#id prefer you fill this from now on!

[smokbeast]

(UPDATED) COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Hi hello hi! Commissions are open! if you are interested here is a google form below with all the info at hand about my commissions and workflow! If you have any questions my DMS are open to answer and talk it out, thank you so much, reblogs are extremely appreciated to spread the word as I would like this to be my main post for commissions from now on!

Busts sketches(colored/BW):20$ Fullbody sketches(colored/BW): 30$ Busts cleaned Lines(colored):30$

Fullbody cleaned Lines(colored):40$ Full Rendered illustrations:80-86$ (price range may change depending on complexity)

-an extra character counts as another illustration and will be a fee of the price doubled of what you have chosen. 

-There is an allowance of 3 revisions after the line art is complete, 

after that if you want changes, it will be a fee of 5+dollars for any additional changes after the line art has been considered approved.

-simple backgrounds are allowed for the Cleaned Flat commissions if the client so desires. 

-sketch commissions may be shaded in black and white or simple flat colors (no rendering). lineart commissions can be with or without colors if so desired.

-Illustration pieces are large entirely intricate rendered scene artworks with very detailed backgrounds and character.

-tips are optional and greatly appreciated!

[hiraethwrote]

i prefer it, actually

summary: after being called in the middle of the night, megumi comes over to take care of you while you're drunk

[ loner!megumi x popular!reader ]

cw: college au, f!reader, sorority!reader, pure fluff, intoxicated reader, party but mostly going on in the background, throwing up, aged up characters

word count: 2.2k

“Hello?” Megumi answered the phone in a confused haze, the blaring ringtone waking him up from his deep sleep.

“Megumi? I think you should come down here.” The voice that greeted him wasn’t one he recognised, and his confusion only strengthened when he checked the caller ID to see a picture of you.

“Who is this?” He asked, slowly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up in his bed.

In the background, he heard muffled music interrupted by a loud gag. “It’s Kasumi.”

Kasumi? There was something scarily familiar about that name, and after a few silent moments of thought he connected the dots, remembering she was a part of your sorority.

And as the pieces fell together, the concern started to fill his body, serving almost as an alarm clock as his sleepiness become nothing but a distant memory in a matter of seconds. “Is she okay?”

“Well…” Kasumi trailed off on the other end of the phone before another horrible gag interrupted the line. “She’s just really drunk.”

His shoulders dared relax just an tad. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he sighed before another sickening sound he only assumed was you hunched over a toilet bowl. Some of his worry had settled when he knew you weren’t in any immediate danger at least, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he was certain you were safely in bed.

As he promised, fifteen minutes later he walked through the door of your sorority, the party still in full swing as he bullied himself through the thick crowd to get to the stairs.

God, he couldn’t stand this. Too many people shoved into a house where the mere concept of personal space was long abandoned. Obnoxious music that was so loud you were unable to hear your own thoughts — and not to mention how incredibly annoying people got when drinking.

Therefore he could not for the life of him fathom why you loved it so much. Only a handful of times had he accompanied you to parties like this, and you always managed to have a good time. That might be the only thing he has ever found himself liking with these things; seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.

So for the most part, he just decided to stay in when you wanted to go out so he wouldn’t ruin your evening by moping around, constantly checking the time to see when it was acceptable for him to go to bed. He didn’t want to be that boyfriend who stopped you from doing the things you liked just because he didn’t want to.

When he reached your room, his head cleared up as the people and music from downstairs was shut out, transforming into muffled background noise through the floor. He placed three knocks on your bathroom door before it creaked open, spotting the blue haired girl he assumed had to be Kasumi. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe as she opened the door further.

“Thank god you’re here. She’s been begging for you for like two hours,” she groaned, not hesitating to walk out of the bathroom so she could return to the festivities. "I think she's pretty much finished in there, just tired now."

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he said awkwardly as she was about to exit your room.

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly. “She would have done the same for me,” and she was gone.

He turned back around, pushing the door fully open to reveal you just in the position he had excepted. Your hair was tied back in a ponytail, makeup slightly smudged from throwing up for who knew how long, a constant little shiver running through your body.

“How you hanging in there?” He asked, a small amused smirk creeping up on his face.

Lifting your head from where it was resting on your arm, you turned to look at him, face lighting up the second your eyes landed on him. “Megumi, you’re here!” You nearly cheered, both hands immediately extending towards him, needy for him to come join you on the floor.

He does as you wished, his hands instinctively stroking away the stray hairs that hung in front of your face, behind your ears. “Feeling okay?”

“Better now that you’re here!” You slurred, flashing your teeth at him in a huge grin. The annoyance and frustration caused by the party below was quickly forgotten at the sight of you beaming at him. Even though you looked tired, appearance tainted by the evening, it did nothing to smother beauty. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” You were clearly still intoxicated, eyelids droopy as you mumbled sentences he could barely make out.

“A little blue birdie told me you needed me, so,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing to think about.

“Awe, baby,” you squealed as you fell forward, head landing on his chest. “You’re too good for me,” you sighed, melting into his body, the heat radiating off of him soothing the shiver present in your own body.

A gentle hand finds your upper arm to give it a light squeeze. “Do you think you can get up?” He felt the movement of your head agree to his request. He stands up first, grabbing ahold of your clammy hands and pulling you to your feet, instantly lacing his arm around your waist when you nearly fell over the second you were stood up. “Easy there,” he chuckled quietly.

“I’m fine!” You rushed in a high pitched tone, grabbing onto him for support, feeling the room spin a lot more now than when you were leaned over the toilet. When you weren’t nuzzled up against his warm chest anymore, the tremble quickly found its way back to your muscles. “‘m cold.”

“You’re cold?” He asked for confirmation. You only nodded, bottom lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. “Okay,” he whispered to himself before letting go of you by the sink before walking into your room to get you something.

“No, not that one!” You whined when he came back with one of your hoodies in his hands, earning you a confused frown from your boyfriend. “Want yours.”

He just rolled his eyes, acting as if he genuinely thought you were being a nuisance — but in reality, his heart did a little skip at the fact that you so persistently wanted to wear something of his instead.

At the foot of your bed he spotted a familiar hoodie, where you’d thrown it after waking up. Whenever the two of you didn’t spend the night together, you made sure to have a piece of his clothing nearby so he didn’t feel so terribly far away.

Could you be considered a clingy girlfriend? Probably — but you preferred the term devoted.

“Thank youuuuu,” you cooed as he simply tilted his head to signal for you to raise your arms. You happily obliged and he pulled it over your head, a satisfied hum slipping out as you hugged your arms around yourself to take in the familiar scent of your boyfriend.

Without saying anything, he grabbed your toothbrush with one hand, and your face with the other to hold it still, fingers softly digging into your plush cheeks. He finds it surprisingly unproblematic to help you brush your teeth, suspecting your drunken state might actually have served as help, paralysing your usual restlessness.

He gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to your room again, but was abruptly halted when you decided to stop dead in your tracks. With pinched eyebrows, he turned to you.

“Babe, I can’t go to bed with my makeup on.” You let go of his hand to retreat them into the sleeves of the sweater, hoping the warmth it usually provided would find you soon.

“Okay?” He asked, nervously moving his hand to his neck, rubbing it slightly as he waited for you to give him the right instructions.

“There’s makeup wipes under the sink,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered under his breath and went to get the wipes. When he returned, he nearly stumbled over your limp body. During his short trip to the bathroom, you had suddenly decided to just lay down on your back in the middle of the floor. With another sigh, he positioned himself on his knees by your head before carefully lifting it into his lap.

He started with your eyes, lightly rubbing the wet wipe across your eyelids. It didn’t take long before he managed to draw a drunken giggle from your lips. “What?”

“You’re so gentle,” you opened your eyes to stare up at him, thinking he was upside down but you couldn’t be too sure as the room was still spinning. The frown — you once had thought was a chronic condition — was very much present.

“I don’t wanna pop your eyes out.”

You only laughed. “You’re not gonna pop my eyes out. C’mon, you can put a little more pressure.” He let out a long and stressed exhale before going back to work, grimacing in fear as he did as you’d told him.

Eventually, the makeup came off, but you continued to lay completely still. You kept your head in his lap, eyes closed and a small smile ever present on your face.

“Did you have fun tonight?” His voice was soft, barely audible — especially with the banging from the bass downstairs seeping through the floor.

“Meh,” you said simply as you shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as you open your eyes to meet his gaze again. “You weren’t there.” He snorted, slightly rolling his eyes at your statement, believing you were only lying to make him feel better about coming all the way down to your sorority in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, right. How much did you have to drink?”

“No, Megs, I’m serious,” you giggled as your hands acted on their own, raising to cup his cheeks. “There’s only so much fun I can have when you’re not here.”

He felt his cheeks heat against your hands — you didn’t seem to notice however. He always thought it strange, that even after the two of you became official, it didn’t take a lot of effort from you to bring that redness to his face, a colour that had only grown familiar to his features after getting to know you.

“Sure, so fun having me sulk at your heels all evening.” There’s nothing but sarcasm in his tone as he continued to try and hide his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t mind,” you said softly as you gaze directly into his eyes, his blush only amplifying. “I prefer it, actually.”

His soft eyes roamed your face, lips slightly parted in awe. He still didn’t understand how you, who was so sociable, always the life of the party, beyond stunning, had decided he was the one you wanted to be with. And time and time again you confirmed it to him that it was for real.

Without much more thought, he simply leaned forward to press a tender kiss on your lips, your lips curling up in a giddy smirk. You were unable to contain yourself, breaking the kiss by hiding your face behind your hands, strangling the sweet giggles spilling out of you.

“You still make me nervous,” you said in between the cute sounds that was like music to his ears.

“I make you nervous?” He scoffed. “Alright, you’re clearly still drunk. Time for bed.” He gently tapped your shoulder, trying to get you to lift from his lap.

“You can never take a compliment,” you grumbled, wearing the frown that was more often seen painted on his eyebrows. He didn’t entertain your complaints, merely helping you up before leading you to your bed.

When he was about to turn around, your hand grabbed a hold of his wrist, surprised by the strength in your clutch. “No, you gotta stay here tonight!”

“I’m not leaving,” he laughed. “I’m just going to get you some water,” he said as he grabbed your hand to force you to let go.

“Oh.”

He can’t help but shake his head a little. You were probably the only drunk person he liked — of course, he was biased. During the parties, you were so outgoing, in a way he always admired. And then, when it was time to turn in for the night, you became so incredibly cute.

After having fetched the glass, he returned to see you wrapped up in the covers, having pulled the hood over your head and nuzzled further into the clothing.

A content huff left his nose as he put the glass down on your nightstand before stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers, then he carefully climbed over you. He knew he’d only receive grumpy grunts of annoyance if he tried to shove you to sleep closest to the wall.

The second he closed his eyes, he felt you snake your arm tightly around his torso and burying your face against his back, wanting to consume as much of his body heat as possible. Two light taps on your hand caused you to loosen your grip before he wiggled to turn around so you were now burying your head in his chest instead.

A deep, much needed, breath filled your lungs before you simply melted into him as his arms wrapped around you, humming in satisfaction as his hands slowly began to rub your scalp.

tags (taglist is open) @sad-darksoul, @nyahctrl, @ssetsuka

a/n the layout for these drabbles and short entries will be a little different, but yeah hope you like it. oh, and if you wanna be in the taglist, just lemme know <3 - btw, all warnings will be in the masterpost at all times

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated plagiarism not authorized

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! A few weeks ago i caught wind of "Delicious in Dungeon". I'm not really an anime person, but I am a TTRPG, CRPG, and cooking person- . And holy shit. It is so good i  convinced my partner to binge read the whole thing. I'm caught up on dungeon meshi, the anime, and just yesterday i also finished dungeon meshi, the manga.

Its rare to come across a serialized story that is so thematically cohesive and knows its characters so well. All of the bonus content like the artbooks and monster tidbits are just the icing on top.

So, inspired by Ryōko Kui's writing and illustration I'm going to attempt to create a recipe for every single Delicious in Dungeon recipe!-

Today that means Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot is on the menu!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot?” YOU MIGHT ASKThis is one of the pricier dishes until we get to the kelpies and dragons of the menu-

Rock lobster tail

Porcini mushrooms

Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus

Small potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water

OPTIONAL: your choice of dipping sauces

There was a crossover/promotional event in Shibuya which featured various realworld dishes from the series. They had one for Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom, but they used prawns.  while those cook better in a hotpot, they also didn't look enough like the scorpion for me, they also used udon noodles for the slime and a seaweed/kale(?) mixture for the algae. If you're looking for substitutes due to price or availability i would start with those ingredients.

AND, “what does a Huge Scorpion and Walking Mushroom hotpot taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKI hope Senshi would forgive me for technically cooking the lobster outside the pot, once he tastes it.

Okay im always partial to veggies but wowowowowowowoowowowow the snow fungus and the mushrooms tasted soooooooooooo good in the lobster stock

A nice delicate layering of different flavors

Try to get a bite with the lobster meat and shiitake together, dip in butter then chili- trust me

Its up to you what texture you prefer if you want to put the noodles in at the end or put them in halfway through the meal. Either way dont go for eating those first as theyre very filling

I think this would pair well with a citrus drink, something light and clarifying

This would also pair well with being extremely high and hungry (if you feel safe cooking while inebriated lol) very calorically dense

For the trial run I did one lobster tail in the pot with everything else, and one lobster tail off to the side to be picked apart. The former is more in spirit with a hotpot, but it got rubbery as the meal went on and lost its nice taste. The latter may be a bit more work but all you have to do still is boil it and set it aside. I found it held up much better. It was also easier to get inside the shell.

. If you have hardshell maine lobster available, i think it would be superior to rock lobster (keep in mind crustaceans will get rubbery if cooked too long in the pot) . Green onions and/or lotus root would make excellent additions

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From getting the ingredients out to sitting down and eating, id say it took maybe 30 minutes max? It'd vary on how fast you can prep vegetables and get the various implements heated.

Hotpots are not something i do very often as i'm usually just feeding myself. I think thats why a hotpot makes perfect sense to start the series off. If you want to set the tone of "take care of yourself, eat food with others, and use what you have" (generally speaking) there is nothing more simplistic, flexible, and defeats-the-purpose-if-you-eat-it-alone than a hotpot. Gather around and let your friends bring ingredients to the pot if you want to fill your heart up extra full <3

I'm doing something different here because unlike previous recipes where i used a bunch of different sources and made my own recipe out of hodge-podging it, or just used another persons recipe entirely if they did it really well, i made this more whole-cloth based off of what i had available, what I could discover through research, and my existing knowledge. Instead of the recipe being 50/50 original, this one is more 20/80. So. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys :D 

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

2 Rock lobster tails

3 Porcini mushrooms

2 Shiitake mushrooms

Snow fungus (a good handful, should rehydrate in the hotpot)

2 Small waxy potatos

Fensi (glass noodles)

Water/lobster stock

Method:

Lightly rinse all of your vegetables beforehand and let them dry.

Vertically slice the porcini mushrooms. Cut off and dice the stems of the shiitake mushrooms. You can slice the tops if youd like.

Peel and cube the potatoes, roughly an inch each.

For the lobster tails; Boil a pot of salted water. Keep the shell on. Weigh the largest tail and add 1 minute of cooking time for every ounce of weight.

When done, strain the lobster from the water. Pour the water into your hotpot as the base. Serve the lobster on the side so people can pick the meat out to dip into the hotpot.

Bring the hotpot to a simmer. Add the potato cubes, snow fungus, mushrooms, and noodles.

OPTIONAL: this wasnt in the show, but its fun having sauces on the side :) i had oyster sauce, dry seasoned chili dip, melted butter, and soy sauce available

[killerlookz]

Olive Green Couch | Spencer Reid

description: when your best friend drags you to a party to meet a boy she's been fawning over, you find yourself completely bored and unimpressed- good thing you've stumbled upon a strikingly handsome (yet awkward) young graduate student named Spencer who seems equally as unhappy to be there to share your misery with.

pairing: grad school! spencer reid x f! reader

content: uhh mostly fluff, drinking, reader is described as wearing a mini skirt and wearing high heels.

word count: 4,242

If I have to hear one more Weezer song I'm going to be sick. You think as the slow drums of Undone pour out over an all too expensive speaker system for a frat house.

