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ghostaholics · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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stackslip · 2 months ago

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I wanna ask what’s going on with arcane but I feel like I’m opening pandora’s box 😅

the thing about arcane s1's writing, is that every plot beat flowed naturally from characters' choices, and every one of the characters' choices made sense in the context of who that character was, where they came from and what information they are working with at the time they make that decision. it felt like a tightly written tragedy where on a rewatch, it all feels completely inevitable that things would end this way because it made sense to who we learned these characters were. and said characters were layered, much time was devoted to giving them a certain degree of depth and believability (bar cait). you can criticize other aspects of s1's writing such as liberal wishwashiness but s1 of arcane was a *good* tragedy with a genuinely compelling cast! the final scene of the show is a confrontation between three major players who were all working with different information and whose motivations are completely at odds but who have a deeply personal tie, it's about jinx as the end result of the zaun-piltover conflict, it's about vi and silco being two deeply broken people who see her in an idealized version they deeply love and want her to remain this static thing they can be comfortable with until it turns out she can't be and she shatters and at the same time irreversably destroys her relationship to both, leading her in her despair to set off the ticking time bomb that is piltover and zaun's inevitable conflict!

so like, s1 has its flaws but its finale imo was perfect and made the whole thing self contained. i was ok with s2 happening. the only thing i wanted was more the dynamic character writing. i expected wishy washy politcs. and act 1 of s2 already struggled with character, but at least the plot beats were interesting and while not earned, made sense according to the characters we'd left in s1.

s2 act 2 is an absolute catastrophe, even compared to the previous act, nevermind compared to s1. it's not just that the plot beats don't feel earned, it's not just that it's missing connective tissue between them--it's that all the most interesting conflicts and dynamics just cease to exist. they don't get "resolved", they either are completely forgotten or are just waved away magically to pave the way for an utterly stupid, shlocky, wannabe shock value emotional final ten minutes of episode 6 that is honestly infuriating in how it's trying to push you to have feelings about it. i don't have any feelings besides revulsion and bafflement frankly. even before these final ten minutes of ep 6, the sheer lack of buildup or of character moments, the way characters are basically willed by the plot to be there at specific points for plot to happen to them instead of them arriving at it naturally--the way it reframes interesting aspects of s1 and s2 act 1 into shlocky, tropey bullshit--it's honestly near mesmerizing? it's like they brought in whole different new writers specifically for this who decided to back down on ANYTHING the show did that was interesting to try to instead push to the league's status quo instead, no matter how little sense it makes. i'm almost in awe. how do you mess up so badly.

this isn't just like, the plot is rushed and we need to get there as fast as possible--none of these resolutions make SENSE. jinx and vi's relationship was the core of season one, and suddenly magically jinx shows up at vi's door and vi bitches a little and then they go hunt vander down together and then they all hug because he was their father too <333 isha. i'm supposed to have emotions about isha? she sacrifices herself for.... forwhat? what? why? it's like they knew they had to kill her off to give jinx feelings and do so in the most stupid and absurd way possible, i was laughing hysterically when the music came in. it was so blatantly manipulative and uncalled for. ok i guess! sevika helps jinx and then once she's served her plot purpose she just vanishes! doesn't she wanna meet vander??? ekko's disappearance doesn't both people much i guess even his own firelights. ambessa says a single line about mel disappearing, and can i say i'm kinda infuriated that two out of three of the main black characters are just locked away from the plot and main cast for a large period of time. jayce--i guess they'll give us an explanation as to why but here it's like he just...... shows up angry and "ruins" things and that's it. whatever there was to ruin lmfao sky and viktor's heterosexuality mind palace leading to him being cyborg satan or some shit? cait finally FINALLY gets some personality, something interesting to her, she is openly a reactionary fascist who gassed half the undercity to sniff out jinx, and then she meets vi and within a solid minute is now back to being Nice and helping out jinx. i guess. silco and vander's backstory kind of completely destroys a lot of the stuff that made vander and silco's relationship to vi and jinx interesting and goes for a Family Is 5ever approach i guess.

just. i don't think there's a single thing there that's redeemable or interesting. it's comically bad. vi has no personality or motivation. she just does things. she got an emo trauma amv so that we get that she's sad but it might as well not have happened bc she barely is a character. jinx is a sad manic pixie dream girl. her psychosis is gone or barely there now apparently. sevika is plot and then vanishes when her part is done. ambessa is not a mastermind as act 1 hinted at but the most stupid comical villain alive. mel is--is she just going to come back to do a big plot thing in act 3 and then that's it? ekko the same? we have no idea what jayce is even doing or what or why. piltover and zaun are gonna ally now i guess lol. ok sure why not. why anything. why do anything at all! what's the point!

it's funny bc i was willing to give this season a chance despite act 1 being so rushed bc again, the plot points were interesting and while the characters needed more time fleshed out for their decisions to make sense i COULD see the characters making these choices and it was just a question of missing buildup. here it's like everyone is a zombie of their actual self. there's no point to anything. it's so stupid. it tries hard to play the emotion part but why should i feel any emotion except befuddlement? why are caitvi shippers happy? i'd be insulted. i feel insulted. i heard via a friend that riot had intervened in the writing more and so far i hadn't felt it but now i'm wondering if that's not exactly what happened bc it genuinely feels like the writers were fired right after act 1. what the fuck lol. i don't think i even wanna watch act 3 after this, i feel genuinely insulted that i should be expected to think this is the same show as s1 or that i should feel any kind of positive feelings about it. fuck this show so bad lmfao i'm sticking to s1 and pretending nothing happened after it. maybe grabbing some act 1 plot points for fun and that's it. it's so bad

#arcane #eli talks #arcane critical

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Valentine’s Day

fluff!!

i think i might make a little mini-series of cute fluff one shots of reader travelling w/ Joel - same vibe as polaroids

The road stretched endlessly ahead, an unbroken ribbon of cracked asphalt and brittle grass edging the silence between you and Joel. Time had lost its edges, slipping by in indistinguishable layers—sunrise and sunset melting into a quiet, unending rhythm. You both found small ways to measure the days, counting by the frost thickening in the mornings or the way your breath lingered longer in the air.

He’d been quiet that morning, gaze fixed on the horizon, shoulders curled inward in a way you’d come to recognize—a silent signal of his retreat into himself. Only when he finally spoke, his voice roughened by the cold, did you catch a faint trace of what lay beneath.

“Mid-February,” he muttered, the words barely a whisper, his eyes distant, unfocused, as though he were seeing beyond the leafless trees and frost-bitten fields, someplace far beyond reach.

