#i am deliberate and afraid of nothing.

[terrifyingstories3]

modern!octavia loves language. she does really well in english and enjoys it a lot but also greatly enjoys learning other languages and picks them up more quickly than most. this probably started with spanish in middle or high school and grew from there, until eventually she was grasping for whatever language knowledge she could. she's a big fan of duolingo and other languages apps as an adult and thinks that everyone should have access to language education.

she has a small instagram and tiktok presence spreading awareness about language and offering tips and tricks and the like. it kind of happens by accident, just her being silly enjoying something she loves.

she's not sure what she wants to do when she graduates high school and starts at college, but she continues pursuing language and likely ends up possibly a interpreter or educator. she has a lot of love for and interest in different cultures as well and would love the opportunity to travel and see different places. she loves learning about different cultures and working with diverse populations. she has a slow start and it takes awhile for her to really believe in herself and trust her abilities and she explores a lot of different things while trying to find the right fit, but it's something she's really passionate about and loves.

[terrifyingstories3]

she's not. she's not she's not she's not. she needs bellamy. she can't lose bellamy. she can't. she's not trying to push him away, is she? that doesn't feel like what's happening. it feels like she's begging him to stay. trying so desperately to cling to him, cling to any sense of stability she can find. "that's not what i'm doing." they're not fighting words, as evidenced by the desperation of the words and her tears. "i don't- i don't want that." she tries to clear her vision, but it's a futile effort. "i'm not my mom." she doesn't want bellamy's life to be about her, she wants bellamy to be happy. stopping him and tasha from being together wasn't like aurora refusing to let bellamy be with gina, wasn't because she thought bellamy's only purpose in life is to take care of her - she just needed her brother. "i was just- i was just scared. i couldn't - i just- it was selfish, but i needed time. to- to get used to everything." she takes a breath, something dark and bitter revealing itself in a mumble. not aimed at bellamy, but at their mother. "but i wouldn't have to try. bell didn't ask to take care of me. our mom made him. she told him it was his job and he's never been able to escape it. and i know he's sick of it. i don't blame him. if he did choose me, it'd just be because she drilled it into his brain he didn't have a choice." after a moment, "i heard about you running away after tasha got out of jail. what was that? were you trying to push her away?" it's a gentle question, octavia's own curiosity, trying to understand.

it's hard to do, especially when christian doesn't give her much. but she keeps trying, and draws her own connections. "really?" she says a little disbelievingly when christian says he likes being alone, contemplating that for a few beats. "i don't really like being alone," she offers. "i just.. i think about things. too much. when it's quiet and no one's around. and then they get.. they get.. really.. tangled up in my head. and i.. think things mean more.. than they do or.. something different than they did," like when she thought him saying he wasn't her brother was saying he wanted space from her, and had approximately twenty nine other spirals about it, "and b-bad stuff that's happened. or.. i hear things outside and i get.." scared. but blakes aren't allowed to be scared. she shakes her head. what...do you mean? it was.. i don't know. different. there's that word again. "i mean.. i want you to like it here. this is your home now. and if.. there was something we could do.. to make it more like home.. we could do that." she thinks. "you like to cook, right? and you like to be alone, sometimes. so maybe.. you get kitchen time to yourself. or.. maybe that's stupid. maybe there's other things you like. we could redecorate, change things up so they felt more.. homey. give you and tasha more time alone. whatever you want. we just want you to be happy."

the arm around her is something she expected about when hell froze over, and yet, she almost doesn't notice because of how natural it feels. maybe she's too distracted by all the feelings that have been stirred up to linger on it, or maybe it's just all the common ground they've found, but she finds herself leaning into it, trusting him with her weight. "vinh," she repeats. he was his own person; he deserves his own moment of acknowledgement. tension returns when all the things she's not allowed to say become the center of attention again, and she feels her chest tighten. "no. no, no, it wasn't like that. i just- i just can't- i'm not- i'm not allowed to talk about it. my mom- my mom said we couldn't. it's not... it's not a big deal." there's a shakiness to her that says something different. "yeah?" so he doesn't hate her? he doesn't want to run a million miles away from her? her guilt over gina is something deep seated, but the idea that maybe she might have some chance at friendship with christian gives her hope. "i don't think you killed vinh." she has to say back. "you can talk to me, too."

"everyone died." he agrees. they're like, bonding, now, over what? death? that's fun. that's a totally normal thing to bond with your semi-current-maybe sibling over. he thinks their lists look different, but there's something to the fact that both his parents, vinh, and even alison are all dead. it takes him a long time, longer than usual, to realize that she doesn't mean loud in the room but in her head. "you think he's going to leave." just like he thinks tasha would be better off if she did. just like he thinks everyone in the end will because that's all he's known. "are you trying to force him away or just trying to prove he'll choose you before everyone else." they're both traps, in the end, but with different intentions. force bellamy away before he chooses to leave her or force everyone else away to show that she's always number one.

she's always number one. that's obvious to everyone, apparently, except her. he finds himself relying on "different" again. not bad, not good. or maybe it is good. he doesn't know yet. he isn't used to so many people up in his business, and he definitely isn't used to having to fight for a shower or bellamy asking if homework is completed or anything that comes from having an...actual family. "i like being alone." yes it is also lonely. yes he was forced to be. but yes, he also just likes it. it brings him solace to be surrounded by nothing. "what...do you mean?" it was always just him and tasha. "it was..i don't know. different." he needs to find a better word.

he just barely bites back a that doesn't make sense when he sees her start to sob harder. he stares at the hand on his arm, not sure what to do with that, but also finding himself moving closer to octavia. he's starting to realize that physical proximity is something that helps her. it takes a lot more courage to work up to putting his arm around her shoulder, but he gets there by the time she's done, awkwardly patting the opposite arm. "that sounds fucked up." he doesn't ask if she's okay because well. clearly not. "that's...heavy." he finds himself using caleb's term because nothing else seems to qualify. it helps explain bellamy better, too. carrying around that guilt, no wonder he and tasha understand each other. "vinh." he offers. "yeah." he was. he sits for a moment longer before he can't hold back anymore. "but back...back up. none of that makes sense. why weren't you allowed to talk to her. why can't you talk to me. is someone threatening you?" what the fuck happened in that house, he all but says. is A after you, too he refuses to. "you, uh, didn't kill her. by the way. and if you need to talk about her. i guess. you could... talk to me."

[starjunkyard]

A scene of foreman telling house in ep21 s8 that "persevering through pain for loved ones... isn't that what life is?" before being followed up by a scene of house screaming at taub in the middle of the hospital hallway that life is pain. Life is pain. His entire life is pain. How he wakes up everyday and thinks about ending it. And yet hes still fucking here and what is that if not a confirmation that house's entire life is lived for wilson

Its so like. Because from an outsider's perspective its so childish. Its so out of bounds though thats completely in character for house; you don't tell people whether they should live or die, least of all if they're diagnosed with a terminal illness you know will suck the life out of them every second they aren't in the ground. You don't get to tell people that you dont have that right but. But. but

House is here and house is in pain. He's hurting and he's been hurting and he wants that to end but its been an unspoken agreement for years that wilson would never forgive house if he just gave up. Wilson would never let him do that. He would never ever forgive house for that not ever

So house is here!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He is alive!!!!!!!!!!!! Because wilson is his best friend and house cannot live in a world where wilson hates him even if he isnt around to feel it. So house persevered through the pain he grit his teeth and just kept fucking Going because wilson hating him is a worse fate than any infarcture any perpeptual state of chronic pain, a fate worse than anything

Before stacy before cuddy before everything it was new orleans and wilson in that cell. House has been living for wilson. House's entire life past the infarcture and the pain and the pain and the pain has been for wilson. He has been living in unimaginable pain for 20 years because its been an unspoken agreement that i need you i want you you need me you want me. I need you here you cant go anywhere You cant leave me

20 years of being in a perpeptual unending state of chronic pain. Years of living under this unspoken agreement, being bound to this contract that keeps you screaming keeps you hurting keeps you gutted and emptied out but you never minded it, you never left. you let it take you because you love him. Because you love him he loves you and he lets you love him and thats enough

So can you imagine what a slap in the face it is to have him tell you outright that he wont live for you.

That his life, his death: it'll be about him. All this whilst your entire life has belonged to him. Your life your death everything you've ever done its been about him for him. For him. And you feel furious and cheated to tears because its then that you realise he never even asked. You gave it to him handed your bleeding beating heart warm and fresh to him on a silver fucking platter and he never even asked for it. But you're asking him now. You're actually asking him you're begging him, you are begging him you're telling him that you love him, and he's saying no? He's saying no?

Can you even begin to imagine-- just a fraction of that betrayal? That humiliation? I've fucking grit my teeth weathered 20 years of pain i stayed alive because i knew that you wanted me to-- because i knew that you loved me and you wanted me to stay, and that was fine, because i loved you too. And i never even made you say it. I never made you say the words because i thought it was something we both understood intrensically, down to the bone-- and still im telling you now that i need you that i love you and now the deal's just off?

