#i decided it needed to be people in the same scene.

[luli-lads]

*Takes deep breath* Okay.

- Predictions and analysis of the 4 new chapters -

(If you're reading this in the future, this was made before the chapters were actually released, because I have brainrot)

"Death and Rebirth"

Just like we have "Under Deepspace", "Long-Awaited Revelry", "Prologue to Tomorrow" and "Homecoming Wings", this is going to be the name of the new main story, which will contain 4 chapters, and I'm guessing each of them will have 9-10 episodes of actual story, with some battles sprinkled in.

1 - Absurdity Unfolds

The Gaia Research Center is where Josephine worked as a researcher, and where MC (and Caleb) were being experimented on as kids.

If you remember, ruins of research centers were in the N109 Zone, so although we have no confirmation of this specific one, this is probably a Sylus chapter.

I'm guessing MC is trying to uncover more of her past, and that's why she decides to sneak into this 'laser-surrounded' place. I wonder if we'll get info about Caleb as well.

As for the 'Zoion Hunt'... Hmm... I wonder if that has to do with the little cube we saw Sylus and MC holding in the trailer. It seems to be some sort of game. Perhaps the people chasing them are trying to win the game too by snatching the cube from them, or perhaps they're guards who took notice of MC's breaking into the research center.

The last part, about the arena, seems to connect directly to the next chapter, as we can see by the next picture (it looks like a futuristic football field lol).

2 - All From Deepspace

Now, I'm not sure what's up with the arena itself. So I'm gonna leave that in the air and let y'all speculate.

Let's just focus on the text itself.

MC successfully gets into the lab where they experimented on her, and either finds records of what happened there, or has flashbacks about it. That's where the quote at the bottom comes in.

I'm also thinking that the car chase sequence might be at the end of this chapter instead, once she has gathered all the info she needs and has to escape from the Ever guards, she calls Sylus to come pick her up.

As for the thing that Sylus destroys... There's no confirmation from the voiceline itself that it's the cube (sometimes they mix voicelines and scenes that don't correspond) but whatever it is, I'm pretty sure he destroyed it because it had a tracking device or something like that. And MC gets mad because she thinks he destroyed it for no reason, and wanted to take it back to Unicorns to analyze it. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT IDK

3 - Cosmic Speck

Immediately the fact that there's snow already tells us that this is a Zayne chapter. I'm guessing this happens a day or two after the previous two chapters, not immediately after.

And. Btw. 'Unsettling figures lurk in the darkness', that's about Dawnbreaker. If they were just talking about those 'Alterum' they wouldn't mention them in the next sentence, or they wouldn't use that first sentence. It's a nudge towards Dawnbreaker + the Alterum at the same time.

I'm really worried though. Because, you remember when Zayne's branch was announced and we saw him wearing Dawnbreaker's clothes so we assumed it was him, and then it wasn't...? I'm worried they'll pull the same stunt and it won't actually be Dawnbreaker.

So if it is... How did he get here? Or how did we go there? They're talking about Linkon City, not about Chansia, so... It means he came here... But how...?

About the Alterum, they seem to be people that are being taken by Protocore Syndrome, but not quite yet turned into Wanderers. Still, kinda monstrous, maybe? (Half-Wanderers, just between you and me)

The fountain of Atei is Ever's ultimate project. About reaching immortality. As for how the Alterum and the project are connected... The greater number of Alterum probably mean more people that Ever has used as test subjects, which means they're getting closer to their goal if they're using more resources on their experiments.

As for the plot in this chapter exactly... I'm not sure about the sequence of events. It seems like it's gonna take place around the city, helping/killing Alterum with Zayne/DB. Maybe that'll lead him and MC to break into another research center...? ...Xander? (Which leads us to the next chapter)

4 - Snow Fades at Dawn

Yet again nudging us with that chapter title huh.

Just like I said in the previous chapter, more Protocore Syndrome, more subjects, more Alterum, etc.

But it also adds something new. It seems like some of these patients, before they even turn into Alterum, are choosing to be treated by Xander Sciences using their Life Pods (I'm assuming that's what the 'cocoon' part is referring to, since yknow Ever owns Xander), to try and stop the illness, but by doing so they become willing test subjects (and maybe that's when, if the experiments fail, they turn into Alterum).

I'm also wondering if Ever is manipulating the Protocore Syndrome odds so more people will turn to them...

And then that last line. I can assure you with 100% certainty that it's said by Carter. Remember he wanted MC as a patient to test on her, but she kept refusing.

Hmm... I wonder if the situation is that he manages to trap MC and gives an evil monologue, says that, and then Zayne comes to save her? Perhaps that's when the whole trailer scene happens. Hmmm.

Final thoughts

I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if Sylus and Zayne are actually going to appear in chapters 1 and 3, but I'm 100% sure of their presence in chapters 2 and 4. (Not together. You know what I mean. Sylus in 2 and Zayne in 4)

I'm really hyped for this update, and some things it may bring: Hints about 6th LI, possibly more 3D models for important characters (Carter pls pls pls pls), Zayne and Sylus interaction if we dare dream (no way lmao), etc etc...

What do y'all think?

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

You got me good (I knew you would)

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary Sam and you go on your first date after a long time of skating around each other. During dinner, you reveal to Sam that you’ve never had sex. But Sam is about to change that… CWs Virgin!reader. Sam being the sweetest potato. Communication. Loving, sweet and gentle (but still kinda steamy). 18+. 9.6k words. AN Virginity is a dumb as fuck concept, but this is the reader deciding it's her "first time". She's not particularly virginal or innocent, either. She's just a person who happens to not have had sex before. :)

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

The restaurant wasn't fancy, but as fancy as you could get in a no-name town in the middle of nowhere. They had seated you close to the kitchen and you kept hearing the clanging of dishes and occasional cussing. There was an A/C somewhere above you that was making the air just a little bit too cold for you in the dress you were wearing. When you got your food it was somehow overcooked and undercooked at the same time.

None of it mattered.

The world could have been burning down around you and you would have looked at the flames and thought pretty!, because Sam was sitting across from you on your first official date.

Sam and you had talked a long time about whether first official date was the correct title for it. It was your first date, but you had spent so much time together in the last months, living basically cheek-to-cheek that it felt a little strange to call it that. You had also done things together, all above deck, and you had kissed, so yeah, having your first date now was definitely a little weird.

When you had told Sam this he has chuckled, but then he had turned to you, all intense, serious, long-legged, geeky, earnest 6’4’’ of him looking at you fully, and he had said that this was different though. Things between you were different now.

So first official date it was.

“You don’t think we have enough horrific stuff in our daily life?” you were asking, stealing a cherry tomato off Sam’s plate. “I guess I just don’t get the appeal of reading about even more of that stuff in your free time.” Sam grinned and watched you pop the tomato into your mouth.

“It’s just interesting,” he said. “How people work, what they think. How they get to be that way.” He reached for the bottle of wine you had ordered, topping up your glass first and then his. “Plus it tells you a lot about police work, how sometimes the most obvious details are missed because people don’t want to see what’s right in front of them.”

He stopped himself, looking a little shy the way he sometimes did when he thought he’d been ranting. He checked your face for boredom or annoyance. He wouldn’t find either. Your hands were placed under your chin and you were listening to him attentively, watching his face. A small smile came over him as he picked up his glass to take a sip.

“’s just interesting, is all,” he mumbled into it. You smiled at his constraint.

“Well, maybe I need to give it a go,” you said, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure there’s some serial killers that are fun to read about.”  Sam grinned.

“I think you’d like it. It’s all about psychology, at the end of the day.”

“There you go with that big brain again,” you sighed, making Sam chuckle. “I like my reading a little dumbed down.”

Sam was taking another sip and almost choked with how hasty he put the glass down. “That’s not true! There’s nothing dumb about what you read,” he said, actually sounding offended on your behalf. You grinned.

“I say that proudly, Sam. We get enough complexities in our day job. So it’s visceral delights during off-time for me.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fantasy lands, quests, good guys, bad guys, torrid romance,” you counted down, then shrugged. “Couple o’ nasty sex scenes.” Sam’s smile stuttered.

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Mmh hmm,” you said, taking a drink. “Gotta tread carefully, though. I read the first Ice and Fire book waaaay too young, and it gave me a lot of weird ideas about what sex was.” You chuckled into your glass.

“Like what?” Sam asked, a distant smile on his face. He was watching you intently.

“Like… how much of it is had in taverns?” you said, a slight nervousness creeping into you. Sam grinned, though.

“Real life not holding up on the tavern sex, huh?”

You tried to return the grin, but noticed it didn't come to you. Okay, you thought. You were gonna have to talk about this sooner or later.

Taking a breath, you gave yourself a push. “Tough to say,” you replied, holding onto your wineglass for emotional support. “Since I’ve never had sex.”

You looked at Sam’s face while you said it, your expectations running wild. His eyebrows went up a little, and that was it. He didn’t run out the door. He didn’t laugh at you.  Which were all things you’d imagined might happen, but they didn’t.

“Really?” he asked, but he didn’t sound shocked or weirded out. He was just confirming.

“Really,” you said, and you weren’t sure if you sounded nervous.

“How come?” Sam asked, then added: “Because I know it’s not for lack of offers.” You smiled, a little flattered.

“It just never… felt right, you know?” you explained. “I got close a few times but then I always kind of put the kibosh on it.” You shrugged. Sam nodded.

“I think that’s good,” he said. “I mean to wait if it doesn’t feel right.” God, you could have kissed him. You pressed your lips together.

“Not sure what that does for my market value, though,” you said, trying to play past the moment. “Do guys want whores or virgins these days? I can never keep up.”

“No idea,” Sam replied, his face a little serious, and then he said: “I just know what I want.” He was looking at you, pointedly and you felt your face heat up.

“And what’s that?” you asked. Sam kept looking at you.

“You.”

Holy mackerel, this man, because he quickly added: “That’s if you want to be wanted. If it’s not for you…” he shook his head. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” you said, “you’re making me the opposite of uncomfortable.” It sounded a little weird so you chuckled. Sam grinned.

“Good. I’m glad.”

You put your glass down, poked at the rest of your food even though you’d lost all interest in it.

“So would you…” you started, then pivoted, not sure how to approach what you wanted to say. “Do you want to want me… anytime soon?” You looked up and Sam was already looking at you. You were just dropping your fork, so he moved his hand over the table to you and held yours.

“What do you want?” he asked. Chewing the inside of your lip, you looked at him.

“I wanna have sex with you, Sam,” you said, because, well, you did. You really did. Yes, there were nerves and as much as you knew that it was nonsense there were preconceived notions in you through years and years of horrible socialization. That you wouldn’t be good, that Sam wouldn’t like you as much afterwards. But you recognized these things and compared them to the man sitting in front of you, the man you were pretty sure you were in love with, and they seemed to pale. You trusted Sam, trusted him with all your heart. And you wanted him.

He was stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, looking at you. “I wanna have sex with you, too,” he replied. You squeezed his hand, a chaste gesture compared to what was happening where your eyes were meeting. You had to take a deep breath.

“Tonight?” you asked, carefully.

“If that’s what you want,” Sam said, squeezing your hand again. “I can wait,” he added, “for as long as you want. But yeah, I mean, I’m not gonna lie.” At that, that shy grin returned to his lips. “I would really love to be with you. I’ve been thinking about it… a lot.”

You licked your lips at that, the thought that Sam had been thinking about you making more heat run through your body.

“You have?” you asked, and Sam nodded. “What’s it like?” you asked, hungry to know what was going on in Sam’s head, what he was imagining, what he liked and wanted. He shrugged.

“Kind of changes. What’s always the same is that I want to make you feel good.”

A small, shuddery breath left you. Sam cleared his throat, seeming to give himself a little push just as you had earlier. “I mean I want to make you come. I want to eat you out.”

You bit your lip, feeling a delicious pull in your core. Was this how you found out you were into dirty talk? Or was it just Sam?

Seeing your reaction, Sam continued: “I want to know how you sound and feel when you come. What you like, what works for you.”

Of course Sam would want to learn, would want to explore. That was just the kind of guy he was. You nodded.

“I would like that,” you replied, your voice coming out a little breathier than you’d expected. Sam nodded, holding your gaze.

“What do you want?” he asked. You took a second to think. You’d never considered that you would have a conversation about the sex before you had it. It had always seemed like something that just happened, in the throes of passion. This was much nicer, much less daunting.

“Well, that whole you-making-me-come business sounds really good,” you said, making Sam grin. “Uhm, I’m not sure, I mean…” You leaned forward, hoping no staff would heard you. “I think doggy-style always looks really hot? Or when the girl's on top?” you said. Sam took an audible breath through his nose. “But I also I would just want to look at you and see you, so it’s a toss-up.”

Sam nodded slowly, looking at you. There was a look on his face that you’d never seen before until recently. It showed up on his face sometimes when you kissed him or when he was just looking at you for a while. A hunger, or something like it. A want. It thrilled you, seeing it now.

At that moment, your waitress came over to your table. “Anything else I can get you guys? Maybe some desert?” she asked.

You held Sam’s gaze as he raised his eyebrows, a question in his face.

“No, thanks,” you answered. “We’ll just get the check.”

The evening outside was cooling off after the day had been warm and sunny. Sam took your hand the moment you were out of the restaurant. You smiled up at him and he tugged your arm in close to his body.

The motel you were staying in was down the road, which was good, since you didn’t have a car. Dean had left earlier that day to visit an old flame a few hours away, and you weren’t expecting him back until the next day, or even the one after. So you had the room, and Sam, all to yourself.

The thought made you stop on the sidewalk. Sam took another step, then noticed you were behind him. He turned around, a questioning look on his face while his hand still held yours. You pulled on his arm only a little but he followed it as if you’d tied him to a ten ton truck.

Once he stood close to you, your neck all the way bent back you told him: “Kiss me.” The question disappeared from Sam’s face, replaced by a smile. His free hand went up to your face, barely touched it, his thumb running over your jaw. His face came closer and his nose touched yours, and only then did he kiss you. Softly and gently but passionately at the same time.

You dropped back on your feet after having pushed yourself up the better to reach him and looked into his eyes. Then you tugged his hand again and you continued to walk towards the motel.

You were both giggling and already touching each other all over by the time you reached the room. Sam had planted a hand on your ass and you pretended you were trying to get away from it, but the touch made you so giddy you thought you might burst.

