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littlcdarlin · 2 days ago

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My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise — the journey home

summary: Joel drives you home from the airport after your vacation. You miss him as soon as he's gone. warnings: daddy kink (mentioned once), big age gap (23 & 49), orgasm control (reader needs Joel's permission), slight angst, phone sex in your parents' home (the most mortifying thing I can think of actually)

note: sorry this took me so long, I lowkey forgot about it tbh. It's a little angsty, but I swear that angst will be resolved!! Idk when, because I'm writing a different oneshot atm, but at some point I plan on writing more smut & a confrontation with reader's Dad. Enjoy these head canons in the meantime, and thank you for your love on this series <3333

Your Dad calls while you’re still at the airport & Joel tells him he got you home safely (your panties are still ruined from how badly you wanted Joel on the plane, his hand on your thigh the entire time)

He puts the luggage in the trunk of his Bronco, and before you’ve made it halfway home, he pulls over to a deserted parking lot by the side of the road & makes you ride him in the car

So good, baby, let me have it one last time. He comes inside of you like he did every time he fucked you during your trip, and when you grab your tissues to clean yourself, he asks you to leave it, baby, want you to remember me when you get home

So you do, because you always do what he tells you, and because you don’t want to let him go completely just yet. The rest of the way both of you are very quiet

Joel pulls up to your Dad’s house (you’re staying with him to help him with his leg), and before you can get out, he pulls you into a hug, and kisses the side of your head

Hope ya had a good time. You want to cry but you also don’t want to seem clingy, so you nod. Joel doesn’t let you go for a few minutes

When you pull away to say goodbye, he looks like your Dad’s Joel again, wearing his boots instead of flip flops, a pair of jeans instead of your beloved trunks, and his linen shirt is nowhere to be seen

Take care, kid. Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t study too hard.

Before you can answer, the front door opens and your Dad greets you, leg still in a cast, and considerably less tan than you and Joel

When you get out to greet him, you feel Joel’s cum drip out of you and into your cotton panties. You glance at Joel, who seems to understand and raises one playful eyebrow — he’s still your Joel, no matter his clothes

Your Dad hugs you and the entire time you think he'll be able to smell Joel on you, his clothes you kept wearing, his shampoo you used when you were too lazy to get yours from your own hotel room, his sweat and spit and cum on you, but your Dad just walks over to Joel's window and thanks him

"Had a good time with my girl?"

Joel doesn't really meet his eye, and you think to yourself that my girl is a term only applicable if Joel says it, but he just agrees, says the food was good and that you studied a lot

And that's it, Joel drives away with one last glance at you in the sun, and then he's gone and a strange emptiness settles over you

You tell your Dad you need some time for yourself after a week of socializing, which he doesn't question, so you say good night, plop down on your bed and put on a movie. You don't want to shower, not when you can still feel Joel inside of you

It takes you around twenty minutes to pull out your phone, and when you do, you've already got a message from Joel

Miss you already, baby. At the risk of sounding desperate, call me if you need a break from studying.

The proper punctuation makes you smile and want to cry at the same time, Joel's age so obvious. You take a couple of seconds to answer and fight the urge to call him and ask him to just take you away to live at his place, your Dad be damned

miss you too. can still feel you inside of me. trying hard not to call you right now

Almost immediately, your phone lights up with Joel's name, and then he's there, his beautiful face taking up the majority of the screen, and although you try hard not to cry, you feel tears burning your eyes

You tell Joel you miss your vacation already, that you wish you could go back, that you don't want to sleep alone tonight. You wonder if he just wanted to have phone sex with you and instead got this jumbled up mess of feelings and tears

But there's just kindness and warmth in his eyes, and when he tells you he wishes you were there with him, watching a movie together instead of alone, relief floods your body. He talks to you in his soothing voice until you stop crying, tells you you can always come over

You're scared to ask him what he means, if he's offering a shoulder to cry on, or if he actually wants to keep seeing you, but when he sees the expression on your face, he asks you to come to his place tomorrow and talk there, instead of over the phone

You agree, already longing for his arms around your body, and when you ask him to make you feel good in a hushed voice, he is quiet for a couple of seconds

Want me to help you get off in your Dad's house? You're not even home in your apartment and you already need it this bad?

It's humiliating in a way that switches off your brain, Joel's words exactly what you need to get lost in him – he isn't pretending what the two of you are doing isn't completely reckless and fucked, instead, he embraces it, makes you get off on it

He makes you use your fingers instead of a vibrator, and they feel strikingly small after being stretched out on Joel's cock for a week. By now, he knows your sounds well enough to tell you to stop when you're close, and only after bringing you right to the edge three times with little more than his dirty words, and you beg him with tears in your eyes, Daddy please, he lets you come

That's it, baby, you have my permission.

When you're done, you wonder why he hasn't touched himself, anxiety bubbling up inside of you, but Joel tells you he wants to focus on you, that he'll take care of it when you've gone to bed.

You tell him again how much you miss him, that you don't want to sleep alone, or get off alone, or eat alone, or with anyone else. Joel smiles sadly, and sighs. Don't gotta get off alone, kid, just text me whenever you need me.

But it's all he can offer – his permission to come, but no dinners together, no nights spent basking in his warmth and scent. You take it, though, and promise to ask his permission every time. You know it turns Joel on, but there is also something more intimate about it. The only exclusivity either of you can offer each other at the moment

You both fall asleep while still on FaceTime, but in the morning, your phone is dead

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#my burning sun will someday rise #my writing #headcanons #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller headcanons #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #mine

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notlongtolove · 1 day ago

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to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for?

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me?

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable.

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were.

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see.

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it?

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?”

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact.

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team.

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.”

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker.

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way.

He doesn’t.

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow.

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing.

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous.

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure.

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been a cup of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course.

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do.

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.”

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale.

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this.

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe.

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it.

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing.

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it.

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle.

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it.

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—”

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all.

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—”

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out.

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully.

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—”

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity.

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze.

Anything but Spencer. Not right now.

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—”

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you.

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all.

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?”

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself.

“She told you?”

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out.

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that.