I weathered through 20 years of pain because surely you would have done the same for me-- and you're telling me now that your life is going to be lived on your own terms? when my entire life has been lived for you? When ive been in hell for 20 years just so i could keep loving you? You; you looked at me in the eyes, led me on had the gall to keep me alive-- just to sit here now and tell me that the agreement ive lived my whole life around was a one-man deal? That you cant be bothered to stick your heels in the dirt a little, grit your teeth and go through a quarter fraction of the hell ive gone through so that you stay here! can be here Be Here and keep continuing to love me when ive been doing that wordlessly thanklessly for 20 years? How could you make me ask? How could you tell me no?

How could you keep me alive and breathing if you knew that this was even remotely in the realm of possibility? You kept me in the dark-- knew this whole time that leaving this friendship could actually be an option for you-- and you kept me alive?

[meichenxi]

ATTENTION: MXTX BOOKS ACQUIRED!!!!!

!!!! yes!!!!! you heard that correctly!!!!!  I now have copies of TGCF and MDZS in traditional chinese, vertically laid out, plus a whole bunch of other books!!

(I have just returned from taiwan; it was by far not my only purpose in going, but I also decided to stay four days extra at the end after my friend had left just so I could go a-hunting.)

I am. so unbelievably excited. and especially because, with never having a) looked at these books in chinese, b) never having read anything beyond a few lines in traditional, and c) never having read vertical formatting, they are....readable? not with a dictionary on kindle or pleco like I’ve done before to make sense of things, but readable cover-to-cover without a dictionary at all. 

that is a HUGE step for me. reading has always been a bit of a mental block and with the traditional especially and the formatting I was very much expecting it to be a strugglebus situation and don’t get me wrong, it requires a good fucking deal of mental concentration and yes, I do occasionally run my finger down the page to not lose my place like an old person, but...I’m reading them

in the last four? three? days, I’ve read, as of right now, 68 pages of tgcf volume one consecutively (as in, just from the beginning) and over 90 pages in total (+ the pages I read for the scenes I like and skipped to). and it’s so FUNNY!!! I had honestly forgotten. I’m laughing out loud at points!! I read extremely quickly in english, and also have a terrible memory, which combines into flying through books and never having any idea what happened in them - reading more slowly I feel like I can enjoy what is going on more, and appreciate just honestly how funny the writing is. it’s hilarious. xie lian is such a moron (affectionate). ‘next time, if you have to throw something, throw me and not the food, ok?’ what a loser!!!! what a guy!!!!! 

so, 68 pages in, now for an honest appraisal of where I’m at.

first, formatting. 

 the vertical layout - look, going to be honest, I kind of hate it. I’m not used to looking up and down and feel like I’m bobbing my head, and it makes scanning a line more time-consuming. on the other hand, I can feel a massive increase in speed and comfort from even when I started three or four days ago, so I think it’s a matter of practice. I noticed also that when I went to the bookstore I still have the completely hilarious and useless habit of tilting my head to look at the books. the titles of which are written vertically. 

second, traditional. 

I am reading a lot slower than I do in simplified and horizontal laid-out texts, which is not surprising. the traditional is the biggest stumbling block definitely - but it’s not as big actually as I would have thought. I’ve been picking up frequent very different characters with two or three repetitions; not enough to internalise them and read them as seamlessly as in simplified chinese, but enough to look at them, even when it’s a little jarring, and go ‘oh, that means this’ in my head. I have found that I tend to subvocalise more with a) the increase in very different traditional characters, and b) the difficulty of the text. when there are simple conversations or directions I don’t subvocalise at all, which I consider generally speaking to be a good thing as it improves your speed of reading. when there’s a lot of mid-frequency fairly different characters (i.e. ones that I have picked up in these few days but aren’t common enough to be every two lines, and that I still very much have to think about), I subvocalise a LOT. when the characters are ones that I think I probably don’t know in either traditional or simplified, or there are a lot of very confusing descriptions, I don’t subvocalise at all, even if I could by phonetic components. I just - vibe. which brings me onto the next part. 

reading traditional - the brain feeling. 

I CANNOT describe how strange it is to read traditional and how wonderful an organ the brain is. it honestly feels like magic. if you’re still reading at this point and I’m not just shouting into the void, you probably know that I can’t handwrite in chinese to save my life - what that means practically for character recognition is that you could ask me to name the components of a character I see 100000 times a day and I couldn’t do it. it’s all subconscious. I have NO memory or understanding of what radicals are used where at the best of times in simplified chinese, and it’s all done via The Vibe. 

this is EVEN stronger in traditional chinese. I have not really ever deliberately learnt or consumed any media in traditional apart from a few characters you commonly see written or appeared when I have done a little bit of Classical chinese, like 馬，為，無 etc. I also got up to about halfway through the hsk1 course on skritter for a while on one of my endless attempts to learn how to write - so that gave me characters like 歡，對，甚麼 and so forth. in total that’s....still not that much. the VIBES I get when reading, though - incredible!!!!! I see these characters (not just ones with components that are predictable in traditional forms, but fairly or very different ones) that I have no memory of ever seeing before in my life and go, oh, that feels vaguely like this one. and then I look it up and I’m right. 

some of these are things of course are not objectively difficult - if you know the two components, you can go, oh, those are the two traditional versions of the components and so stuck together is the traditional character. but since I don’t consciously know the component parts off the top of my head of more than about 12 simplified characters (rip), this feels like utter magic. I have also been guessing quite a lot based on context and radicals.

I also know I probably HAVE seen some of these characters before at some point, I just don’t remember. nevertheless. it feels amazing, especially with the ones that are not predictable and are totally different. it’s a very bizarre experience. the coolest part though is the ability to remember new characters without looking them up or ‘learning’ them - a large majority of the traditional characters I can know recognise have genuinely been learnt over the last three days. if I see them for a second or third time - they’re mine now. and that is very cool and comes with practice and NOT anything innate blah blah because when I first started, I remember looking at characters over 20 times and still not being able to remember if I had even SEEN them before, let alone what they mean. so that ability has improved a huge amount, and I think reading and learning new words within the context of that book is mostly to thank for that. 

(not really relevant to any of the above, but reading in a foreign language is so interesting, because you really notice the vocabulary the author uses again and again and again more than in your native language. for instance, mxtx is constantly saying 这下. also 莞尔 as a word for smile - xie lian is CONSTANTly 莞尔一笑 . those are the two I’ve noticed a lot so far.)

overall then:

there are plenty of individual words I don’t know, but it’s usually clear what they mean in context, and when I know I’m reading a description of someone’s elegant fingers that's all you really need to know. none of it has affected my reading experience enough to make me physically put down the book and open pleco. 

I haven’t needed the dictionary for anything so far that I can’t get from context or memory of what happens. this means that I am Reading It Reading It, as opposed to Pleco Reading It or Kindle Reading It. which feels like a huuuuuuuuge milestone and difference and you know,,,honestly tearing up a little bit!!!!! because it’s so cool and I never thought I’d get here!!!!!! 

----

with all of that in mind, my plan for reading these is just...go from cover to cover with the first volume of tgcf, but let myself - since I know the story - jump around to read and re-read the bits I like reading. I want to get at least through the first two books of tgcf before I try to tackle any of the other books that I have bought. I’m not stopping to learn vocab really without the dictionary as most of it hasn’t been necessary so far and would interrupt the reading flow, but sometimes if there is a word I have seen 238290 times I will. I have only done this a few times, however, so I think for pulling vocab from this book I will have to do it separately - i.e. choose a passage I like and write down all the vaguely useful / fun words I don’t know. 

I have also got mdzs. now. the thing here is that...I love tgcf, but I’m not as precious about it as I am about mdzs. I have also NEVER read mdzs in translation because I have hated all of them so much, so I want the first time I read it to be as smooth as I possibly can, and to get as much impact and beauty and *shakes fist* as I possibly can. so...I might put it off for a while, maybe another 6 months or so whilst I improve my reading and traditional recognition skills. we’ll see. I don’t want to dip into it in the same way, and I feel like I want to use tgcf as training wheels first. we will see!

updates soon!!! big excite!!!!!!

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[tetragonia]

Midsummer's Heat

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

When your best friend, Rafe, takes you from the suffocating Midsummer party and leads you to a quiet tower just to ruin the friendship you two have.

warning: mmm nothing just slowburn smut bc i think i'll get my period in a few days lol. whatever they're having (kissing, fingering, penetrating) are consensual

words: 2.7k (i mean rafe literally talks you through it)

The hum of laughter and clinking glasses fades as you follow Rafe down a narrow path through the trees, away from the brightly lit Midsummer's party to a lounge tower. The crowd, the noise, and the pressure to act like the perfect Kook have been draining, and you’re grateful for the escape.