You got to the door, Sam pulling the key from his jacket pocket, and you leaned your back against it, Sam standing as close to you as possible as he put the key in the lock. You were looking up at him and managed to distract him before he could turn it. His hand left the key, instead going to your hair, as he leaned down to kiss you. Your arms went around him, pulling him closer, and the combination of the door behind you and Sam-the-wall in front of you made your head spin.

The kiss turned a little, giddy pecking becoming something different. Your hands went up to Sam’s head then, pulling him against you, as you could suddenly feel his tongue. You opened your lips, letting him in, and he did that thing where he breathed out of his nose, as if he needed to control himself. It made you shudder. When you separated for a second to catch your breath, you were almost panting.

“Open the door, Sam,” you said. His hand shot over to where the key still was and turned, making you both almost fall into the room together. It would have made you laugh, usually, but not right then. You were too busy pulling Sam’s face in again, push your tongue against his. You were both breathing hard and you were distantly impressed when Sam remembered to kick the door closed behind him.

Then both his hands were on you again, pulling you close, closer, closer, closer. There was no room left between you two and still Sam wasn’t close enough. Your hands dropped to his shoulders, finding his collar, and you started to push his jacket off him. Sam moved his hands from you only for a second to let the jacket drop, then he was on you again, his hands running up your back. Your denim jacket was riding up since you had to stretch your arms so high to reach Sam, and he ran his hands under them, the thin fabric of the dress that had made you feel cold in the restaurant earlier suddenly a godsend.

Sam wasn’t moving fast enough for you so you removed your hands from him a second, the effort of it nearly making you groan, and tore the jacket off your own shoulders, dropping it somewhere behind you, your arms shooting back around him immediately. A second later they were dropping to his chest, as you started to unbutton his shirt. You made it to three buttons before you started struggling on one.

Breaking the kiss, you looked to where your fingers were, cussing silently, while Sam looked down at the same time. Your hands were shaking from anticipation and when you spoke your voice sounded shaky as well.

“Damn Winchesters and their layers,” you muttered, trying to make a joke. Sam huffed a little, then his lips were meeting your forehead, your hair. Finally you defeated the button and opened the rest of Sam’s shirt, tearing it off his shoulders but as you looked up at him again to kiss him, his hands landed on your arms.

“We need to slow down,” he said, breathing hard. You felt an uncomfortable twitch in you. Slow down? Why? Was it not good?

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you muttered instead as Sam moved half a step away from you, the distance feeling huge. He breathed out slowly. Now that they weren’t on Sam anymore you suddenly felt intensely aware of your hands, unsure what to do with them. You wrung them in front of you for a second, then quickly stopped when you realized what you were doing.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his voice gentle. You looked up at him. He was watching you carefully.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “yeah, just, uhm, little nervous. But I liked the kissing part. Maybe we can do more of that?” Sam smiled at that, but as usual he wasn’t falling for your joking if it was covering up something else.

“We can just take it slow, okay?” he said, his hands going from your arms to your shoulders, squeezing them gently. You pressed your lips together.

“I was kind of hoping to get past the nerves, just get through it, by not slowing down,” you admitted, a little embarrassed. Sam nodded.

“I get that,” he said, “but if it’s something we just want to get through, maybe we should wait?” Your nerves were raging a battle in you, but the thought of waiting, of not getting to be with Sam that night was even more upsetting.

“No,” you said, almost whining a little. “I want to be with you, Sam. But yeah, I’m nervous.” Sam nodded again.

“What are you nervous about?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Part of you still didn’t want to talk about it. The talk you’d had at the restaurant had been great, sexy, something new you wanted to explore, but now that you were in the middle of it, the idea of revealing your fears made you feel vulnerable. You took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips.

“I’m…” you started, then cleared your throat to continue. “I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you said, to Sam’s continued, encouraging nodding. “I’m scared I…” You stuttered a little, feeling much more embarrassed about this fear than the previous one, feeling like it stood in for some kind of failure of character, that you should be above this.

“I’m scared I won’t be good,” you finally continued, suddenly feeling a lump in your throat. “And I’m scared,” you said, pushing yourself through, trying to ignore the tears you suddenly felt in your eyes, the tingling in your nose. “I’m scared you won’t think I’m good and that it’ll change something about us.”

You sniffled. The way Sam looked at you, the empathic expression, the sweet puppy dog eyes, the absolute goddamn fucking earnestness of him was like a finger poking at your heart. And then, when he saw that you weren’t going to say anything else, he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, holding you against him, his free hand stroking your hair. Your head landed on his chest, his broad, wide chest, and you snuggled yourself against him.

Sam kissed the top of your head, and you could have combusted from how much you loved him in that moment, from how close you felt to him.

“Okay,” he said, his words vibrating through you from where the top of your head was now tucked against his throat. “First of all,” he continued, his voice serious, “we’re not going to do anything that hurts or doesn’t feel right or good.” You nodded against him.

“We’ll use lube,” he continued, “and I’ll make sure you’re relaxed before anything else happens.” His words sent a twitch of arousal through you, despite your emotions. He would relax you.

“And second,” Sam continued, holding you a little closer against him, “and I want you to really hear this, you do not have to worry about being good or being good for me or about anything changing about the way I feel about you.”

Sam’s fingers were making little circles on you, and combined with his body heat radiating off him it was calming you down. “It’ll be good if you enjoy yourself. That’s the only deciding factor.” He moved his head, and then he was pulling you away from him, making you look at him. His face was serious. “It’ll be good because it’s you and it’s me and whatever that means and whatever works, that’ll be the good part, okay?”

And because you were maybe still looking a little unsure, he added: “Fuck the rest.” It made you laugh. Sam cussing always made you laugh, because it was so uncharacteristic for him. “Okay,” you said, nodding.

“So,” Sam said, looking into your eyes. “Do you want to keep going? Or we can do something else. We can watch TV or just sit, or—” Your hands had wandered up to his face again, gently cupping it.

“Thank you, Sam,” you said. He smiled a little. “You have nothing to thank me for.” He looked into your eyes a moment longer, then leaned down to kiss you again. Softly, lips only, almost carefully as if you hadn’t just been devouring each other’s faces a minute earlier. You felt an intense stirring inside you, and you dared to pull him a little closer. Sam didn’t stop you, instead his hand also found your face.

“Are you sure?” he muttered against your lips. “I’m sure,” you muttered back, and then: “I want to feel you, Sam.” Sam sighed at that. His hands went to your hips, and the tugged at the fabric of your dress a little.

“Do you want to take this off now or wait?” he asked quietly. You grinned.

“I want you to take it off me,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. Sam smiled at that. He started pulling up the dress, the fabric bunching where he was collecting it, and then slowly pulled it over your head, his hands reaching high to take it off you, letting it fall behind you. He looked down at you, at your body and his forehead met yours.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. You laid your hand on his chest, biting your lip at the tone of his voice, one of absolute admiration. You giggled a little, and he smiled when he looked at your face. “I can’t believe I get to see you and touch you,” he said, pressing his nose in next to yours.

“Well,” you started, “tit for tat, Winchester. Let me see those demon slaying muscles I keep dreaming about. Get out of that slutty, little v-neck.” Sam laughed, a little sheepishly. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, laughing as well. Sam assisted you, helping you pull the shirt up over him. You nearly swooned as you allowed your hands to run over his neck, down his chest to the pronounced muscles of his hip bones. You couldn’t help but bite your lips, and after allowing your eyes to roam over him as well before you looked up at him again.

“You’re beautiful, too,” you said. Sam looked at you, a moment of surprise on his face, then he pulled you in again to kiss you. You hung your arms around his neck, using your hold on him to kick off your shoes, making you hop a little which made Sam grin against you, and only hold you closer. He did the same with his shoes while you blindly opened his jeans, and he pulled them low enough to fall.

You felt one of his hands move up your back to your bra and suddenly another rush of nerves went through you. Being in your underwear was one thing, but Sam seeing you naked...

You broke the kiss, taking a deep breath. Sam looked at you, studying your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately. “Just a little nervous about the naked part,” you said. Sam shook his head.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Do you want to keep your underwear on for now?”

“Maybe for a little?” you said, and Sam nodded, then kissed you again.

“Do you want to lie down?” he asked when he broke away for a second. “Get more comfortable?” You nodded against him. Without separating, the two of you side-stepped to the bed, you stepping on Sam’s toe once. “Sorry! Sorry!” you cringed. Sam chuckled. “All good.”

You reached the bed, your calves bumping into it. “Oh, wait,” Sam said, suddenly letting go of you. He turned around and located his bag. As he walked to it, you crawled on the bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter. Sam pulled something from his bag, then turned around and walked the few steps back before stopping dead in his tracks. He was looking down at you, a slight smile on his lips, lips slightly parted.

“What?” you giggled. Sam shook his head a little. “Nothing,” he said. Just then, you were taking him in as well, just in his boxers now. You saw that he was hard and looked back up at his face again.

“Come here,” you said. He crawled on the bed as well, setting a small bottle on the night stand first, what you assumed was lube. Sam came close to you, laying his hands on you knees.

“Do you wanna lay down?” he asked softly. You nodded, then leaned back, lying down and stretching out your legs. Sam did the same, but he laid on his side, head propped up by one arm bent at the elbow. Once you’d both settled, you looked at each other.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you said back, smiling.

“What do you want?” Sam asked. You thought for a second, then took the arm he wasn’t holding himself up with and laid it over yourself, petting it. Sam’s fingers stroked your side, his underarm was across your stomach. It just felt right, he felt right.

“I just want to keep kissing,” you said, lifting one hand to play a little with his bangs. “And keep touching.” Sam nodded, and then leaned down to you, your lips meeting. The hand that had been on your side moved to your hip, making beautiful little circles. He kissed you, and kept kissing you, and you would have been content to spend your days like this but there was a pull in you, a need building.

Feeling bold, your hand went down to Sam’s resting on your hip and, slowly, you moved it to your lower stomach, to just above the waistband of your underwear, then pushed his land even lower, his fingers finally touching the fabric. Sam broke the kiss and looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” he said, but even having his hand there was making you clench. You nodded.

“Yes, Sam,” you said, and it came out breathless. “I want you to touch me.” Sam kissed you again and then his hand slowly, slowly wandered lower, slipping into your underwear. Sam was perpetually warm, always running hot, so you didn’t have to worry about his fingers being cold.

The tips of his fingers were on your mound and then there was a gentle touch on your lips that made you shudder a little. You took a deep breath, but not from nerves this time. Sam was touching you. He broke the kiss again, and looked at you.

“All good,” you said, bringing your hand to the back of his neck to pull him closer, “feels nice.” He nodded, and then, instead of kissing you, his mouth landed on your cheek, then traveled to your jaw. At the same time he was running two fingers left and right of your clit and pussy. He wasn’t rubbing you, but on every other round he made his fingers come close to your clit. He was slowly bringing the two fingers together and then there was a low thrill of pleasure when he arrived closer to your center, the nerves there being stimulated.

You hummed and closed your eyes as Sam’s mouth wandered to your neck. This, you knew. This was what you did to yourself, often to the thought of Sam. Without thinking about it, you wanted to let him know.

“Do you know,” you said, your voice quiet, “how often I touch myself thinking of you?” Sam’s movement stopped for a second, both in your panties as well as on your neck as a small groan left him at your words. Then he picked up his rhythm again. He liked that, you thought. You ran your hand over the arm that was moving against you, over the hard muscle, the soft skin.

“I always think of you, Sam,” you continued. The low thrill of pleasure you’d felt kept returning, Sam’s fingers just barely brushing past a part of you that was hot, almost itchy, slowly zeroing in on it. “Hmm,” escaped you, “oh, that feels nice.” Your breathing was picking up a little and you suddenly noticed that you could feel how wet you were. Sam’s movement on you was moving your inner lips and you realized you could hear it as well. An intense blush moved into your face but a second later the thought exited you, wondering if Sam had heard it as well. If he would like it as much as knowing that you masturbated to the thought of him.

His mouth was wandering up to your jaw again after having been stunned against your neck, listening to you. Then he was back at your mouth, and you could see him, see his face. That hungry look on him.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, giving you a short kiss.

“Yes, it feels really good,” you replied, giving him another kiss with your eyes open, not willing to not see his face. A little gasp left you when Sam’s circles found just the right spot.

“There?” he asked and you nodded.

“Keep going,” you whispered, your breathing picking up. He kept going, adding a little bit more pressure. A high little moan escaped you and you pulled up one of your legs on instinct, letting it drop open so Sam could move with more freedom. He smiled at that.

“Can you, mmh, can you go a little faster?” you asked, feeling a little timid about making requests. Sam started going faster, just a little and you had to bite your lip at the feeling.

“Right there, right there,” you mumbled and Sam concentrated on that spot as your pleasure kept building and building. Sam was about to make you come, and that thought alone was pushing you towards the edge fast. You had to close your eyes at the feeling, your hand going away from Sam’s arm to his side for something to hold onto, as his work on you was starting to make you come undone.

“Oh, Sam,” you sighed, “that feels amazing, don’t stop.” Sam leaned his head down, mouth close to your ear.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he whispered. “So fucking hot.” Okay, so the cursing worked for him in this specific situation, you just managed to think, before your hand curled in pleasure where you were holding Sam, your head going up to be closer to him.

“Sam, I’m gonna—” you panted, your eyes falling shut and your lower body seeking more friction. Sam was breathing hard against you, and then you were coming, your head hitting the pillow under you, while you were biting your lip hard, suppressing your whimpers as you pulled your leg up, and Sam continued rubbing you through your release.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, the tension leaving your body, only your chest rising and falling. Sam kissed your cheek gently, and you turned your head to catch his lips with yours. Then he laid his forehead against yours. When you finally blinked open your eyes, he was looking at you. His pupils were blown.

“Good?” he asked. You nodded, feeling a grin spread on your face.

“Very good,” you replied.

You lay like this, for a little while, while you stroked Sam's side and he your arm. Eventually he gave you another kiss, then your chin, your shoulder.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked. Keep going? What else was he going to do with you?

“Do you want to…?” you asked, looking down his body. Sam shook his head. “Not yet, okay?”

You nodded and then Sam was slowly kissing his way down your body. Oh. That was what he was going to do.

