#if i had my entire fandom experience to do over again i would come in insisting that rukia has six fingers on one hand

[recurring-polynya]

thinking about good times on twitter with @dont-look-up and how every time someone would post this picture, she would point out how rukia has six fingers on her left hand

[nicarnelian]

tell me when you’re ready.

₊˚⊹ featuring: kaji ren x gn! reader

₊˚⊹ summary: kaji doesn’t like you to see him like this — his animalistic urges taking over him as he fights. but, when the time comes that you catch sight of him in that state, kaji thinks you’re better off without him.

₊˚⊹ word count: 0.9k

₊˚⊹ warnings: mentions of blood and violence! (nothing too explicit though), grammar errors (not proofread!)

₊˚⊹ author’s note: live laugh love kaji ren <333 this is my contribution to the windbreaker fandom 😝 i’m still trying to practice writing him so feedbacks r welcome !

this was a side of kaji that you had mostly heard about in stories of his past, passed from one bofurin member to another. his gray pupils dilated, ends of his platinum blonde hair tainted with crimson red from trickling blood on his forehead cuts, his furin high school jacket and headphones carefully discarded across the warehouse, and a multitude of unconscious bodies and pools of blood surrounding your boyfriend, as he breathed heavily from the fight.

kaji had long suppressed these animalistic urges to take over him, not wanting you to see him like this. he does everything within his capabilities, but the both of you stand motionless at your positions, staring at the unfolding scene.

kusumi and enomoto's rapid footsteps echoed towards you, snapping your head in their direction. they were breathless due to fighting and probably running, as they were trying to shield you from seeing kaji in this state.

you were afraid. you had never seen your boyfriend fight like this before, as you mostly detested violence and tried to avoid it as much as possible. but, you felt kaji's gray eyes bore into yours. his hands dropped to his sides, almost dreadfully, and opened his mouth to speak, "so, what do you think?"

you tilted your head in confusion, "huh?"

kaji continuously looked at you, eyes hovering over your entire body to check if you had accumulated some scratches or such, "you're afraid, aren't you?"

you didn’t answer him, because he was right. you avoided his gaze and looked down towards the floor, tainted with rough marks and splatters of blood. he scoffed at your silence, perceiving it as an answer to his question, "i expected as much. if you can't handle this, maybe we should stop this now. i don't want you to see me like this."

your eyes widened at his statement.

you hesitantly walked towards him, feeling your shoes step into blood, staining them. once you stood in front of kaji, you placed your hand on his tensed shoulder, which relaxed under your touch. you pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his bloodied face. "i know that we both are aware that i have always hated violence like this,” you began, dabbing at some of the blood.

"then, you don't hafta do this," he tried to pry your hand away from his blood. kaji thought he’s dirty, too disgusting for someone like you to touch. but, you still continued wiping his battered face despite his resistance.

"but, i want you to know that i would never break up over something like this. there are secrets that you have yet to tell me, and perhaps this experience was one of those secrets. which is why, i would patiently wait for you to open up to me, kaji." you said, as you felt his gaze onto your eyes. he, then, felt guilty as he could see them turning red, alongside your wavering voice.

"so, please..." the moment you tried to speak, it came out as a desperate whisper. your tears started to cascade downwards your cheeks. "do not ask me to leave you." you pulled your hand away from his face, finishing up on cleaning him.

your tear-stained eyes locked with his widened gray ones. this was the feeling he hated the most — seeing you cry, seeing that he's nothing but a failure of a boyfriend once again. he wanted to hold your hands, interlace them with his calloused ones, but, he felt as if he would only sully your clean hands if he became selfish with his desires.

as kaji hesitated, he felt your hands move to cup his face. you closed the distance between your faces, and gently pecked him in the lips. the corners of your mouth turned upward as you gazed at your boyfriend's softened features. "you know that i love you, 'kay?" you said, smoothing out random strands of his bangs.

kaji, then, gave into his desires and pulled you into a tight hug. you squeaked at the suddenness of his tight arms wrapped around you. he hummed a quiet ‘sorry’ as he rested his head on your shoulder and delighted himself with your scent. you smiled, as you equally wrapped your hands around his neck and carefully tugged and played with his hair.

"ahem!" while enomoto did not want to interrupt the both of you, patrol hours were coming to an end. kusumi, on the other hand, seemed to grin as he kept taking photos of the scene unfolding in front of him — a rare moment of their usually stoic grade captain being soft.

you could hear kaji rumble in annoyance, as he clicked his tongue. you pressed your lips on the edge of his earlobe, "my apartment?" you offered, as you intended to properly clean his cuts.

he simply hummed in agreement to your offer, reluctantly breaking the hug. kaji preferred to spend his time with you, basking in your scent at your apartment. and like a protective and obedient kitten, he laced his hand with yours and took his headphones and jacket, following your footsteps.

you could hear kusumi and enomoto snickering and laughing, respectively, at their captain's tender gestures — making kaji growl at them. you chuckled at your boyfriend as you watch him bid farewell to his vice-captains.

"i didn’t get to say it earlier, but i love ya too. and, uh… thank you for loving me." he mumbled, feeling himself cringe with his words, since expressing himself was one of the things he struggled with. you giggled at him and squeezed his hand, as his face slightly flushed in a light shade of red.

oh, how much you love him.

[buttdumplin]

a ride home

cw: Gaz x reader, reader is not entirely neutral because it was written with someone specific in mind, fluff word count: 1309

AN: This was written for the lovely, wonderful, incomparable @mikichko. She was the first person in the fandom I actually engaged and connected with, and I could not be more grateful to have had that experience. Thank you for noticing all my rambling in your tags and talking to me. My life would literally not be the same without you, your love, or your support. <3 We also love Almond in this house <3

The last thing you expect to see as you leave work, exhausted from an over-long day caused by last minute meltdowns that no one in your team thought to prepare for, is Kyle standing right outside your building. Even through the blurry privacy frosting, you recognize him, his stance as deeply familiar to you as your own heartbeat. How could you not. You can feel the warmth of his skin just thinking about it. And there he is, waiting for you to come out. His head pops up as each person opens the door, hoping it’s you. 

“I never said when I was coming home.”

His face softens with joy, excited to finally see you. Kyle leans against his motorcycle, thighs hugged snug by his riding pants, sleeves rolled up to leave his forearms on proud display. Maybe you should do a quick photoshoot with him one of these days, print some for the house and some for yourself. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he pulls you in by the waist of your pants, bending to kiss you softly. “I know, you said long night.”

It’s three hours past your usual clock out time. Precious boy, you could smush his face and cover it in kisses, but the day has left you drained. He grins and leans down for another peck, reading straight through you. You eye him carefully, looking for the faintest sign of tired, but all you find is happy pleasure on him.

“Train or bike?” Kyle asks, easing your heavy backpack from your shoulder.

“You can’t leave your bike here.”

“Not what I asked.” His tone is firm. He has full plans for both.

Closing your eyes, you breathe him in, crushing your nose to his chest. That’s what you need, your own little cocoon made of him. No other sounds or people to encroach in your space, no strangers or riding alone, just Kyle and the reassuring confidence wrapped around him. 

“Bike, please.”

Taking your sweater off gently, he sneaks another kiss to your cheek. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to let the day wash away. It’s so easy with Kyle. It always has been. You never have the need or urge to mask and hide yourself from him for convenience. He’s always there to meet you as you are. Waiting for you to come out the door, apparently. You feel one strong hand steady you as he double checks the buttons and straps on your riding jacket once he has it in place. 

“Got us new helmets,” he bonks your head lightly with yours. 

The helmet seems pretty normal as you inspect it, a simple black with no additional decor. The brief and shallow disappointment on your face tells him his gut feeling was right, that he should take you into the shop next time so you can personalize and decorate it. You slip it over your head as he slips his own jacket on, his checks much faster.

With your helmet slipped on, you stand in front of Kyle, chin tilted up and towards him, visor popped open so he can see how sweetly you smile at him. He really should do a photoshoot with you. He can see it so clearly, a picture of you only wearing that smile and helmet to grace his wallet with. 

“Who let you be so fucking lovely, hm?” he coos down at you, buckling the strap under your chin and pulling it snug, quickly doing the same with his. 

You pull him towards you again, you gently tap your helmets together in a quick kiss. His shoulders shake as he chuckles.

Watching him closely as he swings a thick leg over the bike, you eye his bulging thighs holding it in place for you to climb on behind him.

“Good god, he’s delicious,” you mutter under your breath. “Does the simplest thing and he makes it look beautiful.”

You climb on behind him, a practiced jump slotting you in place behind him, your thighs wrapped tight around him. Somehow, you always forget how intimate the pose is until you’re on the bike again. The position leaves him vulnerable to your touch, body left open to your wandering hands as he maneuvers. But it also leaves you completely exposed to him. Kyle reaches back with both hands, fingers digging possessively into the fat of your thighs, reveling in the heat of your stomach pressed against his back. 

“What a gorgeous little backpack you are,” you hear him say.

His voice is crisp and clear. Not muffled from the helmets, not distant from him facing away from you. 

“Mics,” you say, your face burning.

“Mics,” he says, his grin evident in his voice.

You wrap your arms around him and squeeze tight, avoiding your embarrassment.

“Told you they were new.”

“Don’t we gotta be getting home?”

“As you wish,” the bike rumbles to life under you. “We’ll take the scenic route, yeah?”

You nestle against him as he takes off, content to hold him and escape the day. There’s no need to think about your lackluster teammates or the failure of a structure the company is based on. Don’t need to worry about any emergencies that only you seem to be able to handle. Best not to let them continue to overwork you when you have the option of spending your time with Kyle instead.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanna hear your voice while we ride.”

“I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

“Too bad there’s not much stoplights this way.”

The last streaks of sunlight fly right past you, night falling cool to cleanse you. Kyle’s humming comes in clear through the mic and after a couple of seconds you recognize it as the opening song from the very first playlist he made you. You squeeze him hard, gratitude fueling your strength. His hand grips yours, pressing them further into his belly. He continues to hum for the rest of the ride, soaking in all the little sighs you don’t quite realize you’re making. 

The long way around usually takes about 20 minutes, which can be cute or can be long, but now it feels like not enough. The greenery is still beautiful, the pastel of the clouds still stunning, the cicadas still blaring, but it feels like you get home far too soon. Not enough time spent with Kyle in your arms. Pulling into your usual parking spot normally feels so relieving, but tonight it hits a bit sour.

“Dinner is set, just gotta heat it up. I’ll do that while you go change,” he undoes his straps and buckles quickly, racing to beat you to the heavy backpack. 

Your mouth opens for another question, but he beats you to it, “Almond is fed and no upset tummy to report. New food is sitting well with her.”

Fully aware of how concerned you’ve been, amazing cat dad he is, he’s keeping careful track of any changes. Even bought a little journal to keep all Almond notes in, knowing seeing it all would help alleviate the hurt you’ve been wearing. Worry shouldn’t cloud your time with her. His best girls deserve to have fun and love on each other. Which reminds him, he’ll have to show you that new polaroid film he got you when you get inside, the one with the hearts on the frame.

“Why do you treat me so well?” you grab his wrist and pull him against you, already missing him.

Kyle barks a big laugh, “You mean like I love you? Hm, wonder why.”

“Thank you,” sincerity creeps into your voice, “This means a lot.”

“I’m just a call or text away,” he pulls you in for a tender kiss, lingering to bask in your sweetness. “I’m still working on telepathic messages, but I’ll get there.”

[shmisky]

whats your headcanon sexualities for the stan twins

Ah, a pretty fun one!

I’m aware that you probably just wanted me to answer with my opinions and not, say, an analysis about it, but then again you sent it to me, and I couldn’t resist yapping about it! So, yes, I shoved some canon tidbits in here too...

I think Stan’s bi, bisexual and biromantic. I don’t think it’s hard for him to actually fall in love because of the completely smitten way he talks about Marilyn, his ex-wife, in his commentary of Land Before Swine.

Uh, sometimes comedy comes from a place of pain and I, y’know, was actually married for less than a day. [...] Reach for the same slot machine handle and it was love at first sight. Marilyn. [...] Man, I was putty in her hands. [...] And I guess her name was fake and her hair was fake, but y’know, the love was real. She really was the one that got away. [...] Sometimes I still think of her. [...] I had love in my life once and uh, y’know, it bit me. And I learnt a bit of a lesson from that which is ya open your heart and blood comes out and ya die. So, y’know, try not to be a sap like I was.

And regarding his attraction to men, well! Even if I weren’t a stancest shipper, we would have this:

And, amusingly, even this (referencing Stan’s marriage to Goldie in Soos and the Real Girl), despite me not taking it seriously:

I’ve seen a gen artist headcanoning him as lithromantic—that is, feeling romantic feelings for someone but not desiring reciprocation, to the point of maybe losing interest if the person reciprocates. That... checks out! A lot! Especially if you consider Stan’s experience with Lady Susan. But since I headcanon him as having reciprocated romantic feelings for Ford as a stancest shipper, I save lithro!Stan for when I’m in a gen mood.

Now, Ford... Why is everything more complicated with Ford? 😭

I headcanon him as demisexual and demiromantic, in both cases bi.

Why demi? Well, first of all, we see that Ford really isn’t in his element when it comes to romance/attraction:

If you didn’t watch J. K. Simmons as Ford reacting to TikTok thirst comments, please do. The entire (hilarious) video is just... the fandom’s horniness over Ford going straight over his head. He somehow manages to interpret all the comments wrongly, until he finally understands their sexual meaning and then promptly gets both horrified and enraged.