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer.

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present.

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?”

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head.

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand.

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.”

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.”

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.”

The word "choice" feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin.

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose you to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.”

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw.

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall in love with you more and more with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.”

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again.

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes.

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable��The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet.

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you.

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

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itsshawtyfellas · 1 day ago

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Hear me out: squid game edition

I've seen on tik tok and pinterest a lot of people saying 'hear me out' on the finest man of the entire south Korea which makes me believe this 'hear me out' has lost its meaning, so I'm gonna do a list full of my favorite underrated characters of squid game that no one talks about enough.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

N°6: That one math teacher from s1.

This man absolutely slayed his minutes of screen time and we have to admit he was smart as hell but unfortunately he was gone too soon (if he looked at me like that he would die looking a slurped caprisun)

N°5: The square masked officer

He was given 2 minutes of screen time and he served and ate. I don't know if this if just me but I hope he makes a bigger appearance in the third season because I feel like he has some potential (help me lord he's fine as hell)

N°4: Park Gyeong-Seok

Let's be real here, he did soooo good on episode 7, he literally went off and acted like he was in call of duty or something. He's honestly a great character and I got so sad they killed him because I want him to go back to his daughter (MY SHAYLA) but I also have a theory that N°11 (No-eul) was the one who went to shoot him but didn't actually kill him, this since we didn't see him die (he's so pookie I want him in my bed)

N°3: Choi Woo-Seok

My baby did nothing but serve face for the entirety of s2 (LMAO) but I honestly love him so much, he's such a cool and funny character, although i found slightly annoying how much trust he put onto captain Park but i can't blame him since Jun-ho also believes him but I hope they get to find that island in s3. (That fuckass chain of his makes him finer oof)

N°2: Deok-Su

BEFORE YOU COME AT ME LISTENNNN, OKAY? We can't lie and say he was the worst character because he WASN'T. Was he fucked in the head? Yes. Would he slay if he was alive during s2? Absolutely. This mf went INSANE during the bathroom fight and during lights out and although he wasn't the best with the brains, he definitely was one hell of a fighter. I don't think anyone in s2 would stand a chance if he was still alive (he's pretty fucking hot too I'd honestly let him destroy my insides)

N°1: Seong Gi-Hun

How tf is he the MAIN CHARACTER but also underrated??? He's quite literally one of the best characters in the entire show but I'm so disappointed at how much trust he puts on people (frontman) but that only shows how much kindness he has in heart, I mean, after watching over 600 people die, losing both his best friends (RIP MY SHAYLAS) and also losing contact with his daughter??? This man deserves the best therapist in the world. I also will NEVER forgive Netflix for cutting off his fluffy hair and for taking away his smile. (He's so pookie and this pic is making me feral I want him to look at me like that when he sees me laying naked on the table as he waits for dinner)

Anyway, this was a brief opinion on these characters and I know there's so much more I could say but I feel lazy and I can't remember half of the events of s1 but feel free to share your thoughts!! Like, repost and comment if you can I love you babes🫶🏽

#squid game #squid game x reader #gi hun x reader #jang deok su #choi woo seok #park gyeong seok #masked officer #square guard #seong gi hun

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blubunz · 15 hours ago

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OBSESSION, INFATUATION, CONFESSION

— leon s. kennedy x gn! reader

Tags: the title says it all actually.

A/N: I'll work on other fics and stuff later I promise! Been busy lately and my period does not help lmao grah omg,, so I only have a short little thing for you guys :(

Leon who views himself as tainted, a hollow shell of a man, a weapon only to serve the government and protecting other tainted people.

He's got no right view of the typical romance he'd read or seen. Those typical rom-coms and books are just fictional to him. Well, in his line of work, he doesn't have the mind to view the world as a silly rom-com.

But, he knows what he wants when he sees you. Just a quick meeting, no deep conversation whatsoever yet somehow you have managed to make Leon think he was in highschool again by how his heart is thumping loud and palms sweaty from nervousness.

He doesn't let it show, obviously. But the moment you were gone, his knees crumbled and he has to lean on a wall nearby to steady himself.

God, he's already past his 20s. He's not that young, certainly doesn't look the part. But you make him feel like a teenager, a boy who only worries about impressing his crush rather than bioterrorism.

Day after day, Leon sees you even more radiant, like an angel. He might as well worship you and kiss the ground you walk on. He has to resist that urge, to fall on his knees, begging you to be with him, to hug you and feel your bright aura as he take the wings off to keep you forever with him.

To him, you are everything. Even if his everything should be his job, typically his life depends on it. But not to how Leon sees it. To him, you're providing him air to breathe when you're near. You're giving him a purpose to live his days even more productive, not just throwing himself carelessly here and there just to get things over with.

To you, however, you're not...that special. And you aren't. You're just like anyone else. You're not some hero in a movie, or some angel sent from heaven. You're you. A human with feelings and thoughts about simple things like what to eat, or just getting annoyed at something during your work.

You're aware you're not that crazy, big, admirable figure that everyone knows. Just a nice person doing their best throughout the days.

Yet, Leon's absolutely infatuated with you.

You never noticed it during your usual meetings, but you grow to realise how big of an impact you have on Leon when he's ticked off by the knowledge that you had troubled at work, caused by someone he doesn't even know. It's normal to you, annoying, but normal, everyone has to have a few bad experiences at work. But Leon's fuming, like it was him experiencing it and not you.

And on some random days, you would receive gifts. It's not consistent, but not entirely rare. Seeing a box by your desk every now and then with his initials written on the box. Each time, it was something different, but what they all have in common is that they're all expensive. You already have enough perfume and jewelries by now, with more than enough clothes that you don't need to go shopping anymore. You're slightly scared of how Leon knows your size and what your preferences are.

Nonetheless, you embrace it, and Leon can't be happier. He's an absolute gentleman, doing everything for you as much as he could and treating you to fancy dinners.

He does all of them so easily, but when he finds the perfect time to properly confess to you, he's shaking like a leaf. Leon wants to slap himself at how similar he is to a schoolboy, with you standing before him with a curious expression, and him sweating bullets with a whole paragraph well-constructed in his mind.

