#he's a nerd with little to no sense of self

[opal-kitty333]

So, I like Horror Sans, and being a nerd, I've been thinking about him a lot during my recovery with brain damage. A lot of people treat his wounds like brain damage, giving him memory problems, chronic headaches/migraines, speaking difficulties, fugue states, just issues collecting his thoughts. All understandable and reasonable symptoms, but there's something about just what truly horrific, completely life altering, brain damage to such an extent can do to a person that hasn't been explored very much. Yes, he doesn’t technically have a brain, but considering someone with head trauma like him would be in a comatose like start for weeks to a month, we can choke up him taking that hit like he did and being able to walk and talk to that. Plus, we can take inspiration from real injury and science and have wiggle room for it to not be 100% accurate. Anyway-

This is Phineas Gage.

It is one of the earliest extreme cases of brain damage where the patient survived while psychology as a scientific practice was getting on it's feet. If you've taken a psychology class, you've heard of him. He was a railroad worker foreman who had a rod blown through his skull in an accident, destroy most of his frontal lobe.

If you don’t know what the frontal lobe is it's where your ability to reason and make decisions, the ability to control your muscles voluntarily, and your ability to process knew information and recall old information. It's well known for being the part of your brain that inputs logic, the part gives you the ability to remember what happened last time you picked a fight with someone, so instead you choose to walk away despite how much your want to punch them for being a prick.

As I stated before, this man was a foreman, well known for keeping a level head, being responsible, and hard working. After the injury, that completely changed. Everyone agreed he was barely recognizable as himself. He was impulsive, prone to extreme mood swings, impatient, making massive plans only to almost immediately abandon them, and generally seemed to have no control over his desires or ability to distinguish between a want or a need.

Now, let's look at Horror.

I'd say it's safe to say his frontal lobe but also part of his parietal lobe would be utterly fucked. Your parietal lobe controls your ability to process sensory information (mostly touch) and to understand not only where you and your body is, but to process the world around you. You see a massive enough tent, some clowns running around, the right music, and your parietal lobe is what does the work to label that as a circus.

To have these two structures damaged, or the closest equivalent in a monster, would radically alter Sans' personality, his ability to move, his understanding of the context around him, and connect with others.

He'd become rather self centered on his own desires and beliefs, struggling to even have the patients let alone the want to give other people the time of day. His actions would be impulsive, made on his emotions in the present moment and with little concerns other than the immediate consequences. He'd be prone to loud outbursts, not just rage, but any other emotions like sadness or glee with little ability to realize how he's acting may be overblown or inappropriate. Not only could his ability to put his thoughts into words be a struggle, but his ability to say those words could be affected as well. He'd be very present focused, with pass relations or responsibility mattering little as he keeps marching to the beat of his own drum.

That is, if he could march. He'd not only struggle to know where his limbs are or what he's touching, but his sense of balance would be awful. He'd likely have a constant wobble, having to go slowly and potentially hold onto or lean on things if he wanted to move quickly. God forbid how much he'd bump into furniture or trip and struggle actually grab onto something to catch himself. It's entirely possible he'd have difficulty reading and writing or confusing his left and right regularly. He'd need more time to process a situation and could very easily misidentify what's actually going on could likely lead to him acting even more unpredictable as the world around him is so much more dangerous and he's struggling to fully understand what everyone is doing and trying to keep two steps ahead of everyone around him.

But here's the thing. The brain is also incredibly adaptable in ways your wouldn't believe. Phineas Gage slowly recovered over time. He died twelve years after the incident from epilepsy but over time he slowly regaining his social skills and general functionality. He picked up a job as a stage coach four years after the indecent even. He was never quite the same person he was before, but he wasn't doomed to be what he first was after the indecent.

Imagine what this kind of thing could mean for Sans. Not only would the betrayal cut deep enough and the world falling apart put him through trauma that would shred the soul, but people he trust literally damaged his ability to think logically and control his impulses. Of course he's going to lash out, focus on doing anything he can to survive with little respect for what anyone else thinks. Even forcing his brother to do things and refusing to listen to him unless given no other option. All while he thinks the biggest problems after the indecent is how much his head hurts, how his memory is shot, that it's harder or even down right painful to think, and how he's struggling to cling to his independence while never having the patience or resources to give himself the ability to heal. He doesn't even realize how much he's changed. If you point it out Sans would likely get defensive and aggressive, or brush it off as everyone underground being awful people out to eat each other alive.

But then he gets out to the surface. He gets stable food, a safe place to live. His brother is recovering and as the years pass his mind can finally start pulling itself together and healing, finally. Sans begins to regain his ability to think critically on his own actions and others, his emotional outburst and vindictive behavior start to wind down and fade. He's able to think and start sifting through all the shit he remembers.

The guilt of what he did, the people he hurt for no reason other than pettiness. The stupid decisions he made that hurt himself and/or Papyrus in the long run. All the hindsight he has now. Imagine how much he would bury those memories and thoughts. Justifying everything he could and insisting he had reasons, or that it's just how it was and that everyone was as awful and cruel he was. Or just accepting that what Undyne had done to him and the famine after had ruined him, broken and rotted all the good he had and left him vile and malicious. That he'll never have a chance to truly be who he was before.

[tiredbitchposts]

I often feel like people forget that both Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu got fucked over in the transmitgation with Shen Yuan dying and being forced to live as someone to fix that person's mistakes and Shen Jiu being forced out of his body so someone could live his life better than he did. Both of them got the shit end of the deal, that's the whole point of it, Shen Yuan may have gotten his happy ending but he'll never be his own person and he's at the mercy of the system for the rest of his life and Shen Jiu never got a happy ending but now he'll never get tortured in the most cruel ways possible and live knowing he indirectly caused the death of the person he loved the most

[chai-dye]

So so normal about what a character's music tastes says about them

[tobiasdrake]

I really do love how much you can tell about Doomguy just from looking around his room.

Like. Yeah, all the stuff you expect to see is there.

He's got his big ol' gun rack.

What appears to be a rock he uses as a punching bag.

Whetstone for sharpening his knives. All the Real Manly Violence Man stuff you'd think would be there.

But also a pair of nunchaku. Doomguy has never used nunchaku in any of his games. Those are just there because apparently he's the kind of dork who likes to play around with nunchaku and pretend he's doing kung fu.

Also a jump rope. Gotta keep his cardio up for all that running and jumping he has to do.

He reads Guns & Bullets magazine, but he also reads Science Monthly. Which makes sense that he'd be a bit of a techie since....

...he seems to have made his new Praetor Suit by disassembling the old one and rebuilding it to be higher-quality. You can see from the guts of the suit that it's powered armor, and he just... knows how to work that.

He's mad. Not stupid.

He also reads cooking magazines, of course. His only friend is Doom J.A.R.V.I.S.; He's gotta be self-sufficient. Though how he got those pizzas delivered is certainly beyond me.

And, of course, he has a collection of regular books that he likes to read as well. Though his taste in literature reveals a certain trend.

Also, he reads comics.

So many comics.

So, so many comics that he's left discarded comics lying around on his munitions cases. This man is a nerd.

And if you doubt his nerd cred, remember that he even keeps collectible toy displays. Doomguy is explicitly the kind of person who will go out of his way in a firefight with the forces of Hell itself to go snatch up a new toy for his collection.

He even has collectible toy figures hanging out on his computer desk. He put a little hard hat on one of them.

On the other side of his desk, he's got some leftover pizza from the inexplicable delivery service, plus takoyaki flavor chips and some candy. It seems Doomguy is a fruity candy kind of guy, not a chocolate guy. Man after my own heart.

Oh, you know he has shredded every single surface of the Fortress of Doom at some point. How do you think he learned to react so quickly in combat?

That is, of course....

When he's not ROCKING OUT with one of his three separate guitars. I bet the middle one's his favorite. It has a place of honor under the giant demon skull.

Some people might say that a record player and casette tapes are old-fashioned but cut him some slack; He's a Gen X-er.

Of course, there's one thing that any walk through Doomguy's room reveals more than anything else. The one thing that matters more than the world to him. The thing that drives him in his every waking moment.

He loved his bunny rabbit. My favorite thing about the portrait - Well, my favorite thing about it is that it's a piece of fanart that got officially canonized, but aside from that - is that he's wearing his Praetor Suit in it.

That's not something he brought from home. He commissioned an artist to paint that after becoming a Night Sentinel. He still loves his poor, late bunny rabbit.

And he keeps her close to him when he's home.

[frmisnow]

BORDEAUX !

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

notes. welcome to a new verse (aka. series), usually most of my series are more fluffy w a touch of smut (besides two whores, one job lol) but this one is gonna be a lot more angsty and smutty! so i hope y'all are into that kinda jam 🍷⭒⋆｡˚

warnings /includes. (1.7 k words / suggestive!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, alcohol, shitty ex :/, jk is an alcohol nerd?, reader kind of uses him to kill bad memories ?, making out

the air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and smoke melted with the faint music somewhere in the background: jazz, how unfitting for this kind of environment. the enviornment which people go to specifically to escape reality, for a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

the alcohol wasn't bad, at least judging by the wine and it offered a sense of peace or rebellion, stupid fucking rebellion. your ex used to despise wine with all of his heart, he hated the scent of it, didn't want you to drink any of it near him.

he didn't like when you drank alcohol over all, he was stern on the idea of keeping you innoccent. you chugged down the glass like a shot at the sheer memory of the behavior you used to put up with.

the glass hits the table with a dull thud and you could almost hear his voice, scolding you for how reckless you were. you reach out for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass. and this time you savor the taste on your tongue, the rich flavor.

you feel eyes burning into your face, no- not burning, observing. it didn't feel uncomfortable but you could firmly feel them on you. the man's presence cut through the fog of alcohol and self-pity that had settled over you, and for a moment, you simply stared.

you should have looked away, but you didn’t. instead, you lifted your glass to your lips, taking another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down your throat, heavy and warm. he watched you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving yours.

he stands up making his way to you, and suddenly the crowd and all the shitty memories fade away, it was almost like he had a bigger effect on you then the alcohol did and that said a lot.

finally, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “mind if i join you?”

the question was formal, did he work in business? no, that would be stupid to assume based of just a question. you nod, slowly but surerly, motioning towards the chair next to you.

he takes the seat next to you, signaling for a nearby waiter, requesting another glass, before turning his attention back to you. his gaze is intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to see straight through to your soul.

“rough night?” he asks, his tone conversational but his eyes still focused intently on you.

his thigh touched yours, the proximity with somebody you didn't know should make you feel uncomfortable but it strangely didn't. "yeah," you mouth. the whole truth was too complicated, too raw, to lay out infront of a stranger.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before he speaks again, his voice was soft, almost soothing. "you're downing that glass like it's water."

you look at the almost empty glass that your fingers had been circling around while talking to him, he was right. you didn't even remember how many glasses you had, three perhaps?

"you have a pretty voice," you mumble, finshing what was left of liquid in the glass.

he raised an eyebrow at the compliment, surprised by the sudden comment from you. he can't help but chuckle a little, amused by the drunken confession. "thank you," he replies, sounding sincere.

you both barerly talked, you were two strangers in a cheap bar, why bother talking about boring jobs? the night was young.

the music in the background shifted, a slower, bluesy tune now. the more you looked at him, the more you could firmly feel his thigh pressed into your own. his fingers, tattooed, why hadn't you noticed that earlier? took the wine bottle from earlier, tilting it around to look at the label. he seemed to know the brand, humming in approval.