The realization settled quietly within you, a subtle truth he likely hadn’t even noticed you told yourself—that today wasn’t just any other day.

Valentine's Day.

Just another day, you told yourself. And yet, as you looked over at Joel, his face softened by the pale winter light, the weight of what once was—of love, of yearning, of lives that once had space for days like this—felt as tangible as the frost clinging to the earth.

Days like this should have been trivial, stripped of meaning in the world you were barely holding onto now. And yet, as the realization settled—Valentine’s Day, here, with Joel—an ember of something unspoken flickered in the thick silence between you.

It was ridiculous, pointless even, to care about a day that belonged to a life long gone. But somehow, it mattered.

Joel hadn’t missed the thought either—not that he’d ever let on. But something shifted, a fleeting spark in his gaze, a quick, sidelong glance that brushed over you before he retreated behind the rough, impenetrable armor he wore so well. You hadn’t known him in those days, back when he was a different man, softer around the edges, before the world had carved out the unyielding hardness he carried now.

Once, he’d been the type for quiet gestures, his version of romance wrapped in a humble simplicity—a bouquet picked up on the way home from work, a meal at a place that felt like a splurge, maybe even a soft tune played on his guitar, chords strummed slow and low, just for someone he loved.

That version of Joel was a memory now, a part of him buried under years of survival. But here, in that brief, unguarded look, you glimpsed a shadow of who he’d once been, a reminder of the life he’d lost but hadn’t entirely forgotten.

But that part of him was buried now, hidden beneath layers of loss in a world that left no room for tenderness.

Still, in the quiet moments between you, there was a glimmer—a barely-there echo of the man he might have been, of a Valentine’s Day he hadn’t entirely let go. It was a trace, a faint whisper of something unforgotten, lingering in the way his gaze softened just a fraction when it met yours, a warmth hidden in the spaces where words failed.

In those rare silences, you felt it—a fragile remnant of a man who, once upon a time, might have known how to love gently.

~~~

You were passing through another nameless place, its ghostly streets and faded signs blending into the countless towns you’d left behind. The road stretched ahead, winding into the dense sprawl of forest, the trees casting shadows that grew longer as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

You walked a few paces ahead of Joel, each step sending a dull ache through your feet, the exhaustion settling into your bones as the sky blazed in hues of deep orange and soft pink—a sunset bleeding into dusk. The silence between you was familiar now, a quiet rhythm you’d both learned to live in, broken only by the steady crunch of your boots on loose gravel and the faint, reassuring echo of Joel’s footsteps behind you.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying a quiet certainty as he surveyed the encroaching darkness and the shadows stretching long beneath the trees. There was a practiced ease in the way he assessed the fading light, an instinct honed by years on the road, as if he could read the landscape’s secrets in a single glance.

“Okay,” you replied, nodding without hesitation. You trusted Joel’s instincts implicitly, each decision sharpened by years of survival and weighed with a quiet precision. There was a steady comfort in following his lead, in the silent assurance that, whatever lay ahead, he would be the one standing between you and the darkness.

It was more than trust—it was a fragile kind of faith, the certainty that he’d weather the night so you didn’t have to face it alone.

You’d set up camp, sinking down against a rough, weathered log, the bark pressing into your back as you released a tired sigh. Joel muttered something about gathering firewood, his voice a low murmur that blended with the evening quiet as he scanned the tree line.

You watched him disappear into the dimming light, his silhouette broad and unyielding against the last slivers of sunset. It was a rhythm you’d come to rely on—his quiet, unwavering sense of duty, always ensuring you had warmth and protection.

Joel wandered, his steps slower than usual, his thoughts snagging on the way your eyes had brightened when he’d offhandedly mentioned the date. He hadn’t intended for it to mean anything—just a passing remark—but there was something about the look you’d given him, unexpected and strangely soft, that lingered.

It unsettled him—a quiet reminder of feelings he’d thought long buried. And yet, here they were, surfacing more persistently since he’d met you, weaving through his thoughts like a memory he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d been gathering firewood, but his attention drifted, his gaze settling on a small patch of wildflowers nestled in the underbrush. Soft purple petals, delicate against the rugged landscape, caught his eye. Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached down, fingers brushing the blooms as he plucked a few. His hands moved on instinct, guided by something quiet and unguarded, a small gesture he hadn’t intended yet couldn’t resist.

With the flowers clutched in his hand, he froze.

What the hell was he doing?

Joel stood there, caught in the deepening shadows, his grip tightening around the fragile stems as he began to pace, second-guessing himself in a way that felt almost absurd. He wasn’t the kind of man who picked flowers—not anymore, not for a long time.

But somehow, being around you had pulled him into unfamiliar territory, unearthing pieces of himself he’d long thought buried. You brought out a quiet tenderness in him, nudging him toward gestures that went beyond mere survival—small acts he tried to brush off as routine but that hinted at a fondness he fought to suppress.

After absentmindedly picking flowers for you, it became glaringly obvious to Joel that he cared for you—deeper than an acquaintance, a friend, or even a fellow traveler on this harsh road. It showed in the way he’d insist on carrying your pack, ignoring the twinge in his back with a muttered, “Not a big deal,” brushing off your concern like it was nothing. He’d save you half of whatever he was eating, passing it over with a quiet, “Thought you’d want some.” He’d keep an extra eye out for little things he knew you’d like—an old book salvaged from a wrecked house, or a stray packet of coffee he’d hand you with a gruff, “Found it along the way.” And on those rare, bone-tired nights by the fire, he’d sit just a bit closer than he had to, his shoulder brushing yours, grounding you both in a warmth neither of you dared to name. All small gestures he hadn’t made for anyone in years.

~~~

Back at camp, a quiet worry began to take hold as your gaze lingered on the darkening treeline. He’d been gone longer than usual, and with each passing moment, the shadows grew, stretching across the ground as the forest settled into an uneasy silence, the last traces of daylight fading away. It was in moments like these that the weight of how much you relied on him settled over you—how your survival had come to depend on his presence, his strength. You tried not to let those thoughts creep in, but sometimes, they slipped past your defenses: how would you survive without Joel?

Just as you were on the verge of getting up to search for him, he appeared from the shadows, his figure solidifying against the dim glow of twilight. His gaze held a quiet intensity, a flicker of something unspoken as he drew closer, and you felt the tension in your chest unravel, replaced by a warmth you couldn’t quite name. A breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipped out as you rose to meet him, a silent relief settling over you at the simple fact of his return.

“Where were you?” you asked, the worry threading through your voice despite your attempt to keep it steady. That soft edge, the unmistakable concern in your tone, stirred something deep within him—something he had realized was still there, something that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, tugging at a part of himself he thought had long since withered away.

