#how can he fuck with the man if he's in prison miles away

[pbaintthetb]

was looking over my old Necromancer!MXY magical realism(not cultivators)/rural decline au for inspo and found this fragment which I shall now share

“My aunt always told me that my mother was a witch, although it’s probable she and I were not thinking of it in the same way,” Mo Xuanyu explains to Nie Huaisang, busying himself with resurrecting his collection of daffodils. “It’s also entirely possible that she actually said ‘bitch’ but why concern myself with the details?”

[pedrospatch]

conflicted

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Your captor gives you a bath. You have some conflicting feelings when he touches you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. also tagging elements of NONCON just to be on the safe side. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, Joel killed her father, mention of blood, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own. pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, pretty girl, little girl), daddy kink, very minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: <1k

a/n: this is a bit less than a blurb. a blurb of a blurb. a blurbette, if you will. i shelled it out in like less than an hour. to me it is part of the captive universe, but can be read as a standalone! please be advised that this is not fleshed out at all, i just felt like writing something that didn’t require too much brain power.

He pours one last pail of hot water into the tub.

“How’s the water?” he asks you.

His voice is so deep. Rich, like molasses. 

It’s also laced with a southern accent, you’d noticed.

Aware he’s still waiting for an answer, you shrug.

He tries again. “S’not too hot, is it?”

He had ordered one of the women in the group to start a fire and boil water collected from the stream they had stumbled upon just a mile south of the small cottage.

“Seriously, Joel?” Angela had glared at him. “I am not a fucking maid.” Hands planted on her hips, she foolishly added, “If I’m gonna haul and boil water for a bath, it’s gonna be for me, alright? Not for that little fucking brat of yours.”

His switchblade had gone straight to her throat.

“Fuckin’ say that again,” Joel hissed, the sharp edge of the blade lightly slicing into her flesh. “Call her that one more time and see what fuckin’ happens.”

She apologized and then got to work, completing the task within a couple of hours.

Finally, you answer his question.

“Water’s fine,” you mumble. It’s hot, but not scalding.

“Good.”

Joel kneels beside the tub.

Flinching, you hunch over and pull your legs up against your chest.

It doesn’t matter. He’s already seen you naked.

He’s the one who had undressed you, after all.

Dipping a washcloth into the water, Joel instructs, “Sit up straight, honey.”

Honey.

The pet name makes you feel sick to your stomach.

You’re not his honey. You’re his prisoner.

He frowns, the creases between his brows deepening.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pretty girl.”

Obediently, you nod and the water sloshes around you as do what he says.

You saw what he was capable of. You’re terrified of him.

With a satisfied hum, he begins washing you.

It had been three days since the massacre. Joel gently scrubs away the crimson caked onto your skin and the color of the water turns to rust. You don’t know whose blood you’ve been wearing—could it be your father’s?

He had been standing in front of you when his life was taken by the very same man that knelt beside you. Had his blood splattered on you? Was it being cleaned off by the same man who had so violently spilled it?

Your stomach lurches at the thought.

He had been trying to protect you during the ambush.

Your father had been trying to fucking protect you.

And Joel Miller had killed him.

He had killed him just to get to you.

Joel runs the washcloth down your arm, his dark gaze dragging over every inch of your body. “Such a pretty, pretty little girl,” he murmurs. Dropping the washcloth into the water, he gently cups one of your breasts in his large hand. He sweeps his thumb over your nipple and lightly teases the pebbled flesh, his digit circling it until it becomes a stiff peak.

Your eyes flutter closed and you inhale sharply.

There’s a strange feeling in your lower belly.

Strange because it’s not entirely unpleasant.

He trails his hand lower, raking over your tummy.

Lower.

Lower.

Lower.

He rests his palm over the mound of your pussy.

Gasping, your thighs clench together.

You’d like to think it’s to keep him out, to keep him from violating you further, but the burning pressure building in between your hips seems to be saying otherwise.

Horrified, you squeeze your thighs even tighter.

No. Don’t let him in.

But what if your resistance led him to force his way in?

You shudder, unable to decide which would be worse.

Joel leans forward over the bathtub, pressing his lips to your temple. “Don’t fight it, honey. S’okay that it feels good,” he mumbles against your skin. “It’s s’pposed to feel good when I touch you, baby.”

No, it’s fucking not!

Bowing your head, quietly begin to sob.

He wraps his arms around you. “Don’t cry, babygirl,” he soothes. “Don’t cry. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you. I promise I’ll always take good care of you.”

His vow makes you cry even harder.

divider credit @saradika 🤍

[yandere-daydreams]

okay worst walks-of-shame in genshin, ranked from 'kinda bad' to 'i would rather die'. my mind's been in a weird place, today.

5) kaveh/alhaitham. it doesn't matter which. if one of them is railing you in that apartment then you WILL have to walk past the other and he WILL be judging you. it's a much smaller scale but they make up for with sheer intensity.

4) childe. there's a couple of factors involved here, including 1) the embarrassment of having fucked childe and 2) the fact that he is absolutely not hinged enough to have a reliable place to throw down and therefore considers 'the woods less than a mile away from his legion's encampment' a great place to get his dick wet and simply will not think about how you might feel about limping back to your tent wrapped in his coat and nothing else. at least he's in it with you tho.

3) diluc. he gains points bc he does ask you to spend the night but immediately loses those points bc he lives in a vineyard in the middle of nowhere. he'll fuck you on a bearskin rug beside a flagstone hearth but that will do nothing about the post-coital hike you'll have to take back to the city when he's done. don't even think about trying to get him to fuck you at angel's share, either. he is not failing another health inspection bc of you.

2) wriothesley. as was discussed previously, a walk through a prison's central hub + a five hour elevator ride + an emergence directly into the main hub of polite society is not the recommended come-down from getting your back blown out by the second most pent up man in fontaine. you can either grin and bear it or start bringing formal wear to your dick appointments. a human rights' violation either way.

1) ningguang. it's not even a competition. she CAN fuck you on the ground but she WANTS to see how pretty you look splayed across every horizontal surface in her jade chamber and you're the one who's going to have to suffer for it. she'll pay for your lawyer if you chose to sue for the emotional damage waiting three hours for her magic elevator while her secretaries look at you with varying levels of mortification will cause.

[simonisferal]

not you again. "scaramouche x male reader"

YOU were the smart kid in high school till he came along and ruined it. Now that he got you shipped away to your grandmother's, you're out for revenge. To beat him is your greatest wish but would that change now when he's your seatmate, partner. and roommate? Oh for fuc—

warnings: physical violence/fighting, the occasional underage drinking, heavily sexual themes and intercourse + some kinky shit (honestly, who knows), scaramouche is scaramouche 🤦‍♂️, exes to academic rivals to lovers, vulgar language, angsty(mentions of SH, suicidal thought, OD/ED), slow updates, homophobia (sort of), i know nothing about law so don't come at me, slow burn, and i think that's it!

written pieces will marked with 📖

pheonix wrights — miles edgeworths

ᴥ season one — glow up, dick up

episode one — who the hell are you and why is your bitchass tryna fight me?

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

episode three — if im sent away, im taking my dignity with me / fuck you

episode four — yes grandma, i'll rub your bare feet. just don't call grandpa over to tell his war stories again... 📖

episode five — i wonder how much he's suffering right now

episode six — in my slut era!! (i stay home with grams and gramps watching family fued)

episode seven — you'd think being the new kid is shit but it's actually worse since i'm hot

episode eight — who is juicytoot124 and why are they liking my tweets??

episode nine — fuck the school, fuck the students, and fuck the chairs too / who is he talking to

episode ten — this is NOT the USA miley cyrus was partying in 📖

episode eleven — holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

episode twelve — kaeya, pass me the bottle; i’m getting wasted tonight

episode thirteen — holy shit. am i hallucinating or do i see a bobble-headed bitch coming my way? 📖

episode fourteen — it might be the paranoia coming in but i hear cops 📖

episode fifteen — how's my day? oh i was hiding in a fucking closet with my ex boyfriend from the police because of someone decided to steal alcohol. i wonder who.

episode sixteen — so i can't be a whore but my enemy can fuck around with his ex? not cool.

episode seventeen — wait, summer's over already? i was just getting ready to rot in bed!

episode eighteen — basically what i'm hearing is that i'm a god and everyone loves me!

episode nineteen — yeah, so, what i just said previously was a fucking lie. 📖

episode twenty — ah shit, here we go again. 📖

ᴥ season two — and they were roommates?

episode twenty one — my clear conscience can't take this anymore; time to escape prison!

episode twenty two — everything i say was a joke unless you're into it, then it's not 📖

episode twenty three — first day of hell

episode twenty four — am i interfering someone's love triangle??

status: ongoing

started: 04/13/24

taglist: @m-march7th , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku , @featuredtofu , @yourfavoritefreakyhan , @b2tr09 , @ell1e2010 , @pwaap , @vxcmx , @vamxpi , @moonslie04, @allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead , @somnium-kiss , @crxwned-mxnarch , @khisuko , @jad3-n , @emptydinner-plate , @popcorn-milk , @liuaneee , @neversore, @alicerosejane

(@simonisferal 2024)

[archangeldyke-all]

Something with like cellmate prisoner!sevika?! 😭😭😭 idk I just think like her being all dangerous and powerful, having a shit ton of friends but like selectively, no one messing with her maybe even hating how just mean she is. And then comes in reader and yk. I’d love if the story was smutty but u can chose ofc 🫦

i love this so much

men and minors dni

living in zaun is shit. but the one thing that's always kept you and a majority of your fellow citizens in line, was the ever-looming presence of stillwater prison just a few miles away. you've watched countless people enter those prison walls. you know very few who ever came back out.

and now, through a series of unfortunate events that lead to you assaulting an undercover enforcer, you're going to find out first hand just how horrible stillwater really is.

you don't think you've ever been so nervous in your life as the enforcer guides you-- restrained and already hating the itchy fabric of your new life-long uniform--down a long, long hall of cells.

he's chewing a wad of bubblegum, casually, like you aren't about to piss yourself with nerves. "listen kid." he says, looking you up and down. "i read your file. seems like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." he says, shrugging. "no prior arrests, clean record-- honestly i'm surprised they sent you here, but i guess you did break marcus' nose." the enforcer chuckles here.

"you know that asshole?" you ask. the man guiding you snorts.

"'s my boss." he mumbles. beside you, a prisoner lunges at the bars of their cell, screaming at you. you jump, and the guard laughs. "as i was sayin'-- you seem like a real peach. like you'd be a good influence on some of our... rougher prisoners." he mumbles.

dread starts to curl in your stomach. you have a pretty good idea of where this conversation is headed, and you don't like the outcome. you just hope you aren't cellmates with someone real bad: like genie the counter-fitter who got caught two years ago; esmee the weapons expert who successfully set an entire square block of piltover's wealthiest neighborhood ablaze; or, god forbid, sevika.

she'd been caught just weeks ago, smuggling an entire airship's worth of shimmer into piltover's loading docks. it was big fucking news.

sevika's a big fucking deal.

and you want absolutely nothing to do with her.

which is why, of course, the guard pulls you to a stop right outside of the only cell with a light on, the low, dim glow of a reading lamp and the quick flickering light of a lighter. you feel like you're gonna barf.

sitting in the shadows of the cell, puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette, sits sevika, silco's second in command.

if he's the eye of zaun, she's the arm. he might be watching-- but she's doing. she's nothing but bad news; everything you've tried your best to avoid while living in the undercity.

well, look how well that turned out for you.

"sevika, meet your new cellmate." the enforcer calls out. a pair of silver eyes snap up from her book and lock on yours. you shiver.

"fucks' wrong with her?" she mumbles. you gulp.