"it's a good vintage." he says, still holding the bottle but his eyes are on you, studying your face in the dim light.

and this actually managed to crack a smile out of you. it wasn't meant to be a funny comment, in fact he seemed serious about it. was he an alcohol expert? the fact that you knew absolutly nothing about wine made it better.

he takes a sip from his own glass, his eyes never leaving yours. he can't help but find your lack of knowledge about wine oddly endearing.

please, talk me stupid about alcohol. i want to know what rebellion tastes like. the words linger on your tongue but you don't cave into the urge of saying them. i want you to teach me what he was so afraid of showing me.

"i have a whole collection of rare and expensive wines back at my place. some you would never find even in the best bars," he pauses, his hand brushing slightly against your arm.

"are you trying to make me come home with you?" you ask though it's not a question you necessarily need an answer to, you knew what he had meant.

"and if i was?" his eyes stay on yours, tilting his head, "would you come with me?"

stupid fucking question.

the second you step into his apartment, the door closing behind you, he is already on you. his hands are on your waist, holding you firmly in place as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting the mixture of your saliva and the rich flavor of the wine.

when you both take time to breathe, you ask, "so where is the wine you were talking about?" your tone is clearly intoxicated, your eyes a little hazy as he doesn't let go of you and you both stumble towards his living room together. the action seeming strangely domestic.

"it's right there." his voice a tad bit breathless, he motions towards a large display of alcohol, his eyes scanning the selection before settling on a particular bottle.

he reaches for the bottle, the arm around your waist still keeping you close to him, the alcohol clearly making the both of you more touchier then you would be sober.

jungkook holds up the bottle, letting you get a good look at the label. it was an expensive brand, even you could tell that, the words written on it swirling in an elegant script.

you hum, "italy," leaning into his touch sub counciously whilst he drew little circles over the clothed skin, twisting the bottle, "when did you get this?"

"i have a guy who brings me the good stuff from time to time."

your eyes wandered over the display, you wanted to kneel forward to look over the bottles but didn't want to get out of his embrace either.

it felt good, doing everything your ex would scrutinize you for. he'd be disapproving off even letting you look over all of these.

his head made a little motion towards almost like a silent 'go on' like he could firmly hear your thoughts.

the bottles seemed rare, visably very espensive and whilst you looked over the alcohol, he looked at you.

"what do you think?" he asks after a few minutes, tone soft and quiet like he didn't want to disturb you.

"i think i've had enough to drink already but it's all really pretty," you trail off, "you're really pretty"

jungkook smiles at the comment, reaching forward to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture seemingly absentminded yet surprisingly tender, "is that the alcohol talking?"

you shrug, grinning, "i honestly don't know"

he studies your face for a moment, his eyes roving over your features. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline, the touch light and gentle. "you know, you're very pretty yourself," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

the color of the red wine in your hands is now the exact color of your cheeks and your mind is empty as you lean forward to kiss him once more.

this time when your lips meet, it was rather delicate and slow. as you both sat on the ground next to the large display and kissed eachother like it was the end of the world.

and you don't stop when you felt like you couldn't breathe, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the pulse beneath the shirt. this was what drowning memories was all about.

your ex didn't kiss like this. he didn't hold you like this and he most certaintly will never get the chance to redeem himself ever.

you find yourselves sinking to the floor while jungkook craddles your face as if you were something precious, something worth cherishing.

your ex kissed you just to check of the foreplay box, jungkook kisses you because he wants to.

"i want you," you mumur against his lips as you both take time to breathe.

you wake up to harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds, you realize you're lying on a coach. his coach. the cool leather fabric is a stark contrast to your bare skin, that's when you notice — you’re only in your panties. red lace with little bows.

the rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, your shirt draped over the armrest, your skirt crumpled beside it.

you try to piece the events of last night together, did you sleep together? ... you can't quite remember. you sit up slowly, your head pounding with the dull throb of a hangover.

jungkook's presence was no where to be found, the apartment was dead quiet. he left you here, naked and confused: what a dick.

you do your best to gather the clothes, slipping into them, you search for your phone, finding it next to the alcohol display. you take another look at the various bottles, now sober.

you shake your head at how easy you were yesterday, checking the time on your phone until your heart drops — the meeting. the meeting you could not afford to miss.

you let out a groan of frustration, fighting the zipper of your skirt, great- you were going to meet your new ceo looking and feeling like a mess.

you step into the large building with your heart still pounding, why did the metro station have to be so far away from your job? running as fast as you can had been your only option.

you push through the glass doors of the conference room, instantly sitting down, you did not want the people to look even more then a second at the wrinkled skirt of yours.

the important man stands facing away from you, writing something down on a white board. he seemed pretty tall, confident posture.

and then he turns around.

your expression drops. it's him. it's the man from last night.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd

[megwritesriddles]

Sweeter Than Fiction ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 7 - Queening / Face-sitting. Spencer meets Reader when she starts working at his local library and he's quickly in over his head. After he goes snooping for information on her online, he finds out a dirty little secret, she writes fanfiction.

Tags: Face-sitting, Oral sex (f receiving), Fantasies, Masturbation, Pining, Friends to lovers, Love confessions, Sub!Spencer, Autistic!Spencer (implied ig?), Both Spencer and Reader are NERDS, Set somewhere between seasons 1-3.

Word count: 4.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Surprise!! I changed a couple things on my kinktober due to lack of inspiration so here's an unexpected extra Spencer fic!! This is soooo long and the plot is so self-indulgent and ughhh but he eats you out so...!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Spencer had never felt like this before, he hadn’t really had the chance to. Crushes had never really been his thing, having been significantly younger than his peers all throughout his education and being staunchly focused on his career ever since. He had physical attractions here and there, like an occasional reminder that he really was just a fallible human man as much as anyone else, but never any true feelings, nothing he ever wanted to try to pursue in a serious way. It wasn’t simple for him like it was for someone like Morgan, in many senses of the word. Not only was he just not socially skilled enough to pursue relationships, whether casual or otherwise, with any success, he also had a large set of difficulties that he would carry into any relationship. He was quite touch averse, not that he didn’t desperately crave it all the same, which could easily cause issues in any physical relationship. He also had a lot of emotional baggage, from his mother, from his job, from his bullying. He felt a mess emotionally and didn’t see the point in trying to bring in another person to see the mess in all its glory. So he kept to himself. He wasn’t completely without experience, but every experience he’d had was marred with difficulty and complication, none of it ever lasted. He was reasonably content to keep to himself.

Until he met you. He’d been visiting the library nearest his apartment since he moved to D.C. for work. One day he walked in and you were sitting behind the desk, all bright-eyed and excited. The attraction to you had been immediate, he’d found you to be beautiful, he liked the way you dressed, and he liked your sweet voice as you spoke to the customer in front of you. He thought it would end there, that he would silently find you attractive from afar but remained more focused on other things. Cursed to stammer nervously at you whenever you scanned his books, but never say more than necessary. For a long time, that’s all it was, until he was taking out a book that, unbeknownst to him, was a big favourite of yours.

“Oh my goodness, my favourite” you chuckle as you pick up the book from his pile. “This book is amazing, you’ll love it, I’m sure,” you smile brightly as you scan it onto his card. His fingers twitch where he rests them on the edge of the wooden counter. He hadn’t been prepared to talk to you, but it’s nicer than most things that catch him unprepared.

“Y-yeah? Uh… great,” he swallows, drumming his fingers on the counter as you scan the rest of his books, mostly textbooks. 

“Well, if you have any taste that is,” you tease. He laughs back stiffly, his mouth feeling dry. 

“I uh… like to think I do…” he smiles awkwardly.

“You’ll have to tell me what you thought of it,” you hand him the books and his brain blanks for a moment. You’re inviting him to speak to you some other time, to have an actual conversation. He moves jerkily, taking the books from you and packing them into his satchel. You smile kindly and wave to him as he leaves. “See you soon,”

The way his mind is spinning from that simple conversation, he knows that this is something different. He collapses onto a bench outside the library, taking a deep breath. Why is his heart racing? Is this what butterflies feel like? He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it up. When the anxiety fades away, he’s left with a warm feeling in his chest. You want to speak to him again. He flips open his satchel and pulls out the book you’d said was your favourite. It’s classic literature, something he’s been meaning to read for a long time now, but has somehow never gotten around to. He devours the book in mere minutes, thanks to his impressive reading speed. It’s an amazingly compelling tale, with feminist undertones that were ahead of their time and he feels he understands you just a little better by knowing you like this book. He packs it back into his satchel and stands, heading back into the library. The queue to your desk is a few people long, but he joins it anyway, fiddling with the strap of his bag. You don’t make much small talk with the people in front of him in the line, making it feel all the more special that you’d spoken to him. He reaches the front and you smile, but tilt your head in confusion.

“Forget something?”

“The book was great,” he blurts, and you look even more confused.

“What?”

“The book, the one you said was your favourite, it was phenomenal, and surprisingly progressive for its time! Having those sorts of sentiments about a woman's role in a marriage in the 18th century, while seeming slightly archaic by today's standards, must have caused quite a stir at the time, especially coming from a female author. British law in 1764 actually suggested that women–” he doesn’t realise he’s rambling until you cut him off.

“Hold on, you read it already?” you look disbelieving. He smiles sheepishly. “I only lent it to you, what?” you glance at the clock on your desktop screen. “15 minutes ago,”

“I can read very fast,” he mumbles, looking at the scuff on the toe of his shoe for a moment. You giggle.

“Yeah, clearly,” you study his face. He goes quiet, eyes flickering over the small decorations you had scattered across your desk as a means of personalising your space. “You were saying?” you prompted softly. He looked up at you in wonder, no one had ever requested he resumes an info dump, usually, he was told to shut up and looked weird, but you seemed to wait with genuine interest. Perhaps that was the moment that he was well and truly done for. He steps aside so that the person behind him in the line can get their books scanned. He talks at you for almost a whole hour, getting lost in tangent after tangent as you work. You occasionally pipe in to ask a question or make a comment, but you seem happy to listen. Suddenly, your already beautiful appearance becomes more like that of an angel or a goddess to him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life. He leaves the library after you excuse yourself for your lunch break. Once he gets home, he sits down on his couch, smiling dopily. Then, it slowly dawns on him that he’d just stood there and rattled on about various topics that he had no clue if you even had any interest in. He buries his face in his hands and groans. Has he already ruined things with the first person he’s ever felt anything genuine for? It was bound to happen eventually, but this soon? He goes to bed miserable that night.

Fortunately, his misery had been for nothing. The next time he visits the library, you’re there, all smiles at him like usual. When he comes to return his previous book haul (yes, maybe he hasn’t used the returns box since you started working here, what of it?), you greet him, asking if he has any more facts for you. At first, he thinks you’re mocking him, but the genuine smile you give tells him otherwise. He scrambles through his mind for something interesting to tell you, feeling less than a genius at this moment. He settles to ask what your favourite animal is, then spends the next several minutes telling you all the nichest information about that animal he could think of. This time, you start to talk too, though instead of spewing facts, you’re telling him personal anecdotes, or about new books the library has got in. The next several times he comes in, you end up talking for long periods of time. You never interrupt him when he rambles and in return he allows you to ramble too, not bothered by the slightest if he has to listen to you for hours. He’d do it happily. Things escalate over time, and he realises the two of you have truly become friends. The thought excites him, as he is closer to the object of his affection, but also because he doesn’t have all that many friends outside of his work. With you, he has somebody to talk books with, and that means the world to him. You text daily, though they’re not particularly long conversations, just whenever something comes up that you think might interest the other. You’d originally given him your email address and he’d explained that he didn’t use email. He felt completely silly, but you’d just shrugged it off and given him your number. Despite that, he still keeps the piece of paper onto which you scrawled your email address, tacked up by his seldom used computer. Just in case.

