#it kind of isn't? like you can have something be it's own thing.

[naamahdarling]

Whoa, okay. Literally what the fuck.

If it isn't for you then that's totally fine, I support that completely, but...fuckin wow.

That is not what meds do to the people they actually help.

Meds aren't a cure-all. It is true that not everyone is helped, and nobody's obligated to try or keep trying meds, but the people who do try them and are helped are not fake versions of themselves. You wouldn't be, either, if you found something that worked. That's how you know it's working. That you become more yourself.

Like, I'm not sure you realize how deeply, nastily judgmental you sounded just then. That's uncalled-for.

Meds can be the thing that restores person's dignity and humanity, allows them to feed themselves, make art, laugh...I couldn't enjoy music without them. I felt nothing.

There is nothing magical or more human or more worthy or more genuine about being in an unmedicated state. That's deeply ableist thinking. I'm not "created" by my meds. I do that myself, agonizingly, with the meds as a tool, and it's very hard. So show some respect.

Someday, if you don't/have not already, you will require significant medical intervention to survive, and I hope you're able to be kind to yourself on that day instead of questioning your own humanity and validity.

Jesus.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything​ in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

[valtsv]

can you pitch tsv to me fandom propaganda style… like sell it to me. hook me in. what is it about

the silt verses is a folk horror/political satire/weird fiction podcast set in an alternate ambiguously modern-day reality that asks the question "what if gods (and their saints, and angels, and miracles) were real? what if they formed the core infrastructure of the society you lived in? what if they were sustained by human belief and sacrifice? what if this was just the accepted Way Things Are?" and then introduces you to a cast of characters for whom this is their normal daily routine, and shakes them up through a series of intersecting arcs and plotlines. it deals with a lot of compelling themes - including identity and personhood, how institutions of power are formed and maintained and the potential for abuses of that power even by the most well-intentioned who wield it, action vs. rhetoric and the power of words; whose story is worth telling and whose is erased or adulterated by those privileged enough to write the version that becomes the widely accepted canon, and how struggles for control of something as conceptual as narrative can become very real and legitimate fights for the right to have one's autonomy and personhood recognised, human connection and why it's both so valuable and so destructive, etc. - but the central question it unceasingly begs is "why do we continue to live like this? why do we accept that this is all there is? what will it take for us to care about what's happening all around us, every day, right before our very eyes? what will you do when you realise you've spent your whole life drowning, and every option for relief comes at a cost? how long can you keep telling yourself that you're not really drowning before the water closes in over your head and swallows you like all those before you?"

tsv takes a magnifying glass to the horrifying exploitation and cruelty that so much of our own society runs on, and literalises it, leading to what is often rather heavy-handed satire bordering on the parodic - but it does so with such grace and unflinching, grounded honesty, without preaching to its audience but without letting them off the hook, either. it recognises that we are all both complicit in and victims of our own collective slow grind towards annihilation, and it asks us "isn't this absurd? isn't this horrifying? is this really all there is? is there nothing we can do in the face of this seemingly insurmountable, inescapable self-defeating routine-turned-ritual? why should we, or shouldn't we, care? why should we, or shouldn't we, try to make a difference?" and it's brave enough to admit that it doesn't have all the answers. but it still tries. because the silt verses is, fundamentally, a story about hope - real hope; the difficult, unglorious, unrelentingly in need of maintenance kind that is, nevertheless, still worth every effort to inspire it. the silt verses is a story about why we get up in the morning and try again, even though it might never be enough.

it's also a very character-driven story, and the character writing is truly second to none. every character is a person, in all their infinite messy, human complexity. every character has the capacity for abject cruelty and incredible kindness; to be a significant influence on their reality and to be utterly meaningless in the wider context of things; every character has the potential to be both the hand that pulls someone to their feet in their hour of need, and the boot that grinds them further into the dirt, and every character is both of these things, at some point or another, to someone. every character is both the martyr and the one holding the knife. no character is a saint - not even the actual, literal saints. and while this isn't necessarily something that should be used as a selling point, the way this podcast handles the diversity of identity is fantastic, and never used tokenistically, or as a character's sole defining trait (though not all aspects of identity get equal consideration; the creator has acknowledged that he didn't tackle race as a topic much beyond examining the developmental factors of broad strokes "us vs. them" nationalistic identities, and the arbitrary nature of patriotic loyalty to one's nation when it runs on the same oppressive systems as that which is painted the aggressor, and some fans have pointed out that while diversity of gender and one's lived experiences according to one's gender identity gets plenty of focus, some things are left to implication and inference in a way that doesn't necessarily strengthen the story's themes).

anyway. not sure this is the "fandom propaganda style" pitch you asked for, but listen to the silt verses. it's a brilliant work of fiction and to my mind deserves to be considered a landmark piece of art (even if that does mean that some of my more fandombrained takes would likely come to be seen as unflattering misconstrusions of the source material that betray my personal deficiencies. well whatever it was fun i had fun.)

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

Then your eyes land on her.

Ellie.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then—

She smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle.

You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence

Then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't.

She steps closer, “no?”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

But you don't.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

You kiss her.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement.

Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move.

You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost made you roll your eyes, wasn't the whole situation obvious enough?

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm.

She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory.

You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else.

When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you.

Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

And for now, that's enough.

[saltynsassy31]

Full disclaimer, I have to read any of the fics written for Shockwave and the kids yet as I've been busy and off Tumblr for a bit for my own mental health lol

But I recently saw a photo of an abandoned carousel in some underground area filled with puddles and it reminded me of that one deleted scene from Detroit: Become Human where the Jerry's make a broken carousel work again for Alice and they all just watched her happily play on it as the world around them crumbled.

And, with that thought, it also reminded me of Shockwave and the kids and I simply HAD to write a small drabble fic of it. Sorry if it isn't accurate for the characters or the story already made, but I hope it's enjoyed regardless :3

And, I hope, with all the angst going on, this fluffy story will satisfy yall a bit XD

[This is the post I saw that inspired me to write this, if anyone wants a visual of the place: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGog_W_vDiR/?igsh=b3FsYm50enJhM3ln ]

AU belongs to @keferon

Carousel

~☆~

As the days went by, the situation they all found themselves in was slowly starting to get far too real. It was fun, at first, running around abandoned buildings and scavenging for whatever they could find, spending time with their newly acquired aquatic dad friend who kept them safe and well fed.

But then things started to show up and it scared them. Shockwave tried to avoid the areas with the most floating bodies, the children having seen enough of that (and he hoped they hadn't seen any they would recognise), but every now and then something would float up and startle them. Other times they'd run into bigger problems while scavenging and they had far too many close calls for Shockwave's liking.

They tend to keep themselves entertained, for the most part. Shockwave only occasionally indulged. But, usually, he could simply gently float on the surface of the water and let the kids tire themselves out. However, they've become more quiet lately.

It was hard to tell what caused it. Could be a myriad of things, as listed before, maybe it was finally starting to dawn on them how the situation was far from ideal. Maybe it was the conversation they had with that Orca - Jazz, was it? Shockwave couldn't tell, and it bothered him.

He missed their lively chatter (it still happened, but few and far between). A part of him was starting to wonder if the humans who called him out on the fact that this wasn't normal behaviour for human children were right, a small pang of regret reaching the back of his mind.

But he shook those thoughts away. Now wasn't the time. Nothing about their situation was normal anyway, he was already providing more than enough for them to survive this cruel world.

Shockwave was aggressively pulled out of his drifting thoughts by an ear piercing screech that immediately put him on high alert.

“Guys! Guys! Look!” He heard Skids say. Turning to look at him, he followed where the boy was pointing at.

It looked to be some kind of fair or theme part, it was a little hard to tell. Half of it was submerged, but there were some areas in which the water had receded. Shockwave relaxed once he deemed the situation safe, but still gave a small scrutinising glare at Skids for causing unnecessary concern - which went, of course, completely ignored.

“Oh wow, it looks pretty banged up, huh?” Tc noted, crawling closer to the edge of Shockwave's back to get a better look.

“But there might still be some things left over. You know how much they tend to sell in these places? And now we can just snag them!” Warp argued, already getting excited at the thought.

“Do we really need more useless things to carry around?” Trailbreaker argued, the bag he carried strangely heavier on his back.

“There are other things we could do there.” Skids quickly chimed in. “We could check out some of the games they have.”

“Would there be any still working?”