You waited for the rush of nerves to spike but it didn’t come. Maybe you were simply too fried from the orgasm. Sam was kissing your stomach, tearing you away from your thoughts when he made you giggle. He looked up at you, grinning.

“I love your laugh,” he said. And I love you, you almost said. You pressed your lips together.

“Can I take these off?” Sam asked, laying his finger on the waistband of your panties. You nodded. “Yes.” Sam’s hand went to your hips, and you pushed your lower body up, letting him tug them off your legs. You saw a smudge of white in its crotch as he did.

“Oh geez,” you said, but Sam smiled.

“You know that’s good, right?” he said.

“I know,” you mumbled, “just…” Sam kissed you high on your thigh.

“If I do my job right there’s gonna be a lot more where that came from,” he said, and playfully nipped at the place he just kissed.

“Sam!” you gasped, but couldn’t help but laugh. He grinned up at you again, then moved both his hands to your hips. “Ready?” You nodded. “And if there’s something you don’t like just say it or tap my head, okay?” You nodded again, your hand going to your mouth, a grin building behind it. “Are you gonna, uhm, use your fingers?”

“If you want me to,” Sam responded. You nodded again, your damn head getting a little too used to that. “Yes,” you said. “Just tell me before you do, okay?” Sam smiled.

“I will,” he said.

“Well, then,” you said, unsure what to say. “This pussy’s not gonna eat itself, Sam.”

Sam did a pfff sound. “How romantic,” he joked. You shrugged. “That’s me.”

Then Sam, still chuckling a little, lowered himself, continued kissing your thighs and hips but soon moved closer to your sex. You looked away shortly and pulled a pillow from the head of the bed to push under your head below the one that was already there. When Sam noticed and looked up, you said bashfully: “Wanna see you.” There was that look again, that deep look like something was hooked in Sam’s heart or his brain. Something good.

Without breaking eye contact he lowered his head and kissed your clit. The sensitivity sent a delicious shudder through you that made you gasp. But that was nothing compared to the picture of Sam between your legs. You tried to take a mental photo, just in case you ever fell on hard times.

His mouth met you again and this time his tongue came darting out, slowly moving over the bundle of nerves. You sucked in a breath, arching your back up a little, wanting him closer. You watched as he continued, the feeling sweet and tickling. Then he lowered his mouth further, and sucked the little nub into his mouth. Your plans to watch him throughout went out the window then, as your head fell back, your chest heaving.

“Sam,” you moaned. In response he hummed, his sucking creating a pulsing sensation that you swore you could feel behind your eyelids. Suddenly the sensation was gone, and you looked down at him, the loss actually heartbreaking. Sam was looking up at you, his face still close to you.

“I’m gonna use a finger now, okay?” he said. “And you tell me if you want another one?” You nodded, you lips clenched together. “Yes, just, keep going please? That was amazing.”

Sam grinned, giving you a quick kiss. Then his mouth was on you again and the wonderful feeling was back. You actually found yourself snuggling your back into the bed, and then you felt his finger at your entrance. You felt a touch of nerves then. You’d used your own fingers of course, and toys, but while you had an intense appreciation for Sam’s hands, they were big, the fingers long. Just relax, you told yourself. You can stop at anytime.

Sam’s finger was still exploring you and then he was slowly pushing into you. The feeling was strange at first, something entering you that you weren’t controlling, but Sam’s work on your clit was a good distraction. His finger went in and then you felt him curl inside you, the sensation strange at first but not uncomfortable or painful as he was moving the tip of his finger up, stroking.

You focused on the feeling on your clit again, the suction and the pulsing pleasure but then you felt something suddenly, a warmth, no, a heat and your attention was drawn back to Sam’s finger. It felt like he was igniting a fire in you, stoking it.

The more he continued the more you liked it, the more it was making you roll your hips, grind down against him. You moaned and then your hand was finding the back of Sam’s head, needing something to hold onto, while the other went to grab the pillow under your head.

“Yes, yes,” you moaned, your breathing so heavy it was almost painful, as the two feelings Sam was creating in you suddenly shook hands, melted and then it was just one wave, one wave of Sam, taking you higher and higher.

“Sam, more,” you panted and you felt something change, another finger entering you but you were too far gone when suddenly your back arched up, your breathing became shallow and you came hard.

You whined, then sobbed as you tried to suck as much air as possible back into your lungs. Your body was nothing but waves of warm goodness for a few seconds, like like was shooting out of your every pore.

After what felt like your consciousness reentering your body your back met the mattress again, a heavy sigh leaving you. You looked down to find Sam. He was nuzzling your thigh, looking up at you.

“Get up here, you magic man,” you said, breathing still heavy. Sam grinned and you saw his chin and mouth were wet. When he came up to kiss you you must have cringed for a second, because Sam stopped, then wiped his hand on the bed covers, and then his hand over his lower face.

“Sorry,” he said, “got a little carried away.” You chuckled as he kissed you, the happy grin not leaving his face. You tasted yourself on him, distantly. It was strange.

“You like this?” you said, looking at him, a little unsure. He nodded.

“You taste sweet,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“Sam,” you said, closing your eyes at the kiss. “You can’t be sweet and smart and this sexy and love makings girls come with your mouth. What is your deep, dark, dirty secret?” Sam chuckled.

“You,” he said, as he kissed your cheek again. “I love making you come with my mouth.”  You looked into his eyes then.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” you whispered, because somehow whispering it was less terrifying than saying it out loud. Sam looked at you, his eyes boring into you. It felt like he was speaking to you even though he didn’t say a word. Feeling emboldened, you licked your tongue over him below his mouth, where he had missed wiping off part of you. Sam huffed, surprised.

“Yeah,” you said, grinning, “not too bad.” Sam leaned down, kissed you hard. When he stopped, he said: “Fuck, you’re sexy.” You bit your lip.

Sam kissed you again, and you pulled him close, trying to maneuver his big body over you. Sam budged, following your hands until you had him over you, his hips between your legs. You wrapped yourself around him and then you felt his erection in his underwear. Tugging him closer, you ground yourself against him, and Sam groaned into your mouth.

You didn’t have the physical strength to roll Sam over, but when you pushed up on one of his shoulders and he looked at you to see what you wanted, he followed your lead. He rolled on his back, taking you with him, and you laughed against his mouth. Then you were pushing yourself up and moved down to his underwear.

“Can I?” you asked, mirroring his question earlier. Sam nodded and then you were pulling his boxers down, all the way down his long legs and then dropped them.

You had seen a few penises in real life but most in movies, or porn, so you had some idea what to expect. But you hadn’t expected to think that Sam’s cock was beautiful like the rest of him. He had a thick head from what you could tell, and looked smooth and soft. Well, soft except for all the hardness.

You marveled at it for a second, then looked up to meet Sam’s eyes again.

“Can I touch you?” you asked. Sam nodded. “Yes.” You lifted your hand, your fingertips slightly grazing the skin. Sam’s cock twitched at the touch and Sam took a deep breath. You looked up at him.

“It’s okay,” he grinned. “Just sensitive.”

You bit your lip, then ran your fingers along him again. The skin was soft and silky. You licked your lips, then lowered your head, and kissed the side of him, very gently. Your eyes went back up at Sam, who was watching you intently, his lips slightly parted, his face concentrated. You kissed him again, then stuck your tongue out, licking the skin. He didn’t taste like much, skin and maybe a little salty, and just a little bit Sam.

Feeling a little more confident, you raised your hand again and took him in your hand. “Is that too hard?” you asked. Sam shook his head.

“It’s perfect,” and after a second added: “You’re perfect.” You grinned.

“You only think that,” you said, emboldened by his compliment, “because you don’t know I’m about to do a is this thing on? joke.” Sam laughed loudly, his head falling back and he tugged one arm behind his head.

“So long as you don’t knock on it,” he said.

“That wouldn’t be good, huh?” you asked. He shrugged. “Who knows, never tried it.”

You chuckled, then licked your lips again, but this time you concentrated on his head. There was a bead of moisture on top that you lapped at and as you did you heard Sam inhale again. His sounds were beautiful. You wondered what he would sound like when he was inside you.

You felt a pull of arousal in you. You leaned down again, and licked over his head again, then suckled at the top of it. He felt nice. You closed your eyes, a mmh leaving you as you continued sucking on him, then flicked your tongue against him. Letting him slip out of your mouth, you looked up at Sam again.

“What’s the part that feels the best?” you asked. Sam looked down at you, waiting a second before he answered.

“You don’t have to—” he started.

“I just want to know, okay?” you said, and then gave his head a gentle kiss. “Don’t make me do any crowd work,” you added, raising your eyebrows. Sam chuckled, then cleared his throat. “The, uh, below the head, underside.”

You flicked your tongue against him, testing. On the second flick you seemed to hit it, because Sam gave a hard exhale. You did it again and his eyes closed.

“I wanna learn how to make you come as hard as you made me come, Sam,” you said, giving him another lick. Sam opened his eyes, searching out your gaze. Then he sat up and pulled you up to him.

“Okay,” he said, his face close to yours, so close that you could feel his breath on your face. “But we can do that some other time.” He kissed you deeply, and you sighed against him. When the kiss broke, Sam didn’t go far. “Let me make love to you,” he said in a quiet voice. You leaned forward, catching his lips again. “I want you to,” you said against him.

Sam easily and gently rolled you back on your back and then reached for the lube on the night stand. While he did, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra. Sam looked back just as you were taking it off yourself and you waved it over your head once or twice, lasso-style, then threw it into the room. Sam grinned, but then looked down at your breasts.

He leaned forward, hands holding him up on your right and left, and let his lips grazed over one of your nipples. Next he sucked it into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it. You let your hand run into the hair at the back of his neck, sighing. It felt wonderful. But you wanted more of him.

“Sam,” you said, and he pushed himself up. “Want you,” you said in response to his questioning look.

In response, Sam sat up, briefly letting go of you and opened the lube, squeezing a helping onto his hand and placed the bottle back on the night stand. He spread the lube along his cock and you watched him, fascinated to see how he touched himself. He pumped himself a few more times and then turned his body to you.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked, looking at your face. You nodded.

“I want you to,” you added. Sam looked at you for another few seconds, surveying your face. He didn’t seem to see anything to give him pause, so he grabbed another one of the abundance of motel pillows, laying his hand on your hip, telling you to lift up. You did, and he shoved the pillow under you, elevating your lower body.

Then he leaned over you and kissed you deeply. You hugged his shoulders and then felt him bob against your pussy. Sam broke the kiss, looking down your bodies, and his head met your entrance as he lined himself up.

“Okay,” he said, looking back up at you again, “angle up your legs?” You did, so they were higher on Sam’s body. He hooked one leg around him, then scooted is hand under you, holding you up a little so you could hold on to him better.

“You decide,” he said, once everything was where he wanted it. “You can just pull me in and you decide exactly how fast or slow I go. And if anything doesn’t feel good—”

You interrupted him with a kiss, then looked at him again.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet. Sam looked confused. “I told you," he replied. "You don’t have anything to thank me for." You shook your head.

“I just wanted to say it,” you replied, a little bashful. Then you took a deep breath, relaxing yourself. You weren’t nervous exactly, but the anticipation was a different matter. You licked your lips then, and nodded.

“Okay,” you said, “I’m ready.” Sam kissed you again, then leaned back just far enough that he could see your face.

He started pushing forward, and you could feel his head slip between your folds. There was some resistance as he adjusted his angle and then you felt him press into you, the angle of your lower body making it easier.

It didn’t hurt, the feeling simply a little strange, unusual. He stopped after a second, checking your face.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” you nodded, and then couldn’t help but grin.

“Remember,” Sam said. “You decide.” You nodded, then started pulling him closer with your legs hooked around him. He slipped deeper into you, making you feel a stretch now that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sam swallowed, then pulled back a little again, only to let you pull him in again. You continued this way, you pulling Sam in further, him pulling out again, and that way you slowly brought him closer.

At some point, one of Sam’s hands came out from behind your back, dropping to your pussy and he very gently started massaging your clit.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice sounding broken. You searched your body for the answer. Good. It felt good. It felt good to have Sam inside of you.

“Good,” you said, looking into his eyes. You pulled on Sam, trying to get him to move further into you, but he stopped you.

“Let’s just work with this, okay?” he said, smiling at you. “I want all of you, Sam,” you said, realizing your own voice was breaking a little.

“You’ll get it,” he said, making a wonderful rush run through you. “But let’s start with this. I’m gonna pull out and then push into you again, and I’m gonna go slow, and you tell me if you want me to be faster, alright?” You nodded.

His words were having quite the effect on you, hearing him talk about what he was doing to you somehow adding to the stimulation. He slowly pulled out of you until only his head remained inside of you, and when he pushed in again, his cock touched something inside you that made you shiver.

Sam was going slow, so slow, his touch on your clit just as slow and gentle. His thickness inside you didn’t hurt, but it felt like he was opening up something inside you, a different kind of need and desire that you had never felt before. Like a part of you was missing and Sam was giving it back to you. You held him close, pushing your face against his.

“Sam,” you said and it was a whimper.

“Slower?” he asked, immediately.

“No,” you said, almost not recognizing your own voice with how much want there was in it. “Just want more of you.”

Sam looked at you for a second, then kissed you while he slowly pushed himself into you again. He didn’t go deeper, but his next stroke came just a little faster, while the petting of your clit became a little more intense. You whined again, at the wonderful feeling of him.

Of course, you thought. It all made sense now. You could have been with a thousand men before Sam and still this would have felt like the first time. Because you’d never felt about anyone the way you did about Sam, never trusted anyone as much.

“You feel so amazing,” you panted against him. Sam sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. You felt the slow rising pleasure of an orgasm building again.

“Sam, can, mmh, can you go faster?” you asked, feeling like you had an itch inside you that only he could scratch. Sam nodded, picking up his pace a little.

“Like that?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, as his cock kept sparking that strange feeling of fullness, of being closed and warm and taken care of, in you.

“Yes,” you breathed out. Your eyes had fallen shut at some point, so concentrated were you on feeling Sam, that you gasped when you opened them now and saw him. Sam was tensed, all his concentration on how he was moving in you and how he was touching you. His brow was in deep furrows and he looked almost like he was in pain.

