#i think it might be a little too much to handle but...........

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: It's normal to feel insecure every once in a while. But what would Sylus think of it? You wonder if he'll think that you're too much but you still ask to look through his phone anyway. And he willingly lets you.

Warnings: Low self-esteem and self-doubt, insecurity, jealousy issues (thinking he has other girls), bad relationships (not with Sylus), mentions of stalking (done by Sylus to you), mentions of threat messages.

Author's note: Is this controversial. Idk. I think I'm overbearing, so this is self-indulgent but I hope that it helps if you can relate to it as well. This is based on one of his Destiny Café and affinity level up lines. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You had always been a little insecure of yourself. Comparing yourself to others, envying the life they have, wishing to be a different person entirely. All of this had been ingrained into you like heated iron scorching skin, branding itself onto the fragile fabric of your soul. It would be alright, if it didn't consume your being and take the reigns of your mind at the worst of times.

Previous partners always brushed you off when you wanted to speak to them about your troubles. Telling you that it was fine— that they could handle it. Lies. Maybe they would indulge you once or twice, but they would always end up angry at you for being... difficult. Your jealousy is out of control, your clinginess is overbearing, your need for reassurance is exhausting. Always too much, too high maintenance. It all ends sour.

But you can't help it. The need to satiate this overwhelming emotion withers you away. Your desperate want for someone to claim you as their number one— the only one—overrides rationality. Yet you have learned to bite your tongue. Force your words to die in your throat because you never want to be too much. Especially not for someone like Sylus. Sylus who has always been so understanding and patient and you are terrified that this might tip him over the edge.

Sylus, however, notices that you seem rather lost in thought. Although he has been on his phone for quite some time, nothing gets past him. Not your jittery behaviour or the sighs that escape past your lips as if they were the words you wished to convey but held back on. He sees you fiddling with a trinket, some gemstone he left lying around the base that Mephisto probably went for. Switching off his phone, he sets it aside in favour of staring intently at you, two fingers resting on his temple as he leans on his elbow.

“You seem quite fascinated with that pretty gem, sweetie. Has Mephisto influenced you with a crow's instinct?” Sylus teases you, an opening line for conversation.

You jerk, scowling at the man, “Don't compare me to that bird!”

He only chuckles, shaking his head.

“What's on your mind, sweetie?” The tone of his voice shifts, now noticeably softer. So are his eyes.

Sylus is worried about you, it seems. You glance at him, taking in the way he keeps his eyes only on you. Then briefly direct your gaze towards that damn phone of his before looking into his eyes. Vicious scarlet turned lovesick velvet; it engulfs you in safety. Your lip quivers, and you bite down to stop it from doing so. What would Sylus say if you asked to look through his phone? How irritated or annoyed would he be? But his eyes are so warm, and you crave the gentle adoration it drowns you in.

“Can I... look through your phone?” You ask hesitantly, breaking eye contact first.

Well. That was the last thing he expected you'd ask him. He stares at you a little dumbfounded, only briefly, before regaining his composure. He expected a favor, something grand or perhaps requested the impossible from him. Of all things Sylus owns, and you ask for his mobile device. With a quirk of his brow and small tug at his lips, he gestures for you to come closer. When you do, he sits you across his lap, pulling his phone from the coffee table with his evol and drops it off in your hands.

“Go ahead, sweetie. I have nothing to hide from you, only the authorities.”

Sylus is patient when you begin your... search. Throughout all the apps he has; social media, websites, albums, contacts. You find that most of it contains you and N109 business. Pictures of you that you don't recall him taking, candid ones looking away from the camera. Auction sites where he's betting on antique weapons and vintage wine. Messages to Luke and Kieran regarding missions, and sometimes about keeping an eye on you. Ominous ones from others that come in the form of—

“What do the codes mean?” The question tumbles out of you before you fully think it through. Damn you.

His hand envelops yours, scrolling through the messages with his thumb.

“This one, is a location. Some sort of trap, most likely. The one you looked at earlier was a threat. And as for this...” Sylus explains every single one, not even hesitating.

Once you're satisfied, you give him back his phone. There was nothing. No other girl, no secret lover, not a single piece of incriminating evidence. Shame and guilt immediately take root within you. Sylus is not that kind of person, you should have known that. Should have trusted him more and let it be. Why were you like this? Apologize. It's what you need to do now because maybe he thought you were doubting him.

“I'm sorry—” he cuts you off.

“No. You have nothing to apologize for. Didn't I tell you that you have access to all my resources? Including, but not limited to, my phone. You can take a mile if I give you an inch.”

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. Even the tips of your fingers, and a final one on the inside of your palm.

“Next time, you don't need to ask. Just snatch it away from me if you think I'm giving it too much attention. I'll drop anything to show you how much I adore you.” He looks at you, gaze unwavering.

You will never be too much for Sylus. Everything that you have to offer, he will devour like a dog starved. He has been deprived of the intensity of your affections for far too long to be picky. If your love is tender, he will soften himself from metal to clay and be molded by your hands as best he can. And if your love is untamed ferocity he will embrace you with open arms, ready to be ripped apart. It will be alright— Sylus will stitch himself back together if that was what you needed him to do. That is what he will do to love you.

[phoenixyfriend]

Okay so we have like. An unusually high ratio of royalty/nobility among the Jedi. Dooku, Quinlan, Oppo, you can sort of count Adi or Xanatos or Bruck, etc. Lots of Jedi 'just happen' to come from royal, noble, or incredibly wealthy/powerful families.

So from this I want to posit four things:

If a royal family has a Force-Sensitive child, and hasn't had one in generations, they may think that sending that child to the Jedi would be a little like sending a child to join the Catholic Church in the middle ages: you get to influence the political choices of the highest religious power in Europe the Galactic Republic Government. (That said, Dooku was sent to the Jedi because his parents didn't want him and ||left him to die of exposure, basically, so that if the Jedi arrived too late they'd be picking up a baby corpse|| because they were so disdainful of Force-Sensitive individuals, and Quinlan wasn't sent to the Jedi so much as he escaped to them.)

They are all incredibly wrong about this, and royals raised as Jedi generally do not give any more of a shit about their home planets than any other planet. They care, of course, but they are not attached, because they are Jedi. Xanatos was an exception (afaik his dad sent him to the Jedi because he wanted to do the Catholic thing? and then Xanatos lost his mind). (Don't correct me on this, it's not really important if it was actually intended or not.)