“Carnival games easy to fix, Soundwave up to the task.”

They all turned to look at Soundwave, seemingly to silently fall into an agreement.

Warp turned to face Shockwave, clasping his hands together as he pleaded. “Can we go there? Pretty pleaaaase?” Before he could even answer, the others had joined them.

He wasn't going to say no. This was the exact type of fun distraction they needed, maybe it would help them go back to their usual, energetic selves. So the theatrics were unnecessary. Still, he couldn't help the small amusement it brought him. He pretended to think it over, as if he didn't already have their answer.

“Hmm, I don't know…”

Those simple words were enough to make them all Start to plead harder, making their eyes as big as possible, throwing promises he knew they'd never actually follow through.

That broke the façade he was trying to play up, causing him to laugh. “Alright, alright. We can go.” The kids erupted into celebratory cheers, hugging each other and jumping on Shockwave's back. “But don't stray so far where I can't reach you, okay?”

They all nodded, but he only had trust in some of them to actually obey his orders.

Regardless, he swam over to the abandoned park and waited until they had slid off of him before crawling over onto land. The ground was still pretty wet, so it made it easier for him to slide around and follow them, keeping himself to the more deeper puddles when possible.

He watched as they all went to different directions with their own, small group. Tc and Warp, always tied to the hip, ran over to some of the stands that still had some prizes hanging. Windcharger and Trailbreaker followed Damus as he ran to play some of the games that didn't require power to work. And Skids and Soundwave went…

Where did they go?

Panic immediately followed the realisation. Shockwave stood up straighter and began to spin his head around in search of the two missing kids. The others didn't seem to have noticed their absence, too enthralled in their own activity.

He was about to start calling when he heard a familiar boisterous voice call from not too far. “Guys! Over here! Come see what me and Soundwave just discovered!”

Immediately, all of the attention was on Skids who had a smile so wide Shockwave was worried he'd hurt himself with it. The others looked at each other briefly before making their way over, Damus hesitating a bit before putting down the fishing rod he held and following the rest.

Shockwave did so as well, to the best of his abilities anyway. The further they went, the tighter the space became and less water reached the surface for him to easily slide around. He wanted to voice his complaint of them going too far, like he had explicitly told them not to before coming here (and really, he thought Warp would have disobeyed first before Soundwave. Skids made sense, but him?) But before he could even think of what to say, Skids noticed his struggle and seemed to remember something.

“Oh, right! Almost forgot.” He jogged over to the mer shark and gently grabbed at one of his fingers to guide him elsewhere. “There's an opening that takes you directly to the area we found. You have to swim underneath some rubble, but it should fit you.”

The boy took him to some dilapidated attraction of the park, it was too broken to tell what it used to be, but it did create an opening that allowed Shockwave to fit through perfectly fine. “Just swim straight ahead and it should take you to the area, we'll meet you there.”

Immediately, Shockwave didn't like that idea, and he didn't need to voice his thoughts for the teen to catch on, his glare doing the job just fine. “It'll be fine, don't worry! It's not that far. Less than a minute, probably less than a second for you since you're so big you'll just have to slide in and out. Besides, there's nothing here, the place is completely barren.”

Shockwave was still unconvinced.

Skids took to pleading. “Please! It'll be quick, I promise you. And worth it too! It's the exact thing we've been needing, and Soundwave put a lot of work on it. I know you don't like leaving us alone for even a second, but give it a chance?”

They stared at each other for a moment, Skids making his eyes as wide and innocent as possible and Shockwave hoping the stubborn teen would dispel this idea with his glare alone.

In the end, Skids guppy eyes were far too powerful even for a great shak such as Shockwave. And the kid was right, wasn't this what he wanted for them to begin with?

He let out a heavy sigh of defeat and reluctantly agreed to it. “Fine. I trust you, but if anything shows up–”

“We don't engage with it and call for you, yes, I know. Now go! Soundwave is waiting!” Skids ushered Shockwave to submerge himself into the large opening with the wave of his hands and only joined back with the others once he could no longer see the large mer.

One relief Shockwave had was that the tunnel formed was large enough that he could easily turn around and pop back out if he heard any of the kids in danger, though it also lacked any proper escape for him as it only had one direction for him to go. Straight ahead or backwards. 

But Skids was right in saying the trip was short, he could already hear the muffled voices of his children. Soon enough, he found himself resurfacing, the lively chatter being the first thing his senses picked up on.

When the children heard the splash of water, they all turned to look towards the source of the noise, their excitement almost blindingly radiat in contrast to the dark, murky room they found themselves in.

The place was closed off by fallen buildings that created a sort of cave around them, plenty of fauna already making its home here. It was fairly empty as well, save for the large, round attraction in the middle of the room. It had horses stuck to poles inside it, a dim pink and gold decorating the whole thing, the paintings that littered it had long since faded and it was hard to tell what it once was.

“Okay, you're here, good.” Skids turned to Soundwave, who was standing next to what looked to be a control panel. “Soundwave, would you do us the honours?”

The other teen nodded, bending down to start pulling at some wires in place of pressing the buttons offered. Warp scoffed, crossing his arms and looking skeptically at his friend. “There's no power here, how in the world are you going to get it to work? I swear, if you brought us all the way here for nothing I–”

Before he could finish his sentence, a blast of music and light echoed loudly around the empty space, causing everyone to flinch back and cover their ears. Shockwave nervously looked around, worried that the loud noise might have attracted some unwanted attention. Once the shock faded, Skids ran up to Soundwave and gestured proudly at the now working carousel.

“Ta-da!”

“Wh…how is this possible!?” Warp questioned, looking at Soundwave for answers, to not only be ignored, but shoved around by the other kids who ran towards the attraction. “Seriously?! Is no one else even a little bit concerned on how this is possible?”

Tc placed a hand over his shoulder, bringing his attention to him. “Warp, just enjoy the miracle. When are we going to get another chance like this?”

Warp could only grumble. Tc was right, they wouldn't, not for a long time. That didn't mean he had to accept it though.

Shockwave watched as they all walked over and picked their favourite horse, Tc and Skids fighting over the same blue one before Trailbreaker broke their fight up and offered his to Tc, walking up to help Damus up and sit with him instead. Shockwave observed the way Soundwave continued to pick at the control panel and looked up at the other children, waiting for their confirmation that they were ready before clicking something and closing the panel. As soon as he did that, the carousel began to slowly move, the horses bobbing up and down in gentle motions, causing the kids to excitedly cheer.

Soundwave stepped on the moving platform while it was still picking up speed and sat on a random horse near Windcharger. Although not as vocal as the others, he was clearly enjoying it.

Shockwave couldn't quite get what was so entertaining about the thing. It was slow, even after it picked up some speed, and the music was painful to the ears. But that didn't quite matter, did it? They were happy, and they were having fun.

It clearly was something they knew about before the tsunami, before their civilization fell apart. A simple joy of life that they missed.

And, in a world dimmed by tragedy and destruction, where at every corner something threatens their very existence, isn't that all they could ask for?

So, in a small moment of peace, Shockwave let himself relax. He bent forward and rested his chin over his crossed arms and watched as his children sang along with the screechy music, bouncing on their fake horses and pretending they were in some high chase in their little imaginary world.

In this dreary reality, even the artificial light of a broken past could make it all worth it. 

[forgetfulfish]

I think as well it's the spiraling horror of the way the tasks get more and more mundane. The viewer sees Gabby's situation and they're jarred by how screwed up it is. Severance for personal and selfish reasons. Then they emphasise the reality of this kind of existence so blatantly with Wellington Gemma's "I was just here", going to the dentist over and over again.

This image of the ultra rich handing off uncomfortable things goes from childbirth, to the dentist, to airplane turbulence. People so devoid of humanity they would in a literal way slice off a part of their own self and use it to avoid all pain and discomfort. However, the airplane amps it up a level of bizarreness, because that's a discomfort that is already fully avoidable. Countless nervous flyers every day take a sleeping tablet on a flight. Checking out of the concious world on a flight is already an option, so what's the appeal? That one could stay awake and converse and keep up appearances while on the flight? There's no possible reason that isn't entirely based on keeping up appearances. There's a whole other more ethical way to avoid that discomfort right there. The situation has spiraled from selfishly avoiding pain and locking that poor innie in the cabin 3 times, to the Wellington Gemma that ensures endless dental procedures to allow an outie to avoid even the most routine and trivial uncomfortable procedures, to keeping a person eternally on an airplane to avoid showing any even perceived weakness or fear. We've seen what having only the severed floor does to the Lumon innies, even with other innies around and diconnected from the outside world. Now scale that down to an airplane but there's nobody who understands you and you're never really anywhere always in the sky. Always expected to socialise with outies like you aren't even an innie. Gabby's innie wouldn't admit to being one, she put up a front, it's a reasonable jump to assume that's what will be expected of them.