The team at the BAU tease him relentlessly when they find out about the ‘sweet girl from the library’ that he texts everyday. Any hint of him interacting with a woman, they latch onto like rabid wolves, but when the texts from you keep popping up on his phone now and then for weeks, they absolutely won’t leave it alone. They all know he likes you, even if he’s been very careful to not reveal this fact and they tease him about it. He’s just glad you’re never there to hear it, as he might just die from the embarrassment. One week, while staying back from a case due to a mild cold, he sits in Garcia’s office and watches her work while he does his own. She had insisted he come keep her company, and he hadn’t quite dared to tell her no. He’s scribbling down some notes about the latest crime scene photos they’ve been sent through when Garcia receives a call. It’s Morgan, asking her to run a check on an email address that may potentially belong to an unsub, to see what kind of accounts can be linked to it, and if there’s anything untoward and potentially warrant-worthy. He watches over her shoulder as she types the email address into a program, which spits back out several accounts all over the internet. He rolls his chair over, watching curiously.

“How do you do that? Is it for FBI stuff only?” he asks nervously, twirling a pen around in his fingers. Garcia laughs and glances over her shoulder. 

“No, you can find programs to do this in various places online,” she answers, highlighting accounts of potential interest. He nods, still watching over her shoulder, working his lip between his teeth. He tries to convince himself that he’s not going to do it, even as he asks Garcia to write him down one of these websites. She gives him a knowing look but obliges. He keeps telling himself he won’t do it, and that it’s creepy as he gets the train home, but as soon as he’s in his apartment, he heads for his computer and boots it up. He searches up the site that Garcia recommended and tells himself one last time that he isn’t going to do it, before copying your email address into the search field and hitting enter. He waits as the website loads the results, glancing at the door to his apartment as if you’re going to burst in and tell him off. Oh, how he wishes you’d be in his apartment one day, or he at yours. He’s never really wanted to share a space before, but lately, everything he does he imagines what it would be like to have you there. Your arms around him as he cooks, your head on his lap as he watches TV, your body against his in the bed. The website finishes its search and he takes a deep breath, investigating the results. There are various common social media websites, accounts with academic journals (which he appreciates you for), and a couple of other sites he doesn’t recognise. He clicks on the first and furrows his brows. Fanfiction? He supposes that you are a voracious reader like he is, and you mentioned liking to write, but never admitting to what you wrote. This was it then, was it? Your secret writing? It wasn’t that secret, the account was registered in your name, all the works listed being for books and media that you talked about often. You had quite a decent following, at least in his eyes, you were no celebrity, but you had a decent collection of comments and likes.

He starts to read, beginning with your most popular piece. He digests it in moments, his cheeks burning bright. It was pure pornography. Well not purely, there was quite a well-woven storyline behind it, but the focus was undoubtedly the filthy sex scenes. He loosens his tie, feeling hot. He double and triple checks that this is definitely your account, but it clearly is. He’s feeling a little disbelieving, you had just always seemed so innocent to him, but he supposed the two of you had never discussed sex in any way. Spencer would have combusted if it had ever come up. He inhales the rest of your work, getting unreasonably hard in his slacks as he reads. He’s impressed by the skill of your writing, but more than anything, by how delicious your imagination is. It’s like you’ve plucked every fantasy he’s ever allowed himself to have out of his brain and written it up with beautiful flowery language. He doesn’t know half of the characters that you’ve written for, but it doesn’t matter to him, as he imagines the two of you in their places and it works perfectly. Almost like it was written with the two of you in mind. He discards that thought, but not before noticing that you’ve been writing a lot more in the past few months you’ve known each other. He notices how many of your stories centre around a more submissive male, a favourite trope of yours seeming to be having the female partner sit on their face. He imagines you sitting on his face and groans aloud, having to palm his bulge through his slacks. He imagines you’d be like the protagonists in your stories, dominating but kind. He reaches into his slacks to stroke himself, not something he does often, but something that has certainly been more frequent lately. His eyes skim a passage of one of your stories as he tugs at himself, picturing your face between the words. He cums harder than he thinks he ever has because this feels that much closer to the real thing. Once he’s done, he sits catching his breath, staring at the mess on his hand and stomach. He thinks he should feel ashamed, but he’s still aroused, terribly so. He wishes he could show you what you do to him. Before he can stop himself, his aroused brain much less intelligent than he usually is, he makes an account on the site with his name and leaves a comment on your most recent work.

“This was the hottest thing I’ve ever read,” 

He sends it and sits back, wiping the rest of the residue off his stomach. As the haze of arousal lifts, he realises what he’s done. Panicking, he tries to delete the comment, but there’s no option to. He swallows, taking a deep breath. It’ll be okay, he tells himself, if she ever notices, I’ll pretend I was just being sarcastic, teasing her for writing this kind of thing, not genuinely rocked by it. However, his phone is already ringing. It’s you. You never call. You couldn’t have seen the comment already, could you? He seriously debates not answering, even as he’s desperate to hear your voice. Against his better judgment, he picks up the phone.

“Am I speaking to SpencerReid1981?” you chuckle over the phone, your voice teasing as you recite his username. His plans to pretend he was mocking you go out the window the second you talk. He can tell you have one over him by the confident tone in your voice. You’ve had one over him since the day you first met. 

“Y-yeah,” he relents, seeing no way out of this now. What would the chances be of another Spencer Reid born in 1981 having commented on your fanfiction? If he wasn’t so nervous and lingeringly aroused, he could’ve told you. He decides to just be earnest. “You’re a really good writer,”

“How did you even find me on there?” you scoff, laughing gently. He blushes, glad you can’t see it.

“You don’t want to know,” he mumbles. There’s a moment of silence.

“So… you found it hot, huh? What part?” he chokes slightly on his spit, going bright red, you can probably tell, even through the phone.

“Don’t make me say it,” he squeaks. You hum softly on the other end.

“Oh come on… you started all this,” you coax. He’s silent for another beat, you hear his laboured breaths on the phone. 

“The- when- when she uh… sat on his face,” he stutters out. You smirk.

“Really?” you stretch out the last syllable in a playful manner. “You a big giver then?” you say it to tease him, expecting him to sputter and deny it, to beg to change the subject, but he doesn’t.

“I– I would be for you,” you both go silent, you in shock and him in fear of your reaction. You’re dumbfounded that he would ever be so direct with you. It’s been clear to you for a while that he has a thing for you, you’ve caught his lingering looks on your lips or your thighs, the way you’re able to fluster him, but you’d assumed he’d dance around it forever. He’d just essentially admitted, leaving it hanging in the air.

“Come over,” you answer simply, hanging up the phone before he can ask questions or change his mind. Spencer feels completely dumbstruck by your words. Come over? His legs are carrying him to his door before he can think about it. He grabs his bag and his coat and hurries to his car. He’s never driven so fast in his life, he’s only been at your place once, to drop you off after your work, but the way there is memorised like the back of his hand anyway. He worries in the back of his mind that he may get a speeding ticket, but any fine is worth it for you. He’s sprinting up the stairs of your apartment building, his long frame moving nimbler than ever before. He reaches your apartment and knocks at the door.

You answer the door, dressed in some loungewear and he suddenly realises how real this all is. He stands there staring, unable to do anything else, even as you greet him and tell him to come in. You have to take his arm and pull him inside, your hand on his arm lighting him on fire. But he’s shy again, he needs you to take control of this because he has no clue what he’s doing here. He’s never done something like this before, and he's never been so reckless. Did he even lock the door when he left home? You look so beautiful that everything could be stolen from him and he wouldn’t bat a lash. He fidgets, looking anywhere but your eyes. You’re talking to him but he can’t figure out what you’re saying, his brain feeling like mush. He tries his best to pick out some words from the pleasing hum of your voice. You’re saying something about your bedroom. He connects the dots when you start to pull his arm.

“Wha- wait, what are we doing?” he asks, his voice shaking. You freeze, tilting your head.

“What do you mean what are we doing?”

“I mean– uh– I wasn’t really– are we…?” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting. 

“Don’t you want this?” you frown, worrying you’d misread this somehow, even though he’d come rushing over here. He stares at you, eyebrow twitching. You move closer, gently smoothing your hand up his arm. He closes his eyes, losing himself in it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, even though he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to. Whatever it is, if it’s preceded by you touching him like this, it must be good. He follows you like a puppy as you guide him to your bedroom. You place your hands on his chest and he whines, somewhere deep in his throat. The feeling is just so overwhelming in all the best ways. His eyes are wide staring down into yours as your fingers twist, gripping his sweater vest. You lean up, touching your lips to his and he’s whining again. He kisses back, his hands finding your hips, hovering. Your hands are raking through his hair.

“Lie on the bed for me,” you mumble between kisses. He shivers.

“Are you going to sit on my face?” he asks bluntly, needing to know if he’s getting what he’s been thinking about non-stop since earlier this evening, probably even before that. You chuckle at his candour, he’s always been like this and it’s endearing that he’s no different in this situation.

“That’s the idea,” you grin, tilting your head to the side to press closer as you kiss him. He shuffles toward the bed and you push him back to lie down, disconnecting your lips to pull his sweater vest off. He looks up at you pleadingly until you lean down to kiss him again. You straddle his stomach, his hands lie awkwardly at his sides. His breathing is erratic and his fingers fiddle nervously with the material of your sheets. “You okay?” you ask between slow wet kisses.

“Just nervous… I don’t– I can’t disappoint you and I– I don’t really have a lot of experience here,” he admits, his lips pressing needily against yours between words. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll take care of you,” you promise, he nods against you. Even he’s surprised by how much he trusts you. You pull back, watching as he stares up at you, his eyes practically black. He’s panting heavily. You pull your shirt over your head, feeling his hips buck under you as your breasts come into view. He’d always known every inch of you would be perfect for him, and he was right. He was a genius after all. You move just enough to shed your pyjama pants, taking your underwear with them. You stuff your panties into Spencer’s slack pocket with a wink. He takes a shaky breath. 

“Thank you,” he exhales, eyes drinking you in. You giggle, shuffling up to straddle his chest. He swallows loudly, his mouth watering from the little glimpse he can get, craning his neck. “I’m so… glad we’re doing this,” he whispers. You chuckle again at his behaviour. You stroke his hair gently and his eyes flutter. He usually hated unexpected touch, but everything you did was blissful.

“Ready?” you ask softly. He nods, eyes fluttering back open, determined to get a glimpse of you that he can commit to memory. 

You lift up and shuffle yourself over top of his face. He gasps like he’s just seen God. You, spread open above him, glistening with want. He grips tightly at the sheets, trying to keep himself grounded as the heady smell of you fills his nose. He leans up and places a gentle, experimental kiss on your folds, whining as he does so. You hum softly, leaning forward to brace yourself against the headboard. Puffs of breath wash over your core for a moment, before Spencer leans up, flattening his tongue and laving it against you, up and down, slow and steady. You can tell he’s still finding his way, so you let yourself enjoy the gentle pleasure. You sigh encouragingly as he gets acquainted with the area, exploring it with the tip of his tongue. Never in a million years would he have guessed that you tasted so good. Though he was new at this, he knew anatomy well and knew the spots he’d be looking for. His tongue finds what he assumes to be your clit and he gives it a soft kiss, feeling your hips gently buck. Success. He swirls his tongue carefully around it, not wanting to overwhelm you. Your sighs increase in volume. Spencer takes a chance, lifting his hands and wrapping them around your thighs, pulling you down so you’re more seated on his face. You gasp slightly and he smiles, eagerly returning to his work. His tongue laps at you hungrily, getting into a rhythm. He breathes through his nose, not wanting to stop what he’s doing for even a moment. The taste of you gets stronger and stronger against his tongue as you approach your peak steadily. He groans at the taste. Your hand snakes down into his hair, gripping his long locks to keep yourself anchored. You moan above him, your head lolled forward against the headboard. As he starts to focus his tongue more pointedly on your clit, flicking gently like he read to do in a book once, your hips rut slightly. 