"nervous, i'd assume. 's her first-offense." the guard says. he shoves you into the cell and you jump as the bars slam shut behind you. "you ladies have fun." he says, before turning and walking away, the smacks of his gum echoing behind him.

sevika inspects you from her chair.

"how'd you fuck up so bad you ended up in a cell with me from your first offense?" she asks, seemingly intrigued.

"punched an undercover enforcer." you whisper. sevika's eyebrow hitches up, a little amused.

"yeah?"

"think his name was marcus, or something." you mumble. she sputters.

"ha! really!?" she asks, a little smile growing on her face. you nod. she takes a drag off her cigarette, then points at the bunk beds. "i get bottom. don't go thinkin' 'cause we're cellmates it means you get to touch my shit. i got people outside pullin' big favors for met to get shit like this." she gestures to her cigarettes and lamp. you nod. "don't look so nervous. i won't bite unless you piss me off."

you try to stop shivering. you don't succeed. "s-sorry."

she studies you for a moment, her smile growing as she does. though she's no longer armed with shimmer, her arm's still in perfect working condition, five little daggers gently tapping on the table top as her eyes dart across you. "you from the lanes?" she asks. you nod. she snorts. "you know who i am?" she asks. you nod again. she chuckles, then stands. she approaches you, circling around you like you're prey, then chuckling and leaning back against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. "you scared'a me?" she asks.

"shouldn't i be?" you choke out.

it seems to be the right answer. sevika laughs, then sits back down at her table, picking her book back up, chuckling intermittently for minutes after.

she's not a bad roommate. she's surprisingly tidy, always quiet, her nose usually buried in a book. she smokes like a fucking chimney, and you've come to find she gets her tobacco-- and sometimes a bit of weed-- from one of the guards every tuesday night.

she's got special privileges among most of the guards. they're always sneaking her books and flasks, letting her get away without cell-searches, letting her read past lights out and have lighters and screwdrivers and other dangerous, weapon-like tools.

you, on the other hand, do not have these privileges. and, keeping in line with sevika's one and only rule, you don't touch her shit. all of this means that while sevika smokes and works on her arm and reads and works out, you spend your time just... sitting on the top bunk. watching her.

sometimes, during open cell time, she gets visitors. you're surprised that none of these visits end in shady dealings-- sevika doesn't seem to need to trade her stash of goods for anything. most of her visits are quick, and most end the same way: a small scrap of paper being shoved in sevika's hand.

she burns the scraps after she reads whatever's on them.

she's... pleasant, sometimes. it's rare, but it happens. one day, you'd forgotten to make your bed before you went to breakfast. you returned to find it neatly made, and when you thanked her for helping you avoid trouble with the guards, she had just waved it off. "don' get used to it. i won't always be here to fix your mistakes."

once, a fight broke out while you were in the showers. you were sent back to your cell soaking wet-- your hair still lathered in shampoo. she had chuckled, called you a "wet rat", and helped you rinse your hair out in the tiny sink in your cell.

and... she's kinda pretty. it occurred to you one evening while the two of you were partaking in your nightly routine: sevika reading in her chair while you study her, pretending to sleep. she'd glanced up at you and whispered. "why're you always lookin' at me?"

you shrugged, then nearly choked on your tongue when 'you're pretty' almost slipped out of your mouth. "uh... i got nothing else to look at." you'd ended up saying. she seemed to accept this.

"you don't have any prison girlfriends?" you ask. sevika's in a particularly jovial mood today: the note she'd been delivered earlier in the afternoon must've had great news. she's decided to share her joint with you. the question slipped out the second you took your first puff-- your tolerance astronomically low from being without for so long.

sevika laughs. "nah."

"but..." you cut yourself off before you get yourself in trouble, biting your lip. sevika chuckles, then nudges your leg.

"y' can say it." she says. you smile at her, then speak.

"it's just... i had a few friends who work at babette's." you say. "i figured you'd have as much of a reputation here as you do there."

she takes a second, tilting her neck side to side as it cracks, then sighing. "i got shit to do in here." she says simply. you raise an eyebrow at her, biting your lip again, and she chuckles. "say it." she demands again.

"you just read all day." you laugh. sevika nods.

"i'm... working." she says. you just nod along, pretending you understand what she's alluding to.

it happens in the strangest way but you and sevika start to become... friends.

she sits alone at lunch, and you sit alone too, on the oppisite side of the cafeteria. but you're so used to looking at sevika, that you find yourself watching her even when there are much more entertaining things to look at, like the handful of fights that break out every meal.

you notice she loves the jello cups you guys get once a week. so you pocket yours and toss it at her later that night. the way she smiles lights up the room even brighter than her tiny lamp. you make it a habit.

she starts loaning you her books, finds you a crate to sit on by her table while you guys read together at night.

and when sevika gets jumped in the middle of the night-- you don't even question it before you jump out of your bunk, grab sevika's screwdriver where she left it on the table, and start swinging in the dark, blindly.

"what the fuck?" someone squawks when you manage to stab something in the dark.

"what?" sevika whispers in the dark.

"sevika, your bunkmate fucking stabbed me!" her attacker's voice rings out.

a light flicks on. you cringe at the sudden brightness, then blink in confusion as sevika and a guard with a screwdriver sticking out of their shoulder stare at you.

sevika's grinning. the guard is scowling. you hold your hands up in shaky fists, preparing for a fight. sevika chuckles.

"relax, sweetheart." she says, swinging her arm around you and tugging you into her side. "ran's a friend." she whispers into your ear. you blink at the bleeding guard, then back at sevika.

"so, what, we're taking your girlfriend with us now?" the guard-- ran-- asks. sevika looks at her friend, then looks at you, a calculating look in her eye. she smirks, shrugs, then looks back at the guard.

"she threw herself between me and a uniform-- can't just throw that kinda loyalty out, now can i?" she asks, smiling.

you don't know what's happening. you're about to ask-- when suddenly you black out.

the first thing that comes back to you is your sense of hearing.

voices.

"sevika, fuck, you can't just throw a wrench in the plan like this--"

"i can do whatever the fuck i want--"

"on the night of the breakout?! no heads up!?"

"do i need to remind you which one of us is second in command, here?!"

"...fuck. c'mon, help me load her in the van."

the next thing is your sense of touch. you're laying on the rumbling cold steel of a van floor-- currently in motion.

you're shivering, but then something warm and wool and smelling like cigars is draped over you.

you're head keeps bumping uncomfortably with every crack in the road. someone gently picks your head up and puts it in their warm nap, a hand coming down to scratch your scalp.

your voice comes next. "mmmh?"

"it's okay." sevika's voice comes. you groan, cracking your eyes open, only for her face to be grinning down at you. "fuckin' maniac." she giggles.

"wha?" you groan. you're seeing double, your head is pounding.

"ran knocked you out. 's what you get for stabbin' 'em." sevika chuckles. "but, you're lucky, 'cause they don't hold a grudge. they helped me lug your ass outta stillwater."

"wha?!" you ask again, snapping up. sevika laughs as you look out the front window of the van-- the depths of piltover surrounding you as you head, presumebly, to the last drop.

you recognize the man driving-- a tall, muscular, tattooed man who'd recently been added to your cell block's guard rotation. in the passengers' seat sits the guard you'd stabbed-- bandaged and watching you with amusement.

"wha's happenin'?" you mumble, looking back at your cellmate as you clutch a hand to your throbbing head. you've been shrouded in a red cloak-- sevika's already out of her prison uniform and back in her 'second in command' look. she smirks at you.

"y' really think i was jus' sittin' around, servin' my time?" she asks. you shrug.

"figured somethin' was goin' on. y' kept gettin' those notes. didn't wanna ask." you groan. sevika chuckles.

"well, you shoulda. or i shoulda warned you, so you didn't try killing my crew." she chuckles. you blink over to the person in the passengers' seat, cringing.

"s-sorry." you mumble. they wave it off.

"'s cool. knocked you right the fuck out, didn't i?" they chuckle. "we're even."

you turn back to sevika. "you broke me out of prison?" you ask. she shrugs.

"'re you mad about it?" she asks. you gawk at her.

"uh... just... a little surprised?"

sevika cackles. you smile at the sound, despite your headache. "i wasn't plannin' on it! then you started givin' me your jello, 'n readin' all my books, 'n..."

"she's got a crush on you." ran fills in from the front.

"i didn't say that!" she shouts.

"she's not denying it though--" the man driving teases.

you choke on your spit. sevika huffs, rolls her eyes, and speaks. "i... i kinda got a crush on you, yeah." she mumbles. "and i swear i'm not sayin' this jus' 'cause i think you're cute but: you should really stay with us at the last drop until things calm back down, since, y'know... you're kinda wanted now..." she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

you blink... shocked.

you don't really know what to think. you tried your whole life to stay out of trouble, and it managed to find you anyways in the form of a drunken under-cover enforcer deciding to smack your ass when you'd had too many drinks to hold your punches. you tried to stay out of trouble in stillwater until you were saddled with sevika. you tried to stay out of trouble with her until she dragged you-- literally, you were unconscious!-- out of prison along with her. it seems like trouble's meant for you.

but if there's one thing you're certain of, it's sevika.

you smile at her, then reach up to cup her cheek. she looks more nervous than you've seen her in all your months in stillwater together.

"you gotta crush on me?" you ask. she gulps.

"i'd say it's a little more than a crush seeing she broke you outta stillwater as your first date--"

"ran!" sevika hollers. you chuckle.

"is this our first date?" you ask, raising your eyebrow at her. she shrugs.

"it's... jus' don't expect the next dates to be this exciting." she chuckles, rolling her eyes. you grin, then dart forward and press a kiss to her lips. when you pull away, she's wearing that same nervous look again.

"you okay?" you whisper. she licks her lips, nuzzles a bit against your hand on her face, and nods.

"'m just kickin' myself for not puttin' the moves on you sooner. coulda been fuckin' you to pass the time in prison instead of readin' all those boring books." she mumbles. you burst into laughter, and she grins.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[ringleader-inky]

Lily Orchard is stupid but what else is new?

So recently Lily has made a challenge that is as follows:

(Keep these rules in mind)

And AntGr and CrimsonEnder made a list of 50 of those charcters. Which Lily responded to and hoo boy is it bad.

Now I'm only going to be doing several characters from this list because 1. I don't know some of these characters and 2. I can only handle so much of Lily's stupidity. So with that out of the way let's get this show on the road.

Of course you'd put N here because you didn't understand his story to begin with. N definitely does fall under number 2 because he was raised by Ghetsis. You know... THE LEADER OF TEAM PLASMA! I've said this before, but I'll say it again N essentially grew up in a cult. That's not even mentioning that in black and white 2 they show that some of Team Plasma really did think they were freeing pokemon. You see part of Team Plasma split because some followed N's ideologies and others followed Ghetsis. They have a whole safehouse in Driftveil City where they protect pokemon separated from their trainers. But yeah N's ideology was totally swept under the rug guys.

First of all, Donkey Kong was actually a villain. It was in his very first game where he kidnapped Pauleen. You know.... this one. You were probably around when it came out Lily.:

So technically Donkey Kong is qualified for this list believe it or not.

As for Dedede and Meta Knight their case is quite simple.

In Dedede's case in the game Kirby's Nightmare In Dreamland. Dedede literally breaks the Star Rod that powers the Fountain of Dreams. Which allows the people of dreamland to have dreams, but since the Star Rod no longer powers it there's no dreams. However Dedede did this because he was trying to keep Nightmare from absorbing the Fountain Of Dream's power and taking over the world. Nightmare is cosmic deity that's evil will destroy Dreamland if he got out. So in that instance Dedede does have a point. After all if the Star Rod isn't in the fountain then Nightmare won't come out and kill everyone.

