tossed aside. The power of his friends coming together to help him essentially neutralized. Jay, Hangman and Christian only coming out when it served their purposes, not because of their love of AEW. And Darby doing Darby things.

As excited as I was initially about the Death Riders angle, last night has me worried. It can still be saved (Eddie coming back and being the one to rally the troops and dethrone Moxley is one example, so is Kenny eventually coming back to save the company he helped to build) but I think a massive opportunity was lost by sacrificing Orange Cassidy so early on without a better reason story wise. The build up for him to be our savior was huge (and they crushed my love of the song November Rain to accomplish it) but it was squandered. Again, I didn’t think he was going to win last night. But I also didn’t think they were going to waste so much potential to keep the belt on Jon.

[showsandstuff]

Am I the only one who is disappointed with Caitvi in season two? When I watched the first season I had the biggest caitvi brain rot because they actually gave me SUCH a fun dynamic with them. Buddy cop Caitvi was hilarious, I loved that so so much!

And season 2 started of strong imo but then it rushed through everything. I loved the scene in the cell, obviously, but it was misplaced. Your sister is about to kill herself girl what are you doing this is not the time!! And other than romantic and sexual tension there wasn't all that much left of their previous dynamic aside from the brief scene in episode six...

Idk, I think I'm just annoyed. Usually when I see a non canon gay ship get more traction than the Canon lesbian couple, I just assume it's misogyny or lesbophobia, and move on with my life. But I can't even do that here because Caitvi was WAY more popular in season 1 (as they should).

Jayvik isn't getting somewhat more popular in season 2 because people don't like lesbians, but because their arcs are connected so strongly to each other. (Also I'm not saying that Jayvik is now more popular than Caitvi, but it's like a graph where the super high stocks caitvi are still even while Jayvik is skyrocketing rn)

Wanna know why Jayvik wasn't all that popular in season 1? Because (after act 1) their arcs were mostly separate, safe for a couple of moments. Viktor worked on his body and Jayce was doing politics.

Caitlyn and Vis arcs intertwined more, they actually did shit together and it was beautiful, funny, romantic, EVERYTHING!

Also a fun opposites attract buddy cop dynamic is also just more fun than men who do science together (in my personal opinion)

Now let's look at Caitlyn and Vis relationship in season two.

It starts of strong. I momentarily thought that Caitlyn was uncharacteristically mean to Vi when she refused to become an enforcer, but she apologized for it later and I recognized the fact that Caitlyn was grieving. Then once we get to episode two and three I could already feel their relationship being a bit more odd. The kiss (though I cheered) didn't feel right. I felt like something was missing, and that was their chemistry from season one. Also I feel like we glossed over too many decisions that Caitlyn made, and I think Vi should've put a stop to it sooner. But overall I was okay with them in act 1.

Then we had a timeskip and the two were fully separated. Act 2 literally started with Caitlyn in bed with another woman, like we can see they're not together anymore. Caitlyn has obviously changed, there is not much of the sweet cupcake left that we had come to love in season 1, and Vi is boxing and getting drunk.

Then they meet and like... Vi calls Cait cupcake, and Cait switches sides IMMEDIATELY? GIRL WTF?!

I get that Caitlyn wasn't entirely on Ambessas side the entire time, but I had hoped for more drama first. So you're telling me the very next interaction the two have after their heart wrenching falling out is them making up again? Come on.

Then we had act 3 and overall it was better I think but the timing of their hot scene in the cell was just odd, like what about your sister about to kill herself? I was very happy and hyped in the moment but then I realized how rushed this was. Why? Why make em fuck right here? And in the final act, the two weren't together because again, their arcs were not as connected. And that's actually pretty cool to have a couple who do their own things! But it doesn't help their relationship when they, in turn, aren't given enough time to develop as a pair!

I feel like season 1 did this incredible job of setting these characters up, showing us why they work so well together and why they would fall for one another. And season 2 gave us pay off for it but with very little set up, which was needed because of how Cait changed throughout the season. I don't mention Vi here because she did not change. She had her drunk boxing phase, which we got nothing but a montage off, but everything else is basically season 1 Vi aside from very few things here and there. Like her becoming an enforcer wasn't a character change for Vi, her finally letting go of powder and calling her sister Jinx, wasn't a big character moment for Vi, they were pay off for a set up we didn't get enough of.