“Suck it,” you pant. He doesn’t register your words for a moment but when he does, he happily complies. His lips close around the little nub and he sucks carefully. Your hand tightens in his hair and you wail in pleasure. You grind yourself down onto his face as he suckles at you gently. You both know what’s coming and while Spencer is thrilled he could get you there, he almost doesn’t want it to end. It’s as if you read his mind. “Don’t stop,” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging slightly into his scalp. He pulls you closer to his face, focusing all his efforts. He switches fumblingly between licks and sucks, but it seems to be working nonetheless as you become louder and louder. “Oh! Spencer!” you cry out, your whole body shuddering. He almost comes in his pants at the sound of it. “Ooooh!” you wail, reaching your peak. Your body tenses and then releases, going limp with bliss. His lips stop moving and he stares up at you, waiting for your next move. “Oh, that was amazing Spencer,” you sigh, sluggishly moving down his body until your faces are level. He licks his lips, gazing at you adoringly. You reach up to wipe his wet chin with a small smile.

“I was okay, then?” he chuckles nervously, his hand coming to your waist, a little unsure.

“What do you think, genius?” you tease, kissing his temple. He sighs and flutters his eyes closed. Everything had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what this meant for the two of you and your friendship, so blinded by lust when he got over here. But you were kissing down his jaw and neck, not indicating that you were kicking him out, and he felt a little better for it. He notices that your lips are straying quite low, over his chest and stomach through his shirt. His eyes flutter open and his breath hitches as he sees you gazing seductively up at him.

“Wha–?” he stammers as you start to unbuckle his belt.

“Returning the favour,” you smile, pressing kisses where his shirt had ridden up. He moans softly, his brain starting to turn to mush once more.

“God, I love you,” he gasps. You both go still for a moment as his words sink in. He can’t believe he just said that, especially right now, with your head hovering over his crotch, even if he desperately means it. He opens his mouth to try and fix this but you beat him to it. You press a kiss just below his belly button.

“I love you too,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[mariasont]

What if I put an insane little idea in your head and let it bounce around? Mid seasons (7/8 ish?) Spencer with a kinnda sorta fangirl? She just started at the BAU and it’s not that she’s weird about him but she does have like 3 of his papers memorized down to the letter and she “possibly quoted him on her college application essay” (it’s the literal conclusion).

Like she’s just this little ball of excitement and he has no clue what to do when the team is like “ask her out for the love of god and stop making heart eyes when she lets you nerd out”

Sorry if this makes no sense it’s 2:30 in the morning

FANGIRL - S.R

a/n: AHHHHH BECAUSE WHAT IF I JUST SMOOCHED YOU

loved, loved, LOVED this idea and writing it! you are amazing <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: reader being a fangirl for reid because WHO WOULDNT BE UGH

wc: 1.2k

"Dr. Reid, hi, it's such an honor. I'm the new agent."

You give him your name, hand extended out to him, bouncing off the balls of your feet. There was a badge pinned to your shirt, the clip attached to it gleaming in the fluorescent light, which despite its usual severity, seemed to soften around you.

Spencer comes to a standstill, his coffee suspended mid-sip, documents wrinkled in his hands as he assesses you. You are pretty. exceedingly so, but he's having trouble processing it, his mind still shrouded in the remnants of sleep. 

He blinks away his surprise. "Nice to meet you. Hotch must've briefed you about the team, I assume?"

He adjusted the heap of papers to under his arm, freeing his hand to meet yours. The softness he encountered prompted a momentary pause, awakening a sudden urge to not let go. However, he promptly set aside the thought, releasing your hand with a concealed hesitation. 

You fiddled with your earlobe, you shot him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, Hotch did, but I already knew a bit about you. I've always been a fan of your work. I mean, not like a fan per se, because that would be weird, right? But I've read all your papers, and they're just... they're brilliant, honestly."

Spencer was clearly caught off guard, his brows leaping upwards as he surveyed you. You weren't lying--that much was clear to him. He could see it in the way you met his eyes with an enthusiasm so bright it was nearly blinding.

"My work? You're actually familiar with it?"

A soft giggle bubbled from you, a sweet sound that seemed to momentarily leave him winded. He placed his coffee on the desk, leaning back slightly. 

"Oh, definitely. Your research on chemical composition analysis in narcotics? I've read it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep."

He considered the possibility of you exaggerating. He took great pride in his work and (without sounding too cocky) he was well aware of its significance and contribution to his field. However, there's a difference between knowing your work is recognized and encountering someone who has internalized it to such a degree--especially someone like you. He suddenly felt a touch of self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry, that was too much, right? I promised I'd play it cool, and then I saw you and... well, it's all just really surreal," you said before gesturing vaguely towards the bullpen. "Anyway, I'm going to go, uh, find my desk."

You hurried away before he could refute your words, head bowed. He felt like an ass.

The day threw him off balance. His contributions to the team lacked their usual insight, his mental gears turning more slowly. And for some inexplicable reason, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of you. He attempted to rationalize it as a reaction to your interest in his work, a level of admiration that was a rare find. Unlike the formal niceties from others, your excitement about his work, about him, stood out.

He tried to latch onto Hotch's deductions about the unsub, willing his intellect to snap to attention and offer up a decent theory. However, a glance in your direction derailed his efforts. You were bent over the desk, your hands animatedly navigating through the papers. He was happy to see your enthusiasm was there despite his lack thereof earlier.

"Based on the geographic profiling and the choice of victims, it looks like the unsub has a background in urban planning."

Emily nods, "Good theory. What led you to that?"

He watches the anxious flicker in your eyes, glancing towards him, hands clasped together as you incline your head his way.

"Actually, I read about a similar case in Dr. Reid's paper on The Spatial Patterns of Serial Offenses." It strikes him then--he hasn't yet invited you to use his first name, adding another tick to the ever-growing list of ways he feels he's been inadvertently discourteous. "The clustering of crime scenes near arterial routes suggests the offender leverages the urban grid to facilitate escape and avoid detection. Embarrassingly enough, that was the topic of my college application essay."

Spencer was momentarily speechless (not something that happened often), his mind racing through the physiological response to shock--catecholamine release, vagal tone alterations, even transient arrhythmias--mirroring the way his heart seemed to skip a beat. You really did have his work memorized.

"That's, uh, right," he said, his voice gaining momentum. "By leveraging the urban grid, the offender not only evades capture but also creates a psychological terrain of control."

Hotch nodded in agreement, turning your attention to a series of photographs.

Before Spencer even looked her way, he could sense Garcia's stare, and as he turned, she prodded him with her elbow, smirking. "Seems like she's quite the match for you, doesn't she?"

"Huh? What? No, I mean--she's my coworker, and besides, she's much younger." Spencer was quite sure he sounded anything but convincing.

Garcia raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "I meant in terms of smarts, but oookay, Spencer."

She walked out with a bounce in that definitely hadn't been there earlier, and Spencer was left with a red face.

He had every intention of pulling you aside, to apologize for earlier, to reassure that he didn't find you odd or weird, and to admit that he was genuinely flattered. But it appeared that every time he had a chance to make it to your desk, you had vanished, or were in deep conversation with JJ, or inside Hotch's office.

It was a relentless cycle that persisted until the end of the day, when everyone began to leave--except for you, who remained still firmly planted at your desk, fervently jotting notes into your notebook.

Absorbed in your work, you didn't notice his approach until he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said softly.

Startled, you flinched, prompting him to immediately feel like shit. Strike three. You laughed off the shock when you realized it was him, moving your notebook aside, offering him your undivided attention.

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, hi! How's it going? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I'd see if you needed help with anything, and you can call me Spencer, if you want." He glanced at his watch. "Are you still working?"

You pushed a piece of hair from your face and nodded towards the formidable pile of forms. 

"Spencer, okay," you said, like you were testing it out, "and just sorting through a mountain of onboarding paperwork."

He nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "Listen, I need to apologize for earlier."

You tilted your head. "What for?"

"I think I wasn't as welcoming as I intended to be."

"That's okay, I know I was a bit intense."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't. It's just... It's rare that my work gets much attention. I'm happy you appreciated it. If there's a specific topic that you're more interested in, maybe I could explain more about it sometime?"

You glanced down at your hands, trying to hide the smile that was blooming there. You weren't successful. When you looked back up, Spencer felt a little bit awestruck by your eyes, the flecks of color that he could now see clearly.

"I'd love that. Maybe over coffee?" you suggested.

"Yeah, sure." He could feel the heat rushing up his neck. 

He reluctantly parted ways, leaving you to your paperwork, and as he approached the elevator, Penelope was there.

"You know, sugar, maybe I did mean quite the match in a romantic way. So, are you going to ask her out, or shall I play Cupid?"

He blushed. "I think she might have just beat me to it."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles

join my taglist here!

[moonylvs]

⋆˙⟡ The prophecy

Summary: Your whole life of being ignored in love makes you believe that love will never come for you, so seeing James start dating the only person you thought loved you is too much for you. 'Let it once be me' Pairing: Jegulus x fem!reader Words: 4600 Warnings: Reader is an insecure nerd with a lack of love (she's also oblivious), mentions of crying and self-hatred, use of yn one time, hurt/confort, a bit of angst if you close one eye, slightly suggestive (Nothing explicit), a lot of fluff <3 Let me know if I miss anything!

Since you were little you could not help but feel forgotten, of course there were people who loved you, you were not a complete loser, you had a few friends and had no problems with anyone in your class, but still that painful feeling was still there, your friends had more friends, more friends to spend time with when you were not there, but you did not have so many people to hang out with.

Regulus was the only friend you were really close to, the only one who hadn't moved away over the years, Regulus had more friends, such as Barty or Evan, but he always showed you that you were his priority, including you in all the plans he made, listening to you attentively and never leaving you alone, the boy wasn't good at expressing his emotions, but it was the little details that made you feel his appreciation for you.

Over the years you and Regulus had become too close, you practically lived in his room, where he could listen to you for hours talking about the same subject no matter how much you rambled, it wasn't always like that, sometimes it was quiet evenings where you were both silently reading, just enjoying each other's presence.

Anyone who knew Regulus knew you and vice versa, you spent most of your time together, occasionally being accompanied by Barty or Dorcas.

With anyone else you couldn't help but feel like a lapdog, chasing people and seeking their attention, with Regulus none of this happened, there was no awkwardness or anxiety, just tranquility and affection.

But as always, the universe seemed to want to test you, every year a misfortune happened in your life, this year the misfortune was called James Potter and it was a cute quidditch player with glasses.

At first you didn’t care, you and regulus were assigned together to a school job with James, nothing out of the ordinary, regulus seemed somewhat irritated by the idea of working with one of Sirius' friends but said he wouldn’t give it any importance.

The assignment was not particularly easy, it was hours in the library and you had to admit that working with James wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but time seemed to pass quickly when the three of you were together.