This is achieved by way of Jedi from royal backgrounds having a mandatory high-level political class on how to handle royal court politics and general intrigue. It's not exclusive to the royal kids, but it is a prerequisite for them. They usually end up doing their home planets as case studies for capstone projects, in part because

Sometimes the planets try to call their errant royals back. It might be because the planet is struggling and genuinely running out of heirs/needs a change in leadership (Serreno) and it might be because it was the plan all along, but on the off chance that the Jedi decides they HAVE to leave the Order and take up a throne to keep an entire planet from kind of imploding on itself... that royal Jedi has to be ready to play the game. OR if they don't actually think they're REALLY needed there, they have to be trained on how to go, and be polite/avoid getting trapped/play the game until they can get the hell out of there, while also installing that cousin that nobody thought was strong enough but DOES understand how to run the treasury as the new king.

I'm just imagining this like. Very specific set of classes that are open to any Jedi that's taken the necessary prereqs, but is mandatory for people like Quinlan and Dooku and Oppo.

This was inspired by a post of mine that's getting circulated regarding QuinObi stuff and my thoughts about how Quinlan might have needed preventative training in case of political upheavals trying to pull him back to his home planet. I want to mess with the Politics Classes that Quinlan is taking because he has to and Obi-Wan is taking because Qui-Gon said he should.

Qui-Gon: You should take this class because I'm training you up as a negotiator and diplomat, and you will need it to interact with people when brokering trade deals or peace treaties. Tholme: You are taking this class because your aunt is insane and you have to be ready in case she tries to pull you back into the bullshit.

And as @firebirdeternal offered:

Quinlan: God this is the worst. So boring. At least Obi-Wan is stuck here too. Obi-wan: This is fascinating wow, I can't believe I almost didn't get to attend, Quinlan is so lucky he's automatically in these classes.

[revelboo]

The SQUEAL I let out when I saw Tailgate and Cyclonus, I love them SO MUCH

They are too cute

Chain Me Free Pt 2

Tailgate x Reader x Cylconus

• Why are you screaming? He’s not hurt you, he’s being gentle because of how small you are. Your fear triggering his own panic as Tailgate claps a hand over your mouth to stifle the screaming. “Wait. You’re okay. Safe. You’re safe,” he gasps, servos trembling. Why won’t you stop? This isn’t what he’d expected. Not sure what to do to make it better, how to fix this. “Please stop. I can’t, Cyclonus? I can’t.”

• Venting as you claw at Tailgate’s servos and the small bot begins to tremble, Cyclonus sits up and loops his arms around both of you. Curling himself around you. Knows this works for Tailgate. Has no idea about you, but Tailgate is his main concern as he slowly begins rocking. “Tailgate, let them breathe,” he admonishes. Resting his chin on Tailgate’s helm.

• Gasping in a frightened breath as the one finally moves his hand, you’re aware of the bigger, scarier one rocking you and the smaller monster. And the little one is shaking as badly as you are. Trying to get your terror under control as the big one begins a deep, guttural growling that you think might be singing. “Where am I?” You ask, heart racing, trying to squirm free of the little guy’s grip. Able to calm down some seeing the one’s anxiety.

• Trying to get his anxiety under control is easier with Cyclonus’s voice to ground him. Optics shuttering behind his visor as he lays his cheek on top of your soft head, Tailgate relaxes into Cyclonus. “On board the Lost Light. It’s a bit complicated,” he manages as Cyclonus’s singing tapers off. Does the singing calm you, too? Make you feel safe? “This is Cyclonus,” he says, affectionately touching the bigger mech’s jaw. “I’m Tailgate.”

• Feels bad for you as you try to wiggle free of Tailgate’s grip and the little mech only hangs on tighter. You’re tiny, compared to Tailgate. Warm and disturbingly fragile where Tailgate has you pinned between them both. Can feel your racing heart and quick breaths. So afraid still even if you’re not screaming anymore. You found yourself in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers and you’re coping admirably. “You’ll be alright,” he mutters, holding both of you close. Knowing he’s going to have to take care of you just like he looks after Tailgate. What’s one more? Though he knows firsthand how much trouble a small being can cause and hopes you’re not as difficult as Tailgate can be. Doesn’t know if his spark can handle it.

Previous

[alsofoundinpeas]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[emsdevs]

I’m a sucker for Angst, so a heaviest of heavy Angst will always do it for me, like I need my insides to feel like it’s being stabbed and overwhelmed with all sort of emotions. Bonus point if it’s long. Hope this isn’t too much to ask for maybe I’m getting too carried away loll Could you do it with Justin Herbert please?

No Strings?

a/n: nonnie you sent this at the perfect time! I've had justin on my schedule for a while, but couldn't figure out what to write for him, so this worked out perfectly! this does not have a happy ending but i might be open to a part two if enough people want it. enjoyyyy :)

masterlist | NFL Masterlists | Justin Herbert Masterlist

You swore you could handle casual. When you started whatever you had going on with Justin, you swore you were the kind of person who could have a casual relationship, but now you aren’t so sure. When Justin asked you out four months ago, you never would’ve expected to be where you are now. It had all been going so well. The dates had been everything you could’ve asked for and more, and Justin was the perfect gentleman. It all began to go downhill after your third date. You had invited Justin into your apartment when he dropped you off, your intentions clear, and he had followed you inside. You two had been sitting on the couch when things began to get serious, the kiss you were sharing heating up.

Justin pulled away, looking slightly guilty. “I feel like I need to be honest with you about something before this goes any further.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” you were a little confused, but you let him speak.

“Look, because of the job I have, I really can’t do anything serious right now. I know I’ve probably led you on a little bit, but I swear I’ve never had any intentions to hurt you,” he stared at you, looking nervous.

“That’s okay!” you speak up too quickly for your liking. “We don’t have to stop unless that’s what you want. I can do casual.” Surely, you could. It couldn’t be that different from a normal relationship.

“You sure? I don’t wanna overstep if casual isn’t something you’re comfortable with.”

“Yeah, of course. No strings attached. Just having fun.”

As Justin leaned back in, you were thinking that this could definitely work. Justin was great, and this would keep him in your life without overstepping any boundaries. You could do casual.