This is how Alex sees Ford’s sexuality, from this interview:

Stan shows that he has romantic interests, Mabel shows that she has romantic interests, Dipper shows that he has romantic interests, Ford shows none of that. He has sublimated himself romantically so, so deeply.

I think, for people on all sides of the gender and sexuality equation, the idea of, “I can’t—I’m not sure what this part of myself is, so I’m going to fixate on something I can understand. I am going to become the guiness world record holder on making lego re-creations, of this, and I’m gonna get better at it than anything, and if—as long as I’m doing this, um, then I don’t have to focus on that.”

People speculate about Nikola Tesla’s sexuality, it’s like, there’s a lot of people - some people say—‘cause Tesla was hot, and he was lyrical and poetic and mysterious, and women—they say—were very drawn to Tesla. And Tesla doesn’t talk about women. In Tesla’s autobiography, he talks about how, like, women’s earrings freak him out, and he hears clanging train whistles in his head when he sees an exposed ankle. He was so off in his own plane!

I really thought of Ford kind of like Tesla in that realm. He is distant. So it doesn’t at all surprise me that people found their own experience reflected through Ford in that way.

But it was, you know, when we were doing Gravity Falls, like, gay marriage had only like, just been legalized!

I think all of this heavily hints to Ford being in the ace/aro spectrum.

Now, why bi?

We see subtle hints of Ford being perhaps attracted to men even before the whole drama with Bill, such as his little comment about the Invisible Wizard’s good looks:

But we also see hints of his attraction to women! I was convinced, before, that Ford could only be gay (and demi) and that any and all hints of his attraction to women were comphet. The only “proof” of sorts that I had is:

That “the ladies” became “lies” in the blacklight version, hahah.

But is this enough to stand against the evidence we have of him showing even a certain eagerness to be liked by women?

From the same commentary on Land Before Swine:

[Dipper] gets [his creepiness] from Ford, I think. That and his inability to make eye contact with women. [...] Fordsy had a fear of girls ever since Cathy Crenshaw got freaked out by his hand in third grade. [...] He tried to hold a girl’s hand. She spilled punch on his head and ever since then he had a hard time talking to girls, unlike—unlike myself. That’s life. Anyway, cut to high school, the guy’s never kissed a girl, prom is coming up and he asked me for advice. “Stanley, I know things have been a little weird between you and me with college but can you talk to me about girls?” 

That indicates a lack of ability with girls, but not lack of eagerness. And, indeed, Bill mocks him for it in Journal 3, confirming Stan’s tale:

“Little Cathy, what a dream.” The fact Ford possibly considered her to be dreamy hints of Ford having been actually interested in her.

Bill again mocks him (together with Dipper) in TBoB:

And alright, this does sound like very generic cheap mockery, like, “hahah, virgin loser!” But why would Bill go so far as to repeat the joke if he didn’t think Ford wouldn’t at least be a little bit annoyed by it? If he knew Ford was 100% interested in men/male beings, his joke about Ford’s lack of sway with women would have been pathetic. And yes, I know Bill is desperate and pathetic and TBoB, but he usually knows where to hit Ford, as exemplified by him mocking Ford’s hands in front of his Henchmaniacs.

Then of course you have the Soothsquitos’ advices for Ford, including giving the Oracle (Jheselbraum) his phone number:

Even adult researcher Ford is excited about finally getting women to talk to him (and this is also in the blacklight version of Journal 3, which shows that he couldn’t have been dismissing his interest in women as just “lies” when he finally got the chance to write in blacklight):

Dipper is impressed, in the comics, with the fact his Grunkle Ford had once dated a siren:

And a lot of people assume that to have been Bill, since the page we can see is talking about Bill, but... that doesn’t make much sense. Why Dipper would be so happy and excited and not horrified? After all, he hates and fears Bill. Why wouldn’t Dipper go straight to the point and call the “siren” by his name, Bill? Why would Dipper describe Bill by “siren” and not “demon”? What kind of euphemism is this? I think it’s way more likely that Dipper had read about the siren in a previous page and just happened to comment about it when he reached the Bill page.

The siren in question is probably this girlie from the storyboard of AToTS drawn and shared by S. H. Cotguno on TikTok.

And, of course, we can’t forget one of the deleted scenes from the end credit montage:

This one is particularly hilarious to me because when I first watched it, I thought it was supposed to be about the Stan twins were competing for the same lady. But then I realized that Stan had arrived first, smirking and holding his own flower, and sat down. Only then Ford appears and sits down too, mirroring Stan’s smirk, despite the fact he had already seen Stan there. And Stan doesn’t seem phased by Ford’s arrival, he continues smirking. Only when the lady gets up and leaves them that they turn angrily to each other 😭 They were fully ready to share her...

So yeah, I do believe Ford was/is interested in women in the same way he is in men, but he can’t deal with that very well for lots of reasons. I think he tries, but ultimately doesn’t experience romance in the way Stan does and that confuses and frustrates him. The only “people” he’s been truly in love with, imo, were Bill and Stan, and it would still be that way if Bill and Stan were female. So yeah, Ford to me is a bi ice cream with demi sauce on top.

I don’t think that’s how the Stans would define themselves, though. They likely don’t even know most of LGBTQ+ labels, much less the fact that you can be both demi and bi and stuff like that, and I prefer to stick to a more realistic approach.

Stanley, jokes about marrying Goldie aside, would probably still think he’s straight. His twin is... his twin is something special, okay? Ford doesn’t count. Ford is Ford.

Ford, on the other hand, would be so out of his depth that he wouldn’t even know how to answer the question. I don’t know if he would even be able to identify his attraction to Bill as romantic, and being in love with Stan just feels natural to him.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 11 | S.R

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A/N - Just an FYI - the fics being posted now were finished months ago. I haven't written anything for the fandom in quite a long time and at present have no drive to do so. Once Midnight and Rusty are finished posting that will be it from me for the forseeable. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Chapter Summary - Spencer pushes through another barrier on his way to recovery. But when a face from his past shows up out of the blue it threatens to destroy everything between the two of you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - male masturbation, Spencer’s incredibly dirty thoughts, brief mention of three ways, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving) and penetrative sex (both p in v and p in a) all by way of Spencer’s imagination (Spencer is basically writing his own smut fic in his head), self inflicted wounds, talk of weight loss, swearing, arguing, yelling, tears, sad Luke, bit of a cliff hanger ending. WC - 7.6k

Chapter 11 - All My Ex's Live in Texas

The sentiment, to be able to love someone we must first learn how to love ourselves, felt oddly poignant in this moment, as Spencer stood in his bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in his closet. 

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, he often gave himself a cursory glance before he left the lodge of a morning, giving himself a brief once over. 

It also wasn’t something he made a habit of doing. He kept the mirror inside the closet for the purposes of not having to look at himself for long periods of time. 

But this was for entirely therapeutic purposes. 

And the idea of having to love oneself before allowing others into our heart rang true in an entirely different way. 

Spencer needed to be able to engage himself physically before he could expect anyone else to do the same. 

It had been four days since his trip to Doctor Ortega’s office. In those four days the two of you had participated in a string of increasingly heavier make out sessions, three of which fervent enough to yet again cause Spencer to come in his pants, but as yet had not graduated onto anything more intimate. 

Yesterday the two of you had ridden your respective mares into Pipe Creek for Spencer to collect his new prescription and Doctor Ortega had caught him on his way out. 

She’d taken him aside and reminded him that in order to take back control of his own body, he had to truly own it himself before he frivolously tried to hand it over to someone new. 

And that’s what led him here. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, naked as the day he was born. 

The only part of his body that was concealed was his casted arm, he’d even gone as far as to remove the dressings from his bicep, thigh and stomach. 

The wounds were all at various stages of healing, scabbing over and starting to scar. They would all leave their marks upon his skin for the rest of his life, a constant reminder that he’d been to hell but was desperately trying to claw his way back. 

He focused on them for longer than necessary, trying to distract his mind from the task at hand for as long as he possibly could. You’d gone to the grocery store with Rusty and wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time for his introspective. 

He inspected each cut with a keen eye, taking note of how each brandished him, pictured what they’d look like once solid and pink against his alabaster flesh. 

This was not an activity Spencer relished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his naked form in such a manner. It felt clinical. Yet another experiment. 

Spencer liked experiments so he tried to keep that in mind as he took himself in as a whole before slowly ingesting each individual facet that made the full Spencer Reid picture. 

Start at the top, work his way down. Cold, removed, distant. 

Still got a good head of hair, not like William. Good hair. Thick hair. No greys. Almost forty and no greys. That’s pretty good going considering the stress I’ve been under. 

Nice eyes. Friendly eyes, that’s what JJ called them. Or was it kind eyes? Nice no less. Brown with gold flecks mom always used to point out. 

Bags under the eyes aren’t so nice. When did they get so purple? I look like I’ve never slept a day in my life. 

Nose. Lips. Chapped lips, such dry lips. How does Y/N kiss me? Need to buy chapstick. Must remember to buy chapstick. 

Need to shave. Or do I? I don’t hate the stubble, it makes me look tougher. Wonder what Y/N’s opinion on it is? Maybe I should ask her. 

His eyes trailed slightly lower to his torso. 

Still so skinny. Didn’t I put on weight? Where did that go? Mom always says I look like I’m not eating. Have I been eating? When did I get this skinny?

Lost weight in prison. Couldn't eat after…my mouth was always too sore. Thought I’d put it back on. Did I lose it again? How? When? 

He raised his hand in absent-mindedness and ran his fingers along the visible bones of his sternum, protruding through his milky skin. He pulled a face and dropped his hand again, somewhat unamused. 

His eyes briefly flitted back over the cut on his left side, garnering his attention once again before flicking to his stomach. 

Definitely lost weight, but how? Hip bones are more prominent. Got one of those little v-cut muscles I was always jealous of on Luke. Did I get that from riding? It does require core strength. I’ve never noticed it before. 

He continued quickly past the appendage where his attention was supposed to be, down to his legs. He’d always had strong thighs, thick thighs but they were somehow even meatier than he remembered. 

Is that from riding too? Must be. Good legs, definitely not terrible legs. Sturdy. Load bearing. 

I’m stalling. 

He closed his eyes with a loud huff, feeling incredibly self conscious all of a sudden. Opening his eyes again he forced his gaze between his legs where his flaccid member hung in a bed of pubic hair. 

And here we are, the thorn in my side. The bane of my goddamn existence. My…

…it’s not gonna get hard if you berate it. 

He grit his teeth and stared almost aggressively at the length of flesh and muscle between his legs. 

Masturbation should not be this difficult. 

It felt forced. He wasn’t aroused, not even a little. On the occasions in his life he had turned to self pleasure, it was only because he was incredibly horny, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for him unless he was in the act itself. 

He’d never just sat and thought I’m bored, maybe I could jerk one off. What was normal protocol here? 

His new phone had the internet and he would probably be able to look up a porn site. But what porn? Spencer didn’t even know what kind of porn he liked. 

He found both men and women attractive, where would he even begin? In an ideal world, what kind of sexual desire would…oh…oh! 

He stared at his cock as it twitched very slightly, heart beat picking up at the simple thought. He kept his eyes trained downwards while he contemplated it again. 

I like both men and women, I find them equally attractive. Specifically one man and one woman so what if I could have both? 

Again he twitched, before his very eyes his cock started to swell. His mouth fell open, chest heaving with his breaths. 

Y/N and Luke? Together? And me. All three of us. Together. Touching. Kissing. Or I could just watch, I’d be pretty happy to watch. 

Again he was amazed by the sudden jerk of his shaft, swelling slowly but surely. 

Oh this could work. I think this might work. 

He wrapped his hand around his shaft without too much thought in case he might talk his way out of this. He was only semi-erect but the speed in which it had happened meant he could be fully aroused in no time. 

He kept his eyes open, trying to force himself to watch as he started his slow strokes but his mind was wandering quickly down a sinful rabbit hole. 

Standing over them while she straddles him, her bare thighs pressed against his bare thighs, taking hold of his hard cock in her hand. 

Hearing Luke moan as his Adam’s apple bobs at her touch. Her beautiful, petite hand, unable to wrap all the way around his shaft. But she tries, she tries so hard. She wants to make him feel good, wants to give me a show.

Luke’s looking up at me, his eyes blown out with lust. 

“Come closer, cariño, let me touch you.” 

Oh how I happily oblige. 

Whilst she’s stroking Luke I kneel on the bed next to them and Luke is immediately taking me in his own large hand. I moan and my head falls back against my shoulders at his touch. 

He strokes me in time with her strokes on him. The sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the room. Moans and heavy breaths. 

There’s another hand on my jaw, I look at her and she draws me in for a deep kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth while Luke’s hand pumps my cock. 

My other hand finds her breast and I knead it beneath my fingers, pinching her hardened nipple in my hand. 

Yep, that’ll do it. 

He was fully erect in his hand now, stroking himself at an almost furious pace. His hand twisted and tightened, staring at his cock in his own hand in the mirror. 

Laying on my back and she’s on top of me, lowering herself down, slowly, slowly. Inch by inch I watch myself disappear inside her silken walls. I can feel the way her body stretches and pulls around my hard cock. 

Luke is behind her, palming her tits, kissing her neck. She’s whining, moaning because she’s so tight and I’m so big. 

“How does he feel, baby?” Luke whispers against her flesh once I’m completely sheathed inside of her.

“Fuck, he feels so good.” She starts to rock back and forth on top of me, eyes staring intently down at me. 

One of Luke’s hands travels downwards, to the juncture where our bodies meet. His index finger pressing against her clit. 

She vibrates around me, sending shockwaves down my cock. The moan that leaves my lips is nothing short of feral. 