Everything seemed relatively normal to you, you didn’t even care that James and Regulus seemed to get along, it was all too subtle, started with Regulus going to the library first, spending time alone with James and discussing assignment issues without you, then James started visiting more often the black lake, where you and regulus spent time together, but after that Regulus started going to the library without you, you used to find James chatting with regulus in the halls.

You wanted to think it was nothing, regulus still your best friend, still paying attention and even remembered your favorite chocolate, which he made sure to give you whenever he felt something was wrong.

You wanted to convince yourself that nothing was wrong, but there was a strange feeling in your chest, a little voice in your head telling you that something was wrong.

But how could this be wrong? James was sweet and attentive, he was the most popular boy at Hogwarts, he made Regulus smile, which no one else but you did, he even talked to you, included you in his plans and talked to you, listening carefully to what you said.

Even if you tried to hate James you couldn't, the boy was a gentleman in every sense of the word, but you thought it was his nature, you didn't think you were special, so you let James carry your books, walk you to class and even went to the three brooms with Regulus, for you it was nothing out of this world, but in spite of everything that horrible feeling wouldn't go away from you, that feeling that everything was going to end badly.

You really wanted to like him, there was nothing wrong with James, maybe it was you that was wrong...

“I didn't think you even knew anything about poetry” you could recognize Regulus' voice as he turned in one of the corridors, which surprised you, you hadn't seen him all morning, which was strange since you used to have breakfast together on weekends.

“Oh hi dove” James' voice snapped you out of your thoughts, you hadn't even noticed that you almost bumped into them.

James had a habit of calling everyone by nicknames, from “dove” to “sweetheart”, so you had understood that it didn't mean anything, but a strange feeling settled in your stomach every time he did.

“Hi, where were you?” You asked both of them, although your gaze was fixed on Regulus, your voice was calm but had some concern in it, had they gone out alone?

“We went to hogsmaede, for the poetry books I told you about” Regulus said calmly, but you felt a pang in your chest, you were the one who had told Regulus about those new books in the bookstore, you had agreed that you would go together for it.

“I thought we were going together after dinner” You said somewhat confused, but it was obvious that you were feeling a little bad about this.

“Ah it's just that I told James and he offered to go with me, you seemed busy with your Herbology homework, I didn't want to bother you” Regulus explained without giving it any importance, he really believed that you didn't care, you had gone a million times together to Hogsmaede and he had seen you a little off these last days, so he didn't want to bother you or force you to go out, he knew you were not the most social person.

But he didn't know that you didn't care, that you would always go out with him if he asked you to, of course, you weren't a fan of socializing or going to places with a lot of people, but you didn't care if it meant going with him.

“Oh okay, sure…” You said trying to sound as calm and disinterested as possible, maybe it was ridiculous, you were just overreacting, right? Regulus could go out with whoever he wanted, it didn't matter, but why did it hurt so much?

“We can go again later if you want, Marlene said there is a new coffee shop next to honeydukes” James said almost instantly, he seemed to have noticed the way your mood had changed.

“Oh no, Regulus was right, I have to finish my herbology homework…I'll see you guys later” You said with disinterest, though you couldn't even look them in the eyes, you felt a lump in your throat forming, a whirlwind of emotions flooding you, but you didn't want to make a spectacle of yourself there, it would be ridiculous, so you didn't let them say another word and hurried off to your room, feeling a pressure in your chest grow and the tears stinging in your eyes.

You wanted to stop the tears but you couldn't, it had all become too much at that moment, so all you could do was lock yourself in the bathroom of your room, sitting next to the bathtub and bringing your legs to your chest as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You felt ridiculous, crying over two boys you didn't even have anything with, that was the problem, you had nothing, you never had anything, at the beginning it was a joke between you and Regulus, saying you were both losers with no love life, but now there was only you, Regulus had James, the most damn beautiful and attentive boy at Hogwarts, and where were you?

You didn't know what it was that feeling that came over you, some kind of envy or… jealousy?

You had seen the way James looked at Regulus, with stars in his eyes, you wanted that, you wanted someone to love like you were the air he breathed, you wanted to be able to intertwine your hands with Regulus' like James did, you wanted to snuggle between the two of them and wake up knowing you had someone who cared about you.

But you knew it wasn't possible, you knew it since you were a little girl, when all your friends ended up moving away, when everyone started to have their first kiss and you hadn't even held hands romantically with someone, you just wanted it to be you for once.

A knock on the door made you jump in place, at first you thought it was just one of your roommates, but a voice proved otherwise.

“Is everything okay in there, love?” at that moment you couldn't hate regulus' nicknames any more, you didn't want to see him at that moment, to anyone.

“Yeah, I'm fine” You said trying to sound calm, wiping the tears coming out of your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Can we come in?” your brow furrowed slightly at his words, We? but as if Regulus had read your mind, he spoke again. “James is here too, you didn't look so good earlier.”

You wanted to curse, what the fuck did James have to do there? You didn't want to be seen like that, you didn't want anyone to see you like that, but there was another feeling in your chest, you wanted to be comforted, you wanted someone to tell you that everything would be alright.

So before Regulus could say anything else, you walked up to the door and unlocked it, opening it slightly before stepping away, letting them in.

James and Regulus felt their chests heave at the sight of you, your eyes puffy and reddish, traces of tears on your cheeks and your eyes burning bright with tears.

Your gaze went to your hands, playing with the hem of your sweater, you didn't have the courage to look at them, you felt ridiculous, dramatic, like a little girl.

James was the first to approach, the brown-haired man was about to take you in his arms, wanting to protect you from everything, but for a moment he remembered that you and he were not as close as he would like, and he had seen you pull away a million times when someone tried to hug you.

“What's the wrong, dove?” asked James worriedly, holding back the urge to stretch his arms toward you.

Your chest tightened as you listened to him, why did he have to use those nicknames? Why did he have to be so nice?

“It's nothing, it was just a b-bad day I guess” You said trying to sound disinterested, but the slight cut in your voice gave away that something was wrong.

“This isn't just a bad day, yn, you've been acting weird all week, even with me” Now the one who spoke was Regulus, his voice sounding a little hurt, it was true, you had been pushing Regulus away for the last week, something you had never done before, the boy had been there for you all your life, you would never want to push him away, but this last week it had all become too much, your thoughts were overwhelming you, making you miserable and you didn't want Regulus to deal with you and your problems, you couldn't be a burden, to him or anyone else.

Your gaze lifted slightly, looking at Regulus and James for a moment, you felt your eyes fill with tears almost instantly, Regulus was wearing James' sweater, you didn't know if you hadn't noticed it before or if he had just put it on, but either way it hurt, it made your chest tighten.

Your mind went back to the last few weeks, remembering all the interactions between James and Regulus, the way they both looked at each other and laughed, the hickeys you had tried to ignore on Regulus' neck, the times you accidentally caught them in the hallways in a sweet kissing session, all those memories invaded your mind at once and made you feel miserable, because you were losing the only person you had ever loved, because it wasn't you who they loved, because it was never you who was loved.

Tears came out of your eyes non-stop, making you sob like never before, you felt like a little girl, weak and alone, wishing someone would hold you and tell you that everything would be all right.

Regulus soon came closer, wrapping you in his arms as if he was afraid you were going to fall apart right there, you wanted to cry harder, you felt ridiculous, you would have wanted to walk away, to disappear, but at that moment everything became too much and you could only sink into Regulus' arms, wishing your misery would end.

Regulus felt his chest tighten at seeing you so heartbroken, you had been holding it all in for so long that now you felt as if your own feelings were suffocating you, Regulus felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight of you, feeling terrible for letting you get to this point, for not having cared sooner at seeing you so distant, a pang of guilt appeared in his chest.

James next to you wasn't much better, his face was one of genuine concern, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know you well enough to know what to do, he was afraid of getting so close to you that you would push him away.

“Love, please tell me what's wrong, it hurts me to see you like this” Regulus murmured, lightly stroking your hair, you sank deeper into his arms, wishing for it to be over, for the pain to disappear once and for all.

“I-I am what is wrong, it's a-always me…” You said between sobs, your head was starting to hurt from crying, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

“Dove, there's nothing wrong with you-” James started to say, trying to get closer to you, but you didn't even let him finish, feeling the pain cloud your t,thoughts.

“You don't know anything! Y-You would never understand…” You said painfully, pulling away from Regulus' arms, feeling your own chest tighten, to you James was the perfect boy, who had all of Hogwarts behind him, he would never understand your pain, no one would.

“Let us try, let us try to understand you” Regulus said quietly, trying to get closer to you again.

Your eyes filled with tears again, you felt a pressure in your chest suffocating you, you instantly shook your head, they were not going to understand you, they couldn't, not even you could, at some point they would notice how complicated you were and they would walk away, they couldn't fix you.

“I don't want to be understood, I don't want to be fixed, I don't-” You said in a clipped voice, tears kept coming out of your eyes, blurring your vision, you didn't even notice when James and Regulus had come so close to you.

“There's nothing to fix about you, love, you're not broken or damaged” James said softly, bringing his hand tentatively to your cheek, wondering if you would pull away or not.

But you didn't, you let James reach his hand up and gently touch your cheek, wiping away the tears that came from your eyes, his hand was warm and gentle on your cheek, you couldn't help but soften at his touch, it felt so good.

“I just want to be loved, is that so hard?” You said in barely a whisper, you sounded so vunerable, both boys felt their chests squeeze at hearing you, there was no way you were hard to love, not for them.

“Not at all, we've loved you from the first moment you appeared in our lives” Regulus said warmly, moving closer to you and James, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You felt your breath catch when you heard his words, he didn't mean it, you were misinterpreting things, there was no way…

“You dont mean that, regulus, you dont-” You started to say instantly, pulling away from the touch of both of them defensively, you couldn't believe an illusion, you couldn't deal with the pain of losing them both.

“I don't what?” Regulus interrupted you, not letting you move too far away before gently grabbing one of your wrists. “I don't love you? You're not one to say what I feel or don't feel, I love you, and so does James” Regulus said seriously, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

You felt your breath catch, there was no way, it must have all been a dream, but you could feel Regulus' hand on your wrist, holding you gently, showing you that it was real, this was real.

“I don't know why you seem so surprised, dove, I know Regulus isn't very expressive but I thought we had been too obvious with our feelings for you” James said with obviousness, giving you a small smile, showing you that his words were true.

Your mind seemed to click, the memories of the last few weeks coming back to you, you had spent the last few weeks together with both boys and you had to admit that Regulus was a little more clingy with you than usual, he had looked at you more than usual while you were studying and you even remembered him playing with the bracelets in your hands, but you couldn't believe there were any other feelings with his looks or touches, he was your best friend and you had been so focused on his interactions with James that you hadn't even noticed how he acted with you.

With James the memories made you blush, now it all seemed a little more obvious, James was much more affectionate than Regulus, putting his arm around your shoulder as you walked, or telling you how good your hair looked with waves.

At that moment you couldn't help but shrink in place, feeling embarrassed, had they really been so obvious and you hadn't noticed?

“You really didn't notice anything?” Regulus asked incredulously, though something in his chest ached, you really didn't think they could be in love you?

“I, I d-didn't think…” The words didn't come out of your mouth, you felt embarrassed and a bit stupid, you wanted to believe their words but something in you still felt that it was all a bad joke, how could they notice you?

James noticed how your mind seemed to go too fast, overwhelming you with thoughts and ideas that weren't even true, so without thinking he approached you, taking your cheek again.