And then they show the Christmas room. An innie created to avoid writing thank you notes at Christmas. A person who exists solely so that one would not have to go to the effort of actual human connection. But it goes deeper than that, this is a task one could pay an assistant to do for them. Any person who doesn't give a damn about thank you notes and can afford an optional brain surgery like severance could probably outsource this task with ease. Heck, a thank you note is something you could just forego entirely. But no, they think that one must keep up an appearance of gratitude, of a hand written thank you note, and they see no issue having one woman write forever so that they can have that. And this one scene hammers home the goal of keeping up appearances because the innie is expected to return their spouse's declartion of love. The innie must behave as the outie spouse would. A big cultural holiday that's meant to be about spending time with family is turned into her constant suffering all in the name of the outie avoiding being even slightly inconvenience having to perform a kind gesture. And what better framing for the corporatisation of human feeling than Christmas, a holiday famously intensely corporatised.

We went from singular rich lady selfisly offloads her suffering, to avoiding routine medical procedures by having a person go through them endlessly, to having somebody locked eternally in a vehicle simply to save face, to creating an innie to avoid anything that is even mildly annoying and in doing so turning what should be a relatively mundane task for the outie into an infinitely stretching never ending hell for an innie.

The viewer sees the horror of Gabby's innie's situation and the show just takes it lower and lower and lower. Absolute doom spiral of situations and motivations. Quality storytelling.

thats actually crazy. what if you didn't have to be present at the dentist, while on a boring flight. what if someone else (who was you) wrote a bunch of thank you cards until their hand hurt. what if you still felt the pain, but it was their whole life. what if you did immeasurable violence to yourself in a million tiny ways every single day. and that's the bright shining future of severance.

[https-kittyx3]

pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.

[3liza]

some of the people who post on lost media forums about being traumatized for 40 years from seeing a mildly "scary" or even just suspenseful scene from a movie when they were a young child sound like they have clinical symptoms of rumination OCD and/or non-complex PTSD and should maybe get standard therapy about it.

having moments of fear that imprint on you for the rest of your life, even if the moment isn't scary in retrospect or doesn't "seem" like it should have affected you so much is normal for kids, it's just part of your brain development at that age to be very very squishy and impressionable, and I'm not sure if "fear periods" is a thing in human child development like it is with dogs but children under the age of around five do seem to go through weeks or months at a time where they're just suddenly scared of everything for no reason and I think probably a lot of these inexplicably traumatic exposures occur in these periods. anyway there are good therapeutic techniques for this specific kind of trauma and they help a lot.

some of these people describe having intrusive thoughts about this stuff or obsessively looking for the media or asking people about it inappropriately in settings where it isn't acceptable socially. if you're haunted by something like that to that extent it's no longer just an interesting lost media post, it's something you should and can get professional help with.

i also suspect a lot of the more severe cases experienced an actual, worse trauma that is just associated with the lost media they're describing and they haven't been able to connect the dots yet or maybe haven't fully recalled the actual primary event. not "repressed memory" stuff, but often a child brain doesn't register a traumatic event AS traumatic until years later when you'll remember something fucked up happened to you that you wrote off as a normal event at the time, maybe even something everyone dealt with, but really screwed you up, and only recalling it in the right circumstances and context will allow your adult self to recognize it was harmful

OCD can also turn an actual not-a-big-deal incident into a source of unreasonable fear, preoccupation, avoidance and rumination.

anyway this just occurred to me watching a YouTube video in the background where yet another person describes typical trauma symptoms around a very tame "horror" scene that they have been dealing with daily since they were four or five. that's not normal and there are ways to process it with with help from someone! this is a type of trauma (single incident trauma) which is easier to treat and get rid of as an adult than stuff thats a repeated exposure or living situation type trauma (like domestic violence or childhood neglect). you don't have to deal with it on your own

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  a place to belong. : damian.

♦ request: drafted request ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: sighs

The Batcave is cold and cavernous, a place built for war rather than comfort. It hums with the low drone of machinery, screens flickering with endless streams of data, casting Damian’s sharp profile in shifting shades of blue and white. The light carves him into something more severe than he already is - shadowed eyes, jaw tight, expression carefully controlled. Always controlled. There is a tension in his shoulders, the kind that does not fade even in stillness, the kind that does not know how to let go.

He is standing near the Batcomputer, half-turned away from you, his arms folded against his chest like a barrier. His posture is practiced, carefully placed, but the stiffness in his fingers betrays him - the slight curl, the restless twitch, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more than necessary.

A tell, barely noticeable, except to you.

The silence stretches long between you, a vast, waiting thing. He is not speaking, but he isn't ignoring you either. Not this time. You have learned that there is a difference. When Damian wishes to be left alone, he will vanish before you can reach him, slipping into the shadows as easily as breathing. But he hasn't left. He hasn't turned his back to you. He is here.

He is waiting.

You take a slow breath, stepping forward, crossing the space between you with deliberate ease. No sudden movements, nothing that would give him an excuse to pull away. “Are you going to stand there all night?” your voice is quiet, steady, nothing teasing, nothing playful - just there. A tether.

His exhale is sharp, but there's no irritation in it. No exasperation. Just something unreadable, something unsteady. “I do not know what you expect from me,” he says, and there is no venom in it, no defensiveness - only honesty, bare and thin, something he has never learned how to carry without turning it into a weapon. “I have never been-” He stops. His fingers twitch again, then curl into a fist, but only for a second before he forces them to relax.

“I do not know how to be what you need.”

The confession lands between you like an unsheathed blade. He expects rejection, expects a lecture, expects to be told that he is difficult, closed-off, too much or not enough - but he doesn't expect your quiet acceptance.

"You don’t have to be anything other than what you are," you say simply; not a question, like it's already decided, like there was never a moment where you didn't believe it.

His breathing is measured, too measured, like he is holding himself together by the sheer force of will alone. You do not move any closer, don't push, don't reach for him first. He must choose this on his own.

And for the first time in his life - he does.

It's hesitant, not rushed, but deliberate, the way he steps forward, closing the last of the distance between you. The tension in his posture doesn't disappear entirely, but it shifts, melts at the edges, loosens enough to let him move, enough to let him finally, finally allow himself this.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your cheek, barely a touch, just enough for you to feel the warmth of him, the quiet hesitance in the way he lingers. His knuckles skim against your jaw, slow, reverent, like he is testing the weight of it, like he's still waiting for something to tell him this is a mistake. But you don't pull away. You don't move.

His thumb brushes lightly over your skin, the motion nearly imperceptible, and then - he exhales.

Not sharply, not through gritted teeth, not with the restraint of someone fighting against himself. Just a breath. A real one.

And then he leans in.

It's not forceful, not hungry, not something desperate - it's slow, careful, something that unfurls rather than collides. Like the moment was always there, waiting for him to catch up. His lips press against yours, not tentative, not unsure, but certain. Because when Damian Wayne makes a choice, it is absolute.

The kiss lingers, a moment stretched thin between two lives built on sharp edges, on things that are fleeting, on things that are not meant to be held onto. But this - this is not fleeting.

When he pulls away, he does not step back. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing steady, and for once, there is no battle left to fight. No war in his chest. No reason to run.

"You are certain of this?" His voice is quieter now, stripped of everything but the bare truth of him.

You let your fingers brush against his wrist, a gentle, grounding thing, anchoring him to this moment. "Are you?"

A pause. A breath.

Then, at last - "Yes."

[torturedreid]

Paid In Conversation

escort reader x spencer reid

w.c: 3.3k

not really sure if it needs warnings

(divider by @diviniyae )

The bar isn't the worst place you’ve worked but it's far from the best. It’s one of those dimly lit spots just off of the Strip, filled with a mix of tourists who wandered too far and locals who know better than to waste their money on casinos. The kind of place where the music is low, the drinks are overpriced, and no one asks too many questions.