His first few words are heavy and shaky. You're almost concerned he'd just cry and run off, but Leon holds himself still, trying to speak his heart out to you.

He freezes when you smile. Honestly, you've predicted it. No one's just nice enough to give you expensive gifts and treating you out like a royal.

“So, is...is it a yes...?”

“Yes, Leon, it is.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #— barbwire writes #gn reader

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babybearnation · 3 days ago

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Lando\charles comforting you after you flunked your exams?

(I did so bad on my exams tdy)

it's okay! take it from me - i failed 5 out of my 6 exams when i was 17 and still went on to get 2 university degrees. also, i'm not sure if you meant these two together or separately so i'll do both those options lol

gn!student!reader

lando norris:

he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but lando knows how hard you worked for this and he also knows what failure tastes like

not afraid to make an actual fool out of himself if it'll make you laugh and cheer you up, even if momentarily because he hates to see you frown over anything

not the best with words but his flustered bumbling is more sincere than any pre-prepared speech could be and it makes you feel so much better about your failures

if retaking them is an option, lando will totally encourage you to do so and, if it costs money to retake them, he'll pay that cost for you because he knows what you're capable of and he wants you to be happy

charles leclerc:

charles hates seeing you so upset but also he totally understands why you feel so stressed out about failing because he hates it too

will go above and beyond in making you a delightful dinner and a sweet dessert to try and take your mind off of the failures

he's very sweet and knows exactly what to say to cheer you up and any time he catches you being miserable, he somehow manages to say another uniquely supportive thing to make you feel better

charles will encourage you to retake them if you can/motivate you if you have to, but if you decide that you wanna change paths, he's also not gonna stop you from doing that because as long as you're happy, so is he

polyamorous!lando x charles:

these two together are not gonna let you dwell on your sadness and your failures for very long because with charles' soft sweetness and lando's chaotic support, you physically can't

they'll clear their schedules for a whole day and dedicate it to you - you wanna have takeaway for every single meal? that's okay! you wanna go shopping? charles & lando have their cards ready! you just wanna curl up in bed and sleep or watch movies? lando & charles are right there with you!

any drivers or staff members who have gone through schooling or university and have failed exams/courses will be asked to speak to you or send advice because, at the end of the day, failed exams don't mean your stupid or incapable and charles & lando wanna make sure you know that

will support whatever path you choose to take - you wanna retake and try and nail them next time? charles & lando will help in any way they can. you wanna abandon them and try something else? they'll be cheering you on. you need them to just hold and support you whilst you re-jig your life? they've got you!

#ᵔᴥᵔ fics #sir bear's sweetheart special #bear's inbox #bear's anons #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #cl16 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #babybearnation

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wanderingblindly · 2 days ago

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congratulations on the milestones! incredibly well-deserved. you’re a top-tier writer & a pillar of the fandom :)

for the prompt celebration — any drivers (ideally with at least a splash of lando/oscar, if the spirit moves you), with the setting prompt “a cramped [theater] dressing room”.

a PILLAR 😭😭😭😭 what if i sobbbbb thank you so much my love!! i'm so thankful to have such wonderful people here to enjoy fandom with, i'm all emotional now waaaahhhhhhhhh I hope you enjoy the slightly-too-long drabble!! in my head they're like, small time models at an on-location gig, hence why they've been shoved in a dressing room. But you could probably imagine it for a theater production too! Celebratory prompt list here!

Stuck Together

"Can you stand up straight, I'm –"

"I need to do my hair," Lando snaps, face two inches from the mirror – tossing a quick glare over his shoulder. "Quit bumping into me."

"Well I'm trying to get into these – these fucking –" Oscar stutters, hunched over and bouncing on one foot as he nearly topples over. "The fucking leather –"

"You've gotta sit down for leather trousers, mate," Lando says, and Oscar groans.

"Yeah, lots of room to sit, thanks."

Lando starts to turn to say something back, snarky and annoying, when Oscar stumbles – falling to the side and smacking himself into the wall with a gasp. "Christ, mate, don't frickin' break something."

"Haven't got a lot of time, ok?" Oscar lets himself stay propped against the wall, struggling to work the stiff leather up his calves; his hair – yet to be touched by the stylists – flops over his eyes, his cheeks have gone pink with stress.

Maybe a bit of heat.

It's getting warm.

Lando looks away from the mirror, away from where Oscar's struggling a few inches behind him. His heart rate spiked when he saw Oscar's shoulders – bare, his shirt still hung up on the hooks along the wall – flex as he stumbled, when he noticed the dusting of freckles on his skin.

"Um," Lando says lamely, uncertain why his mouth's suddenly gone dry. "Lemme –" He brings a knee up onto the narrow vanity, wincing a little the edge digs into his skin. Pressing a hand against the mirror for balance, he gets himself entirely off the floor. "Here, sit down."

Oscar locks eyes with him through the looking glass, brow raised.

Lando's stomach flips; he can see his own face grow flushed in the brief silence.

"Not like you to be so helpful," Oscar says, hopping away from the wall to lower himself down to the floor awkwardly.

"Shut up," Lando's says even more lamely, so clearly bothered. Oscar doesn't acknowledge it if he caught on – focused on fighting the leather trousers up his thighs.

His really nice thighs.

With a huff, he brings his hips off the floor – shuffling the trousers higher, abs flexing to lift his body in a straight line, a line that Lando can't stop staring at, he's –

Oscar flashes him a look from the corner of his eyes, smiling unevenly. "Gonna say something smart?"

"No." Lando swallows. "You um. You look good."

"Helpful and nice," Oscar laughs, breathless as he finally gets the trousers up his hips and buttoned. He tries to bend a knee to stand, freezing – eyes widened in realization. "I… can't get up."

"What?"

"They're too tight, I – I can't get up, oh my god. Lando stop laughing –"

Lando's giggling uncontrollably, left kneeling on the vanity because Oscar's stuck – stuck shirtless – on the entire available floor. "What do you –"

"Stop laughing! I'm serious!"