SO TO GET TO MY POINT:

S2 was rushed. We should've AT LEAST gotten 3 seasons, like minimum, because there was a whole lot of plot and very little moments in between for characterization. Especially for Caitlyn and Vi and their relationship to each other.

I still generally prefer Caitvi to Jayvik, but only because of season 1. Season 2 gave me the two things I wanted most (a sexy scene and a kiss) but forgot to give me the things that made me fall in love with this ship in the first place.

Which was the hilarious buddy cop dynamic of rich girl cop Cait, and broke butch prisoner Vi.

[starburr]

getting the urge to watch amphibia all over again but grrrr, I got midterms to prepare for

[adhdvane]

i finished making my gear build for inkbrush yesterday.... i think i found my favorite weapon to play.... is this how you become a brush main

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Not A Joke, Not Unreality:

A company called Quantum Fiber (under Century Link) recently set up my home town for fiber optic internet. I got them a month ago and aside from a few outages it was decent.

Last week, it went out. They sent me a super specific time it would be back-

They failed to make it and sent another, minutes later.

And another when that failed.

And over the week, more and more.

I called and they just read me the same email out loud. They offered no escalation or resources. Every time, they fail. I have not had internet for my house in a week, and this morning I got this one-

I looked into other people having the same problem and found this-

Edit forgot link

That's not something called a "766" line, that's them fucking up my city 766 times. This company is fucking shit, and I'm sick of this. I've filed an FCC complaint but those take a month to even get a reply.

So I'm hoping my 173,365 followers can help make this show of their ineptitude and callousness go viral. Please.

They are in a time of massive expansion into many new states and cities. I am asking anyone so inclined with a few minutes to spare to find your town or state's government information technology office or liaison, or just a local government representative of any kind, and write them a quick note stating that this company destroys town utilities and offers absolute frustrating failures of service in return.

If you have Quantum Fiber and have been similarly failed by them, please file an FCC complaint. You might at least get a free month out of it.

If you work with a news source or popular blog, please boost this however you can.

If you are on any app on which they are present, please feel free to write or tag them and let them know they have failed their customers and cities they work with.

Please do not engage in threats or harassment of any form. Keep this legal, civil, and proper so that it can create a legal basis and record of good citizen interaction on the part of this company's victims. I am asking for help in a grassroots campaign, not a violent or prank-filled heap that just gets people in trouble. AND DO NOT FOR ANY REASON EVER PESTER THE WORKERS, PHONE REPS AND TECHNICIANS THEY HAVE OUT THERE. This is the corporation's fault, not the poor folks they employ who they likely try to make take the backlash.

If you have any other ideas on how to hold a mega-corp responsible for the shit they put their customers through, please comment and recommend. I am sick of this shit. I know there are worse things happening and even worse companies doing horrid things right now. But maybe this one is new/small enough that a viral campaign can kick them where it hurts and get them to act more responsibly to their customers and safely to the places they work.

Please help if you have time. Please spread this in the hopes they see it and get off their butts and fix their horrible shit. Any random reblog or post on any platform might be the one their investors hear of.

Thank you anyone for anything you can do.

-Ari

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Heylo my maggotsies... I'm sorry to do this but I have a thing that I really, really need to do (thank you Ash for helping me realise that) but I'm terrified to. so well. I'm going to make one of the posts (Neil reblogged me a couple of days ago so I feel pretty safe making one now since he only lurks by once in two weeks so this is as good a time as it gets to make a post and not expect many notes, yes I'm an overthinker and I'm actually scared of this getting notes).

Sigh. Here goes.

...I'm scared of even typing it.

Nope okay I can do this let's go.

If this post gets 1k notes, I'll look up jobs in design and film making that don't need a college degree.

2k notes, I'll sign up for an Alliance Francaise course so I can have another language on my CV, and I'll find a course that teaches me how to use design software.

5k, I'll look up distance learning alternatives, because just talking about physical college yesterday made me spend the whole morning and afternoon today in and out of nightmares screaming. Fuck.

10k, I'll tell my mum that I can't do the offline college. She's been talking to me about it, but I've been dodging because I'm not well-off and I really need to be earning and idk how to do that without college and I feel so guilty.