You’re perched on a barstool, nursing a barely-touched cocktail you have no intention of drinking, scanning the room for potential business. A guy in an expensive suit keeps sneaking glances at you, but he’s already had too much to drink-- too sloppy. Another man at the end of the bar hasn’t looked up from his phone in ten minutes.

And then there’s him.

The man sitting alone at the corner table, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of water like it’s something stronger. His shirt is buttoned all the way up but wrinkled, his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his tie is loosened just slightly. It's like he got halfway through shedding it and then gave up. Tousled curls frame his face, sharp cheekbones, a delicate jawline– handsome in a bookish way, but there's something tired about him. His hazel eyes are unfocused, staring through the glass instead of at it. His shoulders are slightly hunched, the posture of someone carrying too much weight. He’s not here for the same reason as the other men in this bar.

You know loneliness when you see it. 

He doesn’t look like the type to seek out an escort, but that's the thing about loneliness—it doesn’t discriminate.

It pays.

You pick up your now room temp cocktail and slide off the barstool, moving with slow, practiced ease. The kind that catches attention without looking desperate for it. His eyes don’t flick to you the way most people do. He’s not watching the way your dress clings to your hips, not tracking your movements in the mirror behind the bar. 

Interesting.

You stop beside his table, tilting your head slightly. “Mind if I sit?”

For a second, he doesn’t react, like he didn't hear you. Then, his head snaps up, blinking at you with an expression that borders on confusion.

“I–uh, sure,” he says, his voice softer than you’d expected.

You ease into the chair across from him, crossing your legs, letting the slow slide of the fabric against your skin do most of the work. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“You look like you could use a drink,” you say, nodding to the water in his hands.

He glances at the glass like he’d forgotten it was there. “I don’t drink much.”

“Ah.” You take a slow sip from your own glass, watching him over the rim. “One of those rare men with self-control.”

His lips twitch in something that isn’t quite a smile. “It’s not really about self-control,” he says, fingers tapping lightly against the side of his glass. “Alcohol affects the hippocampus, which is responsible for memory formation. It also impairs the prefrontal cortex, which is involved in decision-making. And considering the human brain doesn’t fully mature until about twenty-five, habitual drinking before that can–”

He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s been talking too much. His mouth presses into a thin line. “Sorry.”

You blink.

Most men in bars talk too much, but not like this. You were expecting an awkward joke, maybe some overconfident flirting– not a spontaneous neuroscience lecture.

“No need to apologize,” you say, amused. “You a scientist or something?”

He hesitates. “Not exactly. I work for the FBI.”

That catches you off guard.

You arch a brow. “Really?”

“Behavioural Analysis Unit. I study criminal behaviour to catch offenders.”

A profiler.

Well, shit.

Your instinct tells you to leave. You’ve learnt to be careful in this job, and you know better than to let law enforcement get too interested in you, but he doesn’t seem suspicious. If anything, he looks…drained.

“So you’re one of those guys who gets inside people’s heads,” you say.

He exhales softly. “I try not to. Not all the time anyway.”

“Why not?”

A shadow passes behind his eyes. He hesitates, like the answer is bigger than he wants it to be.

“Because it makes it hard to be alone with my own thoughts,” he admits.

Something about the way he says it– it isn’t dramatic or performative. Just honest.

For the first time, you reconsider your approach.

But you’re not a therapist, you’re here to make money.

You shift, adjusting the conversation. “Well, you’re in Vegas. For work assumedly but that doesnt mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t really know how to do that.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true. I’ve never been great at doing things just for fun.”

“Ever?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “I used to read a lot.”

“You used to?”

“It’s been harder lately,” he mutters as his fingers tighten around his glass.

There’s something there– something dark, something he doesn’t want to talk about. And for a second you almost ask.

But then he keeps talking.

And talking.

At first, it’s about work– how difficult it is, how he spends most of his days analyzing patterns of human suffering, how he sees the absolute worst of people. Then, somehow, he transitions into an explanation of cognitive dissonance, which leads into the psychological effects of chronic stress. By the time he starts explaining the history of gambling addiction, you realize you’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes listening to him going on tangents.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even seem to notice.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling through your nose. Yeah. This isn’t going anywhere.

“Well, this has been fun, but I should probably–” you start, but then something shifts.

His eyes flick downward– towards your wrist. You glance down instinctively, but there’s nothing there except the delicate diamond bracelet you wear. Nothing incriminating. But when you look back up, he’s frowning, like something just clicked in his head.

He glances towards the bar, toward the bartender who gave you a subtle nod when you got up. Then at your dress– expensive but not flashy. He blinks at your drink, still barely touched, and finally his gaze lands back on yours.

“Oh.” His brow furrows slightly. “You’re, um…you’re working.”

Finally.

“Took you long enough.”

He blinks rapidly. “I–I didn’t–” his ears go a little pink. “I wasn’t trying to waste your time.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it.” You push back your chair, ready to make your exit. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Wait.”

There’s something desperate in his voice that stops you. You look down at him, arms crossed.

He swallows. “Would you– could I pay you? Just to stay? To talk?”

You hesitate. That’s not usually how this goes. But then again, nothing about him is usual.

“You want to pay me to listen to you ramble?”

He looks away, exhaling softly. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

For some reason, that hits you harder than it should. You let out a slow breath, studying him, trying to figure out what the hell is compelling you to say: 

“Alright.” You sit back down. “We can do that.”

The silence between you is oddly comfortable. 

For a man who just spent nearly half an hour rambling about neuroscience and criminal behaviour, he is surprisingly quiet once money enters the equation. He pushes a few bills across the table – a lot more than what you would’ve asked for, especially just to sit and talk– but he doesn’t even look at them.

You glance down at the crisp hundred dollar bills.

“You’re sure about this?” you ask.

His fingers drum absent mindedly against his glass. “I don’t want to be alone right now,” he repeats, softer this time.

There’s something about him– something different that you can’t quite pinpoint, and as the silence stretches, you can’t help but say, “You still haven’t told me your name.”

You wait for him to say something, but instead his lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “Right,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

You smile, “Nice to finally know you, Spencer.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue feels significant, like a small but important shift. It’s no longer just an exchange of words– it feels like something personal.

He seems to relax slightly, and though he doesn’t offer more, you can sense a change in the air. There’s a quiet vulnerability now. He’s not just a stranger. He’s Spencer, and you find yourself wanting to know more about him.

“Sorry,” he says with a small awkward laugh. “I don’t usually talk to strangers, let alone…um…” His silence hangs in the air, but you know what he means.

You’re used to men throwing money at you. But usually they want something more than this.

Most of the time, you know exactly what you’re walking into. You know how to adjust your approach– when to play coy, when to be charming, when to pretend a man is the most interesting person in the world just to make him feel like he matters. But Spencer isn’t like anyone else you’ve ever dealt with.

This isn’t about sex.

This isn’t even about companionship, not really.

This is about something else.

Something that made him sit in this bar with only a glass of water, staring at nothing. Something that made his voice crack just a little when he asked you to stay.

You let the silence stretch between you before you finally slip the money off the table and tuck it away.

“Alright, Spencer.” You settle back into your seat, crossing one leg over the other. “You’ve got me for the night. What do you want to talk about?”

His lips press together. “I don’t know.”

You resist the urge to sigh.

He shifts in his seat, looking down at his hands. “I don't…usually do this.”

“You don’t say.”

That gets a small huff of amusement out of him– not quite a laugh, but close.

“So what do you usually do when you don't want to be alone?”

His fingers trace the rim of his glass. “I work.”

“Okay. And when you’re not working?”

“I read.”

“You said you don’t do that much anymore.”

He flinches, just barely. “Yeah.”

You let the moment pass, let him decide whether he wants to fill in the gaps or not. He doesn’t.

“So you’re telling me your entire personality is just work and books?”

His mouth twitches like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

“I—” He exhales through his nose. “I guess so.”

“Jesus, Spencer,” you mutter. “No offense, but that’s a little sad.”

His lips part slightly, like no one’s ever pointed it out before.

You study him for a moment. You’re trying to piece together how a man like him—smart, oddly endearing, and surprisingly good-looking in an awkward, too-tall, too-skinny kind of way—ended up here. Alone in a bar, offering an escort money just to talk to him.

“So, what’s stopping you from reading?” you ask, steering the conversation back.

His jaw tightens slightly. His fingers curl against his palm. “I used to do it for comfort. But lately, every time I pick up a book, I feel like my brain just… won’t focus. The words blur together. I get halfway through a sentence and forget what I just read.”