He turns to you with that familiar smirk, the one he always had back at the academy. You used to give him a hard time about that smirk. Now though, it brings back a flood of memories, and you can’t help but smile. He’s always been protective and gentle, all best friend material. Or maybe that could change tonight.

"All these years, you were never above all this Midsummer’s crap," Rafe says, crossing his arms as he leans back against the pillar, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that you feel in your bones.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "I am above it. I just thought it’d be nice to get dressed up and pretend, for once. But as soon as I got there, I regretted it."

He chuckles, reaching out to tug playfully at the hem of your dress.

“And this is how you protest Midsummers? By looking like... that?” His voice dips, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away. “Like you’re one to talk. You look like you were made for these ridiculous parties.”

“Guess we’re both hypocrites, huh?” he says softly, his tone uncharacteristically serious. You’re close enough now that you can see the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of something in his eyes that isn’t just amusement.

It’s almost instinctual, the way you move closer to him. Suddenly, you’re not sure if it’s the night air, the thrill of sneaking away from everyone, or just the warmth of his body next to yours, but your heart is racing.

"Rafe, remember how you used to skip out on these things back in school?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’d hide away and talk about how we’d never end up like all of them."

He nods, his gaze locked on yours, and his expression softens. “Yeah. Guess we lied to ourselves a little, huh?”

“Maybe,” you murmur, stepping even closer. His hand moves to your waist, lingering there, and suddenly, the air between you thickens. It’s as if something you’ve both kept buried for so long has come rushing to the surface, and neither of you is willing to push it back down.

The next thing you know, his lips are on yours, tentative at first, almost as if he’s testing the waters. But when you respond, threading your fingers through his hair, he pulls you closer, his kiss deepening with a hunger that sends a spark racing through your body. The rough bark of the shed digs into your back as he presses you against it, his hands finding your waist and holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

You break the kiss, gasping slightly, your forehead resting against his as you catch your breath. His hand slides up, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low and ragged, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, breathless, barely able to think of anything other than the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Yeah, Rafe. I’m sure.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, pulling you into another kiss, one that’s hungrier, needier. You can feel the heat building between you, the feeling of being utterly consumed by the moment. You don’t care about Midsummer, or the people waiting back at the party.

Rafe’s hands roam up and down your sides, drawing you even closer as he trails a line of slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. You tilt your head back, breath catching in your throat as he pulls you tighter against him. The world outside feels like a distant memory, the party, the people, and even the usual self-consciousness fades away under his touch.

Your eyes flicker open briefly, just enough to glance around the small space. It’s dark, and the shadows shield you both, but the thrill of sneaking away fills you with a sudden rush of uncertainty. You turn your head slightly, Rafe’s mouth never leaving your skin.

“Rafe,” you whisper, breathless, and he pauses, warm lips hovering against your collarbone. His eyes meet yours, a question lingering in their depths.

“This place… are you sure it’s safe?” you glance around again, your voice soft but with a hint of worry. “No one can see us up here, right?”

He leans in, his forehead brushing against yours as he gives you a reassuring nod, a small smile on his lips.

“Promise, this crib got those very thick mosquito nets,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. “No one knows we’re here, and they wouldn’t dare come looking for me anyway.”

Satisfied, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Rafe’s hands slide around to the small of your back, pulling you against him once more.

“Good,” you breathe, your heart racing as you feel the solid warmth of him against you.

He picks up where he left off, his mouth returning to the sensitive spot just below your ear, and this time, there’s a newfound urgency in his movements. His hands roam your body, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and he’s so close that you can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours. You can’t hold back anymore, your own hands tracing his shoulders, pressing him closer as if you could melt into him entirely.

Rafe’s mouth finds yours again, and this time, the kiss is fierce, almost desperate, a shared longing you’ve both been holding back for too long. His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his hands, the way he makes you feel completely and utterly alive.

His lips trail back to your neck, and as he presses you against the wooden wall of the shed. His hands glide down, hooking around your thighs to lift you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, his body pressing against yours with a delicious weight that leaves you dizzy. The world outside slips further away, nothing but shadows and whispers in the distance.

“Can’t believe it took us this long,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and breathless as he plants kisses along your collarbone, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress, his touch igniting every nerve.

Your fingers trace down his back, holding him close, letting the heat between you both build until you’re lost in the rhythm of his kisses, the warmth of his touch, the feeling of being completely and perfectly his, if only for this stolen moment.

He gives you a soft, reassuring smile as he leans down, gently guiding you to sit, his hands warm and steady as they hold yours. His touch is firm but gentle, every movement deliberate, as if he’s savoring each second with you.

“You comfortable?” he asks quietly, his voice low and soothing, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You nod, breathless, your pulse quickening as he reaches out, his fingers tracing a slow path along your thigh. His touch is warm and delicate, a quiet promise of what’s to come. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand slipping lower, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Just tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, gliding his fingers down and tracing gentle circles that make you shiver, his movements slow and patient. You feel the warmth of his touch, the careful way he explores every inch, making you feel seen and cherished.

You close your eyes, letting yourself relax into the sensation, the softness of his touch and the comfort of his presence. You shiver, both from what he does and from the wind. Rafe still guides you through it, his hand steady and sure with eyes never leaving yours.

His fingers move in a circle, faster and curl deeper. They scratch you in the right place, stretching you open with blazing lust.

“Just breathe, alright?” he says softly, his left hand resting on your hip, holding you. “I’ve got you. It’s just us here.”

You feel his fingers move faster and he watches you, reading every response, adjusting his movements to make you feel completely at ease.

“Rafe, I—”

You couldn’t even continue, as Rafe plays faster. Your knees go weak, hands scratching the sofa. Your eyes flutter in an ecstasy.

“Yes, Sweetheart?” his voice soft, but also there’s a hint of a ragged breath. His desire starts to pool between his pants.

You feel the warmth of his breath as he leans closer, whispering words of reassurance, a steady presence guiding you through the intimacy of the moment.

“I—I’m about to—” you bite your lips, letting a soft moan into the night. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Don’t hold it, Sweetheart,” Rafe kisses your lips, leaving you shuddering as you finally collapse into his fingers. He smiles and looks proud.

“You’re doing so good,” he says, as he shifts and takes off his belt. You gulp, this is going to be the first time after everything. You’re ready to ruin your friendship with Rafe.

You watch as Rafe unzips his pants. His bowtie hangs loose, his suit lying somewhere. He moves on top of you, hands slowly tracing your inner thigh. You shudder.

Rafe bends down, spreading your legs even wider and kisses your right knee. And then the left one. And he gets closer to your inner thigh, kisses it tenderly.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Rafe looks up, lips parting. “I’ve been wanting this for so long, and now that you’re here… I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you murmur, trailing your fingers on his hair, don’t even want to waste any second. “Show me just how much you’ve wanted this.”

“Yeah?” Rafe moves on top of you, pressing his lips on yours and letting you taste yourself. He groans softly against your lips, pausing for a moment to kick his pants and throw it somewhere. He stands tall in front of you.

You’re in awe. It’s so big, and hard. You’ve seen enough videos to know the perfect size, and this is more than perfect. Rafe walks closer, he helps you take off your dress, as you both need it no more. He throws it to the floor as you start to breath heavily, adrenaline taking you.

“It’s so big, Rafe,” you let out a shaky breathe when Rafe put himself between your thigh. He starts to caress your breasts with his fingers, bending down and kissing them slowly.

“I know you’d take it so well, Pretty Girl,” he takes his time to answer before sucking your nipples. His tongue moves in circle, biting it softly. You groaned and throw your head, feeling hot. And before you know, Rafe stands tall and closer, and starts to brush your fold with his tip.

“You’re so wet already, Baby,” Rafe groans softly, pushing it gently and starts to relax inside you.

“Rafe!” you moaned, in pleasure and pain. “I have never taken anyone before.”

Hearing your confession, you could feel it twitches. “I’d be gentle with you, Sweetheart. You’re taking me so well.”

Rafe starts to hump his hips towards yours, as both moaned in pleasure. Rafe kisses you, as your fingers digging his back and your legs squeezing his waist.

“Yes,” you gasp, starting to feel the rhythm. “Don’t stop. Please. Please.”

“You feel so good, you know that?” Rafe’s voice drops lower, a little rougher now, as his fingers trail down your breast. “I could do this all night.”

You fit around him like perfection, letting out whimpers when he hits the spot over and over until you’re worked up. As his touches grow rougher, his breathing becomes heavier, and he lets out a soft growl as he pulls you against him.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he whispers, his hands gripping your waist firmly. “I can’t control myself when I’m with you… you make me lose it.”

Rafe growls softly, telling you how good you feel, you give him a mischievous smile, trailing your fingers down his chest. You feel his lips trail down your collarbone, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

“Eyes on me, Pretty Girl,” Rafe groans, and you force your eyes to stay open. It’s so hard when the pleasure tries to drown you. “You’re so tight and you’re taking me so well. Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”

You don’t leave his gaze, intense and full of desire. Even when your eyes flutter, you try to look at his pretty face.