As for Meta Knight's case. Well... just look at fucking Meta Knightmare. The reason why Meta Knight wants to conquer Dreamland is because Dreamland is lazy. While that might not seem like a good point, consider that Dedede is stealing food from the people and how there's some sort of cosmic threat every year or so. You kinda start to see his point a little bit. But if that doesn't work then how about in Squeak Squad where he steals the chest from Kirby and Daroach. The chest had Dark Nebula inside of it and was sealed away. Therefore having someone try and open it would be a big fucking problem.

Last but not least... Edgeworth:

Before we get into why this point is bullshit I'd like to bring up this ask:

I bring this up because it proves that Lily doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. You see Edgeworth isn't just a state prosecutor. HE'S A CHIEF PROSECUTOR! He's not just some joe shmo. Also really, prosecutor can't be evil? May I call Manfred Von Karma to the stand:

In case you don't know. This man is a prosecutor that had a perfect record. All of his defendants were served the guilty sentence. However the only reason why they were found guilty was because he forged evidence. Meaning Manfred is responsible for putting people innocent in prison. He even went so far as to murder Edgeworth's father. And guess who was his protege?

That's right none other than Miles Edgeworth himself!

Meaning that up till Phoenix had arrived Edgeworth was doing the exact same thing Von Karma did. Granted not forging evidence, but still putting innocent people in jail because of he wanted to keep his reputation and he didn't care for justice. Therefore in the first game Edgeworth was the villain. Whether you like it or not. And because Lily never specified that the villain had to be redeemed or not Edgeworth is viable enough to be on this list. So check fucking mate Lily.

[runawaymarbles]

some things that may or may not happen after the ending of Swan Lake

"Odette, now resigned to her existence, bids a sad, lingering farewell to Siegfried. The prince knows that she is gone forever. In utter grief, he is left alone." - Swan Lake (Kent Stowell version) summary

I. Siegfried is left alone. He will always be alone. He dies an old man at the edge of a lake.

II. Siegfried is alone. He will always be alone. He dies a young man in the middle of a lake.

III. Siegfried is alone. He is alone until the night after the party, when a swan appears at his bedroom window. He has never seen the glow of moonlight on her wings before, and the sight makes him cry.

When he opens the shutters, she settles next to him on his featherbed. She can’t cry anymore, but she bops him on the head a few times.

IV. Siegfried is alone, and he cries on the Jester’s lap. The Jester doesn’t think he’s paid enough for this. He certainly doesn’t have a joke prepared for when the crown prince accidentally declares his love to the wrong bird.

The Queen wonders if she can adopt the Jester and marry him off.

V. Siegfried is alone, officially, but he’s never truly alone because there is a swan that follows him everywhere. Anyone who wants to get any business done learns that they are not allowed to question this.

The swan is kind of an asshole, though: she’s especially prone to biting women who look at the prince just a little too long.

VI. Siegfried is alone, entirely, and intends to always be alone. “I will never love again,” he says, to anyone who will listen.

“That will certainly make a much better ballad,” his mother says, “the poets will be thrilled. But we’ve still got a kingdom to run and a dynasty to continue.”

VII. Siegfried is officially not alone, but he’s not happy about it. He has a pet swan who is also not happy about it. And a new wife, who is the least happy of them all.

“The swan stays in the marital chamber during sex,” the prince says.

His wife would find a way to kill him if she wasn’t afraid of said swan pecking her eyes out.

VIII. Siegfried is only sort of alone, and he hasn’t given up: he asks the Jester to promise to love his swan more than any other woman, on the grounds that the Jester has no sisters and has never loved a woman, nor does he intend to. “I don’t think he specified romantic love,” Siegfried says.

The Jester promises to be the bird’s bestie for life, and suddenly the swan is a woman, and there are screams from outside because the swans that have taken up residence along the roof are women now, too.

IX. Siegfried isn’t quite alone, but he isn’t happy, because the Jester promises, and nothing happens. The prince and the swan go off to cry again. The Jester asks the Queen for a raise.

X. Siegfried is alone. He changes his crest to one that shows a swan, wings spread above a blue square lake. He rules his kingdom, as fairly as one can ever be while wielding absolute authority, but spends the rest of his life watching the sky. He dies alone on a bed made of straw.

XI. Siegfried is alone. One day, a friend points out some swans to him, but he refuses to look at them.

“The form of a swan is a prison and a curse,” he says. “What if that’s not what they’re supposed to be?”

He bans all depictions of swans from the kingdom.

XII. Siegfried is alone, or he isn’t. Either way, he becomes a vegetarian.

XIII. Siegfried is alone. But he has loved, now, and he knows how to do it again. One day, he manages to move on.

He teaches his daughter everything he has been able to learn about preventing curses.

XIV. Siegfried is alone. He fucks the Jester.

XV. Siegfried is alone. A few years later, he learns that a minor noble some forty miles away has a beautiful new wife and two dozen new maidservants. Nobody is sure where they all came from.

But Siegfried knows, and he cries, and he is happy for her.

XVI. Siegfried isn’t alone. He gifts the swan that follows him around the fluffiest pillows. Demand she be paid the choicest foods. The jokes and rumors abound, but he ignores them.

Sometimes servants will hear him talking to the swan as though she’s a person. Sometimes they swear there’s a pattern to her honks, like she’s answering him.

XVII. Siegfried is alone, although he treats his pet swan like a queen. Sometimes, the servants will hear him talking to her.

“Can you still understand me?” he asks. “Odette. Please. Tap my hand if you understand me.”

The swan doesn’t move, until the prince offers more shrimp.

XVIII. Siegfried isn’t alone, until he is. Because swans mate for life, but that life is only a decade or so. When she dies, he calls for a week of mourning throughout the kingdom.

And when she dies, there’s a part of him—a part that he hates—that feels free.

XIX. Siegfried isn’t alone. Because Von Rothbart is defeated, somewhere. Maybe he cursed the wrong princess. Maybe he fell and broke his hip. All anyone know for sure is that one morning, there is a woman lying on the cushions reserved for the swan.

Salad and shellfish go out of favor, as the new queen refuses to eat them.

XX. Siegfried is alone, until a woman shows up at the castle. She’s wearing a white dress splattered with blood, and carrying what appears to be the severed wing of a giant owl. The prince mounts it on the wall above their thrones.

XXI. They live happily ever after.

XXII. Or, they don’t.

[l0velywitch]

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: post prison!spencer reid x mostly gn! reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut! choking, degrading, female genitalia, fingering, cockwarming, overstimulation, edging, teasing, bondage, oral (both receiving) 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 755 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: just the things spencer reid would be into ;)

⇁ spencer loves loves loves loves loves loves teasing you. adores it. he also loves when you tease him, it means he can punish you once you two get home  ⇁ he is a man who loves his lingerie, or he loves seeing you in it. he definitely has a favorite set and when you wear it he dies, like, just combusts.   ⇁ he knows what he’s doing. spencer reid is not a man who can’t make his partner cum, he’s insanely talented at it.   ⇁ he’s definitely into the usage of names like sir and doctor, pull those names out and it’s over  ⇁ he adores watching you get off, it’s definitely more important to him that you cum.   ⇁ he loves overstimulating you, definitely one of his favorite things. he loves making you cum so much you can’t fully form full sentences, loves it sm  ⇁ spencer is very much so into degrading if you’re okay with it, if he can he’d definitely call you all the names in the book. it’s kind of funny because he gets embarrassed saying words like “bitch”, “whore”, “slut”, etc. in front of the team, but when he’s fucking you it comes out naturally and like any other word in his very large vocabulary   ⇁ there are definitely certain outfits within your closet that spencer reid will want to fuck you the moment he sees you in them. like, anything that shows off excessive cleavage or anything that’s short enough that he can just slightly see your ass in if you bend over? oh, or the skirts/dresses that are easy for him to just slip his hand under from underneath the table, he loves them and you can bet that once you’re home whatever you were wearing is being ripped off and he’s fucking you  ⇁ definitely a consent king. will not do anything without your consent, he’d definitely have safe words and do little checkins. he’d also have ways to communicate if there’s something in your mouth or if words are hard to form, like tap a part of his body a certain amount of times to get him to stop kind of thing.  ⇁  something that shocked him when he realized he was really into it is choking, just because of his knowledge on how dangerous choking really is. he’d definitely want to have at least a small talk about it before he’d actually choke you, but once he has and he knows he can? oh he’s doing it constantly.  ⇁  you’re getting at least five or six orgasms with this man, at least. definitely more but that’s the minimum  ⇁  he’s amazing with aftercare i must say, like, he goes the extra mile and gives cuddles as well. he makes sure you’re okay afterwards  ⇁ gives loads of hickeys everywhere. he doesn’t even always mean to, he just loves kissing your body and sometimes gets more than just a little carried away  ⇁  definitely will fuck you with clothes at your waist, the kinda guy to just move those short dresses/skirts up and remove your panties and just fuck you like that.  ⇁ loves it when you cockwarm him while he grades papers or just does anything tbh, just sit on his cock and move every now and then. he’s a happy man  ⇁ his thoughts are constantly filled with dirty things  ⇁ he loves toys. vibrators and dildos are his friends, not his competition. he’ll do anything to get you cumming  ⇁ speaking of which, he loves watching you fall apart on his fingers or his cock. adores it so so so much  ⇁ another thing he loves? looking up at you while he eats you out. that man goes to fucking town.  ⇁ punishment with him? definitely involves being blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed while he edges you for ages, to the point there’s tears in your eyes and you’re begging for release. and he’ll only give it when he thinks you deserve it.  ⇁ the first time you sucked him off and maintained eye contact it took almost everything in him not to cum right then and there, he never realized just how hot that was until you did it  ⇁ he’s not at all opposed to you sending nudes. loves it, actually. or when you send frisky and suggestive texts, he loves it. a lot  ⇁ spencer definitely isn’t the most quiet of men, he’s definitely the type to groan and grunt but nothing super duper loud

[forhappysake]

What Lurks Within, Pt. 6

Author's Note: I SWEAR all this is going to culminate into the plot twist of a lifetime (I'm sure some of you know what's coming already). I hope you're enjoying how descriptive these chapters are, though. :)

Content: When the media learns of another victim in the Denver case before the BAU, more questions about the legitimacy of the department and its employees come to fruition. One employee, the police chief, remains intent on keeping the BAU as far from the case as possible. The team discovers some (figurative) skeletons in his closet, which makes them all the more suspicious.

Warnings: Spencer x fem!reader, established relationship, hom!c!de, workplace conflict, mentions of drug dealing and drug use, brief mention of prison, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions of violence resulting in hospitalization

The conference room got quiet once again. “Well,” Luke said, “we should still figure out who altered Whittendon’s files.” “That would be a major lead,” Rossi agreed. 

“I guess that means we should get to work again,” Luke said, taking a sip of coffee before scooting up to the table. Mumbles of agreement went up around the table. 

JJ spoke up, “We should continue working on geographical profiles, too. If we can get an area narrowed down, we might be able to find his hideout before we even know who he is.”

Luke nodded, acknowledging her statement. “Garcia sent more information about Graydon’s family to our tablets. Does anyone want to volunteer to team up and deep dive that information while the rest of us keep working on geo-profiles?”

I shrugged, “I can do it. I’ve never been one for the geos, anyway.” 

Spencer spoke, “I can join you.” 

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Spencer, you’re the best geo-profiler we have. I’d encourage anyone else to volunteer so that brainiac can work on the maps.” I played with the hem of my skirt as the rubbing of the fabric irritated the mild burn below. Spencer eyed my hands, noting my discomfort. 

“I’ll work with you,” Matt offered. I smiled at him, standing to go sit next to him. Spencer seemed faintly hurt by my denial of his offer, but surely he’d understood. As I sat next to Matt, I offered him a sympathetic smile. JJ stood from her chair next, “I’ll work with Spence on the geographical profiles. What are you two going to do?” She looked at Rossi and Luke, who had yet to move from the table. 