That’s not normal.

But then again, nothing about this situation is normal.

You consider that for a moment. “That ever happen before?”

He hesitates. “No.”

“Could be stress.”

“Probably.”

You hum, not entirely convinced.

You don’t know him well, but from the way he talks, Spencer’s the type of guy who prides himself on his intelligence. If he’s struggling to read—to do something that’s always been second nature to him—that has to be messing with him.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?”

His expression shutters slightly. “I’m talking to you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal.”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would throw money at a stranger just to avoid being alone if it wasn’t a big deal.”

That lands harder than you expected.

His jaw goes tight, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to shut down entirely. But then, instead of getting defensive, he exhales sharply and shakes his head.

“You’re… perceptive,” he murmurs.

“Kind of my job.”

He glances at you, his eyes flickering with something curious. “I guess it is.”

The two of you lapse into silence again, but this time, it’s heavier. There’s something between you now—a strange, almost reluctant understanding.

“I lost someone,” he says suddenly.

That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.

You don’t ask who—not yet. Instead, you let him go at his own pace, watching the way his fingers trace the condensation on his glass like he’s distracting himself from the words coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t… talk about it,” he admits. “I mean, I do, I guess. My friends—they know, but they don’t… I don’t want to put this on them.” His throat bobs slightly as he swallows. “I don’t want them to feel sorry for me.”

You nod slowly. “So instead, you come here. Find a stranger. Someone who doesn’t know anything about you.”

His lips press together. He doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t deny it either.

“She was in danger,” he says quietly. “A stalker. She—she took Maeve, and I—I tried to save her, but…” His voice cracks just slightly. He clears his throat and looks away. “I watched her die.”

The words land like a gut punch.

You don’t know this man. You don’t know Maeve. But God, you can feel the weight of it pressing into the air between you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and for once, it’s not just something automatic. It’s not just something you’re supposed to say. You mean it.

He doesn’t acknowledge it—not directly. But his jaw tightens, and he nods once, like he’s filing the words away.

You exhale slowly, drumming your fingers against the table. “Okay,” you say finally.

His brow furrows. “Okay?”

“You don’t want to be alone tonight? Fine. You won’t be.”

His throat bobs again, like he wasn’t expecting you to just accept it.

You offer him a small, lopsided smile. “So. You’re an FBI profiler and a neuroscience expert. Tell me something interesting.”

He blinks at you. “What?”

“Something interesting. Something I don’t know.”

For a second, he just stares, like his brain is struggling to switch gears. Then, after a long pause, he says, “Did you know that people who experience significant grief sometimes show altered activity in their anterior cingulate cortex? It’s the part of the brain that processes pain—both physical and emotional.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? Your brain thinks you’re physically injured?”

“In a way,” he admits. “Grief doesn’t just exist in the mind. It exists in the body, too.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Huh. So you’re saying this isn’t just in your head?”

His lips twitch just slightly. “Something like that.”

You lean back. “Well, in that case, I’d say your treatment plan should probably include getting out of your own head for a while.”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve just suggested robbing a bank.

“You want me to do what?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Come on, Spencer. It’s just a little fun.”

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, scanning the neon-lit street outside the bar like he’s searching for an escape route. The Las Vegas night hums around you—laughter, music, the distant ding ding ding of slot machines, and the low murmur of a city that never really sleeps.

You’d left the bar after two more rounds of conversation—more tangents, more rambling, and just enough teasing from you to make him smirk, just once. That had been enough to convince you he needed more than just a talk.

He needed to get out of his own head.

Which is why you’re now standing in front of an old, slightly run-down arcade tucked between a 24-hour diner and a tattoo shop, trying to convince a grieving FBI agent to play a damn game with you.

Spencer crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t been in an arcade since I was a kid.”

“Perfect. Then you’re overdue.” You nudge him toward the door. “Come on, smart-ass. Show me what you’ve got.”

He hesitates. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He falters.

You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to find a logical excuse, but you don’t let him. You just grab his wrist—lightly, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wants—and tug him inside.

The arcade is loud.

It’s a mess of flashing lights, ringing bells, and old-school game sound effects. The air smells like popcorn, sugar, and whatever industrial cleaner they use to scrub sticky soda spills off the floor.

Spencer looks completely out of place.

He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets, eyes darting around like he’s trying to analyze his surroundings instead of just existing in them.

You sigh, shaking your head. “You really don’t know how to have fun, do you?”

“I have fun,” he argues, weakly.

“Uh-huh. Name the last fun thing you did.”

His mouth opens—then closes.

You raise an eyebrow.

“…I enjoy chess?”

You groan. “Oh my God.”

Before he can protest, you grab a handful of tokens from the counter, shove some into his palm, and steer him toward a Skee-Ball machine.

“Okay, Spencer, listen up,” you say, pulling him into position. “The goal is simple. Roll the ball up the ramp, try to get it in the highest-scoring ring. Winner gets bragging rights.”

He stares at the machine, then at you. “This is just applied physics.”

“Great. Then you should be fantastic at it.”

He still looks unsure, so you demonstrate first. You roll a ball up the ramp—it lands cleanly in the 40-point ring. Not bad.

“See? Easy.” You gesture to the machine. “Your turn.”

Spencer hesitates for a second before stepping forward. He grips the ball, aims carefully, and rolls it.

It bounces off the side and lands in the 10-point ring.

You snort. “Wow. Applied physics, huh?”

He scowls, grabs another ball, and rolls again.

20 points.

You can see his brain working now, adjusting his angle, recalculating. His third roll lands in the 50-point ring. By the time he gets to his last ball, he nails the 100-point shot.

You let out a low whistle. “Damn. Alright, genius, I see you.”

He pushes up his sleeves, and for the first time tonight, his eyes spark with something that’s not grief or exhaustion. “Best of two?”

You laugh, handing him more tokens. “Oh, now you’re into it.”

The next round is closer. He’s competitive—not in an obnoxious way, but in that quiet, methodical, determined way that probably makes him terrifying in his actual job. You beat him by a single point, and the look on his face is priceless.

“That’s impossible,” he mutters. “I recalibrated my angles—”

You cackle. “Guess I’m just better.”

His eyes narrow, and you see the exact moment he stops overthinking and just lets himself enjoy it.

You play a few more games—Pac-Man, Air Hockey, some type of shooting game, though he proceeds to talk about real-life firearm handling (and promptly wipes the floor with you).

You don’t rush him. You don’t push too hard.

You just let him be.

Somewhere between the Skee-Ball and Street Fighter II, you see something shift in him—just slightly. The tension in his shoulders eases. The crease between his brows smooths out. He’s still Spencer, still him, but for the first time tonight, he’s not just a grieving man sitting in a bar, haunted by ghosts.

He’s just here.

Just alive.

And when he lands a winning combo in Street Fighter, and you groan dramatically about letting him win, he actually laughs.

It’s quiet. Small. But it’s real.

And it’s probably the best sound you’ve heard all night.

[bitter-me]

Hello! could you do Asaba Harumasa with A Loid Forger!Male!Reader who is his Fiancé? (For real not for a misson) And could you do like some general headcanons of it please?

Spy X Executive Officer

Harumasa Asaba | M. Reader as Loid Forger [SpyXFamily]

----------

"You gotta be careful. Because there's someone else back home who'd be heartbroken if anything happened to you."

----------

General Headcanons

First of all, the moment you two met Harumasa knew you are a spy. Come on now, he's responsible for Section 6's reconnaissance for a reason. In the main story he literally recognized the mercs are closing in on them by their shooting pattern alone. Are you kidding me.

Secrets out and from then on he'll rub it in your face that the Twilight was caught by an Executive Officer and through this process of endless teasing and "accidental meet ups" you two gotten quite close.

Yet despite making teasing the absolute daylight out of you his main mission. Harumasa would always comes to you for help with some missions of his. Come on! He has Twilight on speed dial! What kind of person would he be if he didn't abused use this power? The amount of times you have to pretend to be him for a meeting... too much to even bother counting..

Harumasa seems to have developed a habit since you two got together. One of which is how he looks like a wounded animal whenever you have to "be in a relationship" with someone. He's joking of course. But always seem to jump at the chance whenever Harumasa saw it.