The MIT frats were nothing like you experienced before, they were- for lack of a better term- a complete and utter sausage party. You can't remember the last time you'd seen this many men in a single room. If you weren't so bored maybe you would appreciate this as a reprieve from the usual maintaining "ratio" of the state school frat parties you'd been to. But even now you'd prefer that if it meant you wouldn't have to deal with another sloppily drunk man explaining the plot of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to you. Rich, pretentious, too smart for his own good MIT frat guy or dude-bro, alpha male, business major state school frat guy- it didn't matter; they were the same side of the same misogynistic coin.

You look down at the shot-glass sized solo cup in your hand, staring at the clear liquid inside. Maybe just one more shot and you'd finally start to enjoy the state you were in. You hoped maybe six shots would be the perfect number of drunk to enjoy yourself. You screw your eyes shut and throw back your head as you lift the cup to your mouth. The cheap vodka burns the second it touches your tongue, and you wince as you feel it travel down your throat and to your stomach. Your body shivers involuntarily as the warmth in your belly grows.

You face forward again, looking across the living room for your best friend- the one who dragged you here in the first place. You had suggested bar hopping or trying to get into a club, you didn't buy her a fake ID for no reason. But she insisted on coming here instead. Here- to this sweaty house filled with... well... dorks. She came here looking for some guy- Michael... Matthew... Miles.... shit, you couldn't remember. It didn't matter, you were here now, and she had ditched you to fend for yourself.

You take a step forward and all the alcohol you had drank prior seems to hit you a once, "Woah" You can't help but say out-loud as you catch your balance and wait for the room to stop spinning.

You take a few more wobbly steps forward before acclimating to your new, tipsy state. You make your way through the dimly lit house, trying to find your friend amongst the crowd and rowdy conversations. Observing the bodies that populated the house you suddenly felt insecure, and insanely overdressed- why was everyone wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Maybe a mini skirt was the wrong choice for tonight.

You make your way to a back room of the house, occupied by maybe only 10 people by your inebriated brain's estimate. There's an ugly looking olive green couch in the middle of the room- it' had obviously been through a lot but and you hated to imagine what had happened on that couch over the years, but right now it looked like the most comfortable thing in the world. You walk over and plop yourself over onto the couch, the cushions having a lot less give than you expected.

The beginning riff of Someday by The Strokes plays just outside of the room, and you groan- turning to the guy who you had just realized was sitting next to you.

"Do you know who's Dj-ing this fucking thing- can you tell them to play some Britney or something?" The words fall off your tongue, sloppily.

The boy sitting next to you turns to look at you, a confused look drawn upon his face, "Huh- me?"

Shit. He's kind of cute- In a dorky sort of way. His brown hair is perfectly unkempt, and small curls form at the back of his neck. His jawline is sharp, and his hollow cheeks accentuate his prominent cheek bones. His eyes are dark, and he looks a like he hasn't slept in years- you figured with the workload MIT students probably have- it would make sense if he actually hadn't slept since getting there. Truth be told, all things combined he looked a little sickly- he was obviously lanky maybe scrawny was a better word- his button up shirt seemed a little ill-fitted for his body, and his tie poorly tied. Still- you couldn't help but notice he was hot. The first hot guy you'd seen all night.

"Yes, you, pretty boy." You smirk.

His face reads as even more confused upon your clarification.

"Oh um," He looks down at the half-drunken beer that sits between his legs, shakes his head before looking back up at you, "I-uh I don't know the DJ, and I- um, also don't know who Britney is." He responds, a small nervous tremble in his voice.

"Spears?" You let out a small laugh, "You know like- Hit Me Baby One More Time." You half sing.

"Oh-" He looks off to the side, "No" he faces you again.

"Go figure," You scoff, still, keeping a smile on your face. "Say- are you in this frat?"

He shakes his head, "Oh- no, I'm a grad student."

"A grad student?" You respond, your eyes widen in shock no shot the man you were looking at right now was any older than you. "How old are you?"

"21" He responds, almost nonchalantly- like it wasn't some insane feat. "Well," He clarifies, "I'm actually in my third graduate program, I already have a PhD in mathematics and chemistry, from Cal Tech. I'm working on my engineering one now."

"Jesus," You smile, "So what, you're like some sort of genius, huh?"

"Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified- but I do have an IQ of 187, and an eidetic memory, and can read twenty thousand words per-minute."

You stare at him in awe for a moment, "So, a you are a genius?"

He gives you a small smile in response, "Yeah- I guess." He nods.

You're suddenly intrigued, only twenty-one years old and already a doctor twice over.

"So what brings you here Doctor...uh..."

"Reid," He nods and presses his lips into a line. "Oh! But, don't call me doctor you can call me Spencer."

"Well then, what brings you here, Spencer?" You correct yourself with a smile.

"My friend- uh he wanted me to come with him, he's meeting some girl here and he didn't want to go alone. I kind of got dragged along."

"Well," You grin, "It must be fate that we're here together on this ugly green couch, because if you could believe it- I'm here for the exact same reason except my friend- she's uh, meeting a guy here."

Spencer takes a small sip of the beer he had been holding, wincing as the liquid touched his lips. You figured he probably wasn't much of a drinker, he probably had things much more important on his plate than getting drunk and partying.

"Not much of a partier?" You ask to confirm your suspicions.

"Mhh," Spencer hums, mouth still full of beer, he shuts his eyes tight as he swallows thickly. "No." He shakes his head violently. "What gave it away?"

"Oh!" You bite your lip... "Nothing!" You say, innocently, voice steeped in sarcasm.

"It's okay," He laughs, "I know I look like a dork."

His laugh is infectious, and you can't help but smile in response. And Damn- he's really cute.

"Oh! Don't say that," You swat your hand at him, "I'm sure you get tons of ladies."

Spencer tilts his head to one side, in obvious disbelief of what you just said,

"I don't really appreciate the sarcasm," He says, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Sarcasm?" You pout, "No- I mean it Spencer, what you're like a genius. And I mean- you're not bad to look at," You bite your lip, "Not at all."

Spencer shook his head, "I was a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school, and until now, I've always been way younger than everyone in college- my experience with girls is practically in the negatives."

"Oooh!" You smirk, "Vegas," You raise an eyebrow.

"Mhm," He takes another sip of his beer, his face more relaxed this time.

"You think I'd make a good showgirl?" You wink

"Oh- um," Spencer is suddenly blinking rapidly as his head scans you up and down. You can't help but feel a little bad at the way you have him flustered,

"I'm kidding! You don't have to answer that." You reassure. "Negative experience with girls, hm?"

"Yeah- I-uh, I haven't even had my first kiss yet." He says, looking down at his lap, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"No?" You say, still shocked, even given his prior explanations of his experiences with women, "Well..." You start, pausing for a moment, "If you ever want that to change let me know." Maybe that last part was meant to be a joke, but truth is you kind of really hoped he said yes, right there, right now.

"What?" He looks back up at you, eyebrows furrowed, "No- I don't need a pity kiss. I don't even know who you are."

"It is not a pity kiss, and I'm y/n, I go to UMASS, the Boston campus- like 15 minutes away. I'm 20, and uhhh... Well, the rest you can find out later." You wink, "Now you know me!" You smile, perking up from your spot on the couch.

"Well- uh. Nice to meet you y/n" He gives you an awkward tight lipped smile. "Are you- um- enjoying your night."

"God no," You scoff. "Does that make two of us?"

Spencer nods, side moving his eyes to look around the room. It had gotten significantly more crowded since you'd came in here, you hadn't noticed, you'd been too focused on getting to know Spencer that you kind of forgot you were at a party to begin with. It didn't seem to matter now anyway, you were intrigued beyond belief and wanted to know more about Dr. Reid.

"So, why'd you leave Caltech? The weather is certainly a lot nicer than it is here," Your body physically recoils at the thought of having to go back outside to the brisk New England fall after the party was over.

Spencer shrugged, "You can only get so many degrees at one place before you need a change of scenery. I've been at CalTech since I was like- fourteen."

"Fourteen?" Your eyes widen, thinking about what you were like at fourteen. You certainly weren't CalTech material, that's for sure. "When did you graduate high school?"

"1993," He smiles and nods, "Twelve years old"

Spencer had a charming humility about him, he was the smartest person you'd ever met but he spoke in a way that made it feel like it was every day that someone could graduate high school at 12 and have two PhDs by 21.

"What do you plan on doing after college with that pretty head of yours?" You ask, your slightly intoxicated brain unable to stop you from instinctively reaching out and fluffing his hair. Spencer's eyes flick up towards your hand and he gives you an awkward smile paired with a small laugh.

"Well- I uhh... I've been in contact with this guy- well from the FBI, the BAU... Behavioral Analysis Unit. We came into contact after my second dissertation, he was shocked at how young I was, having done so much- he suggested I come to the academy when I was done with this one." Spencer explained, he talked in a way that made him seem unsure of himself, like he, himself didn't fully understand how it happened.

"God," You muse, "The fucking FBI? Could you get any cooler?"

"You know," Spencer remarks, "I think that's the first time anyone has ever used to word "cool" to describe me." The tone in his voice is light, it's clear he's happy about that fact, but you can't help but feel your heart break at the statement.

"Cool even sounds like a little bit of an understatement to me. But you know... I think I'm a little too intoxicated right now to think of a synonym, so cool it is!"

"Do you have any plans for after college?" Spencer asks, nervously running a finger around the rim of the glass in his lap.

"Nothing as cool as the FBI," You shrug, "Actually, nothing concrete, really. Has me feeling a little inadequate in a room full of geniuses."

"Oh trust me," Spencer scans his head around the room, "Not all of these guys are geniuses."

"Well- they're complete nerds at the very least." You giggle.

"I think I qualify as a nerd too." Spencer smiles back.

"Oh you definitely do," You say, scooting closer to him, taking the beer glass out of his hand, "But you haven't tried to talk down to me about some movie everyone's seen, or some album everyone's heard like I'm some dumb idiot bimbo yet." You huff, finishing what was left of the liquid in the glass with a single gulp. You slam the cup down on the coffee table in front of you, "And even if I was a dumb idiot bimbo- what makes them think I'd care about whatever they'd have to say about OK Computer. We've all listened to Karma Police, big deal!" You realize you're getting a little heated over this and cut yourself off, "Anyways," You smile, "What I mean is you don't seem like some self important loser."

"Oh," Spencer furrows his eyebrows, "Thank...you?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

"Y-Yeah, Yeah we can go." Spencer nods.

You stand up from the couch, wobbling a little bit as your legs lift you up. The room, is blurry, for a moment all you can see are vague blobs of color instead of people. You shut your eyes tight, blinking them open to fix your blurry vision. You glance over toward Spencer, who's grabbing a tan suit jacket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He slinks the jacket on over his thin frame.

"You alright?" He asks, concern in his eyes. He must have been able to read the drunk all over your face.

"Y-Yeah I'm fine, lets go," You nod, reassuringly. You could handle your liquor, besides you hadn't drank that much tonight.

The two of you head for the door, wherever it is. Spencer was leading the way, and you hoped he had a better sense of direction than you did. The music is suddenly a lot louder as you exit the room you were in, and you suddenly feel a lot drunker. The sudden change in feeling causes you to stumble a little, bumping Spencer in the back. High heels and alcohol were never a good mix.

"Oh- hey," Spencer stops suddenly, turning around to smile at you, "Are you sure you're alright?"

You look around the room, at the hoard of people, the room thick with a combination of weed and cigarette smoke. You've never felt so lost in your life when did it get so crowded in here? The obnoxious yelling of frat guys mixed with the music turned to a volume you were sure would get the cops to show up is absolutely ear-splitting.

"Can you hold my hand?" You ask Spencer, needing his guidance more than you realized.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." He nods. You reach your hand out for Spencer to grab, and it takes him a few times to correctly slot his fingers between yours. You smile a little, watching him try to figure out the perfect hand-holding position. He couldn't be more pathetic if he tried- it was kind of adorable.

Spencer's hand is warm, a little sweaty against your palm. But his grip is tight and reassuring as the two of you walk the rest of the way out of the house.

As soon as the front door opens a brisk wind hits you, nipping at your exposed flesh. Goosebumps already dot up and down your skin, the only warmth you feel is Spencer's hand wrapped around yours, and you knew that warm sensation would end as soon as his hand got cold too.

With a little hesitance, you step outside to brave the cold. Your heels click as you carefully make your way down the concrete steps in front of the house. You stare down at your feat as you make each movement, fearing accidentally rolling your ankle or falling. You'd probably take end up Spencer down with you.

"Hmm," Spencer hums, noticing your trepidation, "Here," Spencer untwines his hand from yours and places an arm around your back, reaching to your other side, but barely touches your other arm, just holds firm enough for you not to fall.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, thankful for Spencer's help,

"You don't have to hold me so far away you know, you can pull me a little closer." You turn your head to look at him, "I mean it is kind of chilly out."

"Oh-uh," Spencer's arm pulls to hold you just a little bit closer, "Better?" His grip is still pretty weak around you, and you sigh.

"You know, Spence, I'm still pretty cold." You frown, staring down the suit jacket he was wearing.

"Do you want to go back inside? I didn't even have a full beer the entire time I was there- I can go get my car real quick and drive you home if you want. It's only a block or so away." Spencer responds, his voice quick, and nervous- it was obvious he was eager to solve the problem of you being so cold.

"No," You laugh, shaking your head, "I'm cold is kind of girl-code for, you should give me your jacket."

"Oh!" Spencer laughs, "Oh- I'm sorry, yeah- here, here have it." Spencer speaks earnestly as he slips the jacket off of his shoulders. He shivers as the loss of the fabric leaves him in only a thin button up and you can't help but feel a little bad for asking him to give it to you. But he hands you the jacket with a smile on his face, which lingers even after you put it on. It provides a marginal amount more of warmth than what you felt prior.

"Better?" Spencer asks.

"Mhm," You nod, "Thank you."

Spencer only gives you a tight lipped smile and a nod in response.

"So," Spencer starts as the two of you begin walking, his hand slipping into yours almost instinctually, it catches you a little off guard, and you feel your cheeks run hot at the gesture. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh- uh, back to Boston I guess," You squint your eyes, thinking, "I usually take the bus, the stop is up that way." You point up ahead in front of you.

"Let me go with you," Spencer says quickly, "I mean- not to your place, but let me ride the bus with you, I don't want you going by yourself."

"Why not? I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." You retort, trying to hide the fact that secretly, butterflies are growing in your stomach at his eagerness to take care of you.

"I just want to make sure you get home okay." His hand grips yours tighter.

"Okay," A small smile draws at your lips, you don't want to fight him on it anymore, truth was you'd love nothing more than to spend a little bit more time with him, even if it was a short bus ride.

The streets of the city are utterly dead, not a sound to be heard except the whistling of the wind and collision of your high heels and the pavement. You wonder what time it even is, how long had you even spent at that stupid party?

The bus is just as empty as the rest of the city. When it arrives, nobody but you and Spencer are on, the two of you sitting patiently under the bright fluorescent lights for the bus to move. The lights are straining on your eyes, and the horrendously carpet-patterned seats might hurt your eyes even worse.

"What stop do you get off at?" Spencer asks, being the one sitting the closest to the button to let the driver know when it's your stop.

"University Drive."

The lights dim as the bus driver pulls away from the stop you'd been picked up at, and you're able to relax your eyes once more. You let your eyes relax until all of a sudden they're closed and then-

"Hey," You feel your head being jerked, "We're here."

"Hmm?" You grumble, slowly opening your eyes.

Your stomach drops, and you're absolutely mortified to see your head is rested on Spencer's shoulder. You whip your head off from where it laid and quickly stand up from the seat.

The bus ride was fifteen minutes, you couldn't believe you fell asleep. Much less fell asleep on some guy you barely knew. You're a mess of worry as you exit the bus, thinking about how awkward you probably made Spencer feel. You're so caught up in your thoughts you barely notice how cold it is as you step outside.

"Hey, look, I'm right over there." You say, pointing to the large dorm building behind you.