"Just… looking for firewood," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the rough bundle in his arms as he scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. You nodded, though a faint trace of doubt lingered; something told you he hadn’t just been out collecting wood. But it didn’t matter now—he was here, and the sharp edge of your worry softened, melting into a quiet reassurance only his presence could bring. The weight that had settled in your chest eased, leaving you with a sense of calm that had become rare in times like these.

You stepped closer, reaching out to take some of the firewood from his arms, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment. “Next time, don’t take so long,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet intensity. “You scared me.”

He mumbled, “’M sorry,” his gaze flickering away, yet you caught a hint of something deeper in his expression—a question he wouldn’t voice, a wondering if this—whatever it was between you—meant as much to you as it was beginning to mean to him.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d slipped the flowers deep into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the delicate petals every so often, as though they were something precious and fragile he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. He kept them hidden, a quiet secret pressed against his palm, a small piece of softness he wasn’t yet ready to share.

~~~

Later, as you lay wrapped in your sleeping bag, the world around you wrapped in darkness and silence, you turned toward Joel. He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the night sky, his familiar steady presence somehow softened, quieter. There was something different about him tonight, a quietness that felt deeper, as if he were lost in thoughts he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—share.

“You okay?” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you. He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding yours in the dim light, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softened. There was a warmth there, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes, before he gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, though his voice wavered, something unreadable passing over his face. “It’s February… mid-February,” he added, as if stating a simple fact, his gaze distant.

You nodded, watching him carefully. “You mentioned that this morning,” you said, curiosity tugging at your tone as you tried to read his expression, wondering where he was going with this.

“I, uh… I found somethin you might like’.” His hand shifted, reaching into his pocket, and he pulled out a small, crumpled handful of purple wildflowers. They were a little wilted, their petals slightly crushed from being tucked away, but there was a tender, almost shy quality to the gesture that caught your breath. The sight of those fragile blooms, offered with a rough gentleness, made your heart stumble.

“Joel… what’s all this?” you murmured, sitting up onto your elbows, your eyes wide with surprise and a warmth you didn’t dare put a name to.

He looked away, a faint flush creeping onto his face as he mumbled, “Figured, since it’s around Valentine’s Day and all… I know it ain’t much. Couldn’t exactly get you fancy chocolates or flowers from a stord.” His voice softened, almost unsure, as he extended the fragile blooms toward you. “Sorry you gotta spend the day with me… not sure if you were ever into all this stuff,” he added, his gaze lingering on the ground, as if afraid to meet your eyes.

A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest as you looked down at the flowers resting in his calloused hand. In this harsh, broken world, they were the most beautiful thing you’d seen—not for what they were, but for everything they meant. It almost hurt to hear Joel think you’d rather be with someone else, as if he couldn’t see how much his presence alone meant to you.

He’d thought of you, gone out of his way to bring a touch of softness into a life that seldom allowed for it. “This is perfect.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment before adding, “There’s no one else I’d rather spend it with.” Your words were quiet, but the smile that softened your features spoke volumes as you accepted the flowers from his hands. “Thank you, Joel.”

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you leaned over and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. It was a simple gesture, tender and brief, but it left him stunned, his breath catching. The cover of night shielded the warmth rising to his face, but in the quiet that followed, he found himself grateful for the darkness—grateful, too, for you.

He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “It’s, uh… it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, voice rougher than usual, though it couldn’t quite mask the tremor underneath. “Just… don’t go gettin’ used to this kinda thing, alright?”

But despite the gruffness in his tone, his gaze softened as he looked at you, a warmth there that he couldn’t quite hide. You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you snuggled back into your sleeping bag. “Alright, grumpy pants,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Good night.”

He huffed, a sound of faint indignation, though you didn’t miss the flicker of a smirk just before he turned away, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. G’night.”

As you drifted off, the faint scent of wildflowers lingered in the cool night air, wrapping around you both in a gentle reminder of the moment you’d just shared. Neither of you spoke, but in that quiet exchange, something settled—a fragile, unspoken connection that made the night feel a little softer, a little less lonely.

It was a small thing, delicate and unassuming, but it was there, woven into the silence.

Maybe later, you’d press those wildflowers between the pages of one of the books Joel had scavenged for you, preserving them as a quiet promise that would last long after the petals had faded.

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pforestsims · 9 months ago

Text

Here's a replacement for electric guitar, University EP.

Superflux ÜberUV Default

Recolors & decorative add-ons

Download: SFS | BOX

Polycount: 2110 (was ~850). Textures are 1024x512 px, I also included 3 amplifier recolors, 512x512 px. New guitar mesh is not 100% compatible with old recolors although some of those might look ok. Texture PSD with layers is here (SFS).

Updated 07.04.2024- Deco guitar floor stand can be placed on surfaces without moveObjects cheat

*This is for The Sims 2

More pics under the cut:

>> If guitar recolors don't show up in your game - apparently there's some kind of conflicting CC object that's causing this. No idea what it is tho. <<

Included add-ons feature guitar stand and wall-mounted guitar. Of course these require my default to work.

Default guitar features: mesh, textures, TXMTs and SHPE resource.

The original guitar is a peculiar mix of cordoba stage guitar and Gretsch electric guitar. The strings are missing for some reason.

I separated some parts as non-recolourable subsets with new 256x256 px texture. There are two color versions to choose from.

FYI I've edited amplifier recolors after taking the pics so these look a little different.

Here's how recolor for original mesh looks like on my default. It's this one by Michelle.

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #ts2 cc #ts2 defaults #ts2 decor

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sweatervest-obsessed · 3 months ago

Text

Last, Last Time (alternate ending)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~8.2k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupiter.

hey guys! some people had asked me about a happy ending version of this, and I've never really written an alternate ending before, I was struggling with whether I wanted this to be good angst or not, so having been swayed....here is the alternate ending!

Original Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home and no note…”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild week trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll.”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and trying to decided whether your life had gotten better because of it.

You still weren’t sure.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice?

Something was missing. It was missing from the spot on the couch. It was missing in the mug cabinet. It was missing in the kitchen while you played music and moved around by yourself.

But you were happy. You have been able to throw yourself into your job, and open your own firm. You had your dream career, with some of the most amazing friends you could have asked for.

None of which you would have met if you stayed with him.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both.