“We really like you, both of us, we love listening to you talk for hours about your books and hearing you laugh, I love when you insult me because I don't keep quiet in the library, I love how you and Regulus seem to get lost in your own world when you're together, I love how smart and kind you are, I love you, all of you.” James said sincerely, looking at you with those sparkling eyes that left you in no doubt that what he said was true.

You felt a new warmth in your chest, something you hadn't felt before, and it felt so…. nice

“I know that maybe now everything is too much and we'll go slow if that's the way you want it, we care about you, more than anything in this world, and I know that sometimes I'm an idiot who doesn't know what he wants, but if there's one thing I'm sure of is that I love you, and nothing will change my feelings for you” Regulus said, his cheeks were slightly flushed, you knew how hard it was for him to express himself, so every word meant too much to you.

Your mind was still thinking too much, a thousand ideas and emotions running through your mind, so many that they could overwhelm you, but for a moment a new feeling appeared in you and silenced everything else, it was love.

Your mind went blank, all the fear disappeared when you saw their looks, they were genuine, so for the first time you decided to believe, you decided that maybe this was for the best, you deserved it, for once, for the first time, it was you.

You were loved.

“I love you too” You mumbled in barely a whisper looking at both boys “I'm sorry for…for how I acted… I thought you guys were leaving me out and I-” You started to explain, feeling your chest hurt as you remembered how you yelled at James and walked away from Regulus, but they didn't let the pain last too long.

“It's okay dove, we didn't know you felt this way, we should have been more direct with you” James murmured warmly, with that tone that made you feel so safe.

“James is right, it was me who wanted to give you space when I saw you a bit discouraged, I should have asked what was wrong, I'm sorry, love” Regulus added with some pain in his voice, to which you immediately shook your head.

“No, no, it's not your fault, I preferred to isolate myself than to talk to you…I always do” You said without looking at them, the last thing in just a whisper, isolating yourself was something you couldn't avoid, you preferred to sink in your pain and misery than to let others carry it.

“You don't have to keep doing it, we're here and we're not leaving” Regulus said sweetly, taking your chin and lifting your gaze, “If you want space just tell us and we'll wait for you, love, but we'll always be there for you, you have us now, you don't have to go through your pain alone, you don't have to let your thoughts consume you, you're not alone.”

You felt your heart squeeze at Regulus' words, you were not alone, you had them, if this was a dream you never wanted to wake up.

Without thinking about it you approached Regulus, hugging him tightly and sinking into his arms, not without first taking James' hand so that he would also come closer, he didn't hesitate for a minute to hug you both.

“I love you, so much” You said softly, you wanted to say a million things, but at that moment you couldn't, you just wanted to sink into their arms and make everything else disappear, they knew it, they didn't move away for a moment, they didn't need words to know that you loved them.

“We love you more, dove, you have no idea” James said affectionately, running a hand through your hair in an loving gesture.

From your position you could hear the heartbeat in Regulus' chest, it was the best melody you had ever heard.

You wanted to stay like this forever, with them, they were everything you had ever dreamed of, you loved them.

Regulus carefully took your chin, lifting your face, his eyes were full of love, they were looking at you as if you were a dream.

“ May I?” murmured Regulus softly, his eyes fixed on your lips, he was asking for your permission, Regulus was asking for your permission to kiss you, and you felt like you would melt right there.

Almost instantly you nodded, there was no doubt in your mind that you wanted him to kiss you, even if you had never kissed anyone before, you wanted him to be the first, there was no doubt in your mind.

James was totally gawking at the sight of them, his heart was pounding in his chest.

Regulus didn't think too much before he gently cupped your cheek, bringing his face close to yours and pressing his lips to yours, you felt like you were in a dream, his lips were sweet and decisive on yours.

You felt all his love released in that kiss, it was as if he was pouring out all the love he had kept for you during all these years.

Your hands went to his hair, holding him close, your lips moved inexpertly over his, you wished it would never end.

Regulus seemed to feel the same, because it wasn't until you pulled away for air that he let you go, still holding your cheek.

Your lips were slightly puffy and your cheeks flushed, you were trying to catch your breath, and to James and Regulus you were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

“You've been waiting for this for a long time, haven't you?” James said to Regulus with some amusement, Regulus was in the same state as you, trying to catch his breath.

Regulus rolled his eyes slightly, before moving closer and leaving another kiss on your lips, this time a shorter one but with the same love, the boy had definitely become addicted to your lips.

When you pulled away you didn't know what to say, your cheeks were flushed, the smile on James' face didn't make you feel any less embarrassed, even in that state he looked at you as if you were a work of art.

“Damn I really want to kiss you” James gasped softly, bringing his hand to your jaw.

You didn't let James say anything else, you brought your lips to his and kissed him, to say you were scared was an understatement, but the moment your lips touched James' everything vanished.

James kissed you with such desire, his hand went from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you close, his kiss was desperate but sweet, very different from Regulus, one of his hands went to your waist, pulling you closer to him and groaning in between the kiss.

James seemed to have been waiting for this moment all his life, at one point he lightly bit your lip, making you open your mouth and thrusting his tongue in, turning the kiss more heated, you felt your cheeks flush and you could barely keep up with him.

“James” Regulus called as a warning, making James pull away slightly, still keeping his grip on your waist.

“You'll have plenty of time for that later, let her process all of this first” Regulus said with amusement though there was some seriousness in his voice.

You were grateful to Regulus, sure the kiss with James was a dream, but your mind was still trying to process all of this, so you definitely needed to slow down a bit, this was all new to you.

James didn't look disappointed at all, he simply nodded slightly at Regulus, his face somewhat guilty, feeling that perhaps he had gone too far, he was much bolder than the black haired boy clearly, but if you needed to go slow he would wait as long as you needed to.

Even though your heart was still beating too hard in your chest you still wanted to prove to James that he had done nothing wrong, so you took his face and left a kiss on his lips, taking a moment to pull away.

“I love your kisses ” You said sweetly for James, showing him that all was fine, to which the boy's eyes lit up, giving you a small smile, god how you adored that smile.

That day all your fears vanished, you could feel a mess, a chaos, but among all the noise, there they were.

Finally the prophecy had changed for you.

I hope you liked this, I think it's a bit long but I think it's worth it, I hope all my Prophecy girls enjoyed it, your turn will come, don't forget i xoxo.

[4acoffee]

You can't breathe.

Your mouth burns.

Your body won't stop shaking.

You can barely see through the tears in your eyes (when did you start crying?)

You're on the floor, in the kitchen.

You look over, Katsuki is next to you, hunched over himself so you can't see his face, his shoulders shaking violently.

He stills, and looks up slowly to meet your blurry vision.

You both pause, and for a moment you know nothing but the crimson of his eyes, still bright and piercing.

Then you cough, a mistake because you immediately feel the burn of spice going down your throat sending you into a coughing fit and bringing more tears to your eyes.

It makes him break into hoarse laughter and watching him makes you laugh brokenly through your coughing with him.

The empty packs of Extra Spicy Curry Masala Maggi noodles lay abandoned between you on the floor after your competition of who could eat the most spicy noodles.

You think all the spice may have had some sort of effect on your brain chemistry the way you and Katsuki couldn't stop the breathy laughs from escaping even in such a pathetic state.

You're not exactly complaining, it's not often you get to see him look so content and carefree. It fills you with a sense of self-satisfaction that he feels comfortable enough around you to lose the ginormous stick up his ass personality he generally keeps up around most people.

You know you're also laughing way to hard right now, but you've also made a mess on the floor and Katsuki in between cackles comes to your side to help wipe up the sauce that was spilled from your poor attempts at wielding chopsticks.

"It's ok, you can admit I won now."

Katsuki tells you with a smug grin.

You look at him incredulously.

"What are you talking about, this was obviously a tie, — both of us finished the same amount of noodles" you correct.

"Yea but obviously, I'm handling it way better than you are, nerd." He objected with an appraising look at the heaving breaths you took and your flushed nose from rubbing it so much.

You snicker a little because for all his talk, he's honestly not faring much better, with his cheeks all flushed and the constant sniffing.

You reach out and gently wipe a bit of sauce staining the corner of his mouth. He playfully sticks his tongue out and licks your thumb before you have a chance to retreat, laughing when you gasp scandalously and smiling boyishly at you in a way that makes your heart feel like it's filling with soda bubbles.

He uses the moment to really take in your appearance.

Your lips are swollen and a dark red from all the spice.

Eyes shiny from the tears and sparkling under the dim kitchen lights.

You're grinning a little too wide in a way that would absolutely make yourself cringe if you could see yourself.

And Katsuki really thinks you've never looked prettier in his life.

In some sort of fit, he suddenly reaches forwards and tangles his fingers into your hair and pulls your towards him.

the burn of his mouth on yours is almost more potent than the still lingering taste of the spicy noodles on your tongue.

You make a quiet noise of surprise and brace yourself with a hand on his thigh and on the cabinet next to you.

He pulls away just enough to watch you, your chests heaving, the brief kiss more than enough to steal the breath from both your lungs.

Once again that familiar scarlet consumed all your attention and you couldn't help but fall into him as he pulls you closer.

You meet him half way this time and you shiver when he groans into your mouth.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips and you can taste the way he feels and the way he licks into you has you reeling.

You're still a little lightheaded from the laughing and the spice and it's too much for you to stop your body from trembling when he holds you.

The realization crosses your mind, that you're sitting on the floor of your kitchen, making out with one of your closest friends, and you wonder when the line between friendship and something more had started to blur because it obviously had if you're in the position you're in now.

This time you pull away, a little embarrassed that your first kiss with Katsuki was when you tasted like Extra Spicy Masala Maggi noodles, but in a way it was perfect and you knew you were never going to be able to forget it.

Still, you can't look at him, turning your face to the side and closing your eyes when he dips his head low to catch your gaze.

He snickers lowly at your reaction and that only heightens your embarrassment, feeling the tips of your ears go hot.

You feel his lips meet your cheek, not gently at all, smushing up into your face with aggressive affection.

"Now will you admit I win?"

Masterlist

[tanoraqui]

Theory: Elrond effectively wears headlamps like a Dad(TM)

Proof:

Elrond, at least on semi-formal occasions, wears “a star upon his forehead” (RotK book 6, ch.9)—that is, presumably, a pale glowing gem on some sort of coronet. This comes across as very classically Elvish (light, jewelry, star imagery), and a nigh-explicit reference to his father Eärendil. However…

Elrond’s children don’t see as well as Elves, as cited here. If his children don’t, then Elrond, even less Elvish by blood, certainly doesn’t. Now, I will admit that I forget if “Elves can see in the dark” is canon or very popular, D&D-enabled fanon, but it certainly makes sense considering that Elves flourished for centuries or millennia under just starlight, before daylight even existed…and it’s equally reasonable to assume that half-elven night vision is as relatively “weak” as their cited distance vision.

Elrond is the proud father of three, and exhibits traditional Dadly behaviors such as being a little bit of a nerd (loremaster) but also one of the most reliable guys you know, adopting any child left in his presence for a sufficient amount of time (Aragorn), and telling his daughter’s aspiring bf that he won’t be good enough for her until he has a steady job (also Aragorn).

My dad irl, who I promise is a pretty typical Dad, was positively delighted when he discovered casual-use head-mounted flashlights about a decade ago, and has self-satisfiedly worn them on every camping trip and nighttime dog walk ever since.

CONCLUSION: Elrond regularly wears glowing, star-evocative gems on his brow, especially while traveling or at fancy evening parties, and he looks great and it make people respectfully murmur Eärendilion (whether he likes it or not)… But really, it’s not a fashion statement or implicit political position or whatever; it’s because if he doesn’t have some sort of flashlight, he will trip on torchlit steps or walk into low-hanging tree branches in the dark. And it’s so much easier if it’s hands-free! (Especially when he’s spelunking for lost texts!)