"What do you want me to do?" Lando can't breathe, the stupidity of the entire situation crashing down on him. "I can't get off the fucking, oh my god," He gasps, trying to regain his composure. "I can't get off the table, mate, there's no –"

"If you just –" Oscar reaches to grab Lando's ankle, nudging. "Straddle my hips, like –"

"I'm not gonna straddle you –"

"Don't make this weird, mate, please."

"Oh, so you do know how to say please?" Lando yelps when Oscar actually tugs on his ankle, hard. Hard enough to half drag him off the table. "Hey!" He snaps, flailing to catch himself as the wall rushes towards his face, legs finding unsteady home on either side of Oscar's hips. "Prick."

Oscar holds out a hand. "Pull me up,"

"Pull me up, what?" Lando says, finally steady enough to look down at Oscar – who's looking up at him. Who's looking up at him with his brows drawn, pulled together like he's…

Lando doesn't think of the word 'begging'.

He grabs his hand – warm, so much smaller than his, grabbing his thumb more than anything – and tugs. It sends him careening back into the wall behind him, punching the air from his lungs as he heaves Oscar – and his stiff trousers – to his feet.

"Christ!" Lando manages to get out, panicking as he accidentally drags Oscar closer to him – accidentally stumbling forward until his free hand hits the wall next to Lando's head.

He's pinned him.

They're nearly nose to nose, eyes wide with shock. Lando can feel Oscar's slightly heavy breathing against his lips; his eyes flick down. They flick back up. Oscar's staring at him.

His heart hammers against his chest.

It's nearly dead silent.

"Um. You're welcome.." Lando mumbles, face running hot but unable to look away from Oscar's eyes – so close that he see his lashes, the rings of earthen greens and brows in his irises.

"Yeah, thanks," Oscar says, maybe tilting his head just a bit, maybe leaning into his hand – maybe bringing them even closer. "I…"

Lando mimics him, maybe tilting his head just a bit, too. Maybe craning his neck to be impossibly closer, too. Their lips nearly touch. "You?"

"Um, I –"

Lando kisses him first, every cliche happening at once – fireworks behind his eyelids, sugar on his tongue, butterflies in his stomach, Oscar's hands finding his hair and Lando's tongue sliding along his teeth and –

Someone pounds on the door.

They jump apart – as much as they can in the tiny dressing closet – and stare at each other in a panic, lips and cheeks pink.

"You leave first." Lando whispers quickly.

"They know we're in here together, mate," Oscar whispers back, wiping at his mouth. "Act normal." He reaches out, swiping his thumb against Lando's lips, too – as if that will help Lando calm down.

"Right, normal. Yeah."

#this got out of hand #but isn't it kinda cute #losers #landoscar #landoscar fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 drabble #liquid's milestone celebration!!!#ask me :)

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11queensupreme11 · 2 days ago

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Do you have the personalities for any of the Secy kids yet?

you're in luck cuz i do!!!!!!

i'll start with cearbhall, the eldest and only son:

he's a bitch 💩

no seriously, he's a cocky, arrogant, loud-mouthed, snarky, and rude piece of SHIT. he is literally just like his father, minus the raping and not as much of a misogynist thanks to percy's intervention (bless her because omg you do NOT want a second cú chulainn walking around the universe 💀)

a womanizer just like his daddy but percy at least taught him about safe sex and consent so after sex he always makes sure the girls he sleep with take some magic tea or whatever to prevent pregnancies (something his stupid dad didn't think he'd need to learn about smh)

still has a bit of a sexist mindset, but it's really leagues better compared to cú chulainn or the average god tbh 😭😭 it's complicated for him cuz on one hand you've got his mother telling him "you should always treat women with respect, sweetie! let them live their life and don't ever try to take away their freedom! 💖" and then there's his dad saying "lmao fuck whichever whore you want. oh and also make sure you never let your mother and sisters out of the palace when i'm gone and keep all men away from them 😃👍"

😭😭😭 yeah you get the point 💀

so thx to his dad's stupid paranoia, he's grown to become very overprotective of his younger sisters and mother 😭

now luisne:

she has the physically young appearance of a 10 year old girl and she pretty much acts like a brat 😂

i plan on making her a goddess of wealth and riches, gemstones, minerals, and luxury so OBVIOUSLY you can see why she's bit of a brat lmao 😭😭

demanding and bossy and very temperamental. she pretty much inherited cú chulainn's famous anger issues 😭

she's extremely spoiled however there is one thing she adores more than any precious stone and it's anything that her mother makes herself. homemade blue cookies, knitted sweaters, jewelry, etc. no matter how basic, she'll love it because she knows her mother made it with love; no magic or anything just genuine skill 💖💖💖

and then there's cú chulainn's untalented ass. can't cook, can't bake, can't knit, or make anything cute or pretty with his bare hands 💀 he conjures up lavish dollhouses and intricate looking dolls, orders the best jewelry to be made for her etc. she LOVES it ofc, but she also loves bullying her talentless daddy and demanding more stuff from him because he caves so quickly 😭😭

does not bully or demand stuff from her mommy tho cuz she knows mommy can actually put her foot down when it comes to her 😂

and now ponyo, the youngest sécy baby:

a mix of ariel and ponyo tbh! she's got ariel's curiosity and fascination with humans, and ponyo's reckless nature.

because of her reckless and curious nature, she's the one most likely to disregard her father's rules and TRY to sneak out of the house 💀 keyword being "try"

she has an overprotective and vigilant father, an equally as overprotective older brother, and a mom who at least understands but still wants her to be safe.

idk how i'm gonna have her fascination and curiosity for humans come from, but i'm planning on maybe having ponyo and percy have some bonding down in midgard? ponyo will be a sea deity so percy'll want to show her the atlantean empire down in midgard. maybe there's a shipwreck accident up above and she helps her mom save some humans and gets enthralled by them... idk yet, but i think that's what i'll go with!

and that's pretty much what i have for the sécy babies so far! i'll think of more for the rest later, but honestly, the ideas just come to me randomly 😅

and btw, no incest freaks here! the sécy kids will pretty much be incest free lmao. as for yans...... idk yet. i think i'll have cearbhall be a platonic yan and maybe another daughter (fiachra maybe) but this is what i have so far!