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

__________________________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was about to be.“Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Something was deeply wrong from them to have to send you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laughter, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and drive to the BAU.”

“Uh, yeah Em. I’m so sorry, I, uh, I completely forgot about our plans today. Let me get ready, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are we still meeting at your place or did you have a different location in the city?”

“We’ll be at Quantico.”

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now.

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

Today was already stressful enough, what was the point of adding a bra.

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.

Both of them have such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I break up with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed her back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

You nodded and the three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way to the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this kinda felt like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me today Emily. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try to trick me into giving the answers you want. Don’t profile me.”

Part of being engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their own quirks. Which meant you saw Alvez bite his tongue and try to hide his smile. And you noticed that Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better but it was still there.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove all the way from DC to Quantico on the phone, I deserve to know what happened.”

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there?”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you?

Well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here—He didn’t start….did he?”

Emily shook her head. “He’s actually been really good about it.” She said softly, trying to calm you down.

You started fidgeting with your rign finger; a habit you have picked up many years ago, and have yet to lose, even if the ring wasn’t there anymore.

“Cat’s execution is coming up.” Emily started, trying to get you back on track. “And we….we found out that she’s convinced one of her former cellmates to kidnap...people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

“She already ruined that relationship years ago, she won that one. Why would she bring me back into it?” You sat down and looked down at the file on the table. You had never really seen a photo of her before, doing your best to avoid all of the media surrounding her arrest.

She was very pretty, that much was certain.

Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily very casually put a hand on your knee under the table.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?”

Your head turned as you looked over to Emilt, bewildered by this woman and her, well, bewilderment.

JJ walked over and sat down on the other side of you. “Uh, Max, this is Unit Cheif Emily Prentiss and SSA Luke Alvez.” She pursed her lips before looking over at you. “And this is another one of the victims affected by Cat Adams, Y/n Y/l/n.”

Max had crossed her arms and nodded. “Victims?”

You quickly onced her over, a slightly unimpressed look crossing your features. “People close to Spencer get fucked over a lot.” This came out with a sigh attached to it.

Max almost scoffed, but you watched as she nodded. “And how do you know Spencer?”

Your eyes met with Emily’s really quickly.

Emily looked over at Max. “She’s…”

“I’m Spencer’s ex-fiancé.”

It felt better to let this poor girl know, but somehow saying the words out loud left the most rotten taste in your mouth.

Watching Max’s defenses go up in real time was a little sobering.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s…It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else?”

______________________________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you swore you left for the last time. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved out, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you were half of them, and had taken the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max was just sitting on the couch in your spot. She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

She had, understandably, decided she was not your biggest fan.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would hurt Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just placed a hand on your phone and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear. JJ, who was on the couch, talking to Max, looked like she was trying to block out whatever conversation was happening in the kitchen.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger, and it’s better for us if we have eyes on both of you”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi nodded, and placed your phone on the counter, and you walked into the kitchen,eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment went silent, watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from JJ and Rossi was palpable.

The disbelief from Max was a boulder on you back, like Atlas transferring the world to your shoulders.

“Don’t even start.” You muttered, moving to sit down back next to Rossi on the kitchen stools.

He shrugged and stayed silent.

That is, until JJ’s walkie went off and she looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked over at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave both agents a strained smile as they left the apartment, taking Max with them, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home.

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. Plus, Y/n is not that hard to find—she’s a prominent public attorney in DC. That means Juliette must’ve had access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition. Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And there he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever even thought about it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who you thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?” Spencer’s voice cracked.

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, eyes closed, trying not to let Cat (or Spencer) see how truly upset you were starting to feel.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“Without you.” Cat snapped at him. “Besides, I’m not talking to you Spencie, I'm talking to her.”

She turned to face you. “Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” You locked eyes with Cat, almost challenging her.

She seemed to enjoy it.

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.”

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to Spencer, poor Spencer who has spent the entire day entertaining her.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

“Cat..”

“Do it.” She hissed, eyeswide with hints of threate.

Reid turned and looked at you, his mouth dry and body stiff. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurt. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore it was harder to not deck her in the face.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

Youre eyes went wide. “What?”

They just continued to argue over you.

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. You couldn’t believe Spencer had told her that. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago, unable to look at Spencer. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for about two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response was "I'm sorry, Mike." A fucking defense attorney apologizing to someone when they got hit. That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess. I never missed a day of work.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I…”

“Tell me.”

“I planned. I planned and then I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “But I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear, but because I-I know some people…it was sooner.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

Emily took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

“I need some time Emily.” He muttered, walking right past her and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He stiffly smiled at her, and returned the hug before muttering that he would be back in a moment.

Watching Spencer hug her and whisper something in her ear, make your stomach lurch, and you had to turn away.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “Spencer, please.”

The two of you moved out and voer into the kitchen, providing a bit more privacy than before. “It was fake—most of it was fake. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you, eyes cloudier than a storm crossing an ocean.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, but your hand stayed where it was.