“I guess we’ll-” Luke began to speak as Emily burst into the room, cutting him off. “Whittendon just called me from his car. An eleventh victim has been found,” she said, holding open the conference room door and gesturing for us to come into the main office. As we all rose and filed out into the bullpen, I noticed televisions running on either side of the room. 

A reporter’s voice rang through the office: Another body has been found in the Denver area today after ten other victims were left scattered throughout parks in the city. This victim, 38 year-old Colton Bayard, was left beaten and slashed in Williams Park, ten miles from where last night’s victim was found in Ashwood Park.”

“How did the news channel get all that information before we did?” I asked. 

Spencer shook his head. “There’s a leak in this office.”

Almost in response, the door to the precinct burst open and Detective Whittendon stormed in the room. I watched as he went behind the secretary’s desk, shooed her out of her chair, and used it to step up onto her desk. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Whittendon shouted into the office, drawing everyone’s attention away from the television to the man standing on the front desk, “this office is officially on lockdown until I find out who is fucking with my investigation.” Murmurs went up around the office as the thirty employees crowded in the main room exchanged nervous glances. Richie’s meek voice spoke from the crowd of employees surrounding the television. “What does that mean, sir?” he asked. “That means,” Whittendon said, “nobody is leaving until I have a prime suspect in the interrogation room.” 

Hollers of “you can’t do that” and “get out of here” were heard from around the office. Whittendon stomped his foot on the desk. “I said what I said. If anyone tries to leave this office without consulting with me first, you will be detained for obstructing a criminal investigation.” With that, the detective climbed down from the office desk and planted an empty chair firmly at the precinct’s entrance, plopping himself down in the seat and folding his arms. “Oh my,” Emily said. Suddenly, a door on the far side of the room swung open. A burly man with a shaved head and dark eyes stumbled out into the main office. The employees got silent. 

“What the hell are you doing, Ryan?” The man’s gruff voice permeated the silence. Whittendon looked over at the man, a forming scoff visible on his lips. 

“Who is that?” I murmured to our group. Emily turned to utter a response when Whittendon spoke again, rising from his chair. 

The detective approached the larger man, standing nearly chest to chest with him. “Chief, with all due respect, I’m running this office the way somebody should have been from the start of this investigation.”

“Nevermind.” I whispered, intrigued to see how this argument might play out. 

The burly man shook his head and looked at the office ceiling. “God help me,” he murmured. “Ryan, you have no authority to force these people to stay here.” 

“You’re right, I don’t. But you do. You should’ve been handling a department lockdown since Agent Prentiss discovered someone was dicking with my files.” Whittendon waved a frustrated hand towards Emily who stood at the front of our team. She raised her eyebrows when the police chief turned to look at her, shrugging as if to say ‘he isn’t wrong.’ 

The police chief sighed, “Ryan, you’re being irrational. These FBI-ers just got here this morning, and you’re letting them turn this department into an episode of NCIS. Nobody in here is sabotaging your investigation but yourself.” 

I couldn’t help but tilt my head at the statement. Semi-shocked expressions flickered across the team’s faces as we all took the statement as a personal dig. I turned to Spencer, who stood close behind me. He looked down at me, eyebrows raised, hand fidgeting in his pocket as he tried to decipher the motives of each man in the argument before us. 

An exasperated groan drew my attention back to the two men. “You can’t be serious,” Whittendon shouted. “Listen, Chief. I’ve tried to be respectful. I’ve done my best and I’ve stayed in line. It’s time for somebody to take action here. That’s why I called the BAU in to begin with.” Graydon wasn’t even the one to invite us in? Interesting. 

“Look, Ryan. Cool it. Go to your crime scene and do detective work. It’s time to stop with the theatrics,” the chief looked at us before turning back to Whittendon, “and start solving problems. If you can’t do it, I’ll put Andrews on the case.” With that, the police chief turned from Whittendon, offering us a small and insincere nod before walking back into his office, slamming the door behind him. 

Whittendon ran a hand over his face, sitting back down in the office chair he had placed by the precinct door. Emily approached him cautiously. “Is he always such a joy?” she asked. 

The detective let out a sour laugh. “I’ve never really loved his leadership style, but I’ve also never had this much of a problem with him until now.” He leaned back, anxiously running his hands over his shirt and straightening his tie. “The whole desk bit… that was a bit embarrassing, in hindsight”

Emily smiled thoughtfully. “We all do things we’re not proud of when we’re stressed,” she said gently. Whittendon frowned, blankly staring at a wall across the room. “Have you been to the newest crime scene yet?” The detective snapped back to reality with a shake of his head. 

“No. That’s why I don’t understand why the news teams knew about it before I did. It makes everything so much harder…” he trailed off, running a hand over his face in frustration once more. 

“Why don’t you and I go check it out together?” she offered. I felt Luke push his way towards the front of our group which was still gathered by the conference room door. 

“Boss, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to come along.” Luke said. He reached a hand out to Whittendon, offering him the formal introduction he hadn’t at the diner. “Agent Luke Alvez.” Whittendon shook his hand in response, slowly rising from the chair. Emily turned back to our group. “Dave, can you handle things here?” Rossi gave her a thumbs up and she nodded in response. Whittendon opened the precinct door allowing Emily and Luke to lead the way before following behind him. 

“Well,” Rossi spoke first, “since that’s over, where were we?”

“Right,” I said. “Matt, we’re on the Graydon files. JJ and Spencer are on geos.” I turned to the conference room, returning to my initial seat. Matt and I opened our tablets, eager to begin wading through files as Spencer and JJ turned their attention to a large map in the corner of the room. 

“Alright,” Matt said, “how do you want to do this?” I paused for a moment, leaning back in my chair and squinting in thought. 

A simple solution hit me as I opened Garcia’s email. “Well, Graydon’s got two children. By the looks of this email, Garcia found dirt on both of them. You look into his daughter, I’ll look into his son.” 

Matt nodded. “Sounds good, boss.” “Well, I have been here longer than you,” I mumbled playfully. Matt smiled before turning his attention to the files in front of him. 

I opened up the email attachment labeled “Phillip_Graydon.pdf” and watched as at least a hundred pages loaded on my tablet screen. “Garcia’s been busy,” I said. 

Matt exhaled in agreement. I could see him flipping through a similar number of pages. “So have the Graydon kids, by the look of it. His daughter, Mira, was arrested last year for dealing heroin.”

I winced a bit. “How old is she?” I asked. 

Matt shook his head in disbelief, “Only twenty.” He continued scanning the files, I watched as he opened a link attached to one, which opened a personal Facebook page. Scooting closer to him, I could see the lack of information on Mira’s page. 

Her profile photo of a healthy, smiling teen had to be at least five years old compared to the latest mugshot attached to her file. Matt pulled up her mugshot next to her profile picture to compare. “She’s barely recognizable.” Her hair had thinned, her eyes were heavy with dark bags, and her teeth were more jagged. 

“She’s had to have been struggling for awhile,” I said. “I wonder if the Graydons have tried to get her help.” Matt returned to the initial pdf and scrolled through pages once more. 

“They must have once. Here’s her paperwork from an inpatient rehab facility.” He zoomed in on the file, scanning the paperwork. 

“How old was she when she went?” I asked. 

He looked up, running the numbers in his head. “Seventeen.” 

“So, she’s been living this way for a while.” I said. Matt nodded. 

“She didn’t stay at the facility long. When she turned eighteen she checked herself out. Besides her occasional arrests, it looks like she’s become a ghost,” he added. 

“What about the son?” he wondered aloud, leaning towards me and peering at my tablet which I had discarded on the conference room table. I picked it up once again, scrolling and scanning.

“Nothing here really seems out of character for a young boy,” I said. “Underaged alcohol consumption when he was sixteen… a couple run-ins with the law for trespassing…” I continued to scan the documents. A particular paper caught my eye. “Wait,” I said, “I might have something here.”

I scanned the file once more before speaking. “It says here that Phillip was hospitalized on five separate occasions,” I said aloud. 

Matt raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in curiosity. He leaned in again, trying to examine the page. “Does it say why?”  he asked. 

I scrolled through the paperwork, looking for his reason for admission. “At age five, he was hospitalized for a broken arm… At age seven, he was hospitalized again for a broken foot.” 

Matt shrugged, “Take it from someone who has five kids, they’re always getting themselves into those kinds of crazy situations.” 

I shook my head. “No, listen,” I mumbled, deep in thought as I drew his attention back to the file. “He was brought in for numerous, ‘suspicious’ burns at age eleven.” I emphasized the word with air quotes. Matt raised an eyebrow. “I’m not finished. At age fourteen, he was brought in for two broken fingers. When the doctor asked his mother how it happened, she said he fell down the stairs.” 

“Jesus,” Matt whispered. 

“Most recently, at age seventeen, he was brought in for pain while breathing. When he was examined, the report says they discovered bruising on both sides of his neck. He had at least two broken ribs that doctors thought were caused by a blunt object. This says the hospital informed child services this time, but-” I shook my head as Matt finished my thought for me. 

“Let me guess, he turned eighteen and moved out immediately.” I nodded quickly and Matt shook his head. “Who brought him to the hospital on those occasions?” he asked. 

I looked up at him, “The mother, of course.” I looked at the picture of the young man attached to the file. It was a school picture. The smile was forced, the hair too evenly combed, and the boy wore a turtleneck that nearly covered his ears. How could nobody have seen this? 

“So Graydon’s not only an abusive spouse, but an abusive father,” Matt stated. 

I set my tablet on the table, tapping my fingers against the cool wood surface. “How could he have gotten away with all of these things for so long?” I asked.

“Chief Graydon’s got connections most people don’t,” Matt said. I nodded. It all made sense to me. “Where’s Phillip at now?” Matt asked. 

I scrolled to the end of the document, looking for a final address to find none listed. “That’s odd. Garcia didn’t list an address for him.”

“If he moved out as soon as he turned eighteen in an attempt to escape his father’s abuse, he may not have had any money to get a place. Phillip could have seen homelessness as a better alternative than staying in that house.” I hummed in agreement as Matt closed his tablet and rested it on the table next to mine. 

“Where do we go from here?” I asked. 

Matt pondered for a moment. He took a deep breath and rolled his neck. “We should let Emily know about all of this when she gets back,” I nodded. “Until then,” he added, “you should call Garcia and tell her to get in contact with local homeless shelters. Have her ask if anyone’s seen a boy matching Phillip’s description.”

I rose from my chair and walked to the corner of the conference room, allowing myself distance from Spencer and JJ as they talked in hushed voices over the map on the wall. My phone rang twice before a voice sung out over the other line, “Well, hello, young one. I haven’t heard from you in awhile!” 

I giggled quietly, using my hand to stifle my laugh. Penelope and I had developed quite the friendship during my short time with the team. We both loved fun clothing, cute knick knacks, and we really loved nights out. When Spencer was in prison, she had been my rock through the whole thing. It was a friendship match made in heaven. 

I snapped back to reality and tried to think of a witty response. “You know how things are, Pen. People commit murder, we have to go save the world, yada yada.” A small crossed my face again.

I could feel her eyes rolling on the other end of the phone. “Have you ever heard that pride cometh before a fall?” she asked playfully. 

“Something like that, which is why I’m humble enough to know when I need the help of a computer wizard like you.” I responded. 

She gasped. “Well in that case, your wish is my command. What do you need?” 

“Matt wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to make some calls to local homeless shelters. Offer them Phillip Graydon’s description and see if they’ve recently encountered anyone fitting the type.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. I could hear her typing on her keyboard through the phone. “Anything else?” she asked. 

“No ma’am,” I answered. “Thanks, Pen. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Awh,” she said, “I don’t know what you’d do without me either.” With that, her end of the line went dead. I couldn’t help but smile at her confidence and well-timed sarcasm. 