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues #👸🏻| midnight morphine

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karmaajr · 13 hours ago

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guys not the way I cried over my mum getting pissed at me outside our flat earlier and calling me a chav

for context, she called me on my phone a while back n started yelling at me n I was SO lost n turned out she only wanted me and my relative to go downstairs and pick up the shopping

n I tried to get our relative to wake up but bro js got pissy with me so I started stressing out on what I should tell my mum JUST when she calls me on my phone again

the convo follows:

-> *name* where the hell are you? it's freezing, I'm not getting all of this crap myself

-> my bad my bad, I'm uhm trying to find clothes to change into?? also *relatives name* won't wake up so what do I do??

-> I don't know! for God's sake do I have to do everything around here? just get down here

-> im still in my pjs tho...

-> I DONT CARE just come downstairs!! stop overcomplicating everything for once

-> okayokay sorry, I'll be down in a min after I find my coat

-> it's fine, it's pretty warm

i was kinda confused CUZ SHE LITERALLY SAID IT WAS FREEZING LIKE A MINUTE BEFORE??? but like, whatevs!! I still go find my coat though because like....... homie my pjs is a tank top and some thin pyjama trousers so HELL NO LMAOOO 😭😭😭

n I get downstairs after a bit n mum starts giving me stuff while giving me dirty looks and I'm like whatevs, she's probs in a bad mood cuz I was so slow n then MY DUMBASS makes the mistake of tucking my hair behind my ear 💀

which then reveals my collarbone more clearly and my mum absolutely LOSES HER SHIT OMG?!?! like girl starts screaming at me to zip up and starts saying how I look like a chav n like a....... ✨️paid adult fun timer in the making✨️ to make it PG for yall 😍😍

anyways like two minutes later our creepy neighbour pulls up and makes everything SM worse n even looks me up and down with a smirk while offering to "help us out while (my) baba is gone" as if im not literally younger than his eldest daughter 🙏🙏 (only by a year BUT STILL HOLY SHIT?? WE USED TO BE FRIENDS AS WELL SO IT MAKES IT SM WORSEE)

n ya the walk back upstairs adds to the shittiness of it all cuz mums talking shit about like, everybody in existence once again AND TALKING SMACK ABT OUR RELATIVE WHICH IS COMPLETELY FAIR CUZ OUR RELATIVE IS SO FUCKING ANNOYING OMG 💀💀💀🙏

anyways like half n hour ago I went to the living room (where my mum and sister are cuddling on the sofa watching some film that i wasnt told they were gna be watching so thats whatevs ig :D) after putting the kettle on boil and tried to check with my mum if she said what she actually said (cuz this happens a lot n she denies it afterwards which makes me feel like I'm going mad omg) and she starts laughing for like 2-3 minutes straight with me standing in the doorway on the verge of teats n my sister like "amma what word??? what word is she talking about????"

anyways I give up, pour myself some hot water after basically getting the confirmation and go to my mums room (2 bedroom flat and my relatives taken over my room atp) to cry LOL

then locked in a few minutes later BCUZ WHAT AM I CRYING OVER TF?!??!? STOP BEING A LIL BITCHHHHH????!? then I remember her absolute loathing for chavs and them lot, get upset again and blah blah now im listening to AMAZING ass covers on YouTube (on my ipad) n writing this so I can stop feeling upset omg 🙏🙏🙏 ANYWAYS BAI YALL WHO ACTUALLY BOTHERED TO READ THIS WHOLE THINGGG

#karmaajr rambles #karmas mum mentions :3 #there's no point of my side blog that's a vent acc atp omg #BSHSHHDHSHSH #IM TOO GOOD YALL #(getting way too comfy on the internet)#ANYWAYS #SBHSHXHSHHSNSJS SAILOR SONG IS SO GOOD YALL???? LIKE IF U HAVENT LISTENED TO IT THEN PLS DOOOO 🙏🙏

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mdemgustanlasmujeres · 19 hours ago

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bc it's five in the morning and I haven't even slept yet and I'm very drunk

now I present you my hc of Glinda ulpland being a proud owner of a Polaroid camera:

Glinda having a Polaroid camera bc she loves to take photos of beautiful things

She has a lot of albums bc she can't help it, she is Galinda and she can find beauty in all of the things of her life

And then elphaba comes to the picture

Galinda thinks elphaba is beautiful from the moment they met, actually in this universe she has to stop her hand bc she was about to reach for her camera bc she thought that elphaba was in the perfect lighting and that indeed she really look beautiful

After all, galinda upland takes pictures of beautiful things

Galinda having crisis bc she can't take pictures of elphaba bc "they loathe each other" (they don't) (they are just being useless lesbians)

Oh but once's she is friends with elphaba, it is a fact that she would have at least two albums that are specifically pictures of elphaba

The album will be green (obviously) but in the cover would have "Elphie" in big pink ass letters

And the second one would be "Elphie, volume two"

Now she doesn't just takes pictures of beautiful things, now she takes pictures of moments, beautiful moments

One day elphaba did ask her why she takes so much pictures of her and Galinda simply responded that she loves to to take pictures of beautiful things

On the day that elphaba was going to the emerald city day, Glinda did bring her camera bc she was taking pictures of elphie in the train

She was so happy taking pictures of the day of the two of them in emerald city

And she was way more happy of taking pictures of Elphie enjoying the day in the emerald city bc in her words after all "she had look positively emerald"

But when elphaba is gone at the end of the day, after all of what happend in the emerald city

she only has her albums to remember elphie and all the beautiful memory's they once enjoyed

she can't help but to think how much she wanted at least one last picture of Elphie and how beautiful she had look up there in the sky

IM VERY DRUNK IM SORRY IF THERE IS SOME WRONG SPELLING IN SOME PARTS but yeah, I been thinking about this so much and how Glinda would look at the nights at the last Polaroid of the two of them

The Polaroid of Elphie and her in they're last short day in the emerald city

#gelphie #hc #wicked #glinda upland #galinda upland #elphaba thropp #glinda x elphaba #wicked elphaba #idontknowwhatiamdoing

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lockandkeyblade · 1 day ago

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A Little Self-Insert Never Hurt Anybody

That's what Danny tells himself, anyway. It's just, he wasn't expecting the new universe he'd decided to hide in to know about him, and they sort of don't.