“Sam?” you asked and he looked up at you, features immediately softening. “Are you okay?” He nodded, needing to take a breath before he could answer.

“I’m good, you just,” he said, a groan interrupting him, “you just feel so, fuck, you feel so good.” His breathing was stuttering and he looked beautiful. The thought that it was because of you, that you and your body were making him feel this way, made you clench around him. Sam almost hissed, his strokes stuttering before he held himself still.

“I need…” he said, but didn’t continue. You ran a hand into his hair. “I’m about to come, I need to stop,” he finally forced out. You pulled him close.

“Don’t stop, Sam, please.” Sam’s chest contracted as he looked down at you.

“Can you, uhm,” he started, “can you maybe touch yourself? I would do it but I think if I can concentrate…”

Your hand was already moving down your body, meeting his, gently running over his wonderful fingers and then replacing them. Sam moved his hand up instead, holding himself up with both arms now. Then he started slowly moving again, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed that feeling, in those few seconds you hadn’t felt it.

“Yes, oh yes,” you breathed as you started circling your clit, and Sam closed his eyes.

“You sound so hot,” he ground out. Unable to help yourself, you moved your mouth to his ear. “You feel so good, Sam, I never thought it could be like this.” Sam groaned, kissed you. You were flying higher and higher, picking up the pace on your clit while Sam kept gently fucking into you.

“Sam, I’m gonna—“ you moaned, “I think I’m gonna come again.” Sam nodded against you.

“I want to feel you,” he panted. You kept rubbing, the rhythm steady and your wetness and your muscle contractions made Sam slip that little bit deeper into you. Just then, another whine left you, and then you felt it, Sam filling you where previously there had been nothing, feeling so right, so perfect. He pulled out again, his head bumping into that special place inside of you as he pushed himself back into you and then you came.

It was different, Sam’s cock there to push back against your clenching, and you were intensely aware of your body, how you were shaking, little moans dropping from you.

Sam clenched his jaw at the way you were squeezing him and while you were still in the throes of your orgasm, he leaned down, pressing his face against the side of yours, his shoulders tensing as he moaned against you, then suddenly held still. You could feel his stomach muscles contract where they were pressing against your arm that was still between your legs, and then you felt a warmth spread in you.

A second later you pulled your arm out from underneath Sam, instead wrapping it around his back. Sam rolled himself sideways a little so he wouldn’t have to hold himself up anymore, making sure he gently pulled out of you first.

You felt the loss of him and when he laid down next to you, your arms immediately went around him again, kissing him almost desperately. He rubbed his hands over your back. Your body was exhausted, buzzing, but you didn’t have your fill of Sam yet. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

You kept kissing him, a little whimper escaping you. Sam pulled you away from him even though you were trying to hold onto him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and worried.

“Yes,” you breathed, nodding vigorously. “I just can’t get enough of you.” Sam looked at you, emotion in his face as he leaned in and kissed you, his hands gently running over you. You felt your breathing slow, your body relaxing. You moved your head, laying it on Sam’s arm, so you could still look at him.

“That was incredible,” you muttered, running your fingers over his lips. Sam smiled, petting your cheek.

“I…” he said, but stopped himself.

“What?” you said, moving closer to him. You saw the battle behind Sam’s eyes. Finally he sighed.

“I want you,” he said. He seemed immediately unhappy with what he’d said, breathing out through his nose, looking into the distance to find the words he was searching. “I mean,” he said, correcting himself, “I don’t know how to say it. I just want to spend all of my time with you. I want to keep making love to you.” Then he laughed a little at himself. “Like, it pisses me off that there might be days where we’re not together, you know? Where we don’t see each other for a few hours.” He turned back to you. “Does that make any sense?” he asked. You nodded.

“It does,” you answered. “I feel the same way, but Sam," and at that you stroked his cheek and couldn’t help but grin. “You’re not getting rid of me.”

At your words, Sam pulled you in, kissed you again. He kissed you for a long time, softly, nipping at you, his hands running over your body, yours over his, without a goal, just to feel each other, get to know the other.

Eventually you got up to use the bathroom, Sam barely letting you go. When you came back, he pulled you close, pressing your back against his broad chest.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your ear, and you grinned. You had missed him too.

Eventually you both fell asleep, tangled up and close and your breathing synced.

You woke a few hours later, disoriented by the big warm thing next to you. A second later you remembered it was Sam, and a rush of such intense love went through you that you could have cried.

Instead you pushed yourself against him, kissing his jaw. Sam woke up slowly and you watched him, wanting to see everything, to know everything about how he looked, how he came back from sleep.

When he understood what was happening he pulled you in, kissing you immediately. Soon you felt him grow hard against you, felt yourself react as well. You felt a little sore, and a little empty, like your body had made room for Sam the way your heart had.

You almost rolled your eyes at your own thoughts. To distract yourself, you let your hand wander down Sam’s body.

“Now,” you said quietly and Sam looked into your eyes, a glimmer there. “Here’s some stuff I always wanted to try.” 

[cynthiav06]

can i just like vent for a second? i just saw an anti percy take that just pissed me off so bad bc i forget not everyone separates percy's real characterization (pjo books and son) and throw out the very terribly written one boo and post hoo books like i do. percy antis can only speak of his character from the text where rick decided percy needed to suddenly be this horrible character and friend (to this day i hate that the narrative genuinely blamed percy for bob and calypso) and the nico thing gets so misinterpreted and was a total retcon to percy and nico's canon progression in the og books. everyone is allowed to have their opinions obviously but there's this thing in the pjo fandom where everyone wants to take a single moment in which the author's writing was so weak and turn it into an actual real character moment when all prev texts in past books show that it's simply just character assassination

You are not the only one, anon. Thankfully, all my mutuals are of similar opinion, so I rarely am alone in my frustrations over this. I have made posts on most of the points you mentioned, but I swear the reading comprehension the fandom has is akin to a bottomless bag. No matter how many facts, rational explanations, and canon examples you feed in, it will all just fall down in vain. The same old incorrect takes and terrible biases will keep circulating and spawn even worse, zero comprehension takes, and "headcanons." I would say you could play a drinking game with it, but you will be dead not even quarter way through all the misinformation.

At this point, my media literacy test in pjo fandom is the opinion someone has on Percy and Nico's relationship. At least Nico has the excuse of being a literal hurt child for him lashing out at Percy and misplacing his anger on Percy, but I wonder what's the fandom's excuse. I have disproved everything I believe wrong about that take in my post here.

What I think has happened is everyone in the fandom has read these books years ago and hasn't bothered rereading the source material properly after when they got older or have only reread their favorite "shipping scenes." And during this time everyone in the fandom has been over indulging themselves on fanfics and now there is a large disconnect between the actual character in the books and the fanon version everyone has affixed in their heads. And no amount of external feedback will convince anyone to rectify and authenticate their version. Same with the ships. Especially with the ships.

Throw in some childhood nostalgia and a bit of projection, and you have a bunch of extremely single-minded opinions from people who would rather resort to death threats than actually acknowledge any other point of view exists. And gods forbid, an alternative ship exists, and people don't like their ship; the fandom which claims to hate itself is perpetuating its own miserable condition. Either way, my advice? Stick to tags you like. Try and ignore the monopoly in the fandom. Find a circle that shares your niche interests. And you will have fewer frustrations to deal with, at least usually.

As for Percy, he has become such a face of iconic and epic character and obviously the heart of the series that Rick thinks for any other character to be good, they somehow need to be better than Percy in some way or that he needs to put Percy down in some way to uplift others. And he has been doing that post Son of Neptune till today, and Percy is still the absolute fan favorite. Imagine the author and half the fandom doing everything they can to soil a character's arc and achievements and still not succeeding, hah.

I recommend you 'Percy jackson supremacy' or 'Percy jackson defense squad' tag on tumblr. At least half your frustrations will settle down. I recommend the first tag personally. I use that tag so often in my own posts, and it's the one Percy tag page where I am sure the posts will not disappoint. Those two tags with a side of powerful Percy jackson and smart percy jackson are the only fandom tags worth scrolling. Take my advice on it.

The monopoly in the fandom is so bad that if you block percabeth tag, then almost three quarter's of fandoms content is inaccessible. I checked into this and realized that posts that have absolutely nothing to do with shipping or even Percy and Annabeth are tagged with it for the sake of larger exposure. It's absolute bullshit. So now you need to check every percabeth tag post so see if it's actual ship content or just general content tagged that way.

I have no delusions of changing anyone's mind in the fandom. But a few years ago this place was even worse and death threats were almost a common situation for everyone outside popular takes and only now is there a relative safe space for new blogs to make anti posts about popular media in the fandom and not get absolutely flayed for it. Just trying to contribute to that circle. Cause I didn't have to deal with the absolute worst of the fandom because of older blogs that kept on making enough content for there to be a community by the time I joined two years ago. Would like to do the same to some extent. Cause here if you are in any unpopular branch of the fandom, then you will have to make your own content for it. That's just how it is.

Most people now however are getting more and more into alternative opinions and ships and rightfully criticizing Rick for not only character assassinations but the stereotypical things he perpetuated by selling them in the name of diversity and representation.

As I said, the fandom has more problems than it has people, lol. But you just need to find one niche group that fits with you and see if it lasts. By the looks of it, I am not going to be too active in this fandom for very long either. Doesn't seem to be worth it. But you can vent on here anytime about anything. It's definitely the sort of space for that. And I like seeing people finally vent out their frustrations, so you are welcome anytime.

[orphiclovers]

I wasn't even going to talk about it on here but I just can't get over how desperate Yoo Joonghyuk was when Breaking the Sky Sword Saint decided to stay behind and fight when murim was being destoryed.

He calls out to her he all but BEGS her to come with them, to escape to safety. He says he NEEDS HER😭 and you know thats a lot coming from him because he NEVER does things like this, but he's desperate enough NOW to pour out such emotional words.

He brings up the 46th scenario on his own for the first time! the thing both kim dokja and han sooyoung had referenced to him in their "make me your companion and I'll help you through the 46th scenario" speeches, but here he is bringing it up to someone ELSE for once, because here is the person who HE wants by his side! who he trusts completely! AND YET. AUGH

and then she says "I will stop the destruction of this world" because she knew him, knew he would understand and relaye to this reasoning. because they're the exact same kind of people!! like student, like master! "Her noble spirit is so high it makes other people's definition of justice look shabby" just like Yoo Joonghyuk is the most noble existence in the fucking world...!!

And he doesn't move, cant tear himself away even as she goes off to face her death and has to be physically forced into the car, while staring after her with a "completely distraught expression" bro IM completely distraught😭

and this was already devastating enough, I already felt my heart breaking but then they kept. writing.

AHHHH Devastating place to put a scene break, just leaving you to stew in that empty pit of loss and grief in your stomach. there's nothing left to say for the survivors after all

this is probably the best paragraph. Each of them is described to cope in their own ways, EXCEPT for Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja takes one look at his face and cuts himself off. AHHHHHH

His grief is so raw and open Kim Dokja doesn't even dare describe it, looking away and thinking of something else, giving him the illusion of privacy. (now that I think about it, this is the same way Kim Dokja ommitted his own crying from the narration when his mother was swallowed by the fourth wall earlier...) And of course, he coped in his own way too, by breathing calmly and thinking logically.

Did the pain finnalu stop here? NO!!!

AAAAAAAAAAHH I think I understand why Yoo Joonghyuk becomes the way he is if this is the kind of pain he goes through REGULARLY. bro this even crushed MY spirit.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

great arc. 10/10 I have to go cry now

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

If it's okay to request, can I get a scenario where one day like Epilogue! Bill founds out Reader had an ex boyfriend and when Bill looks at the pictures it OMG ITS AARON WINKLEMAN?!?!?

(you decide what happens next..I just think it would be funny lmao, the reason I requested this cause I saw your work with Jaybird lol)

(I have an idea!

"Title:" Are you Serious!?"

(Epilogue bill dickey x reader)

It was supposed to be a chill night. You were organizing old boxes while Bill was slouched on your couch with a lukewarm beer, half-watching a rerun of Battlestar Galactica and half-ranting about how "the internet sterilized gatekeeping into brand loyalty."

You pulled out an old album, chuckling to yourself as you flipped through photos from college cons and comic shop events. You didn’t even realize Bill had gone silent until his voice came sharp, acidic:

“Who the hell is this greasy little goblin?”

You looked up. Bill was holding one of your photos like it was a rotting sock, squinting at it in revulsion. It was you and a grinning guy with a lanyard that read North West Comics Collective.

“Oh. That’s… Aaron,” you said slowly. “We used to date.”

Bill stared at you. Then stared at the photo again.

Then back at you.

Then:

“You dated AARON F*ING WINKLEMAN?”

You winced. “It was years ago.”

“YOU—” He stood up like he’d just been slapped in the face by the ghost of Steve Ditko. “You mean to tell me you let that boot-licking, Funko-hoarding, IGN-quoting crypto-fascist into your pants?!”

“Bill—”

“No no no no no. Don’t try to spin this. I knew this guy. He ran the NWCC like a goddamn cult. He once told me ‘Alan Moore peaked with Miracleman,’ and then tried to kick me off a panel for saying cosplay isn't performance art!”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, he had… opinions.”

Bill was pacing now, wild-eyed, holding the photo like he wanted to hurl it into a shredder. “He’s the guy who wrote that Medium article titled ‘Why Gatekeeping Saves Canon’! He made a YouTube series where he ranked women in comics by ‘narrative functionality’! He once said Stan Lee was ‘problematic because he gave people hope.’”

You tried to grab the picture back. “He’s not like that anymore. Probably.”

Bill yanked it away. “You ever hear him talk about the Snyder cut? He treated it like the f***ing Rosetta Stone. He told me Vertigo was for people who pretend to read! And this—THIS—is the guy who had his tongue down your throat?!”

“Jesus, Bill.”

He flung the photo across the room. “This explains everything. This explains why you once said Kingdom Come was ‘a little overhyped.’ You’ve been corrupted. Tainted. You’ve had Winkleman brain rot festering in you like a parasitic worm.”

You crossed your arms. “You done?”

Bill pointed at you, wild and bitter. “I can’t believe you let that self-published, leather trench-coat-wearing, moderator-in-his-own-forums little war crime of a man TOUCH YOU.”