~~

Turns out, you can’t do casual. You’ve been trying to stay normal, but you realized two days ago that you were falling for Justin, hard. You’d been keeping it to yourself, not wanting to scare him away, but it’s getting more and more difficult. He’s just so sweet, and the things he tends to do for you simply cannot be casual.

Is it casual when he plays with the ends of your hair before you get out of bed in the morning? Is it casual for him, even though he keeps all your favorite snacks at his place for when you have movie nights? If it’s casual, why does he keep a drawer free so you have space to keep a few clothes at his place? If it’s casual, why does he know you better than you know yourself? Why has he gotten you your favorite flowers every two weeks since you went on that first date with him? Why does he know “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” is the perfect movie to cheer you up after a long day? If it’s casual for him, why is he acting like he’s in love with you?

Eventually, it had gotten to a point where you couldn’t stand lying to him or yourself anymore. After four months of no strings, you had to talk to him. You finally got the chance one night when he invited you over for a movie night. Before the movie got started, you decided it was time to break the news.

“Justin… I actually think we need to talk,” you wiped your hands on your pants, feeling them already starting to sweat from the nerves.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“I just really need to say this, and I know you probably won’t like it, but I need you to listen until I finish,” you pause, waiting for him to nod. “Okay, so, I just feel like we’ve definitely crossed some lines in this arrangement, ya know? Like we both have a drawer at each other’s places. We’re spending the night together, and sometimes, we hang out without even having sex. I just… this isn’t what we originally agreed to,” you were avoiding saying what you were truly feeling.

“So we’ll step back some? I don’t know. That doesn’t seem like something to be worried abou-”

“I caught feelings for you, Justin,” he just stares at you, shocked, “I know we said no feelings, but we’ve just gotten a little too close. We don’t have to stop or anything. I’m a big girl. I can handle-”

“No. No, we should stop,” he cuts you off, and it’s your turn to stare.

“Seriously?”

“We said no strings. I told you I can’t do relationships because of my job. If you have feelings for me, this needs to stop now before it can get worse.”

“Right,” you stood robotically, grabbing your things and walking out of Justin’s house with tears in your eyes. The worst part? He didn’t even try to stop you. Somehow, with one sentence, you ruined something that could’ve been so good for you, that had been so good for you.

~~

Now, it had been three months since that night, and you hadn’t spoken to Justin since. You’ve been going through the motions, just doing a fairly normal routine to make it through your day. You wake up, get dressed, go home, shower, cry while you eat your sorrows away, sleep, and then do it all again the next day. Nothing has felt right since your breakup with Justin, if that’s what you would even call. How can you break up with someone you were never really dating. 

You’ve found your confidence to be much lower recently, too. You couldn’t count the amount of time you’ve wondered where you went wrong. Why did you have to tell him? Why would he not even try? Why didn’t he follow you? Today, you found the answer.

You had decided that a day out would do you some good, so since you had the day off, you got dressed and walked around the city. You were about to go into one of your favorite coffee shops, one that you had brought Justin to many times. As you neared the door, you caught a glimpse of something that shattered your heart in a second. There sat Justin across from some girl you’ve never seen, looking too close to just be friends. You watched as she stood, kissing his cheek before she wandered off to the bathroom. A bright smile made its way onto Justin’s face, a smile you had never managed to bring out of him. With your heart broken all over again, you made your way to a close friend’s place. It was closer than yours, and you knew you didn’t want to be alone right now.

He had told you he couldn’t be in a relationship, but what he really meant was that he couldn’t be in a relationship with you. The questions began to set in again. Were you not pretty enough? Not popular enough? Did he need someone in the same tax bracket as him? Did he really just not like you? Did he think you weren’t good enough for him? Was he lying the entire time, every time he told you how special you were to him

Even with all the questions you had, you knew two things for sure. You were done with Justin Herbert, and you definitely could not do casual.

taglist: @heartsforjh @irishmanwhore @heartforherbert @jusaints @one-sweet-gubler

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[pissybird]

Trey’s dream has shed a little bit more light on his relationship with Riddle, I think. this is unedited and unfiltered. I may take it down later and replace it with a thought out, formatted, and structured analysis. This is just off the cuff stuff for now.

TLDR: The Riddle in Trey’s head is probably still 8 years old and Trey might have trouble seeing Riddle as a 17-year-old. Riddle, on the other hand, might be a bit more objective about their friendship, but that really remains to be seen.

Riddle, who deals with his mother every day , has lots of trauma to think about and deal with. That’s not to say the tart thing wasn’t significant to Riddle (we know it definitely was), or to say that Riddle forgot about Trey and Chen’ya (3,000 crossword puzzles!), but I think Trey…fixated on it more??? Or fixated on it in a different way at the very least.

So Riddle has all these traumas from his mom, the tart thing being a drop in the bucket (albeit a very significant one!). Meanwhile, Trey has no other (plot relevant) traumas. So Trey has been kind of ruminating on this moment, remembering Riddle as he was, building him up in his head, a la the Great Gatsby, and doesn’t really know how to handle it when Riddle turns out to be different than he remembers. Meanwhile Riddle, having more or less turned his feelings “off,” approached reuniting with Trey again in a more objective way. He knew this guy for like two months, six years ago. And Dr. Rosehearts has been piling more shit on top of Riddle since then as well (so that Riddle not only has Rules Trauma, but also food trauma, appearance trauma, etc.).

Trey, having not had the same shit piled on him, has only this one moment that affected him so profoundly to ruminate on. Whether consciously or not, it seems like all Trey can think about when he thinks of Riddle is the tart thing. It’s like Trey’s brain took a picture of little Riddle in that moment, and won’t let go of it. He’s unable to see Riddle in any light that gives Riddle some agency to maybe be a bit different then Trey remembers, even besides the militance. It kind of puts his behavior pre OB into perspective.

A little bit of an aside here, but Trey’s attitude toward Riddle really frustrated me at that point in the story, and I was relating pretty hard to Ace! it irritated me, because I saw it as Trey babying Riddle (which it kind of was) and having had a similar childhood to Riddle in a lot of ways, it annoyed me. I felt like Riddle was being condescended to a little bit. But now, knowing that Trey had hyped Riddle up to hell and back, it makes more sense.