“Come on, I want to know that I’m the one making you feel this way,” Rafe’s voice is both commanding and tender.

“Yes, Baby,” you try to keep your eyes open. “Oh, Rafe—”

You let out a moan, louder than before when Rafe thrusts faster, rougher. His movement fills with an unrestrained hunger that’s impossible to ignore, picking up his pace.

“Very good, Sweetheart. You’re all mine, got it?” he kisses you hard, his grip firm on your hips. “No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

Your breaths come quicker, your hands grasping at him, needing more as the world around you fades into a blur. The only things you’re aware of are his touch, his breath against your skin, and the steady, overwhelming connection between you.

In the quiet of the shed, hidden away from the world, Rafe holds you close, moving with you as if you’re the only two people left on earth. His hands are firm yet tender, as if he’s savoring this as much as you are. You feel yourself slipping away, surrendering to the sensations, the heat, the rhythm between you both that seems to pull you deeper into a place where only the two of you exist.

“I don’t think I could ever let you go… not after this,” he kisses you again, softer this time, but his eyes still burn with that undeniable need. “You’re perfect. And I want every inch of you.”

“Good,” you murmur, your fingers running through his hair. “I like it when you lose control.”

As you move together, you can feel Rafe’s breathing grow heavier, each breath coming faster, more ragged. His grip tightens, his hands slipping down to hold you even closer, as if he’s grounding himself in you. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes half-closed, his gaze flickering between desire and a raw, unspoken need.

He whispers your name, his voice low and filled with a quiet desperation.

“Baby… I’m… I’m so close,” he murmurs, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck as his lips brush yours. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, something soft and real that he’s letting you see, and it makes your heart race even faster.

He leans into you, pressing you closer, his movements becoming a little more frantic, more intense, as if he’s no longer able to hold anything back.

“Rafe!” you cry in joy when he bends, sucking your nipple roughly. As he leaves more marks on you, he thrusts faster, deeper, and needier.

“Stay with me,” he breathes, his voice breaking slightly as he loses himself in the moment. ��Please… Baby, I’m coming.”

You hold him tightly, feeling him tremble against you, and suddenly it feels warm. You catch your breath, he does the same. As he finally lets go, you feel the weight of everything he’s kept hidden lets down just for you. It leaves you both breathless, completely wrapped up in each other.

And as he looks at you, his eyes filled with something you’d never thought you’d see—something tender and raw—you know that this is a moment you’ll remember long after Midsummer fades into memory.

[love-byers]

(warning: long)

we should talk more about mikes choice of words in the rink o mania fight, or rather the writers choice of words

"You basically sabotaged the whole day!!"

sabotage

in case you need a reminder of what sabotage means

deliberately destroy, damage, or obstruct

mike is not just saying will was being a douche for moping, rolling his eyes, and barely talking. he's saying wills a douche because he's doing it on purpose. not even just on purpose either, he's saying will planned this. will wanted to ruin the day. mike thinks will was out to get him by withholding his friendship. obviously will wasn't doing any of this, he just moped because he felt brushed off by mike and was ignored (or so he thought).

that kind of behavior, thinking the consequences of his own actions are a planned attack against him, is very consistent with the way he acted in s3 when el dumped him and he blamed it on max.

we can connect this directly to mike's apology where he calls himself a self-pitying idiot. the self-pity is mike allowing himself to believe it's not his fault that his day sucked, that it's not his fault will is acting this way. deep down he knows it's his own fault by purposefully brushing will off at the airport, but he was being so self-absorbed and self-pitying that he convinced himself it wasn't.

"why is this on me?? why am i the bad guy??"

so lets go through this again, inferring from mike's own words.

when will left hawkins, he felt weird. he'd just spent the whole summer trying to be grown up and acting like he didn't care about dnd anymore, shutting will down and really hurting him in the process, so he probably feels embarrassed that he now feels the exact opposite. he enjoyed spending time with max, lucas, and dustin but it just wasn't the same without will. he missed will so badly that the fact that will was barely reaching out got to his head, and he felt too insecure to find out for himself. he didn't know if will felt the same way or if he was doing fine without mike, making lots of new friends and enjoying life. he was afraid he'd lost will. then here comes el with her letters saying how life is awesome and they have lots of friends. mike probably thought, oh now i'm DEFINITELY not telling him how i feel. the letter about will potentially liking a girl was the final straw. wow. so he's occupied with some girl and thats why he won't talk to me. so now mikes determined to not give will an inkling of an idea that he's bothered or that he cares. psh, mike could care less. maybe when will sees that mike totally doesn't care he'll feel like he screwed up and he'll be super nice to compensate and win mike back.

so mike gets to lenora and hey, will, i totally don't care about seeing you, see how i dodged your hug? i don't care. then he sees the painting. maybe it's not for someone he likes, maybe it's for me. here you go will, opportunity one to win back my affection.

"Uh, what's that?"

"Um, it's nothing, it's just this painting I've been working on."

"Cool."

operation-act like i don't care: EEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR FAILED.

LOOK at his face bro. he looks heartbroken.

from here on mike just got more and more annoyed. will isn't trying to win him back, he isn't compensating for the months of silence. he's acting sad. he's acting sad? he has the audacity to act sad after he made all these friends and left me behind?? no, this is not my fault, this is not on me. it gets under his skin in a way he can't ignore. those feelings of guilt and annoyance that will is causing mixed with his months worth of self pity and convincing himself he's not the problem leads him to another thought. he's doing this on purpose. he's punishing me. this was his plan all along. he's trying to ruin my day for no reason, because i clearly didn't do anything to deserve this.

then angela shows up and humiliates el and mike, for some insane reason, uses this as an excuse to express his anger to will, even though it had literally nothing to do with will.

"You should've told me she was having trouble."

"Well, I didn't know they were gonna be here, Mike."

"Yeah, but you knew she was having trouble for like a year and didn't tell me."

in WHAT world is this will's fault?? he had absolutely no idea el was lying until that day. and mike is blaming him? no, he's really not, he just wants a reason to express his anger without having to admit why he's angry.

"Well, I didn't know she was lying to you."

"Is that why you decided to be a douche to her all day?"

her. he's hiding behind el's name. psh, what? i don't care that you weren't talking to me, it's because of el.

el just got publicly humiliated and mike thinks now is the time to get on will and act like el's biggest problem was will not talking to her?? no way. he just doesn't want will to know that these are his feelings.

"I wasn't being a douche!"

this completely sets mike off. how dare will act all innocent after what he did to me all day? any part of him that was trying to hide that will's behavior is bothering him has been completely overridden. will purposefully withholding his attention from mike has pissed him off soooooo badly that he can't keep it to himself anymore or hide behind el.

"You were! You were! You were rolling your eyes, you were moping, you were barely talking you basically sabotaged the whole day!"

yup, thats right will. i know exactly what you're doing and i'm calling you out on it.

"Well she was lying to you, Mike! Straight to your face ever since you got here! And...and I've been a total third wheel all day it's been miserable. So sorry if I wasn't...if i wasn't smiling."

third wheel? really?

"Yeah, whatever man."

"Well what about us?"

"What?"

i imagine this is where mike shits himself. i mean he literally stops in his tracks. will is directly addressing what he'd been trying to hide his care for the whole time, them. all of a sudden after all these months, he cares about us? and it's poking at that weird feeling he had, like he missed will too much. like he was feeling too much.

"What, you're mad that I didn't talk to you? Seems like you've made it super clear you're not interested in anything I have to say."

"That's just not true."

mike says that so fast it's like a knee-jerk reaction. of course he cares what will has to say. all he's wanted all day, and all this time for that matter, was for will to talk to him. and will is blaming him?

"You called maybe a couple times. It's been a year, Mike. Meanwhile El has like a book of letters from you."

now mike's defense is kicking in. he feels like will is directly picking at that feeling. the weirdness. the fact that he feels differently for will than the rest of his friends, even his girlfriend.

"That's because she's my girlfriend, Will!"

"And us?"

now the alarms are going off. he knows something. "us" for will in this moment is just their friendship. "us" for mike is something more, because that's what's been brewing in him the whole time they've been apart. internalized homophobia in 3..2..

"We're friends! We're. Friends."

"Well, we used to be best friends!"

oh. he was just talking about our friendship. i was tweaking a little bit. and...ouch. will just officially said they aren't best friends anymore. and he's blaming it on mike. but mikes defenses are still up high.

"Well...well maybe you should've reached out more, I don't know! But why is this on me? Why am I the bad guy?!"

then will is lost for words, and he just look sad. and as mad as mike is, he hates seeing will that way.

i imagine the day or two between this and his apology, mike went over this fight in his mind multiple times. and the more he thought about it, the more he realizes, ah shit. i was way too in my head and this was completely one sided. will wasn't plotting against me, i just felt so bad for myself i convinced myself i did nothing wrong. all this because i thought he found new friends and i felt bad for myself. and now i've lost my best friend and made him feel like all of it is his fault. i have to let him know it's all on me.

tldr: mike is weird and gay.