15k, I'll officially back out from the college (does that count as dropping out, if it hasn't begun? maybe half. i am a college and a half dropout, my 11th grade self would hate me and my 10th grade self would refuse to believe it).

I don't know what I'll do then. I don't know how to live as trans here in India, I don't know how to earn enough to be able to help my family, I don't know what I'm good at and I'm so fucking terrified. But. I spoke to @random-doctor-on-the-internet last night (I love you Ash you're such a fucking amazing human) and they made me realise that well maybe landing in a hospital with steroids to relieve an allergy attack because of exam stress isn't normal and so.

Well. Here I am. I know I can't do it, but I'm scared to risk everything, it's just not something people do here, dropping out. But also (TW s**cide statistics mentioned below the cut)... And so I've just. Got to do it, got to save myself and say no to college (cue say no to school, kids joke). Somehow be brave enough. And yeah.

To quote a financial express article: "In an alarming situation, a total of 7,62,648 suicides were reported in India between 2018 to 2022, Of this student suicides account for 7.6% at 59,239". Maybe if more people did say fuck you to the system here, that wouldn't be the case. That number could have been 59,240 (aside from everyone who wasn't counted and hushed up), that could have been me, and I don't want to put myself in that situation again. You know? Yeah.

[aperrywilliams]

That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.

Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.

Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)

Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.

A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!

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Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.

But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.

He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.

From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.

But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.

You were extremely shy and reserved.

In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'

He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.

But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.

At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.

It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?

If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.

From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.

You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.

'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'

'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'

And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.

And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.

But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.

Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.

In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.

The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.

---------------

A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.

Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.

All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.

Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.

"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.

"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.

"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.

"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.

"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.

You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.

It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.

"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.

"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.

"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.

That's it—the elephant in the room.

Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...

There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.

Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.

"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.

And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.

But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.

"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.

"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.

"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.

"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.

And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.

Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.

When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.

"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.

That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.

You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.

Emily is who stops everyone's rant.

"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."

And this is how the discussion is settled.

Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.

When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.

"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"

You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.

"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."

"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.

You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.

Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.

"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."

Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.

"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.

Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."

If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.

---------------

You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.

Everyone has a role in the plan.

Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.

Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.

When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.

"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.

"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"

Your cheeks redens.

"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."

You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.

"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."

"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.

One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.

At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.

For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.

Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.

"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.

The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.

As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.

Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.

Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.

You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.

Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.

At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.

"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.

"Show time," you mumble to yourself.

You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.

That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.

You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.

Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.

"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.

JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.

"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."

Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.

"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."

You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.

Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.

Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.

Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.

Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.

JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.

As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.

"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.

Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.

There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.

"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.

With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.

He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.

"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.

"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.

Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.

The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.

"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.

You get closer to him to speak in his ear.

"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.

You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.

"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.

You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.

It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.

Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.

When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.

As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.

Everything that happens after is too fast.

The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.

But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.

There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.

You shyly approach him.

"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.

"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.

"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.

"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.

Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.

Everything except that kiss.

If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.

A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.

You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.

What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.

"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.

"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.

Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?

"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.

A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.

There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.

"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.

"I know," you say with some hesitation.

"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"

Now, you are the one who smirks at him.

"Evidence, huh?"

"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.

"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.

Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.

This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.

------------------ 

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[werecreature-addicted]

Sacrificial Lamb reader/vampire priest.

Just consider— a cute little lamb reader lying on the altar, begging not to be slaughtered, the tears their crying making the vampires heart flutter. All the cult members are confused why the ritual keeps getting pushed back- meanwhile the vampire is spoiling his little lamb rotten.

ohioohooohiohoo

His hands are gentle, stroking your cheek as you wake slowly, your eyes flutter open slowly to the morning light, and there he is, your keeper.

"Morning," you yawn sleepily,

"Good morning, little one,"

"is it a good morning? I thought my execution was scheduled for today." you huff, you should be more scared but the soft look on his face can only mean one thing. you get out of bed and change idly, not minding the priest as he watches you, he's a man of god after all, there's no way he'd be looking at you in lust.

"ah well, we thought so but some knew doctrine has come to light, now is not the time for sacrifices. we'll have to wait for next winter, at the very least," he says. You hum thoughtfully turning back to face him, his hungry red eyes fixed on your body, flicking up to meet your face as you turn around.