"I'll walk you to the door." He smiles, and your panic immediately slides away.

You walk with your head down, looking intently at the sidewalk under you as you head forward to your building, trying your best to keep in a straight line. You had to admit, you were pretty upset your time with Spencer would be ending in just a few short minutes from now. You tried to scheme up a plan to get Spencer to stay longer, but no ideas would stick to your brain. You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest as you approach the front door.

You whip around to look at Spencer who's trailing just a few inches behind you.

"Well," You sigh, "I guess this is it." You pull your mouth to one side in a small pout.

"Yeah- I-uh, I guess so," He shrugs, "I had a nice time tonight, thanks for, making my first party experience a lot better than i was expecting." Spencer's hands are shoved into his pocket, and he rocks back and forth while he talks, unsure of himself as his eyes dart all around you.

"Of course," You grin, letting your hands drop down at your sides, "Say," You cut yourself off, and shove your hands into the pocket of Spencer's coat, fishing, until you find what you were hoping for. You pull out a pen from one of the coat pockets, and grab Spencer's hand. "I want to see you again before you become some big tough FBI agent." You smile, scrawling the digits of your phone number on the back of his hand. "Call me sometime?" You hold his hand up for an extra moment, before letting it drop back down.

"Mmmhm, yeah," Spencer bobs his head up and down vigorously.

"Okay, good. Goodnight Spencer," You smile, giving him a small wave.

"Goodnight y/n" He smiles back, as the two of you turn around to go your separate ways.

You notice as you turn back around that you're still wearing Spencer's jacket, part of you has the urge to call out to him to give it back, the other part of you wants to keep it- if he wants to get it back, he'll have to come see you again.

"Wait! Y/n!" You hear Spencer from just behind you. You frown a little, thinking your plan to keep Spencer's jacket had been foiled and he was calling to get it back from you.

"Yeah?" You whip your head back around.

"Did you mean it when you said to let you know if I wanted to have my first kiss- and that you'd change that I've never um-"

"Uhh..huh," You responded, a little to eager as an uncontrollable smile began to tug at the ends of your lips, "Are you asking me to kiss you Spencer?"

"Maybe," His voice breaks, unable to look you directly in the eyes.

You raise one eyebrow, "Maybe?"

"Ahem. Uh- I mean- yes."

Before you know it, you're tugging at his tie, pulling him close to you. Your lips are on his, just a peck at first, Spencer is hesitant. He is unsure of what to do with any part of his body, his lips move carefully, his hands unsure of just where they should be, they rest on your hips- before they move right under your shoulders. You make the decision to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. Spencer's lips are soft with inexperience, he has absolutely no clue what he's doing, yet you can't get enough.

The two of you pull away slowly, neither one of you wanting to give up the kiss- but you eventually have to surrender to the night and to the cold. You place one final peck on Spencer's lips.

"Now you have to call me." You giggle, unable to hide your excitement.

"Yeah-yeah," Spencer nods, eyes wide, his lips are shiny and his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "Absolutely."

"Goodnight Spencer." You say once more, before turning around to head inside.

A/N: whew! when I tell you I spent all day writing this i mean all day! that's okay though... im obsessed with grad school! reid. anyways..... thinking about making a (potentially smutty) part two to this ;-)

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting act 3 & emmrichs final romance scene (mortal & lich)

dissecting the graveyard scene dissecting the mortal romance path scene dissecting the mortal emmrich argument scene (all routes) emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)

lich version dissecting the alternate romance path dissecting the argument scene (lich path) dissecting the emmrich romance scene (lich) mortal vs lich romance path emmrich x rook cinematic

look this is half a thirst trap post im not gonna lie to ya

ACT 3 - OH MY GOD.

Now. We all know that dreaded argument scene that fills us with angst and really gets us in our feelings for the final 4 hours. which was 100% done on purpose, thanks bioware, you succeeded. i did in fact regret that conversation and cried immensely

We have the argument with Emmrich, then we have our mini resolution of Emmrich trying to apologise, and Rook responding with, "We'll talk back home Emmrich, I promise."

Fast forward an hour, and ive just about pulled the plug because emmrich gets trapped by Ghil, someone dies, and then we are sucked into the fade - trapped. FOR WEEKS.

I truly wish bioware included flashbacks, or rook being able to see the lighthouse whilst they were trapped so that we see our LI panic, and fret. Can you imagine Emmrich? The last conversation they had was a fight, and a fight that stemmed from love at that. regardless of the route you took, both rook and emmrich regret that argument deeply. I mean deeply. And most likely regret not saying, i love you in that moment. or any moment. god when emmrich got sucked up by ghil i was locked IN. nothing was stopping me.

Emmrich wouldn't of been able to sleep, he wouldn't of been eating, he would've been working day AND night like a dog on the dagger. he wouldve been irritable, he wouldve been incessant, he wouldn't of been put together, not clean shaven. id bet money on this.

despite bioware not giving us a good reconciliation scene or a glimpse at what happend during those weeks - BOY DID THEY FUCKING EAt with the pulling you out of the fade section. Oh my god. Emmrich's voice being timed right after Varric saying with "You have everything you need", AND THEN PULLING YOU OUT OF THE FADE WITH HIS ARM.

anyway - AFTER T H A T.

You have the romance scene (mortal dissection | lich dissection)

and then my god - i have no words - literally - just look

goodbye ovaries

The Final Goodbye (Mortal/Lich)

Now these are the exact same for both mortal and lich, ill tell you when its different below - to which this is dissapointing as I feel like the final romance scene is so 'meh'? it's very idk, scripted. I feel like there needs to be a dip in emmrichs voice when he says i love you to rook - maybe its just me, but regardless, its meh meh to me. the whole scene is just kinda -

I'll skip to the romance part anyway as there is nothing of substance in the first half

1. I love you, too.

I feel like - underwhelmed with this response. its just slapped on like a bumpersticker

2. I'm glad we met.

I cannot believe that this line of dialogue is hidden beneath the most basic of thought processes - i love it

its emotonal - its hopeful

YESSSS - PLAN WITH ME!!!! This is digustingly impactful if playing the mortal path. the man has hope for the future. oh I need not say more for its delivered so wonderfully.

HEHE

3. Be safe. I can't lose you.

I thoroughly enjoy this path, I feel so much emotion from Rook and Emmrich in these lines. the worry, the love. although it is kind of a shock to the system because we still went from. OH MY GOD DEATH, to oh yeah death with Emmrich.

exactly how the argument scene should've went, BUT, I get it, now if only we had a reconciliation scene in the middle or a conversation, i'd have no notes and be out of business

Now here is the divergence, of like two lines, that occurrs directly after the above dialogue

Lich Version

Mortal Version

its sweet, its sensual, its loving. but there no oomf. theres no, fear. the mortal version is my preference here as I like the slight reminder of emmrich being alive. in saying that, considering what we have been enamored with and reminded of at every single quest of his. but in the last romance dialogue its, gone? the fear overcome? one line, one word makes a difference. idk man. like I have my full speculation that there is a sequel with rook and companins again, and if there is ill let this go. but if this is it, WITH no epilogue screen? please, as much as i like fanfiction and headcanons and art. id like it IN the game.

a fantastic romance, but a stale last conversation. IN SAYING THAT. I choose to look past it as much as possible as it is sweet and I just love him.

ANYWAY, love you all, im pen for questions and the full emmrich dissection with all my very detailed explantions is coming in a few days

♥

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x reader ; a very light hint of steve x reader

a follow up to this which is a follow up of this

tw 18+ content, tied up, temperature play, steve is baby girl himbo in this very s3 coded, eddie is jealous + mean.

“that tickles, wow, cold— ow, very very cold— shit, shit!”

You slap a hand over his mouth, wide eyes staring into yours as if he is scared beyond belief.

“Shhhhh..” you press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

Your body was pressed in his, an ice cube held limply in your fingers as you traced it along his veiny shaft. Leaving goosebumps on his summer tanned skin. 

“Eddie is home, do you want him to know that we’re fooling around? Cause I prefer to keep my bedroom adventures private.”

“No, no! You’re right, it’s just— really cold, when you said you wanted to get freaky I thought maybe you had a friend or something to go up my ass? I don’t know!” 

You stare at him, waiting for him to say he was kidding but it never came. You sit up, the ice melting on your fingers dripping onto his sack, little whimpers from his mouth. 

“Alright… King Steve is curious about assplay, noted. We can unpack that another time— for now, it’s either the ice or nothing, you choose.” 

You kiss his chest, waiting for him to decide. He’s mumbling to himself, and you work your fingers in between the tufts of hair, eyes on him, your nipples skimming over his hot skin. 

“…okay! Okay fine! Can I kiss you maybe?” 

Steve was stretched like a voodoo doll across your bed, large hands tied to each bed post, unable to reach you, his lip in a pout as he attempted to wiggle his wrists free. 

“Keep trying to get out of your restraints and you won’t be kissing me anywhere.”

He huffed, a strand of caramel hair tousling into his forehead, “I mean they’re tight— like really tight, you sure this is normal?”

You rolled your eyes and sat up again to examine the human ken doll that was played by Steve Harrington for the evening. 

His wrists were red, fingers pale… fuck. 

You tug at the knots, trying to wedge your fingers beneath them, and after five minutes of you trying you could see Steve’s hands looking worse.

“Alright— don’t panic!” you announced, sliding from the bed and pushing your arms through the red silk robe hanging from your closet, “and don’t move…. I’ll be…” scissors! “yeah, I’ll be right back!”

“What!? You can’t just leave me like th—!” he hollers your name and you try to muffle his calls of distress by shutting your door quickly.

Eddie was in his room, you could hear him playing his guitar— and he prayed he didn’t hear the muffled pleas from Steve. 

Rifling through the kitchen junk drawer you find everything but the scissors. Chopsticks from too many late night orders of chinese takeout, ketchup packets, pens, a pack of markers, Eddie’s fake ID he had in high school, Wayne’s expired ID he tried to use at the gas station when you were sixteen and more rope. 

The pair of you didn’t own a knife set, never having cooked anything that required culinary skills— you were at a loss— the only option left was to ask Eddie for his pocket knife. Goddamnit.

The walk to his room felt like miles long, and honestly you would have preferred if you never got there. His door was open, the low times of his acoustic guitar filled the air along with a haze of smoke. 

A quick rap on his door and Eddie was looking up at you, cigarette limp from his lips, as he motions to the other side of his room with a nod of his head. 

“…ham & pineapple no pepperonis, cash on the dresser.” 

“What? Oh yeah, sure— forgot it’s Friday. Hey, ummm. I need a favor.” 

Eddie smirks and shakes his head, “I’m not loaning you anymore bud, you already owe you twenty.” 

“No— I’m not here for free weed, I need your knife.” 

His eyebrows quirk and he waits for you to ask his silent “why?”

“It’s an emergency.” 

“Your boss sucks sweetheart, 100%— but you can’t kill him.” 

“Eddie shut up,” you whine, stomping your foot, “I just need to borrow it—I'll give it right back!”

He rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab his knife from his back pocket, “tell me what you need it for.” 

You stare at him, mouth open, “I…can’t.” 

“Okay? and why not?”

Your name is heard in a wail from your room and your cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

“is someone in there?”

Scrubbing your hands down your face you finally admit it, “Yes! Jesus fuck! Now will you please either help me or give me the knife, he’s stuck!”

It takes everything in Eddie to try not to laugh, but he simple hides his lips and nods, thinking to himself what kid. of shit you’d gotten into now, and with who?

He follows you into your room, watching your form move beneath the silk robe, trying to keep his eyes from staring too long or imagining what lie beneath the thin fabric. 

Your eyes are covered when you open the door so you miss the shock on Steve’s face to see his best friend walk into your room. His dick is still out, laying against his hairy thigh, and the only thing he can do is an awkward jock head nod followed by a “sup?”

Thankful that he has a good poker face, Eddie nods back, ears crimson in anger, biting his tongue as he flips the blade out with flare. Behind his dark eyes He was fuming. 

Steve? 

STEVE HARRINGTON?

Of all people you could have tied up in here in some makeshift attempt at whatever you thought you were doing— it had to be him.

Heads would fucking roll when this was over and him and Steve were alone. 

Slicing through the ropes like they were nothing, Eddie simply raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, leaving with his mind grinding like gears on how to stop this from happening again. 

—

“Thanks for calling Family Video. Our hours are 10-10 Sunday through Saturday, stop in to rent our latest releases, this is St—”

“Harrington.”

“Hey man, hey— thanks for uh, helping me out the other night. I really o—”

“Yeah, you do,” the cord bounces on the floor as Eddie turns the corner, looking back at you in the living room asleep on the couch— walking to his room,  “that’s why whenever she calls… you are going to make up whatever excuse that big hair of yours can..”

“Wait..?”

Eddie grits your name out through clenched teeth. 

“If she calls to hang out, you will find a reason not to, y’ catch my drift, pal?” 

“Ye-yeah, sure thing… what should I say?”

“I don’t care Harrington, make something up… tell her you have a girlfriend, you have the measles, I really don’t give a fuck what it is, as long as I never have to walk into her room and see your dick again.”

Steve narrows his eyes, blurring the neon lights in the video store, “dude, what the hell?” 

“Sarah is single— I’ll give you her numb—”

“Okay? But so is she, why are you acting like an asshole right now?”

You. He was being a dick because of you. Sick and tired of you not willing to admit you both had feelings for eachother, and he was ready to pull out the big guns in order to make it happen. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

taglist: @likedovesinthewnd @dashingdeb16 @joejoequinnquinn @min-geniusx @ho3forfakeguys @taintedcigs @b-irock @queenimmadolla @serasvictoria @the-unforgivenn @curlyjoequinn @munsonlore @eiightysixbaby @munsonburn3r

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: hiii idk if u take these kinds of requests but id like to see jealous reader (preferably if reader and hoshina are already in an established relationship and reader works in a different division, meaning they dont get to see each other much) like maybe he’s used to calling okonogi “my dear” and its the first reader heard him call anyone with a pet name like that and she starts to overthink and gets pouty/ sulky and hoshina doesnt notice it at first but when he does he starts teasing her which doesnt help HAHAHAHA if its ok can it be hurt/ comfort and end in fluff & HELLO!! can i request an angst to fluff with hoshina where reader thinks he likes okonogi more than him especially since he is against revealing him n reader’s relationship to the third division (for other reasons of course). hopefully this isnt too specific!! i hope u have a wonderful day:))

notes: hoshina calls the reader “darling”, hurt comfort, him accepting jealousy a valid emotion (very important to me i fear), so sorry i merged the reqs!! i hope this was satisfactory for both TY FOR THE REQ!, this is a twt thread i thought about while writing this, (l/n) mention in the bonus part

wc: 1400

Oh, you hated when this happened. You hated when your heart started to tighten in this horrible way you knew well. You hated being jealous.

You hated how self centered it made you feel and how it ate away at your thoughts and feelings. It made you feel like your good thoughts were disintegrating to horrible ones. However, what you hated even more was how it meant you were doubting his love for you— and that was the last thing you wanted to do. You didn't want to doubt him, nor did you doubt him, but when the jealousy got to your head it was over. You were stuck in a loop.

To top it off, the cause of this all was truly harmless and hardly that big of a deal, but that's usually how most anxious thoughts start. They start little.

You were called to visit the 3rd Division to help with research on a field you were particularly knowledgeable on, and you happened to hear Hoshina's laughter from the operation room, so you went in to take a peek.

“It was not that funny,” Okonogi was saying to him, but Hoshina only continued to laugh.

“Yes, it definitely was,” he laughed. “I knew Kafka would forget about that hole in the training grounds again.”

“Why don't you remind him, then?”

“Comedic relief, of course.”

“Alright then.”

“Okonogi dear, you're no fun,” he said.

They said a few more things, but you couldn't seem to focus on their words. ‘Dear’? Was that merely a simple pet name? Or was there more to them than you initially expected?

Oh, the worries started to fill your head. And they were things you didn't want to be worried about— Okonogi was always so sweet to you when you popped by and you knew Hoshina loved you. The last thing you wished to do was doubt them, nor did you want to make things awkward around them. There were just so many things that you just didn't know about, being in a different division as him. You doubted they even knew you were dating, and the voice in your head would only get louder.