[luveline]

u are the most amazing writer. im in hospital rn and have been for a few days but thinking about aaron hotchner finding out reader was in hospital and freaking out?? 🐇🧃💖💃

get well soon my love, and tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"Hello, handsome," you say, phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, naked thighs stretched out in front of you, "funny thing." 

"I doubt it will be funny," he says. Aaron knows you too well, that's for sure. 

"Well, it's not actually very funny. I'm at Stafford." 

"Right." 

"Stafford–" 

"Hospital. You're in Stafford Hospital?"

You brush a hand down your hospital gown and sigh. "You could say that." 

"Are you hurt?" 

"You could also say that. Will you come?" you ask quietly. 

"I'm on my way. Ten minutes." 

It's an impossible promise and one he can't deliver on, but twenty minutes later he's opening the door to your room with his go-bag on his shoulder. "Shit, are you going somewhere?" you ask.

He frowns at you deeply. "What happened?"  

"I hit my head at work. Threw up, passed out. I had a CT scan, I'm waiting for them to come back and tell me what's happening." 

His jaw twitches as you explain. Looking rather formidable, Aaron puts his bag down on the plastic wrapped chair beside your hospital bed and leans down to hold you. "Oh, careful of your head," he says as you reach for him. His voice is strange. "Careful." 

Things are quiet for a while. Just his arms around you and the beep of your heart monitor. 

"How do you feel?" he asks, and the dam breaks. "How did it happen, honey? Where did you hit your head?" He puts his hand on your shoulder and nudges you back gently. "Can you show me?" 

You arch your neck down and tuck your hand behind your head. "Right here. I don't know what I was doing, I just slipped."

He encourages you forward with one hand. You're unsure what he's looking at or how bad it might look, but he must feel sorry for you either way, the hand on your shoulder rubbing sympathetic quarter circles. 

"I wish you would've called me as soon as it happened." 

"I was a little busy." 

He's quiet, brooding. You look up into his face to try and gauge how he's feeling beyond that, but he's impassive; his expression reveals nothing.

"Are you mad?" you ask worriedly. 

"Mad?" He shakes his head. Careful, he slides a hand under your leg and moves it aside to sit on your hospital bed, his thumb in the tender underside of your knee. "I'm just– I've seen so many–" Your heart monitor reflects your surprise as Aaron stutters. "I couldn't imagine what happened to you. I was afraid to ask. Honey, it's eight at night. Thinking about you here, alone and in pain–" He clings to your knee. 

You understand his reaction, then. You've had hours to make sense of your sudden injury. Aaron's only just found out, and he's lived through enough bad phone calls to panic himself thinking about another. 

"They couldn't find my phone. I would've called you if I remembered your number," you say, putting your hand on his.

He seems to realise he's been panicking. He takes a deliberate, calming breath, a professional through and through. "I," he begins, his hand trailing down your leg to rub right back up, "am going to write it on you. In permanent ink." 

"I'll get it tattooed if you promise not to change it." 

"Deal," Aaron says. "Are you sure you're not in any pain?" 

He's much calmer from that point, checking your medications, helping you change into the pyjamas he's brought in his go-bag, and tracking down a nurse to see what your arrangements will be that night. Then he pulls his FBI card to talk to a doctor, and things go much quicker after that. 

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

hiii i loved your cute yan bsf is there a part two? i am so obsessed 🫶🫶

Cutey for you! PT. 2 | Yan Cute boy best friend x you

Characters: Jesse

Summary: Your cute best friend just adores you with all his heart. To the point it brings him to tears

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, violence, mention of self harm, angst

a/n: I can make a part 2! I've been planning this for a while but I wanted people to want it, yk? Also this will be very self projected. Bone is mentioned!

Pt. 1

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Jesse couldn't understand it. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Why did you have to befriend that delinquent of all people! He's tried so hard to show you how he isn't worth your time or attention. Your best friend is! He's supposed to be your number one! You know that… And yet you chose to be with that stupid idiot!

Jesse can't take this! He can't be without you. His heart aches. He needs you so much. More than that delinquent that's taking you from him! There's more than just jealousy within his heart. There's more than rejection. There's so much more, and he has no one to tell because his best friend is with his rival! The person that is ruining his life!

He's scrolling through his phone, reading messages you had sent. He's deliberately ignoring you. He can't take it, and you need to know he's suffering. It's not like he can tell you, but that's not his fault! You should just know that when he's without you, he's suffering. Not only that but he's afraid. Afraid the moment he reaches out, you'll have moved on. Afraid that you'll reject him every time he wants to talk to you.

Laying in the dark, he's moved on to looking at photos of you. Some he took with you, some he took of you, and some were secret snapshots but let's not talk about those. He's fighting tears. Fighting them and losing. Misty eyed as he finds a video of you laughing with him and being silly with each other. He can't take this!

He checks his notification seeing you posted a new video on your social media. It's just like the video he saw with him and you, but this time it's with that delinquent. Jesse's whole world is tumbling down. Now he's stalking your account and that dumb delinquent's, finding every single post you are in together while tears stream down his cheeks.

He makes no sounds. No sobs. Only shuddered breaths and shaky shoulders. Throwing his phone across the room and cracking his screen, his mind becomes a dark place. One of nightmares that he has tried so hard to keep locked away from you. All his insecurities, fears, and intrusive thoughts swirl. Hyperventilating. Panic. Nothing is making sense.

He grabs a plushie of his. One you gave to him. One that reminds him of you. The scent of you is still on it. It soothes him barely, but the panic attack has settled. A single thought screams within his mind.

“You're being replaced.”

“You're not their favorite anymore.”

His brain is lying to him. It must be! You wouldn't just replace him. You've known him for years! You're his best friend and he's yours. Nothing can just shatter a bond like that.

“Shut up.... you don't know! They love me... I'm still they're favorite!”

Jesse whispers to himself. To the thoughts. A sound barely brings him back to his reality.

Your ringtone.

His favorite song now sounding sour. He doesn't want to take your calls. He doesn't care if you're panicking. He's suffering! He's sobbing into the plushie and holding it for dear life. He can't care for anything other than the irrational worries.

A part of him wishes you would break into his room and hold him, another part loathing the idea of you seeing him like this. It's so close. The blades are so close. He's surrounded by them. He can't help but think about it. He can't help but think about hurting himself. Would you notice how much pain he's in then?

Before Jesse can even think about reaching for any sharp object in his room, the darkness is shrouded in the light of an open door. You. The light surrounding you like an angel.

His body stiffens. Your warmth. It felt like a distant memory. When has he been held like this by you? Do you hug your new friend like this? No. That thought doesn't matter right now.

Only you matter. His crying quiets down. His body melts against yours. No words needed to be exchanged. All that was needed was your arms around his and your touch on his skin. In a matter of minutes he's calmed down.

Snores replaced the tears. Jesse fell asleep against you. Something he used to do when the two of you were kids. He's never going to miss this. You're his best friend. He loves you so much. And right now, all the nightmares were replaced with sweet dreams of the two of you together.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[gonzo-rella]

Together in the Shadows | Eloise Bridgerton

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

NOTE: I prefer to write the reader as gender neutral, but as Bridgerton is set in a very gendered time, that poses a challenge. The reader in this is implied to be, societally, a woman; they are alone with Eloise without worrying about scandal, so this implies that the reader is perceived as a woman. However, I've deliberately been as vague as possible about the reader character to make them as close to gender neutral as possible and haven't explicitly referred to them as being a woman so that some nonbinary and trans folks like myself can feel comfortable reading this fic.

Relationship(s): Eloise Bridgerton x fem-coded/possibly gn!reader (romantic)

Summary: Your sister's last-minute ball is disastrous, but at least it allows you to spend some time alone with Eloise.

Warnings: Nothing beyond kissing. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 0.8k

(A/N: I'm so in love with Eloise Bridgerton. I want to be in a secret situationship with her, so here's my attempt at exploring that. Also, I haven't actually written a lot of fics that include kissing, so I'm glad I got some practise in writing something I normally don't write. A lot of my original projects are romcoms (including a Regency-inspired duology and a zombie apocalypse story) so it'd help me out a great deal if you let me know what you think of how I did writing the romance in this!)

“Is it not a bit chilly to be out here, Miss Bridgerton?” A grin tugged at Eloise’s lips. She stopped dead in her tracks and peered over her shoulder, not quite looking at you. For a moment, she listened to your footsteps as you paced towards her, though the rustling of grass under your shoes was barely audible over the piercing noise of the string quartet that carried itself through the windows and doors. She scrunched up her nose at the unfortunate sound.