I walked back to where Matt still sat at the table, examining the progress the other duo were making on the geographical profile. “Are you two getting anywhere?” Matt asked. 

Spencer stepped back from the map, examining it in full view. “If you squint, I think there’s a pattern to be seen,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Considering where the last victim was found, I think we can deduce his hide-out is somewhere in this area.” He pointed to an area between the recent dump sites.

JJ sighed, “That’s not a lot to go on, Spence. That’s about seventeen neighborhoods.” Spencer winced a bit at the statistic, and nodded in somber recognition of the odds. 

“It is, but it’s a start,” I said, trying to offer some encouragement. “That’s more than we knew before. Good job, you two.” I put on a big smile, offering them a genuine thumbs-up. Spencer walked over to my side of the table, offering me a quick kiss on the head.

JJ smiled. “Thanks, Y/N. What did you guys find out?”

“We think Graydon’s been abusing his wife and kids for two decades. His daughter’s been in and out of jail and his son is likely bouncing around homeless shelters. I have no idea how it could be connected to what’s happening in this office, but Matt and I both think it’s something we should look into.” I looked to Matt, who nodded in agreement. 

She shrugged, “If you two think it’s worth looking into, then so do I. I know Emily’s not here, but if you let Rossi know what you’ve found, he might let you get a hold of Graydon’s wife for an interview.” 

Matt rose from the table. “I think that sounds like a good plan. Come on, Y/N, let’s go find Rossi.”

To be continued...

[majorpepperidge]

So I'm going anon for this because I do not know if my thoughts will get me crucified by Pen fans, so this is me being safe.

For starters, I wanna state, when I got my physical copy of Sandrock, I already knew what I was going into when it came to Pen (and in turn, Matilda, Yan, and Miguel). I already knew they were the big bads thanks spoilers I saw, but even then, I could probably see them as bad guys a mile away (Yan is a sleazy scam artist, Matilda oozes passive aggressive southern bitch, and I say that as a southern myself. And Miguel oozes snob, and while not a villainous trait, is mainly associated with villains). So, even before knowing Pen was a villain, he already gave me major Gaston vibes so I was already kind of sus of him.

It made me very wary and kind of squint at him, but even then I was curious about his character. This man comes off as very showboaty, there had to be more. Cue me seeing his romance stuff and going "Okay so he is like a massive dork! You know, that kind of makes sense, big and tough, comes off as an ass, actually is a dork. That's a neat-" //cue the Knives Out update (i think it was that update), Pen being revealed as a bad guy and his romance dialogue mentioning he had OTHER LOVERS AND THE PLAYER WAS JUST ANOTHER NOTCH IN HIS BELT

"Nevermind you are dead to me you son of a bitch"

And while I say that, I am still curious on Pen's character, but more so in the terms of I want to punch this man as well. Something about that line has always rubbed me the wrong way. Since it feels like Pen doesn't actually care about the player. Which makes it worse since his final quest before being shipped off to prison, his last letter to the player if romance just NAILS it in the coffin but his PLATONIC LETTER MAKES PEN COME OFF AS MORE GEUINE.

Pen's romance letter comes off as just...gross and manipulative. Saying he forgives you for literally doing the right thing and not standing back and letting him destroy Sandrock. While in his platonic letter, Pen seems to see the player as his equal, mentioning how he wishes the player picked up his space punch, but was still confident in the player.

Which leads me to this, yes it took awhile to get to this: I seriously feel like, canon Pen, should have STAYED a platonic option for players. Him as a romantic partner character for players just...dose not end well, nor settle right in my stomach, especially since when you look at his lovey dovey stuff and then how he is at the end of the game, it feels Pen is luring the player, placing the rose-tinted glasses on and capturing them in his clutches. I am probably SERIOUSLY looking to much into it, and it could be just Pathea sucking at writing, which you know, I can see that, even Portia had questionable writing at times.

Now that all said, I do propose a way to make Pen's romance more interesting and less very tittering on the edge of a horrid toxic relationship (maybe). And that answer is simple: BREAK PEN'S FUCKING FAKE ASS JOCK PERSONA. It's clear from what I can tell in game, and in his end game letter, Pen can be genuine. Sure in his own assholeish way sometimes, but Pen can be a genuine person. The problem comes in the fact, from what I can tell at least, Pathea never really gives him the chance to let that shine. It would be fun to see Pen actively struggle with his duties with Duvos and the player, maybe becoming torn between Sandrock or his own nation. Or hell, have scenes where the player catches Pen overhear people talking about the horrors Duvos causes and more, and Pen seemingly so out of characterly TIRED. The man knows his nation is fucked, he knows it is a horrid broken mess that is hellbent of destroying everyone in the search of what they want, but he knows he also can't stop it. Maybe because he has had first hand experience in seeing what they could do or more. Has this become a giant rewrite idea, yeah it had but I feel like I should add it here near the end since while I want to strangle the asshat Pen is like an interesting character still that got done dirty story wise.

OKAY RAMBLING OVER, I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WORD WALL? Uh feel free to like delete this or what, idk, I just had to get my thoughts out and you seem to be the only active Pen fan I could find who I think has proposed decent rewrites or talked about how Pen is written not great sometimes? So yeah, again sorry for the word wall and uh bye

-Writing Anon

Hey, these are good thoughts anon! And I agree! Pen's writing is all over the place and I'm sure some of that can be attributed to weird localization differences/choices alongside the general clunky ending to his story. His characterization can sometimes make it hard to tell when he's lying and when he's not.

Some more time showing the depths of his character, while still keeping his dorkiness (which i believe is genuine, fight me pathea, alongside him loving the Builder and the 'multiple lovers' line was just meant to get under their skin so it'd be easier for them to hate him), and showing that maybe he DID have some internal crisis abt his bond with the Builder, romantic or plantonic, and his loyalty to Duvos. It would've been SO MUCH MORE INTERESTING to have someone like him be more of an unwilling villain. I know for my Exile AU stuff he's not as posturing/boisterous because he's not having to act anymore(and keep a lower profile to keep Duvos from sniffing him and Ray out), but it's still THERE because it's still part of him. I want to keep him being a larger-than-life cocky dork while not ignoring the sins he committed as a Knight and how he's struggling to move past it (and feel like he's worth Ray's love and loyalty despite all he did to her and Sandrock itself)

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

haizaki shougo is in the sticks

for @paintoreos who requested “could you write some fluff for Hanamiya/Haizaki of them being kissed by their s/o for the first time?? 🙏❤️” and @dust-of-fandoms who requested “I have been in a Haizaki mood for a couple of days now, would he be too annoying to write fluff for? I feel like the fluffy part of a relationship with him comes after he gets over himself and starts treating his partner better.” hope this works for you both!

engawas are like japanese architecture’s equivalent of a porch. haizaki’s aged up to 20 in this so i’m not promoting minors drinking. i'm not advising that adults drink either. haizaki is permanently bad role model.

Sat alone on the engawa, Haizaki takes another swig of beer and stares out across the sticky summer dusk, dimming fields stuffed with rice flowers and mosquitos. Excluding the crickets, he hears nothing but his own breath and the sloshing of the sip of beer in the can.

When she said her family was from the sticks, she really meant it. 

It’s no place for a city boy like Haizaki. He misses the sound of anything and everything, police sirens to the neighbours’ arguments. Even thinking about the sound of the nursery kids screaming down the road is making him feel homesick. The sound of people and the sound of conflict: he’s only just realised that it’s been with him since he was born. 

At last, he hears footsteps behind him and the thump of a girl coming to sit down beside him. 

“You took your time,” Haizaki remarks, moving over for her.

She hands him another beer and opens her own. “Don’t tell me you were scared without me?”

“Scared? Of what - the crickets?”

“Bears. Ghosts. Serial killers.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” and she points towards a couple dwellings in the distance, her nightgown sleeve slipping down towards her elbow. “When my parents were born, the guy who lived over there would have been on his third murder. It took another two deaths before the police found him, and they still haven’t found all the bodies. They say the lead investigator only figured it out when he realised how well the guy’s crops were growing. And, you know what the creepy part is? He’s been in prison for decades now but the crops still grow better than everyone else’s.”

“Yeah, well I’m not scared of him. Hell, if he ever got out and tried something, I’d-“

In the darkness, a meow. Haizaki squeaks with surprise and she bursts into giggles as the culprit, her mother’s aged tabby, trots over towards them. 

“Says he’s not scared of a serial killer but can’t even face a cat without bursting into tears.”

“Oi, he just caught me by surprise,” he replies gruffly, looking away. “I’d take him in a fight too. Dumb fucking cat.”

She’s still giggling, “what are going you going to do, Mr Big Bad Haizaki? Challenge him to a duel, 1v1 him, organise a boxing match with a cat?”

“You don’t get it. He disrespected me. Disrespected me,” he repeats, stressing each syllable, focused on trying to keep his tone sounding serious, to keep her laughing as long as possible. “As a man, I can’t let this slide.”

The cat is now swatting at mosquitos, rolled over onto his back.

“He doesn’t think you’re a worthy enough opponent. You’ll have to fight the mosquitos before you have the right to challenge him.” She takes a sip of beer and glances at the tens of mosquito bites littering Haizaki’s arms and legs. “And I don’t think you’ll win against them anytime soon.”

“Man, was this why you invited me here? Just to mock me?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And here I thought it was because a cute chick liked me.” Haizaki reaches out to the cat and lets him swipe at the man’s hands “You hear that? I’ve become a laughing stock.”

“No, you weren’t wrong about the cute chick liking you,” she says, and turns her head, and her lips make gentle contact with Haizaki’s cheek. 

No one says anything. Haizaki’s heart is going a mile a minute, even though logically he knows it’s just a kiss, really just a peck on the cheek, something that a guy who’s been in as many half-hearted hookups as he has should have long been desensitised to. Yet the intimacy of it panics him, has him blushing like a kid, has him thinking twenty years ahead to days of sitting on this engawa together, maybe with more cats, maybe even with kids, and holding her hand, and watching the sunset, and realising that the feeling of her presence, and shoulder brushing his, will always be far more comforting than any city sounds. 

He’s thinking, what the fuck is wrong with you Haizaki Shougo? 

And he’s mumbling, because love is still too big and intimidating a concept to profess, 

“Do that again.”

[sucker-for-yanderes]

Yan!Keisuke x F!Reader (pt. 1)

Contains: suggestive behavior, mental torment, mentions of murder, drugs, lots of blood, reader is slightly injured, angst, emotional coercion and manipulation, misogyny/condescending, threats to reader, Akira is dead in this AU.

(I attached a link to some info about the game if you're curious, I seriously recommend playing this game/watching the gameplays on youtube. There is also an anime of it as well.)

https://togainunochi.fandom.com/wiki/Characters

It was a sticky situation. After the incident, you were left with only one choice. Either rot away in prison to serve a life sentence for the sins of your deceased brother, or enter a combat arena in order to fight for your own justice to live a normal life again.

It made Keisuke sick to his stomach, seeing your rights stripped away just like that. Maybe that's why he joined you. To help you. Or was it? Apart of him also felt the need to protect you like you were a damsel in distress. Despite how problematic that was, Keisuke doting on and coddling you was the very least of your problems right now.

Toshima had been pushing you to your limits and Keisuke's as well. And what do we do when we are pushed to our limits? Eventually, we break.

It started when you snapped at him. Not like the other times, this one was different. His heart sank in his chest with each and every word you spat out like venom. "I don't need you." "I'm fine on my own." "You're just holding me back." All he wanted to do was help. After all, you'd gotten into it with some street thugs and were injured badly. After the argument, Keisuke had fucked off just like you told him to. What Keisuke didn't understand is you were worried sick about him, it served as a distraction, stunting your progress. Why can't he see that? You only want for the both of you to escape from this place. Keisuke was too worried about you, not enough about himself.