It was then that Hoshina saw you at the doorway and called over to you.

“Are you done with work?” he asked, his voice excited and hopeful. Your heart stung.

“Not quite yet,” you tried to sound disappointed, but for the right reason. “I’ll get going now.”

You walked away from the room as quickly as you could, seemingly naturally. You didn't want to be there and you didn't want to talk to him before calming down first— you were sure you'd say something silly if you spoke now.

Yet, immediately you heard footsteps behind you and a hand you knew well grab yours.

“Soushirou?” you asked, turning to look behind you.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice soft and visible concern in his eyes. “Do you feel unwell?”

Pang in your chest again.

“Not at all, nothing's wrong?” you said, but you could see the way he pursued his lips— the hurt in his eyes from how you wouldn't tell him what was troubling you. Gosh, why did you feel this way? Why must you feel much silly emotions.

“It's truly so stupid,” you said. “I'll tell you another time.”

“Alright,” he said, letting go of your hand. That one was your bad— you knew he wouldn't push you any further, even if he wanted to.

Dinner that night was awkward. You weren't even that jealous, but the fact that you felt something was gnawing at your brain upset you. Not to mention the fact that you were keeping something from him made you feel even worse.

“How was your training?” you asked.

“Alright, I suppose,” he said. There was a horrible moment of silence. You weren’t sure what to say.

“I think I’m getting a hang of this new technique,” he finally continued, but you wouldn’t look up at him— you were afraid he wouldn’t look your way.

“I see,” you said. “That’s really cool… I’d like to see someday.”

“I’ll show you as soon as its better,” he said.

The rest of dinner felt… quiet. The two of you still talked throughout it but it was terribly different from the usual lively catch-up you’d have— it was heart-wrenching quite frankly.

So as you’d imagine, going to sleep was even worse. You subconsciously faced away from him and pretended to fall asleep quickly, hoping he’d sleep soon too. You hated what was going on, but you just couldn’t bring this up. You knew it was silly and you knew you’d forget soon enough. You’d probably regret making such a big deal out of it.

“Darling,” he said, and immediately you turned to face him. He was already facing you. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel like it… I’m sorry I pushed you.”

Gosh, you thought. You gulped. You wished he wasn’t so kind.

“You’re going to think I’m so annoying though,” you said, voice cracking in a way you didn’t wish for it to and immediately his eyes widened.

“Darling, what happened?” he asked, suddenly worried. “You could never be annoying to me.”

“I… heard you…” you started and he just listened— he waited. “I heard you calling Okonogi, ‘dear.’ And suddenly I—”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, without hesitation. “I hadn’t even realized I did that, it was completely by habit. I won’t anymore.”

You finally met his eyes and the way he looked so horrified he had made you feel bad was so prominent in his eyes.

“No, Soushirou,” you said. “I didn’t mean for you to have to change anything— I know so well that both of you are so sweet to me and there’s nothing going on. I just—”

“Darling, calm down,” he said, cutting you off. “You’ve done nothing wrong, why are you beating yourself up? This was my bad and that’s about it. None of this is you.”

“I—,” you said, taking a moment to collect yourself. “I hate to be jealous, Soushirou. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he asked and you paused to look up at him, utterly confused.

“Why?” he asked again.

“It’s such an… ugly feeling,” you said.

“Is it?”

“Is it… not?”

“What’s wrong with being jealous?”

“Because it’s like I’m doubting you or something… when I don’t at all.”

“I think that’s a different thing entirely, no?” he asked. “You can know in your head that I’m in love with you and still feel something else— they’re not always the same. A little jealousy is perfectly healthy, I think.”

“Oh…” you said. You wanted to say so much more but there was so much to process first. Your heart swelled with such warmth.

“I get jealous too. I hate when Narumi gets too close to you or bothers you when I’m not around,” he continued on. “But in my head I know you’d never do anything to hurt me and you’d stop him if he crosses a line. I’ll try to stop if that bothers you though.”

“No,” you said. “That sounds… nice. I’m rather… happy… you were a jealous actually. But I’ll make sure to keep some more distance between Captain Narumi next time.”

He laughed. “Sounds good. But you tell me if there’s anything more that bothers you okay. I’ll fix myself up.”

“I will,” you said and he kissed your forehead. “But Soushirou, I don’t mind much anymore. You can stay the way you are.”

“No, no, stop overthinking. You need to sleep now, you have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah. You too Sou,” you said and he hummed.

Once you were certain he was asleep, you kissed his cheek and slipped your hand into his. You liked holding his hand when you fell asleep, but you weren’t sure if it made it harder for him to fall asleep.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him. “You mean the world to me.”

You lightly kissed his cheek, careful not to wake him up, but to your surprised he smiled. He squeezed your hand and without opening his eyes, “You missed,” he said.

He kissed you on the lips and you laughed, snuggling up against him. “You were awake.”

“I was waiting for you to hold my hand,” he said. “I like when we hold hands when we sleep.”

BONUS:

From then on, Hoshina stopped calling Okonogi “dear” as much, and it’d only happen when it truly slipped out of him from force of habit.

“Vice-Captain, you’ve started dating (l/n), haven’t you?” she said to him one day while they were sorting through files.

“How... did you know?” he asked. The two of you had been dating for quite a while now, but he was more surprised she guessed you correctly.

“It’s terribly obvious you’re completely in love,” she said.

He blinked. And then he laughed. 

He’d have to ask you that night if he can share the news with everyone, properly, then.

[tojisun]

Soap cumming so much in the condom that when he pulls out you can feel the cum in the condom slipping out of you too. I dunno if that makes sense

it does!!! and that is sooo filthy oh my god yk thats how it’d be with him fr

cw: cum eating. THIS IS FILTHY I DUNNO WHY I WROTE IT

he pulls out and the drag makes you tremble, sure, but then you clock in the feeling of something less tangible sliding out of you too. it’s warm and wriggling, and you begin to heave, panicked for a moment because what the fuck? whatthefuck—

you realize what it was when johnny’s finally pulled all of him out, and when you flick your eyes down to get a glimpse of what the hell was it that you felt, you jolt to a pause at seeing the condom drenched and filled to the brim with his cum.

or god thinking about how he pumped so much cum in the condom that when he pulls out, the condom stays in your pussy because of its new weight, with his cock slipping out easily. he laughs at the lewd image you make with the condom still snug inside you.

he has to pull it out himself, and he does so with a breathless giggle. the filled-condom comes out with a pop, and johnny trembles at seeing all his cum pooling at the end of it. it’s filthy and he knows post-nut clarity will hit soon, but for now he shoots you a look, his lips tugging up in a mean grin.

“open wide, bon,” he coos, unbelievably delighted, and you hiccup, sniffling, but part your lips open, waiting for your feeding.

he can hear himself breathing heavily as he pours it in your mouth. it is a messy pour, some of it spill from your mouth, but most of it make it on the flat of your tongue. waiting. ready to be swallowed.

johnny taps your nose, and murmurs, “go on. then, stick yer tongue out, okay? wan’ see how it’d look empty.”

your body lurches as you swallow, and johnny has to clamp his palm on your mouth to deter you from spitting it all out. it takes a ragged minute before you settle back, face still pinched, and johnny promises that he’ll change his diet from now on to help you out, before he sees you tap at his wrist.

he drops his hand and watches as you open your mouth again. your tongue is still stained with the pearly sheen of his cum, but it is otherwise empty. god, you’ve swallowed everything.

“aww, such a good darlin’,” he trills and bends down to press a kiss on your trembling, and still parted, lips.

his nose curls when he gets a lick of himself. yeah, he really prefers your taste, after all.

im so sorry yall 😣 “i dunno why i wrote it” ik why. bc i would let this man do anything to me for sure. id let him **** his **** in me. let him ** **** while he ****** my *****. let his ***** *** me too why not

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

This is my first time requesting a fic so I hope I'm doing it right! I have this cute idea for a hazbin hotel fic that could honestly go for anyone!(Id prefer Lucifer, alastor or vox tho!)

Something where the reader's sin was killing a goldfish, hamster or something small as a small child without knowing any better and that's why they are sent to hell. It takes forever for the reader to remember that it happened and realize that's the only thing they could be in hell for and brings back a bunch of guilt. Whoever it's with is like- really pissed at heaven for counting that as a sin because the reader is literally the sweetest person anyone knows and was just a kid and either comforts them or tries to do something about it??

A/N: I loved this so I decided to write this for all three of them!! I just loved this so much so I felt like it needed all of them if that makes sense. I hope you enjoy and I loved this concept so thank you so much for your request!! happy reading!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Alastor aka RADIO DEMON

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—an old memory, long buried and forgotten, resurfacing with a sharp pang of guilt. You had been in Hell for what felt like an eternity, surrounded by the damned and the wicked, but you had never been able to recall what sin had condemned you to this place. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t have a trail of victims or a past stained with blood. You were kind, gentle, always trying to do right by others. And yet, here you were, trapped in this eternal torment.

The memory came back slowly, piece by piece, until it all fell into place. You had been so young, just a child, maybe four or five years old. The goldfish had been a gift from your parents, a small, delicate thing that had fascinated you. You’d watched it swim in its little bowl, entranced by its shimmering scales and the way it moved through the water with such grace.

But you were a child, curious and clumsy, and you didn’t understand the fragility of life. You remembered reaching into the bowl, wanting to hold the fish, to feel its smooth scales against your skin. But when you pulled it out of the water, it had flopped in your hands, struggling for breath. You didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t realize that you were hurting it. By the time you’d put it back in the water, it was too late. The fish had floated to the surface, still and lifeless.

You’d cried, of course, but you hadn’t understood the gravity of what you’d done. You were just a child. But now, as you stood in the depths of Hell, that memory filled you with a crushing guilt. Was that it? Was that the reason you had been sent here? For something so small, so innocent, done out of ignorance and childish curiosity?

As the weight of the memory settled on you, you felt a presence behind you. The air grew thick with a sense of unease, and you knew without turning around that Alastor, the Radio Demon, was there. He had taken an interest in you from the moment you arrived in Hell, though you could never quite figure out why. Maybe it was your innocence, your kindness, that intrigued him—qualities so rare in this place.

“Ah, my dear,” Alastor’s voice purred, smooth and dripping with a dark amusement. “What is it that troubles you? You look positively distraught.”

You turned to face him, your eyes wide and filled with a deep sorrow. “I remember… I remember why I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering but his crimson eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is this dreadful sin that has condemned such a sweet, innocent soul to Hell?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. It seemed so ridiculous, so absurd now that you were about to say it out loud. But the guilt gnawed at you, and you couldn’t keep it in any longer. “When I was a child… I… I killed a goldfish,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t understand. But it died because of me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Alastor let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laugh you had expected, but something tinged with disbelief and anger—not at you, but at the situation.

“Is that it?” he asked, his tone sharp and incredulous. “That’s why you’re here? Because of some childhood mistake? A simple, innocent act of curiosity?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know… but that’s the only thing I can think of. That has to be it.”

Alastor’s expression darkened, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a cold, simmering anger. “Heaven,” he spat, the word laced with venom. “What hypocrites. To send a child to Hell for something so trivial, so insignificant, is beyond cruel. It’s unjust.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “But… but it was still wrong,” you said softly, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I took a life, even if it was just a goldfish. Maybe I deserve to be here.”

Alastor shook his head, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “No, my dear, you do not deserve this. You were just a child, and children are not held accountable for their innocent mistakes. You were condemned unfairly, and it infuriates me to see someone as pure as you suffer because of it.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin up so that you were looking into his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You are not like the others here. You do not belong in this wretched place. If I could, I would march up to Heaven myself and demand that they right this wrong, that they acknowledge the cruelty of their judgment.”

You stared at him, shocked by the passion in his voice, the anger in his eyes. You had always seen Alastor as a being of pure malice, a demon who took pleasure in the suffering of others. But now, in this moment, he was different. He was angry for you, on your behalf, and it stirred something deep within you.

“Alastor…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He sighed, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “But alas, there is little I can do to change your fate. The rules of Heaven and Hell are not easily bent, even by one as powerful as I. However,” he added, his voice taking on a softer, almost tender tone, “I can offer you something else. Comfort, companionship… protection. You may be in Hell, my dear, but I will not allow you to suffer alone.”

The offer took you by surprise, and you found yourself staring up at him, unsure of what to say. Alastor, the Radio Demon, offering comfort and companionship? It seemed almost too surreal to believe. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something genuine that made you believe he meant every word.

You nodded slowly, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Alastor smiled, a smile that was still tinged with that ever-present darkness, but also with something warmer, something almost… kind. “You don’t need to say anything, my dear. Just know that you are not alone. Not anymore.”

With that, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms surprisingly gentle as they wrapped around you. You leaned into him, the weight of your guilt and sorrow easing just a little as you allowed yourself to be comforted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And maybe, just maybe, with Alastor by your side, you could find a way to live with the past and the unjust fate that had brought you here.

Vox aka HEAD OF VOX TECH

You had never really understood why you were condemned to Hell. Unlike the many souls writhing in the pit, you didn’t have a string of atrocities trailing behind you. You didn’t murder, cheat, or betray. In fact, in your mortal life, you were known for being kind, caring, and overly cautious. And yet, here you were, suffering in Hell without a clue as to what had brought you here.

At first, you tried to remember, to piece together what might have happened, but every time you searched your memories, you came up empty. The only thing that ever came to mind was a stupid, childish incident—one that surely couldn’t be the reason for your damnation.

You’d been about eight years old, with a love for all things small and furry. That’s when you got your first pet, a little hamster you named Buttons. You adored Buttons, carrying him around in your hands, giving him treats, and petting his soft fur. But one day, while playing, you squeezed him a little too hard. You hadn’t meant to. You were just a child, after all, but that didn’t change what happened. Buttons stopped moving, his little body going limp in your hands. You cried for hours, not understanding what you had done, only knowing that your beloved pet was gone and that you were to blame.

You’d buried the memory, convincing yourself it was just a mistake, a tragic accident that any child might have made. But here, in Hell, it was the only thing you could think of. Could that really be it? Could you really have been damned for something so small, so innocent?

It was a thought that haunted you, gnawed at your insides until you couldn’t take it anymore. You found yourself wandering through the dark, twisted corridors of Hell, your mind lost in a storm of guilt and confusion. That’s when you felt it—eyes on you, watching, observing. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Vox had taken an interest in you almost immediately after your arrival in Hell. It wasn’t unusual for him to be intrigued by someone new, but there was something about you that kept pulling him back. You were different from the others—gentle, kind, and most of all, innocent. That kind of innocence was a rare commodity in Hell, and Vox was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Lost in thought again, aren’t we?” Vox’s voice crackled through the air, distorted slightly by the static that always seemed to surround him.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him, exactly, but Vox was intimidating in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. He was larger than life, a presence that seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn’t physically there.

“I…” you started, your voice trembling slightly as you turned to face him. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. About why I’m here. I can’t remember doing anything that would deserve… this.”

Vox’s neon-lit face twisted into a smirk, though there was something darker lurking behind his glowing eyes. He tilted his head, his massive form leaning casually against a nearby wall as he continued to watch you. “You’re in Hell, darling. Everyone’s here for a reason.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to find the words to explain. “But that’s just it. I don’t have a reason. At least, not one that makes sense. The only thing I can think of… it’s ridiculous.”

Vox’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all ears.”

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you forced yourself to speak. “When I was a kid… I had a hamster. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I squeezed him too hard, and… and he died.” Your voice cracked as the memory resurfaced, filling you with a wave of guilt and shame. “That’s the only thing I can think of. I was just a kid, but what if that’s why I’m here? What if that’s what sent me to Hell?”

For a moment, Vox was silent, his glowing eyes fixed on you as if he were trying to process what you’d just said. Then, he let out a harsh, distorted laugh, his voice crackling with a mix of amusement and anger. “That’s it? That’s what you think got you sent to Hell? A childhood mistake? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You flinched at his laughter, feeling small and foolish under his gaze. “I know it sounds stupid,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground. “But I can’t think of anything else. Maybe Heaven saw it as some kind of cruelty or—”

“Bullshit,” Vox cut you off, his voice sharp and electric. He pushed off the wall, striding over to you with an intensity that made your heart race. “That’s not cruelty. That’s a mistake. A kid not knowing any better. If that’s really why you’re here, then Heaven is more fucked up than I thought.”