“Perhaps. But, I am afraid I may spiral into a state of madness should I stand in that room for a second longer. I can, however, withstand this cold and my mama’s scolding of me for my absence.”

You wore a mocking frown as you finally reached her side. You were both illuminated by the golden light that shone through the windows and the pale glow of the moon. She turned her head to look at you. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. She was naturally beautiful, but seeing her in this lighting… she looked ethereal. It took you a moment to compose yourself enough to form coherent thought and speech. You weren’t sure that she had noticed the momentary falter.

“In my dear sister’s defence, she poured her whole soul into planning this spectacular event this afternoon.”

Eloise snorted.

“It certainly is a spectacle. I shudder to think what Lady Whistledown will write about it.”

You chuckled and linked arms with her. Briefly averting your gaze, you looked through the window at the attendees who were pretending to enjoy themselves or whispering to each other, presumably uttering some cruel things about this awful ball. Meanwhile, Eloise’s eyes flickered down to where the pair of you made contact, then back up to your face. The skin of your arm brushed against hers, and the gentle friction generated a light tingling sensation that flooded her whole body. She almost couldn’t keep herself upright, and she tightened her grip on your arm to steady herself. Despite the cold night air, her cheeks burned. With her free hand, she reached up to feel the warming flesh of her face. Heat seeped through the fabric of her gloves to her fingertips. The second you returned your attention to her, she quickly lowered her arm, embarrassed.

“However scathing it may be, I assure you that my sister will be delighted to have even been acknowledged,” you said. You paused before continuing. “Given how dreadful everything is in there, I shouldn’t think our absence will be noticed. Would you like to wander the grounds so we do not freeze to death?”

A breathy laugh escaped her lips. 

“Of course. Might we wander far enough that we can escape that cacophony? Somewhere that will afford us some… privacy, perhaps?”

You grinned back at her.

“Certainly, Miss Bridgerton. I know the perfect place for us to enjoy one another’s company.”

Stealing a final glance behind you, you led her to a secluded part of the vast garden, where you would both be hidden by grand hedges. You let go of her arm and turned to face her.

“Is this to your liking?”

A smirk tugged at her lips.

“Anywhere that you are is to my liking.”

“That is so very sweet, I can almost forgive how nauseatingly trite it is.”

She rested her hand on her chest in mock-offence.

“Oh, how you wound me.”

Of course, she can’t have been that wounded, given her grin.

“Would you feel better if I offered you a kiss?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“And, that is not trite?”

You shrugged innocently, unable to suppress a smile.

“I could not think of a more creative way to ask if I could kiss you. I know how you value originality.”

Without hesitation, Eloise placed her hands on your cheeks, and brought your face close to hers. Her breath fanned your skin. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched her gaze flicker to your lips.

“Being direct would have done,” she muttered. “After all, I have been waiting all night for this.”

“Then, why wait a second longer?”

Eloise let out a low chuckle, then closed the gap between you entirely. The kiss was gentle at first, but within seconds her hunger for you became clear. One hand moved to the back of your head to bring you in closer. The other remained planted firmly on the side of your face, her gloved thumb grazing your cheekbone. The motion was so light that you gasped quietly into the kiss, to Eloise’s delight. Her lips moved against yours with fervour, as though she was determined to take in and savour as much of your taste as possible. You rested your palms on her shoulders, and as your hand drifted up her neck you could feel her racing pulse. Then, your fingers became entangled in her hair. You tugged on it softly, and a quiet hum escaped her lips.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but she only managed to get her face an inch away from yours. She laughed quietly, while you couldn’t help but grin.

“Was that to your liking, Miss Bridgerton?”

“You are always to my liking.”

[terrifyingstories3]

pll verse octavia: the seasons 1&2 version (this is also basically a modern verse)

loses her mom at 16 and atom shortly after. i haven't figured out circumstances yet but he's killed and octavia falls apart a little.

i haven't answered laura about gina and don't know when or how her death happens, but she also loved gina very much and feels that loss very deeply

atom is the final straw after losing her mom and gina. she and atom grew close, much to bellamy's dismay, and he gave her a sense of solace after losing aurora and gina. losing him sent her into not only grief from his passing, but unresolved grief from her mother and gina's deaths that she had buried. she begins to party to cope with this grief, and finds herself spending a lot of time with a new crowd. she'd never really liked noel and his group, feeling like they were bullies who thought they were better than everyone, but they give her a wide access pass to parties and alcohol and more importantly, distraction.

her most important relationships suffer during this time. she gets lost in her grief and becomes disconnected from her best friend, ryan, and she loses a lot of trust with bellamy for her partying and rebelling. she doesn't have the words to talk about how deeply she's struggling, and doesn't have a name or understanding for the depression she's found herself in. he's just become a sole parent and is struggling in his own ways, and she causes him a lot of stress that she later regrets, and worries that he'll never fully trust her again. moreover, she carries the feeling that he's secretly sick of her and wants to be away from her.

when alison disappears, she's filled with a lot of anger regarding the difference in reactions to atom and alison's deaths. no one seems to care about atom, who was poor and underprivileged and alone, but rosewood is never the same after a pretty rich blonde girl goes missing. likewise, the world keeps spinning after gina and aurora's deaths while no one can let go of alison.

whatever status she might have built for hanging in the same crowd as noel or retained from her friendship with ryan (who is popular on the other side of the spectrum, being a lovable class clown type that everyone likes) is crushed when she has a panic attack after a prank at a party that someone catches on camera and posts online. she freaks out after that and isolates, not having a lot to do with anyone.

eventually she begins to pull her head out, reconnecting with ryan and trying to be better for bellamy. she's isolated at school outside of ryan, but doesn't really feel like talking to anyone else, anyway.

somewhere in there bellamy meets caleb and, seeing that he's homeless and has been staying at the school, invites him to stay with them. this is an adjustment for octavia, who has struggled for awhile with everything feeling unstable and the fear that bellamy is tired of everything-octavia being his responsibility. she struggles with feeling like she's losing him and with his focus on caleb, but ultimately makes room in her life for caleb and comes to love him as a brother. she's crushed when he leaves at the end of s1. she's relieved when he returns and welcomes him back, but is afraid he's going to leave again. ultimately, caleb is really good for her, and they become pretty close. she likes having someone else at the house when bellamy is gone, and grows attached quickly.

octavia continues to struggle with the fear that the rug will be pulled out from under her and she will lose the people she loves, especially bellamy. when he explores the prospect of dating someone he's become close to, all of the new adjustments are too much for octavia. she can't handle sharing bellamy with another person and is afraid she's going to lose him. bellamy can tell that it's too much, and breaks the relationship off. octavia is filled with guilt, because she knows bellamy deserves to be happy and him opening himself up to love again is a big, important thing. she knows she's being selfish, but she's so scared and overwhelmed and doesn't know how to deal with any of these fears.

some time passes, and octavia eventually comes around to the idea after a break in to tasha's place of work reveals the depth of bellamy's feelings, and she sees that she can't keep them apart anymore. she tells him to pursue tasha, and things begin to stabilize.

they get a bit rocky again when tasha and her nephew, christian move in with bellamy, caleb, and octavia. she isn't sure how to adjust to all of these changes, and struggles. but after awhile, she comes to discover she likes having them all around, and starts to see them as family as well.

it helps that she's become more involved with school and less isolated. octavia's participation in theatre goes from using what her mother taught her about sewing to help make costumes for productions to being cast in a play. it's something she's really excited about and it helps her a lot, giving her a healthy outlet for her feelings and a way to reconnect with classmates.

one of these classmates is mona. she never expected to want anything to do with mona; saw her as another one of the rich bullies after she and hanna's transformation and hated the way she talked to people and viewed others as lesser. but she finds herself a bit in awe of her talent and confidence as they work on the play together, and begrudgingly ends up with a big fat crush on her. they talk, and she gets to see more of mona beyond the popular girl façade, and comes to care about her a lot even though she doesn't want to.

she's crushed by the mona is a reveal. she's devastated to learn about the things mona has done to so many people she cares about, and once again finds herself swallowed by grief.

things get better when caleb is finally adopted in between s2-3. octavia's been afraid something would happen to take caleb away from them, including but not limited to caleb deciding he wanted to live with his mother after all, and his adoption is something real and permanent that can't just be ripped away. it means caleb is going to stay, and she very badly needed someone to stay. she begins to feel somewhat stable again, like the family she's gained in caleb and christian and tasha is actually going to last.

[myhamartiaishubris]

What's happening in China right now?

Huge huge huge disclaimer: I'm not a journalist or any kind of expert, but I want to talk about this.

China's been having a pretty politicized Covid policy that involves locking people inside their houses and a whole host of other things. On October 13, a giant banner was hung on Beijing's Sitong bridge criticizing the CCP's Covid policy, Xi Jingping's cult of personality, and the authoritarian regime as a whole. This, for a nation that had epitomized BF Skinner's learned helplessness model for 30 years, was huge.