Frantically fisting his own cock whilst imagining the pleasures of being with the both of you and his head was already leaking against hand. He swiped his thumb through it, legs buckling a little at the sensation and using his precum as lube. 

He was gnawing on his lip, watching the way his cock throbbed in his hand. It was a heady sight to behold. He thought he’d be disgusted by it. Was it wrong that it turned him on more? 

He looked good like this, strong, virile, dare he even say, sexy? He felt powerful as he watched his face contort in the pleasure he was bestowing upon himself. His staunch thighs shook beneath him. 

His thick and heavy length pulsed against his palm. 

She’s on her back, legs spread for me. I leave a trail of kisses across her soft skin but I’m in a hurry, I need to get to my final destination. 

Once my face is buried between her folds, I lap up at her arousal before my tongue settles on her swollen bud. She writhes beneath me at the contact, trying to move away. But I stop her with an arm across her abdomen. 

She moans and screams as I take her in my mouth, suckling on her sensitive clit. Like a man possessed I work between her legs, like she’s my favourite meal. 

I can feel a heat behind me, and hands on my hips guiding me up onto my knees. I comply because I’m so wrapped up in the way she tastes on my tongue. 

Then there’s something pressing into me from behind, I’m being stretched but in the best possible way. 

As Luke fills me up I moan into her core, making her squirm. The sounds in the room are melting into the walls, the smell of sex is heavy in the air. 

Luke thrusts into me hard and fast and I take two fingers and plunge them inside of her waiting heat while keeping my mouth on her desperate clit. 

She’s rocking against my face, coating my lips and chin in her arousal as my fingers sink inside of her. 

Luke is grunting as he fucks me, filling me up in a way I haven’t been filled in so long. Between my legs I can feel my cock twitching, pulsing, close to the edge without being touched. 

“Oh fuck,” Spencer mumbled, legs trembling. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.” 

More precum leaked from his tip, coating his hand as he thought of eating you out while Luke fucked him. His head was hazy, his breaths ragged.

“Fuck, Spence, I’m close. So close.” She screams as I plunge my fingers in and out of her and swipe my tongue over her clit. 

Luke’s thrusts are growing more violent, his balls slapping against my ass. 

“Make her come, Spence. You can do it, cariño.” Luke encouraged me and I pick up my speed.

Soon enough I feel her walls clenching around my fingers and she’s coming undone at my will. She’s convulsing beneath me and I know it’s all because of me. 

And as I feel her coming, moaning my name, my own orgasm starts to pinch at my stomach and I know it won’t be long before I’m…

…“fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spencer screamed as he gripped the base of his shaft and started splattering streaks of his come all over the mirror. 

He kept stroking himself through his orgasm, his legs undulating back and forth as he expelled himself on the reflective surface, covering his hand in his sticky seed. 

He watched every small movement of his body, his quivering thighs, his leisurely strokes on his spent cock, his chest dragging up and down with each shallow breath. 

His brain was foggy but his vision was exceedingly clear. He was fascinated by the way his body moved, how one small ripple in one muscle caused another to flex and so on and so forth. 

The contours of his body seemed so sharp in his post orgasm haze, every pull or push, every pulse, every dilation. 

He’d never looked upon himself with such startling clarity before as his shaft started to soften in his hand, it was all becoming clear.

This is my body. I can see it. I can feel it. My body belongs to me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me. 

I am whole. I am whole. 

I am Spencer Reid and I am whole. 

He was so lost in his newfound captivation of his own frame, he didn’t hear you enter the lodge or call his name. He also didn’t hear the bedroom door open or your footsteps on the wooden floor.

It wasn’t until your face appeared in the reflection behind him that he registered his company. 

“Uh, hi?” A smirk adorned itself on your features as you regarded him, soft cock in his hand and the distinctive come stains on the mirror. 

You couldn’t stop your gaze flitting up and down his body. You’d never seen him completely naked before, uninhibited, exposed. 

You tried to make a mental note of every dip and curve of his glorious body. He really was a sight to behold.

“Hi,” he replied, returning your smile. 

“Everything okay here?” 

He let go of his length, turned to face you. His pupils were blown out wide. 

“More than okay.” He nodded. 

And suddenly he advanced on you, smashing his lips against yours and not caring in the slightest that he was naked and sticky with his own come. 

He grabbed at you, pawed at you hungrily. His wandering hands got you out of your clothes in no time at all and soon the two of you were falling back to the bed. 

He was on top of you, kissing you with reckless abandon. He could already feel himself growing hard again between your bodies. 

His tongue desperately explored your mouth as though it were the first time, he manoeuvred you both so he was on his back and you were straddling him. 

He hissed as he got an unhindered sight of your breasts as you sat atop him. Needy hands wandered until they were palming them, pinching your nipples between his deft fingers until they stood to attention, not allowing himself to be impeded by his cast. 

You moaned and rocked back and forth on top of him, his hard cock gliding between your folds. Spencer whined and bucked against you. 

He removed his hands, letting his casted arm fall back to his side. His good hand circled around your wrist, gripping it tight and moving your hand so it hovered above his cock.

You stared at him, silently questioning him. Spencer simply nodded in response and let go of your wrist. 

You sucked in a breath, cautious as you lowered your hand closer to his throbbing member. When your hand wrapped around his base he moaned in fervour. 

His eyes rolled back into his skull, back arching off the bed. You slowly started to move your hand up and down around him but he was soon bucking into your hand, setting the pace for you.

His desperation was evident in the surges of his hips snapping back and forth fiercely. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his eyes landed on you again. 

He smiled up at you, the ethereal being perched on his thighs whilst working to bring him the utmost pleasure. 

He was whole. He was finally beginning to feel whole. 

***

It was getting late by the time the BAU finally wrapped up in Texas. Luke had agreed with Rossi that he would take one day off to visit Spencer before he joined them back at Quantico. 

Given the hour, Luke intended on getting a hotel for the night in Bandera town. He drove those forty some miles north from San Antonio in his SUV, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he tuned into a country and western radio station. 

The back seat was full of gifts and cards which Garcia had sent to the police precinct for Luke to deliver to their old friend for his birthday which was just a few days away. 

Luke’s nerves flooded his body, causing his stomach to form into tight knots. The closer he got to Bandera, the more anxious he grew, palms sweating against the wheel. 

He was under no illusion that Spencer would be happy to see him, especially with him showing up unannounced. But in Luke’s defence he had tried to call Spencer several times over the last few days to inform him of his visit. It wasn’t his fault Spencer didn’t answer. 

It was nearing eleven pm by the time Luke arrived in Bandera and try as he might he couldn’t get himself to the hotel. 

He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to see Spencer now. 

He took the turning off the main road with the directions Garcia had sent him. He drove a little ways up a dirt track until he came to a stop next to another car. 

Killing the engine he frowned himself. He didn’t think Spencer had a car. He supposed he could have purchased one any time. 

He slid out of the SUV, dropping to the dirt and closed the door behind him. There was a small single storey lodge a few hundred yards up on the left. 

There was a light on. 

Luke swallowed, smoothing out his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. His chest swelled with nerves and his legs shook a little as he started towards the lodge. 

***

Spencer’s second orgasm seemed to come quicker than the first, your small, dainty hand bringing him to completion in no time at all. Chest heaving with his breaths, he immediately pulled you down by the back of your neck so he could kiss you. 

He was whole. He was whole. They didn’t win. 

He kissed you fiercely, his come sticky between your bodies but neither of you minded. His hand stayed on the back of your neck, pinning you to him. 

“You’re amazing.” He mumbled against your lips. 

“No, you’re amazing.” You replied. 

You wanted to tell him you were proud of him but you didn’t want to make a big deal of it or have him think you were patronising him. Instead you continued kissing him, grinding your bodies together as you did so. 

Spencer felt like every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. He was overstimulated, he could feel every thread of the sheets beneath him, feel every negligible movement of your body as it moved against his own. 

It was eye opening. He’d forgotten how this was supposed to feel. Intimacy wasn’t meant to make him feel guilty, pleasure wasn’t designed to cause him pain. 

He’d neglected to remember how it should feel. Two bodies coming together, becoming one. Becoming whole. 

He felt as though he could well be floating, his body lighter than air. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed everything and he needed it with you. 

He gripped the back of your neck firmly, tongue roughly exploring the deepest recesses of your mouth. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room alongside soft moans and the friction of skin on skin. 

And for the second time that night, Spencer didn’t hear the door to his cabin open or the heavy footsteps on his hardwood floor.

***

Worryingly, Luke found the door to Spencer’s lodge was ajar, not quite closed all the way. His hand immediately pressed against the butt of his gun in its holster, ready just in case. In his experience, nothing good came from doors being left open. Least of all way out here in the sticks. 

He hesitantly pushed it open and took a step inside. The space was small and mostly full of books which didn’t surprise him at all. There were a few paper grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed. 

He let his hand fall back to his side, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. Spencer could be scatty sometimes, perhaps he’d just been in a hurry. There was nothing to panic about. 

He stepped closer towards the closed door past the kitchen, for which he assumed was the bedroom. It was only as he drew closer that he started to register the sounds of heavy breathing.

His first thought was that Spencer might be having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot after prison, Luke knew all too well what they looked like. Perhaps he’d started to have one when he arrived home with groceries, it would explain why the door wasn’t closed properly and why the bags were still on the counter. 

Another wave of unease washed over him and he quickly pushed open the door without a second thought. 

The two bodies on the bed came into view and Luke felt as though the whole world came crumbling down around him in a single second. The body on top with their back to him was definitely female. The body beneath, laying on the bed was obscured from view but Luke would recognise those soft moans anywhere. 

“Wow,” he croaked out the single word as tears flooded his vision. 

Spencer suddenly sat up in bed, glaring at Luke over your shoulder. His mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock at the ghost standing in his doorway.

“L-Luke?” He stuttered. 

“Luke?” You hissed without looking over your shoulder. “As in…?” 

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded. 

You were still in his lap, trying to hide your naked frame against Spencer’s. You needed to leave. You couldn’t be part of this. You swung yourself off of the bed and in one swift move sprinted to the bathroom before you could give this stranger an eyeful. 

You’d left Spencer exposed and he quickly pulled the sheet around his body despite the fact Luke had seen him naked hundreds of times before. He hadn’t seen this version of him though, the one with the cuts and scabs from self abuse. He stared at Luke and Luke and him. Seconds seemed like hours.

He noticed Luke’s gaze flicker down to his arm and his brows pinched together.

“What happened to your arm?” Luke asked in concern. 

Spencer didn’t know whether he meant the cast or the cut on his bicep but he didn’t ask. 

“Riding accident.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “What are you…why are you here?” 

“We were in town for a case. I tried to call, you didn’t answer. The door was open and I thought something might have happened to you.” The hurt in Luke’s voice was palpable and Spencer felt a little guilty that he’d had to walk into this. 

“Uh, lemme get dressed okay? I’ll meet you outside?” Spencer chewed on the tip of his tongue, half thinking his overstimulated brain was imagining the man in front of him. 

Had he given over so entirely to his fantasy that it had begun to feel real? Was this all part of his vivid speculation? Was he in fact still masturbating in front of his mirror? 

No, it was all too real. The sadness in Luke’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of seeing his ex in bed with someone else. The way you’d so hurriedly scampered off to the bathroom. 

This was real life, even if it did feel like a nightmare. 

Luke nodded stiffly and turned about on his heels. Spencer watched his retreating form pad out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. 

Spencer got to his feet and started gathering up his clothes from the floor. He tapped on the bathroom door as he was fighting with his boxers.

“Are you okay?” He called when he got no answer. 

“Your ex is here, what do you think!” You hissed in response. 

“I had no idea he was coming here, Y/N. I didn’t invite him.” He was stuffing his legs back in his jeans, trying to ignore the way the fabric scratched his open wounds. 

“What the hell is he doing here then?” 

“I don’t know! I have no idea.” He grabbed his t-shirt whilst still working on the button of his jeans. “I need to deal with this, hopefully I won’t be long.” 

“Okay.” You whispered, hearing his footsteps head away from the door. 

He pulled the t-shirt down over his torso as he swung open the bedroom door. Through the window in the front door he could see Luke pacing the length of his porch. 

Spencer exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it from his previous activities. He swallowed around his dry tongue and stepped towards the door. 

A frigid burst of air hit him as he stepped outside, joining Luke on the porch. Luke stopped in his tracks and glanced at Spencer. Even in the darkness he could see the tears in Luke’s eyes. 

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” Luke folded his arms across his chest. 

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” Spencer shrugged. 

He hated that even after all this time Luke could still cause all the air to leave his lungs. He looked much the same as Spencer remembered in his mind's eye that last time he saw him. He had an extra few creases around his eyes, a few more greys peppering his hairline, but otherwise he remained unchanged.

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot.” He choked back a sob. “So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?” 

“You think I’m healed?” Spencer’s voice raised a little. “You think I’ve worked through my trauma?”

“It looks that way to me. I seem to remember the last time I tried to get you into that position you pinned my arm behind my back!” Luke spat. 

“You have no idea what this is like for me.” Spencer shook his head angrily. “She is the first person I have been able to get close to and even still I’m terrified I’m only one second away from breaking down at all times. It’s been four years and this is the closest I’ve come to moving past what happened to me but I am by no means suddenly shiny and new. I haven’t had sex with her, is that what you want to hear? At this point I’m not even sure I can! 

“You can’t just show up here after two years and think you know what I’m going through. I have to take medication every day just so I am not completely crippled by my trauma. I blackout when the stress gets too much, I dissociate because my mind can’t handle the pain. Don’t come here and assume you know what I’m going through. You have no idea.” 

In the bathroom you heard raised voices outside and worried about Spencer’s rising anger and what could happen if he let it get out of control. You snuck back out and found your clothes, quickly redressing and creeping into the living room. 