But then again.. you're also using him for your own work as well. HAND has a lot of useful information and Departments. Having an insider on speed dial just make things ten times easier. In short both of you are using each other.. until it became something more as you two craves more with each interactions.

"You're cheating on me! I know I don't have much time, yet you--" "Darling, I am not seeing someone behind your back, it was a mission. We have this conversation before."

Endless teasing. Just endless.

By the way, are you a cat person? Well it doesn't matter you are a cat person now. Say hello to your son/daughter. Harumasa canonically has a cat, so..

Would jokingly as you to teach him some espionage with the excuse that it'll help him be a "more outstanding scout." You didn't, of course. Espionage is your thing. As if you'll let him steal your thunder like that.

Oh no. Harumasa isn't in the office again. He must have taken a sick leave. But how could he get another one? What? He has a doctor's note?

Yes, he would probably, maybe, say "please" a lot, just to get you to write him a doctor's note. Hey! Not his fault that your public image is a Psychiatrist! That just makes your notes 100% legal! And you are this awesome boyfriend of his right? So.. please~ he promise to give you kisses if you do write it~

Although Harumasa seems to know he can't use this trick a lot and uses it sparingly.

The proposal? It's the grenade proposal. I'm sorry but it's cute and it kinda fits ZZZ's world building. Both of you are running from the Ethereals and have gotten cornered. What a bad day it was. You were just about to propose when Harumasa got a call for a mission, since you don't want to waste any time. You decided to help your lover so that you can finally propose when all of these are done. But no, the universe hates you and decided to do this instead and damnit! You lost the ring! Cornered with nowhere else to go you spotted a grenade not to far away. Acting out of instincts you took it, pulling the pin and saying your vow as you put the "ring" on Harumasa's finger.

He ruthlessly tease you about the proposal though. Saying something like "Took you long enough. And here I thought I would die first before knowing the feeling of a ring on my finger." and, "A grenade pin? Seriously? How come those men and women you "marry" for a mission gets an actual ring while I--you're actual lover--only have this? I'm hurt!"

In the end you did get him an actual ring. As he deserved.

----------

Despite usually being seen slacking off. Harumasa works hard on his missions. After all, there's a reason as to why he's a member of Section 6. Naturally.

Yet he's not invincible. Harumasa knows that better than anyone else. Which is why he is now lying in the hospital bed with a sore throat and a heavy chest. It felt as if he were to somehow lie in a wrong way he'll start coughing out a lung. But he doesn't have to worry. He has [Name}. And that man would go full on doctor on him in a heartbeat.

"You're an idiot sometimes." [Name] sighs, sitting on the chair by his lover's bedside. He can't believe Harumasa had willingly injected that thing. Onto him like that. Sure, he understands. Harumasa can't let that thing exist in the world. But seriously?! Did he even think for one second what could have happened to himself if he weren't this lucky?! What if it's a one time thing?!

"You idiot." He whispers underneath his breath.

Harumasa really has to be careful.. because there's someone else back home who'd be heartbroken if anything happened to him.. and that person, is him. [Name] Forger.

For all of his time as a spy. No one had ever made him feel so.. complete. The thought of settling down never crossed his mind. But with Harumasa.. he might just consider it. But..

How is he supposed to settle when the one he loves is constantly on death's door?

[Name] snapped out of his thoughts the moment he registered the warm feeling on his hand. Harumasa's on top of his. Turning his head towards him, [Name] saw Harumasa giving him a reassuring smile. "I know.. but I'm your idiot."

"Don't worry too much. I'm not going anywhere. After all, no one cares more about my life than me."

[legendofmorons]

Yooooo happy 2 year anniversary!!! As for the fic bingo,

SOULMATE AU WITH LEGEND I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I'm so normal about him I promise

Thank you!!!

I'm al SO normal about Legend ;)

(Soul) Marked hearts

Pairing: Legend x reader

Rating: T

Summary: In a world where you have the most important thing your soulmate says to you, printed somewhere on your body... you realize the man you love (and have loved for years) is your soulmate.

Warnings: cursing

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You sit by the fire, side by side with your long time friend Legend. Cool summer night breezes lazily pass by as the star shin above you.

The others sleep peacefully as your shift of watch drags on.

"You didn't have to take watch with me." You say to him.

Legend shrugs half heartedly. "You get bored."

"I do." You smile.

He snorts, elbowing you gently.

You just roll tour eyes, leaning against him. It's one of the many privileges you are afforded as someone close to him.

Legend wraps one arm around you, staring out at the stars as everyone else sleeps. He rests his hand on your arm, the metal of his rings cooler than his flesh.

It's easy, being here with him. The way your mind wanders to what a life with him might entail is... nothing new.

You soak up the warmth and ease that radiates off him. This is something reserved for you.

Legend is a sweetheart. Under the jaded attitude, he's still kind. He's earned the right to be jaded. But here? When it's just the two of you?

He is always more open with you like this. He's comfortable enough with you to be softer. Comfort enough to be affectionate.

"Did you ever find your soulmate?" He asks you. "I know you wanted to."

You laugh. "Not yet. I... don't know that I care, either. You know?"

"I do."

"Oh?" You prompt, "Is there someone you want to pursue, bunny boy?"

"That's not my name." Legend huffs. He gives you a playful glare, too.

You smile. "Answer the question."

"Maybe. It's... not important. I don't think I have a chance." Legend pulls you closer.

You lean with it, humming. "Why not?"

"I doubt I'm their soulmate. You know the world we live in." He gives a half shrug.

His tone is bitter, and he sounds genuinely resigned to a fate without whoever it is he is talking about.

You fall silent, searching the fire for answers as if it can reassure you. What are you supposed to say?

You can't let yourself hope he's talking about you.

The urge to reassure him is stringer than any jealousy you have over a man that isn't yours. You love him, you don't want him upset.

"Well... Fuck em." You offer and smile at him, "If they don't feel the same their a total fool."

"Really? That's all you got?" He huffs, raising one brow.

"Yep." You say, poping the 'p'.

Legend stares at you with unreadable eyes. He looks at you, searching for something but you can't say what.

He looks back to the stars.

You settle back down against him.

Legend rubs your arm with his hand where it rests, arm still around you like a promise.

You don't know what it's a promise of, just that it is.

Minutes pass, silent companionship a steady beat in your heart.

Legend finally asks, "If... I tell you something, you can't laugh at me. Okay?"

"I make no promises." You say immediately. "When people say that they tell me things that make me laugh."

"It's not a joke." Legend says.

His voice is firm, but his frame shakes slightly against you.

You frown, pulling out of his hold and sitting up on your own. You watch his face for any hint of what he wants to say.

"I'm listening." You tell him. "I won't laugh."

"Did you mean what you said, that I should tell them?" Legend asks, voice quiet and shaking.

You offer a nod.

He looks at you with a vulnerability you rarely see on him. He looks sea sick.

"Okay." He says, letting out a breath.

"Take your time." You soothe. "It's okay."

Legend nods weakly. He is looking directly into your eyes.

He takes a deep breath, setting his shoulders before he speaks.

"I don't care if you're my soulmate, I chose you. You're who I want at my side, as my partner, as my spouse if you want to get married." He says, voice firm even as he looks ready to run.

You let out a gasp.

He watches you, hands shaking as he fists them in his lap.

You know those words.

Those are the words that's are printed on one of your shoulder blades.

Legend said-

Oh.

"Fuck, man." You breathe out.

You want to laugh a little. You don't, but the surprise is there.

Legend flinches.

"It's really you, Link." You say in awe, "You're the one."

He blinks, confusion flitting across his face. "What?"

"It's your words on me. It's you!" You smile.

His breath catches. He knows those words. Those are the words printed on his sternum.

You're hugging him quickly, heart beating too fast as you knock your knee against his in the movement.

Legend hugs you back on reflex, sucking in a breath. "We're so stupid."

You laugh softly, setting your forehead on his shoulder. "We're soulmates."

"I'm glad it's you." Legend decides.

You grin, pulling away to look at him again. "How long can we go before the others realize we're together?"

"We're together now?" Legend asks with a smirk.

"Yes." You say, taking his hand in your own. "You're mine forever, bunny boy."

"Only if you're mine too."

"Good." You say, pulling his hand to up and pressing a kiss to it.

"Sap." He acusses. Then he gives you a smirk. "We could probably go for a week or two before they put it together."

You laugh, "Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

You lean against him again, setting your joined hands on your thigh. "This is nice."