You looked up at him, surprise flickering in your eyes. You’d never heard him speak like this before—so angry, so protective. “But… what if that’s all it takes?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “What if that’s enough to damn someone?”

Vox’s eyes blazed with a fierce light, his hand reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You don’t belong here. You’re not like the rest of these damned souls. You’re… different. Innocent. And if some bullshit technicality is what sent you here, then Heaven’s got a lot to answer for.”

You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sank in. He was right—deep down, you knew he was right. You didn’t belong in Hell. But the guilt, the overwhelming sense of responsibility for that long-ago mistake, was hard to shake.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I can’t change the past, and I can’t go back. I’m stuck here, no matter what.”

Vox’s grip on your chin softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Maybe you can’t go back, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer for it. You’re in Hell, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. You’ve got me, don’t you?” His voice dropped to a lower, almost seductive tone as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll make sure this place doesn’t break you.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, his proximity making your head spin. Despite the fearsome reputation he had, there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made you feel… safe. Like he really meant it when he said he would protect you.

“But what about Heaven?” you asked, your voice small and unsure. “What if they’re watching? What if they… try to punish me again?”

Vox’s eyes flashed with anger, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Let them try,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “I’d like to see them come down here and explain themselves. If Heaven wants to play dirty, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, stunned by the intensity of his words. No one had ever stood up for you like this before, especially not against something as powerful as Heaven itself. It was overwhelming, and yet… comforting. Maybe you couldn’t change the past, but with Vox by your side, maybe you could find a way to live with it.

Slowly, you nodded, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. “Thank you, Vox. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Vox’s expression softened, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.”

As you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The guilt was still there, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you weren’t alone. Vox was with you, and he was determined to protect you, no matter what. Maybe Hell wasn’t where you belonged, but as long as you had him by your side, you knew you’d find a way to make it through.

Lucifer aka THE KING OF HELL

You sat in Lucifer’s grand office, your fingers anxiously twisting in your lap as your thoughts swirled in confusion. You had been in Hell for a while now, and yet the reason for your damnation still eluded you. It was maddening, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pinpoint the sin that had condemned you to this fiery realm.

Lucifer watched you closely from behind his lavish desk, his sharp eyes catching every slight movement you made. He had always found you to be an enigma—so sweet, so innocent, and yet, here you were in the depths of Hell. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“Love,” Lucifer’s voice was smooth, like silk brushing against your skin, “I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours. What troubles you so?”

You glanced up at him, your eyes reflecting the turmoil within. “I just don’t understand, Lucifer. I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I still can’t figure out what I did to end up here. It’s like… it doesn’t add up.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied you. “Not all sins are remembered easily,” he mused, his tone contemplative. “Some are buried deep within, forgotten or dismissed, but still weighed heavily by those who pass judgment.”

“But that’s just it,” you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve searched through every memory, every mistake, and nothing seems big enough, bad enough, to have damned me. I was never… evil. At least, I don’t think I was.”

A slight frown tugged at Lucifer’s lips, a rare expression of displeasure crossing his usually calm demeanor. “Tell me, my love, what are the memories that you have found? The ones you believe to be insignificant?”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you gathered the courage to speak. “There’s this one thing… I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better. I had a best friend, and we were inseparable. But one day, I got jealous—stupid, childish jealousy—and I told a lie that got them in trouble. They were punished for something they didn’t do, and I never confessed. I was too scared.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened slightly as he listened, though his eyes gleamed with something darker—resentment, perhaps, but not directed at you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense stare. “And you believe that is the reason you’re here? A child’s lie?”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with guilt. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but… what if that’s it? What if that’s the one thing that damned me?”

A low chuckle escaped Lucifer, his voice rich with amusement, though there was an underlying edge to it. “My love, if Heaven condemns souls to Hell for such trivialities, then they are more twisted than even I had thought.” His smile turned cold, a bitterness seeping into his tone. “It seems they are as quick to punish as they are to pretend their hands are clean.”

You looked at him, confusion and a flicker of hope warring within you. “But… what if they’re right? What if that lie was enough?”

Lucifer stood, his presence towering over you as he moved around the desk to stand by your side. He reached out, gently lifting your chin so that you were forced to look up at him. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the power and authority he radiated.

“They are not right,” he said firmly, his eyes boring into yours. “You were a child. A child who made a mistake. That is not evil, nor is it worthy of damnation. You do not belong here for something so minor, so human.”

His words washed over you like a balm, easing the knot of anxiety that had taken root in your chest. “Then why am I here?” you whispered, your voice filled with desperation. “What could I have done?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, and he let out a sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “The truth, my love, is that sometimes the reasons for being here are not fair. Sometimes, they are born of Heaven’s need to appear just, even when they are far from it. You may be here because of a mistake, but that does not mean you deserve to suffer.”

You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his words, even as they stirred a deep sadness within you. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’ve been punished for something I didn’t even understand.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with anger, though it was clear his ire was not directed at you. “It is not fair,” he agreed, his tone laced with resentment. “Heaven is quick to cast out those who do not fit their mold, regardless of whether they deserve it. They hide behind their righteousness, but in truth, they are no less flawed than the souls they condemn.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the pain and anger in his voice. “You… you sound like you’ve experienced this before. Like you’ve seen how unfair it can be.”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I have seen it many times, love. More than you can imagine. Heaven is not the paradise they would have you believe. It is a place of judgment, of exclusion, and for those who do not conform, it is a place of damnation.”

He paused, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “But you do not have to face this alone. You have me, and I will ensure that Hell is not the torment they intended for you. You will find peace here, with me.”

Your breath hitched as his words sunk in, the weight of your situation lightening just a little under his promise. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lucifer’s expression softened further, and for a moment, the cold, calculating ruler of Hell was replaced by someone almost… human. “You will never have to find out,” he whispered, his voice tender as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing gently against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid of breaking you with the intensity of his emotions. But there was a warmth there, a reassurance that you weren’t alone, that you were safe with him. As he pulled back, his eyes met yours, and you could see the depth of his feelings—his resentment toward Heaven, his protectiveness over you, and something else, something deeper that he kept hidden behind his regal facade.

“Rest now, my love,” Lucifer murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek as he straightened up. “You have been through enough. Let me shoulder the burden of your past. You belong here with me, and I will not allow Heaven’s judgment to take you from me.”

You nodded, a sense of calm settling over you as you allowed yourself to trust in his words. For the first time since you arrived in Hell, you felt like you weren’t alone, like you had someone who truly understood the injustice of your situation. And as you looked up at Lucifer, you knew that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[poppadom0912]

A Prom Mess

Warnings: Shootings, blood, injuries, scared high schoolers

Summary: Prom didn't go according to plan.

A/N: This has been collecting too much dust in my drafts and so I thoughts I'd spoil you all. It's my birthday today so take this as my treat for you all. <3

Sticking your tongue out, you moved your curler back from your head, inspecting the curl in the mirror. Proud of it, you let it hang by your temple, moving around to turn off all the plugs, shoving bits of make up into a drawer.

Standing up, shoulders out, you dusted off imaginary lint from the prom dress that fit you like a glove.

It felt like all your childhood dreams were coming true, you were also somehow allowed to have a date which you might have blackmailed your brothers in allowing you to have one but you don't talk about that.

"Look at you." Jay whistled once you entered the living room. "Our baby sisters all grown up now." He elbowed Will in the gut causing him to jerk away.

Scowling at Jay, Will complimented you. "You look beautiful kid." He paused as he looked for his hospital ID. "Do a spin?"

You begrudgingly complied, spinning once to show off your dress entirely, blushing at the whistles, whoops, claps and compliments your brothers threw your way. They were acting as if they weren't there with you and Hailey when you went dress shopping.

Downing his coffee, Will would've loved to see your date before you left but he was working the night shift.

"Alright, be good, don't do drugs and call Jay if anything happens okay?" He wrapped an arm around your shoulder for a one armed hug, pressing a kiss into your hair before he was dashing out the door. "Have fun!"

Waving him goodbye, you turned to Jay who was staring at you with an emotion not many saw. If you squinted hard enough, you would've thought he was tearing up. "What's up?"

Jay shook his head, completely deflecting your question as he stood, setting down his beer. He held up his phone knowingly with a smirk, relishing in the groan you let out.

"Do we have to do pictures?" You looked at your brother, pleading for him not to. Your brother taking your pictures was slightly embarrassing, you'd provide him with the plenty you'd take all night.

"Everyone wants to see how you look." Jay indirectly mentioned his co-workers. "They're all very invested."

And he wasn't lying. Everyone at Intelligence and Med had seen you grow over the years, your final year at high school was a big thing for everyone.

You scoffed but smiled anyways trying not to look too awkward standing alone when he started snapping pictures but was stopped by the doorbell.

Your saviour was here but before he could whisk you away, he'd be involved in a very productive 'conversation' with Jay.

Jay beat you to the door, swinging it open and intensely glared at the smartly dressed boy who immediately shrunk under his gaze.

Fifteen minutes later and you were finally out the door. Pushing your date into the hallway, scowling at Jay who was very much proud of himself, forcing out a nice goodbye before you were off the the school.

*****

You straight up refused the alcohol. No matter how much your friends tried, you were up to everything but drinking. Your brothers would kill you if they had even an inkling that you touched alcohol.

Your date had long gone, staying long enough for the cute pictures before he admitted he would've preferred spending the night with his friends. Surprisingly, you couldn't care less and found yourself swept away in the 'glamours' of prom.

You and your best friend danced arm in arm and then messed around as a group, jumping ridiculously in heels and nibbling on the room temperature finger foods.

The ridiculously large crowd on the dance floor slowly started dispersing, everyone having their fill of loudly singing songs that everyone knew off by heart.

Just as you were going to make a quick detour to the bathroom to fix yourself, a familiar sound rang out in the large sports hall. The reactions were instant.

Everyone screamed and it almost drowned out the gunshots, that's how loud people were. In a flurry of movement, you grabbed your best friend who clutched tightly onto you and ran towards the exit everyone was heading to.

Running in heels was definitely not ideal but that didn't matter right now. Everyone was in a rush to get out unharmed and all in one piece.

There were so many of you that stumbling and people tripping was assured to happen and so they did. The occasional girl tripped on her dress, some catching themselves in time while others didn't. A part of you wanted to help but being stuck in this crowd, the only way was forward.

The shots continued on and they only got louder despite running away. You felt your heart lurching out you throat as it all sunk in; there was a shooting while at prom.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand grasp the back of your dress and within seconds you were falling onto the floor with someone on your back.

Trying to ignore the sharp pain in your ankle, you turned to look at the struggling girl you recognised from your chemistry class and the blood dripping down her temple made you swallow harshly.

"Harlow, come on." You tried sitting up on your knees, pulling her up from around her waist. "Hurry up, come on."

Clutching onto each others waist, you both fell to the back of the crowd. Harlow was getting drowsier as time went on and you were struggling more to support her weight against your own and the gunshots still weren't stopping.

For a split second, you let yourself think that this could be it. A night that was meant to be for celebration and saying goodbye had turned incredibly sour and at this rate, would be a day everyone would want to forget.

Wincing at the sharp pain in your ankle, you cursed your stupid heels and were ready to stop against the wall when the weight against your body decreased massively.

Snapping your head up, you were ready to do anything really but stopped yourself when you were met with a frazzled boy in a no longer neat tux that you recognised from the football team.

He nodded wordlessly and the three of you walked forward, watching with a pit in your stomach as the crowd ahead got smaller and smaller.

Gosh, your best friend had your phone in her purse. You couldn't even call Jay.

And the rest of the long corridor, that became nothing but a blur.

*****

Jay couldn't breathe.

One second, he was finishing paperwork that he forgot to do at work when his phone rang. He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he couldn't have one night off but that all changed when he heard exactly what happened.

Jay had never moved so fast before.

He could barely hear himself think over his sirens. He called you repeatedly but it went to voicemail every single time and dread began overflowing his systems. He couldn't let himself think like that, he refused.

The school was a warzone.

Somehow, he was one of the firsts to arrive and a fire caught inside his chest. His sirens and lights caught all their attention, hundreds of heads turning and staring with such desperation that Jay felt the ground crumbling underneath him.

He had to be a professional now. These kids needed him to do his job and he'd be damned if he let them down when they were all his sisters age.

Jay shouted, directing everyone away from the school, further away from danger. As loud as he could, he shouted instructions, pointing where the non-injured, injured and heavily injured should go; that should make it easier for the paramedics whenever they arrived.

As he continued to make his way through the crowd, repeating the same instructions again and again, he faintly heard Adam and Kevin shouting as loud as him and not too far behind, he could hear Boden direct his team.

With a little less pressure weighing him down, Jay swerved through the crowd, his eyes searching desperately for the shimmering pastel dress you wore but the more he looked and the more he walked, he was left with nothing.

Jay's heart was thundering out his chest know, probably heard by all neighbouring cities. His fear skyrocketed to such a height that he never knew existed.

Even without his bulletproof vest on, Jay was ready to storm the school in search of you. He needed to know, he needed to find you because what was he going to tell Will or what about the promise he made to his mum when she-

"Jay!"

The detective whipped around so fast it was almost inhumane. He looked around for anyone he could recognise before stopping at the running figure of your best friend.

She looked relatively alright. Her hair was a mess, a few marks ruining her dress and dirt collecting at the bottom as it dragged but her eyes were frantic and red and in her hands were her purse and your phone. He could recognise that case anywhere, it had been sitting in his draw for a month before gifting it on your birthday.

No no no no

"Mr Halstead?" Jay flinched at the words, hating how he was called what his dad was. No matter how many times the school called him, he'd never get used to it.

"Sorry- Detective Halstead." The boy immediately apologised, his eyes brightening despite the hellscape that surrounded him and the dark sky.

The boy couldn't find any words, his eyes dimming as fast as they were lit. Jay turned his back to your best friend who had no words for him, his eyes zeroing in on the blood droplets on the boys white shirt, his blazer nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the boy was holding Jay's forearm and dragging him in a different direction. If he wasn't so concerned, he would've been impressed with how strong the boy was.

Several twists and turns later, Jay was finally able to breathe again, oxygen rushing through his veins as the world around him faded away and became nothing but white noise.

"Jay!"

You cried out, tears spilling the second you lay eyes on your older brother. He was disheveled but any outsider would say Jay looked perfect, nothing out of place. You knew your brother though and the fear swallowing him was something you never wanted to see again.

"Thank goodness." Jay mumbled, rushing forward and enveloping you in his arms. Being in his embrace only made you cry more, your hands curling and gripping his shirt so tight your nails hurt.

Jay's nose dipped into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent and placing several kisses to comfort you or himself, you didn't know but you also didn't care.

"Are you guys okay?" Jay got a grip of himself, forcing himself to pull away and look at the mini group surrounding him now. With an arm still around you, he inspected you and the girl sitting besides you and the several other teenagers that looked at him as though he hung the stars in the sky.

Gosh, Jay would never get rid of that sight from his memory. The fear painting your eyes in bold, looking for a saviour with such hope all eighteen year olds became innocent toddlers.

"My heads banging."

"My ankle's done for."

"I've got a few scratches."

"My hands bleeding."

"My arms bleeding I think."

"I think I'm good."

"I don't know."

"My leg hurts real bad."

Several voices overlapped as they all responded to him, their eyes still wide. They all looked so childlike Jay's heart clenched.

"Alright, it's going to be okay. I've got you all, I promise."

They held onto his promise like it was their lifeline and they were all drowning. Their grips so tight is was suffocating.

*****

Will was almost on autopilot. He wasn’t too sure how he hadn’t gone completely mad at this rate.

The ED was swarmed as it usually was following a mass shooting and no matter how many there were in Chicago, you could never really become accustomed to the chaos of it all.

Will wanted it to be a coincidence that several new adults were being wheeled in all fancily dressed up, he so badly wished that other proms were happening at the same time as yours but his fears came true when he recognised your best friend walking in beside a paramedic by her side.