Trey, whether he was to admit it or not, is a pretty nurturing guy (whether that comes naturally to him or not is a whole other post). So he sees Riddle as a very mature, albeit somewhat happy-go-lucky 8-year-old who gets mistreated by his mom. Trey is so stuck in this moment he is incapable of seeing Riddle as the near-grown man that he is. Dr. Rosehearts is Trey’s hero (in a twisted way) just as much as she is Riddle’s villain. The tart thing existing in Trey’s dream speaks to this! Riddle, through Trey’s trauma, serves as a kind of outlet for Trey’s fussing and mothering. Dr. Rosehearts has given Trey a child to spoil. (This, of course, is not the end all be all of Trey’s treatment of Riddle (please read on) but it’s worth noting.) Trey wants to nourish and comfort his friend, who wouldn’t need nourishing and comfort if something hadn’t happened to him (Trey subconsciously emotionally seeing the tart incident as a singular event, because it’s really all he bore witness too).

Trey’s dream wasn’t “Riddle and all of Heartslabyul happy and carefree,” it was “spoiling everyone, especially Riddle, and maybe making up for past mistakes.” (Edit: I realize I didn’t remove a sentence I was going to for clarity. Trey’s dream does indeed have to do with “letting everyone be carefree”. I meant Trey wants “happy and carefree in addition to making up for what he might feel are his past mistakes” whoopsie! 😭)Trey’s dream, Riddle eats without restraint. Riddle is tall. The only thing Riddle doesn’t get is the title of Housewarden, because that makes it much more difficult for Trey to accommodate Riddle and everyone else. The dream knows that Trey wants to dote on everyone, especially Riddle, but it also knows that Trey is tired. He can’t sustain both being Riddle’s vice housewarden (a position foisted upon him by his dorm mates, interestingly enough!) and being as indulgent toward others as he would like (or feels he must be).

It wouldn’t surprise me if Riddle’s dream had very little to do with Trey. Even if it’s “Riddle got to have a good childhood,” Trey may just serve as a face, but could really be anyone. He may have a shit ton of friends, which we know he wants, and Trey may be treated as equal among them as opposed to a bestie.

I’m not saying Riddle doesn’t care about Trey, or that they’re not close. But I think Trey really has an idea of Riddle that just…doesn’t exist anymore. Riddle is changing and growing, but he’s not 8. He’s growing into an adult, and gaining agency and forming a personality that extends beyond his mother. There may be a day when Riddle has a healthy relationship with rules, food, his mom, etc. But the Riddle that Trey remembers isn’t there anymore. He’ll always be a little bit different. And this kind of makes the “little brother” thing make sense, I think, even when we know that Riddle acted like he didn’t know Trey (which he didn’t, of course, It’d been 6 years.). Even now, Riddle and Trey have only known each other…what…2 years total?

Of course, their dynamic when it involves Cater is interesting as well, but that’s a different post I think.

[benisbeaaaaans]

Fragmented

Mirrors always made him uneasy.

The villagers who were aware of that always assumed it was because of his eye, the injury that was deemed so severe upon his arrival that he was given a patch to keep the non-functional socket clean and protected. He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t at least partially true, so he’d nod somberly every time it was brought up.

But it wasn’t the whole truth. No, he’d much rather they not have the burden of knowing the rest of the story.

It pained him to be reminded of what he was, and what he had left behind on Beast-Yeast.

It was the dead of night, the only night outside the window broken by tiny pinpricks of light, the moon gone from the sky tonight. He stared at the mirror on the wall, water dripping from his milk-white hair and down his back, seeping into the towel wrapped around him. His eyepatch hung on the bathroom doorknob, its lock slid into place more to hide him from unsuspecting eyes than for privacy. Witches forbid a villager or worse, Pure Vanilla Cookie come walking in and seeing the black scars on his body and the unnatural glow of his right eye. He looked like a monster in his reflection, and he was the one that was used to it. Imagining what would happen if he lost this second chance to something as easily concealed as his appearance-

He sighed. He grabbed the patch from the door handle, tying it back around his head over his eye. It took some work, given his hair was still heavy from his bath, but looking at himself too long gave covering it more priority than drying the mop of hair upon his head. He briefly contemplated cutting it short, before dismissing the idea.

‘Pure Vanilla Cookie recognizes me like this. I shouldn’t drastically change my appearance, especially so early on. I might frighten him if he thinks I’m a stranger.’

He stared at the mirror a second longer. He had yet to put on his nightgown, but even covering that hideous eye made him sigh with relief. He’d never forgive that wretched part of himself for such a vile change. He knew it didn’t care about appearances the moment corruption took hold, but to force it upon him, too?

He turned away. “It cannot be helped,” he murmured aloud. “It is simply the truth of the matter.”

‘Aw, my little parting gift isn’t appreciated?’

He froze.

“What-?”

‘And here I thought you of all people were honest about your feelings! I had to wait until you left before finding out about this!’

A cold feeling rushed over his body.

He looked back up at the mirror.

His reflection stared back.

Smiling.

That sickly cyan eye staring into his very soul.

‘Hellooooo, my darling other half~! Having fun playing family?’

‘What are you doing here?!’ Blueberry Milk Cookie’s words echoed in his mind, not daring to say another word aloud, lest he wake the entire house.

‘Mm, nothing in particular, really. Not much to do inside this wretched tree. I must say, though, I was really hoping for more excitement after the journey here… watching this is almost as boring as sitting for a portrait!’ Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, the reflection moving independently from the cookie projecting it.

‘How?? How are you able to watch me?! That shouldn’t be possible, you’re- trapped! Trapped forever, I should add, that should mean that you have no power!’

‘What a naive assumption. And here I thought you were smart,’ the mirror scoffed. ‘Did I get all the brains in the split? That’s rather unfortunate for you…’

‘I’m not stupid! The Witches chains bind you for all eternity! Any connection with me was severed when the Soul Jam’s power was split!’

‘Tch, tch, tch, sooooo naive indeed. You’re forgetting some crutial details, my “beloved” other half.’

‘Tell me, then, instead of dancing around it like a chicken with its head cut off!’

‘The Soul Jam’s power cannot be entirely severed. That’s why you were forced to bring that snot-nosed brat to a different continent to ensure I could not effectively puppet him.’

‘…’

‘Hehe~! Got your attention now, did I? Yes, I know about the heir. Too bad, so sad, you’re getting nepotismed right out of weilding your own lifeforce!’

‘Silence,’ Blueberry snapped, before thinking a moment more. ‘This must be why I’m here. So long as he doesn’t hold the Soul Jam, you have no will over him. But he still needs it eventually. I’m the beacon that must protect him not only until he’s grown, but from the very power he will grow to inherit.’