You underestimated him it seems. The brunette actually can take care of himself. Very much so. It was a harsh truth that you would soon face the next time you encounter him.

When he left, he had gotten mixed up into that street drug -- Line. Except the vials that mysteriously ended up in his hands were of much higher dosage. On the streets, it is usually 10% concentrated while the vials in Keisuke's hands were 50% concentrated.

You changed. Keisuke had grown up with you at the orphanage, admired you all this time, loving you even more as you aged into the woman you were becoming just as he aged into a man, he wants to be the right man for you... Don't you see? He has loved you all this time. That's why it hurt him so. He lived and breathed you, looked up to you. But you had gotten so cold and distant ever since your brother Akira, Keisuke's best friend, tragically passed. Now, all you had was each other truly. He wouldn't let anything or anyone get in the way of that. Keisuke injected himself with the luminescent green liquid. Convulsing and gasping for air as his veins struggled to handle the intensity. Nonetheless, he turned out fine. In fact, he felt better than ever. And now he was going to prove that he could not only handle himself, but protect you. First things first...

You freeze in horror as the man in front of you, speckled in blood, slowly sauntered towards you with a faint smile. Your mind going a hundred miles an hour, you struggled to say anything at all. And you hated it. Finally, you were reunited with him. The only familiar face you have left in this cruel world and now he's so far away despite being so close. You retreated a single step back followed by another.

"Don't run away. Didn't you wanna see me? Or is it that you still don't give a fuck about me?" He reached out instantaneously, catching you on your shoulders against the hard concrete building, pulling you close into him. There was no running, Keisuke's face loomed over yours. "Say something, (Name), this is our heartwarming reunion." You went aghast when you saw the depths of Keisuke's brown eyes as they bore no trace of the Keisuke you once knew and were instead filled with a dark and vivid hatred. Quickly, you attempted to turn your face away, but Keisuke clenched you by the chin. "Look at me."

You said nothing as you were forced to gaze at him as he repeated himself. "You scared, (Name)?" Keisuke cocked his head and smiled as if to pacify a child, and yet here he was intimidating you. "Y'know, it's the first time I've seen you look like this. Petrified." His voice sounded so horribly innocent, lowered to a whisper while kneading your captured jaw with his fingers, in what might otherwise have been a gesture of affection in any other circumstance. "I haven't changed at all, you know. Not even a tiny bit. I just made things a tiny bit easier for myself, that's all." Well, what an odd choice of words. "Easier... for yourself?" He confirms your suspicion with a nod. "Yeah." The brunette frowns suddenly, his fingers meeting the corner of your lips. "... What happened here? Your lip's cut. Poor thing." You had a bad habit of biting your lip so hard to the point of drawing blood. But you decided to not let him change the subject.

"What do you mean by making things easier for yourself?" Pressing him for a definitive answer, unnerved by the artificial concern in Keisuke's voice. Of course, he chose to ignore your question again. "(Name), did you see it?" Keisuke put on a thin smile instead of replying. "The club." He whispered close to your ear, as if to give you a clue. "... The club?" Your eyes trailed back up to him. Keisuke confessed he was the one behind the massacre. The one who killed all those people. "It was my grand debut. I did it. All of it." The words resonated in your head with no meaning at first, taking you a while to digest them in your head one at a time. And the more you chewed them over, the greater their impact grew. You could recall the gruesome spectacle of the club in graphic detail, even now. It couldn't have been--- "...You..." Keisuke's expression was happier like a toddler. "So you saw it." Full of glee, he was.

You had been convinced that it was the work of Takeru, who-of course, unbeknownst to you- had only arrived there purely out of sheer coincidence or because he had been tailing you.

The one who had truly dyed the club in red was

Keisuke.

"But why, Keisuke? Why did you do it?" You choked on your words. "Why? Hell, why not? I said it was my grand debut. I did it because I wanted to. Nothing more." Wanting to prove to you that he was more than capable of handling himself, more than capable of being the kind of man that can protect you and give you more. You said nothing. Was the man you were facing here right now, grinning from cheek to cheek, really Keisuke? "What a surprise, you're so sweet, (Name)." Caressing your cheek with his free hand, still gripping your jaw. "You never dreamed I'd do that kind of thing, did you? That's the sort of expression you have on... you..." Keisuke's tone plunged as he trailed off, clutching your jaw harder as his eyes were scanning wandering all on your face. "You never dreamed someone as weak as me could do it... did you?" Black loathing expanded behind his eyes, narrowed to a squint to accommodate his smile. There was no doubting that the brunt of it was aimed at you. A shudder ran down your spine.

"Let go of me!" You grappled to escape with all the strength you possessed. Keisuke let out a husky laugh, clearly amused, like an animal toying with its captured prey. "(Name), you can't hold a candle to me anymore. Now I'm the stronger one. Probably stronger than Akira ever was!" He cackled maniacally causing you to flinch, Keisuke's words making you sick the more he opened his mouth.

Keisuke cradled your face in both of his cold, rough hands. The ones that used to be softer and warm. And he leaned in towards you. He softly bit at your ear. Pressed by a panic so intense as to make you dizzy, you shut your eyes. Keisuke's lips glided down from your cheek to your jaw, and from your jaw to your other ear. "Don't be so scared, it's fine. There's no need to worry." You found yourself doubting him. "Because I'll torture you nice and slow... before I kill you." He murmured, voice melting tenderly before moving away. And there it was. But... what?! Kill you? Surely he didn't mean it.

Despair. Like the ground crumbling beneath you, creating a hole in the earth. Plummeting into the heart of darkness. It took a frantic struggle for you to keep yourself from falling, totally weak in your legs. Not entirely from fear, but because of the pain. "You might not be aware of it yourself, but you'd better not act all high and mighty. 'Cause (Name), you were just..." Keisuke's mouth spread into a fiendish smile. "Having the time of your life when you attacked that guy back there." You were shocked to know Keisuke had seen you. When you were attacking a man for his dog tags, not stopping until his back finally hit the ground, tearing the necklaces off his neck. But you didn't enjoy it. How could you tell him he was wrong? You wanted to, but your voiceless protest smoldered in the back of your throat.

Seized by searing emotion, you tightened your fists and pressed your lips together into a frown. Shaken by Keisuke's sudden metamorphosis. And the words he had sent your way, dripping with hatred as he gave you a piercing look.

You regained some strength to put up a fight with him, frustrating him. He ended up shoving you into the wall and before you knew it, you were looking at the back of his silhouette as Keisuke retreated. At this rate, you would lose sight of him yet again. But you couldn't bring yourself to call out his name.

Under the illusion that the world around you was warping, you closed your eyes, slumping against the nearest wall, and covered your mouth. The shock of it turned to nausea, surging up your throat. Keisuke hurt you... Keisuke threatened to kill you... He murdered people and you were going to be next. The constant question of "Why?" had played on loop inside your head. You grit your teeth as your thoughts, having fallen into utter mayhem, threatened to outright explode. By the time you looked up, Keisuke was gone.

You felt like you could just keel over and die. Like a traveler wandering through the night without any signposts, you had lost sight of what to do next.

You finally began walking toward the hotel in the neutral zone, still unable to find a way to break out of your present quandary. Something unmistakably happened to Keisuke after he went missing and set him on this dark path. His eyes had been awash with hate despite the fact that he disliked every manner of conflict. Never once did he participate in Bl@ster, which was why you had been so reluctant to see him join you here in Igura. But the current Keisuke evinced not even the slightest hint of what he had been like before.

If Keisuke were telling the truth about the club incident, then you couldn't afford to stand by and leave him alone. Surely he is on the Executioners' watch list. What's the best thing to do? What do I do? You cycled through the same thought process over and over without coming up with any ingenious ideas. Your original reason for going to the hotel had been to find Keisuke's whereabouts. But I guess there was no point in going there now. You were lost. "Where do I go now?" You winced. If you stayed still, your overwhelming thoughts and emotions and everything else within you risked overflowing. So, you let your body take over and lead you where it would. Probably a good idea to get out of the back alleys into the main street.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

Day 21: Creation Prompt - “Please.”

whumpee: napoleon solo, illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi! this fic is pre-ship and it's more angst than whump but i hope you like it anyway! i had a lot of fun writing it :)

“Kill the Russian.”

Napoleon waits. He expects an if you have to. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Nothing. 

“I hardly think I’ll need to kill him.”

He’s supposed to steal a file from Illya. Information on a few British agents, compiled by the KGB. It’ll be easy. He knows where Illya likes to hide things. 

There’s certainly no reason for anyone to come to harm over it. 

“There’s really no need -”

“Kill him.”

“Why?”

Sanders slaps the table. “Because I told you to. Because you still owe me five years. Kill him, or go back to prison within the week. I recommend you use your head.”

He stands up and leaves, just like that. Napoleon sits at the table, heaves out a long sigh, and thinks. 

It’s not like he’s actually known Illya for a very long time. They’re about to head to Bangkok on their third mission together. Sure, Istanbul had been a breeze. They’d worked well together. 

He pointedly does not think about the explosion. How he hadn’t known whether Illya had gotten out in time. How his heart had thrummed in his chest until he’d seen Illya emerge from the wreckage, completely unharmed. 

That doesn’t mean anything. He works for the CIA. Illya works for the KGB. They are fundamentally opposed, even if their masters are allowing them to play for the same team at the moment. 

You can’t afford to get attached in this job. Too much of it is lying. There’s never enough trust. 

And it’s terrifying, caring about someone when you know the danger it puts the both of you in. 

If Illya is dead, it’s not like Napoleon can grow any more attached. 

It’s not like he needs to be able to look at his own face in the mirror. 

And he emphatically does not want to go back to prison. Five more years, and Sanders would be sure to make them as miserable as possible. He’d probably find a way to pile on more charges, to keep Napoleon in there until one of them dies. 

Napoleon hates being in a cage. But the cage of the CIA is miles better than the cage of prison. He can’t exist like that, in a world of metal bars and pervasive cold and impersonal violence. 

He’ll figure something out. 

--

Three days later there’s a pistol in his hand and it’s pointed at Illya’s heart. 

An hour ago, Sanders had sent him an “encouraging” message, detailing the hell Napoleon would go through if he dared to disobey orders. And he’d snapped, fitting the suppressor to the Browning hidden in the lining of his suitcase with horribly steady hands. 

He’d invited Illya to his room in their hotel for a drink after having completed the first phase of their mission. (He’d forced himself not to think of Rome. Of the smell of burning plastic and the feeling of camaraderie). 

And now Illya is at the other end of his gun. Napoleon had drawn on him so quickly that he hadn’t even reacted. (He knows there’s a pistol, a Makarov, tucked inside Illya’s jacket. There always is).

He wishes Illya had drawn too. Maybe they’d have gone out together. Maybe Illya would have killed him. 

At least then he wouldn’t be here, doing this. 

He hates how steady his hands are. 

Illya is just standing there, which makes it worse. He’s standing there and his hands are raised slightly, held away from his body, and he doesn’t even look surprised, the bastard. 

He can’t delay the inevitable. His finger tightens on the trigger. Illya doesn’t so much as flinch. 

He can’t do it. 

He can’t shoot him. 

“Please.”

“What?” His voice is rough and raw and his hands are still steady. His finger is still on the trigger. 

“Please, just shoot. I understand.”

Illya’s eyes are too bright. He looks calm. Like he’d known that this was going to happen. 

It’s how lives like theirs end, more often than not. 

Fuck. 

He lowers the gun, engages the safety, lets it clatter harmlessly to the floor. 

Don’t they deserve something more than this?

He sinks to his knees. A few feet away, Illya slides to the floor with his back against the dresser. 

His hands are shaking now, at last. So are Illya’s. 