His kids all go through a phase of thinking he’s mortifyingly dorky about this, then begrudgingly come to accept that it is really convenient to have a hands-free light for dark nights, caves, etc, and start wearing one themselves.

[fratttymatty]

The Card That Changed Everything

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Novak had always been the quintessential "nerd" in high school. At 18, he was just a few weeks away from graduating, a proud member of the debate team, the editor of the school newspaper, and a staunch liberal in a town that was a bit more on the conservative side. With thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder, he had always felt a little out of place. His friends, a small but close-knit group of fellow "outsiders," often joked that if the high school hierarchy were a pyramid, he’d be firmly planted at the bottom, right next to the chess club.

Elliot had been expecting a quiet, uneventful Friday night. But when his best friend, Max, invited him over for a game night, he reluctantly agreed. It was nothing too out of the ordinary—just a few games of Uno and maybe some pizza. What he didn’t expect was that this seemingly innocent night would change his life forever.

It started innocently enough. The group—Max, his girlfriend Lily, and Sarah from the drama club—sat around Max’s living room, laughing and talking as they shuffled the colorful cards. The first few rounds of Uno passed without incident. Elliot was his usual self: sarcastic, quick-witted, and, as always, a little too passionate about winning.

Then came the final game of the night. For some reason, the cards seemed to fall differently. He felt a strange energy in the room, a kind of buzz that seemed to hum in his ears. It was Max who had drawn the last card, and as he placed it down, there was a sudden flash of light, so brief that no one noticed—except Elliot.

The world seemed to tilt.

He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake the odd feeling of vertigo. The room appeared the same, but everything felt… different. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly larger, more muscular, the knuckles rougher. His clothes felt tighter, almost too tight. As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his glasses, but they weren’t there.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice coming out deeper, rougher than usual.

Max, still grinning from winning the last round, glanced over. “You okay, man?”

Elliot’s heart started to race as he realized something was wrong. He glanced at the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His once lean, skinny body had transformed into something broader, more defined—his arms, his chest, his jawline—all of it seemed so different. His short, curly brown hair was now dark and tousled in thick, messy curls, and his face, still familiar in shape, had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by the sharp angles of a confident, athletic young man.

He was no longer the bookish Elliot Novak. In the mirror, staring back at him, was someone new.

“Max, I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay,” Elliot’s—no, his new voice—sounded unfamiliar, confident in a way it had never been before.

“Dude, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” Max asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I… I feel different,” Elliot murmured. But as he spoke, he didn’t feel the anxiety or the usual sense of out-of-place-ness he had grown accustomed to. Instead, there was something else—a surge of confidence, a sense of power. A feeling of certainty.

He was no longer Elliot Novak. He was Ethan Cole.

Ethan ran his fingers through his new head of tousled, dark brown curls, noticing how it felt different, more natural than his old look ever had. He straightened his back, feeling the strength in his spine, the ease of standing tall. He had always been awkward about his body, but now it was as if he had been molded into something new, something purposeful.

Max looked him up and down, his eyes widening. “Holy crap, Elliot, what the hell happened to you?”

The name Elliot felt wrong in Ethan's mouth. "It’s Ethan, man. You know, like… the name that suits me," he said with an easy smirk, not understanding why he was suddenly so at ease with himself. A new sense of self-assurance flooded his veins, and he felt an overwhelming desire to flex his muscles, to show off this newfound strength.

"You're acting weird," Max muttered, unsure what to make of this transformation. But Ethan was already adjusting to his new life.

He looked at the game of Uno, now discarded on the floor, and the realization hit him. It was the game, the card. It had changed everything, even his very identity. But rather than panic, he felt a strange sense of… relief.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't miss being the old Elliot. Being Ethan felt right. His thoughts began to align with his new persona—no more arguing about social justice issues, no more complicated liberal viewpoints. No, now he saw things clearly. The world was about competition, dominance, and personal achievement. It made sense. Everything made sense.

And the people around him? They weren’t so different from him anymore. He gave Max a friendly clap on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro. But we should hit the gym sometime, huh?”

Max blinked in surprise. “Uh… sure, man. That actually sounds good.”

But something in Max had shifted too. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed with sudden focus, and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use a solid workout. We should start lifting.”

As if by magic, Max’s transformation mirrored Ethan’s. His body began to tighten and firm up, his once lean frame now more muscular, shoulders broader, chest more defined. His hair, always scruffy, seemed to grow thicker, more styled—almost like it had a purpose now. He gave Ethan a playful shove. “Maybe I’ll even beat you at this gym thing.”

Ethan grinned. “You can try.”

The two exchanged a knowing look, as if they were already bonding over something bigger than just physical strength. It was a new world, one where power and confidence ruled. For Ethan, it felt like a natural fit.

As the evening wore on, Ethan felt something else—something different in the air. Kassie, Max’s girlfriend, had been sitting on the couch, watching their interactions. She was the type of girl who didn’t usually give Ethan much attention. But now, there was something new about him—something magnetic, something that drew her in.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the way his new curls framed his face. She smiled slowly. “Ethan, right? I’ve gotta say, you’re looking good.”

Ethan felt his chest puff with pride. “Thanks, Kassie. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She laughed lightly, a flirtatious edge to her tone. “How about we grab a coffee sometime? You and me?”

Ethan smirked, feeling the newfound confidence flood his veins. “Sounds like a date.”

By the end of the night, Ethan had fully embraced his new life. He wasn’t just a jock in body; he was a jock in spirit. His new persona felt like home. Kassie was his girlfriend now, Max was a jock too, and together they would rule the school.

The old Elliot, with his liberal ideals, his anxiousness, his nerdy quirks—was nothing more than a distant memory.

Ethan Cole was here to stay.

[cherie-doll]

what if like.... cod men + victorian era + vampires...

 ๋࣭♱ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Valeria, Phillip Graves

what if when life got hard you were able to just run off into the countryside like those ladies in the 1800s but it's a place you never heard of and it's weird and strange. there's fog everywhere and all the townspeople are pale and you're just trying to enjoy the last days of summer but it's winter here already and your attention is wanted by every gentleman who has a fixation with your neck.

Nobody would've guessed that the respected captain by the surname Price was a vampire. He remains rather courteous despite his vampiric impulses. Perhaps, his gaze lingers far too long on your exposed neck in the ballroom, sensing the pulsing veins underneath your skin.

Simon was certain he'd never fall for another soul, much less a mortal human. He was still being haunted by a past so grim that it made a solitarian of him. Why must all love be unscathed? Was no love pure? Was it all tainted with anger, guilt, and sadness?

Johnny being the eldest son in his family who knows he'll have to face his responsibilities sooner or later but what if this man just wants to focus on botany. Like this man just wants to go on travels to find plants, bring them back and just be a little nerd in his study, but alas, society calls. And to him, you're like another fascinating life form to be studied.

Tortured musician and poet Kyle who would die for any form of art. Music and poetry make up his soul and is possibly the only reason he has continued living. Being a dhampir is harder than if he were just a vampire or only a human, why must his self be divided?

Gary who doesn't even want to be a vampire, he's just wanted to be normal all his life and now he'll never be. He's sweet, he's caring and he wants to make up in qualities for the monstrosity that he is in physical form. Be nice to him.

Alejandro and Valeria having to be at peace with one another because without each other they wouldn't have survived when they were first transformed. Alejandro was literally buried alive because he was declared dead, and only Valeria knew. He sought sanctuary in the cathedral Valeria was a nun at. He becomes a replacement for the bishop overtime, becomes a priest and spares Valeria. She's a hedonist and has a little too much fun with the other nuns.

Phillip being an ex-commander has no business whatsoever being here, he's accumulated wealth over the years and is now travelling. He ends up finding this town, seeing you and decides he'll hang around for a while. He's got too much pride and money but little connections in this land and not many willing to side with him.

[strawberryshortcake1495]

Here’s my personal interpretation of the Reverse Portal AU aka “The Summer Project”, told through the perspective of Mabel (loosely based off @urdadsceilingfan’s AU)

So this AU version of Mabel is still the sweet bubbly little girl she is but with a sprinkle of sad loser in it. She and Dipper had a normal happy childhood until elementary school, where Dipper got involved with the Book Club. The Book Club mainly consisted of the nerds of the school and Dipper instantly clicked with them, since they were the only people who seemed to understand him. But what Dipper didn’t know was that the Book Club are actually a bunch of misogynists who bullied Mabel. And I can’t even say Dipper didn’t know about it, because sometimes they’d mock her right in front of him. Dipper truly was concerned about his sister but was too afraid of losing his friends. Most of their sexist comments made Mabel want to stray away from doing feminine things which resulted in her to stop doing the things she genuinely loved, like knitting sweaters. Mabel and Dipper would always bicker about the Book Club and their parents were starting to notice how their relationship was starting to strain and they knew the upcoming divorce would just make things worse for them so they sent them off to Gravity Falls for the summer to live with their Grunkle Ford. 

Mabel and Dipper kinda swap places in this AU, but like only a little. Like, their personalities are the same but their sense of self is slightly different. With Ford and Dipper growing close, Mabel feels left out and abandoned. She starts becoming desperate for some sort of connection and that’s when she decides to summon Bill Cipher himself so he can help her become a more likable person. Bill ends up possessing her with the promise that he’ll just do all the socializing for her and she’s very much grateful. Did I mention this takes place in Double Dipper? (It’s a subplot) Bill doesn’t actually do anything threatening or harmful in Mabel’s body, he just acts confident around everyone he sees just like Mabel asked. But this “confidence” just makes her look a weirdo. But luckily, Candy and Grenda LOVE weirdos! So by the time Bill leaves Mabel’s body, she’s already got herself two new best friends. Mabel is extremely grateful and asks if there’s anything she can do to repay him. Bill tells her about the underground lab in the Shack and says if she helps reactivate the portal and allow him into the physical realm, he’ll give her all the friends she needs. Of course, Mabel takes the bait and most of Season 1 is her tracking down the journals and trying to understand them while making sure nobody else knows about her master plan.

In Not What He Seems (although the episode would be titled as “Not What She Seems”, Ford and Dipper find out about Mabel’s plan to free Bill and Ford is freaking out. During the climax of the episode, Ford, Dipper, and Soos confront Mabel about her plan and she has a breakdown about how lonely she was until she met Candy and Grenda and Dipper asks her if having him here wasn’t enough (it wasn’t). Dipper is the one who has to choose between his Grunkle and sister and Mabel is just sobbing the entire time. But instead of him choosing either side, he just stays frozen until deciding to press the button but the timer has already counted down. The person who comes out of the portal isn’t Bill, but Stan himself. 

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hii!!! Your blog is literally so perfect. Love it.

Could you recommend some more angsty fics where either Derek or Stiles is really insecure and has low self esteem? Happy ending only, if that’s alright. I really appreciate it!

Aw thanks anon! There's already an insecure!stiles tag so I focused on insecure!derek.

The (Tell-Tale) Heart Doesn’t Lie by novemberhush

(1/1 I 100 I General I Sterek)

After a little gentle teasing unexpectedly hits a nerve with Derek Stiles is quick to reassure him that he knows there’s more to the handsome werewolf than just being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

I Know the Pieces Fit by shealynn88

(1/1 I 2,700 I Teen)

“Stiles?”

It’s Derek’s voice, quiet in the dark with the low hum of the pack behind him.