‘Yes,’ Shadow replied through a grating smile. ‘It’s so very inconvenient, all this “pure and good” nonsense he has to be. You must be so upset you have to deal with me! You’re already going mad listening to me mock you! Maybe I’ll make you have nightmares every night! Or! I’ll make you hallucinate spiders crawling under your clothes, and snakes in your shoes constricting your legs so you can’t walk! You won’t last so much as a day now that I-‘

“No.”

‘… What.’

“I refuse to be driven mad by you,” Blueberry Milk Cookie whispered, turning away from the mirror.

‘… Huh???! You can’t just- REFUSE to be driven mad! That’s stupid! I am not some meager insect that can be swatted away, you insolent fool!’ The mirror hissed, the furious cookie’s eye flashing with rage.

‘Perhaps not. But you do not worry me in the slightest. Now that I know we are still connected through the Soul Jam, I know exactly what I must do. Not just raise Pure Vanilla Cookie, but teach him. He will learn how to resist you when the time comes. I will ensure it, and until that day comes, I will suffer the consequences of holding the Light of Truth and its connection with the Sin of Deciet.’

‘That will take years! Decades, even, perhaps even centuries if his life is as long as ours!’

‘I’m sure that’s enough time to grow a tolerance for you.’

‘No one can last forever in torment…’ Shadow Milk Cookie growled, eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Not forever,’ he agreed, pulling on his blue tunic. ‘But this is my purpose now. Just as yours is to be trapped “forever”. Such fickle wording, don’t you think?’

Before the reflection could retort further, Blueberry Milk Cookie unlocked the door stepping out and closing it behind him.

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Greetings, I just remember your overdue pre-order of angst.

I imagine peter didn't ask Jason out not because he might return back to his universe. But deep down is the parker luck, Mj almost die because of Spider-Man rogue and many of the loved ones hurt or perish.

Doesn't matter if Jason said that he is red hood that he can handle himself. Remember iron man. Even though he is a hero with armor. So I think peter will prefer to be no one there for him.

As he might think "it better this way, so they won't get hurt because of me (parker luck)."

If we're looking at Peter at the early stages of ECM, then yes he's unwilling to connect with anyone like that. That's why Jason knows so little about Peter even though they've been living together for five weeks by the end of part 1. Most of what Jason does know is personality related, or worked out through subterfuge.

Knowing that Jason is the Red Hood does make a difference to Peter. Knowing that Jason's more than capable of taking care of himself means that Peter can start to really get attached, which is why Peter does start to let go of tidbits of information towards the end of Part one. This however, has been tempered by the fact that there's still the likelihood of him having to leave, which is in part why Peter can't recognise that attachment as anything more than platonic (that slow burn do be burning slow, lemme tell you) But also he's still grieving. There's no romantic feelings cropping up because of that too.

To me, it's about Peter being able to trust himself, and also trust that those he cares for can care for themselves.

As much as I enjoy the trope of Peter isolating himself out of fear of hurting others, and there are plenty of writers who've explored this idea very well, I don't want to write about a Peter who forcibly pushes people away. Holds them at arm's length? Sure. That's really what's been happening through much of ECM... But as I've said in a past ask, something I love about Peter Parker is both his faith in others, and his resilience. In ECM, Peter pushing others away again would be him giving up, which is of course what he did post NWH. His (self-enforced) isolation and grief reinforced that behaviour. But he's slowly had time to heal in ECM, and that means those arms of his have been letting people like Jason draw closer.

Being around others, caring for the welfare of others - people whom he can place a face to a name of, not just randos in Queens - has helped him gain a new perspective. Part two will explore more of Peter's connections to other people, and give him an opportunity to look at the future for what it really is: a time of potential and growth, not just a long-winded path towards self-destruction.

[29daffodils]

to plot or to not plot, that's the question

there's post under the tag that... really tickled my brain because i somewhat agree with it. but not entirely, considering i do still believe OP sounds... i dunno, something, while they are telling FK stans to “have some dignity”. so I'll just add to that, because i think fan interpretation and looking deep into a story is important, than say, just being fed all the info.

now let's start with saying i am a FKT stan and I'll be somewhat biased in my approach, but i will still try to keep this as neutral as possible.

that said, i do think jojo's writing needs improvement. a looooooot of improvement. the other day i was complaining to my friend @skyfish7 how jojo tends to use serious topics as plot devices and then does nothing with them. also the fact that he has a flair for drama and usually seems to include it in places to engage the viewers but he handles it poorly (boeing, I'm looking at you bitchass) or simply doesn't conclude them well (kant's phobia, bison's bdsm shtick, etc, i know we still have 2 eps left, don't kill me yet).

i do think OP was coming from a genuine place but also, i will take the time to defend jojo here too. because THK is not all trash. joong and dunk's characters are visibly seen to be falling in love, whereas first and khaotung's are more subtle.

i know what OP means by saying that it's still hard to believe that kant is in love with bison. because part of me feels that too. i believe a lot of it is because we do not see any detailed development where it's needed or it is skipped over in favour for more drama. like i said, jojo tends to gravitate towards big impactful scenes but he does not lay out the finer details. i am choosing to think that's just his writing style and not him just being a terrible writer. as my girl sky said, it leaves something to the viewer's imagination. and yes, she's right and i agree. spoon feeding every bit of a story is lame and boring, but sometime you do need to add little details where they are needed.

if you've already read my post about how THK seems to be losing steam, you might know what I'm talking about.

I'm very much convinced that this could have done well with a binge watch or if it were in movie format. but imo there's too many things going on with the focus distributed disproportionately among them, which in turn, i think, kinda makes the character development take backseat.

but let me add something about bikant because OP seems to be under the impression that they are simply trash.

jojo tends to make the falling in love subtle. at least for his FK characters. in bikant's case, they were both already smitten with each other from the first meeting. especially kant. he was head over heels for bison and it was very visible. it was deliberately shown. so when he does start the mission of getting dirt on him, the most visible emotion we see from kant is guilt. nothing else but guilt. and that is because it's already established he likes bison as a person. kant's character is written as someone who compartmentalizes things so even when he does find out bison's a hitman and there's proof (we see him staring horrified at the corkboard in their house) he quickly dismisses it. we repeatedly see style telling us that kant is smitten with bison. why? because kant doesn't have the mental capacity to think about romance right now, so it's style who tells the viewers his friend is wrapped around bison's little finger. the time when we finally actually see him do anything remotely truthful is ep#7 — the bowling alley and northern lights scene. kant has successfully gathered all the info he can and now he knows he might lose bison. so this one night he actually goes and lets himself love truthfully. he does all the things he would have done after that first meeting with bison. and then when bison gets shot, that's when he realises what he actually wants. the hospital scene is an important one because it cements the fact that kant cares, kant is in love, but his brain hasn't caught up to the feeling yet the idea is there, the proof is there, but he hasn't had the reprieve to sit and think and let that love marinate well. it's why even when kant says that he loves bison, it's difficult for us to believe. it's difficult for bison to believe. remember, we are viewing the beach scene from bison's pov and he ultimately asks, “you are not fooling me again, are you?” and that is the question from the viewers as well.