It’s horribly silent. They’re both breathing heavy, adrenaline ebbing away. 

How does he come back from this?

“Why you didn’t shoot me?” Illya asks. His voice is quiet. “It was your mission, yes?”

Napoleon shrugs. “Kill you, or five more years of prison.”

“I do not want you to go to prison.”

“I can’t kill you.”

Neither of them speaks. Napoleon would not blame Illya for getting his own gun. For leaving, getting as far away from him as possible. 

Illya shuffles closer, until his back is pressed against the bed and he’s so close that Napoleon can feel his heart beating, too hard and too fast. 

“We are even,” he says, still quiet. “I almost killed you in Rome.”

“I could have killed you then, too.”

“You saved me from drowning at Vinciguerra.”

“You saved me from Uncle Rudi.”

“You waited for me after the explosion.”

“You saved Gaby and me from Alexander.”

“I think we are even, see?”

“What do I do now?”

Illya shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Napoleon’s. 

“Sit with me,” he offers. 

He leans into Napoleon a little, and his body is still shaky but he’s completely relaxed and Napoleon feels like he can’t breathe and fuck, Illya trusts him with himself. Illya wants him to stay. 

They’ve both done terrible things. There’s blood on their hands that is never coming off. But between them, there is nothing. No betrayal. No blood spilled. Just Illya’s body, warm and soft against him, and this feeling blooming in his chest. 

I think I’m falling in love with you, he thinks. 

“How about that drink?”

thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed <3

[anons-has-hlvrai-aus]

The Metamorphosis of Gordon Freeman [Chapter 8]

String Theory

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: When life gives you Worm on a String, summon skeletons…I guess.

Word Count: 2,610

Ao3 Version

Notes: This is a much shorter chapter for how long it took me to get finished, but I hope it’s fun regardless! And fun fact for Tumblr readers! If I worked things out correctly, there’ll be another new chapter tomorrow both on Ao3 AND here for Halloween!

“Oh, shit.” Gordon held up one of the Squirmles they had bought. “Did you forget to give this one to Tommy?”

Benrey shook his head, pushing the first Squirmle closer to Gordon’s chest and grabbing the other from off the table. He phased a hand through the packaging to pluck free the little blue worm from its disposable prison. “This is a friendship gift.”

Gordon haphazardly followed Benrey’s example with collecting his own worm, careful with the spool of fishing line that came with it as he examined the little toy: it was comfortably fuzzy and folded into itself within his palm, the googly eyes that clung onto the perceived face of the worm were as endearing as they were silly.

“So…what, like a friendship bracelet?”

Benrey hummed in affirmation while he made a mess of the fishing line from his worm. He dragged the toy around, performing basic tricks with it for a few minutes before squinting at it for a long while. “…don’t like the string.”

“It’s part of the toy.” Gordon explained matter-of-factly. “You can’t make it do tricks without it.”

“But he looks so sad with the string. Look at him. Look at this face.”

He did. It looked like any other Squirmle.

“He can’t show it but he HATES the string.”

The not-human squinted again, this time at the thread and started to bring it close to his mouth of sharp teeth.

“Don’t-! Do NOT use your teeth to remove the string. You’ll fuck up your mouth doing that.”

“Oh.” Benrey pulled the worm away to stare at it. A rustling noise came from the oven.

“What the hell was that?”

The door of the oven swung open, a pair of boney hands pulling out the skeleton attached to them.

“…w…wha-?”

“Hey man.” Benrey smiled a bit as he turned to the now slowly approaching skeleton. “This is my friend.” He looked back at Gordon.

“I don’t…how long has that been in there?”

The skeleton took the worm from Benrey’s hands and observed the fishing line attached. It opened its jaw and in a single, swift motion, bit off the string from the base of whatever knot was keeping it tied to the worm itself. The fishing wire elegantly fell to the floor of the room, soon to be discarded by either occupant of the house while the worm was delicately returned to Benrey’s possession.

“Why…why did you do that?” Gordon asked.

“He free…” Benrey responded with a fleeting smile.

“You’re not gonna be able to play with the worm anymore. You only had him for a minute, and you’ve completely cut off your only way to play with it.”

“You can always get more string for later.”

“I mean…fair enough?”

Benrey fiddled with the worm again. Its movements were significantly less clumsy without the string, but it clearly wasn’t as fun to play with.

“See? You can’t really enjoy it as much without the string.”

“He’s much happier like this.”

“It’s a toy worm. Whatever feelings you think it has are far from real, so there’s no actual harm in putting a new string around it.”

“Look.” Benrey held the worm in front of Gordon’s face again. “Should I allow my personal desires to get in the way of other people’s happiness?”

“You are overthinking the ramifications of playing with a worm that has a string around its nose.” He sighed. The worm’s googly-eyed stare went on for miles. “Are you gonna put a new string on it or not?”

Benrey shrugged. “Maybe I might, or maybe don’t. Maybe, sometime. Or never. Maybe.”

“I guess anything could happen, huh?” Gordon looked at his own worm, still fully stringed. It actually wasn’t too bad of a gift for how cheap it was. He could snake it around his fingers, or let it sit in his palm. It fit very nicely in his shirt pocket and was very endearing in how it stuck its nose out when it did.

He wouldn’t dare carry it around with him. Not unless he made it into a keychain somehow, but then his worm wouldn’t really be usable as a toy anymore, either.

“Thanks for the help, man.” Benrey told the skeleton.

It walked through a wall to the outside, leaving a trail of green to blue sweet voice in Gordon’s direction when it did.

It was all just a bit strange, but also pleasant.

For now, he would cherish the little toy as it was, and decidedly not question the thing with the skeleton.

It was only one skeleton, and it wasn’t like it would be staying here all night…

-

It was dark.

It was too dark.

He wasn’t sure why, he had regularly exposed himself to darkness many times before for a long time now, but something happened this time.

Maybe he turned the lights off too fast.

Maybe his mind was still racing from the day’s many confusions.

Maybe…

Metal footsteps clunked on the concrete floor while They searched for a light switch. Gordon’s eyes were a conduit for Them to perceive the world, his mouth for communication, his legs for travel.

It was with great dread that Gordon knew where he was, and that The Player did not, and that as such he would be forced to endure the dark room instead of turning tail for the exit.

Because the dark room was not just a room, and somewhere in his gut, no, in his code, before he even knew what sentience was, he knew this wasn’t just a room.

There was a box that wasn’t checked, a trigger that went off incorrectly, it screamed out that something was wrong and that it needed to be fixed.

“Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!”

But Gordon knew, he wasn’t sure how, but he knew that nothing had been stolen, especially not the game itself. Perhaps that’s why Benrey always said he was trying to steal something…the game’s way of trying to tell Them before that something was wrong.

But the game couldn’t know, it was an incomplete product. Bugs were bound to happen.

But this was a dangerous bug to overlook, so easy to set off by mere accident. Maybe something about the way the headset was registered messed with the triggers, Gordon couldn’t really recall anymore. It had been common information at some point, but it was lost the moment he was removed from the game.

How many versions of him existed? And how many had lost a hand due to some fault in the very fabric of his old reality?

He wanted to run out of the room but he could not. The Player could not. A scripted event was a scripted event.

His reality was fake. He was fake.

But the pain was real.

Gordon screamed.

Or maybe They did it for him.

Any moment where They didn’t have control over him was its own sort of pain, a hollowness.

Gordon screamed.

The room was too dark.

His body waited for somebody to take the reins, to fill the terrible and wonderful hollowness.

There was a pain in his arm.

Gordon tried to scream.

His mouth was not his own, could not speak unless spoken through.

A dull, deepish voice spoke to him, far too muffled for him to understand but mostly likely antagonistic.

Red and yellow and teal and cyan and red and yellow and teal and cyan and red and yellow and teal and cyan and, and, and, and-

And

And

Pigments mixed into mud.

Shades of blue emerged and just as quickly were blotted out by more brown.

Gordon could not scream.

His wrists, which he was always careful to never look at directly when preoccupying himself with objects in his hands, itched and for a moment he felt an old, comfortable, agonizing tug at them.

Gordon could not scream.

Gordon could not scream.

Gordon could not scream.

Gordon could not scream.

Gordon could not dream.

Gordon could not love.

Gordon could not feel.

Gordon could not move.

Gordon could not think.

Gordon could not grow.

Gordon could not stagnate.

Gordon could not-

Something was tucked into his hand, the one that wasn’t chopped off.

Soft, friendly, comfortable.

The mud cleared from his vision.

The lights were on. They had been for a bit.

His arms didn’t tug, didn’t itch.

The floor was not concrete.

His body, not encapsulated in an unfeeling shell.

Gordon looked around, a head of dark hair receded sheepishly behind a door frame while an off-white blur quickly vanished into the wall to his immediate left. His fingertips gently rolled around the item put into his hand. The little dots of plastic and the tiny spool among the soft body made clear what he had been given.

It was so simple and so innocuous, and also so notably disconnected to his past. Of all the things to ground him back to reality…this had been the most odd. So baffling in its arrival, yet very welcome with how different it was from those horrible sensations.

He held onto the worm with his flesh hand, petting it with his thumb while he kept the lights on and lay onto his back.

He was here, and he was now, and he was safe.

Phantom pain came and went through his right side, which wasn’t unusual given his arm situation.

He sighed, and after a while called out to Benrey. The man immediately came back around from the other side of the door frame. His eyes lacked emotion, his mouth was preoccupied with what looked like a large lump of the igneous rock, likely taken from a bag in the garage from when his house once had a shrubbery that used the rock as bedding.

“M’yeah?” Benrey mumbled, the rock falling out of his mouth when he did. He silently swore and picked it up off the carpet.

“…why did you…?” Gordon tried to say, but as he rolled the Squirmle around his hand a bit more, he changed his mind. “…how…?”

“My normal voice was uh…making you worse, and Sweet Voice wasn’t helping so…” He looked around the room for a second, “Wasn’t sure what to do. I’m not…” he whispered something about not recognizing the house he was in before continuing, glancing at Gordon’s right arm while he did so. “My friends didn’t want me touching that hand. Told me to put the worm in your other hand. So I did that.”

“…you’ve comforted me before, though, with jokes and stuff…”

“Time is weird.” He sniffed the air awkwardly, looking at Gordon with an odd look.

“Well…I appreciate it, Benrey.” Gordon looked at the clock on his nightstand for a distraction.

“…how do I calm you down again without Sweet Voice?”

He sat up to stare at the non-human. Benrey had comforted him before without the use of Sweet Voice, he could clearly remember it during his first SV lesson and had assumed that Coomer or Tommy had taught him. Benrey should have been able to remember comforting him like that…and he surely should have remembered the house he’d been living in for the past few weeks.

“……Benrey.”

Benrey didn’t look at him.

He said his name again, this time getting his attention.

“That’s my name?”

“…Benrey, do you have memory issues?”

Benrey stared blankly at Gordon before answering with a quiet “sometimes.”

He was about to say something but was cut off.

“It’s weird. Time is weird. I’m supposed to be in my room…But brain said ‘nah man you gotta go see this’ so I did. This is a nice house. Much better than my room..”

“Do you-? Your most recent memory right now is…before we’ve even-? Is this permanent?”

“Nah.” Benrey shook his head and started chewing on the rock more. “Future Benrey thought it was important so I listened.”

“Future Benrey?”

“Or I guess Present Benrey for you. That would make me uh…Past Benrey, for you, I think. Unless this is before they fucked with my head…”

“Before WHO fucked with your head?”

Benrey seemed to go completely still, squinting his eyes for a minute before replying. “…what?”

“You said somebody fucked with your head.”

“Oh. Somebody did do that, yeah.”

“Who?”