"Well, I'll make myself useful until winter then." When you were born, it had been prophecized that you would be sacrificed to the gods and your death would bring about a new golden age for your homeland. Then, on your eighteenth birthday, you'd been handed over to the church, to live out your final days in the temple, under the watchful gaze of the father and his dedicated cult. Your execution has been postponed four times now.

You wondered if the cultists even bothered setting up the altar this time. it was always something, the stars weren't aligned properly, the materials were all wrong, you fell ill and couldn't be slaughtered while sick, and now, Spring was a time for rebirth, you'd have to wait for winter for the ritual. which winter? who's to say? it might be another few years before he tries to start your sacrifice again.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. he puts his nose to your throat and kisses your skin. "You could be useful to me now," he breathes, his voice strained, tight with hunger. You had been so scared the first time you'd almost been killed, you remembered sobbing and pleading for your life, his knife poised above your throat, He told you that you could live, for now, if you served the cult and him. Of course, you agreed, that was the first time he bit you, spilling your blood on the altar in a different way.

You lean your neck to the side and sigh as you feel his fangs pierce your skin. you have to lean back against him for support as he drinks your blood and you grow weaker.

"so perfect, so delicious," he murmurs to himself as he drinks your blood, licking at your throat, catching any stray drops of blood. His hands slide down your body feeling up your hips and thighs. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your back as he slowly grinds against you. The priest is chaste, a man of god, but he's also a vampire, as he's explained he can't help but get erect when he feeds it's a natural side effect and completely nonsexual.

He pins you down on the bed and pushes your legs apart, grinding against you, fully clothed, as he bites your neck again. you feel dizzy, a mix of feelings as your blood is drained and as you buck and grind against the vampire on top of you. you try to keep quiet, but you can't help but moan as he takes full advantage of you. You feel dirty, the man who's saved your life so many times now is just trying to eat and here you are getting off, practically masturbating right in front of him with his cock.

You can feel how large his dick is as you grind together, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he pulled your underwear aside and fucked you properly while he drained your blood, the thought alone makes you shudder and press up against him as he continues to dry hump you. although with the sticky feeling between your legs and his wet mouth sucking on your neck, "dry" might be the wrong word.

you bite down on your own hand to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as you cum, still trying to hide your own lust, what would the priest think if he found out you were so lustful? if you were lucky he'd bend you over and spank you for being so sinful, at worst he might chain you down to the sacrificial altar and leave you there.

The priest pulls away, breathless, your blood smeared messily around his mouth "What a mess we've made," he huffs, looking down at your neck, and then his eyes drop further to the place where your bodies meet.

"I can clean it-" you offer weakly,

"no, no little thing, rest, you need to let your body heal, close your eyes, I'll take care of all this," he coos reassuringly, you nod obediently and close your eyes.

You look so venerable like this, he could do almost anything he wanted with you in this weakened state. the prophecy said it had to be a virginal sacrifice, maybe he could halt the ritual permanently if he just took what he'd wanted from the beginning.

[novulen]

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ : What happens when you almost get caught in the act by your son? Whatever it is, Satoru is unfazed & too pussywhipped to care.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : 18+ (mdni), riding position, mentions of overstimulating, (princess/ baby) used to adress reader, cock-blocking, fem!reader.

“He’s finally asleep.” Satorou huffs out, tiredly, trudging to his respective side of the bed and immediately tossing himself onto the mattress beside you. You can’t help but softly giggle when he does such dramatic things, acting as if your son had tormented him—though your sweet boy would never do such things.

“C’mere.” he murmurs mindlessly to you, reaching out a long arm before you can even process what he’s said and pulling your form flush to his chest.

His sultry tone already tells you what he wants.

“‘Toru…are you sure he’s sleeping?” you mumble under your breath, scooting closer to your lover and placing a hand worryingly to his cheek. Recollections of the last time Satorou’s antics had almost occurred to your toddler catching you both in the act flood your mind, and you want to do everything in your power to keep that from happening again. But, Satoru, on the other hand, doesn’t seem worried about the circumstances.

“I’m sure, baby,” he promises, almost too quickly. Although you’ve always been one to take him for his word, as unethical as that may sound, and you hesitantly nod in response.

Satoru raises an eyebrow for a second, noticing the uncertainty laced within your eyes.

“We don’t have to, y’know.”

“No—I want to.”