“you are not fooling us again, are you, kant?”

so all bison and we can do is take kant at face value and choose to believe him. that's all there is to it.

bison on the other hand? bro has been whipped since the first night. he is a hopeless romantic. he is an abused child hungering for love stuck in an adult's body. bison has been infatuated with kant from the get go, but he has also been suspicious and we have seen that suspicion slowly drop and build back up again time and time. but the moment bison actually spends all of ep#7 with kant and says, “i feel like my life is about to change”, that's him falling in love. that's him acknowledging that he is gone for good and he is finally choosing to believe kant despite the previous shady sus things he's done. bison had chosen to believe in him despite fadel warning him time and time again, and that's why the beach scene hits so hard. he is simply a fool in love. he is naive. he is the younger brother who doesn't know better. he just wanted to love, he loved and he got duped into being loved back (we all know that wasn't the case, but, bison POV like i said).

now, coming back to the point i was trying to make : do i think an extra tidbit of scene where kant's thought process was expanded on could have been better? yes.. maybe. but as a writer who likes to keep her readers interpreting and guessing, i choose to forgive jojo this time (as well). like i said, maybe this is just how he tends to write and honestly that's fine. every writer has a set of audience they are aiming for and i think there are plenty who enjoy his work (i do too, i just wish he'd tone down on the super big things suddenly being thrown in out of nowhere and then doing nothing with it).

and as far as sandray goes, boy do i have news for OP because ray is a classic example of a mentally ill abused child who is now an alcoholic and sand is a surrogate husband/caregiver growing up in poverty who puts himself last. that's their story. that's the story jojo wanted to tell, and i will rant about ray and sand and forgiveness (because OP thinks he is an asshole, so i want to make a point) but.... in a different post.

for now, this is it. i hope you forgive and understand kant. bro is trying and so are we.

[solifloris]

!!!!!!!! omg this is so fun i love this?! tytytyyy for tagging meeee @unluckywisher @deepspacenova !!!! (and @reilemon i saw your post and the tag on my other blog omg hi its roxie 😭😭😭😭) ILY GUYS MWAH 🥺💖

i actually have No Idea who's been tagged already but HM,,,,, no pressure tags @mochibunnies3 @love-and-deepstrays @xavierbunbun @ourlittleuluru @aeyumicore !!

xavier — PLENTYYYYYYYY. surface-level things; we're both bunny coded/associated, have somewhat cuter/softer vibes generally, relatively introverted, are fond of literature and reading and pretty words, can play the piano, really like the peacefulness and quiet of staying home, can fall asleep and stay asleep Pretty Darn Easily (my mom has told me it's a gift 😭), and we both definitely can't cook to save our lives LMFAO. going a little deeper i'd say we both share the inherent trauma of trying to live up to expectations—i might not be royalty, but sometimes being an asian kid like that is just hard, you know? 😭✋ so on that note i think the both of us look forward to a cute not-super-obligational and quiet peaceful life......... i also like to think we show love primarily in the same way, bc i'm also very much a words of affirmation person both ways, and i feel like xavier definitely gives a lot of that <3

caleb — most striking similarity? chronic nightmares LMFAO 😭 i actually feel like i have the least amount of similarities with caleb? it's more like he balances me out, really 😭 (its very ironic to me considering our birthdays are one day apart LMFAO) but i guess i'd say we're both ambitious and academic achievers, and we both mask pretty well—a lot of people who don't know me personally (i.e. casual friends, acquaintances) are wayyyy way more familiar with the bubbly me, so it does help keep at arm's distance the people that i don't *want* to get to know me on a more personal level, and they usually have no idea of it HWJXNSBF i feel caleb's kind of the same on that front

zayne — also chonic nightmares, ambitious mindset, and the studious/academic achiever attitude! but also: perfectionism, tendency to rationalize, tendency to not talk very much irl (+outside of my work and existing relationships, i.e. to complete strangers, i've been told that i'm hard to approach 😭), family in the medical field (and there's been a time i was separated from my family and my parents worked abroad, so there's that), and i'd like to say arts and crafts too cause of the drawing and the lil jade thing zayne has done :3 also i feel like our views on love are pretty similar? his relationship with mc shows to be pretty steady and maturely handled (i'd argue he's been the most communicative), and he's always seemed ineherent on living presently and making sure the relationship is smoothsailing so that he can live presently with her? it's just the vibes i'm getting, which, to me, feels a lot like how i view "love" and my relationships with people in general. there's no moving forward if we can't address the current issue, you know?

so let's play another game

Tell something you have in common with your favorite (s) LI(s) then tag someone else

Me and Zayne are both lightweight. Y'all I can't drink alchohol to save my lips 🤚💀 without ending up tipsy just a glass of wine is enough to make my head spin .

Me and Rafayel are both dramatic but only with people we care about , I like to get on my friends and family's nerve (that how I show my love 😔)

@jinwoosbabyboo @yourlocalcatscammer @erensfeed

[superfluouskeys]

what do we think ladies should i try to shuffle my way to the farmers market in the morning for a large bag of kettle corn

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[marzipanandminutiae]

Dear Giles,

It's good to hear from you again, as always. But how many times will you ask me before you accept that I can't give you an answer?

Did that really happen? It's a matter of public record. I've told you that before. The marriage, the death, the murders. You could look up the newspaper articles, if you went to Buffalo or New York City. It may have even been in the Baltimore papers; I've never checked.

But the rest of it- the ghosts? Was that real? I don't know. My mother thought they were, but my mother thought a lot of things. As I've told you before, she was- changed, in many ways, by her ordeal.