“Uh…” He looked around. “Oh shit, nice house. Much better than-”

Gordon interrupted this time, shaking his head. “Nevermind. You wanted me to tell you how to comfort me without Sweet Voice. I don’t really know what kind of memory problem you’re dealing with right now so I’m just gonna…roll with the punches and go ahead and tell you since you asked.”

“Okay.” He pursed his lips and attempted some sort of expression that was ultimately unreadable.

“Is that supposed to be-? What kind of face is that? It needs a little work.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Gordon sighed, and held his left hand open, the Squirmle still sitting within. “I have issues with people touching my right hand. I’m hoping you know why.”

“The uh…military.”

“Yes, that’s right. So…because I have issues with my right hand being touched…I would prefer that if I start freaking out…you do something with my left hand. For some reason it grounds me…but nothing past the wrist. I don’t…” He avoided looking at the hand longer than he needed to, “Not the wrist. Just the hand. Tommy and Coomer have found that squeezing it works best, but any sort of touch seems to work, like-”

“Worm?”

Gordon paused and…looked back at the hand. For a moment he didn’t feel afraid to stare as a pair of googly eyes did the same back at him from the safety on his palm. “…Yeah. Like worm, I guess.”

“Cool.” Benrey nodded. “…I’m gonna look around.”

“Go ahead, man. Your stuff is in the attic if you wanna play on your PlayStation.”

“Oh shit roommies.”

“Yep.”

“Awesome.” Before stepping out of view, Benrey looked back at Gordon with weary eyes. “You gonna be okay, man?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I can leave a friend here if you need protection.”

“You mean a skeleton?”

He nodded. “They’re my friends.”

Gordon began to lay back down while he pondered Benrey’s words. “You keep calling them your friends…where do they come from? Do you like…make them?”

Humorously, Benrey ended up looking at the wall before just…shrugging. “Idunnoman. Shit’s weird.” He let out a small chuckle.

“Fuckin’ TELL me about it.” Gordon laughed with him. “I’m going to sleep. I guess you can keep some skeletons around the house if you’re THAT worried about me, but they better not overstay their welcome.”

“Nice.”

Gordon reached out to a lamp on his nightstand to turn on, but a bony hand beat him to it, turning the lamp on while a ‘friend’ on Benrey’s side of the room materialized and turned off the overhead light, but only after Gordon gave it a silent affirmation to do so.

The Squirmle stayed in Gordon’s left palm for the rest of the night, his thumb petting its fuzzy head rhythmically until he was able to drift to sleep.

His head swarmed in the meantime with questions about Benrey. His strange talks about “Past Benrey” and “Future Benrey” and his apparent memory issues were nothing short of enigmatic. Did this have any correlation to Tommy’s sudden anger at Gordon, earlier?

But that wouldn’t make sense. A memory issue wouldn’t prevent somebody from being able to become a normal person, maybe slow them down a bit at worst. Forzen had it figured out, and Gordon had only found out a couple weeks ago that he had a memory issue.

So it was definitely something else.

Whatever the problem was, he would just have to figure it out later.

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 18: Blindfold

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid, luke alvez | ship: spencer reid/luke alvez | trigger warnings: panic attack | content: spencer and luke are kidnapped, post prison spencer, autistic spencer | word count: 835.

The door slams behind them - whoever they are - and Spencer flinches at the noise. Wherever they are, it’s freezing, and the cold of the concrete floor beneath him seeps through his pants. He shivers, keeping his eyes shut tight, despite the fact his captors have just removed his blindfold. 

“Reid,” Luke says, “you can open your eyes. They’re gone.” 

Spencer exhales and counts down from three before braving opening his eyes. He and Luke are in a dark room. He can only just make out Luke’s outline in the dim room. All he can really tell is that the cellar - bunker - dungeon - wherever they are - is small. Too small. 

Prison cell small. 

“Oh God,” Spencer says, and his throat feels suddenly tight. He’d never been claustrophobic, not until prison. But sleep deprived nights spent hallucinating, craving, and wishing for death in the confines of his 6 by 8 foot cell has left him with a not so pleasant relationship with small spaces. He starts to pull his hands from where they’re tied together behind his back desperately. He needs to get out of here. 

“They’re a team. How the fuck did we miss that they’re a team?” Luke murmurs, oblivious to Spencer’s panic. “We profiled a single unsub. How did we miss that?” he says incredulously. Spencer ignores him, continues tugging and feeling the coarse rope rub up against his wrists. He shivers. It’s not working. He needs to calm down, fast, before this gets the better of him. He starts breathing as deep as he can, in and out, but he’s losing all forms of sensibility by the second. His breathing turns into short, shallow, gasps, and he starts to feel dizzy. Luke finally turns his attention to his partner. 

“Reid? Hey, Spence? You good?” he asks, softening his voice slightly. Spencer shakes his head, then realises it’s probably too dark for Luke to see. 

“I’m - uh - it’s a little small in here,” he chokes out, and curses himself for the tears that burn and threaten his eyes. He feels so small again suddenly - so young - he feels as useless as he was in the field when he was 22 and couldn’t shoot straight. Ever since Hotch and Morgan left, Spencer’s pushed himself to be better, to be stronger. He’s just as good a marksman as anyone else on the team now, and right before he was incarcerated he could keep up just fine with JJ or Emily when they ran. He knew he was overcompensating - the others could see it too, a mile off. But it bettered them as a team. 

Then prison happened, and Spencer didn’t get any stronger or faster or better. He got worse. He got angry. He got hurt. He feels weak now, and despite the fact he can shoot a gun and tackle and unsub down he feels more pathetic than he did in his twenties when he had to get all of his physical evaluations waived. He feels broken. He feels burnt out. 

“-encer. Spencer! You with me, man? It’s okay, listen - listen, I know it looks a little dire, but the others are gonna find us - you know they’ll come for us,” Luke's voice sounds far away. 

Yes, he does know that, logically, the team will find them. The team will always find them. But right now, all he can focus on is not breaking down completely. 

“I-,” he gasps, trying to say something, anything that will let Luke know he’s still here with him, but nothing comes out. He curls in on himself as best he can with his hands still tied together, draws his knees up to his chest, and puts his head down, still trying hard to breathe. 

The door opens suddenly, and light floods the room. Spencer fights to look up, to look at the unsubs and show them that he’s seen much worse than them in his life, but he can’t bring himself to. If he looks up, this all becomes real, and he’s desperately wishing himself away, wishing he was still blindfolded and had never come to the conclusion that this dim, damp little room was just another prison cell. 

“Well, this is gonna be easier than I thought,” one of the unsubs says, and Spencer can hear the smirk in his voice. “This one looks like he’s gonna break any second.” Spencer can feel the unsub is nearby, can feel his hot breath as he speaks next. “Come on, freak,” the unsub says, and grabs Spencer’s upper arms, yanking him up. Spencer keeps his eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to ignore the disgusting feeling of the unsub’s hands crawling across his skin, choking down a scream. “It’s time you gave us a bit of helpful information.” 

“It’s okay, Reid!” Luke shouts desperately, even after the door slams behind them and the unsub forces Spencer out of the room. “You’re gonna be okay!” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t bet on it,” the unsub says. 

Spencer keeps his eyes shut the whole time.

[elderflowergin]

SBS Hyena, episode 1 rewatch (part 6 - final)

Hee-jae, nursing being stabbed by his client with a mechanical pencil. Put a pin in that.

He’s so handsome and stupid and angry and horny in this suit all at the same time. 9/10. I'm docking a point for being so shit at negotiations. That’s what a supposed ace looks like when he’s on the backfoot. 

That line. The single sexiest line of dialogue ever uttered in a Kdrama. 

Prior to this exchange, it’s Yoon Hee-jae who comes to her, which is, to him, a kind of concession, and he’s the one talking, the one making offers/counter-offers, getting up, sitting down, generally being terrible at his job. This is such a satisfying moment for Jung Geum-ja that you’d expect her to play it large and dramatic, which would also be consistent with how Kdrama usually goes (and she does have loud/high-key moments in this show, which don’t always work.)

But instead she’s cool, mildly amused and a little pitying;  altogether, it’s low-key balls-in-a-vise-grip. Ridiculously hot. 

This is the look of someone who knew that Yoon Hee-jae would hold onto this card like it was his Hail Mary, and that he would do so without quite interrogating what it would mean for him. And she was right on both points. 

Okay, let’s have it out about The Con: I felt very conflicted when I first saw it, and I’ve seen people call it outright abusive behaviour, which isn’t an exaggeration so much as maybe mislabelling, though your mileage may vary on this and that is fine. We all did the thought experiment of “what if the genders were reversed”, and yes, that does feel grodier in some way I can’t parse.

2023 me isn’t as bothered as I once was, for some reasons. Jung Geum-ja is by miles and miles the better lawyer than Yoon Hee-jae, but it took fraud for Jung Geum-ja to best him. That’s not a bug in Jung Geum-ja’s moral fabric; it’s the feature of the system that is absolutely stacked against her in every respect. I respect a woman taking an advantage where she can in a fundamentally tilted playing field.

Also, I think there is something so delightful and fun about Kim Hye-soo playing this ultra femme-fatale type - like her iconic role in Tazza The High Rollers - intent to get something out of a man so she can pursue a greater goal, and instead of losing at all and getting prison time she…gets everything? And the man? It’s a dream. Maybe even the dream. 

With respect to Yoon Hee-jae, I think what bothers him more than the con itself is that she had sincere feelings for him and won’t admit it. His ego was bruised, but his heartbreak takes precedence for him. Even when the con is used by Ga Gi-hyeok in a lousy betrayal later in the show, Yoon Hee-jae is not fussed in the least with respect to Geum-ja; his disappointment is directed at Gi-hyeok, and I think it’s because Geum-ja by then has made it clear that she is his person and someone he can trust to have in his corner when he’s all alone. 

Okay, back to the show. 

Finally, Jung Geum-ja gets attacked by her gangster client, and then they beat the shit out of each other. It is brutal, drag-down knuckle-busting fighting. This isn’t K-drama fighting - it’s Disney+ Kdrama levels of blood and bruising. It is grinding and ugly as hell.

Which really, circles us back to the start of the episode. Yoon Hee-jae, working out, working up a sweat in a controlled environment, panting, perspiring. The appearance of effort being expended, but it's all constructed; meant to be a show. Yoon Hee-jae, pondering his loss as he stares at the mark on his hand made by his client. 

And then there's Jung Geum-ja, a woman literally fighting in the streets, for her fucking life, bruised and battered within an inch of her existence. You know watching her that this isn’t her first fight, and it won’t be her last. She'll appear in the next episode, pale, drawn, with cuts still on her face, in a puffer jacket in what is certainly not puffer jacket weather. Still hustling away, ten times harder than Yoon Hee-jae who mopes while his files get taken away from him. 

Her battles were never not harder than his by magnitudes. There are no passes for women like Geum-ja. No second chances. Nothing else could have illustrated the sheer blunt force of Jung Geum-ja’s willpower, her smarts, and her hustle compared to Yoon Hee-jae. 

I’m sure the premise of “these two wildly different people will have no choice but to fall in LOVE” has been done and done well before. The audacious thing the writer has done here is to say, well, could you imagine two more different people than these two? And not just two different people, but two different people who were briefly brought together and then broken apart by the loss of trust? They couldn’t work together for five minutes if their entire lives depended on it…or could they?

Can you imagine them getting along? Working together professionally? Can you imagine them being each other’s person, the one they trust above everyone else? Can you imagine Jung Geum-ja trusting Yoon Hee-jae, and vice-versa? We can. We gave you the Nora Ephron watch ad romance; now let us deliver the real romance, at this difficulty level.  

You have to admire the balls of a first-time writer - Kim Ru-ri writernim - making that kind of audacious bet, and then delivering on it.

This brings me to the end of my rewatch of episode 1 - thank you if you made it this far!