From the kitchen you could see them through the glass pane in the front door without them being able to see you were watching. You told yourself you weren’t eavesdropping, you just wanted to be ready in case Spencer needed grounding. 

You tucked yourself away in the corner, eyes on the side of Luke’s face. You felt that swell of familiarity again that you couldn’t place. Your fingers kneaded your achy jaw as you listened.

“You were supposed to come back! I gave you time, I gave you space. I thought if I did those things you would come back and we would be okay again.” Luke rubbed his eyes to try and stem his tears.

“That’s not my fault, Luke. I didn’t ever give you a reason to believe that would be the case. I’m sorry I left without telling you, I know I should have said goodbye. But I can’t change that. This is my life now, I have no intentions of coming back to DC. I’m sorry if you thought that I would, but I never gave any indication that I would.” Spencer rubbed his hand on his jeans, focusing on the rough texture. 

He needed to stay tethered, he couldn’t let the anger bubble and cause his mind to detach. 

“Did you love me?” Luke’s voice pitched. “Did you ever really love me like you said you did?” 

You knew that voice, you were sure of it. You just couldn’t place it. 

“How can you even ask me that?” Spencer softened. “Of course I did.” 

“But it was easier for you to run away than try and make things work with the man you supposedly loved?” Luke exhaled. 

“I had to leave. After everything that happened, after Merva, it was just too much. I needed to get away from DC, away from it all.” Spencer sniffed loudly. 

“You could have talked to me instead of running away, Spencer. It’s what I was there for. But you never talked to me.” 

“I couldn’t talk to you, Luke. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to forget.” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears and he rubbed his palm roughly against his thigh, focused on the material of his jeans. 

“You know I know what happened right?” Luke shrugged. “I know what happened to you in prison. I read the medical reports.” 

Spencer froze. His rampant rubbing of his thigh stopped, he felt like his breathing stopped. He glared at Luke while he processed his words. 

He’d read the report. He’d known all along. 

Inside your brows pinched together. Prison? Spencer was in prison? Surely you must have the wrong end of the stick? Spencer did not seem like the type. There must be something you were missing. 

“You…how could you?” Spencer croaked. “How could you do that to me?” 

“You wouldn’t talk to me. I was worried about you.” 

“Worried? You were worried? So you invaded my privacy? Those reports were not your concern Luke! I figured Prentiss would have to see them but you…I can’t believe you would do that to me.” Spencer’s voice raised again and felt the anger in his stomach. 

Deep breaths, take deep, calming breaths. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Feel something beneath your hand, ground yourself. This will be okay. One, two, three, four, five.

“Maybe if you’d talked to me I wouldn’t have felt the need to.” Luke didn’t know why he was trying to justify himself, he knew what he’d done was wrong. “How did you ever get cleared to come back to work? You were clearly struggling.” 

“Oh please, we wrote those questions. You think after fifteen years of profiling I didn’t know the right things to say to the bureau shrink so she would reinstate me?” Spencer clucked. 

“Did you ever tell her you were ra-”

“Don’t you dare you say it.” Spencer cut him off. “Don’t you dare.” 

Your head was spinning with the new information. Prison. Profiling. Bureau? What did this all mean? Your cell phone was on the counter next to the bags and you reached for it before hiding back in your corner. The arguing continued outside while you brought up a Google search. 

Spencer Reid + bureau

Within less than a second, hundreds of search results popped up on the little screen, articles upon articles. You quickly skim read some of the search results as your hand shook around the device. 

The youngest academy graduate recruited to the FBI’s illustrious Behavioral Analysis Unit, twenty two year old Doctor Spencer Reid…

With his three PhD’s, and IQ of 187, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid was hand picked by BAU founder Jason Gideon…

After a high speed chase in Mexico the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit are on the scene. It’s thought that a member of the team is involved…

BAU Member SSA Doctor Spencer Reid acquitted of charges against him…

Hostage situation involving two members of the BAU…no further information is known at this time…

Your head swam. Your stomach lurched. This couldn’t be true, yet it was here in black and white. 

You were sleeping with the enemy. The sweet, kind cowboy you’d rescued from the desert was a former FBI Agent. 

Three PhD’s? An IQ of 187? Doctor? 

What the fuck was going on? You knew there were things he hadn’t told you but did you know him at all? And what led to an FBI agent going to prison? And what happened to him in prison that Luke had ascertained from his medical records?

You felt dizzy. You pushed yourself back up against the wall so you wouldn’t collapse. Luke’s raised voice brought you back around.

“You could have told me! I would have understood, I could have helped!” 

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” Spencer yelled back. 

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” Luke scoffed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?” 

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” Luke threw his arms up into the air. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you away. But I am finally starting to move past what happened to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you but Y/N is…she makes me feel like I can heal. And I need that Luke, I need to heal.” Spencer sniffed again, feeling his tears dangerously close to falling.

Luke didn’t appear to be listening though, his brows pinched together as he rolled something over in his mind.

“Did you say Y/N?” He rubbed the side of his neck. 

Your back went rigid. Hearing him say your name dislodged something distant in the back of your mind.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer’s voice broke through your memory. 

“I…I’m not sure.” Luke looked deep in thought. “Can I…? One sec.” 

Spencer watched in confusion as Luke turned and headed down the stairs towards his SUV. He wrapped his good arm around himself in protection and to stave off the cold night. 

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Can you take a closer look at her photo ma’am? Your neighbour seems to think she’s been staying here.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“You got a warrant?” 

“No…”

“Then get the hell off of my property.”

Magnolia Springs, Alabama. Mrs Royce, the kindly old woman for whom your mother had been best friends with all throughout childhood. She’d offered you a place to stay after you escaped custody. That was until her nosy neighbour recognised you from the wanted posters. 

You’d buried your mom’s money under a tree in the wooded area behind her house and watched from a distance as two FBI Agents had come to her home to question her. Even though she hadn’t seen your mother in more years than she could count, Mrs Royce was fiercely loyal, and hadn't said a word. 

You hadn’t had a great vantage point for which to see the agents, only caught small glimpses of them from where you hid in the back of the house. But they’d introduced themselves as -

- Agents Phil Brooks and Luke Alvez. 

Luke was hurrying back from his car with a manilla folder and Spencer stayed stock still while he awaited him. Luke opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper which he proffered to Spencer as soon as he was close enough. 

“What is this?” Spencer frowned at the paper.

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her?” Luke jabbed a finger at the photograph in the corner of the page. “She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.” 

To Spencer’s credit, no matter how many years it had been since he’d needed to to use his poker face, he was still an expert at it. His expression didn’t even so much as flinch as he looked at the photograph of you on Luke’s printout. 

He was right, you had changed your hair. But it was without a doubt you looking back at him from that mugshot. He glanced away, back at Luke and shook his head.

“No.” He lied. “I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching for any little twitch, any tiny hint that Spencer was keeping something from him. But the truth was, even though they had dated and Luke thought he knew Spencer better than anyone, he never could read Spencer. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” Luke observed again. 

Even at the mention of prison, Spencer’s features didn’t change. 

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman.” He waved the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Your own brows pinched together. You peered out the window to see the paper in Spencer’s hand but it was too dark to see exactly what was on it. But you were certain he would know it was you in the photograph. So why was he lying? 

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.” Luke huffed, snatching the paper back from Spencer.

“I think you should go Luke, it's late and you shouldn’t have come here.” Spencer returned his arm to its position wrapped around him. 

“I’m staying down the road for the night. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for coffee or something?” Luke tucked the file under his arm.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t want this Luke. I moved out here for a reason, to get away from my life in DC. To get away from…from…”

“From me?” Luke croaked. 

“From everyone.” Spencer corrected him. “You will always have a place in my heart, Luke. I did love you but I’m not the same man I was when we started dating and I’m never going to be him again. You have to let me go, Luke, please? Please just let me go.” 

Luke wanted to argue, he wanted to argue with every fibre of his being. He didn’t drive all the way out here to have it end like this. 

But Spencer’s sad eyes and downturned lips forced him to bite his tongue. Spencer had been through an immeasurable amount of trauma and he was just trying to make it through to the otherside. Luke couldn't help him, he tried, but he’d failed. Perhaps the best thing for Spencer’s wellbeing was for Luke to walk away, to let him go once for and for all. 

Luke huffed a breath out through his nose and took a few steps backwards. He navigated the steps whilst never taking his eyes off of Spencer. 

“I wish it could have been different.” Luke’s first tear fell and he didn’t try to hide it. “You were the love of my life.” 

“I know.” Spencer scrunched his face up as he felt his own tears ready to escape. 

“But I wasn’t yours.” Luke spoke for him with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, Spencer, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just promise me you’ll check in? I’m not asking for daily phone calls or anything like that but please stop ignoring me when I reach out. I’d really like to still be a part of your life even if only in a small capacity.” 

“That, uh, sounds reasonable.” Spencer nodded. 

“And call Penelope more. She worries about you more than anyone.” Luke shrugged, still walking backwards toward the SUV. 

“I will.” He nodded, swallowed thickly. But he was sure if you were who he now knew you to be, he’d never be able to talk to any of his old team ever again.

He felt overcome with discomfort. The goodbye he’d avoided two years ago now here at his feet. Spencer didn’t like goodbyes, it was why he’d left without them the first time. 

Goodbyes were endings. Full stops. The closing of a book. Spencer had wanted to keep the story open, unfinished, just in case he ever had the impetus to write that final chapter. But it had been penned for him. Luke had snatched the metaphorical pen from his hand by coming here and effectively completed their story. 

“Uh, goodbye then I guess.” Luke shrugged as he reached the car. 

“G-goodbye, Luke.” Spencer whispered. 

The book slammed shut. Or perhaps it was the car door. Either way, Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez’s story had come to its bitter end. 

He stood on the porch and watched as Luke started the engine before putting the vehicle in reverse. He continued to observe as the headlights cast an eerie glow on his land as the SUV turned around. He still just stood there as Luke’s car took to the dirt track back to the main road and soon vanished from sight. 

He huffed out a breath, rubbed his eyes to disperse the tears before turning to the door and practically throwing it open. He marched inside and found you in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed up against the wall. You’d been listening, of course you had. 

Spencer stayed on his side of the kitchen counter, worried what he might do if he came too close to you. He needed the barrier between you. He slammed his good hand on the counter top but you didn’t even flinch. His eyes were manic as they looked at you, large and wild. His chest was heaving erratically.

He opened his mouth several times to speak but the words kept getting stuck in his dry throat. Minutes of painful silence stretched between you while you kept your eyes on each other. 

Eventually Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set in a tight line when he finally spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat the words like venom on his tongue. 

You straightened yourself, squared your shoulders as if it might somehow intimidate him. When you spoke it was with equal malevolence. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”  

More silence followed, reaching out into the sparse caverns that gorged their way between you. The wicked talons of the unspoken words weaved around you, wrapping you both in their icy clutches. 

You were both acutely aware that whatever conversation was about to transpire between you would inevitably make or break this fledgling relationship. You were no longer who you had been just hours before. A lonely cowboy and a weary traveller no more. All that remained was an FBI Agent and a Fugitive. 

It seemed inescapable that this could only end in one of two ways -

Either he called the cops on you and you were thrown back in prison, having the key thrown away and left to rot for the rest of your life behind bars. Or one of you would wind up dead. 

And you were not going back to prison. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @mavellover1819 @babyspiderling

[chevelleneech]

Are You Sure? - Ep8

Here are my thoughts now that I finally watched the episode (I was at work all day, anon, lol).

I honestly don’t have too too many, because my main takeaway was that they seemed to have truly needed these trips together. They knew by Jeju they’d be enlisting together, so I feel like any thoughts I had about the trips being a sort of last hurrah before potentially being separated go out the window.

They knew they’d be together, so barring them being romantically involved in some way… I kind of don’t get the point of the series.

Had this been a special involving other members, then it being work related would make sense. Had this been more like the Jeju episodes where they weren’t as laid back, I’d get it, but it wasn’t. Five out of eight episodes focused on them not doing much else other than simply spending time together. Sight seeing and going out to eat, with a sprinkle of activities. We saw them shopping for food and driving more than anything else, but for some reason they both still say the whole experience and filming of the series was the best thing they’ve gotten to do.

That to me, and I say this with full honesty, does not make sense to me, if they’re strictly platonic. I don’t know, episode eight sees them putting a certain level of importance on these trips that many antis wanted to rip away, and surely they knew that. They know what people think about them in their own fandom, both for the better and the worse, and they didn’t care. Which, good for them.

Moving away from my confusion in an attempt to find another explanation, I also think their joint melancholy about having to leave triggered the dropping of their guards a little bit. Add that to them drinking some, and their whole reaction moment felt almost intrusive to see, lol. They kept gravitating toward each other the entire time, only for the editors to skip to them sitting back up with more space between them. Nevermind the footsie and Jimin walking by the room they were shown going to bed in, when he said he was going to wake JK up.

So unless Jungkook was already up and in the shower or something, which they conveniently didn’t mention despite doing it every other time… they either didn’t sleep in the room with the camera or JK moved rooms. But again, given they gave us updates about every other sleeping arrangement or change, why would their last night be different if nothing happened? (By “nothing” I genuinely mean I think they moved to a different room without a camera, likely to talk or simply be closer. Not necessarily sex, because again, I don’t see them going there with a house full of staff.)

Pure speculation of course, lol, but yeah. Those moments made me feel a little like, okay, they did this with the intent of making memories. They may have wanted to cement who they are to each other in this moment, because no matter how optimistic they were that things wouldn’t change and their friendship would be solid, no one can predict the future.