The ED was overwhelmed beyond possibility that Will wasn’t given the chance to call Jay to at least get a hint at what was going down. One of the biggest reliefs was seeing no one heavily wounded, no one was bleeding out to death.

He’d been handing over a patient upstairs to make some more room when he heard his name being called and his hate rate instantly spiked. Turning around as fast as he could, Will wasn’t too sure how to feel when he finally set eyes on you.

Relief was short lived as he caught sight of the blooding dripping down your arm and how heavily you relied on Jay to help you walk, you were hobbling in your heels and several worn out classmates were at your side and following behind.

“Will, I’ve got no room.” Maggie solemnly told the doctor, her face and tone telling what Will already knew.

“It’s all good, follow me guys.” Will gestured for the group to follow him through the ED, pointing them in the correct direction and helping the others walk.

Moving out the ED but then moving into a slightly less packed corridor, Will apologetically asked for them to sit down on the few beds they managed to fit and the chairs they had on standby. The situation wasn’t ideal but they’d done it plenty times before and it worked perfectly.

Before he could ask, April and Doris were following right behind them, arms filled with equipment. With barely any words shared, the three of them got to work tending to the group you walked in with.

Will came to you first and with Maggie’s permission curtesy of a stressed-out Goodwin, he’d been allowed to treat you. With gentle hands, Will surveyed the cut on your arm, asking you all the questions part of protocol. You were semi-delirious because you snorted at your brothers professional side that came out automatically without much thought or effort.

Upon hearing you complain about your ankle, Will crouched down to the floor, and prodded your foot, his touch as light as a feather, hands withdrawing when you whimpered in pain.

Trying to push his brotherly smothering aside, Will continued to remain as professional as he could, cleaning up the bullet graze on your arm, delicately placing on butterfly strips and covering it wholly.

“I’ll send you up for an x-ray but it’s going to take a while.” Will didn’t need to explain why, it was pretty obvious. “Just sit tight for me but I’ll get you some painkillers for the meantime, that sound good?”

You hummed, smiling up at your oldest brother who was now standing up. You hadn’t seen yourself but you knew you looked like a mess, a total 180 from the immaculate state you left earlier tonight.

“You’ll be okay kiddo.” Will said, knowing he’d get a smile out of you, fingers carding through the knots in your hair, pressing it all back before kissing you on your forehead. You weren’t too sure who he was comforting, you or himself.

“Shout if you need me.” Will told both you and Jay before moving onto the next person who just so happened to be Harlow. If it wasn’t for your pain muddled brain, you would’ve turned to watch how she was doing.

The silence that followed Will’s departure wasn’t really silence when there was incessant beeping, people conversing loudly and quietly, ambulance sirens coming and going and the occasional person expressing their pain. It was all so stimulating you couldn’t understand how Will did this for a living.

“My head hurts.” You mumbled a complaint, rubbing your temple to somehow ease your headache. Closing your eyes, you let yourself fall into Jay’s side, sighing in relief as his arms wrapped around your body and holding you close.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jay could only provide you comfort, keeping you as close to him as possible for as long as he was allowed. “I’m sorry your prom was a mess.”

You hummed; eyes still closed. “It’s okay, at least we won’t forget it.”

Jay didn’t laugh at your joke, even when you snorted.

Right, this was going to take a awhile to get over

[headkiss]

Hi! Id love if you could write anything about peter parker? Maybe fluff or comfort 🤞

hiii thank u so much for your req!! i went with some roommate!peter fluff for this one, hope you enjoy <3 | 0.7k words

You’re no stranger to tossing and turning at night, to shutting your eyes and keeping them shut hoping for sleep to drag you under, and huffing each time that wouldn’t work.

It’s where there’s a bottle of melatonin gummies in the cabinet behind your mirror in the bathroom, only that bottle had been empty tonight, which has led to your being awake even later than usual.

On a normal night, you only toss and turn until you hear Peter come home, his window sliding open, him stumbling inside and cursing at himself as he goes, and the window clicking shut behind him. That way, you know he’s safe, that being Spider-man didn’t get him hurt this time around.

Only tonight, he’s been home and in his room for a couple of hours now, and you’ve yet to manage to go to sleep.

Frustrated, you toss your blankets off of you and pad into the kitchen, the lights from the city outside your windows guiding you over. You try to be quiet as you grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, as if it’ll do anything to help.

No matter how quiet you are, though, Peter knows something’s going on.

His senses have always seemed to pick up on you more so than others, and though he tries to convince himself it’s just because you’re his roommate, he knows deep down that it’s because he likes you far more than on a roommate level.

The Spider-man side of him knows that too, which is why his eyes blink open in his bed as soon as you’re out of your own. Even in his sleep, there’s a part of Peter that keeps track of you, alerting him if the slightest thing is off. This time, it’s that you’re in the kitchen at 3 in the morning rather than in bed.

He rubs his eyes before tossing his blankets away from his body the same way you had only a minute ago, and heading out into the kitchen to find you.

You’re perched on the counter when he walks in, your feet kicking lightly beneath you. You’re staring down at your knees until you hear Peter’s sleepy voice gently calling your name, and your head picks up to look at him.

He’s got nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants on, and your eyes trail down his bare chest for a moment before you catch yourself. You always seem to forget how fit he is under his clothes, how the lines of his abs cut through his stomach in a way that somehow still makes him look soft, but never ever weak.

You flick your eyes back up to his face and hope the dark had kept your ogling hidden. “Shit, Peter. Did I wake you? Sorry-”

“No, you didn’t,” he says, walking over to lean back on the island in front of you. “My, uh, senses did. Wanted to see if something was wrong.”

Peter’s arm flexes as he scratches the back of his neck—a nervous habit of his you’ve picked up on—and your heart squeezes a bit at the thought of him caring enough to be nervous around you.

Your feet have stopped their kicking now, your hands squeezing the edge of the countertop instead, “oh. I’m okay. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Peter knows about your trouble sleeping (you share a bathroom, after all, and he’s seen your meds in there), and all he wants to do is help you in any way he can. It’s all he ever wants to do, really.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks, fingers drumming on the countertop behind him. “Help you take your mind off things, maybe.”

“I don’t want to keep you up, too, Pete.”

“What if I want to stay up with you, honey?”

He’s called you ‘honey’ before, but something about the way it comes out now, all sweet and deeper with sleep, has your stomach rolling. How could you say no after that?

Peter let you lead him into your room, waiting for you to get in bed first to be sure not to take your preferred side. He slides in next to you as you reach for your laptop and pick a movie. He’s grateful you’re not the one with the superhuman hearing, because if you were, you’d be able to pick up on the way his heart’s racing right now.

Sure, you’ve cuddled on your couch before, even taken naps together there, but being in bed with you feels different. More intimate. Peter likes it a little too much.

And when a couple minutes into the movie, you shift closer and rest your head on his shoulder, he thinks that nothing’s ever felt so good.

[toastylicious]

I need help for an oc-based zine!

Hello hello hello! Do you have original characters? Do you like art/writing? Well boy, do I have a zine for you!

I'm planning to make a zine called "Toaster oven". It'll focus on ocs and their worlds, and will be formatted like a gossip tabloid!

Here are the columns/parts/whatever that will be included (if enough people participate, of course.)

LANDLINE - An advice column.

JAWBREAKER - A gossip/journalism column.

DEAR DOVE - An interview column!

BREWER'S CHOICE - A cooking column. (Can include spells)

PENCILKILLER - Little tasks / comics / poems.

And fake in-character ads!

How you can help:

LANDLINE - Send me a dm, ask (preferred), or reply to this post with a question your oc would send into an advice column! Example question (yours can be longer, but id recommend keeping this format) : "Dear Landline. I am a multiversal traveller (M, 45+), and I've been travelling like this ever since I got separated from my (adopted) child (Agender, infinitely old????). Recently, I have been dealing with my boss's bullshit, some random guy that looks like the guy that attempted to capture my child and grandchild, and a horrible family reunion. Which alcoholic beverages would you recommend for my situation? Preferably ones that can be consumed by machines. Many thanks." -@toastylicious

(obviously, replace the text within the "" with your own and the @ with your own) THERE WILL BE 3 LANDLINE PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (2/3 slots filled)

JAWBREAKER - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a tabloid-style "article" about your oc/an event that happened to them. 500 word minimum, 1500 word maximum. BONUSSS: you can add 1-3 images of your oc that will be placed with the text. (Image not required, preferred) THERE WILL BE 3 JAWBREAKER PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (1/3 slots filled)

DEAR DOVE - Reply to this post with your oc and some info about them. If you're chosen, I'll dm you questions for your characters and you dm me answers! THERE WILL BE ONE DEAR DOVE PARTICAPANT CHOSEN (1/1 slots filled)

BREWER'S CHOICE - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a recipe that your oc would use. It can be a recipe for a meal, a spell or a potion. BONUSSS: You can add an image (preferably drawing) of the meal/spell/potion your oc would make. For example, if you send in a recipe for enchanted croutons that electrocute you if you eat them, draw someone getting electrocuted by the croutons! (Image not required, preferred) THERE WILL BE 3 BREWER'S CHOICE PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (1/3 slots filled)

PENCILKILLER - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a small 1-2 panel comic, a little task the reader could do (Drink water, do some streches, idk!), or a poem!

THERE WILL BE 4 PENCILKILLER PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (1/4 slots filled)

ADS - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a drawn "ad". Obviously, these aren't actual ads. But they can be your oc trying to sell something! A witch selling her spice brew? A necromancer selling his dead-2-life services? A robot looking to buy parts? The options are endlessssss!

THE NUMBER OF ADS IS UNDECIDED (0/? slots filled)

ALL PARTICAPANTS WILL BE CREDITED, HOWEVER I CANNOT PROMISE CONPENSATION. THE FINISHED ZINE (If finished) WILL BE FREE.

DEADLINE: 01 / 01 / 2025 (Deadline is flexible, can change.) As always, reblogs and sharing appreciated :) Please help me spread this stupid idea and make it into a reality! WE NOW HAVE AN OFFICIAL DISCORD!

[luvr444writes]

hii! soo i have a rodrick heffley request! (sorry if it's a bit vague) also id prefer if they're fem-focused but if you wanna do gender neutral that's cool too

rodrick heffley x childhood next door neighbor reader troupe where:

reader has always had a crush on rodrick since they were kids and they used to be close to rodrick, but as they got older rodrick got a bit meaner and they distanced a little bit (still friends at school, just rarely visits)

reader still likes rodrick but he's so infatuated with heather hills that all they can do is hurt on the inside like HURTT like YEOWCH MY HEART type hurt

however, when reader and rodrick's family have a little neighborhood party they start talking more and rodrick starts to see reader as a romance-able option. like, wdym this hottie has been next door the entire time!

so now rodrick starts thinking about them more and getting more nervous around them but rodrick wants heather! right..??

also i'm hoping it has a bit of a dramatic but happy ending, rather than just, "i love you dork!" "hehe i love you too..." mwa mwa mwa

Hii ! I tried my best to write this how you wanted, but again, I am new to writing. If this isn't what you were hoping for, I am so, so sorry! Xx

---

Rodrick Heffley x Fem!reader

---

It was a warm Friday evening, mid-summer, and the Heffley family had decided to throw a small neighborhood party. You stood in your own backyard, glancing over at the bustling scene—colorful lights strung around the trees, laughter mingling with the scent of grilled burgers wafting through the air. Your heart ached at the thought of a certain heffley child, Rodrick Heffley, your childhood friend and long-time crush, socializing with his friends, all while seeming completely enthralled by the fact that Heather Hills was in his backyard and had even spoke to him.

You had known Rodrick for as long as you could remember. The two of you were inseparable as kids, your summers filled with bike rides, silly games, and dreams of becoming rock stars together. But as puberty hit, things began to change. Rodrick started hanging out with a different crowd, often acting like the cool, disinterested boy who had little time for anything other than his music and Heather’s captivating smile. It hurt seeing him shift away from you, but you tried to respect his space, even if it felt like your heart was slowly crumbling into pieces.

The party was in full swing, and you debate whether or notyou should join in. Yes, you had received an invite to the get together, Mrs. Heffley knocking at your front door to do so and to make it known how much she missed having you around the house. However, it seemed awkward. You hadn't spoken to them in a while. Maybe you could just be a quiet observer, sipping lemonade and enjoying the glow of the festivities from a distance.

You glance around the party and caught sight of Rodrick, laughing with his friends, his signature smirk plastered on his face. As pride swells in your chest, a pang of longing follows closely behind.

“Hey, you okay?” Your best friend waves her hand in front of your face, pulling you back to reality. “You’ve been staring at Rodrick for like, ten minutes.”

You shrug, forcing a laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking…”

“About him, right?” She raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “You know he’s been crushing on Heather for ages, right?”

You nod, feeling the familiar sting of jealousy surge through you. “I know. It doesn’t matter. Besides, we’re just friends now.” If even that anymore, you mentally scoff.

But deep down, the truth was hard to ignore. Every interaction you had with Rodrick was laced with an unrequited tension, one that left you feeling both hopeful and hopeless.

--

As the night continued, you finally decide to suck it up, push your nerves aside, and get a plate of food. You stroll towards the grill only to bump into Rodrick himself, carrying burgers and hot dogs, a look of surprise washing over his features. “Oh, hey,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Hey,” you manage, your voice faint.

A pause stretches between you, both of you searching for something to say. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” Rodrick admits, glancing toward the large crowd of people in his yard before focusing back on you. “You’ve kinda been MIA lately.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling shy. “Just busy with school and stuff, you know?”

Rodrick chuckles, an easy sound. “It’s crazy how fast time flies, huh? We used to hang out every day.”

“I miss those days,” you find yourself saying, surprising both of you. “I miss you.” Why would you say that?, you groan internally.

His expression softens for a split second before he regains his composure, clearing his throat. “Yeah, me too. But hey, did you hear about the new band I’m working on? It’s going to be sick!”

Your heart flutters at the mention of music—the one thing that always connected the two of you. “I didn’t! Is it going well?”

As he launches into an excited explanation about practice sessions and his plans for the band, you can't help but get lost in the way his eyes light up when he talks about his passion. For a moment, all thoughts of Heather vanish from your mind.

Suddenly, Rodrick pauses mid-sentence, regarding you with a contemplative look, looking almost embarrassed. “You, uh, actually want to hear this, right? I'm not boring you?” He asks, recalling just 20 minutes ago when he tried telling Heather Hills the exact same thing, before noticing how uninterested she looked.

“Of course I do!” You reply, genuine enthusiasm spilling from your lips. “You’re talented, Rodrick. I’ve always admired that about you.”

He shifts closer, his demeanor changing from cocky to vulnerable as he studies you with newfound interest. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you. I mean, you’re—you’re really cool.”

Your breath hitches, heart racing as he leans in slightly, the air thick with unspoken words. Just then, Heather appears, giggling as she joins Rodrick’s group, flashing him a big, fake, radiant smile. The spell broke, and you felt your heart sink once again.

“Rodrick!” She calls, and you watch as he turns, momentarily captivated by her presence. You step back, heart aching, the tension from moments ago quickly dissipating into thin air.

Heather spares you a quick, bitchy glance, before grabbing Rodrick by the arm and whisking him away from you all over again.

The night wore on, and the party continued, but you found it harder to join in. Instead, you sat on the porch, watching the festivities unfold from a distance. Rodrick stole glances at you throughout the evening, but each time he seemed to hesitate, torn between the allure of Heather and the strange pull you had on him.

Eventually, your best friend found you sitting alone, leaning against the porch railing. “What’s wrong? You’re missing out on all the fun!”

“I don’t know,” you confess, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down. “I just wish things were different.”

“Different how?” she probes, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“Like… I wish Rodrick could see me the way he sees Heather,” you murmur, fresh tears brimming in your eyes, quickly wiping them away in embarrassment.

"Hey," She whispers, voice softer than before. "You're amazing. I mean, like, 100 times better than Heather Hills." She scoffs, "If he can't see that, then he really doesn't deserve you.

You smile, leaning your head on her shoulder and looking out at everyone enjoying themselves.