But they sort of do, because Danny Phantom is a cartoon about his life that somehow manages to become more and more inaccurate the longer the show went on.

He's really glad it stopped on season 3. He's not sure he could've handled another season 3.

The thing is though, Danny's a 2000's kid himself. He knows that if exists, there's porn of it. So he googles himself and finds a few fan sites, finds the fanfiction, finds a couple people tossing around a few ideas of what ghost society might really be like, and...

It has a decent amount of fans (or Phandom, as they call themselves, and isn't that just embarrassing but also Super Flattering). He's not going to comment on some of the ships (he will never get pearls in his boba tea again, pitch or otherwise) but the thing is, a lot of fans just seem to be really interested in what the show doesn't give them. Not just about his struggles, but the ghosts. What they might really be like, what they might really want.

He shouldn't, but-- hey. There's no GIW here. There's no one who believes this stuff is actually real. And he misses home; misses the Infinite Realms, even if he's not quite ready to go back yet.

So he makes a tumblr, and starts writing. Talking, really. About ghosts and Obsessions, about the rules of engagement and how you never, ever ask a ghost how they died.

His follower count slowly grows, and people start to realize that IceStar14 is one of those people who will answer anything. He very carefully navigates the mindfield that is shipping by telling people to "do what they want"; he can't really stop them, nor does he have the mind to. Despite this, his posts quickly become several thousand word back and forths with mutuals who might not get everything right, but are intuitive enough to get the basics.

It's delightful. It's kind of crazy. Danny can't help but feel...understood, by other, living people, for the first time ever. By people who aren't Jazz, or Sam, or Tuck.

Which is really the only reason why he starts answering the more invasive asks, the ones that are far more personal than people probably expect them to be. He goes from just talking about ghosts to talking about his life, the struggles of learning his powers, the stress of living a double life.

The fallout when his parents discover his halfa status, the-- the things they did to him afterwards. He never brings up the idea of a multiverse, or how he could've gone to hide in one. Somehow, the fanfiction writers figure that out all on their own.

They give him new families and people who understand him, constantly writing stories about him meeting the Justice League, or the BatFam, and--

It's the closest thing he's ever gotten to therapy. It hurts, but people love him. Or, they love the crazy little fantheorist, and they adore Danny Fenton/Phantom. The idea of him being hurt spawns a slew of hurt/comfort content that he genuinely spends hours curled up with, on the good days. Even on the bad.

No one has to know they made him cry. No one has to know how grateful he is, that people think he deserves better. People think he deserves better. Maybe he starts to take care of himself a little more, thanks to that. Maybe sleep comes a little easier, because he doesn't have to lay in bed and try to tell himself he's loved; he can just pick up his phone and scroll a few key tags, and it's right there, on the screen. People love him. People accept him.

It's pretty great.

Slowly but surely, the posts explode. He goes to sleep one night with a couple hundred followers and wakes up the next to several thousands. It's pretty easy to find out why.

Red Robin reblogged a few of his "stories". Nightwing quickly liked a bunch of them. In fact, a good majority of the superhero community that has an online presence has made at least one comment about Danny Phantom. He has no idea how they found him, frantically searching the tags until he finds one that makes his throat go dry.

"If Phantom was real, he'd be a Robin." tumblr user Danny4LJPres suggested. It has 14,000 responses.

One of them is a reblog from RedRobin, who agrees wholeheartedly.

#dpxdc #this could easily become pretty much any ship #but I had Dead Tired on the brain #Tim only looks into the posts because there's one going around about ectoplasm that's concerningly close to describing the Lazarus Pits #but instead of finding some conspiracy he just falls in love with the idea of a teenage half dead vigilante and their struggles #the entire Batfam falls in love with it #because god damn they didn't think anyone really had the ability to understand these kinds of struggles #And maybe it's a little concerning that someone does #especially when the tumblr account responsible for most of it belongs to one “Danny Nightingale”#and that's too close a name to be a coincidence #I didn't post this to the wrong blog initially don't look at me

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luciusdaskel · 5 hours ago

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OMG??? An in-depth analysis sprouted from my in-depth analysis??? Gah???? I never caught on to the whole "good kid" side of it! Thank you for bringing it up!! Actually thinking on it now, it makes so so much sense. Not only that, I think other villains (specifically LBD) knew or guessed about that trigger. I recall LBD using MK's need to be good (driven from Macaque's grooming) against him, so he'd be manipulated ON BOTH SIDES OF THE COIN. And you're right, the past 9 eps and special never once really praised MK, unlike Macaque. I have seen, and full heartedly believe, a theory that Wukong was groomed by Azure Lion as well. We don't see much but that would explain Wukong's emotional distance/lack of complements and lack of touching support, something Macaque used against the two of them. But that's a separate theory altogether.

I fully understand MK's insatiable thirst to be a good person, even it it kills him. No clue if I had a Macaque in my life but I fully get where MK is at through the show. At first just wanting to do it for fun and possibly even just for the glory then it devolves into a need not a want. When you don't get that praise then it becomes a dark hole that only gets bigger until it swallows you whole. Which it nearly did for MK.

Side note, the part of being numb to the grooming could also just be a side effect of the original grooming BUT also possibly a negative from Redson being a villain turned friend. I mean... think about it, you want NEED to be good and also there was a crisis. If he doesn't help Redson, the world could be taken over and or his home city is gone, but if he does help Redson then he could risk being hurt like he was with Macaque but there's a chance that Redson actually means well and therefore if my first enemy can be good and like me then maybe I can be good enough for that other enemy too?? This type of spiral can be subconscious, even if consciously the person says they don't want that person in their life, that abuser still created a irreparable hole. Especially when this void literally only appeared likely a week in advance.