“Mike Davis is alive, and I don’t really know about well. But he…we dated for about two years and he did…he raised a fist one time but never actually…he never hit me. I threw him out that night. I’m okay.”

Spencer lets out a breath slowly, just trying to take in everything you were saying.

Spencer watched as what little resolve you had left crumbled under his gaze, and you looked up, trying to keep the tears at bay.

He gently wrapped his arms around you, and helf you tightly, like all those years ago. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” His words melted into your skin as you wrapped your arms around him.

After a minute of standing like this, the two of you broke apart, and one of his hands came up to your cheek, wiping away a single tear that was left.

You took a step back, the irony of this mirror image not lost on you, and you guestered back into the bullpen. “You have…You have to talk to Max.”

Spencer’s face dropped a little at the mention of her name and he shook his head. “I’ll…I’ll deal with her in a second. She wasn’t the one who had to face a woman who completely….”

“Changed and fucked up what I thought my life would be. Yeah, I know. But she also cares about you.” You laughed a bit, putting back together a resolve that was nonexistent.

“Spence, They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger. You could read him like you read one of your favorite books, knowing which emotion was coming up next.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.” You gave him a small smile, trying to make light of something.

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I didn’t know that..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of us…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt darlings, but I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

You looked over at Garcia. “Thank you Pen.”

Taking another small step back from Spencer, even though every single neuron in your brain was firing off, telling you what you were doing was wrong. “I should, I should grab my stuff, and go back. Penelope?”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

Spencer flexed his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab yours and never let go, but he just walked over to Max.

You started to collect your things, but got sidetracked by a conversation with Rossi.

You missed the small conversation that Spencer had with Max. You missed the way they hugged, and the way that the two of them walked out of the bullpen and to the elevator. You missed as they disappeared for a few minutes.

“Rossi, I promise to do better about keeping in touch. I swear.”

“I don’t just invite anyone over for dinner, you know. It’s an exclusive invitation.”

You smiled, almost all real. “Trust me. I know. Besides… the phone is a two way device, so you have to text me first sometimes too.”

You looked over for Spencer, the smile on your face shifting ever so slightly into one of sadness when he wasn’t around. And no one would have noticed, if not for the fact that you were in a room full of profilers.

“Well everyone, I…this was lovely. We’ll have to do this whole ‘getting my family kidnapped’ again some time.”

This remark caused a few laughs and some smiles, as you said your goodbyes, and Emily walked over to the elevator.

She was about to say something, but the doors opened and revealed Spencer. He seemed like a weight had been taken off his shoulders and you smiled at him.

Emily excused herself, giving your shoulder a squeeze, and leaving the two of you alone.

“Let me walk you out.”

You nodded, and entered the elevator.

The two of you stood in silence until you reached the parking lot.

You both stepped out, and looked over at your car, before looking back at one another.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you. You just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

Part of being a lawyer meant that acting and diffusing situations was part of your life, but sometimes, it was just a defense mechanism. It was exhausting.

“Are you okay?”

Spencer looked at your face, pulling away slightly. You were worried about him.

He went to nod, but decided to shake his head no. “Today was…I’m so sorry she…”

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately she just…” You whispered. You tried so hard to find the right words.

After another moment in his arms, you took a step back and shook your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/n…”

“Spence you have a girlfriend.”

“Y/n.”

“And I…I don’t know if I could put myself back to where I was four years ago.”

“Jolie.”

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.”

“We won’t.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

“I can. I will.”

You shook your head. “Max…”

“We broke up.”

Spencer gently grabbed your face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

Catharsis didn’t even begin to describe the feeling of the ache in your bones subsiding. Every single moment of stress, of doubt, just melted away and left you grabbing a hold of Spencer’s shirt and pulling him impossibly closer.

It was going to be different. Everything was not the same. You both had grown, you had changed, and for the better. But eventually, you were always supposed to find your way back to this moment, with yourself in Spencer’s arms and your lips on his lips.

It was solidified when a few months later, Spencer left the BAU to become a full time professor in DC, and moved into your apartment, abandoning the one where Cat had ruined your life not once, but twice.

It solidified as the two of you made time for one another, constantly finding new cities around the world to explore.

It solidified forever when he placed a ring on your finger and whispered I do in front of your friends and family.

It was always meant to be, and sometimes, the path to forever, is everchanging.

But at least you were able to do it with Spencer Reid by your side.

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seagiri · 7 months ago

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some chilshi headcanons?

(Contextualizing my headcanons, I mostly like chilshi post-canon. It doesn’t click during the main story for me)

I think they’re very domestic. One of those situations where they don’t even realize how infatuated they are with the other- until they do. And they don’t know what to do about that so they get used to being close but never taking it a step further. I think Senshi is a good influence for Chilchuck, and Chil he is Senshi’s way to connect with others.

The two of them are people that had to mature emotionally very quickly due to their life circumstances and I think that’s what draws them together in a way

Senshi has the excuse that he wants to help Chil feed himself better and maybe help him taking care of his home, and Chil likes the company. He worries about the guy lmao

They smoke and drink in the porch of his old family house and they bicker about people. Senshi tends to their garden and Chil sometimes when he’s bored and his wrists don’t hurt, he combs his hair.

And Senshi travels and explores and when he comes back he gets to talk about everything and show Chilchuck his new recipes and he is mortified but he listens anyway :) Chil complains about work, updates him on his daughters and they get to talk. They open up

Maybe they go fishing together, to the market if there’s a chance. They drink in the tavern at nighttime. idk

It’s whatever. Whatever you know

>They’re both big spoon interchangeably but it’s Chilchuck the most because he doesn’t like feeling crushed and also Senshi’s beard is equal to 3 layers of blankets

>Senshi likes teaching Chilchuck how to cook but Chil gets annoyed fast if he can’t do it first try so they barely try anymore

>They own a lot of alcohol from different places either Senshi visits or Falin and Izutsumi bring them. That pantry is wild

>They fight over stupid shit that is just mildly annoying and not a real issue

>Their way of loving is to do things for each other. If Chilchuck is tired from work Senshi will offer to arrange his picklocks, maybe go something for him. And Chil tidies up the place for him after cooking or goes buy whatever is missing. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it for you. It’s fine”

>They had to get slightly bigger furniture

The perfect version for me is when they never get together because they’re stubborn and afraid of interfering in each others lives so they self sabotage and don’t know what to do. But I also love it when they’re happy together so make of this what you will <3 they are everything to me

#ask #chilshi #thanks for asking sorry I left this unanswered for weeks #I get really anxious talking about my interests #as I mentioned I have a whole ass fanfic made up in my head I just can’t write #dungeon meshi spoilers