You mask your worry with a honeyed smile, and lean into his lips. It’s almost instinct with the way his body moves to close the gap between your lips, his soft ones colliding messily to yours not a second later.

Satoru moans into the kiss, having found pleasure without even entering you yet. His big hands slide down your torso, lifting you effortlessly on top of him in the process, and find purchase on your hips.

“Mhm, ‘d you lock the door?” you whisper into the kiss, opening your eyes only to find a totally blissed-out Satoru. But, he merely hums, continuing to move his lips unfazed and too deep in the kiss to stop.

The dim light your bedroom lamp provides casts onto your lovers face, giving him a warm, loving glow that —though has quite the opposite effect of warm, and loving—causes your cunt to throb.

“Need to be inside you, princess,” he groans, only pulling away to fill his lungs with the breath you’ve stolen from him, pupils blown wide. And when he’s done, without another word, he’s kissing you again.

Soon enough, with the way he’s grinding his already half-hard cock against your clothed pussy, and the manner in which he’s smothering his lips against yours, you forget what you’d earlier asked.

He, in fact, did not lock the door.

“So fucking needy for you,” he murmurs underneath his breath, softly clamping his teeth down on your lower lip as he pulls back. Satoru takes in the sight before him; you, lips rosy, swollen, and agape, on top of him with nothing but some skimpy sleep shorts and a crop top—it’s almost too good of a sight to behold, he thinks.

“Need you too,”

Your hands are quick to find the hem of his grey sweats, tugging his boxers down alongside his pants just enough for his cock to spring up.

The leaky, pink tip releases a droplet of pre-cum, and your eyes watch attentively as it slides down his sturdy, tan base.

With just one touch, Satoru’s already thrusting up into your hands. “S-shit, don’t do this t’me. Just put it in.” he breaths, azure, blue eyes boring into yours with a stare like never before. It’s compelling in a way, and you find yourself sliding your shorts and panties aside as you position yourself over his shaft.

Rough hands smoothing over your ass, he pushes you down onto the head.

You moan deliciously, your palms flat against his chest once he's fully in. And as much as you'd love to tell him how good this all feels, how he's so deep and snug inside you, all that comes out is a choked cry of his name.

"Shh, y'don't have to say anything, I know it feels good," he hums, wearing a smug grin on his face—knowing he's the one that's got you a babbling mess—cocky as ever. "Just keep riding—fuck, just like that."

You're soon bouncing on his cock, a stream of fat tears rolling down your cheeks, and throat too sore to do anything but whimper.

"Satoru, baby.." you whine, throwing your head back in utter bliss.

"Yeah, princess?"

"You're so deep..."

And Satoru's never felt compelled to outdo himself more than he does now, the thoughts of overstimulating you swarming his head more than he'd like to admit. He groans at your words, and only wants to push himself deeper—deeper until you're crying out his name.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru...

...But, you're whispering.

"Satoru!" you whisper-shout, finally snapping the frenzied man out of his trance. Both your heads whip to the door, and a panicked-silence falls over the bedroom.

Your heart races as you hear the pitter-patter of small feet stop right in front of the bedroom. “Mama?” your toddler calls out, thankfully knocking on the door before he lets himself in. You’re more than glad he didn’t take after his father when it came to manners.

“I’ll be right there, sweetie!…don’t come in, ok?” And you’re making quick work of tying your silk robe around yourself, though, not much to your surprise, Satoru simply covers himself and watches things unfold.

“Ok..” you cringe at the confusion laced within his cute voice, making your way to the door. “I need to go the bathroom, hurry, mama.”

Your eyebrows bunch together. “You used to go to the bathroom all by yourself, honey, what happened?”

“Papa told me the boogeymen would come get me if i went alone.”

You shoot a deadly clear at Satoru, who happens to be coincidentally ‘sleeping’ at the moment.

But the moment you arrive back, having tucked your son into bed properly this time, he’s awake.

“Baby, I can explain.”

Could he really, though?

Your eyes roll in annoyance, and you get into bed with your robe on, giving him the hint that what had taken place before would not continue.

You face away from him, reveling in the way he’s straight after you, a hand already on your hip.

“So…can we?” he trails off as his hand snakes down, and you feel as if you can see the pout on his face when you push him away.

“No more pussy for you, boogeyman.”