He collapsed back on the couch, muttering. “Winkleman. Christ. I need to bathe in back issues just to look you in the eye again.”

After a long silence, you raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

He shot you a withering glare. “I’m nauseous.”

Then, under his breath: “...Jealous of Winkleman. Jesus Christ. I’m gonna die here.”

---

Bill hadn’t spoken in like two full minutes.

You sat on the edge of the couch, legs crossed, awkwardly sipping from your soda while he stared at the far wall, hunched over like he was trying to telekinetically set something on fire. The photo of Aaron lay crumpled on the floor, abandoned like a crime scene.

Then, without looking at you, he asked flatly:

“Was he your first?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Winkleman. Was he your first first?”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. He was.”

Bill made a sound between a grunt and a gag, rubbing his hand down his face like he was trying to scrape the news off his skin.

You gave a weak shrug. “It was after we’d been dating for a few months. We were both into the same comics, and one night after a creator signing we just... kinda happened. He quoted Grant Morrison and made me a playlist.”

Bill’s whole body twitched.

You kept talking, maybe out of spite. “He cried after. Said he felt ‘creatively renewed.’ It was weird, but I thought it was sweet at the time.”

Bill whipped around to face you.

“He cried? He CRIED?! And you still slept with him?”

You raised an eyebrow. “He was... passionate.”

“He was a sentient Reddit thread!”

Bill stood up, pacing like he was about to testify before the Senate. “So let me get this straight. Your first time on Earth’s plane of existence was with Aaron Winkleman, a man whose idea of foreplay is name-dropping editors? Who uses the word ‘milady’ unironically in Discord servers?!”

You just smiled faintly and said, “Jealous?”

He snapped. “Jealous?! I’m enraged. I’m insulted. I’m offended on behalf of your vagina.”

You burst out laughing—but it died in your throat when Bill suddenly knelt in front of you, intense eyes burning into yours.

His voice dropped low.

“I’m gonna make you forget he ever existed.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

He leaned closer, hands braced on your thighs. “Winkleman? That little toe fungus in a Secret Wars tee? He’s not gonna live in your memory anymore. Not after tonight.”

You swallowed hard. “Bill—”

He pulled you into a kiss so deep, so furious, it knocked the wind out of you. Not romantic. Not soft. This was territorial. It was years of pent-up rage, bitter fandom trauma, and insecure masculinity poured into the shape of a man who refused to lose to Aaron Winkleman of all people.

His mouth moved to your neck, voice a growl. “I’m gonna rewrite your whole damn archive. Page by page.”

You clutched the collar of his shirt as he pushed you back onto the couch, and for once, Bill wasn’t talking.

He was doing.

And by the end of the night, you’d realize—

He wasn’t kidding.

You couldn’t even remember Aaron Winkleman’s stupid middle name.

---

[cerisereids]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲- 𝐀.𝐇.

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x Girly!Assistant!Reader

WC- 7.5k (LORDDDD) (literally belle shut up challenge level impossible)

Summary- With your birthday around the corner, you decide to throw a blowout bash. The people you work with have no idea how to let go. Least of all your boss, Aaron Hotchner. Yet, he doesn't show.

Contains- 18+ MDNI, angst to fluffy smut(ish), girly!reader, reader has long hair she can run her fingers through, spicy but no explicit smut (still 18+ tho don't play), non-explicit sex scene, reader standing on business, discussions of Hotch and Haley's divorce

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !!

The satisfying click of your white kitten heels fill the hallway as you bounce off the linoleum tiles. You’re in a delicate balancing act, juggling a tray of your famous cupcakes as well as glittery pink invitations. Gold lettering splays across the front ‘You’re Invited!’ They’re cheesy little things you had made at the local print shop, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your gloomy office needs some cheer. 

You push the door open with your hip, backing into the room with small little steps as you enter the BAU. Your instantly relieved by a pair of strong arms guiding your through the doorway. “Got it, sugar?” Derek’s voice asks, his hands hovering in precaution. 

“I am just fine! Here! Take one!” You set the cupcake tray down, plucking one out for him, handing it to him with an invitation. His brow quirks, a small smile rising on his lips.

 “What’s all this for?” He asks, bemused. 

“Well, my birthday is coming up, so I thought I’d have a big, blowout, bash! It’s been too long since you guys loosened up, really got to let go and have fun!” You squeal, stepping back slightly as the rest of the team quickly finds the dessert. Like bees to honey, you like to say. 

“So, you decided that instead of celebrating yourself, to insist on us celebrating you?” Emily inquires around a mouthful of cupcake. 

“Pretty much!” You pinch her cheek affectionately, and she giggles. Your gaze turns ever so slightly, catching the window of your boss’ office. Bile rises in your throat. He won’t be so easy to coax out. Both now, and to the party itself. The mere thought of it makes you nauseous. 

Emily saddles up beside you, lightly nudging her elbow with yours. She nods to Aaron’s office, and blood rushes to your cheeks. Your gaze drops to the ground, which you scuff with the bottom of your shoe. You lift your head up, your hair falling down your shoulders like a waterfall. 

“He in?” You ask, resuming your naturally bubbly state, a wide smile plastered over your anxiety. 

“Yup, when is he not?” Emily responds, curious, like a cat. You snap out of your anxious state, giving a playful shrug. You bat your lashes and turn, grabbing the tray and remaining invitations. 

“Hey, I wanted seconds!” Spencer calls after you. You roll your eyes, your clicking heels once again the only noise as you walk away. It’s no secret who you’re going to see. 

Aaron’s office door is slightly ajar, so you enter the same way you did earlier, by hip. His brow quirks upon your arrival, but you don’t forget to clock the way his eyes catch you, scanning up and down your frame. You wore one of your favorite dresses today, a pink, ruffly number that resembles a sunset. It cascades down your body like it was made for you. By the way Aaron’s looking at you, he thinks so, too. The way he looks at you is electric, like a bolt of lightning cracking your spine as you take each other in. Your breath shortens, catching in your throat at the sight of his tired, brown eyes. 

“Hey, big guy,” you lilt, your voice in its usual effervescent tease. You don’t miss the way he flushes down to his neck at the nickname. 

“What is this all about, hm?” he raises a brow, his voice smooth like silk. His eyes widen as you set down the tin of cupcakes, revealing their chocolatey goodness to him. His favorite. You hand him an invitation, nerves bubbling in your stomach as he reads it over. Your cheeks heat, like you’re 17 again waiting for an invite to the prom.

Then, he glances up at you. There’s a sparkle in his eye when he looks at you. You’re not sure if he knows it’s there, but you cherish it. You cherish the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, the world. You cherish the way not a single other colleague receives the exact gaze you do, soft, patient, kind. It’s your best kept secret. 

You breathe out a sigh at that look, relief washing over you like fresh sunlight. 

“Did you make these? They’re beautiful,” he inspects the card in his hands, and your heart thuds against your ribcage, nerves buzzing once again. His nonchalance is like a tightrope, inching you closer either to safety or certain death. 

“Thank you,” you reply. It’s quiet. You’re afraid that if you raise your voice, your heart will come out of your throat. “I make them all myself.”

You settle on his desk, resting a light hip on it while you watch him intently. He studies you, eyes flitting over your face as he takes in the glitter of your eyeshadow, the soft swipes of gloss on your lips. His own are parted, tongue peeking out in a tantalizing way that sets your heart aflame. 

You raise a brow, asserting an effective upper hand. You watch his brow go soft, and you know you have him. It doesn’t take much for you to convince him. Of anything, really. Since you started working for him, he’s taken actual time off (rarely, but he has), eats dinner at a regular time each night, and manages to get a little more sleep. The team calls it witchcraft, sorcery. You’d call it the sheer force of the desire to keep the man you’re deeply in love with alive and healthy. That’d be too complicated, though, so you bat your lashes and accept their praises. 

“That’s really incredible,” it’s soft, his tone. Gentle and low in a way that’s reserved only for you, for these quiet moments in his office. Whether you’re talking about a case, your weekend plans, or the next set of nails you’re getting, he saves this special cadence just for you. Smooth and velvety, liquid chocolate spilling from his tongue. 

“Thank you,” your eyes glimmer as you shift on his desk ever so slightly. Your hip pops toward him in a way that has him licking his lips. Confidence surges through, you sit up taller. “Will you be there?” You bat your lashes, your prettiest doe eyes on full display. “It would mean everything to have you there.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yay!” You squeal, hopping off his desk. You fix him a cupcake, taking the last one on the tray and placing it delicately on a pink napkin. 

“You’re only allowed to eat this if you’ve had lunch. Have you?” You’re all business again, in the blink of an eye. You poise a sassy hand on your hip, your brow arching. 

“I had a piece of toast and a pickle,” he admits. It’s sheepish, and you roll your eyes. 

“That’s a disgusting combo. Have another piece of toast before you eat that,” you roll your eyes playfully before stalking off. A barely audible ‘yes, ma’am’, follows you out. You pause, smiling to yourself before heading to your desk. 

“You really think he’s gonna show?” Penelope asks, her tongue swirling around her third daiquiri of the evening. You sigh, popping your hands on your hips as you take a step back from your large window, inspecting your decorative work. 

It’s the night before your big party, an event you normally thrive on hosting. Now, though, it’s the cause of the anxiety sparkling inside you, like your heart’s swimming in carbonated water. You adjust the rollers in your hair, the fluffy sleeves of your pink silk robe falling to your elbows as you do so. 

You center yourself for a moment, focusing on the comforting way the delicate fabric frames your body, falling over your tank top and sleep shorts. You wiggle your feet, currently stuffed into pink bunny slippers. Your gaze finds the moon, full and round, you absorb it. You welcome anything that helps you not crush under the debilitating weight of your affections for Aaron Hotchner. 

“I don’t know! He told me he’d be there!” Your voice is antsy, you wring your hands together with a small smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. While Penelope’s brilliant, she’s not a profiler. She’s also drunk. You pray these two things add up in your favor.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him go out. Not since the divorce, but if he were for anybody, it’d be for you. That much I know,” she pats a supportive hand on your shoulder, though it does nothing to quell the nausea that comes from the d-word. 

You’d been a strong reliant for your boss while he’d finalized his divorce, almost a year ago now. Getting him late night coffees, sitting on the couch in his office while he completed paperwork, bringing in little treats just to make him smile. They always did, everything you did garnered a smile out of him. 

That’s why you were teased in your first week on the job, after you’d questioned the team’s comments about their stoic leader. “He smiles all the time, what are you guys talking about?” Their sarcastic grins and chuckling was the first time you were fully aware that the relationship you had with your boss was…different than the others. The amount of time that’s passed since then, the bond you’ve made with your boss, makes your head spin.

Still, you aimed to be respectful everyday. No matter how many details you knew about his issues with Haley, the stress of taking care of Jack while he was away, you kept a professional distance. You would not cross that line. In the year since he’d taken the ring off, though, it’s been…different. A wall has come down, a layer unshed. You don’t know what to do with it, with him. 

“Hey, does this look good over here?” Emily calls, snapping you out of your Aaron-induced haze. You plaster another smile on your face, though this time it’s not too difficult. You were thankful to merely witness J.J. propping Emily up on a stool so she can pin a pink disco ball in the center of your expansive living room. Relief washes over you, the love for your friends momentarily distracting you from the ache in your chest. 

“Looks great, thanks Em!” you pat her ass playfully, laughing when she squeals. 

“Anything for you, my darling!” She calls after you as you make your way through the living room to the kitchen, grabbing your own glass of the elixir that now has Penelope fully slumped forward on your kitchen island. 

“Pen? You good?” You nudge her slightly, and she jumps at the contact. 

“Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I’m great! Cool as a cucumber!” She adjusts her own pajamas, a buttery yellow silk set that comes with a matching eye mask. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you pour your own drink. “You really think Aaron will come tomorrow?” You ask her, your voice is meek. You hate it, that this is what he does to you. 

“I would be truly shocked if he didn’t, my sweet,” she answers, and though her words are slightly slurred, her tone is serious. You smile. 

“I agree!” Emily calls, walking into the kitchen to refill her own cup. J.J. trails behind her, nodding emphatically. 

“I mean, have you heard anyone else here call him Aaron? Like…ever?” J.J. says. You jokinglya move your head side to side, rattling the thought around your head. They all giggle at your response, and your cheeks heat up. You rest your chin on your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with the giddy group. 

“He’ll show. Don’t even worry about it,” J.J. states, the others nodding in agreement. 

You blow out a sigh, downing the rest of your drink in one swig. 

The bass from the speaker reverberates through your house, the walls nearly shaking from the vibrations. You’re only slightly tipsy, a bit dizzy as you slide open the glass door leading to the patio. Nearly every square inch of the pool is full of people, bodies bobbing around, elbows above water to preserve red solo cups. 

The wind blows through your hair, your eyes falling shut. You try to bask in it, absorb the setting sun as you had with the moon the night before. It’s not working. Aaron still hasn’t shown. Your attempts to not get upset about it are weak, feeble, an embarrassment. You thought fresh air would do you some good, but now, in your tipsy, clouded haze, you scan the crowd of faces. Some of them you know, most of them don’t. Above all else, you still don’t see the one you want. You feel stupid for thinking you would. Your heart splinters, cracks in the foundation breaking the whole. 

You sit on the porch step, your face falling to your hands. What’s wrong with you? Throwing parties is like a love language to you- Gatsby himself would be jealous. It’s not atypical for friends of friends of friends to find themselves in your yard. Tonight, though, you’re upset. Upset that none of them are there for you. Upset that you don’t even matter. Upset that the one person who could fix this feeling hasn’t shown. He isn’t here for you. After everything, everything you have done for him. After he promised. Tears prick the insides of your eyes, and you release a shuddering breath.

“Hey, Party Princess!” You look up to find Penelope, arm in arm with Derek. Both of them look a bit too drunk for their own good. Penelope’s face falls immediately upon seeing your teary gaze, your pouty lips. 

“Oh angel! What’s going on?!” She squeaks, sitting down beside you immediately. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you lean into them instinctively. 

“Someone special not here, pretty girl?” Derek asks, crouching down to meet your eye level. The acknowledgement of your situation only makes the tears fall. 

Penelope forces your head parallel to the ground. “Look down! Don’t let the tears streak your makeup!” You release a wet laugh at that, inspiring laughter from Derek and Penelope as well. You can hear the relief in theirs, that Aaron Hotchner hasn’t rendered you incapable of laughter. 