She thought the ghosts were real. She also looked at me sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, like I might be one.

I wonder if you can fathom what it's like, to be the bomb your own mother fears might explode?

Sometimes it all seems so ridiculous. She was born for a different world, my mother, a glittering citadel where everything somehow meant so much more and yet seems ridiculous to think of now. Sometimes it seems remarkable that she didn't die sooner, that she could have ever coexisted with supermarkets and Alka-Seltzer commercials, with Sputnik and Levittown. Some part of that world lived on in her, I think, even as the whole thing foundered and fell on the killing-fields of France and the skies above Germany. And it taught her how to relate to me.

Her daughter. His daughter, too, and that was the problem.

She loved me; I know she did. She tried not to fear me. But when all your life is a Gothic novel, what are you think about the seed of a murdering Byronic villain? I half-suspect that, if analysts had been as popular then as now, she would have had me on the couch every week from the time I could talk. As it was, she handled me a little gingerly, a little too much concern in her eyes, and I never knew why until I was old enough to read her book. To learn what I had sprung from.

You ask me if the ghosts were real, every letter, for years now. I don't know how many more we have left, so I don't want to waste time repeating myself.

I don't know. But her ghosts were real, and they haunted her until she passed them along to me and left me to walk with them alone.

Best,

Enola [scribbled-out word] Cushing.

if I spoke about it (ficlet)

“…it humbles my heart, for you are everywhere.”

The buzz and snap of fluorescent lights rushed in to fill the silence that followed his words. Humming quietly, two washers in front of them whirled fabric into colorful cyclones.

Two washers, side by side. Two people, ditto, watched them.

The woman’s lips twisted slightly. She pushed a gray-brown curl back from her face.

“That sounds like my mother.”

“It’s Rumi,” the man hastily supplied. “A great poet. Just great. Nobody wrote like him, before or since. Such beautiful words…”

“My mother was a writer, too.” She didn’t look at him, seemingly transfixed by the spinning suds. “She used to say that love drove us all. I don’t think she meant that as a good thing.”

“It’s good for some of us.”

The woman pressed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “She was unlucky in love. My father died before she even knew she was expecting. They weren’t married six months. My aunt, too. And my grandparents had both passed away, so she had no-one in the world.”

At last, the man glanced at her. “Were they very happy, though? For those six months?”

She looked at the floor for a long moment. “They loved each other.”

“My friend…” He seemed to briefly lose his words. At last, shaking his head, “…she was very happy. Incandescently happy- and that’s a word I use advisedly, incandescent. She was practically glowing.”

“It sounds like her lover certainly was.”

“Bioluminescent, I believe they call it. There’s algae like that, too.”

Rain pattered against the enormous front window. Outside, a truck sped through a puddle, splashing a young man who shouted curses after it. One of the washers spun to a halt and buzzed loudly. The woman stepped forward, loafers quiet against the linoleum, and began pulling out damp clothes.

When she finally looked at him, a wry smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. “Well, she found happiness, as you say. Love didn’t steer her wrong.”

As she opened a dryer and dropped in one garment after another, the man shrugged. Scratched his head. Squinted at her behind his glasses.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t give it.” She straightened up, extending a hand in his direction. “Enola. Enola Cushing.”

He shook her hand. “Giles Douglas. That’s a beautiful name, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Enola’s smile, this time, was genuine. It deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth, the ones that seemed to be waiting for it even when her face was blank. “Thank you. I’m named for a friend of my mother’s.”

Nothing more passed between them, in the half-hour Enola’s dryer took to bake  the water from her clothes. But, once she’d loaded up a drawstring bag and slung it over her shoulder, she paused, turning back to him.

“Here.” She held out the book that had carried her through the last thirty minutes, reading silently in a wobbly-legged plastic chair. Its jade green cover was cracked and threadbare, but the crimson crest and title stood out vividly all the same. “My tale for yours.”

Giles took it, leafed through a few pages, and frowned at her. “What’s this?”

Something flickered behind her eyes, a flash of uncertainty. At last, she wetted her lips with her tongue and replied, “A story with love in it.”

[merakiui]

ALIEN SCARAMOUCHE WITH OVIPOSITION MERA ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME 😭 I need more, what would he look like, what are his motivations... Omg... Maybe some kidnapping going on...some experiments on humans...him studying how humans reproduce and if his race can use them... Aaaa my mind is going crazy with ideas, please do share yours too! <3

What if he doesn’t have a form of his own (something that sort of ties into canon Scaramouche’s obsession with wanting a heart and a purpose)? And maybe he’s more like a shadowy mass that can take the form of anything so long as he’s encountered said thing (i.e. made contact with it? Or maybe he has to kill the original in order to take its form? Or it’s something like a reflection where if you happen to look at him long enough he’ll have a good enough idea of how to replicate your form from staring and analyzing it.) and since he’s so dedicated to having a form that really fits, that truly feels like him, he’s continued to adapt and evolve as the years pass throughout every planet in the solar system.

Perhaps he does have a few features of his own, but maybe they’re sort of scattered?? Or they aren’t really features his species is known to have? He’s like a mixture of various things he’s observed over the time he’s spent on your planet in an effort to shape himself into something beyond the formless shadow he’s lived as for so long. Like a patchwork copycat composed of so many different parts because he’s desperately trying to understand all of these things. It’s like his version of trying on clothes and new fashion styles. So maybe he has horns or maybe cat ears because he’s seen so many stray cats and they’ve always fascinated him for some unexplainable reason (maybe in order to have these features he’s had to ingest part of the living thing he wants to replicate??? Just something a little extra horrifying for our beloved alien mouchey. <3) And maybe the only thing he has from the one who created him (Ei) is the same piercing stare in a pair of brilliantly colored eyes she graciously bestowed upon him.

Maybe Scaramouche can’t understand human emotion in the usual sense that other humans might, so he assigns flavors to these unusual feelings. When he hurts the things he likes or is interested in (cats, the human he stole his current appearance from (i.e. Kabukimono; let’s pretend they’re two separate individuals hehe), and even other gentle things or creatures who are completely innocent), the taste in his mouth is sour or bitter or so very intolerable. I think over time he hardens himself and learns to live with the foul flavors he often encounters when he attempts to blend in with humans and utterly fails because he can never replicate their emotions as well as he can copy behaviors or appearances. He starts his journey so curious and sweetly innocent, albeit murderous and eerie, and he tries so hard to learn and be good and explore the world with the eyes his mother gifted him and yet he always finds himself hurting. He hates it. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible, and he has never truly felt before. This is new.