--

After some time, your friend had left you and you hear footsteps approaching. Lifting your head from looking at your shoes, you seen it was Rodrick, walking toward you with purpose, the party background noise fading into nothingness. You blink, trying to make sense of the expression on his face.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure,” you reply, your heart racing.

He leans against the railing beside you, stealing a glance toward the party and then back at you. “I, um… I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?” you ask carefully, hoping to mask the tremor of your voice.

“About you,” he admits, his cheeks slightly flushing. “I know I’ve been kind of a jerk and distant, but… I realized something tonight. I’ve been so focused on Heather that I didn’t notice just how much I've missed you and how amazing you are.”

Your heart soars, but the fear of rejection lingers. “Rodrick… you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel about her.”

“Yeah, but…” he hesitates, searching your face for understanding. “I don’t want to overlook someone who’s always been there for me. Heather isn't you. You’ve been my neighbor since forever, my best friend, always stood by me... even when I treated you terrible. And tonight, it hit me that I like you… I-I've always liked you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, “You like me?” you repeat, disbelief dancing in your voice.

“Yeah. I do,” he confirms, a shy smile breaking through his earlier doubt. “I just didn’t fully realize it till now.”

For a beat, silence envelopes you, a shared weight in the moment. “So… what does that mean?” you ask, heart pounding.

“Maybe we could start again? Like, forget all the awkwardness and go for ice cream or something?” He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit you found endearing. "Or.. There's this concert Saturday night that I got tickets to. I, uh, was gonna invite a buddy from the band, but I'd, um, I'd rather go with you." He stutters nervously.

You felt giddy, disbelief slowly melting away. “I’d like that,” you whisper, unable to suppress the smile that's spreading across your face.

Rodrick grins, a boyish gleam returning to his eyes as he reaches out, intertwining your fingers. “Great. I'll come get you at, like, 6 o'clock, Saturday..?” 

"Yeah, sounds good." you laugh, cheeks burning bright red and hands starting to clam up with nerves.

As the night continued, you and Rodrick hung out with his friends, cracking jokes in the Heffley's backyard. However, all you could think about was, what on earth were you gonna wear Saturday night?

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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taglist #1

@tereresrock @casthings @vader-is-hot @maevethelesbian @whereintheworldisspencerreid @reidverseq @niyahwhoreworld @l4venderia @theintrovertedthespian @lovelyxtom @tayzerr-72 @mulbsstuff @dorothleah @stevenknightmarc @prettyboyspenceee @gracesmusings @kalulakunundrum @fearlessmoony @r5court @simp4f1 @thecrazytealady @nyeddleblog @ghostheartbeat @comfortzonequeen @iiheartbowie @louderfortheback @busy-buzzing @alexis-exe2008 @imtherealslimmoony @baeofevery @elamultistan @lyxennz @avid-fic-reader-05

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PLEASE READ: If you already asked me to be added but you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched or I can't tag you. Or if you want to be removed you can also tell me. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[r1poutmygvtz]

°•*⁀➷ Introduction °•*⁀➷

TRIGGERING BLOG: BLOCK DONT REPORT

cws for my blog: weed, alcohol, shrooms, and nicotine use, ed, occasional sh and suicidal thoughts/talks about attempts, occasional mentions of physical/verbal/child abuse, religious or childhood trauma, pet/family death, medicine misuse, and overdoses

please tag any posts about christianity/god with "tw christianity" and any sh posts with either "tw sh" or "tw sh implied"

links proof-checked by my awesome moot @/atlasisneverenoughx

Decorate My Christmas Tree!!

°•*⁀➷ About Me °•*⁀➷

Name: Vivian

Age: 17, im ok with adults interacting just don't be weird yk? id prefer followers/moots aged 15-22 but i'm ok with people older or younger following, i just may not interact as much (unless we're already moots)

Gender/Pronouns/Sexuality: im gender apathetic/non-binary, i could care less about my gender or how i'm perceived. i use all pronouns but when asked i just say they/them or they/xem if we're close. (moots are allowed to use xey/xem for me freely btw and i encourage it!! :3) i'm aroace and pan (more specifically; i rarely get crushes on people but still find some people attractive regardless of gender and i'm a sex repulsed asexual)

Diagnoses: depression, anxiety, and derealization (depersonalization is not diagnosed however im aware i deal with it and need to bring it up next session) my therapist is trying to diagnose me with ptsd and my mom wants me to get diagnosed with anorexia

Be Aware: i don't censor most things but i will tag everything i post according to what's mentioned (tw guide below cut). Another thing; i struggle to communicate properly most of the time so i may sound dry or uninterested at times, also if you're venting or talking about something and i talk about my personal experiences, i am not trying to make it about me, i just don't know how to carry on a conversation or show sympathy in any other way and i apologize for that

DNI: basic dni stuff (racist, homophobic, sexist, etc) generally bad people, christians (only if you post about it otherwise idc just don't tell me), kink/NSFW/18+ blogs, anyone under 13, men over 23, (unless we're already moots for the last two) and non-ed/shed blogs (preferably, they can interact but i may not follow back)

Professional stonerexic and yapper; i occasionally post about smoking and share pretty much every thought that comes to mind, sometimes i post to-do lists and my plans as well 😻✊

I'm a satanist, a spiritual person, and occasionally practice witchcraft but i don't think i've ever posted about any of that stuff; i need to get back into the craft, it's been a while

Hyperactive with mood swings and occasional breakdowns; replies will vary between paragraphs and a few words depending on my social battery and energy levels, posts made during breakdowns are often rapid, uncensored, and/or depressing so be aware of those if that's triggering to you!! :3

Send gr0ssp0, d!3t, m3alsp0, and occasional th!nsp0 requests to my askbox, anons are on!!

Fill out this form to get your name on my taglist for picrew/reblog games, do not reblog with tags list, and to get any trigger you want tagged with a tw put in my tag list!!

Stats, Goals, Blog Rules, Links, and Tagging Guide below cut; Stats will be in my bio as well from now on

°•*⁀➷•* Stats °•*⁀➷•*

Height: 5'5.3

HW/SW: 136.6lbs

HBMI/SBMI: 25

LW: 98.6lbs

LBMI: 16.3

CW: 107.4lbs (updated Dec. 10th)

CBMI: 17.7 (^^^)

UGW: 90lbs

UGBMI: 14.8

°•*⁀➷•* Goals °•*⁀➷•*

GW1: 110lbs

GW2: 105lbs

GW3: 100lbs

GW4: 95lbs

UGW: 90lbs

°•*⁀➷•* Blog °•*⁀➷•*

Rules

Be respectful towards everyone on my page, if you have a problem with someone then please take it to the dms

Dont argue with people through my comments or through reblogs under my posts, again, take it to the dms

Please don't cal check my wieiads, i have a food scale and weigh just about everything to be as accurate as possible, cal checking just makes me anxious about nothing

Don't send me asks saying that i need to recover, im aware youre trying to help and i appreciate it but saying that means and does nothing for me, it just makes me more motivated because someone's worried about me

If i reblog something that has misinformation or something that's accidentally offensive, pleaseee let me know so i can take it down, i don't always double check like i should

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M3alsp0

Diets

Gr0ssp0

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Tips/Advice

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Others

Anonymous Emojis in Use

TWS Added to Posts

°•*⁀➷ Tag Guide °•*⁀➷

There's a lot and most are self explanatory but in case you were wondering here's all of them :3

#gvtz- all my posts/reblogs

#gvtz life- talking about what's going on in my life, reblogging things i relate to

#gvtz rants/vents/rambles- my posts where i rant/vent/ramble and talk too much or let my mind wander while typing

#gvtz eats- wieiad

#gvtz cooks- recipes or talking about cooking

#gvtz works out- talks about exercising, progress, and anything fitness related

#gvtz asks- answering asks!!

#gvtz moots- reblogging moots stuff, playing reblog games with moots, moot related posts, or when my moot sends an ask

#gvtz will eat- meal plans/ideas

#gvtz 🩻- th1nsp0 (updated!! old tag used the 👙 emoji but this one's more fitting)

#gvtz 🍽️- m3alsp0

#gvtz diets- diet requests or diet related posts

#gvtz 🤢- gr0ssp0

#gvtz recipes- low cal recipes i find

#gvtz music- sharing my music or talking about music

#gvtz wants to eat :((- complaining about cravings probably, or complaining about not having food that i want

#gvtz advice- giving advice to asks!!

#gvtz is unstable- talking about mental problems other than an ed like mood swings, hallucinations, etc or posts i made while having a mental breakdown!! :3

#gvtz is productive??- talking about things/chores i did, planning my day

#gvtz kitty :3- posts about harley!! occasional posts about her sisters; often called the "spare cats" but their names are robin and slow!! (slows full name is slow crusty, harley used to be named crusty until i realized we were keeping her, they both looked noticeably more crusty than the others when they were born)

#gvtz binged- probably complaining about my lack of self control or whining about how horrible i feel; warning, i may talk about purging/wanting to purge through lax or overexercise, i may also talk about wanting to purge the stereotypical way and those posts will be tagged with #emeto tw and #tw emetophobia

#gvtz bc- b0dych3cks

[tempesttz]

i feel like causing problems today: correcting actual endogenic misinformation on the anti endo blog about "correcting misinformation"

WARNING: VERY LONG POST ABOUT SYSCOURSE BELOW THE CUT! you have been warned. stay safe! :3c

[/image id: screenshot of tumblr blog @antimisinfo, the blog's profile picture, and the blog's header stating "correcting misinformation." end id.] (before we get into this, some of these images will be very bright! i will try to provide accurate image ids to every screenshot i post. stay safe!) okay so see this account right? op has no clue what they're talking about. addressing pronouns right now, i was going to refer to them by their preferred collective pronouns but i can't find them? i checked their carrd and their alters all had different pronouns and their about me just says this

[/image id: text stating, "horned haters is a subsystem filled with alters who hate endos / pro-endos. our whole system does but we are more passionate about it and plan to try make as many safe spaces for anti-endos as we possibly can!" end id.] so at least i know they prefer alters. cool [happy] so far okay whatever they REALLY hate endogenic systems thats cool thats whatever nothing new there but

[/image id: five images of different flags, likely did/osdd related, anti endo related, or something similar. text underneath flags states "system hot takes," "anti endo support group," "anti endo system terms," "agre and littles safespace," and "fictive stuff." end id.] jegus dude you weren't joking about being passionate about hating. this is like, grade a hater here. but i digress this probably isn't the post to be screwing around on i'll keep the screwing to a minimum i promise. that being said i don't promise to be nice, i do not owe anyone kindness, especially when they are not kind to me. i will try to be polite. so this is already splendid right but you would think with this many accounts dedicated to hating endogenic systems (they also own anti endo vents, i think?) they would at least know what they're talking about, right? right?????

[/image id: text reading "so what are endos? endos or endogenics are people who claim to have did/osdd without trauma or claim to have alters/be a system without having did/osdd." end id.] source: endos / endogenics and why they aren't valid, may 8 2024 for the sake of convenience, i'm going to be referring to did/osdd as osddid from now on. okay so first of all, anyone who claims to be endogenic while having osddid is almost definitely also traumagenic and has reasons rooted in trauma, those two things aren't mutually exclusive. endogenic is a broad, personal label. an endogenic system with did could be one with a lot of created alters or headmates. or just two created alters, headmates, etc. who knows! it's a very personal label after all. that being said, to have osddid, you have to have some form of trauma in almost every case, because trauma is what causes the dissociation, amnesia and other symptoms of osddid. anyone who's arguing to the contrary is wrong. you cannot have osddid without trauma? "so tempy, endogenic systems aren't real! they don't have osddid!" wrong. you can be a system without having osddid. for just one example, sourced from the national library of medicine, pubmed central, "multiplicity can be placed along a continuum between identity disturbance and dissociative identity disorder (did), although most systems function relatively well in everyday life. Further research is needed to explore this phenomenon, especially in terms of the extent to which multiplicity can be regarded as a healthy way of coping." (2017) taking some bookmarks from your sixth grade english class (which i can only hope you have passed by now, if you are on this website,) we are going to use some inferences. if multiplicity isn't dissociative identity disorder, but it is a state of being multiple and a system, what do you have? a system without osddid. "but tempy, that doesn't mention osdd!" that's because osdd wasn't a medical term before the dsm-5. not to mention, it stresses that "...most systems function relatively well in everyday life..." and that "...multiplicity can be regarded as a healthy way of coping." osdd is a disorder and an osdd system's plurality is disordered. non-disordered plurality is a thing that exists, and almost all non-traumagenic plurals are non-disordered! so we're already off to a terrible start. op isn't creating a distinction between plurality and osddid, likely because they believe that osddid is the only way to be plural. this not only was disproved above by a literal scientific article on a .gov website, but also the icd-11.

[/image id: text stating "boundary with normality (threshold):" which then moves a line down to a bullet point stating "the presence of two or more distinct personality states does not always indicate the presence of a mental disorder. in certain circumstances (e.g., as experienced by 'mediums' or other culturally accepted spiritual practitioners) the presence of multiple personality states is not experienced as aversive and is not associated with impairment in functioning. a diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder should not be assigned in these cases." end id.] so someone can experience multiple personality states without it being part of a mental disorder. and it's not dissociative identity disorder, and it can't be otherwise specified dissociative disorder, so... i wonder what it could be? well, many things! all under the wonderful way-too-vague umbrella that is endogenic plurality. oh, you need more proof? how about we look to a book written by eric yarbrough, a psychiatrist who specializes in lgbtq issues:

[/image id: text reading "the phenomenon of plurality is unknown to most mental health clinicians. most professionals know this condition as dissociative identity disorder (american psychiatric association 2013), although plurality and dissociative identity disorder are not exactly the same. being plural, or having two or more people existing in one body or space, is just one part of the diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder. many people who are plural do not experience distress from the existence of others within themselves." end id.] what was that, psychiatrist eric yarbrough in your book transgender mental health which was published by the american psychiatric association?

[/image id: text reading "plurality is a more patient-centered approach to what has historically been referred to as dissociative identities. this is not the same as the dsm-5 diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (american psychiatric association 2013). plurality makes up just one part of the larger diagnosis and does not necessarily cause distress. although many people who are plural have a history of trauma, there are just as many who do not. a plural system is a collection of all the alters present. with some people these alters might come and go, whereas with others they are static and waiting to be discovered." end id.] this is not the same as the dsm-5 diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder, huh? it's just one part of a larger diagnosis and doesn't necessarily cause distress, huh? still not convinced? rapid fire! zarah eve, sarah parry: "not all multiplicity is based in trauma" (2021) mick cooper: "neuropsychological research has demonstrated the inherently divisible nature of the brain and consciousness" (unsure, likely pre-2013) zarah eve, kim hayes, sarah perry: "multiplicity experiences are phenomenologically distinct from clinical dissociative experiences" (2023)

kymbra clayton: "there may be in the general population a large number of people with [multiplicity] who are high-functioning, relatively free of overt psychopathology, and no more in need of treatment than most of their peers. they may not have abuse histories and may have evolved a creative and adaptive multiplicity." (possibly 2005)

the entire endogenic and non-traumagenic resources google doc, created by a diagnosed traumagenic system can we at least establish there's been a recorded medical existence of healthy, non-disordered multiplicity in psychiatric fields and that this isn't something that someone just made up on tumblr one day? okay, cool, thanks. now i wonder if there's a word for that. oh wait. it's called non-disordered plurality and tends to be much more common in non-traumagenic systems. by now you've probably forgotten the actual reason this post exists, so back to antimisinfo!