You feel Derek’s hand over the expanse of your shoulder, a warm, comforting grip that soothes you only slightly. Your gaze is still on the concrete, shame creeping up your spine at your emotions. “I’m sorry, guys,” you splutter, tears falling faster now. 

“No! No, don’t apologize,” Penelope squeals, finding a tissue in her bag and handing it to you. “Blot those pretty eyes, hon, and let’s go dance! Don’t spend your birthday crying over some guy!” 

You do as she says, closing your wet eye so your lash meets the tissue, small bits of mascara left as residue. You finally lift your head up, meeting Derek’s gaze. “There she is!” He smiles, “the most beautiful girl in Quantico.”

“Hey!” Penelope smacks his bicep. He laughs, holding a hand there in a show of faux pain. 

“Sorry, one of the two most beautiful women in Quantico,” he responds, walking backwards to the bar. He grabs you a shot of tequila, your favorite, and propositions you. 

“That’s much better,” Penelope smirks, satisfied. She moves from beside you, ready to assemble a lime and some salt. You stop her, a hand to her forearm. “No need.” You throw back the shot, your head tilting all the way back as you down the burning liquid. It singes your throat, and you wiggle your head from side to side as it goes down. 

That same counterfeit smile curls your lips, your eyes just as sad as they were before. “Let’s party!”

Aaron Hotchner  is a piece of shit. He knows this. His ex-wife knows this. Hell, Jack probably knows it, too. But now she knows it, and for some reason, that’s his final straw. He stands at her front porch, suit jacket long abandoned, tie forcefully loosened from hours of hunching over his desk. His hair is messy, thanks to his fingers running through it every 5 minutes. The bags under his eyes have darkened throughout the night, and he can tell from his reflection in the window that he looks like hell. The last place he should be is at a party, let alone this party.

He takes in her expansive house, a gift she inherited from her parents once they moved to Calabassass, she told him once. The front is made of classic white stone, a baby blue trim framing the door and windows. It looks as if it hasn’t been touched in years, only to fine tune and keep it looking pristine. Though, the perfection on the outside provides a direct contrast to what little he can see going on inside. He has a view of the kitchen from where he stands, empty beer cans line the kitchen island, pink streamers and popped balloons litter the floor. 

He sees the outline of someone familiar enter the kitchen. Penelope, if the bouncing blonde hair streaked with hot pink was any indicator. He watches as she stumbles about, a large figure, Derek, holding her up by the elbows as she attempts to make a mixed drink. He hopes it’s not for herself. He then realizes what a creep he must look like, a dark figure standing alone in front of a house that’s not his, staring in the window at a party he failed to attend. He turns, ready to leave, firm in his decision that this was all a big mistake to begin with. 

He stops, though from the opening of the door. He whips his head around, relief and disappointment washing over him to see Emily. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if it had been her opening the door. Fall to his knees, grovel, probably. His cheeks tint a bright red at her knowing, disappointed stare. “You fucked up tonight, Hotchner,” her affirming tone washes over him like he’s been dipped in acid, singeing his skin and finding its way to his guts. He’s nothing but a puddle. 

“Where is she?” He asks. It’s meek, feeble. A tone nobody he’s ever worked with heard him use. Emily raises her brow at that, both in shock and suspicion. 

“The backyard, near the pool. She’s had a lot to drink, though. So be careful. You may not be someone she wants to see right now.” Emily’s pitiful smile only makes him feel worse. He can’t leave now that he’s been spotted, though. It would catapult him from normal amounts of jackass to the jackass Olympics, something he’d never be able to recover from. Not when it comes to her. 

He follows Emily in, the remnants of what seemed like a blowout bash now diluted to a handful of bodies in each room. Most of them are the team, who are shooting him looks of shock and pity as he makes his way through the house. His heart beats through his ears as he slides the glass door open, stepping under the pink balloon arch to find her. 

She’s sitting alone on the edge of the pool, her feet dipping in slightly. He takes her in, giving him a brief moment of selfish reprieve before she sees him, before he has to confront the ways in which he’s broken her heart tonight. A floral pink dress flows around her, the sleeves billowing in the wind. The ruffles of the tiered dress are bunched around her hips as she sits, the hemline raised to prevent wetting the fabric. She’s a vision, the pale moonlight ghosting over her frame like a spotlight made just for her. His heart breaks. All of this, and he’s left her so lonely. He is a piece of shit. 

The creak of the porch step calls her attention, her head swinging around her shoulder to see who’s come to join her. The look on her face as she sees him…it’s too much to put into words, even for a profiler as experienced as Aaron. He watches each emotion cross her face. Her instinctual reaction was relief, her eyes brightening like a lightning flash through his heart. Her brows furrow soon after, discontent clouding her features. Anger is soon to follow, the pink gloss on her lips shining as they curve downward. 

She lands on anger. Stays there as she moves to stand, not caring where the water splashes as she swings her feet out of the pool. She stomps over to him, feet smacking against the pool deck as she barrels into him. The force is light, her drunken state impacting the collision. He still stumbles a bit, catching both her and himself as they tumble. 

“Where were you?!” she spits, the fire in her eyes paralyzing. He’s speechless. “I waited for you! I waited for you all night! You said- you said you’d be there! You promised!” Her voice gets louder with each syllable, her fists colliding into his chest with each breath. She turns, walking toward the water once more. 

He follows slowly, tentative. His hand reaches to her elbow, fingers lightly touching the skin. She turns, smacking his hand away. He flinches at the sudden contact, not expecting such force from her. “No!” She exclaims. Tears prick her eyes now, her hand is shaking as she holds up a finger in his face. Aaron’s heart splinters at the sight, guilt searing his veins like a deadly disease. 

“You don’t get to touch me, you don’t get to act like you’re the victim here. You. Didn’t. Show.” She spits, venom punching every word. He can see the group forming at the door out of his peripheral vision. It’s just the team, thankfully. Though he knows he’s lost this right, he’s relieved random strangers aren’t privy to his colossal fuck up. 

“God, I feel so fucking stupid!” She exclaims, running ten fingers through perfectly tousled hair. “Sitting here in this dress, that I picked out for you, at this party, that I only threw for you!” Her voice cracks on that last word, tears finally spilling over her lash line. 

“Me?” He mumbles. It’s the first word he’s said to her all night. It makes him feel like an idiot. There’s heat in her gaze, a deadly forest fire. But she’s silent. He keeps going. “You threw this party for me?” He sounds dumb. He knows it even before she rolls her eyes. A fantastic idiot, that’s what he is. 

“God, Aaron!” She’s yelling, now. The use of his first name knocks the wind out of him every time. This time, though, with the pain lacing her tone, it hits like a tornado. “For the best fucking profiler in fucking America, you have no clue how to read people!” 

He raises a brow at this, and she yanks at the root of her hair, a loud, desperate, ‘ugh!’ tearing from her lips. “I’m so hurt, Aaron, You hurt me. I’m so angry, and I’m so, so in love with you, that I’ll probably fucking forgive you in the morning.”

The words hit him like a bullet train, slicing him clean in half. His mouth falls open, a small ‘o’ that only serves to make him stupider. She stalks over to the bar on the deep end of the pool, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of vodka from the interior. She takes a long swig, eyes falling closed. Tears fall down her cheeks, streaking her perfectly applied makeup. She stumbles a bit, nearing the edge of the water, and his heart rate picks up. He makes the mistake of reaching for the bottle. It only results in a forceful shove, the bottle falling between the two and shattering on the ground. 

Her fury only intensifies now. Her vindictive gaze could turn him to stone. He looks down at the mess, catching her shoeless feet. He grips her wrist before she can move. Her bare feet, drunken state, and the shards of broken glass are a recipe for disaster. He doesn’t care how big of an asshole he is, how much she might hate him right now, but he can’t risk letting her get hurt even more. He’s expecting her reaction, an immediate instinct to shove him off of her. He can’t even register the impact it has on his already fragile heart, because in her alcohol induced frenzy, her shove knocks them both in the water. 

The splash envelops Aaron like a slap to the face. He opens his eyes immediately, and he doesn’t even register the sting of the chlorine in his eyes. His only mission is to find her, to make sure she’s safe. He sloppily wraps himself around her, bringing them up to the surface. They both gasp upon arrival, breathing as if they’d never get the privilege again. He splays a hand across her back, pushing her toward him until they’re chest-to-chest, until she can’t wriggle out of his grasp. He won’t let her go until she’s safely out of the water.

The frantic rise and fall of her chest against his steadies him. It’s enough to ground him, to help him find his bearings as he spots the ladder leading out of the pool. He feels her relax slightly in his arms as he begins to move, her own wrapping around his neck. He lets out the smallest sigh of relief. She doesn’t completely hate him. With how he acted tonight, he’s surprised he’s even been afforded that much. 

He lets her go first, hands finding her waist and lifting her to the first step. His hands hover around her as she stumbles up the ladder, ready for any possible disaster to strike. He follows quickly, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin in a way that would make him feel exposed around anyone else. He rolls his sleeves up to his shoulders, shaking his hair out like a dog. She flinches when he sprays her, giggling quietly. The sweet, fluttering noise is contagious, Aaron laughs himself before muttering a quiet, “sorry.” 

He watches her face change as she remembers again. Remember why they ended up in the pool,  why she’s mad at him in the first place. Light, joyful eyes darken into a cloudy, stormy gaze. Her eyes are like a bow and arrow aimed right at his heart, ready for the kill. He’s ready to admit defeat, to just lay there and let her skin and eat him alive. He avoids her gaze. Cowardly, he knows. 

“So. Fucking. Unfair.” They’re punctuated by a look of desperation and disdain, desire and destruction. His head shoots up again at that, shame creeping up his spine once more. It settles in his neck, constricts his airflow. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve treated you terribly tonight and-”

He’s cut off by a groan that could spark an earthquake. She pulls at the roots of her wet hair in frustration. “Not that. Well- partially that. It’s fucking unfair that you get to skip my party, break my heart, show up, and then emerge from my pool looking like some sort of Adonis. Un-fucking fair, Aaron Hotchner.”

She moves closer to him with each passing word, to the point where his name is merely a whisper, uttered to him only inches from his own face. He studies her, the water droplets falling down her tear-stained face, the look in her eye, now softened to one of desperate devotion, despite all he’s put her through tonight. She’s breathtaking. Just as she was the day they first met, and everyday since then. An otherworldly beauty that has seemed to captivate him, mind, body, and soul. 

She inches even closer, her fingernails raking up his bare forearms. A shiver unzips his spine, invoking a light chuckle from her. As her lips inch ever so closer to his own, he nearly lets himself get lost in it. When she releases a shaky sigh against his mouth, the potent stench of vodka strongly reminds him that she is in no place for such an activity tonight. He scoops her up, folding her over his shoulder as he turns to get her indoors. 

He ignores her squeals of protest, the splattering of her palms on his back, though he can’t help but imagine this exact scenario in a different light- one where she’s sober, and he’s carrying her through his bedroom door. He opens the glass door with one hand, sliding it the rest of the way with his hip. He thanks his lucky stars that the only people left are Penelope and Derek, who likely stayed in case of any possible drownings. He nods at them, a succinct, ‘we’re good, get out.’

The message is heard clearly, the two of them shuffling out the door, but not before taking multiple glances at their boss, who’s carrying his hammered employee like a sack of potatoes. He’s in for an absolute earful come Monday, he’s sure of it. 

Her room is easy to spot, a bright pink door with her name plastered at the top. He smiles to himself, his heart swelling at the way she revels in her inner child. Sparkly room decor, birthday party invitations, a birthday party in general. He’s almost envious of the way she effortlessly mixes her childish woe with her adult sophistication. Even around the office, she clacks around in whatever heel came out of her rotating closet that morning, all while spouting off fine tuned details of any current or prospective cases. 

These are things he’s lost touch with as he’s aged, that whimsy, the wild eyed gaze she gives to new challenges. He hopes she never lets it go. He hopes she’ll be 80 with bedazzled glasses and  the best hair in the room. Knowing her, he has nothing to worry about in that regard. 

He plops her down on the large couch on the far end of her room, not wanting to douse her bed with chlorine. She needs a good night’s sleep. She whines as she attempts to wiggle out of her party dress, the straps proving to be very stubborn as she maneuvers around the couch. He turns instinctively as she figures it out, her dress bunching around her thighs before she lifts it up over her head. The small sliver of thigh he did see is burned into his brain forever, though. There’s no escaping that. 

“Aaron, I need my pajamas,” her voice is soft, tired. 

Aaron clears his throat awkwardly. “Where are they, honey?”

He practically hears her gleam at his words. He knows she’s basking in his pet name the way she always does, like a cat who got the cream. “Top drawer. I want the silk pink set,” her voice has a certain lilt to it now that nearly has his eyes rolling in the back of his head. Pink silk. He’ll die. He could just die. It would probably be less painful than handling her delicate sleepwear, throwing it behind him without turning around. 

She giggles as she puts it on. “You can look now. I’m all covered.”

He turns, eyes trained on the floor, just in case. He’s truly not prepared for what he sees when he turns around. Her smooth legs are crossed at the ankle, her plush thighs filling out the fabric of her soft pajamas. The top is barely enough fabric to be called such, a thin tank top leaving so little to the imagination, he nearly combusts on the spot. The peaks of her nipples are enough to do him in permanently, to put him in the ground for all eternity. He’d deserve it, too. 

“I can’t move. Need you to get me to bed,” she mumbles, her body falling limp against the couch. He rolls his eyes, moving to scoop her in his arms, bridal style this time. The implication makes him choke on his own spit. 

“Wait!” She exclaims, just as he’s reached the foot of her bed. He stops in his tracks. “Need to get the rest of my makeup off, Aaron. Need the bathroom.” Her head falls against his chest, and he can’t say no. Sighing, he adjusts her in his arms and carries her to the ensuite bathroom. 

He sits her down on the closed toilet, covered in a pink, fuzzy fabric. She wiggles, getting comfortable as her eyes fall shut. 

“The soft, fuzzy washcloth on the counter automatically takes off makeup with water. If you could just wet it, I can get the rest.” She’s truly sleepy now, the alcohol taking her over almost entirely now. 