More recently, China's Covid policy killed 10 people in Xinjiang by not letting firefighters in and not letting residents out. Now, students in Shanghai and Beijing are marching the streets with a blank page as their symbol in defiance of China's stringent censorship. People are even comparing this to the 1989 Tiananmen Square march.

Why I have hope

If you're not familiar with Chinese culture, it might not be hitting you just how huge this is. Students from places like Qinghua and Beida—essentially China's Ivy League—are leading this protest. This is the nation that has gotten used to tags on Weibo getting censored within hours of them going viral. This is the nation that is called “真怕死，真听话” (really afraid of dying, really obedient). But even a cornered rabbit has teeth, and the people of China are not rabbits. There is very real hope of change.

Why I'm afraid

This has happened before. 1989, Tiananmen Square. It was also students, 30 years ago. What we call the Tiananmen Square Massacre, they called the Tiananmen Square Clearing. Actually, they call it nothing at all. Because schools don't teach about it. No one talks about it. Hell, barely anyone outside of Beijing even knew about the Sitong Bridge incident. The people in China aren't stupid—but they are kept deliberately ignorant. And that's why—

Be loud

Here is one thing I am asking of you, even—no, especially—if you have no connection to China. I am afraid to be loud, because I have family in China. And the CCP already has a history of returning its people's violence tenfold. So if you have no stake in the game—be loud. Please. Let them know the whole world is watching. I know Twitter's a shitshow, but make them listen. Make them see that, if they pull out the tanks again, we will see, and we will remember. Make them afraid.

History isn't a circle, but a spiral—it repeats and repeats, but each time it tips a little further until eventually, something breaks.

EDIT 31/12/2022: As of recently (again, not a historian or journalist), China opened up restrictions all at once and now suddenly everyone has COVID. Also none of the pharmacies have fever medicine. Idk smells a little like reprisals to me.

[thejockout]

New File! Horny Party Bro

(I don't know how seriously Tumblr takes bad words so I'm afraid, lmao. Excuse the l33tspeak hereafter.)

The file name is a deliberate throwback to that era of 2010-2015 files on WMM which always had that format of "Adjective, Adjective 2/Noun, Masc Noun": i.e, "Big Dumb Jock", etc etc. This is a new exploration of the masculinization concept wherein I take advantage of your brain's implicit biases and knowledge of stereotypes to make you act a certain way.

Here's how it works. if a guy works out, it's likely he does other stuff we associate with that cliché: eating clean, getting his steps in, watching sports... even if he didn't do those things initially, his social brain gradually influences him to perform other behaviours related to that new facet of identity over time, to help him find a tribe. In this way, like links in a chain, your knowledge (and lust) for masculine stereotypes is exploited here to drag you further along it, making you more the man you wanna be. Because let's be real... you don't wanna be complex. You wanna be a trope; a caricature of masculinity. A big, buff, physical dude with nothing on the brain besides hole, sports, partying... etc. The platonic ideal of a man is a lusty, impulsive frat boy after all.

So enjoy. 😉

(As a NSFW release, this file is locked behind a paid Patreon subscription.)

Content warnings for this file:

Increased libido/sexua1 impulsivity.

Suggestions to disregard doubt/fear about this change and embrace it in full, with appropriate safeties.

Increase in baseline ar0usal at all times to substantiate this change.

"Lowered standards" in that you're more open to partnering with people of varying body types, etc.

Suggestions to begin falling more in line with other masculine clichés - because you think with your ahem, it's natural you act like a man's man in other ways too. Body language, speech, interests, etc.

Specific references to partying and alcohol. YMMV, this will be flexible enough to work even if you perceive the masculine ideal here to be clubbing vs house parties vs a tipsy barbeque... Etc. They'll all strike the same chord.

The file doesn't contain dumbing but is dumbing compatible, and could potentially enhance that programming in you if it's already there.

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When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $60-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi... or by subscribing to me on Patreon! Keep listening, bros.

[morgana-ren]

Has your opinion/understanding on Astarion's character changed much as you play through the full game?

Actually, yes! Big spoilers again btw.

So, I will admit, my perception of characters is always slightly biased. It's always tilted in favor of my own predilections and desires, so I tend to see things in a skewed way. The less information I am presented, the more my brain will fill in the gaps thusly.

In the early access, Astarion is presented as a selfish vampire spawn clawing for his own survival from the vicious vampire lord that spawned him and has held him captive for centuries. It should be noted that he is one of the only companions open to the idea of abusing the tadpoles rather than removing them and only seeks to cure them if they cannot be controlled. It becomes apparent that he craves power above all else. He dislikes altruistic speech options, tends to veer directly towards ones that bolster said power, especially at the expense of other people. He seems the closest to a stereotypical 'chaotic' follower that you really get.

However, he isn't evil. He's a very rounded character despite his inherent selfishness. He is manipulative and vicious, but he is also desperate and afraid and slow to trust. Most of what he does, he does for his own survival and comfort rather than active malevolence-- though that isn't always the case.

You get an alright idea of him in the early access, as in enough to know if you're going to want to keep him around and invest time into him as opposed to just dropping him at camp perpetually. You catch glimpses of the man he is behind it all, but mostly he appears flamboyant, resourceful, flirtatious, and of extremely dubious morality. Fun, right?

Very, very wrong, actually.

As you progress through the game, you come to understand him better, and it's... tragic.

The first thing to slip is his explosive temper. He is confused, bitter, and frightened. He expects Cazador around every corner, stalking in every shadow, watching and waiting to sling the collar around his neck and yank once more. Paranoid. He has mystery scars painstakingly carved into his flesh that he cannot see because of his condition, in a language he cannot read, with horrible memories he doesn't want to recall. He is angry, and he isn't in the company of people he trusts even remotely at first and literally cannot remember the last time he was in centuries. He bottles up all those emotions to avoid the devastating vulnerability of showing emotion and shoves them down beneath his posh and nonchalant facade, and eventually, it finds a way out.

Occasionally, he snaps. He becomes enraged and has these moments of intense anger.

And then, there is what you might think to be a moment of connection.

Astarion, once he decides that he approves of you, will make a move to seduce you. Should you accept, you might find that he says something along the lines of "Isn't that why you came? To lose yourself in me?"

It seems like typical seduction dialogue at first, but this is very deliberate. The wording is very deliberate as is everything he does. Like a choreographed waltz that he has danced again and again and again--

Until it comes as natural as breathing.

After your night together, he evades a conversation that would take anything any further. No relationship, no nothing. Just a one off that turns you into the equivalent of ye olde fuckbuddies. He stays by your side, of course, but nothing changes between you other than him acknowledging what happened.

So, you progress a little more.

Eventually, both through necessity and happenstance, he does end up opening up little by little. And you find out bits and pieces about him. But there's one that stands out to me:

The crazy blood bitch in Moonrise dehumanizes him, speaks down to him, and refuses to even acknowledge his personhood. She only speaks to you, and makes you an offer regarding your 'property.' An invaluable potion for a moment with 'your pet vampire spawn.'

And he has a visceral reaction to this.

If you have a fucking heart and you don't make him do this, he comes to speak to you later and confides in you. Cazador had used him essentially as a honeypot, forcing him to use his body to lure unsuspecting citizens back to the vampire's den-- against his will. He was so degraded, so dehumanized, and so looked down on for so many years that he has genuinely come to believe that it's the truth. He thanks you genuinely for considering him and viewing him as a real person with emotions and feelings, but is also... confused. He doesn't understand, because that rotten, stagnant belief is still a truth to him: That he is nothing but a tool and a means to an end; that he doesn't matter. That he is a filthy thing to be used and cast aside when convenient. He doesn't understand why you didn't make him do it when it was only his comfort on the line.

And if you ask him to drink from her, he will. He stiffens his upper lip and drinks despite the fact that something is wrong and he knows it. He does it because you command him to. Because that's what he has done for so long that you don't have to have the lord's control over him anymore for him to follow orders.

There is a moment of stark, dreadful realization that sex and seduction have an entirely different meaning to him but he has still been doing it. That the love and connection that he truly needs might be support and a friend and not a bedfellow. That his agency and personhood have been stripped away for so long that he doesn't even recognize them anymore. He is bitter and mean but vulnerable and confused and terrified and he doesn't know how to seek comfort, so he resorts to what he knows while simultaneously distancing and degrading himself.

He does not believe that he is worth loving or caring for, or anything but being an object to be molded. Used. Discarded. He suffered for so long that this is a fundamental truth to him. He is a monster. A filthy vermin barely a step above the rats he's been fed.

You do what you should do: You give him the power. You try to build him back up. Try to help him understand that he isn't a monster or a tool. He is a man; he is a person, and he deserves a say in his own fate. His wants and desires matter. What he wants matters.

If you've done things right, he will take a gigantic leap of faith. He will be with you-- truly be with you. It's slow and he doesn't understand, but he knows he wants it, and you take it as slow as he needs-- but he's still hurt. He is still scarred.