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ghostofhyuck · 8 months ago

Text

NCT Dream when you cut off off your hair.

AN: This is for the girlies who loves to chop their hair. (me during summer because the heat is unbearable!)

Mark Lee

He picks you up at the salon so the moment he enters the salon and saw you sitting on the chair with your hair cut short, he'll go "yo, babe is that you? did you cut your hair?" he'll be surprised with the sudden change of hair style but he will compliment you nonstop! He thinks that your new look suits you and wouldn't stop staring at you. You'll find yourself embarrassed with his staring but he wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable! He just likes this new version of you!

Huang Renjun

He'll be surprised when you came running to him and then it sink into him that your hair is on the shoulder length! He'll ask you when did you cut your hair and you'll answer that yesterday! Summer's about to arrive so you cut off your hair because you wanted a more fresher look! I feel like Renjun likes short-haired girls so he'll be flustered to see you with a short hair! He won't stop complimenting you and placing his hands on your hair, brushing it lightly.

Lee Jeno

Oh, since Jeno cut his hair, he didn't expect that you'll also chop your hair! You said that you did it because having a shorter hair can save you time to dry it. (really) But Jeno thinks that since you two have a shorter hair, you two can be a refreshing couple! You two are matching and it's cute! He would absolutely love your short hair and will probably wouldn't think much of his short hair. (He agrees that having shorter hair do save time drying it, but will miss drying your long hair though.)

Lee Donghyuck

I feel like Haechan loves your long hair. He likes brushing it, thinking that it suits you so much, and how you can style it into many different hairstyles. So when you cut off your hair to a short bob, he'll be surprised by it. He'll tell you that it suits you but he'll not get used to your short hair. I feel like he'll find himself brushing your hair and once he reached the end, he'll realized that your hair is short. But he loves it don't worry! He's just not used to your new look.

Na Jaemin

"Princess did you just cut off your hair?" he asked the moment you two met. You only nod, even telling him that you cut your hair hours before you two met. Oh, you'll see Jaemin's lovestruck look at you because of your new look! "Does that mean, I won't be needing this hair tie?" yes, Jaemin's the type of bf to wear hair tie on his wrist for you. You only laugh and told him that he can keep it because you might still need it even though your hair is short.

Zhong Chenle

Thinks that your hair suits you and the way it was layered short looks cool! He would stare at you from time to time, and everytime you catch him staring at you, he'll brush it off, telling you that he's just want to familiarize your new look. You'll only laugh because you know that your hair used to be long, so having a short hair is also a new look for you. Chenle would probably think that maybe it's time for him to have a haircut too. Brushing at his hair and checking its length.

Park Jisung

"WOW" Jisung's reaction would be eyes wide, mouth open as he stare at you who's waiting at the front door of his dorm. I feel like Jisung also likes short hair, so when he saw that your hair's short, his brain short-circuited for a moment. He! can't! believe! it! his girlfriend is too beautiful! He'll say genuinely that you look more beautiful with a short hair, and you tried to brush it off with a laugh. "Seriously, you look more beautiful bub." oh. okay. ><

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct drabbles #nct dream reactions #nct dream imagines #nct mark #nct jeno #nct renjun #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months ago

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not meaning to be a bother by mentioning the astrology again, but you're way more right than you think on the connection between astrology and queerphobia/bioessentialism. i've been literally harassed over being a scorpio, people have cut me off, told me and called me all sorts of awful things over it because "scorpios are horrible people and they're murderous bitches and whatever whatever". some of the shit i've been called for being a scorpio is the same shit i was called for being a trans man. there's only a thin layer of difference between calling someone a bitch for being born at a certain time (which they can't control) and calling someone a bitch for being queer (which again, they can't control.) (also, fuck that person who tried to insinuate that you had less of an opinion on queerphobia bc your bisexual. that's literally just them being homophobic, thus proving your point!)

I feel like what a lot of people are missing about my strenuous objection to astrology is that it stems first and foremost from my firm belief that accepting *any* system that claims people have banned in immutable traits because of some aspects of their identity opens the door for all the other systems do that

it's the same reason I'm so aggressively opposed to conspiracies about Taylor Swift's supposed secret queerness, which some folks may already be familiar with via my OTHER huge terrible post. headcanons about one celebrity might be fairly harmless, sure, but any pastime that encourages or outright requires participants to devote time and energy to hunting for "clues" to a mystery that they invented in order to prop up a manufactured version of reality is a BAD pastime that is normalizing incredibly unsafe behavior

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theriverbeyond · 3 months ago

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how exactly is John lying (/about what) and is that the worst part of him and how explicit is it in the books? i often dont understand general/fandom characterizations of fictional characters and HtN is definitely not the book I paid the most attention in, so I just wanna see if I missed something wholly obvious

So John is a Lying Liar Who Lies, and I think the most damming evidence for the sheer enormity of it all is this bit in HtN, page 482:

Many of the things John says are like, him reflecting or discussing things only he has memory of, with no one left to dispute his version of events, and it's clear that he has long ago lost the "objective truth" of his own history--some of this is likely the side effect of being alive for ten thousand years, but a lot of it is probably due to the fact that he doesn't want anyone to know what actually happened. HtN p. 158:

John is talking to Harrow here, but to Me, he is also reassuring himself. He KNOWS that people would judge him for his actions, and alters the stories he tells accordingly. Nobody has to know. It happened, and he can't undo it, and they wouldn't understand. He's motivated to lie, he's capable of lying, and he himself has stated that he believes that there is no difference between the truth, and the truth he tells himself. Because he's God.

Anyway. re: "how explicit is it", a lot of the times where we know for sure John is telling an untruth, he isn't directly lying per say, but rather misrepresenting events to such an insidious extent that it is functionally the same as lying. Here is a short and incomplete list:

All the times Harrow begged him to protect her from G1deon the First, and John was like sorry I can't do that, when in fact JOHN was the one who ordered G1deon to attack Harrow

Changing the names of all his friends and not telling them what their previous names or personalities were (and if he didn't tell them that, it's very reasonable he may have kept other things from them as well)

Saying that the House of the First was killed by "rising sea levels" and a "massive nuclear fission chain reaction" when the Earth actually died because John initiated a nuclear standoff, and then set off a nuke. like yeah what he said was technically the truth, but it also served to paint an extremely different picture when compared to what we learn in NtN

In NtN, in the dream, John tells Harrow about the time he killed all those cops, and he mentions that when it happened he was like "I swear to God, I didn't know what I was doing" "I freaked out, it was an accident", "I made a mistake". and then like half a page later he tells Harrow "Come on love. Guys like me don't have accidents"

Saying he ate peanuts "discreetly", and "the once"

"is this the worst part of him" I think that is up to you, I really like the layers this adds to the story. So much of NtN is literally just John telling Harrow/the reader a story, and we know he misrepresents events and tells untruths and is motivated to protect his own image and no longer sees a difference between the truth and the truth he tells himself. So it's like... we are getting all this info about what happened pre-appocalypse/resurrection, but how much of it is REAL? How much of it is reliable? How much of it would match the story if anyone else was alive to tell their side? It is so interesting to me. It's like a hefty peanut butter filled kong, to me.