I'm not saying that "Oh Redson being redeemed is bad for MK" but what I'm saying is that without anyone actually adressing Mac's grooming from then, it lead MK into a possible negative side effect that made him hopeful or numb to Macaque's grooming. I'm just trying to see it purely from MK's eyes with the lens of him being groomed. Hm... maybe I should analyze Shadow Play and season 3's Macaque episode. I wonder what nuggets I could gather from season 4... I mean by that point MK out right calls out Macaque for being him feel like shit because of his lessons. Which is valid and really is true when you consider 99% of MK's self-esteem and identity issues really started because of Macaque.

Getting a bit personal here, I am currently in my own emotional hole where I crave someone's validation. Validation I will never get and that hurts and only makes me crave it more by the day, even as I scream again and again that I hate him and I do NOT want him. It hurts, a lot, and I can recognize the effects and what it's doing. The reason I got into psychology is to help people, because if I help people then I feel better with this black hole inside of me. I will do whatever it takes to help someone even if it hurt the ones I do care about and even ruin my own health.

I believe it's called a savior complex and it sucks. So I know exactly how MK feels in the show and not really in the best ways either lol- Not meant to be a vent but just showing my own feelings to express MK's feelings. If that makes sense-

Also LMK rewrite project??? Sign me up!!! Let me know if you'd like help or not, I love being able to help with things and or gathering information or ideas to add to the table!

I didn't hold back here because I didn't know I even could hold back lmao- I just saw it and knew I had to share everything. Sorry for the ramble, I just love your analysis on top of mine!

Macaque Episode Analysis ramble

So I was talking with a friend about the possible psychological and therapeutic take aways from each episode of Lego Monkie Kid, since I love Psychology as a whole, and came to a conclusion. Macaque's episode has a fuck ton of things to analyze. Such as - Not every role model you meet will be a good person Trust your teachers Don't push yourself too hard otherwise you'll get hurt, manipulated and possibly die (let's be real, Macaque would've killed MK if Wukong didn't step in) And, grooming They will all be covered as I explain the episode in depth. When MK first meets Macaque he thought he was Wukong but even after Macaque declines, MK still had stars in his eyes of pure admiration. He clearly looks up to Macaque since he was just as cool if not cooler than Monkey King. Within the very next second Macaque started the process of grooming, after a tiny test to see how strong MK's admiration was. "[...] I thought uh Monkey King was training you. [...] but you can never have too many teachers, I'm sure Monkey King would agree. [...]"

Then Macaque starts to train MK. This shows the duality of Wukong's more MK's current strength and capabilities training versus Macaque's more destructive and dehumanizing training. With Wukong's "Patience and focus, step into the strike", clashing with Macaque's far more brash "You don't use a weapon, you ARE the weapon." This is effective at isolating MK from Wukong and his teachings because MK feels like he is actually powerful now.

As Wukong says, MK's body isn't strong enough to handle the power. This applies to real life too. If someone tries to weight lift something too heavy for their skills, they could get seriously hurt. This is the just magical equivalent of weight lifting. But because of Macaque's influence, MK fights back and isolates himself from Wukong, his trust worthy mentor. This leads Macaque to his final part of his plan, lure MK into a trap with his full hearted trust in him.

Then Macaque finishes his plan by stealing MK's powers. Let's be honest, with how things were going and by our impression of Macaque in this episode, Macaque would have likely killed MK if it weren't for Wukong. OR left MK to die with the staff pressing him against the moutain. What can we gather from this? Well, first and foremost, MK's admiration made him an easy target for manipulation, and what resulted was MK nearly dying from the ordeal. Check for "not ever role model will be a good person", since Wukong is ALSO a role model, but a good one because he doesn't literally groom MK. (More on that in a minute.) Wukong was right and MK does what he taught him then admits his wrongs by the end and opens up on why, which Wukong responds with "Hey, your heart is in the right place, kid. We can work on the rest." MK learned to trust Wukong when he was teaching him something because ultimately that's what saved his life. I'm not saying trust EVERY authority figure, but one that is teaching you something that you trust and know will not hurt you. Get yourself a Wukong for your MK. Macaque's training has lasting impact on MK, making him feel like he needs to give himself up for others. Before this episode, MK never had the need to sacrifice himself or really seemingly blamed himself for anything. Macaque's dehumanizing training left MK with lasting damage to his mental health and also led to MK not being able to pick up the staff, granted that was after Macaque gut-punched the power out of him.

Ouch...

So, I hear you ask, "Ok, you made your point about various things, here but what about grooming? That's a bold word." Yes, it IS a bold word, especially considering the fandom space being primarily for children. However, I will clarify that grooming does not only apply to sexual circumstances.

This is from the official Canada public safety about child grooming. Notice the none sexual tactics.

"Make promises of a better life" - Promises to make MK stronger/a better fighter/hero

"Cause divsion saying "your parents are too strict" or "your parents don't understand you"." - Macaque says "Other people are going to tell you to be patient. They are slowing you down." to directly conflict with Wukong's training, further dividing MK and Wukong.

"May threaten or pressure your child to do what they ask, which could lead to sextortion." - Might not be explicit but it is implied MK had some minor doubts by the end of the training and was literally pushed into battle. Also he threw MK into the weapons rack on their first session, showing that MK was "weak" and prompted him to take up his implicit challenge, his trick. It's unclear if Macaque ever threatened MK while training, but I doubt it and he just pressured him and manipulated his drive and determination.

One that people might argue is "Approach your child online by pretending to be someone they're not - may falsely identify themselves as a person from school, or someone their age, to build a connection." but I believe it applies. - Macaque comes in creating a show with his own kaiju form, either to make himself popular or to attract MK or Wukong. Regardless, he seemed uncomfortable at first but once he prompts up "But you can never have too many teachers", that's when he starts creating a false identity, a trustworthy teacher who knows better than Wukong. That's also neglecting the fact Macaque pretended to not be that smoke demon.

If that's not "pretending to be someone they're not", then I'm not sure what is. Also for specifically adult grooming,

More signs I feel apply are;

"The person becomes withdrawn, or they may seem troubled by something but unwilling to talk about it. Alternatively their emotions might become volatile." - When Wukong points out MK has been running around other mentors, MK sounds calm and cold, like he was withdrawn. Then when Wukong presses on, MK yells at him and doesn't talk about exactly what was bothering him other than "You just don't like that there's someone who actually teaching me what I need to know."