He hums, "It is."

"For what it's worth... I chose you too, Link."

He smiles, face red. "Yeah?"

"Forever."

Legend hums once. "Forever sounds... great."

You smile up at him.

He means it, too. He knows he's prickly and he has bad days, but if you'll have him he'll stay with you. Forever.

[nubiawrites]

chapter ten

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. Sex. Talks of emergency contraception.

Summary: Iriye is forced to face the music at the table read for Paradise Lost but Aaron isn't ready to fall back.

Notes: Better late than never. I wanted to write more of their... lovemaking scene but I will consider releasing outtakes from this story. Enjoy! Drop comments in my ask box, under this post or reblog. I love the responses.

MASTERLIST

Aaron was used to tense situations. Being an actor meant long days and nights. Different personalities collaborated and clashed with each other. This was a given in every life situation. He had seen his fair share of it, but being in a situation like this was never fun.

Things were a bit tense at the official table read for Paradise Lost, and it hadn't even started. Aaron could sense it, the energies in the room clashing a bit. Aaron saw Tamara had her hands on her hips whenever she talked to someone, her voice low, but her eyes looked frustrated. She was trying to be polite, but there was a tenseness.

Nelly was too jittery. The younger woman always had a pep to her step and a joke on her lips, but she was working overtime. He could tell she wasn’t as cheerful but more on the move, her hair in a messy bun rather than the loose waves she kept together. 

“Here’s your script,” Nelly said to Aaron, not stopping for their usual small talk.

“You drunk anything that isn’t dark, Nelly,” Aaron stated, trying to get a chuckle. 

“I don't like that accusation,” Nelly stated before she sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,”

“No, you’re fine. My apologies,” Aaron gave her a small smile. Nelly returned it, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If you want, I can grab you something if it helps,”

“Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t want to leave Tamara and Iriye alone together,” Nelly said before leaning in. “They are not talking,”

“Isn’t that good?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron, that’s the worst thing. They’re doing this weird passive-aggressive attitude with each other,” Nelly rambled on.

“I have a feeling that I might be the cause of that,” Aaron admitted.

“Yeah, I know. Tamara was freaking out when she realized Iriye was at your place. I didn’t tell her anything. I figured Iriye would,” Nelly shrugged.

“Well, I thought Iriye would, too,” Aaron said. Nelly looked around. 

“Walk with me to get something not dark from craft services?” Nelly asked him.

Aaron nodded, and Nelly quickly put the rest of the scripts for the cast at their proper seats.

They wandered over to the craft services area set up for the table read. Nelly immediately grabbed a bottle of water, causing Aaron to chuckle.

“To think I was going to offer my great advice giving skills to you about Iriye,” Nelly rolled her eyes before beginning to look over the snacks.

“Forgive me,” Aaron said througha chuckle. “I’m sorry. I mean it,”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Nelly pointed a pretzel at him before eating it. She took her time chewing and then proceeded to wash it down with some water before talking. “Iriye has always kept her cards close to her chest,”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Aaron said, grabbing his own trail mix from the table.

“But once she opens it, Iriye really will give endless love and devotion. I’ve seen it,” Nelly admits.

“With Jay?” Aaron asked. “I kind of figured that they were an item,”

“Yeah but I don’t think she was ever in love with him. And she ended that before she could find out,” Nelly whispered.

“But she was able to be around you guys with him. She never even told you and Tamara about me,”

“I been knew you two were a thing. I didn’t need her to tell me. Hell, I think I knew from the time we all met in the meeting with Davis,” Nelly stated. Aaron raised one eyebrow at him, and she gave him a look. “Please. Iriye went all cool and collected. That’s her tick for nerves. And you’re a great actor. But not when you have the upper hand on someone. You’re too smug,”

“You really notice everything?” Aaron stated. Nelly raised her bottle.

“If you want to be the best assistant, you gotta notice everything and the cracks in between,” Nelly stated. “Iriye is a complicated woman. Delicate underneath it all, but she’s scared to show it,”

“I know. I get why. She told me about her dad leaving…” Aaron said. Nelly paused while sipping her bottle of water.

“Wait, she talked about her dad?” Aaron could see the gears working overtime in Nelly’s head.

“Yes, she did,” Aaron was about to ask something else when he heard Nelly’s phone ring.

“I’m sorry. I gotta take this,” Nelly said, whispering sorry before she got on the phone. 

Aaron returned to where his script was, grabbing his pen and adjusting his glasses. As he was beginning to highlight his lines, he felt the chair beside him creak, and he looked to see Vivian.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” Vivian said apologetically, adjusting her bag on the back of the seat. 

“No, you’re good,” Aaron said, adjusting himself so she had room to sit. She gave him a small smile before she took out a pencil case and pulled out pens of different colors, arranging them in a way that made Aaron curious. 

“What?” Vivian asked, a nervous smile making it to her face as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Aaron pointed out her pens. “There’s a method to my madness,” 

“No, we actors have ways we handle things,” Aaron raised his hands in surrender. 

“How are you handling all of this?” Vivian asked. “You know, thrown into the spotlight, and it’s full-blown on you,”

“It’s something,” Aaron admitted. “I was asked to host events and things. And I keep asking myself, why me?”

“It can be a lot,” Vivian nodded. “Doing all the extra when all you want to do is just act,” Aaron could hear something in her words. “Can I give you some advice? One actor to another,”

Aaron sat up some more, ready to learn.

“Know what you’re willing to fight for and what you’re ready to say no to,” Vivian said. “I wish I had learned that a long time ago. Fortunately, I had some good people in my corner, along with some who cared more about the money than my well-being.”

Aaron nodded, knowing of Vivian through his sister’s tabloids and gossiping when they were younger. Vivian seemed to smile through it all, even when people didn’t have the nicest things to say from what he saw.

“When you set what you will and will not take, it makes it harder for people to shake those boundaries,” Vivian explained. “And trust me, with the level of fame you’re about to experience once your show comes out, you’re gonna need it,”

Aaron nodded, taking it in as Vivian checked her phone, a smile taking over her face. 

“It’s my boyfriend. Every time I have a first table read, he always sends me a picture of our dog with a cheesy message,” Vivian explained, showing him the picture. Aaron smiled as he saw an actor he had seen before in something, holding the dog up and a message underneath the photo.

“Adorable dog. He takes after his father,” Aaron joked, Vivian chuckling.

“He does,” Vivian said. “Honestly, it’s nice to know after this and some meetings, I have Gabe and Charleston to go home to,” She said. “They make the boundary testing all worth it because, at the end of the day, I’m living my dream and going home to them,”

Aaron thought about those words, looking toward where he felt eyes on him. He saw Iriye, seeing her in the flesh for the first time in a week. She looked frazzled, and he just wanted to smooth the worries from her head. He would kiss her until she talked to him about the most random things in her life. Aaron would be happy to bask in her presence.

Iriye turned her attention back to the production assistant helping with the table read, not wanting to bud into whatever Aaron and Vivian were talking about. They were too close for her liking, but what could she do? Yell at the two romantic leads of the film she wrote and produced. Tell Vivian to back off of Aaron because he was her man. 

But Iriye couldn’t do that because she didn’t want to open up that can of worms. They never explicitly said what they were doing with each other during the three months they had been in each other’s lives. That’s where it got tricky because Iriye was comfortable with what they were doing: going on mini dates at each other’s place before sleeping with each other. Late nights in the grocery store or early mornings trekking through the used bookstores Iriye loved. Eating food that was going against his Lanterns fitness regime and watching him try to work it off with his Lanterns regime at the home gym in his apartment. 

Iriye just loved being around him. She loved him. It felt too soon to say that. The moment she realized she was really into Aaron was when he dropped her off at her apartment after picking up the morning-after pill. He seemed calm, but she could tell he was agitated. But he still offered to stay with her, having read the side effects on the box as they sat and waited to figure out the next steps of their plan.

“It says side effects include nausea and vomiting,” Aaron read plainly. Even telling her the worst thing sounded great coming from him.

“It’s not my first rodeo with the morning-after pill,” Iriye said nonchalantly.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Aaron stated.

“There was a broken condom situation when a fellow intern when I moved to LA,” Iriye explained. But she didn’t explain how the pill always tended to make her feel like she was dying. She always got the brute force of the side effects.