He won’t make her do all of that work, not after everything he’s put her through tonight. He heeds only part of her request, wetting the washcloth and ringing out the excess water. He crouches in front of her, putting a gentle hand to her jaw as he begins to lightly scrub the remaining bits of makeup off. She sighs, one of content and exhaustion. His heart soars. He thinks he may have to start going back to church just to make up for the grace he’s been granted tonight. 

After he moves through the next two steps- cleanser, then moisturizer, per her instruction- they’re back where they started, at the edge of her bed, her nestled in his arms. He lays her down gently, turning to sleep on her couch downstairs. He’s stopped in his tracks with a single tug to the wrist. His heart stops. 

“Stay,” she mumbles. He’s powerless. He peels off his wet clothes, making peace with sleeping in damp underwear, before she mumbles something more. “There’s extra sweatpants in the room to the right. Take them.” He has no choice but to listen. 

You wake with a pounding head, the morning light filtering in like a knife designed to split you in two. You groan, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the sober reality you’ve been thrust back into. You’re caught off guard when you roll into an absolute brick wall of a man, panic rising in your throat before you realise who it is. The only positive is that he’s familiar, that you know it’s not some random guy you hooked up with and let stay the night. On the other side of that coin, you’re waking up next to your boss, the day after you confessed your love for him. 

The arrival of that memory triggers the rest, and they flood in like a broken dam. Your tears, the vodka, the broken glass, the pool, the way his pecs looked in his white shirt, soaked to the bone and clinging to his chest. 

You shake off the thought, though the motion only wakes Aaron. You curse lightly under your breath. It takes everything in you not to crumble at the raspy groan Aaron lets out, seemingly just as surprised to be waking up in a foreign environment. His eyes widen when they find you, pure shock lacing his features before he slowly pieces together the events of the night before. A small smile curves your lips. “Good morning, party pooper.”

Aaron at least has enough gentlemanly instinct to make breakfast. He’s quick to tie your pink apron around his waist, cracking eggs and frying bacon with ease. You perch on one of the stools at your kitchen island, still littered with beer cans and empty solo cups. You sip your coffee as you watch him. You hate how gorgeous he is, how he has the right to look like that even when you’re mad at him. 

Sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lack of a shirt tantalizing. Your eyes zone in on the slivers of skin afforded beyond the apron. You squeeze your thighs together at the hair on his tummy, the hair that trails lower, and lower…

You jump as he puts a plate in front of you, not expecting for him to be done so soon. “Oh!” You squeal, the sound muffled slightly by your coffee mug. You’re using the glass dish as a crutch now, holding it in front of your face like a shield. You know he can tell exactly what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it, but it doesn’t stop you. He should know how you’re feeling right now, with him in front of you, looking even more delectable than the fresh, sizzling bacon. But he’s still the same man that broke your heart merely hours ago. 

He plates himself before nodding his head towards the semi-clean kitchen table. “Let’s eat there, so that way we’re not talking over pyramids of Sam Adams.”

You smile softly at this, swinging your legs around to hop off the stool. He takes your plate before you can, sitting it at the head of the table. You sit, and take a bite. It takes everything in you not to moan. If it weren’t for last night, maybe you would’ve. You sit in silence for a moment, soft chewing and forks clinking against plates the only noise. The only noise, at least, until Aaron looks directly at you. 

“I’m so sorry. I know that there’s not enough apologies in the world to make up for how I’ve treated you. I just- I couldn’t…” his voice trails off. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Couldn’t what?” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips, hanging between you two like a ticking time bomb. His eyes flit to the table, his hands clasped together in what looks like silent, desperate, prayer. 

“I couldn’t face rejection again,” he states, plainly. The wheels start turning in your head. Moving, but still unsure of the destination. “You saw so many details of my divorce, the ugly ins and outs. I couldn’t even fathom the thought that you’d be- that you would have any sort of feeling towards me. That you would love me in the way that I love you. Now that I know what I know…”

You’re there. You’ve reached your destination, and you can’t help but collapse your head into your hands and laugh at the stupidity of it all. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the noise you emit, but it’s all worth it at the smile that appears on his own face, cheeks bunching up around his eyes. It makes your heart swell. 

“So, you’re telling me…you didn’t come to my party because you were afraid I’d reject your feelings, and I spent the entire night drinking and crying on rotation because I thought you were rejecting me…” You spell it out, wild hand motions matching the absurdity of the situation. 

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He smiles, and heat rises to your cheeks. A silence settles over you then, the gravity of what this means hitting the both of you like a truck. “I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, though I know that sounds redundant because of my actions.”

You let out an incredulous chuckle at that, a huff of air conveying multiple emotions at once. “Aaron…I need to know that you won’t just run when things get hard. I know that you and Haley had something…else. I don’t want to be a repeat of that in your healing journey, or get in the way of your duties with Jack, or-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, a warm hand grazing your forearm over the table. “You’re not just a part of my healing journey. I learned a lot when Haley left me. You saw it. You held a heavy hand in that change. You gave me something to strive for, a glimmer after I’d thought I messed everything up. And instead of treating you the way I know you deserve, I ran right back to my old patterns. I can’t explain how sorry I am. How can I make it up to you?”

You raise a tentative brow. “The self awareness is a good sign, Aaron, but I need you to know that I’m a one and done kind of girl. Typically a none and done kind of girl. I’m making a very special exception here, sir.” He nods at this, eyes boring into yours. “You’re not going to keep me if you keep your old patterns. It’s one or the other, and you can make it up to me by making that decision. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He nods emphatically, fingers lacing between yours across the table. You sigh, a true, genuine smile on your face for the first time since before last night. You finish your breakfast in a content silence before dragging him back up to your room. 

“It’s one of the only spots in the house not littered with alcohol!” You’d told him, your reasoning quite sound in your eyes. Aaron rolls his, though a smile persists anyway. 

You fall onto your mattress, lifting your arms up for Aaron to join you. He lays beside you, your finger grazing along the waistline of his sweatpants. You revel in the way he shivers at the contact. He makes himself comfortable and you sling a leg across his hips, neck craning up to look in his eyes. A tense silence falls over you two then, thick and wanting. He tests the waters, slowly inching his face closer to yours. You bridge the gap, greedily smashing his lips to yours. 

He kisses you like a man starved, his arms curling around your back as he tries to consume as much of you as possible. You break from the kiss, only for him to pepper multiple tiny ones on your lips, his own drifting to your chin, your jaw, your neck. You turn on your side so your chest to chest with him, the feeling of your tits pressed up against his was enough to make your head spin. His rigid body relaxes in your arms as his lips find yours again. 

You clutch at his shoulders, a small whimper fleeing your lips in between greedy kisses. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that? Drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, hands finding the soft skin under your sleep tank. “Yeah?” you coo, and he groans. 

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, and you clench your thighs together. His ravenous hands frantically search for every spare part of your body they can find. “Walking around the office in those skirts, those cute fucking heels,” he punctuates his statement with more kisses. Your head is spinning. 

“I’m glad you like them, I pick them out just to drive you crazy,” you joke, and revel in the way his eyes roll back in his head. You rock against his hard length, and he shudders. 

“I need you. Now.”

Aaron lays still under the covers, fingertips raking up and down her back as if she’s made of porcelain. He releases a shaky breath, lips pressing to the top of her head. She’s drifting in and out of sleep, and the selfish part of him wants her awake, to be there with him, to kiss him some more. The nurturing part of him knows that she needs the sleep, that her hangover likely isn’t helping in her fight to stay conscious. 

“I can hear you thinking, y’know?” she murmurs, her words smushed in his chest. He laughs, a small, breathy sound escaping his lips. 

“Yeah?” He inquires, voice coated thick with love. “Just thinking about you. About what you need to feel better,” he exaggerates this point by rubbing thick fingers along her scalp. She shudders in response. 

“Think I need to sleep,” she mumbles, her lids half shut. 

“I think you do, too,” he answers, his never ending smile still on his face. “But I want to be with youuuu,” she drags out the last word, her lips pouty. He kisses them eagerly. She responds with the same fervor, her arms slinking around his neck. 

He can feel himself stir again, his now naked frame hiding nothing from the woman in his arms. 

“I think you want the same thing,” she says, suggestively. Her eyebrows wiggle as her fingers slide dangerously low. Against his body’s wishes, he grips her wrist gently. She pouts again. He kisses her again. He’ll never get tired of it. 

“Boo!” She pouts, and it’s so adorable he almost pulls her on his lap to finish what they started. 

“You need sleep, honey. I’m going to clean up downstairs, you let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods as he slides out of bed. He jumps when she swats his ass. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, but she just smiles, resting her head on her propped hand. 

“What? Like it’s my fault you have a cute butt!” She shrugs. He shakes his head, cheeks flushing as he moves to put on his now-dry clothes from last night. 

“Sleep,” He orders. She wiggles her brows in challenge. 

It takes all his will power to leave her there, naked and wanting. It’s for the best right now, for both of them. Her lids have returned to their half closed state, and he ghosts another kiss over her lips before he goes. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth.

“I love you, too. Get some rest.”

“As long as you’re here when I wake up,” she mutters, nestling into her pillow. 

After last night, he couldn’t dream of being anywhere else.

[azureoctahedron]

I 1000% back this. I'm both AuDHD and hard of hearing, and over the years I've used flashing lights or bed-shaking alarms. Well at one point, a clock broke, I had to replace it, and I forgot to check whether it had a bed buzzer. ADHD moment, right?

But then I realized my steadily growing collection of Govee RGB lights were programmable to turn on/off from the phone app and that I could program alarms. Alarms both for the night and day.

Those alarms are how I've finally been able to get a consistent sleep schedule, for pretty much the first time in my life.

I'd been using the app to turn them off/on manually or set them to bedroom lighting. I'd already come up with the idea of using the really bright lights in the morning when I come to take my eye meds. That was the main reason I bought the first ones, to brightly light the room like therapy lamps.

I'd also been using f.lux to lessen the blue light coming through on my monitor to help my sleep for years...but nothing was really working. I'd have to look up at the clock, process what time it is, and then decide when to go pass out. And the ADHD would just let that mental cue slip right through like my brain was a sieve.

At least I'd already learned to set my lighting to very warm colors at night, and to manually turn off several lights at midnight or 11 pm when I took my thyroid meds.

Then the genius moment struck. I could program my computer room's lights to turn off in a sequence (one by one or in groups every half hour after midnight) until I was down to a third of the original illumination, and then turn down to just one rope light over my closet doors which would flip to a very warm scheme. The light cue would help me wind down and turn off my computer once everything was turned off.

I realized the same could go for my bedroom - I could program alarms with bright colors that'd wake me up. There's nothing wrong with my eyes' ability to perceive bright-ass light pouring into them.

Now I go to bed around the same time (2:30-3:00 am), and wake up at the same time (10:30 am but I might need a few minutes to crawl out of my bed.)

I enjoy opening up my phone app and hitting the button I've named Good Morning to turn on my computer room's lights before taking my meds.

If those of you with ADHD are having problems with maintaining schedules, I would absolutely suggest building in light cues. They're a quick way to set up that you can't undo fast enough to just bypass what the cue's for, and they free up your brain from trying to hold onto timing information it can't keep up very well.

The less thought that goes into making the needed movements, the better, right? That's how it has worked for me.

Additionally...this might also be a way to enhance a diurnal cycle you're not picking up, too.

Some research I did over the years (to figure out why the fuck I couldn't get a working sleep schedule) shows that autistic/ADHD people's brains don't register diurnal light cues like neurotypicals' do. There's a tendency for a lot of sleep disruption and sleep phase disorders among ND people too. Clearly I had one. Never could go to sleep at the typical time of 9 pm for most people.

One of the reasons I went with the bright light setup in the mornings is that I figured I could enhance those diurnal cues so I'd register them better - bright and blue-leaning in the morning, and warm-leaning at night. (I will manually set my evening/night scenes around 10 pm or when I take my meds at 11, but the dimming part is all automated.)

And this has really worked for me. I also have my bedroom lights switch to an all-red and extremely dim and gently flickering scene for when I'm supposed to be asleep. Knocks me right out.

I can imagine this might help some ND folks out there nudge their brains to sleep/wake when they need them to.

There are a lot of smart lamps and smart bulbs out there - the bulbs will be cheaper than the fancy hexa wall lights I have. (Mine are the Govee Hexa Pros, and the normal Hexa ones in my bedroom alongside a Glide. Not exactly cheap.)

But they all generally allow you to set various colors, times, and off/on functions from their apps. You'll have to figure out what works best for you and in what sequence/times/patterns, but I think doing this kind of thing can really help.

Light Cues

From the "find what works" department of my life...

I was telling my prescribing psychiatrist about this and he really loved it, and it occurred to me I'm not sure I've ever talked about it on here, but I've started using light cues instead of alarms for some things.

I don't use a lot of alarms regularly throughout the day (I don't need one to wake up unless I'm getting up at an unusual time, for example) but I use them for one-off stuff like "time to start getting ready to go out" or "today you have a doctor's appointment". I found after a while that with an alarm for a regular repeating task, there comes a point where I just silence it and forget to do the thing. Like, I have almost all notifications on my phone turned off and it's still muscle memory for me, as it is for many people, to have my phone beep for attention and just silence it unthinkingly. So I started using lighting cues.

It's evolved a lot, starting with the end of the workday. The lighting in my bedroom is all floor lamps; the one over my work desk is on a smart switch, which plugs into the wall and then the lamp plugs into the switch. I set the switch to turn the lamp on at 8am just before I start work, and off at 4:30pm to remind me to stop work, which I don't always remember to do. The light suddenly going out makes that corner unpleasantly dim, and it's more work to turn it back on (open phone, open app, fin the right switch) than it is to stop work for the day.

Then I thought, this is so irritating it must be useful for other things. So I set it to go off from noon to 12:03pm. It's more of a pain in the ass to turn it back on than it is to get up, go to the kitchen, and do what I'm supposed to do at noon anyway: take my second Adderall dose. And the light is back on by the time I get back.

But I was running into the problem of taking the dose on an empty stomach as you're supposed to, but not having eaten since breakfast at like 5am. And now I'm in the kitchen. Having forgotten to eat my Early Lunch at 10:30. But the Adderall needs like 20 minutes to kick in before I eat, and by the I'm back at work, and then I wonder why I eat my body weight in pasta at 5pm.