Derek's the hardest one for Stiles to understand. Sometimes he thinks…but then it becomes clear, it’s not like that. Derek tolerates him. Appreciates his loyalty, at least. The way Stiles appreciates the brave hiss of a kitten. Cute. Admirable. But not equal.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by lielabell

(1/1 I 8,695 I Mature)

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It's clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles's body can't help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn't the first-- and most likely won't be the last-- hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek.

Cliche by adult_disneyprincess (orphan_account)

(2/2 I 9,305 I Teen)

It’s cliché as shit, Stiles thinks. The nerd in love with the punk. He figures he wouldn’t want Derek Hale so much if he didn’t have those fucking tattoos everywhere, didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, and didn’t wear those stupid leather jackets. They’re not the same jacket either, Stiles has counted at least four different ones that the resident punk owns

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit 

(1/1 I 18,010 I Teen)

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

--

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

Defying Convention by rororowyourboat

(13/13 I 24,331 I Teen)

Stiles is a newly certified fully-trained Spark, and he's on the market to chose a werewolf pack to act as Emissary for. The biggest problem? Almost every pack in North America wants him, and he's supposed to choose a pack at the 3-day conference. But how's he supposed to get to know any of the likely candidates when they're just being so damn polite and respectful?

Derek and his sisters are at the conference with bleak hopes: their pack was decimated by hunters years ago and their caustic attitudes have turned away most potential applicants.

Rarity by peanutbutter4lyfe

(8/8 I 29,837 I Explicit)

Derek let's the guys throw a party for Stiles' 18th at his loft and instantly regrets it. During the party Derek starts acting strangely, his senses going wild. He reads the signs and thinks Scott is his mate. It drives him crazy when Scott doesn't feel the same, until he figures it out... with a little help from Peter.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 58,399 I Teen)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist.

Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope.

He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles.

“I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

You're stronger than you know by Littleredridinghunter

(15/15 I 234,195 I Not Rated)

Stiles survives his encounter with Gerard and his goons, but it isn't easy.

The pack are letting him down again, his dad is not speaking to him, his life is just generally falling apart.

Until he has to get a bronze dagger to kill a siren and his whole world gets flipped on it's head!

My summaries are rubbish but I hope you'll still give it a chance!

[joicecubes]

this started as a twitter post but it got way too long

i feel. INSANE. ABOUT FIDDLESTAN YOU GUYS. i’ll admit i didn’t get it at first, like the original concept seems kinda bonkers, they never interact! what a silly rarepair! BUT NO. I SAW A SINGLE PIECE OF FANART AND IT WAS OVER FOR ME. IM HOOKED. im sorry i need to talk about them

my favorite set-up for fiddlestan, and the one i see most people going with, is the idea that fiddleford comes back to ford’s house after ford’s already been sucked through the portal, so he finds stan instead. and thats like such perfect/devastating (depending on how you look at it) timing because their wounds from ford are both so raw.

i feel like this is gonna get long so. gay rambling under the cut

on the one hand, they get from each other what they never got from ford. or at least, what they lost from ford. fiddleford wants love, he wants his unwavering devotion to ford to be reciprocated. and stan, being such a deeply lonely person, can give him that! what he wants is companionship. he wants a friend, like what he had in his brother. he wants forgiveness. and god, fiddleford is one of the kindest, most forgiving characters in the show. if anyone will see where stan is coming from, if anyone can extend forgiveness and understanding where ford fell flat, it’s fiddleford.

and while this exemplifies just how deeply they would need each other in this scenario, when you think about how tightly they both clung to ford, there presents a very real possibility that one or both of them would feel like ford’s replacement.

stan is ford’s twin. people have played with the idea that fiddleford would see a lot ford in stan, even though they may not be very similar in demeanor. they look the same. and deep down, they do have similarities. alex hirsch said in a dvd commentary that there is more of ford in stan than he even realizes, and fiddleford would probably see that. not to mention just how deeply he would miss him.

and when stan has always felt like a worse version of ford, you can imagine he might feel like a stand-in, especially as him and fiddleford get closer. fiddleford, whether he means to or not, would definitely see his best friend in stan. he has his face for god’s sake!! and would stan just accept it? would he be upset to be seen in this light, to act as a replacement, or would he accept that he’ll always be second to ford? either way is just. DEVASTATING. for fiddleford to unintentionally confirm all of stan’s deepest fears and insecurities…

and then there’s what fiddleford is to stan. while i don’t think fiddleford would feel as deeply a replacement as stan does, he IS a big fucking nerd. and stan probably begged him for help getting ford back when he found out that fiddleford is not only a scientist, but worked on the portal in the first place. and he of course wants ford back too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if fiddleford ends up feeling like stan only keeps him around for that purpose and that purpose alone. to learn more about ford, to live vicariously through him as ford’s best friend. because stan is desperate to know more about him, to satiate this need, this wound of missing his brother for over a decade.

god and all the little things too… fiddleford being riddled with anxiety and stan being able to ground him, to knock some much-needed sense into him the next time he wants to pick up that memory gun. stan struggling to take care of himself, to see his own self worth, and fiddleford being there to make sure he eats enough food, reminds him to shower, helps wash or cut his unkempt hair. falling asleep holding each other, because they need that comfort, that warmth, that heartbeat, to feel okay enough to rest.

ugh you could do sooo much with these bitches it drives me up the wall. i feel so unwell just thinking about them. i could yap even more but i’ll keep that for another post

[withonly-sweetheart]

well. @bunnivievve this one goes out to you, cheers to glasses leon art that inspired this.... + @uhlillie, i am not immune to rookie dog leon fever you've spread around.. coughs. nsfw mention ahead <3

<><><><>

those glasses. you've watched him since he got here, the way they never quite stay on his nose, always tilting downwards in some way, with the eager bob of his head on his second day when he gets assigned a t.o.

you. it takes him a second to scan the seated officers, searching for you, squinting through thin glass frames at your nametags, before finally spotting yours.

he drags his eyes back up, catching your eyes, immediately looking away at your irritated glance. the last thing you need is a little nerd going around telling you what to do, all the codes you're breaking.

so you go with your intimidation factor. although he has a few inches on you, you do your best to initially instill a sense of dominance, a sense of fear so that he respects you.

and it works! god bless, he doesn't question anything you say after that, and although you notice the dips between his brows when you know you're doing something questioning the law, he bats an eye and looks the other way. an obedient dog, that's what the other boots call him.

you brush it off as jokes between the rookies, so you completely miss what should be an imaginary tail wagging at your scarce words of praise, rare to his ears yet still musical.

you've got him wrapped around your finger, yet you don't even realize it. he's down bad, and the further he gets with you, the lack of improvement, he realizes that he doesn't want your praise.

embarrassingly enough, he likes what you say to him, the way your fingers curl around his shirt collar when you threaten him in low whispers, breath fanning the shell of his ear.

he doesn't tell anybody about it, of course not. that would be blasphemous, the fact he's attracted to you itself would be frowned upon, to think that he likes what you say? horrible. you'd find him disgusting, and not seeing you would be unbearable.

so he does the next best thing; drinks his worries away. he comes to terms with the fact that no matter what you do, you'll always be the hottest in the station.

leon tries his best to keep his eyes respectful the next day, keep the relationship purely business, you're just coworkers. not even partners in the sense, you command him.

which is why he can't explain the flutter of gratitude he feels when he's about to turn the corner and catches a snippet of your conversation with the sergeant.

"i just think that you would do well with a few days off," he attempts, trying to reason, something leon gave up well in the few hours he got to know you. "you're tense all of a sudden, and i'm inclined to think it's because of that rookie."

"my wellbeing has nothing to do with my boot." hearing you say that sends unexplainable sparks jolting through him.

"until you can figure out what's wrong with you, i'll have to assign him to another unit. hopefully it's temporary."

he hears you let out a huff of compliance; you both know that arguing with your superiors gets you nowhere. but leon's sigh is dreamy, he slumps down the wall a little, letting himself relax. the files clutched in his arms only straighten when you turn the corner and run straight into him.

"get to work, boot," you bark, back to your old self, showing no hints of the compassion you had displayed in the office. you glare up at him and shove him out of the way, and a paper flutters from his arms.

when he gets back up after picking it, you're gone.

the next day, you're in for a shock. not a big one, never that. but it's still a surprise to see leon without the glasses you so easily identified him with. when leon came to mind, you couldn't imagine him without them resting on his face.

a pleasant smile greets you when you lean on one arm, slamming your palm onto his desk, and he keeps his face irritatingly neutral.

"oh, those old things?" he shrugs nonchalantly, like it wasn't a key feature of his that was now missing, throwing you for a loophole. "thought i'd get rid of them while i could, y'know?"

"no, i don't," you hiss. "don't you need them to see?"

"used to need them, ma'am," he says in that clipped tone of his. "now there's no need."

oh, you'll show him a need. you've made that decision long past when you're furiously knocking on his door, trying to file all your thoughts into orderly lines, wondering what you'll say in the off chance he'll actually answer-

"ma'am?" his unclear voice breaks you out of your trance. you cast him a questioning, harsh look, wiping your gaze over his wobbly lean to the right, onto the doorframe.

"officer kennedy, have you been drinking?" your hands fly to their marked positions on your hip, resting your thumbs on your belt.

"what if i have?" he asks, voice timid.

"that's an offense of our state's penal code-"

"and how many times have you offended that code, ma'am?" he manages to stay respectful and criticizing at the same time, an ability you've envied whenever he tells off one of the other officers.

"listen here, boot. what i do is none of your concern."

"it is when i'm yours."

there's a heavy silence hanging between you two as his eyelids droop, obviously he doesn't realize the power of what he's said.

"when you're... mine?"

"i heard you," he slurs, startling you with a boyish giggle that precludes hiccups that punctuate his speech. "with the- hic!- watch commander, what you said about me- hic!- i'm yours, 'm right."

you push him inside, if only under the guise of putting distance between you both, when you surprise yourself with wanting the exact opposite.

"when i get my hands on you..." you say, meaning to sound intimidating.

his eyes are glazed, hazy when he looks down at you, stepping just a little bit closer, and your hand flicks the door closed easily, challenging him up the upward tilt of your eyes.

"why don't you try me, ma'am?"

---

his hair is a mess from how much you've messed it up, unsatisfied with yourself yet satisfied with how every position, every spike of his straw colored hair, manages to frame his face perfectly.

his mouth hangs open, breath coming in short, wispy pants, head thrown back with every roll of your hips, even though neither of you have abandoned even a singular article of clothing.

his lips are red and swollen, the color of cherries and glossy with your shared saliva, glistening in rivers down his chin with every lurch of his body, every arch of his back.

you catch his glasses sliding from his nose, teetering off the sharp edge, so you press a quick kiss back to his lips and center them, admiring how cute he looks quivering underneath you, so vulnerable except for his eyes.

"you like that, hm?"

"y-yes, ma'am."

god, that gets you every time. now you'll never be able to escape this image of him whenever he calls you that at work.

those eyes that look up at you, pleading, whining, begging underneath you, and you realize that you've liked having him as a rookie, perhaps for this selfish reason, one of many to come.

you don't know if he's only letting you do this to him because he's drunk, under an influence that might lead him to forget this. but you are sure if that's the case, you'll have no problem reminding him where his loyalties lie.

"you think this is an offense of the penal code?" you ask teasingly when you're done, running your fingers along his bare chest while he skims a few documents.

the corner of his mouth turns upward and he turns to face you, kissing your temple before humming his assent.

"i'll be sure to check that for you tomorrow, ma'am."

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