Couple that with them both starting Ep1 saying they hadn’t seen each other and Jimin not being sure (no pun intended) the trip was a good idea in the first place, to them ending Ep8 saying they didn’t want it to be over and spent the last few days happy… it’s a big deal, I think. Especially with how many times they spent their last day in Sapporo taking about how romantic and pretty everything was.

Per the words from their own mouths, they created a small, romantic, nice, and happy bubble they didn’t want to leave, and I love that for them. They got to be happy and cared for by one another, and want to spend many more years to come doing the same thing. I hope they get that.

Oh and final thought… I want that house! Their final Sapporo house was beautiful, as was the town. It felt like a holiday special!

[cat3ch1sm]

🐇~ HI EVERYONE! welcome back to my account :) im excited for today’s post because this is my first across the spiderverse writing! i hope you guys like it lol i couldn’t stop thinking about it (spiderman is my entire life now)

🐇𓆩♡𓆪☁️ fem!reader, sfw

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮- 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 <𝟑

~ miles g really does not like admitting he likes someone/ or even the idea of liking anyone at all. he obviously has things that are higher priority and he thinks it’s really a waste of time for the most part.

~ but then you come along,and he’s immediately enamored. like, imagine you’re just casually walking by miles while he’s sitting on his phone or whatever, and you accidentally bump into his leg. he looks up immediately to tell you to watch it, but instead is met with the most beautiful face he has literally ever seen. he legit double takes and completely forgets to even talk. you look down abruptly and are like “oh, i’m so sorry, i wasn’t paying attention!” you wait for him to say “it’s okay” or something like that, but when you look at him his expression is just blank. you kinda wave awkwardly and leave after that, and he watches you leave until you’re out of sight.

~ after you’re gone, he just sits there for a second before frowning and cursing at himself for being so caught up.

~…. “shit.”

~ miles g isn’t really the type to watch from afar, at least not for long. but for a short time, he does just watch you, admiring the way you do every little thing- smiling at your phone, the way you walk, how nice your voice sounds- things like that. it’s not long before he decides to make his move.

~the next time he sees you, he makes his move, cornering you when you’re alone and putting one arm beside your head so you can’t leave. needless to say, you’re definitely caught off guard when you turn around and are met with miles’ face- expression nonchalant and that unreadable glint in his eyes as usual.

~ yeah, don’t be fooled. miles is nervous as all hell and praying to every god imaginable that you don’t notice him shaking. but he isn’t the type to let fear or apprehension get in the way of something he wants.

~ “hey, you’re that guy i ran into the other day… um… hi!”

~ your smile almost makes him keel over. Jesus Christ

~ “hey, ma- glad you remember me. was wondering if you was tryna let me take you out sometime? i thought you were pretty.”

~ (yes, the whole atsv fandom has collectively agreed that prowler miles would call you “ma.” argue with the wall)

~ miles is crazy nervous for your response as he watches your expression furrow thoughtfully- but when you smile that smile again and say yes, he feels like a million weights have been lifted off his shoulder. sure, he’s the prowler, but he’s still a 15-year-old boy who probably hasn’t had a lot of experience in the dating arena.

~anyway, that was a fun little scenario- now let’s talk about miles actually going out with you, like how he is during the time where you’re going out but not quite exclusive.

~ the second he gets your socials, he’s all over them. he’s spending an amount of time he isn’t willing to disclose just stating at your pictures and admiring your beauty. he watches your TikToks religiously, liking them all, but literally immediately scrolls past the ones where you’re with any guy. he’s not jealous because he isn’t insecure, but he just does not care to see you with anyone else.

~ whenever you text him, unless he’s busy with prowler stuff, he’ll respond within like ten minutes at most. miles doesn’t want you to think for a second that he’s ignoring you or forgot about you. he has caught himself smiling slightly at his phone while he’s texting you every now and then, which he is so embarrassed about for no reason😭

~ yes, uncle aaron notices.

~ “aye, g, what’s got you cheesin’ at yo phone like that?”

~ “…nothin’, unc.”

~ “you know i can tell when you lyin’, right?”

~ “aw, c’mon-“

~”don’t even bother.”

- and rio notices, too.

~ “ay, miles, why are you on your phone so much lately? you know i don’t like- miles? what’s so funny on your phone?”

~ “nothing, mama.”

~ “nothing’s funny? then why are you smiling at your phone?”

~ “…uh…”

~ “waaaait…” *pause, hands on hips* “miles, are you talking to a girl?”

~ “mami!”

~ “so it is a girl! is it the same girl whose pictures you’ve been looking at lately?!”

~yes, she noticed that too.

~ “…mami!!”

~ “let me see!”

~ the next two minutes are miles and rio madly wrestling for his phone. (spoiler alert, rio wins.)

[eowynstwin]

Hi everyone. It's been a while—exactly a month since I last posted to this blog. How have you been?

A month isn't really all that long, but it's enough time to be able to look at everything that happened and understand it better. In the end, the whole situation (I've been calling it The Fuckening in my head) really didn't have anything to do with me. I was unlucky enough to run across someone willing to hurt anyone they could for attention, but also lucky enough that everyone who mattered to me in this fandom went to bat for me.

So I’ve decided to come back to this blog. I'll be posting about call of duty again as well as posting my writing. I also plan to blog about other fandoms (I’d already been doing it anyway); I've been getting back into rdr2, for example, and there's some writing I'd like to do for that.

There’s more context which I’ll put below the cut, but that’s the most important part of what I have to say; I often regret how long winded I can be, so the rest is just self indulgence if you can forgive it. I’ve thought a lot about this choice and I’m satisfied with my decision. I hope none of you will mind.

So, lol, things were not great outside of fandom stuff when it all kicked off, though I didn’t mention it publicly because we all know by now that asking for any sympathy when you’re the target of a mob is more likely to just get you raked over the coals harder. I’m still not entirely sure about talking about all of this, but I have a bad tendency to clam up when I really should be asking for support. So:

I mentioned briefly before the accusations started flying that I was dealing with bedbugs—turns out it was actually something else, but leading up to a doctor’s visit I was convinced I had an infestation, and I was stripping my bed every day to look for them. I had alarms set to wake me up twice a night to see if I could catch them, so I was not sleeping all that well. I couldn’t find anything, but I had no other explanation, and it was driving me fucking crazy. Post doctor visit it turns out I had a viral infection. No idea where I caught it, and nothing to do but wait it out. I had a massive, gnarly looking rash all over my body, and to add insult to injury I developed a fever that took me out for a whole weekend. (I’m recovered now but I have a nifty new scar on my hip from getting a biopsy.)

Next to that, I was having some PTSD flareups of my own. This was (mostly) unrelated to The Fuckening. Now, I understand that that might be hard to believe, given “Myka’s” claims, and I can’t make you believe me. Nor will I provide details to convince you, other than to say there were some things going on in my neighborhood that recalled a period of time in my life that was extremely unstable, and I found myself irrationally terrified to go home every day. For those of you who don’t experience the symptoms of PTSD, I think it’s appropriate to note that it isn’t just emotional turmoil; I, personally, experience physical pain in my entire body that lingers for hours, days, or even weeks after being triggered. (Everything regarding this, too, is fine now. I have a great therapist and a supportive family.)

All of this to say, I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally when I decided to leave this blog and fandom. And I regretted the decision almost instantly.

However, I didn’t want to let grief make any decisions for me, and also I was still VERY scared Myka was going to hunt down my personal information and either dox or harass me elsewhere. I think this fear was justified; it has happened to other writers in this fandom before.* So I decided to take some time to cool off and watch the situation develop without me.

I don’t think I need to get into the details—although if you’re interested in them, @fulltacs has been keeping track of the drama. Given the most recent development with the four obviously sock puppet blogs that popped up and immediately began stirring shit up again, I realized Myka probably would have done what she did with or without me. I just so happened to give her the ammunition she needed to do something REALLY big. It was pure bad luck.

(Also—and I’m sorry if this is just stirring the pot, but after everything they did to me I feel I deserve to make the accusation—I’ve suspected for a while that the two loudest blogs leading the witch hunt against me were far more involved in this farce than anyone has assumed. I have no proof and I do not want anyone to do anything about it on my behalf, leave them the fuck alone. But I will not forget the distress they caused me for a long fucking time, and the only way for me to let this go is to say my piece. So there. Done. Let that be the end of it.)

Having this hindsight, I feel comfortable coming back. I’m still very touched by everyone’s support, which in the end was louder than the harassment. I also think it’s important for people who care about fighting racism in any community not to run at the first sign of trouble, which I did, and I feel pretty sorry for.

That’s the gist of things. If you’ve read all of this, thank you for doing so!

*I was going to add a paragraph about halfmoth-halfman’s situation but decided against it. For one thing, she wants to be left alone, and for another, talking about the experiences of fans of color, particularly black fans, deserves its own post separate from my white experience, if I should even post about it at all.

[maddgical-boy]

maladaptive/immersive daydreaming ask game! (*¯︶¯*).｡o○O☁️

send in a number (or multiple) and if you feel like it, an accompanying paracosm/para!

(apologies for how wordy these are. i am not a man known for my brevity)

reblog and have fun with these! (and if you reblog this or send me an ask, i'll send you one too)

how long have you been daydreaming for? (bonus if you can remember: what was your first daydream scenario/paracosm?)

if your paracosm had a popular fandom, what do you think it'd be like?

do you have any paracosms that aren't huge, but that you fall back on when The Time Is Right™️?

WOULD YOU RATHER: have your daydreams projected onto a screen attached to your head at all times OR be entirely unable to daydream ever again for the rest of your life?

what para of yours is most like you? self inserts and paraselves don't count!

how did you come up with your paras' names? did they come to you randomly or did you spend hours researching name websites?

imagine your paras have at least a basic knowledge of driving (or even just like, cars). can they parallel park? (bonus points if you explain it like in this post)

do you do extensive worldbuilding for your paracosms? if you do, what are some of your favorite elements?

if your paras found out you were their creator, how would they react?

if you have a self insert/paraself, how similar are they to you?

is there any time of the day where you can't/don't daydream?

are your daydreams linear and structured, or do you jump all over the place?

what's a song you've been daydreaming to lately, and what's your favorite moment in said daydream?

do your paras age with you, or are their ages static? does it feel weird to be older than a para you were previously the same age as?

if you had the opportunity to leave this world and live in your paracosm forever, would you? why or why not?

(if you have multiple) which paracosm of yours is most grounded in reality? which is most fantastical?

make one of those "[blank] spoilers without context" memes for your paracosms. then explain it (or don't :))

who is your second favorite para, and why aren't they your favorite?

what would your paras' typing styles be like? do they use lots of emojis? sign off each text like a letter? type with lots of weird spaces and ellipses?

do you move a lot when daydreaming, and if so, in what ways?

have you ever wanted to make a piece of media of your paracosm (comic, animation, visual novel, novel, tv show, etc.)? what are elements that would be apart of it?

when you actively want to start daydreaming, what is your mind's process? do you tune back in like it's a tv show? flip through imaginary files? let it come naturally?

do you ever daydream about yourself (not a self insert, just you)?

do you have any two paras that are polar opposites to one another? (they don't even have to exist in the same universe, just in general)

what para would you absolutely hate in real life?

FREEBIE! drop some long-winded lore or some memes or whatever you want ^▽^

when you experience a daydream block or crash, what are things you do to try and fix it? (or ways you cope. lmao i get it)

for fictparacosms, do your daydreams affect how you perceive the media and/or the fandom?

if you ever write down things about your daydreams (truly anything at all — notes, dialogues, descriptions, etc), share a random snippet with no context.

if your paras had madd/daydreamed immersively, what would they daydream about?

for any pairings (romantic, platonic, familial, whatever), what is the dynamic between your paras like?

if you could make a bingo of common elements of your daydreams (paracosm-specific or not), what would be on some of the squares?

if you have tried to make your paras in character makers (picrew, meiker, etc), what is an aspect of your para that these makers never/rarely have?

are your daydreams clear in your mind's eye?

if you have multiple paracosms, what would it be like if they had a crossover?

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

What makes you love payneland as a romantic pairing? Personally when I watched the show I saw them as a platonic pair almost exclusively. Like yes, I believe that sometimes you do look at your best friends with stars in your eyes, bc that's part of the queer experience to me. Anyway I'm getting off track. What drew you to them as a ship? How do you feel about Palasaki? Do you think the show will ever get picked up again? Will it ever be the same?

Love to know your thoughts!

I think Edwin and Charles's relationship is super queer and I love it. Like, they are best mates. They have been married 35 years. They've never kissed. They go to Hell for each other. They have lots of feelings that are a mix between friendship and devotion and romantic love, and the lines between those feelings blur. They are currently in essentially an exclusive relationship. They are not yet together.

Their dynamic is so fucking relatably queer, which I love.

In the end, the reasons that I advocate for them romantically (rather than in an exclusive QPR) are:

Edwin's current canonical feelings for Charles. I have Been In His Shoes and it is kind of a sucky place to be. I want him to experience love and romance, too, and I view Payneland as a Sold-as-a-Set do-not-separate nothing-comes-between-us monogamous unit already.

The fact that Charles so clearly already likes Edwin back. He did the hand over the heart thing! At the end of 8! Yes!!!

George and Jayden have amazing chemistry.

I just want to see them build their entire existences around each other in every sense of the world and be happy. It would bring me so much joy to see them happy and in love, because the trust and devotion they share would lend well to a beautiful and loving relationship.

I actually wrote an in-depth essay on this subject here!

I also think seeing them get together would help heal the sad little queer kid inside me that loved Destiel, lol.

Okay! What drew me to them as a ship?