In the Sharess Caress, there are a pair of Drow twins that will attempt to seduce you into what is essentially a foursome. If Astarion is there and he is a love interest and you attempt this, he will say "I'm really not ready for this." while looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, and almost panicked. The scars are still there, and they're barely healing over, and still so, so tender. Easy to tear right back open. Easy to push back into his shell to never come out again, because he tried vulnerability and it burned him.

He does not think he is worthy of love or happiness. He doesn't get to have a loving partner who adores him. Even slipped free of Cazador's yoke, his claws are still stuck steadfast in his soul. He is taking it slow and barely learning to trust another being again, leave alone put his neck out and care for one. He wears his misery as a shield because it cannot hurt him that way. He is a monster who has done horrible things and deserves to be alone forever. And even if that isn't the truth, then Cazador is still lurking out there, waiting to strike-- to rip away that newfound happiness.

Astarion is, above all things, a truly tragic character, and one that I empathize with. It makes my adoration for him slightly guilty. I'm not all the way through the game quite yet, but what I have seen hurts my heart something dreadful. With my character, he is slowly learning to trust and love again, but it's painfully apparent that he thinks he doesn't deserve this, and he is simply waiting for something to fall apart and send him back into the spiraling black chasm that is his life. He still believes all these miserable things about himself. He was forced into immortality, and he believes he's going to spend it alone, reviled, and wretched - not to mention enslaved.

As fun as it is to have a sexy, dark, controlling Astarion, I don't think it's necessarily true to his character as he is presented if you choose to do things right. He isn't evil - he is a complex, tragic man who desperately needs to be able to see his own reflection in a way that isn't horrifically warped by everyone else's eyes.

Vampire. Monster. Killer. Slave. Pet.

It's been so long he's lost track of himself. Of Astarion the man.

He needs to find himself and find peace. He asks to view himself through your eyes, maybe because he's looking for something-- anything-- within himself to hold onto.

If you ask me again in a few days, I'll probably have a fully fleshed out idea of his character, since I'll probably have completed the game or at the very least gotten a bit further, but this is what I have at the moment. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing Astarion as I adore, but I've always openly admitted that my writings on characters are skewed despite their actual content lmao.

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

The Lethal Protector

Warning! Spoilers for Venom: the Last Dance (2024)

Eddie.

Eddie Brock sat upright, dripping with sweat, and grabbing his chest. His eyes flicked first to his hand and then his chest. Following that, he checked the room for threats. There were no aliens, humans, or otherwise that appeared from the shadows to kill him.

“I miss you, buddy,” he murmured aloud for the thousandth time. His best friend in the whole world, perhaps the whole universe, was dead and gone. The thought left a gaping wound in his heart. How could an invincible alien that could shapeshift be truly gone?

Eddie staggered from bed and grabbed the bottle off the nightstand as he trudged to the kitchen. He only stubbed his toe once as he made his way in the dark. He tried not to think about how fast his pain would disappear when Venom had been with him.

Flopping onto the couch, Eddie tipped the bottle to his lips. Stale, warm, beer met his tastebuds and he groaned. He set the bottle on the table and placed his head into his hands. He had his life back after being on the run. He should be investigating again on the streets, but Eddie was afraid. He was afraid of how soft and vulnerable he felt without Venom. He had crept into the Life Foundation research lab with nothing but his outrage, and now he got drunk on weekdays and mourned his best friend. He was pathetic.

Turning on the television, Eddie tried to watch the news and get inspired. He wanted to write again. He needed something to get his mind off Venom. He spent the early morning hours hoping to find something else to get his hands dirty with.

Suddenly, something pounded against his door. Eddie flinched and got to his feet. He called out tentatively, “Who is it?” 

Eddie approached the door slowly and peered through the peephole. An unfamiliar man stood there. The man answered, “Delivery for Eddie Brock.”

“Delivery?” Eddie repeated. He opened the door after a few moments of deliberation.

“You Eddie Brock?”

“Y-yes?” he replied, noticing the man was covered in dirt and didn’t have shoes on. His clothes were torn and he seemed to have nothing with him.

“Here,” he grabbed Eddie’s hand.

Suddenly, a familiar black substance rose to the surface of the man’s dusty skin and rushed onto Eddie’s. Venom melted into his system faster than he could blink. He felt a brief chill as his friend spread.

“Venom?” Eddie gasped.

Hello, Eddie. I missed you.

“I missed you, too, man. Are you alright?”

I am still recovering. I have not eaten enough to heal completely. I didn’t find any bad men to eat on the way here.

Eddie chuckled, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ll get you something soon,”

The stranger looked close to tears, “He threatened to kill me,”

“Oh! Uh, thank you and… I’m sorry. He isn’t very considerate sometimes. He did just get doused with acid and then blown up with a grenade, though. Here, take this,” Eddie got out his wallet and handed the man the change he had, “Keep this between us, okay?”

In a daze, he took the cash and left. Eddie slammed the door shut and strode to his bedroom to get dressed. Venom was going to be hungry and there was no way he was leaving his apartment in his underwear. The Hawaiian shirt and crocs had been a new low and he vowed to never let that happen again.

“How? How did you survive?”

I can regenerate from a fraction of myself. Strickland found part of me in that bar in Mexico. During the fight with the xenophages, that part of me was safe in some sort of glass vial. I escaped and found a bug to bond to. Then I came to find you, Eddie.

“That’s great. I can’t believe you’re here,”

I’m hungry, Eddie. His organs looked very tasty but I didn’t eat them.

“I’m proud of you, bud. C’mon, let’s go get you something to eat,” Eddie snorted, grabbing his jacket and throwing it on.

Are we the Lethal Protector again, Eddie?

“Yeah, sure. We’re the Lethal Protector,”

[wheelie-sick]

I am so tired of being referred to with they/them pronouns. being a Deaf gender nonconforming wheelchair user my existence in public is constantly scrutinized and picked apart. I am an object of curiosity and concern. I am a target for harassment, both deliberate and not.

being Deaf people see me and feel afraid. they see my hands moving and their mind is filled with terror. terror that I might try to speak to them and they wouldn't know what to do or say. terror that I might be speaking about them. terror that I'm not safe to be in public without a hearing person to watch over me. they see me as my signing first and a person second. I am an action before I am a human being.

being a wheelchair user people see me and feel afraid. afraid for my safety without an ablebodied person to guide me. afraid that they might mess up and say something offensive. and yet they feel morbid curiosity. they ask me if my butt hurts from sitting so long and they ask me how I use the bathroom if I can't walk. they ask me prying questions about my medical history and act offended when I'd rather not divulge. they see me as a wheelchair first and a person second. I am an object before I am a human being.

being gender nonconforming people see me and feel confused. they don't know what to label me as and don't know how to refer to me. they can't figure out whether I'm a man or woman and I don't want them to. they ponder my gender and my gender expression and my guesses at it and my sexuality. they wonder if I'm gay or just an odd looking woman. some of them have made it a game to guess "what" I am. I am a source of confusion before I am a human being.

being an action, an object, and a source of confusion people don't see me. they can't peel past the layers on the outside to reach my humanity so I remain something to twist around in their head. I am too much for anyone unlike me to handle. no one is exempt, not gender nonconforming hearing people, not Deaf pedestrians, not gender conforming wheelchair users.

because I have so many different very visible statuses applied to me no one knows how to label me and so they strip me of all of them choosing to focus on none since they can't comprehend all. they find comfort in they. they doesn't acknowledge my existence outside of my signing, they doesn't acknowledge my existence outside of my wheelchair, and they doesn't acknowledge my gender. I am constantly degendered, having my very deliberate expression erased in favor of labeling me as nothing. they doesn't require fitting someone like me into my worldview because it is neutral, it is nothing.

I am stripped of my gendered experiences as someone who was a woman and who is a trans intersex nonbinary man. I have my experiences defined out of existence because they do not align with hearing people's experiences or pedestrian's experiences. because my experiences of gender are so heavily influenced by my identity as a Deaf wheelchair user I have my experiences ignored and spoken over. I am stripped of my gender identity in the way people describe me. if I'm described as a man at all I am described as a wheelchair user and a Deaf person before people ever describe my gender.

it's misuse of a perfectly acceptable pronoun to enforce hearing, pedestrian, gender conforming society's norms. people do not use they/them for me because they think that I use they/them pronouns, they use they/them for me because they do not want to acknowledge who I am. many of the people who insist on using they/them for me are well aware that I use exclusively he/him pronouns but they don't care because in their head they see me as signing or a wheelchair and are confused about why a man would look like me. they think I am wrong about my own identity and think that because they are hearing, or a pedestrian, or gender conforming, that they get to assign the "correct" pronouns for someone like me.

I am so tired of being referred to with they/them pronouns

-> this post is about physical disability and Deafness. do not derail.