[/image id: text reading "why is this bad? this is misinformation because as far as science knows did/osdd is a trauma based disorder (specifically caused by trauma in early childhood, which is speculated to be 1-9 / 1-12 years old) and your brain would not split/create alters without reason. you cannot have alters without having a disorder, this is common sense as it's not normal to have alters. to add onto this endos also take over our communities and teal our terms. (we'll make a post with further information on that in the future.)" end id.] okay so first off non-disordered systems exist, let's stop talking about osddid as if it's the only way plurals can exist. second off, you can be multiple without having a disorder, it's literally highlighted in the icd-11 that non-disordered multiplicity exists. see above for disproving that. this is not common sense, because as seen above people can experience multiplicity without it being disordered, therefore meaning it is "normal," though not realistically normal as all plurals are a minority. normal =/= bad/disordered. cool? cool now, onto "endos take over our communities and steal our terms." i have no clue what terms op is talking about (tried to find their elaboration on those terms but it seems they haven't posted it), nor have i ever gotten an actual comprehensive list of terms they think we're stealing, but here we go: the terms traumagenic and endogenic were created by an endogenic system

[/image id: text reads "an important part of the development of these terms involves our journey towards identifying as plural. we have used a lot of terms for ourselves over the last thirty years; since 2014, we have identified as endogenic, but have known we were plural since at least 1990. the road" text cuts off. end id.] the term plural can be traced back to 2003 and even in its oldest records recognize the existence of non-traumagenic plurality. it has always been an inclusive term

[/image id: header reads "heart's home." text next to it reads "join date: january 02, 2003." text underneath reads, "this is my site for people that have mpd did, {;} also i agree that not all is cause by trauma. {;} i was on the ring from ring world and did not know this was moved." end id.] introject is a psychiatry-focused word, meaning that it could be claimed to be osddid exclusive, however multiple communities have used them in tandem for years. it can be traced back to this glossary which was written before the dsm-5, or pre-2013.

[/image id: text reads "introject - introjection occurs when a person (singlet or plural) internalizes another person (real or fictional) into his or her mental space. in classical psychology, the introject is usually a parent, whose advice for good or ill becomes integrated into the person's moral system. more broadly, many people experience introjects as a kind of muse, inspiring them to creativity or self-improvement (a psychologist would call this an "internalized imago"). (psychiatric)". new line. new line text reads, ""introject" is seen as derogatory by some, because it is a psychiatric word and seems to imply that such people of necessity are unreal. They prefer terms like walk-in, soulbond, or fictive. having an introject does not necessarily mean you're multiple. it is an experience common to singlets and plurals. some multiple systems report adopting people from books, films, or real life, making them part of the group and allowing them to take the front if they desire." so, having introjects hasn't even always been seen as a fully plural experience! singlets used to be considered to be able to have introjects too! isn't that cool? not to mention, they also have a definition for fictive in there, recognized as a wider plural term! cool, cross that off the list... oh? what's this?

[/image id: text reads "system - a group of persons in one body. also, the operating system by which a group governs itself. multiples have many different names for this: group, collective, clan, household (or house), family, etc. (may have originated with a few multiples writing for the amateur press; we first read it in an early mpd book.)" end id.] so non-disordered plurals have used the term system since ever too... not to mention, hey, look at this term!

[/image id: text reads "empowerment is for all multiples. It is not only for natural (non-trauma) multiples; you can be empowered and be a multiple who was born as one person and split due to child abuse. In fact, if that's your situation, empowerment is a wonderful thing for you, and is something your therapist (if any) ought to be encouraging." end id.] wow... non-trauma multiples. look at that. is that enough terms? if you want me to look up more, feel free to suggest anything the endogenic community is "stealing" that haven't been used synonymously and consistently in both traumagenic and endogenic spaces since before traumagenic and endogenic were terms. okay back to misinformation.

[/image id: text is a link that reads "there is also a carrd that explains why endos are bad and debunks a few myths if anyone is interested in it! if not continue reading." end id.] i didn't need to click on this to know it was the why endos are bad carrd. this is the most touted anti endo carrd in existence. i'm so sick of seeing it i'm not even addressing it today. it's wrong and blames endogenic systems for systemic issues like "making actual systems be less believed." not a verbatim quote, but you can go read it for yourself and then scroll up and read everything i just said again.

i've never actually seen another anti-endo carrd. which is saying something, because there's a lot of endogenic carrds, some better than others. carrds in general aren't reputable in most situations, unless they cite other sources, which the why endos are bad carrd doesn't. it cites a google doc about cultural appropriation and the theory of structural dissociation, which is about osddid, not non traumagenic plurality. it also implies that anyone identifying as endogenic has been lied to, is traumagenic and in denial, is a singlet who's experiencing a factitious disorder or other disorder misleading them, or are a singlet faking because they think it's "fun." no comment, i'll talk about it in length another day.

[/image id: text reads, "why can't you have did/osdd or alters without trauma? as far as science knows did/osdd is a trauma disorder and in order to have alters in the first place you require dissociation, which is also a trauma (or stress) response. here are tons of medically reviewed sources that say this:" image ends. end id.] once again, not osdddid. also, "as far as science knows..." see above. science knows about non-disordered plurality. op goes on to list a bunch of articles about dissociative identity disorder, that talk about dissociative identity disorder. they are wonderful articles about dissociative identity disorder and prove that individuals with dissociative identity disorder (and by extension otherwise specified dissociative disorder) experience that disorder due to trauma. that being said... non-disordered multiplicity is a thing, and endogenic systems still don't have osddid. seeing a pattern?

[/image id: text reads, "what about religious beliefs / tulpamancy? first people are not required to believe or participate in your religious beliefs (and religious beliefs are not exempt from criticism) and second tulpamancy is a closed buddhist practice that has nothing to do with being a system and should not be compared to being a system nor should it be included / involved in system communities. Note that the dsm-v also says that in order to have did; "the disturbance is not a normal part of a broadly accepted cultural or religious practice." <- this does not mean it's possible to have alters due to a religious thing, if anything it says they cannot be counted as alters / as a system." end id.] okay so i corrected this in the image id, but op actually wrote "tuplamancy" twice. lol first off, tulpamancy isn't a closed buddhist practice. a tulpa is a theosophical term that was originally inspired by the tibetan buddhist nirmāṇakāya, translated as in tibetan as sprul-pa. "the western understanding of tulpas was developed by twentieth-century european mystical explorers, who interpreted the idea independently of buddhahood," according to wikipedia, sourced from tracking the tulpa (2015). a google search could tell you this. did you research any of the communities you are attempting to debunk past listening to what people who agree with you say? if you've decided in the past three months that google is your friend, i would google "echo chamber." second off, people absolutely are not required to believe or participate in your religious beliefs, and religious beliefs are subject to criticism. however, they should also be respected. this post, along with most other things you have had to say, have not respected spiritual plurals. not to mention, not all non-traumagenic plurals are spiritual. not to mention, not all tulpamancers are spiritual, in fact, most aren't. "modern practitioners, who call themselves "tulpamancers", use the term to refer to a type of willed imaginary friend which practitioners consider to be sentient and relatively independent. modern practitioners predominantly consider tulpas to be a psychological rather than a paranormal concept. the idea became an important belief in theosophy." see: wikipedia again. i mean, if you want me to go find scientific articles about this i can but wikipedia has plenty. go check the sources on wikipedia. this should have been the first thing you did if you wanted to "combat misinformation," by doing actual research before posting. op then starts talking about did. see: not all plurals are disordered. op also takes the time to shit on spiritual multiplicity again, which i will rightly ignore, refer to two paragraphs ago. it's midnight and i would like to finish writing by 1am.

[/image id: text reads, "to add on, no you cannot pray to be a system or transition into being a system. if you were to pray and one day magically become a system you are either in denial or you've convinced yourself you're something you're not. believing you can be a system without trauma or that you can become a system by praying is like believing you can get autism from vaccines or drinking too much dairy milk, that's just not how it works." end id.] this is a half-truth! you cannot pray to become a system unless you count spiritual possession (and frankly that responsibility lies on the individual in question), and you cannot pray to have osddid as that's a dissociative disorder that stems from childhood. you technically can transition to being plural (created systems are a thing, intentional and unintentional creation of headmates has been recorded dutifully since at least the early 1900s (see: tracking the tulpa, 2015). for the sake of it, here's a sciencedirect article about authors who experience different forms of hearing their characters in their head, who's recounts all sound very similar to non-disordered plurality. "believing you can be a system without trauma or that you can become a system by praying is like believing you can get autism from vaccines or drinking too much dairy milk, that's just not how it works." maybe if all plurality is disordered. it isn't. see above when i showed multiple examples of non-disordered multiplicity. believing that all plurality is disordered is like insisting that god created everything on earth after being presented with the theory of evolution. the analogy goes both ways.

[/image id: text reads, "what about mixed origin systems? Mixed origin systems are not a thing. did/osdd forms purely from trauma, you can't form from a mix of trauma and not trauma, that's not how it works. if you identify as mixed origin you are likely in denial and really need to come to terms with the fact that you are either traumatized or you're not a system at all." ] okay so first of all people can be traumatized past the age of twelve. ooh burn i know crazy. not to mention, plurality in general is known to be experienced by neurodivergent individuals, who as a minority are more likely to experience some form of trauma. this isn't a controversial statement, right? i don't have to prove this, right? cool great thanks. oh hey i just found a really flat ginger ale this will now fuel the rest of this post. there's this crazy concept, some people can be traumatized without it causing them to be disordered. or, a person with osddid could have created headmates, therefore making some of their system of non-traumagenic origin. personally, i was a system before i was traumatized. this caused my plurality to have some very trauma-based aspects, trauma holders and trauma-focused roles. that being said, my plurality (mostly lol) isn't disordered and my first recorded headmate was a created/spontaneous headmate at the age of ~nine.~ isn't that cool? anyways i've been medically recognized as plural so you can't fakeclaim me [silly] i dont have osddid. don't fit the diagnostic criteria. but i've been experiencing headmates since 9 and have recognized my plurality since 12. i'm 18. most of my headmates can be sourced to when i was 13-15, as that's when i experienced the most trauma (i'm better now stay safe though yall). that's decidedly after the gracious "1-12" estimate you gave, op. not to mention, we created headmates intentionally at the age of 12. so what's up with that op? what am i? okay i'm done being anectodal, i just took the opportunity to parry a personal opinion with a personal anecdote just to further drive the nail in that people like this exist and are living breathing sentient individuals with lives outside the screen and many of us have been plural since ever. i sourced non-traumagenic multiplicity to before the dsm-5 just in this post alone, not to mention tulpamancy (many tulpamancers don't consider themselves plural/multiple or part of the community).

[/image id: text reads, "what about other kinds of origins? Other origins like "willowgenic" and all that bullshit? Yeah no, same thing as endos, not possible. look above for all the proof you need, did/osdd is only caused by trauma. traumagenic is the only valid origin." end id.] i dunno if i told you this but did/osdd isn't the only form of plurality because not all plurality is disordered. also, spelling every origin you don't agree with incorrectly in a post that's supposed to be informational doesn't lend to your credibility. it's spelled willogenic. you're welcome. also, the word "traumagenic" was created by an endogenic system (see above, during "endos are stealing our terms," first link). you're appropriating our terms, buddy. [silly]

[/image id: text reads, "but I gave myself did! / but I created my own alters! no you didn't. that isn't possible, you cannot turn yourself into a did/osdd system and creating alters is a coping mechanism, not something you do for fun, sources on this;" text ends. end id.] half truth! you can't give yourself osddid because it's a dissociative disorder that forms due to childhood trauma. you can, however, create alters/headmates. see above when i talked about tulpamancy. op goes on to link more resources about dissociative identity disorder that don't mention other forms of plurality. not all plurals are disordered, let's move on.

[/image id: text reads, "isn't being a system like the same as being trans or being lgbtq? no, many endos compared the two but they are completely different. Being lgbtq is an identity, it's something you are born as. being a system is a debilitating disorder caused by severe trauma, it is counted as a disability which is;" text ends. end id.] first off i gotta say it again, not all plurality is disordered. op goes on to explain why did is a disability, which is true. that's just true. but again. not all plurality is disordered. second off, half truth! being a system is not the same as being lgbtq! that being said, a lot of systems are part of the lgbtq community, both due to its known effects on gender and sexuality and because a lot of them are neurodivergent. speaking on the internet plural community here, anyways. a lot of anti endos are referred to as "sysmeds" as a reference to "transmeds," people who believe that all people who are transgender must have a disorder in the form of gender dysphoria. sysmeds are people who believe that all people who are systems must have a disorder in the form of osddid.... same thing different font debunked not all systems are disordered. anyways.

[/image id: text reads, "but the dsm-v says that trauma isn't required! no, the dsm-v actually says csa isn't required, there are other forms of trauma that don't involve csa or child abuse. To act as if it saying that the trauma isn't always ca or child abuse means that it doesn't require trauma at all is extremely invalidating to those who are traumatized in ways that don't involve child abuse or csa." end id.] both of you are wrong jesus christ. okay so first of all the dsm-v heavily implies that trauma is basically required in order to have osddid.

[/image id: text reading "dissociative identity disorder is associated with overwhelming experiences, traumatic events, and/or abuse occurring in childhood. the full disorder may manifest at al-" text cuts off. end id.]

[/image id: text reads, "the dissociative disorders are frequently found in the aftermath of trauma, and many of the symptoms, including embarrassment and confusion about the symptoms or a desire to hide them, are influenced by the proximity to trauma. in dsm-5, the dissociative disorders are placed next to, but are not part of, the trauma- and stressor-related disorders, reflecting the close relationship between these diagnostic classes. both acute stress disorder" text cuts off. end id.] second of all the part of the dsm-5 that goes over dissociative identity disorder doesn't mention sexual violence once. the best i can assume this claim came from is an old belief that most dissociative identity disorder trauma if not all is inherently sexual.

[/image id: text reads, "promoted by charismatic individuals such as cornelia wilbur -- that multiplicity was almost always caused by severe, repeated child abuse, usually sexual, and was an extreme form of dissociation." end id.] so... where did you get this info, op? you didn't give us a source, after all. and again.... not all plurality is disordered. so this is a pointless argument to make. shit, i'm out of ginger ale. and it's 1am. it's okay i'm basically done right? uh, right?

[/image id: text reads, "but this source claims endos exist / did doesn't require trauma! most of those sources are extremely old and / or made by endos (or pro endos) themselves. (we'll make a more in-depth post on this topic some other time, but for now this is all we have to say on it)" end id.] first off i dated every source i cited, most are post-2013 and the newest is from last september (sep 2023). the oldest is ~2003. you're welcome. second, if you denounce every source given matter how reputable because it's "written by pro endos," you'll only end up listening to people in your own community. hey, remember when i asked you to google "echo chamber?" also, i'm waiting for that post, op. also also, for the sake of it, not all plurality is disordered, so why are we mentioning did again? oh yeah, because you don't believe in non-disordered plurality. is that because all the sources proving their existence are pro endo? hey, fun challenge, if you're over the age of 21 and find yourself wishing to, take a shot every time i reiterate not all plurality is disordered. [joking]

[/image id: text reads, "but we don't know everything about the human brain! you're right, we don't. the brain is mysterious, but we do know enough to know that it doesn't do these kinds of things for no reason. we know the brain reacts to trauma and we know what the difference between a normal brain and a disordered brain is. just because we don't know everything doesn't give people an excuse to jump to conclusions and spread misinformation. it is better to stick to what science currently knows which is the theory of structural dissociation, which is the current theory about how did/osdd forms, and so far no one has been able to disprove it. and before someone says it, no it is not only a theory, it is a scientific theory which is;" end id.] hey i have this fun concept for you not all plurality is disordered. also, just to throw it out there, otto van der hart, the guy who created the theory of structural dissociation referencing the haunted self and doing so along with ellert neijenhuis, suzette boon and kathy steele, had his license revoked years ago for abusing his plural patients. not to mention they promote only referring to the "client" and not the "parts," and only referring to alters as "parts of the client." i recommend reading this article on power to the plurals, and if you feel like some extra reading, you can also check out this old article about how psych professionals used to be encouraged to bait or purposefully leave information out or use different names for integration to attempt to coerce their plural patients into final fusion. in conclusion, not all plurality is disordered, source your shit, and if you're going to talk about only dissociative disorders at least get your claims right. thank you. stop spreading misinformation.

dave got a blinkie for his post so now i want one

[/image id: green and yellow blinkie gif with the words "written by jade harley!" in pixelpoiiz font. end id.]

[/image id: blinkie with a dark blue, almost black background featuring multiple stars, one of which twinkles. contains text reading "written by kankri." in the pixeloid sans font. end id.]