When Scaramouche is captured by Dottore, a human scientist who is a little too dedicated to the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, he finally tastes the cruelty of humankind—learns of the lengths they’ll go to in the name of scientific breakthroughs. The researchers run dozens of tests on him. He can’t feel external or internal pain from wounds or injuries; he’s sturdy, birthed from a substance foreign to humans, intended to survive the harshest conditions. But Scaramouche feels pain—the emotional kind. He’s never felt fear; he’s what humans would call an apex predator. He’s strong. He’s never needed to feel fear, and so he doesn’t fear the unknown. He isn’t scared of the sharp tools, of the peculiar creatures he’s shown in hopes that he might replicate them and their features, nor does he fear the trajectory of this new life. The concept of ethical practices means nothing to him even though he’s aware he’s a lab rat, a grotesque curiosity that doctors poke and prod at. He reacts to everything in unique, defensive ways. He impaled a doctor through the throat with a strange shadowy spike. It moved as though it were liquid, yet it struck very solidly, sharply, deadly efficient. Dottore likens its movements and behaviors to that of an octopus’s tentacle; Scaramouche is unsure of this comparison. This is merely a shadow of something he has observed—a reflection. A cheap copy. He has never been original.

You’re the first human he meets who isn’t adorned in sterile white. No lab coat, no gloves, no goggles, no protective gear. Just clothes. Normal clothes. The both of you are separated by indestructible glass, placed in two very white rooms, and you can see one another so clearly. Scaramouche hates the purity of white because he knows that when he’s forced into a white backdrop he’s meant to stain it red. And lately he doesn’t want to break things that are undeserving of it. Perhaps he’s feeling too much. Perhaps he ought to tear these human feelings out and go back to the blank, shadowy slate he once was. How he intends to accomplish that, he has no idea.

He’s uninterested in you at first. You’re a human. He’s seen humans. He interacts with them daily. He’s killed plenty. But you spend nights in that white room and he watches you sleep. He tries to sleep in the same way you do; he has no need for sleep. He regulates his energy differently. He tries to breathe like you. He blinks at the same times you blink—or he comes awfully close. He tries to copy your movements and mannerisms. One night he presses himself to the glass and takes your form and watches you, counting every rise and fall of your chest as you lie so comfortably on the very uncomfortable cot. With hands that mirror yours, he pokes at these human features. He fits one hand in the other and pretends he’s holding your actual hand. There is no warmth, though. Humans are warm; Scaramouche is not. He’s frigid. His home planet is gloomy and cold and desolate. He thinks humans are lucky for cyclical days—for being in close proximity to the sun. There is no sunshine where he hails from. He likes the way the sun feels on him. It used to burn terribly when he first arrived on this planet. Now it’s like a hug—a hug that still singes, but a hug nonetheless. He’s never known what a hug is, but he thinks this is what it must feel like—like the burning warmth of a sun.

Scaramouche feels true, raw, animalistic, paralyzing fear when you’re taken out of the room after two weeks and replaced with a new human. You’re gone. Replaced. Are you dead? Did he kill you? Did he stare too long? He’s distraught, overcome with a horrifying emotion that has him curled and trembling in the corner of his white room (a cage if he’s ever known one). Why aren’t you here? And why is he so…restless? He can’t call it fear because he doesn’t know that word. But oh he’s scared. He’s so scared. You were the first human to smile at him, to put your hand on the glass where his rested, to sit close to the glass and eat meals alongside him. You were like the stray cats he’s interacted with: kind, soft, gentle, sweet. He’s so scared he loses the ability to remain in his human skin, and he practically melts into a shadow, clinging to the corner like glue or slime. He’s empty and alone. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible.

The humans that follow are terrified of him. Either that or they’re disgusted, baffled, cautious. He hates every one of them, so much so that he’s tried to break through the glass numerous times to dispose of them. Weeks pass; he’s forgetting your features. There are no mirrors here, so he must rely on the reflections shown in the glass. Some days he thinks he looks just like you; other days he’s certain he’s a monstrosity—a sloppily stitched version of you. The you he saw did not have pointed fangs or curling horns. He hates his reflection because it isn’t you. Most importantly, he hates that the humans he’s forced to look at are protected by this thick layer of glass. If it wasn’t so indestructible, he’d tear through every human nuisance until he reaches you.

Scaramouche is not sure how many months pass, but you return. And when you do the fear ebbs away. He feels…happy? Is that the right term? He’s pleased to see you, and for the first time in a while he returns to his human appearance—to the one he took from a young man many centuries ago. You’re back. You’re here. He’s so happy. He detaches himself from his corner and he tries to smile in the way you do. And, though it’s awkward and strange and sharp-toothed, you smile right back.

Dottore decides then that you are to be the next subject in this experiment. He’s observed Scaramouche’s reactions to you and compared them to reactions to the other humans and found that you are the best suited to this role. If anything, the alien couldn’t have picked a better specimen to adore. You’re helpless and so naïve. You need the money; it’s why you allowed yourself to live in that room for a few weeks. You were paid handsomely for it. He’ll pay you beyond handsomely if you agree to what’s next. And, really, when you’re in between a predator’s jaws do you really have much of a choice?

Scaramouche needs a human match, and the scientists need to study more than just the social biology of an alien. They promise you he won’t hurt you, and if he does it’s all right. They’re kind enough to respect the wishes of the dead. You must let Dottore know if you’d prefer a burial or a cremation. There’s nothing special in this distinction; it’s just a precautionary measure. You’ll agree to participate in this experiment whether or not you want to.

Your new home is the white room that faces Scaramouche, and after some more time and observations to ensure you won’t be killed the moment you step foot in his space the glass barrier will be lifted. Dottore wonders how Scaramouche’s kind mates and reproduces.

There’s only one way to find out.

[icewindandboringhorror]

currently at That Point which occurs once every few months where one briefly begins pacing around the house teary eyed contemplating selling their own organs or becoming an online scammer or getting on anxiety meds so you can bear the risk taking required to be a hitman or so on and so forth.... why must everything so Expensive... Surely all would be healed in life if only I had one big plate of lasagna and a simple loan of $40,000 ... auoughhh....