#john gaius #tlt meta #tlt thoughts #ask #ignanimus #hope this helps!

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tragicdruid · 3 months ago

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what would be the aftermath if reader decided to break up with wanderer? andd they’ve been together ever since his balladeer era.

Let's say hypothetically, you didn't lose your memory of him when he removed himself from Irminsul. You meet him when he has no memory of his betrayals and his Balladeer days, and he's just so different. He's kind, a bit lost but well-meaning. He's an entirely different person. You'd gotten used to spending time with this innocent version of himself, finding a kinship in how soft he is -- so when he finally gets his memories back, it's a jarring change. It's what your used to. A bit of aloofness, a bit of harshness, and just a hint of that softness underneath all those layers. However, you miss that special relationship you had with him when he was just a simple wanderer.

So when you're the one who decides to break up with him, he doesn't know how to take it at first. He probably just stares at you for a second, waiting for the joke and when it doesn't come, he gets angry and confused. "Don't like me as much now that I'm like this again?" he accuses, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He can't hide the betrayal in his eyes though. He wants to explode, to cuss you out, but instead he reigns it in. "Fine. Then leave."

He convinces himself that he doesn't need you anymore, but that's hard to do when you're his first and only love. He tries to reason with himself that this was bound to happen and that it isn't his fault, but eventually he comes to accept that maybe he wasn't all that good to you. You clearly saw something in him when he was that lost little wanderer. Despite wanting to hate you for your decision, he can only yearn for you from a distance, wishing that things didn't end the way they did.

(lowkey made myself sad with this one)

#scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #td;genshin #td;writing #td;asks

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drdemonprince · 22 days ago

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so recently a girl I was hanging out w (we're both trans girls) indicated that she wanted to dominate me in the way I've wanted my whole life but I've never received (mostly not physical, sweet, predominantly psychological, soft, playing w the power dynamics, etc.). Since then I've been feeling some relief but also intense desperation, like I've been starving all my life and I've only just realized, and now the hunger pangs are eating into me.

I was just wondering if this resonates w how you understand kink and where this desperation could be coming from. I'm autistic, so I was wondering if it's desperation for the need to unmask? Or if it's about the shame of having kinky desires, and the relief that comes from getting affirmed that those things are ok? Is it really about a need for care, which I have received very little of my whole life? Or if I'm overthinking it— could I just have a deep gnawing hunger for submission in and of itself, where submission is, for me, as important as breathing?

Of course, I know you can't explain my own emotions, but any insight you have into the tangled web of desire, desperation, hunger, kink, care, relief, autism, trans shit, and isolation would be v v v appreciated. ty dr demon prince :)

I think what you might be responding so strongly to is the opportunity to express a side of yourself that normally has zero outlet. We can call it headspaces, or alters, or escapism, or playing a role, and certainly it has to do a lot with letting go and unmasking -- but the universal human explanation is that who were are is largely socially instantiated, and that it is impossible for us to be certain versions of ourselves without that self being welcomed, catered to, and interplayed with by another person -- the right person, in the right dynamic.

Kink can be so beautiful because it allows sides of ourselves that rarely find expression to interplay with others' also hidden or hard-to-activate sides. With one partner of mine, I get to be a slobbering obedient puppy for their nurturing, yet controlling mommy. Both of us are able to access sides of who we are that feel unreachable in everyday life, or unsafe to express. For them it's a gender euphoric experience that doesn't line up with their day-to-day identity and presentation; for me it's an escape from my mental burdens and the relief of being cared for. Yet it's also deeper. By playing at this long-lasting pet-handler relationship, I get to activate layers of trust and vulnerability with them that it would normally take years of processing and the exact right circumstances to reach. I get to collapse into their arms wailing without having actually been put through any real emotional ringer. I can be completely waylaid with emotion and need and become briefly dependent upon them and let them have full control over my body, without actually having to lose any of my freedom or having to worry about whether they can handle it.

That's just a personal and recent example. But I often feel that within kinky, headspacey social contexts, a different side of me is free to express itself and my ego doesn't have to mediate or hold the reins. I feel the same thing at Furfest, though it's not always sexual. I can just be a friendly, silly, huggy deer, and meet other people for their playful animal/toony energy too. Because we are all just being silly animals, I can relate to people that I might have very little in common with in terms of my day-to-day life. We don't have to talk about work, or our families, or political economy -- we can just dance and get stoned, cuddle and eat snacks, play videogames, compliment one another's outfits, live in the present right before us. all the over-intellectualization that normally separates me from people is just gone, and some more primordial feeling of animal comraderie is there.

And I miss that feeling of ease and friendliness DESPERATELY once furfest ends. It feels at times that when a bond or a social context like this disappears that some essential part of myself has been TAKEN from me. Because it doesn't just dwell within me. I can't just enjoy it alone at home. It has to operate within a living social dynamic.

It may be something like that for you. When I first discovered there was an entire community devoted to erotic hypnosis, my lifelong fetish, the universe seemed to open up with possibility and I was elated. I no longer felt doomed to a joyless daily existence. It turned out I could have real, meaningful fun, connect to other people, do something new that touched new parts of my brain. I could experience some of the sensations I had only ever dreamed about and believed were impossible to realize in actual life. I wanted to live in the hypno world forever (and I did get myself into some weeks-long waking trances that kinda mentally fucked me up because I was in such a frenzy, oops). It's a kind of love, finding your spaces, finding your people, finding the contexts in which some sacred part of you is free. It's a love of yourself, and the other person, and the context -- it's a love of being alive, which is often so sorely needed for those of us who are wired in such a way as regular life is usually unfulfilling or painful.

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krypticcafe · 11 months ago

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i wanna know how u think 141 + König & Alejandro would react/feel about reader doing this trend with them, ofc reader doesn't upload it or anything they just record it for fun :]

if the link doesn't work the trend is basically a person is putting on lipstick and they "mess up" and their s/o wipes it off for them and the camera pans to their s/o covered in kissmarks

this has been on my mind for a while i think its so sweet 🥲 i lovelovelove ur writing!! its so good lik oml <33

Lipstick trend w/COD:MWII men

rating: teen

character(s): Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Hound König, Alejandro Vargas / GN!Reader

warning(s): language, suggestiveness

wordcount: ~1.6k

summary: Silly little lipstick trend with your silly little military boyfriend.

a/n: the money I'd pay to kiss these men dizzy.

Gaz

Knew about the trend for a while, was wondering if you'd do it, so it's not much of a surprise when you come to him asking about it.

Honestly, he thinks it's a little cheesy, but he's not so insecure that he doesn't want to do it, he's happy to make you happy.

Literally won't stop teasing you like "You sure you're doing this just for the trend?" when you're smooching him all over his face.