They are my favourite kind of ship. Two very traumatized individuals who fit around each other's jagged edges and love each other all the more for those edges.

Edwin and Charles have been home for each other. For decades. They share every aspect of their existence and are fully comfortable together, and it's especially beautful considering that they had really lonely, short, horrible lives. They've saved each other.

Edwin wants to be safe? Charles makes him safe. Charles wants to live? He may not realize it, but Edwin is building a life after life with him.

Next, Palasaki! I do like Palasaki. I think they're a cute ship and have a lot of potential, and I would have loved to see them develop.

I'm not sure about the show being picked up again. I really hope it is (and also hope they totally sever it from Sandman). But shows that were canceled are rarely saved, and I'm not trying to get my hopes up. I think it has a chance, but I'm not letting myself hold my breath.

I think that the show would be the same if it did get picked up again. I trust this team of writers and think they have done really well with season 1, and I want to see what else they had in store during seasons 2-6.

However, I do have this fear that we'd do all this work to renew it and Payneland wouldn't be endgame. I think that would be a slap in the face to a lot of the fan base. Luckily, I am 99.9% sure they are endgame and am not that worried about this. I just have Anxiety.

[yellowocaballero]

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled. 

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully. 

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it. 

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick. 

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages. 

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit. 

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining. 

Poor guy. Imagine being from France. 

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place. 

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive. 

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.” A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird.  Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?” 

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!” 

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you  know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it. 

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short. 

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that. 

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully. 

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing. 

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed. 

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust. 

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned. 

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

*

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc - 

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this. 

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

*

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles. 

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’. 

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing. 

*

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried. 

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned. 

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes. 

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself. 

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed. 

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same. 

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside. 

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said. 

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody. 

It was so easy. It scared Marc. 

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

[emmg]

Larian really did it, eh? They took one look at all the rich possibilities for complex, deeply layered antagonists and thought, "Nah, screw that. Let’s just make a devil who could probably cum just by looking at his own reflection." And somehow—somehow—it worked. Like, I know I’m showing up late to the party here, but holy hells, they cooked up Raphael, a mysterious, narcissistic, probably-can-suck-his-own-dick-until-he’s-cross-eyed kind of character, who has about as much emotional depth as a puddle of jizz. And the fandom? The fandom was like, “Oh yes, Daddy, I would like a side of that. And make it extra toxic.”

Let’s be real here, the man struts around like he’s the second coming of every goddamn god in the Realms, practically making love to his own shadow as it follows him around. And we're all like, “Yeah, that’s it. That’s my guy.” He’s the type who wakes up, glances at himself in the mirror, and you know the first words out of his mouth are, “How do you do it, you stunning, devastatingly perfect beast?”

And when he’s done looking at himself, he watches his own cum drip down the mirror like it’s some kind of divine art installation. He’s just standing there, all smug, probably biting his lip, admiring the drip as if it’s the Sistine Chapel and muttering, “Exquisite. Truly a masterpiece, Raphael. You outdo yourself again.”

And yet. And yet. Despite the fact that he lasts about as long in bed as it takes me to throw out any remaining shred of dignity I possess—spoiler alert, it’s not long at all—the fandom is still like, “Oh yes, give me that.” I mean, let’s call it what it is: Raphael is over here jerking off in front of a mirror, flexing his wings, probably biting his lip and winking at his reflection while moaning something like, “I’m the real devil here,” and somehow people are out there thirsting after him like he’s offering a five-course meal instead of trauma with a side of existential dread.

You know this guy practices his sexy monologues in the mirror every morning, right? There’s no way he doesn’t. He’s probably standing there, buck-ass naked, wings unfurled, saying something ridiculous like, “Oh, Tav, you poor fool. You never stood a chance,” while blowing a kiss to his own reflection. And you know the moment Tav walks in, he’s like, “Oh, didn’t see you there,” as if he wasn’t just mid-flex, trying to decide if his pecs or his horns were his best feature today.

Honestly, Raphael probably thinks missionary is an act of charity. He’s not trying to make anyone else feel good—he’s just giving you the honor of basking in his sheer, unfiltered glory. Meanwhile, you’re over here just happy to be involved while he’s thinking about how good his ass must look reflected in the chandelier above. He’s like, “Oh yes, you love this. Everyone loves this. I love this,” as if the entire experience is just him doing you a favor by letting you witness the seventh wonder of the world: him.

AO3 is out here churning out fanfiction like, “Raphael’s sweat dripped down his perfectly sculpted abs, glistening in the flickering candlelight of Avernus as Tav moaned, ‘Oh, Raphael, you’re just so… perfect.’ He smirked, flicking his tongue as if seduction were some high art only he had mastered,” and somehow we’re all reading this like, “Yes. Yes, please.” It’s ridiculous, but are we complaining? Absolutely not. But also what abs? The motherfucker is sipping wine all day and delegating every possible task to everyone but himself. He should have a beer gut.

AO3 has officially become the home for the weirdest, most insane, borderline illegal fantasies you didn’t know you had until Raphael walked in with that velvet voice and that “I’m better than everyone” attitude. And suddenly, you’re reading about how he’s chained Tav to a bed made of solid gold in a mansion on the second layer of Hell, calling her ‘mouse’ like it’s a goddamn pet name while he drafts another contract with one hand and—you know—‘negotiates’ with the other. Tav’s out here thinking, “I could stop this if I wanted,” but really, could she? Could anyone?

Oh, and let’s not forget the taglines on these fics: “Extreme narcissism,” “dubious consent,” “he’s an actual devil, what did you expect?”, “wingplay,” “weird infernal kinks you didn’t know existed,” and my personal favorite, “Raphael’s dick is bigger than his ego (which is saying something).” And somehow, people are eating it up like it’s the best goddamn wine from Avernus, despite the fact that Raphael is probably the kind of guy who’d finish in record time, look over at you, and say something like, “Well, aren’t you lucky to have had me?” before leaving to stare at himself in the mirror again.

At the end of the day, Raphael is the equivalent of someone giving you their business card after mediocre sex and telling you they’re free for a follow-up next Thursday. He’s probably sitting back after three minutes of glorified foreplay, sipping on some infernal wine, dribbling down his chest, cock half-hard and still leaking, saying, “That was a gift, darling. You’re welcome.” Meanwhile, you’re left there thinking, “Is it rude to ask for a refund?” You know he’s terrible for you, but like, what’s the alternative? Not letting him wreck your life? Ridiculous. Absolutely not.

This is the kind of fandom insanity we’ve built, folks. Raphael’s out here jerking off to his own reflection and smirking like he’s some kind of gift to the multiverse, while the rest of us are like, “Yes, Daddy, please tell me more about how you’ve single-handedly ruined my life and maybe take your shirt off while you’re at it.”

And what’s truly wild is that somehow, somehow, we’ve collectively managed to elevate this walking, talking narcissistic wet dream—this smarmy, self-obsessed devil with more self-love than a Greek god on steroids—into the sex icon of the year. Like, how? Raphael’s out here selling delusions of grandeur with a side of, “Oh, by the way, I will absolutely fuck you over, and you’ll thank me for it,” and the fandom’s response? We all just dropped our panties like it’s some kind of compulsory event. Logic? Gone. Self-respect? Out the window. It’s like we’re all standing in line with a collective, “Sir, yes, sir! Please ruin my life.”

[inexplicablymine]

GET RECC’D - TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY

welcome to “get recc’d” my themed fic reccomendation lists if you follow me on Twitter, you might recognize that I do threads and fic recs quite often ~ thought I would bring it over here as well for some more fun.

Themed lists: Get Recc’d

Daily Rec’s/Weekly Rec’s: The Fandom Feasts

NOW THAT THE BOOKKEEPING IS OUT OF THE WAY

Happy Trans Day of Visibility!

Today I thought it would be pertinent to highlight some wonderful Trans!Firstprince fics, now this is a non exhaustive list as there are 154 fics tagged / mention “trans” in their stories (finished and in the English language) you can click through those here.

BUTTT WITHOUT FURTHER ADO SOME DRUMROLLS PLEASE (and in no particular order)

Longer Than Most by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (26K/E)

Seahorse Dad Henry and accidental Baby Daddy Alex, this work is handled with so much care and is the kind of soft emotional happy feelings that you just want to roll around in

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am (28K/T)

Trans!Alex College AU where Henry and Alex end up at UT Austin together and become accidental roommates, when I tell you this fic is one I come back to repeatedly? Yes this is so soft it made me cry in a good way the first three times I read it (back to back of course)

Anything You Want by somuchworse (5.7K/E)

This is where things pick up into steamy territory, transmasc Henry has never had the big O and Alex helps him see the light. The kind of care and conversation and delicacy in which the discussions are had on top of the steamy hot conclusion make this one a repeat offender on the reread list

say you'll see me again (even if it's just in your wildest dreams) by @coffeecatsme (21K/T)

The softest shmoopiest 5+1 of Henry coming to terms with who he is and Alex falling in love with him the entire way through

the reason comes on the common tongue of you loving me by ncfariouvs (3K/E)

Henry brings back so many people to the apartment but according to him he never gets off, Alex is there to help, a trans!Henry roommates, friends to lovers speedrun that is delicious

T4T First Prince by @cactusdragon517 (10K/E+G)

THIS SERIES my lord go run skip jump dance on over to it and then just stay a while because man is this one of those series that makes you smile through the happy tears of how soft and happy and joyful it is. T4T Henry helping Alex post top surgery and falling in love + bonus second fic of them IN LOVE LATER IN LIFE

snapshots of you and me by @thedramasummer (7K/E)

Post Top Surgery Trans!Henry hires a Boudoir Photographer (shocking news it’s ACD) to do some self affirming photos, and this is such an affirming gorgeous glorious story of that process experience and of course the steamy happy ending

seahorse dad Alex by @jackzimmermemes (3.5K/G+E)

Another Seahorse Dad series! This time with Trans!Alex, take a look at these little slice of life stories of firstprince as they navigate their lives and parenthood and feel full to the brim with joy

long live (the walls we crashed through) by breakmytears (2.5K/G)

Alex and Henry’s son comes out to them as trans and let me tell you if you thought the tears were flowing before there is NOTHING on this fic for the soft unwavering support that is threaded throughout

I Wanna Swim Between Your Thighs by Alex20 (2.4K/E)

Teacher!Alex with a tremendous crush on single!dad Henry (also trans!Henry) and this is the delightful fun filled story of their coming together (in more ways than one)

If I missed an author tag here for their tumblr I tried to find them all but please let me know and I’ll add them in directly!

And with that I bid you good reading! Until next time I hope these recommendations recc’d you in the worst possible way, please support these authors when reading their works by giving kudos and comments! It helps vocalize support and show that readers love what they are doing!

[burntblueberrywaffles]

The Snowbaird fanfic rec list - part 2!

I'll be following the same formatting system as my first rec list, so do check that one out first! (though like before, I wanna stress that these aditional notes are based on my own judgment/what I remember about each fic, so do read tags and curate your own experience!)

Also some of the summary for some of the "heavy smut" fics in this list are somewhat nsfw, so I made sure to color the heavy smut mention in purple so they’re easy to notice, I do recommend skipping over those fics entirely while browsing this list if you’re not comfortable with nsfw content 🫶

(all the "last updated" dates are as of today, february 8, 2025)

Canon divergence

goodtime girl by framboise

Coriolanus walks out of the cabin right after Lucy Gray does. She never gets away. Well, she does, at first...but it turns out, surviving in District 12 is trickier than she imagined. 'If I come back here a second time,' he says desperately, 'will you be down the mines? Worse?' 'What's worse than being down the mines?' she retorts. She hates that he's seeing her like this, poor and pitiful. 'I don't know, entertaining some rich man.' 'There are no rich men here, sweetheart, this is District 12,' she says and she sees his jaw clench.

I thought I had read through all of fambroise's works when I got into the fandom, but I had missed this one! (another banger)

(complete)

avalanche. by narqueen

“You’re mine,” Coriolanus snaps. To punctuate this, he rolls his hips into hers, and fire licks down his spine. Lucy Gray moans. The scarf is bunching up beneath them. Coriolanus fucks into her again, harder, and Lucy Gray shudders. “I’m yours,” she agrees, easily, and it takes Coriolanus a second to recognize her declaration in the meadow. You’re mine and I’m yours. It’s written in the stars. - (Lucy Gray comes back with katniss.)

CABIN SEX IS SUCH A CRIMINALLY UNDERSERVED GENRE and this one is GOOD ohhhhh the Coriolanus characterization is on point; he would think that; the dumb bitch.

Technically marked as incomplete, but I’d say I find this one chapter to be a fully satisfying read you can treat as a one shot! Though of course I’ll still long for more 🥺

(heavy smut - last updated nov 11, 2023)

blinded by the lights of october skies by little baird (steddiemixtape)

“You’ve never carved pumpkins before? Ever?” “Why would you carve a pumpkin?” or, Coriolanus is introduced to fall traditions with Lucy Gray and the Covey.

this was so precious MY BABES DESERVED BETTER 😭

(complete)

A Victor's reward by Anonymous

In which Lucy Gray realizes the games never stop in the arena and how quickly a songbird can become trapped in a cage.

Some GOOD good smut; with an undercurrent of darkness throughout, that cumulates into a gut punch ending… oh man this hits 💯;;

(heavy smut - complete)

Will You Write to Me, Lucy Gray? by backtothestart02

Canon Divergent - Before deception, secrecy and murder, Coriolanus Snow was assigned to District 2 and Lucy Gray was going to write to him.

(heavy smut, incomplete, last updated Nov 24, 2024)

All is well by MitsukiSirya

It's a fix-it... Not the kind you expect.