"You notice them using or wearing something new, that you didn't buy [or teach] for them." - I added teach because Wukong points out he never taught MK how to break a wall like that, and was concerned and upset that MK learned that too quickly. Within that same scene, after MK yells at him, that's when Wukong notices the new symbol on MK's jacket and frowns. That's when he knows MK is being groomed, and by who.

"Groomers often aim to isolate their targets from their family or friends." - Well, we never see Mei, Pigsy, Tang, or Sandy in this episode, after the first meeting and they act like MK was gone for a month or more (could easily be a week lol). On top of that, Macaque was causing a divide between MK and Wukong. MK was very clearly pretty isolated already, and so Macaque just had to remove MK for MK's full reliance.

"The person might be spending more time on the phone, or online, than usual. But they won’t say what sites they’re visiting, or who they’re talking to." - This speaks for itself, but it's likely MK was training more and more with Macaque than being around his own friends, especially considering by previous point.

youtube

This video goes into great detail on how it happens, why the victim is manipulated easily, and what it does to someone. Granted this video is about a long-time grooming, but I believe the point and the awareness stands. If Macaque had been grooming MK for about a year or more, I feel MK would be closer to these signs than he is in the cannon LMK. Anyways! I hope you had fun with my analysis, and let me know if you'd like more! I love to just ramble about the psychology of certain characters or the takeaways of LMK episodes! I'd love to do Wukong, Macaque as a whole (not just the episode), MK, Xiangliu/Nine mayhaps?? Or even the Focus episode or something else- I have a minor analysis on the focus episode already in my head lol

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makemeking · 1 year ago

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I don't know why I'm still so fucking desperate for some kind of a connection when I know it's never going to happen

#if the actually likable people in this system who have some idea of how to interact with people can't do it then how could i?#i think i liked it better when people would react with fear or hate when they saw me #this indifference is. a whole different thing #why is it that people always 'care' in that they'd be really upset if you were gone #but they don't want to actually help you not be gone #or anything that you being gone would actually affect #they want you to exist but they don't really care to talk to you or how you're doing or if you're hanging by a fucking thread #they don't really want you in their lives just the knowledge that you would be there if they felt like it #aside from the reactions to it happening how would it affect you if we were dead? how many weeks would it take for it to make any differenc #why is it that we only deserve help if we beg for it #why is it that we can't just keep our mouth shut when more often than not it'll just be another radio silence another rejection #especially me #the reason i'm here is because the rejection is supposed to be my job to handle. i should be used to it #i guess i thought it might be different this time. i might have a chance from a clean slate and wouldn't be so totally fucking alone #huge shock there it's always the same and i just need to suck it up #if i want someone who cares about my fucking day i can dream him up in my head #that's the only way any of us get that anyway #one of the most convenient things about being multiple really #external people will always prioritize everything else and let you down. you can't rely on them for shit #but when you have DID you'll always have someone if not having anyone is destabilizing enough #it may be a maladaptive coping mechanism but it's the only one we have #i already hold the anger so can't someone else take care of the grief portion maybeee #pers

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buttercupshands · 10 months ago

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can you even call it a warm up if I'm going to bed without drawing anything big

and a sketch I made while sitting in the park today

#sketch #my art #bnha #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #all for one #midoriya izuku #bnha manga spoilers #only after I finished basically polishing this sketch did I notice how it's basically dark and light mode #also the first one is basically a redraw of illustration from vol 11 #I know that translation of Tenko's words is different in official but eh #fanart #I've kind of recovered from recent chapters #and I was analysing those chapters all morning #I'm still thinking but otherwise the chapters are so good #also did you notice that AFO actually talked about how his other him didn't use that 'last thing' yet and that was in ch 410 #and in ch 419 he did so it's real and it's still sad #but still AFO was never hiding it enough #from Tomura maybe but we as readers actually saw his plans play out #in any case I'm still just sitting with those two Izuku and Tenko interaction chapters #I waited long enough #and if you don't count AFO's return Izuku DID save Tenko and it's so interesting #since he now has to save his OTHER origin that was in ch 237 taught to kill whatever he wants #Tenko and Tomura both had 'origins' chapters and for now we only worked with 235 and 236 #and even if Izuku helped with the start of 237 there's still AFO #in any case it was a hard week #also the second thing actually had them holding hands #and then I was like 'but at that point Izuku's hands are gone oh no'#and it was just Tenko holding air where the hand was destroyed #in any case that scene.

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nevertheless-moving · 23 days ago

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So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—"

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids.

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

“Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

#star wars #star wars au no 41 #star wars fanfiction #just kill him au #my au #ayyyyyyyy guess who just finished writing a fanfic from three years and several fandoms ago #ahahahahahahahaha #this one goes out to bullet journeling and my new antidepressants!#Antidepressants and bullet journeling! Sometimes they help you do stuff on purpose!#lol i'm writing these tags before actually finishing the fic. it's November 2024 for the sake of the record #POSITIVE VISUALIZATION BABY #if anyone wants to do a beta read on this for typos/grammar before i put it on ao3 feel free to message :)#senate investigation committee: what do you mean most of the evidence you collected before your duel is gone #Obi-Wan: it. it—#Vos: it exploded!#Obi-Wan (through clenched teeth): yes. as my colleague says. it. exploded.#senate investigation committee: [nodding] ah yes things connected to him do have the tendency to do that don't they #Obi-Wan: ...mhm #Plo Koon (on his third mug of space red bull that day): alright sith killer we found ANOTHER sith lab because — get this —#Vos: it exploded when he died?#Plo Koon: [making finger guns] it EXPLODED when he died!!!#Obi-Wan:#Obi-Wan: why is there a small jango fett clone attached to you #Kit Fisto: we're testing out an emotional support jango fett clone program. do you want one?#Obi-Wan: ...i genuinely have no idea if you're joking or not #Kit Fisto: to be honest neither am I #Obi-Wan: ...#Kit Fisto: there are a LOT of small jango fetts

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