When you're done, you can't but stare for a bit.

"What, too pretty for words, love?"

"Shut up, Garrick."

"Make me."

Now his lips are a bright red to match yours<3

The recording goes pretty smoothly, but by the end of it, Gaz can be seen bursting into giggles which in turn makes you giggle a little until the recording cuts off.

You guys don't post it publicly, but I like to think Gaz posted a screenshot of when the two of you are in frame, looking at each other with goofy smiles.

Price

The last person you'd expect to be up with any trends, but it's alright, you're here to help him!

He's hesitant, only because he's a bit bashful! When it comes to these silly little recordings and any of your playful schemes, he gets a little shy about it.

But if you really bat your eyes, pout a little, maybe even tug on his sleeve...

"Please? Just this once, sweetheart?"

He sucks in a deep breath. He's a captain for Christ's sake, he's resisted things worse than this, and no amount of hellish torture has ever made him crack in the slightes-

"Pretty please? For me, Johnny?"

What was he thinking about again?

He sits there while you practically bounce in your spot while you lather on thick layers of lipstick, wondering if this will haunt him.

But all his bashfulness goes out the window when you cup his face oh-so-gently, smother him with kisses, giggling about how ticklish his facial hair is, how it nearly messes you up, how you smile proudly at your work and at him.

You swear you won't post it because you know he can't risk his reputation as a captain... but you also know nothing is stopping you from bringing it up every now and then to him.

Pulling up the pictures and videos, smugly grinning and ogling them while he groans at how smug you are.

Real proud of that one, aren't you?

Soap

"So basically for the trend I just need to put on some lipstick, kiss yo-"

"Say less."

Literally he doesn't care what he has to do, this man wants his kisses.

He'll be all "You missed a spot" when you're applying the marks on his face.

Your guys' version of the trend is a little different.

Instead, the video starts with you putting on lipstick, Soap takes it, commenting how the shade would look good on him, applying it on his lips before smothering you with kisses in the video, leaving the two of you all covered in lipstick stains.

After you wiped your face off, you notice Soap hasn't.

He's just staring smugly at the mirror, rubbing his chin, talking about how "Y'know, I think this actually looks good on me" and "Think I'll keep it on for today, yeah?"

"Honey, you can't go out like that."

"An' why not? I'm jus' wearin' makeup."

"Don't be a smartass- hey! Get back here MacTavish!"

Every day that man tests your patience, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Ghost

"You won't budge until I say yes?"

You're sitting on his lap on the bed, keeping him still, batting your eyes with faux innocence. He could lift you off if he wanted, but he doesn't, and that alone is enough of an answer for you.

"Nope."

He's trying to pretend so much that he doesn't care too much about it, that he's just letting you do whatever you want. Obviously, he's just playing along.

However, it isn't until you kiss that particular spot of his neck just right under his jaw where the stubble stops that it escalates.

"Oh? Is the lieutenant feeling ticklish?" You coo.

"'m not ticklish-" He's cut off by more kisses peppered around the area and a few extra on his face.

"Mhm, really, because," You're giggling in between your words, "When I kiss you here," He forces the fakest cough he's ever made when you kiss the same spot against, nipping it slightly. All he can do is lean back into the couch, leg bouncing impatiently, trying to bite back a chuckle or two until he finally cracks. The two of you are in a quiet fit of snickers and giggles until you finally let up.

After making the video, you silently gush over it, replaying it over and over. There's a hint of redness on his cheeks, and his eyes seem to flicker from you to the camera, it's the most flustered you've ever seen him be and you got it all on tape, lucky you.

Roach

"That's so dumb, of course I wanna do it."

Roach is all for goofy little couples trends, so it's nothing new if you ask him to do another.

"Babe, stay still would you?" You pout, "I'm gonna have to start over if you keep squirming!"

"Mmm, I think I'd like that."

"Of course you would." Rolling your eyes, you pinch his cheek and he yelps, apologizing and letting you continue. He really can't help it though, it's really ticklish for him.

It takes maybe three tries for you to get the video right, ending with one where Gary messed up your makeup for you by swooping in to give you a sloppy smooch and clumsily wiping it only to further smear it while in a fit of giggles. He claims you were taking too long so he put matters in his own hands.

"So when do I get to do you?"

"What are you talking about, that's all there is- Gary!"

"Nuh-uh, c'mere!"

Hound

He's confused as ever but agrees to it on a whim since he's often entertaining your needs and wants anyways.

As you settle on his lap, his hands rest on your sides and he looks up at you with affectionate eyes. He was looking at you like that when you were putting on your lipstick, too. You almost don't want to ruin his pretty little face, but at the same time, you think it'd look so much prettier with your kisses all over it<3

His eyes close and he stays still while you mark his face all over, even when your lips tickle sensitive spots like his scars. Patient as ever.

When you pull away, he looks like such a doll for you. Your hands cup his face and his lashes flutter open, showing those big brown eyes still giving you the same adoring look, and your chest is basically hammering. He can probably hear it, too. He reaches up to hold your hands and presses his lips against the knuckles. You swear your heart just stopped.

"Everything alright, sugar?"

Oh fuck, what were you supposed to be doing?

"Mhm." You nod frantically, face burning while his thumb brushes over a knuckle, "Y-You know, maybe we can just... tonight... haha... holdmeplease?"

Yeah... you never did quite get your video.

König

"What, with me?" He asks, bewildered.

"Of course?? Who else am I going to do it with? Oh sure, let me call up Horangi, I bet he'll be happy to-"

"Nonono! I want to do it!"

Moments later, he's sitting on the edge of your bed, hood off, fidgeting awkwardly, and watching you quietly. Now you know what he meant when they told him he couldn't stay still for the life of him.

"König, honey, you act like I'm going to hurt you or something." You chuckle, popping your lips as you apply your lipstick in the mirror. He wasn't even this skittish in bed so what had him all jittery?

Setting your hands on his shoulders, you reassure him with a kiss first on the forehead. "Relax, I just want to take a video, that's all."

"Sorry schatz, I'll behave." He hums, easing up at your touch and you smile, planting kisses all over. It seems he just didn't know what exactly he was in for.

You show him how he looks on your phone, "Thoughts?"

"Not bad..." He attempts to wipe off the marks, but you swat his hand away from him.

"You think we're done, mister?"

"Huh?" Practically pouncing on him, you cut him off with a hungry kiss, hovering your body over his. What, he didn't seriously think all you wanted was a video, did he?

Alejandro

He snickers, "If you just wanted my attention, you could've asked."

"I'm serious, Alejandro, it's a thing!" You beam, pointing to the videos on your phone.

He jokingly dismisses your claim and settles onto his office chair, looking at you expectantly. You're confused for a moment, what was he staring at you for?

"Are we going to do this or not? Don't tell me it was actually an excuse now, mi vida."

"No!" You blurt, though now you're debating if you should do this or just leave him waiting with how much he wants to tease you. Then again, you can't pass up this opportunity.

While applying your makeup, you can spot him quietly admiring you in the corner of his eye, and it nearly throws you off your game.

As you kiss him, he keeps his eyes on you, a grin on his lips. Not for a single moment does he tear his attention away from you, instead pointing at a few spots for you to mark.

"I got it, I got it," You huff, mumbling to yourself, "You're certainly enjoying this, colonel..."

Post-production, when you get up to wipe off your lips, he looks at you with offense, "What, that's it?"

"Yes..?"

"Nonono, I think we need to do it again, my way, this time." He snickers, pulling you in by the waist.

"Your way? Alejandro!" You whine without fighting back as he pulls you in for a longer kiss, all your protests forgotten.

a/n: homies i kinda regret writing this so close to valentine's day haha...

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