(may involve ARENA SE-) ...this one is unhinged in all the best ways, I thought it was a delight to read!

(heavy smut - complete)

Post canon

Twelve Years by wertman25

Twelve years have passed since Lucy Gray Barid left Coriolanus Snow in the woods. Since then, she had remained a ghost while Coriolanus rose to power in the Capitol… but what happens when Lucy Gray returns and the two lovers meet again?

Sadly abandoned (RIP 😭😭) but god it is SO GOOD and absolutely worth reading imo;;; this resentful older Snow trying so hard to keep his heartless demeanor, but starting to crumble when faced with LG… that’s the good shit 🤌

(last updated: 20 Dec 2023)

Never Leave Me, My Sweet Songbird by backtothestart02

Post-TBOSAS - Lucy Gray's arrival in the Capitol was only the beginning of their twisted love story.

(complete)

The Rhythm of Order and Chaos by Carnival_Sleeper

Set almost three years after the events of TBOSAS, Coriolanus Snow has risen in influence, with soaring grades and a position that puts him in line to be the next Head Gamemaker. All of his plans have set him on a sure path to success, but a new project of Dr. Gaul's has him unexpectedly facing his past, his path once again crossing with Lucy Gray. Now Coriolanus is caught between the fear that Lucy Gray is a threat, and the feelings she starts to stir in him again.

now I confess, I am not done reading this one; (currently sitting at over 200k, it's definitely a chunky one!) but I've been enjoying it a ton, and it is so good i simply HAD to include it! the characterization and writing are so perfect

(incomplete, last updated Jan 31, 2025)

Alternate universe (in Panem)

the air you breathe by TheNewRomantic

Coriolanus Snow has been President of Panem for 3 years when he is first forced to go to District 12. It's a disgusting sort of place, really, and he'd avoid it for the rest of his presidency if he could. But that's where he meets the strangely enchanting Lucy Gray Baird. Faced with a rush of feelings that threaten to overflow into obsession, Coriolanus does everything in his power to keep Lucy Gray close to him, even if it makes her hate him forever.

GOD I LOVE THIS FIC the vibes are simply immaculate

(incomplete, last updated november 26, 2024)

Rose and Whiskey by ravenpuff1956

He smells good, the Alpha. Like roses and expensive whiskey. The ones the head peacemaker would indulge in occasionally when he happened to come to one of their shows. Lucy Gray Baird had never met one before. If Omega’s in District 12 were like diamonds, then Alpha’s were like pearls. 

it seems I didn't include this one in my first list, which is wild because THE GRIP this fanfic has on me;;;; made me FOREVER OBSESSED with omegaverse snowbaird thank you. it's incomplete and every time i think about it I mourn so badly 💔💔

(last updated 26 Nov 2023)

The Summer of Chaos by Anonymous

After what she had endured in the Arena, Lucy Gray didn't need to see new deaths, and she didn't need to see him killing. Lucy Gray should spend the rest of her life in peace, and when Clemmie could finally transfer her with the other Covey to the Capitol, she would, but for now, taking care of Lucy Gray would be Coriolanus's job. Sequel to "Chaos and Control"

Chaos and control was very good, but THIS ONE FUCKED EVEN MORE i love ittt the last chapter of this story is utter perfection to me, so very dear to my heart 😭

(complete)

The strings that bind 

Lucy Gray Baird and Coriolanus Snow are soulmates who seem to only be destined to meet in their dreams. Or so they thought

wow a fic that has a specific prompt I loveddddd that's so weird it's almost as if it was written for me

(lol joking aside, I enjoyed it a lot! the clinginess they have for each other is perfect)

(complete)

Love Bites by thpsyche

Nothing could have made him happier than knowing that Lucy Gray was safe and sound after the games, and yet, when he saw her happy and dazzling, he couldn't help the sick jealousy. "That’s her when she’s happy, he thought. Beautiful in a way anyone could see, not just him. That could be a problem." It didn't help that she would soon enter into heat, crashing and intoxicating. Luring Coriolanus to embrace the biology he had forgotten. For the 2024 Snowbaird AU Fest | Day 2 - Omegaverse

NEVER enough omegvaverse snowbaird

(heavy smut, complete)

Alternate universe (out of Panem)

she looks like the real thing, she tastes like the real thing by lysanderwarrior

Coriolanus is doing as fine as a struggling university student can be doing. He sleeps just a couple hours per night, works two jobs, tries to deal with the life he's been given and spends most of his time texting a girl he met online. Though, one day his routine is interrupted when the very same internet friend suggests meeting each other in real life. She lives in the same town as him, but there's no way he already knows her or happens to hate her... is there?

ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVESSSSS the way I acted in that comment section is like;;; deeply embarrassing for me but IN MY DEFENCE AGAGHSSKSKSKSL this story is absolutely incredible 💯💯

some people may say they don't like modern AUs and to that i say JUST READ IT TRUST ME

(complete)

A Kiss and a Blow by calicolette

Coriolanus shows his wife Lucy Gray that riding him doesn't mean she's in charge.

(heavy smut - complete)

Don't Keep the Devil Waiting by FrostedGemstones22

Coriolanus Snow doesn't care about fleeting high-school relationships, classroom drama, or making friends. All he cares about is restoring his family name to glory by winning the Plinth Prize. Even the addition of some pathetic voucher students to the Academy can't distract him. It would be laughable that they'd ever get a shot at winning it, right? Until...a twist is introduced. To win the Plinth Prize, you must work in a team. And worse, it has to be with a scholarship student. Coriolanus hates Lucy Gray. And she hates him. But together, they might have a shot at it. They both would do anything to win. ---- Modern Snowbarid!AU

The author of This is not a love song coming in with ANOTHER absolute banger; this modern AU is definitely more lighthearted in tone and I’ve been enjoying it so much!

(incomplete, last updated Jan 28, 2025)

Blind Faith by thpsyche

Father Snow is a devoted man of God, such so that he would do anything for his chapel. But his faith seemes unbalanced when a pair of brown eyes and a dazzling smile threaten to dismantle his love in God

DID SOMEONE SAY SNOWBAIRD PRIEST AU?? 🤌🤌

(incomplete, last updated Oct 9, 2024)

capitol snowbaird

you're my wish list by little baird (steddiemixtape)

“You know what you're doing, Lucy Gray.” “Me?” She asked, batting those lashes up at him. “I'm just being a kind guest, Coriolanus.” or, Lucy Gray knows exactly what she's doing during a work Christmas party and Coriolanus can't resist.

Good fooddddddd 🙂‍↕️

(heavy smut - complete)

these fatal fantasies by little baird (steddiemixtape)

“Don’t lie to me.” “I will. I promise.” or, Coriolanus ruins their anniversary and Lucy Gray has him make it up to her.

I certainly love breeding kin- (gunshot)

(heavy smut - complete)

And the earth is a bird on a spit in the sky by thpsyche

She'd spent twelve years with the leash around her neck, chained in marriage to the snake that caged her in the woods. She closed her eyes as she sang the last verse, feeling her heart burst inside her chest knowing exactly who she was singing to. In nights like these she could make peace with staying in the Capitol. In moments like these she could be fine with having a tyrant in her bed.

so fucked up but so good... (I don't think reading the first part is necessary to read this one, but if you decide to, DO READ THE TAGS first!)

(complete)

punchline by charmtion

There is a pattern to carving a new life in Panem. This is hers. In his bed, on her back, telling him what he wants to hear.

The cadence and mood of this fic… argh

(complete)

district 12 snowbaird

Snow and embers by @hopefulatrocity

Part 1 is good as well but this is my favorite of the twos! This is THEEEE Snowbaird breeding kink fic. Lives were changed. Me and the Snowbaird besties are referencing it on the regular. Truly hall of fame Snowbaird smuts. This fic is so important to me lmao it changed my brain chemistry.

(heavy smut - complete)

Head down, eyes on your face by Inky89

Her dress — the one that survived the Hunger Games — didn’t survive him. Now it was tattered and broken… Coriolanus slowly turned to see the rainbow dress slightly ripped, crumpled, and wrinkled lying in a mess on the uneven floor. A pang of guilt echoed in his heart again. How could he? Spoil something so beautiful. Her mother’s dress. How would he feel if someone defiled a memento of his mother like that? Lucy Gray’s face appeared in his inner vision, cheeks blushed, eyes dark with desire, bitten lips whispering to his ear as she topped him, “Don’t care, Barb will sew it back for me tomorrow. Now harder please, dar-r-r-ling. Yes. YES.” 🖤🖤🖤 ...or Coriolanus and Lucy Gray have a tender morning sex after yesterday's fight.

this was so!!

(heavy smut - complete)

the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when im alone with you) by dingdongdelusion

“You don’t need to repay me,” Coriolanus said. Their eyes locked. He had never looked so honest in his life. “I want to.” She whispered. Something ignited in him. Something maddening. Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice, or the warmth in her eyes, or the closeness of their lips, but the next thing he knew, he was leaning and kissing her. She parted her lips and welcomed him in. He savored the taste of her, sweet and sincere as the songs she sang. Every second spent in her presence left him craving more and more. She felt a hand slide up her blouse and grab her breasts, touching her like a man starved. Her nipples were firm and sensitive. She gasped into his open mouth as he gently pinched them between his fingers. He had touched her like this a few times before, but they had never been alone long enough to get any farther. Today was the first time they had come to the lake alone. Or virginity loss one shot

(heavy smut - complete)

And that is it for now! I'm still deeply entrenched in the snowbaird hole for the foreseeable future, so might make a third list eventually, but we will see.

Also!! fun little side note - if anyone was avoiding either of those fics bc they hadn't been updated in ages when I made my first list... I am DELIGHTED to say that both doomsday is close at hand by fkevin073 and This is Not a Love Song by FrostedGemstones22 have come back from war!! two absolute classics, all of snowbaird nation cheered

[thetomorrowshow]

reveal ourselves to ourselves

FEBUWHUMP DAY 1: vocal cords

fandom: Hermitcraft SMP

i do not plan to do every day of febuwhump btw. just some here and there

this is part of sleep cycle, my series where a handful of hermits got kidnapped and tortured etc etc

~

“Mumbo?”

Mumbo jolts, almost knocking over the chest he’d just emptied. He forces a breath in, lets it out, then turns, as casually as he can manage.

Doc is standing behind him, a good distance away. His robotic arm is still half-built, his eye covered with a patch.

Mumbo opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

It isn’t logical. It really, really isn’t. There isn’t anything wrong with his voice or his throat; his vocal cords are perfectly intact. And he’s never had any sorts of problems with speaking—he said his first word at only a couple months old, simple.

It isn’t right that he can’t speak.

If he was a machine, he’d decommission himself. No use for a machine that doesn’t fulfill its basic functions.

At least Doc can rebuild himself.

“Can I talk with you?” asks Doc.

Mumbo doesn’t say yes.

He doesn’t say no, either, which might be why Doc doesn’t leave.

Doc sits on a chair—not one of Mumbo’s, one of Grian’s that he left here two days ago. Mumbo doesn’t sit, because there isn’t another chair, and he sure is not going to sit on the floor of his vault.

He doesn’t want to talk—he can’t talk—but he isn’t just going to walk away, right?

Is that an option?

It would be rude, wouldn’t it?

“I think we all need to communicate better,” Doc starts, and Mumbo feels like ice slides down his throat and into the pit of his stomach.

He’s been avoiding everyone except Grian all week, but it isn’t like he asked him not to tell anyone that he’s said maybe a dozen words total since returning. It’s entirely possible that everybody is aware and has been having meetings about it and they chose Doc to confront him about it.

There’s a repeater on the ground, and Mumbo slowly crouches down and scoops it up. He clicks it back and forth only once before he stops, the sound too loud.

Doc looks down at his knees, then back up, something steely in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You might not know it, but . . . our captors showed you to me. They . . . they gave me a choice.”

A choice.

Mumbo knew that Milo wasn’t lying. He had told himself over and over again that it was a lie, that it had just been an attempt to induce stockholm syndrome.

He’d always known, though, that it was the truth.

That one of his friends had been given the choice to either free him or someone else from the muzzle, and they had chosen someone else.

It would be rude to just walk away.

But Mumbo doesn’t really care.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at Doc.

He just turns around and walks away, right through the partially completed wall of his vault and out onto the grassy hill that he’s building on, then on past that. He walks away, into the trees, and just hopes that Doc doesn’t follow him.

He likes nature. Is it weird that he likes nature, when he’s a redstoner? He never gets to spend time in nature unless he goes out of his way to experience it, and he rarely has that sort of time.

It feels more important to make that sort of time than it did before.

He isn’t dressed for a walk—his suit jacket is already getting heavy, his tie constricting. He pulls his tie loose, but keeps walking, even as he starts to sweat.

He spent so long cold.

A bee buzzes by. Its buzz is loud, but it’s the right kind of loud, a sound that belongs in this environment. A good loud.

If loud can be good.

Grian shouts sometimes, and it scares him. He tries not to let it show, especially since Grian seems inclined to spend a good majority of each day with him, and loud noises are part and parcel of hanging out with Grian. Unfortunately, Mumbo’s fairly certain that Grian’s noticed, because he tries to keep it down as often as he remembers.

Grian shouldn’t have to cater to him like that. That’s part of Grian’s personality—a tad bit loud, a dash of explosions. It’s who he is and how he acts, and Mumbo really ought to be used to it, even after two months away.

Is it wrong to miss who he used to be?

Is it wrong to wish he was still the functional Mumbo, the one who could talk, who wasn’t scared of his friends, who could take a walk through the woods without running out of breath?