So I set a light cue for 10:30 to remind me to take a break and eat. But I don't want to use the same cue for everything. The lamp on the other end of the bedroom doesn't have a smart switch but it does have a smart bulb, which is even more flexible, so at 10:30am it dims to 50% (irritating) and turns deep blue (doubly irritating). I leave the room, go eat lunch, and usually come back to sit on the bed with the cats for a few minutes. I don't mind the dim blue light when I'm on the bed -- I just can't work with it that way. So at 11 the light goes back to full white brightness and I get my cue to go back to work.

I have various other cues -- the living room lamps go off and the LED string on the headboard in the bedroom goes on low and red to indicate it's bedtime, and the LEDs go off a little later to remind me NO, it is BEDTIME NOW.

Obviously a lot of this is only possible with either analog daily timers or smart bulbs/switches, and those can be cost-prohibitive for some while others don't like having their lighting on the internet. But it's all switches and bulbs that I can remove easily, and they've come down a great deal in price -- mine are all Kasa brand so they're controlled from a single app, and I've found them extremely helpful.

Plus sometimes at night I put all the lights to deep blue and pretend I'm underwater and that's fun.

[freakvampire]

has this been done before

[punchdrunkdoc]

Hoo boy, I have some very conflicting and confusing thoughts about this!

I also felt that a one-night stand didn't quite fit the character that we'd been presented. It had kind of been implied in S1 that sex wasn't a massive driving need of his (from the drunken conversation with Micro, and with him being used to going without during his long deployments). But it had probably been a couple of years by that point, so yeah, maybe the physical act of it can be explained away. Maybe. Still not a fan of it, but I can't really judge it objectively because I'm a massive Kastle shipper and if he's going to have a hot sex scene with anyone...

Him opening up to Beth and being honest with her was slightly more in character - the fact that he wanted a real connection and not just meaningless sex. That's been established previously. But the speed at which it happened with a complete stranger was jarring. And again, as a Kastle shipper, that was really not fun to watch! And then when he decided to turn around and drive 2 hours to go back to see her? Yeah, was NOT a fan of that.

But he was lonely. He wanted a connection with someone. He liked spending time with that little family - he's a family man without a family, after all. And I liked what that said about his character development - that he was starting to move on. He could be with someone other than Maria. He could be hopeful about a relationship again...all good things for an eventual relationship with Karen...

But then the writers took him in the complete opposite direction by having Beth get hurt. That seemed to be the only purpose to her, that I can see. She was an illustration to Frank that he's a liability around people he gets close to. That he needs to learn to push people away to keep them safe. That a happily ever after isn't in the cards for him. It's why he rejects Karen in the hospital, and why at the end of the season he is just The Punisher. The writers needed to justify how to get to that end shot of him all dressed up in his gear and killing people. It seems to me, that was the only point of including the whole Beth storyline.

And I've always felt that was such a sad, sad ending to the show, and why I'm not as big a fan of S2. I know the comic bros probably dug it, but I found it so sad as both a Kastle shipper and a fan of Frank Castle.

And maybe if The Punisher had gotten it's 3rd season, they would have brought him back out of that nadir. That S2 was the low point for his arc, and he would have learned to embrace his humanity again.

But instead the show was cancelled, and the next time we see Frank - many years later - he's still in that same mindset. He's almost worse off in fact. It's why I HATE the idea that Karedevil is probably going to be endgame. Because Frank and Karen should be together. They make so much more sense together, and it makes so much more sense for Frank's arc. She's his after, and he needs to learn to embrace that.

I have become obsessed with a new ship.

If anyone was hoping for more Night Agent content, I am so sorry because despite being several years late to the Frank Castle/Karen Page fandom, I am OBSESSED.

Oh my god, these two. The most trauma bonded, angst filled, lovers out of time ship I have ever come across and I will never believe that they aren’t deeply, deeply in love.

Now! I do want to write about one aspect of canon in relation to Frank Castle’s portrayal. I should mention that I have watched Daredevil and The Punisher but have not read The Punisher comics so any comments on characterization are based on the two shows.

I fundamentally don’t understand the inclusion of Frank’s relationship with Beth. I TOTALLY see Frank stepping in when the customer was being belligerent, and I can even understand flirting with Beth a little seeing as he’s trying to be Pete and trying to move on from what happened to him and what he did. But it just does not seem in character to me for him to sleep with Beth.

What we have seen of Frank up to this point is deep, DEEP, love and grief for his wife, scenes with Sarah Lieberman after he manipulated himself into their lives, and emotionally charged and intimate scenes with Karen. He is an extremely violent man at times but none of those have been sexual. And we have never seen him have casual interactions with women that could lead anywhere close to casual sex, even at the beginning of Punisher season 1 when he was trying to lay low, or any indication that he was interested in casual sex.

It just… doesn’t fit, in my opinion.

And I hate it even more because after those fucking insane elevator scenes with Karen at the hotel, he doesn’t even contact her but he’s sleeping with a random bartender? I can understand being too scared to go to Karen - the first person you’ve connected with since your family was killed? While you’re in the midst of trying to avenge said family? I completely get why the thought of anything with Karen would terrify Frank. But to then turn around and go home with Beth?

I hate it and it felt wrong.

But! I would love to hear from any other fans of Kastle. So feel free to reach out 😊

[airenyah]

Hey so do you know where I could find this acting manifesto of yours?

I usually try and avoid publicly expressing my opinion on things like this but I recently saw some people commenting negatively on his acting again and I’m starting to doubt my own judgement.

I’ve truly never had a huge problem with his acting but I keep seeing people using really harsh words to describe his prior and current work. I genuinely think he’s doing a good job in THK but these comments sometimes make me think I’m missing something.

That conflicts with the fact I know at least three people he worked with on THK specifically had positive things to say about his acting too and I trust people who do this for a living to know what they’re talking about for the most part.

I guess I’m just looking for your post to have a more detailed perspective of the opposite viewpoint to “he’s a terrible actor” to help affirm some of my thinking so I’m more confident in my positive opinion of his acting.

Overall though I’m enjoying everyone in this show but for me I’m specifically enjoying the four mains the most. Kudos to them honestly.

(Disclaimer: Obviously everyone is entitled to their opinion but the harshness of some of the opinions took me off guard a little.)

fuck these people. they don't know shit.

(mind you. this manifesto was written based on his performance in just star in my mind and hidden agenda. his 2024 shows weren't even out at that point. in fact, thk hadn't even been publicly announced yet. you can see from the start there is talent in this boy if you actually know what to look out for)

bonus: i rant some more in the last reblog

[hungnitan]

I'm pretty suprise with 4.7 database, hoyo decided to sailing Sethos x Wanderer (additionaly HaiKaveh become more closer) and how heartwarming Sigewinne character story could be...

[slyandthefamilybook]

it's not a perfect formula but you can often tell whether a story has merit by removing extant characters and settings and reducing it to its bare components

The Book of Boba Fett is about Boba Fett running a criminal empire on Tatooine -> The Book of Boba Fett is about a guy running a criminal empire in a place

The main draw of the show was that it's about Boba Fett but like. who is he? Who is Boba Fett? He's a guy who looked cool one time in that one movie

I kid, there's more to him than that. Boba was a boy when he lost his father in a war his father is partially responsible for. His father was killed in front of him by people who claimed to be keepers of the peace. There's something there! But that's not what BOBF is about!!

[padiduys]

How do you feel about Newey going to Aston :)

I'll be honest I was very locked in with my poca project + the rumour was around for a while so for some reason I wasn't really THAT surprised but excited regardless.

Usually, if something interesting happened in F1 I would yell like a madman on my private acc but I ran out of energy so I ended up playing Stardew with tractor mod to remind me of who we used to be.

[crossbackpoke-check]

nosy anon again making a return because i think what my brain did was read that i helped find some kind of writing and then did not fully process what the writing was?? but upon rereading i am very intrigued if you ever get the urge to share i will be all eyes/ears/senses required to enjoy things!!

I GET TO DO WIP WEDNESDAYYYYYY!!! the writing exists mostly in the form of a tag (fantastic! 'verse) and also a thirty-two page doc of snippets and planning, so the sense you will be using most is imagination:

don't think i have ever actually formally written out anything about fantastic! 'verse but! the tl;dr of it is that it's a semi-college au: joel is still a hockey player for the lv phantoms, but morgan is a college student-athlete. it's incredibly relevant to the plot that joel falls in love with morgan in the check-out line of a wegman's, lies a little bit, and ends up going back to get his degree.

most of it is just good fun about college kids growing up, but i think there's a lot of parallels between making your way through a development system where traditional "success" isn't always guaranteed (ahl -> nhl, completion of higher education -> pursuit of a career) because that development system isn't always designed for you to "succeed" or have opportunities. heavy quotation marks around success because part of that struggle is learning what you want in life and how you define success. are your dreams achievable? are they still the same dreams you always used to have? it's infinite branching universes of would you still love me if i was a worm (ahl player forever) (a college dropout) (a college graduate) (older) (realizing the fallibility of your body) (uncertain of the future) (human).

silly little snippet:

[butchdomesticwhore]

why is it so hard to recognize that all this info about bills and such is something you can acquire via googling and making phone calls to people who work in these departments and--yes!--asking them questions on what your best next step is? how does making this about systemic oppression help you or anyone else complete practical, adult tasks? when you point at a paper bill from a medical institution and declare it fundamentally classist, does the bill magically crumple into the dust, the issue dealt with and over because you aptly named the systemic issue at play? no!

do you get angry at mechanics when they tell you they have an idea regarding how your car could be fixed, also? how does that help you? what have you learned from deciding to be angry as opposed to using the information dealt to you? perhaps you should not be told by cashiers either about when the sales happen or how items are put on clearance lest their Insider Knowledge tell you something you don't know and--gasp--come from a place of privilege.

the point of my info and OP's is practical use. "if you have this problem, [x] might solve it." privilege or no, how the info is acquired doesn't matter as much as whether or not it's accurate and helps people. and despite your daftness, i very much hope any of this info helps YOU. or if not you, then someone you know. or someone completely random, i don't give a damn.

Ok so my kid had an ear infection, right? As kids often do.

The doctor scraped out a bit of earwax to have a better look inside.

I was sent a bill for $200 PER EAR for this 5 second procedure which I did not give permission for them to do.

That was key- they did not ASK me if they could do this "procedure". And, as I OWN a medical practice (it's me. The medical practice is me, sitting in my house on video calls) I knew to call them when this bill came in to be like "You did not obtain informed consent for this procedure, and it was not en emergency procedure. You had full ability to gain my consent and didn't. I'm not paying."

And the massive hospital who owned the bill said "yuh-huh you do have to pay."

And I said "I own a practice. I know these laws. I do not owe you money for this."

And they conducted an "internal review" and SURPRISE! Decided I totally owed them money and they had never done anything wrong ever.

And so I called my state's Attorney General office, and explained the situation because, as I mentioned, I know the law. The AG got in touch within a couple days to say they were taking the case and would send the massive hospital conglomerate a knock it off, guys letter.

Lo and Behold, today I have a letter where said hospital graciously has agreed to forfeit the payment.

"How not to get screwed over by companies" should be part of civics class.

Know your rights and know who to call when they're infringed on. This whole process cost me $0 and honestly less effort than I would have expected.

May this knowledge find its way to someone else who can use it.

[faramirsonofgondor]

AU where the mayor of Gotham retires or dies or something, and the Batsiblings decide it would be funny if they ran for mayor. Except they don’t run as their civilian identities, but as they’re vigilante ones.

Dick won’t stop pouting because the people of Gotham refuse to vote for someone from Bludhaven, Tim is incredibly offended that he ends up tied with Dick for last place, Damian is smug that he beat Tim and indignant that people refuse to vote for him because he’s “a child”, and Jason preens but is internally panicking as more and more people vote for him. He wins by a landslide.

His first act as mayor is to increase Bruce Wayne’s taxes. His second is to ban Lex Luthor from entering the city. Someone tries to tell him it’s illegal to do that and he just… walks away. Eventually he starts to get a hang of this whole mayor thing and ends up working with Wayne Enterprises to strengthen housing and construction in poorer neighborhoods, he gives teachers raises, encourages trade school and alternative routes for henchmen, he adds diversity and inclusivity courses to public schools, safety programs and gas masks are made more accessible, and he reinforces the security and integrity of Arkham.

Of course there are still times where he misuses his power a little bit, but it’s never anything serious and most Gothamites watch in amusement as the scene unfolds.

Like just imagine:

Jason, dressed as RH: You’re not allowed in, you know what you did.

Dick, standing outside the Gates of Gotham, giving his best pouty expression in his Nightwing gear: Please, Hood! I promised Robin I would take him to the zoo after patrol!

Jason: You should’ve thought about that before you ate the last cookie Agent A made.

Dick, now wailing: This is abuse of power! Cruel and unusual punishment! I demand a lawyer!

Of course there are also the times when Jason decides to do something nice for his siblings, except it just ends up confusing the fuck out of everyone else in Gotham. On Dick’s birthday, he announces that there is now an Official Animal of Gotham, and most people are expecting a bat, or maybe a bird, or hell even a crocodile. Everyone except for Dick, Bruce, and Alfred are confused when it ends up being an elephant instead. Jason also decides to unveil plans for a Gotham Animal Sanctuary on the same exact day. Everyone is even more surprised when Nightwing jumps on Hood, entrapping him in an octopus hug as their mayor flails around trying to pry him off. It doesn’t work and Batman has to pick Dick up by the scruff of his neck to get him off.

There are also some of the odder, but somewhat sensible laws that are passed. Condiments are banned during the holidays and in schools (Condiment King could be heard sobbing throughout Gotham when this proclamation aired). No one is allowed to dress as clowns for any circumstance. The sewers are off limits to everyone except maintenance/construction workers, who must carry guns on them at all times. Lex Luthor’s birthday becomes Gotham’s Official “Fuck Lex Luthor Day”.

Then comes Jason’s most popular decision to date, he has The Joker reassessed mentally, and when he’s found as sane he pushes for the death penalty to be given (not that he really needed to - it was going in that direction already). He almost expects an angry lecture or fight with Bruce to occur, but Bruce just looks at him and says, quietly, “You’ve done a beautiful job, son, I couldn’t be more proud.”