It’s probably about time for his strictly scheduled afternoon snack. Gem had been clear about his malnourishment and had set up a precise diet to follow to get back to normal, and Mumbo’s supposed to be having peanut butter crackers today. He prefers the crackers over carrots and an apple, his snack yesterday. Carrots make his jaw click painfully.

It’s been a nice (though brief) walk, but he should head back to his base and hope that Doc has left him in peace. Then he can have his snack and get back to organizing his storage.

But when Mumbo returns, Doc is still there, sitting right where Mumbo left him in Grian’s chair.

Mumbo doesn’t look directly at him, even though Doc straightens at his entrance. Instead, he makes a beeline for the corner of his base that serves as a kitchen and digs in his food chest until he finds crackers and his frankly massive container of peanut butter. He spreads a bit onto a cracker, pops it into his mouth, then finally looks at Doc.

He doesn’t feel angry, not . . . not really. He doesn’t think so, at least. He’s too tired from his walk to feel much of anything.

There’s something in his chest, though, some kind of tightness that might be grief? Sadness? Something that hurts.

Doc definitely looks sad, his eye crinkled and lips turned down. He does, however, stand when Mumbo holds out a cracker to him, thumping over to share in the snack.

“I’m sorry,” Doc says again, and Mumbo just eats another peanut buttered cracker. “I hurt you with what I did. It was a choice, and . . . and I made it. And my choice hurt you.”

It did.

It did hurt, and Doc will never understand just how alone Mumbo felt when Milo whispered in his ear that his friend refused to help him. He’ll never know that he cried, that he finally became that certain he would never be rescued. Doc will never know how much his jaw hurt, how much it still hurts, how some mornings he wakes up with it so stiff that he wouldn’t be able to talk even if he wanted to.

It’s—it’s betrayal, Mumbo realizes. That feeling in his chest is betrayal, because Doc hurt him.

He doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t know why Doc made the choice he did, but it hurts. It doesn’t matter if he had a good reason; he betrayed Mumbo’s trust and that’s that.

However, Mumbo has made a point to not hold grudges, and he has to assume that Doc, analytical as he is, had some sort of reasoning behind his choice. Mumbo can’t blame Doc for being given such a horrible decision.

“How is your redstone?” Doc asks after a long moment, and Mumbo recognizes it for the olive branch it is.

He beckons Doc down toward the basement of his vault, to his half-finished redstone for the door and his storage and everything, and they silently fall into work together as they examine and improve what he’s been working on.

At one point, Doc hands Mumbo a torch and he mutters a thanks, his voice creaky from disuse.

They’ll figure it out. The redstone, and the friction between them.

Hermits always do.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

I want to speak to your manager (modern!Criston Cole x reader)

synopsis: On a late-night adventure to McDonalds the fries you are given are cold. Deciding to stand up for yourself you ask the kid at the counter for the manager. Who would have thought that what you get is so much more than just some fresh, hot fries?

warnings: age gap (reader is in her early twenties), smut, making out, oral sex (m receiving), p in v, afab reader

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you @bucknastysbabe for this cursed idea💜 it was so fun to write this and expand the alternative universe of fast food restaurants that you have lowkey created now lmao and also the other fics that are soon to come

Dividers by me

Writing your bachelor thesis had to be the worst experience of your life. And the worst part about it was, that it was a hell of your own making. At first you had struggled to find a topic to write about and when you finally did, your procrastination set in hard. Cursing yourself for all of it, you close and push away the laptop in front of you, rubbing a hand over your face. Attempting to calm down by taking a few deep breaths, you get interrupted by a loud and quite frankly painful rumbling deep in your stomach, reminding you of the fact that you had skipped every meal since breakfast and one look at the clock revealed that it was currently the middle of the night. Great, you think to yourself. Grabbing your keys, phone and wallet you make your way down to the car to drive to the next spot that was still open. McDonalds. Waiting in line you ignore the cashier bickering with a customer about their order by finding something to eat. Despite the grumbling in your stomach nothing really calls to you, except for the fries. So, when you get called up to order a portion of fries and a milkshake will have to do. Sitting down in one of the seats in the back, you take a few fries into your hand and dunk them into the vanilla milkshake. They feel quite cold already, but when you bite down on them it's not only the cold of the milkshake that fills your mouth. Perfect. Just perfect.

For a moment you ponder just accepting your fate, but then decide to stick up for yourself. You deserved some fresh fries. You deserved some warm food when you ordered it. Though you still felt sorry for the kid you are about to ask for the manager. If there was something you hated, it was the possibility of being seen as a Karen. Ugh, alright. For the sake of some hot fries, you motivate yourself to get up and walk up to the counter again.

“What can I do for you?” The kid with long silver hair asks in a flat, but still polite tone.

“Hey, um I´m really sorry to do this, but um the fries your coworker just gave me are ice cold. Would it be possible to let me speak to your manager, please?” You grace the blond with an apologetic smile, though both of you are aware it doesn't do anything to change your request.

"Yeah, sure. If you wait here for a moment, I'll go get him." The blond turns to get his manager.

"Thank you. I'm sorry." You smile apologetically again.

You aren't sure how long it takes or how long it is supposed to take until the person you asked for gets to the front, but the waiting makes your foot tap and your palms sweat. When the tall, tan man steps around the corner however, your entire bodies movement stops at once.

Your lips part slightly, and you are sure to hear a quiet, high pitched “Hoo” fall from them. Embarrassed by the sound that just left you, you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

“I´m the manger, Criston Cole. What can I help you with?” There is faint, but very captivating dornish accent swinging in his formal voice. "I-I..." You stumble over your words at the gorgeous dark eyes and the handsome stubble looking back at you. "Well, I really hate to be this person, but I just came in and the fries one of your employees gave me was almost freezing cold." "I am so sorry, I pride myself on having employees that are competent enough to not have this happen. Let me get you a new portion right away.” Cole promised, his dark eyebrows pulled together tightly in thought of who he might need to talk to.

“Thank you so much. And I am sorry I interrupted your day with this matter. You sure have more important things to do.” Your cheeks begin burning as you apologise to him as well.

"Oh, no. There is no reason to apologise. If anything, it helped to make any future experiences here more pleasant." He narrows his eyes at the short haired blond that initially served you. Letting him know he was in trouble though it was met with a cocky smile and an air of indifference. "Can I do anything else for you?"

You don´t know what happens when he asks this, but suddenly there courses only adrenaline and desire through your system. The almost pitch-black eyes that look back at you have you in a trance. The equally dark curls enticing you to run your fingers through them.

Without thinking about it too much, you all but blurt out. “When do you get off?”

Criston´s eyes widen for a second. When the surprise has ebbed away however, he eyes you up and down.

“In about an hour. I´m parked directly by the back entrance, meet me by my car then.” His dark eyes roam over your body once before he gives you a wink and disappears back into his office.

Woken up from the trance his eyes had you in, you stand there for a moment longer, perplexed as to what just happened. When the realization does sink in, a happy little grin spreads on your lips. Bitten back by the lower lip between the teeth to not make you look like an entire idiot. Sitting back down in the corner, you eat your fresh fries and kill the rest of the time by scrolling through your phone.

You don´t have to wait outside for long. Only a few minutes after you reach the car, the bac entrance door opens to reveal the man you were waiting for. Criston opens the passenger side door of the vehicle for you and then takes his place in the driver’s seat.

Immediately his large, warm hand cups your cheek to pull you closer, his lips locking with yours. The hungrily crushing together body parts make your breath hitch and closed eyes flutter. The silk of his shirt feels smooth underneath your own finger pads, which crumple it the moment Criston begins mouthing at your neck. Sucking at the skin to leave his marks and arouse you further. The hand that is not on your cheek to move your head around as he pleases, comes up from your hips to toy with your breasts until it heaved from panting breathes. He connected his lips to yours again, the hand from your cheek now laying in the back of your neck, squeezing it ever so lightly sending a shock of electricity down your spine. You moan into the kiss. A breathy sound of absolute perfection that makes his already hard cock twitch in the uncomfortably tight pants. His tongue then licks over your lower lip to silently ask for entrance, being granted it straightforwardly. Your lips open for your tongue to come out and play with his. The two muscles dancing together and exploring the others mouth, while one of your hands lays on the bulge between dark haired man's legs. Almost instantly he begins to rub against the palm in search of friction. This time it is him who groans into the caress of tongues.

The sound urges you on, to fiddle with the belt and button of the pants, until finally you can pull them down just enough to free his cock from its tight confines. Pulling away from his hungry lips, you sit a bit further back on the car seat, to bend forward more comfortably. The hand that Criston previously had rutted himself against now took the base of it as your lips placed little pecks and kitten licks to the already with pre cum beaded tip. As you do so the hair that frames your face falls forward like a curtain. Just as it falls it is pulled back by his hand threading into it, giving it a light tug in the process, just as you wrap your lips around his length, taking it in until your lips almost reached the fingers at his base. The action coaxes a moan from you, which in turn heightened his pleasure as it vibrates through him. Concentrating on breathing through your nose and accommodate his size in your throat, you begin to bob your head up and down in a steady rhythm.

“Shit, your mouth feels so great around my cock.” Criston rasps above you.

Letting him guide your head, you relax your jaw a little further and lick up the vein on the underside of his dick. Wet slurping and light gagging sounds fill the vehicle as you hollow out your cheeks to suck on the sensitive tip.

“You´re so eager… fuck… I don´t think I´m gonna last long if you continue like this.” He growls and whines.

The sounds go straight to your core, to leave you craving for more. You communicate as much by whining around his length. It is the most desperate sound he has ever heard. The dornish man's cock twitches in your hold and to your surprise you get pulled off it only seconds after. Looking up, you see his head had fallen back to rest against the seat. His hair is mussed by his own hand running through it repeatedly in the heat of the moment and somehow the affected state, the way his chest heaves, makes him look even better than before.

“I want to feel you inside of me. Now.” You beg him in the sweetest tones he had ever heard.

“Yeah? Are you that desperate? You need my cock that bad?” The questions escape him with the cockiest and simultaneously sexiest smirk you have ever seen in your life.

“Fuck, yeah. I need your cock so badly.” You plead while mouthing at his neck.

“Well, if you´re asking so nicely, how could I say no to that.”  Criston puts his seat back to make more space for the two of you and then pulls you onto his lap by the hips.

There is no patience left between you two. The air is thick with your mutual need for release and filled with the light scent of sweat and the promise of what´s to come. In the blink of an eye your panties are ripped off and Criston sinks himself into you.

“Oh seven… You´re tight.” He gasps, letting his head fall back against the seat’s headrest once more.

“Shit, you´re stretching me out so well. So big.” You whine back.

You set an almost painfully slow pace when you begin to bounce on his lap, until you get used to his size. The whimpers from your lungs getting muffled by the hollow of his neck.

When the pain in your core subsides, your hips automatically begin to rock against his harder and faster, which he takes as a sign to meet your thrusts. If there was any reason to doubt how good of an idea this was before, it is all gone now. Criston hits a point inside of you that no one has ever reached before, making your eyes roll back and your moans to become hoarse as you bury your face in his neck. The sensations of him bullying your sweet spot become overwhelming fast. Your legs tremble at his sides and the movement of your hips falters fast as he steadily drives you towards the sweet relief of orgasming. The only way you can keep up the rhythm of meeting Criston´s thrusts is by the help of one of his hands supporting your backside and using the chance to massage your ass cheeks.

With some strength you can lift your head again, looking at him through hazy eyes and tightly knit eyebrows. Both of your mouths hang open to make way for heavy breaths and the sounds of the pleasure you each give and receive.

When you look up at him it is like two magnets are pulling you two together by the lips. In that moment the two of you are made purely of electricity. Pushing, pulling and nibbling on the other´s lips, every kiss breathes life into you that is robbed by every new thrust into your burning core.

“Don´t stop. ´m so fucking close. Gods… so good.” You babble helplessly through the fog that clouds your brain.

“If there is a heaven I´m buried in it right now.” His words make your eyelids and inner walls flutter. “Fuck, I can feel you´re close.”

“Yes, yes. So close.” The words that leave your mouth don´t even register in your brain anymore. All you can feel is the fire burning through your body. Screaming for sweet release.

“Come for me then. Soak my cock with your juices.” Criston growls near your ear and as if they aren´t enough he takes your earlobe between his teeth to nibble on the sensitive skin.

One last time your inner walls flutter around his dick, before you do as he commands. Arching your back until your breasts press against his chest and sinking your nails into his shoulders, dragging them down to leave red streaks under the silk shirt, you let the pleasure wash over you. Trembling and shaking uncontrollably.

In the last moments of clenching around his length, you bring Criston to his own peak. Milking him for everything he´s worth, until his seed flows back out of you while you ride out your orgasm.

Underneath you Criston leans his head back to fully expose his neck, eyes squeezed shut tight and whining at the sensitivity. When both your bodies allow you to rest again, you lay against his chest for a moment, before your legs carry you onto the passenger seat. Even though they are still trembling. Looking into the mirror you do your best to wipe the sweat from your forehead and fix your hair. As you do so, you struggle to find the right words for the situation.

“That was…” You try to speak but cut yourself off with a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Criston agrees.

“So, uh…” You still wrestle with your mind for words as it slowly comes back to reality, while pulling down your dress to hide the fact that your panties fell victim to your shared passion.

“I´d like to see you again.” Criston offers after tucking away his now soft length.

“Really?” Surprise flits over your face for barely a second. “Yes, I´d like that too. Very much.”

“Great, why don´t you give me your number and I´ll give you a call some time?” The dark-haired man implored, holding out his phone for you to type in your number.

With idle fingers you take the device to do just that. Before you get out to go back to your own car, you grace his cheek with one last chaste peck.

“Call me.”