“I should probably stay then,” Aaron said. “Make sure you’re alright,”

“I don’t need you for this part, Aaron,” Iriye stated too quickly. “It just makes me sleepy, so I’ll be fine. I’ll probably sleep this thing off all weekend. And you probably need to get prepped for the table read and all,” Iriye knew it was a few days off, but in being around Aaron, she knew when it was playtime and work time.

“Iriye-” Aaron reasoned as she got out of the car. 

“See you at the table read,” Iriye stated, walking towards her apartment.

And it was a terrible couple of days. Iriye had been fielding calls and texts from Tamara all while trying not to throw up from the morning after side effects. Once it came to Monday, she decided to stay home but not before Tamara could come banging at her door. Iriye had to pretend to not be home before seeing Tamara slip a note under her door. She waited a while before moving to grab the paper and read it: you can’t run away forever. 

Now Iriye was back at the lot, ensuring everything was under control until she saw Tamara.

“Iriye,” Tamara was in professional mode.

“Tamara, I-” 

“We’re using your latest script,” Tamara said in her professional voice, and Iriye raised a brow. “We can’t do this right now,”

“I know,” Iriye stated.

Tamara moved to talk with someone else on the sound stage while Iriye went to drop off her belongings at her seat. People started gathering around, with Tamara leading the group in quick introductions of the actors and creatives involved in the film. Iriye quickly introduced herself. Vivian led the group in a small round of applause, and she gave a small and curt smile. 

As the reading began, Iriye was lost in everyone getting comfortable with each other. each finding their character's voice and emotional journey. One of her favorite things about being a writer was seeing the discoveries others found in and between the lines of her words.

They took their first break during Act One, and Iriye grabbed a snack from craft services. But she should have been smarter because Aaron was right on her tail.

“We need to talk,” Aaron spoke lowly under her voice. Iriye checked her watch. 

“We can’t right now,” Iriye shook her head. 

“We got fifteen minutes,” He said. “Enough time,”

“We said we wouldn’t do this, us, on the lot,” Iriye reminded.

“Bullshit, Iriye,” Aaron said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Iriye was shocked at him being snappy with her. He never was.

“Bullshit. You weren’t saying that in your office,” Iriye cleared her throat, hoping no one heard. “Walk with me, Iriye Edwards,”

Aaron began walking ahead, and Iriye glared at his head.  He turned towards her.

“Please, Iriye,” Aaron’s eyes softened at her even if his voice was sharp and clear. Iriye huffed and looked around before following him out. Still being the gentleman, he held one of the doors open for her, following behind her. They walked briefly before Aaron stopped them at a familiar structure: the soundstage where they met.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Iriye stated.

“How are you feeling after the weekend?” He asked her, a nervousness taking over him. 

“I took the pill if that’s what you were wondering,” Iriye stated. “I forgot how sick those things make me,” She said too much, seeing Aaron’s eyes soften more. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like when people see I’m sick,”

“What’s wrong with seeing you sick,” Aaron said.

“Because I was gross and hunched over a toilet,” Iriye said. “I can take care of myself,”

“I know that, Iriye. But when you’re with someone. When you want to be in a relationship with them, you let them see all sides of yourself: the good, the bad, and the ugly,” Aaron said.

“Well, here you go. You’ve reached the bad part,” Iriye said. “I self-sabotage before you get a chance to figure out I’m not good enough and leave,”

“You think I’m going to leave?” Iriye chuckled. 

“Aaron, it’s a given,” Iriye stated. “You’re handsome. You’re talented. And so deserving of every chance you’re going to get,” Iriye bit her lip. “But so am I,”

Aaron raised a brow at her words, moving closer to her.

“There’s going to be a point where it’s going to be what I want or what you want,” Iriye said. “And I’m afraid that when we get to that point, one of us might make the wrong choice,” 

“So you would rather quit while you’re ahead?” Aaron asked, looking at her deeply in her eyes. “Answer me, Iriye,” His gaze was intense, and she wanted to look anywhere but him. But she was in his orbit and hated how close she had allowed him to get.

“I-I don’t know,” Iriye tried looking at his sweater. Aaron tilted her chin up to look up at him. 

“We need to talk about this, Iriye. Not right now, because we have to return to the table read. But we’re gonna talk about this,” Aaron stroked her chin.

“Okay,” Iriye said.

Iriye and Aaron pulled apart, trying not to walk too closely to each other as they made it back to the soundstage. Iriye let him enter first, and Tamara stopped her just as she was going to go in.

“Tamara, we’ve got to get back,” Iriye muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Tamara asked. Iriye bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Iriye whispered.

“But you didn’t,” Tamara said. “Is this about Jay?”

“No,” Iriye admitted. “It had nothing to do with him,”

“I know he and I are still being friends; it bugs you, but he was my friend before you were his girlfriend,” Tamara stated. 

“I know, Tam. I wasn’t asking you to take sides,” Iriye said. 

“But I wouldn’t have said anything if he asked about your dating life. Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me,” Tamara stated.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Iriye admitted. “I just… I’m figuring things out, and I didn’t want to say something, and it didn’t work out. Saying something would make it real. Maybe too real,”

“I saw you two at the snack table,” Tamara said. “I was going to talk to you, but I saw him and you,”

“We’re about to start again,” A production assistant interrupted them. Iriye nodded toward them, and they left. 

“You like him. Probably more than you ever liked Jay,” Iriye heard Tamara’s words.

“We need to focus back on the table read,” Iriye rubbed her on her jeans.

“It’s okay to feel for him, Iriye. You deserve to be happy,” Tamara said. 

“I’m sorry, Tamara,” Iriye moved to hug Tamara, and she embraced her back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tamara squeezed Iriye. They pulled apart, returning to the table together. 

The energy for the rest of the table read felt better, Iriye able to focus at moments, hearing the chemistry building amongst the cast. The reactions to different scenes and dialogues had her feeling like everything she had worked so hard for, was coming to fruition. 

By the last scene, Iriye’s eyes were shiny with tears. They got to the last pages and a few of the actors in the cast clapped. Tamara took a moment to speak, letting everyone know that Lanoire productions were thankful for them to join the journey of this film getting made. 

The table read was wrapped up and Iriye was grabbing her things from her office when she heard a knock at her door.  She looked up and saw Aaron.

“Can I come in?” Iriye nodded and he entered her office, looking around. “How are you feeling?”

Iriye let out a deep breath she felt like she had been fighting. “I feel like… I can breathe a little better,” 

“You and Tamara?” Aaron asked.

“We’re good. I’m pretty sure I owe her dinner, two bottles of wine and a gossip session about us,” Iriye said. She saw the smile smile on his face and she bit her lip. “Aaron…”

“You said us,” Aaron moved to grab her bag, packing it up. “Come on,”

“Aaron, I gotta go home,”

“I know. I’m taking you home. I know you didn’t drive your car since you haven’t been feeling good,” Iriye rolled her eyes as the man before her.

“So bossy,” Iriye took her bag from him.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling your eyes at me,” Aaron said as he led her out.

Iriye was quiet as she let Aaron drive her home in his car, his hand on her thigh as Sade played in his car. They didn’t speak but it was enough for Iriye. It made her feel warm and that thought came through her head. She loved him. 

They got to her place and Iriye let them in, Aaron taking her bag off and putting it where she kept it normally. 

“Go shower. I’m going to make us some dinner and we’re going to talk like adults,” Aaron demanded. “Then if you want to step away from us, you can,”

Iriye was going to say something but she saw the look on Aaron’s face. 

“Fine,” Iriye turned to her bathroom and went inside, using the time as she needed. She had to get this fine ass man out of her house. But taking her time in the shower would give her the space to breathe and take in how she would do this. She could go the anger route. Yell at him. Threaten him. Tell him she wouldn’t see him. But she didn’t want that. She wanted him.

Iriye dried off, taking the time to moisturize her skin and she deciped to slip into some sweats and a t shirt. She walked into the kitchen to see Aaron heating up some pasta sauce she had in a jar. 

“You need to go grocery shopping,” Aaron pointed out. He had some noodles boiling and she bit her lip.

“Maybe. I’ve just been spending a lot of time at this man’s house,” Iriye said. 

“Oh a man. What’s he like?” Aaron asked, playing along.

“Well for one, he’s tall. Really built like a linebacker or something,” Iriye mentioned. “His ears kind of a tad big for his head,”

“Not too much,” Aaron chuckled.

“He’s passionate and sweet and funny. Can go toe to toe with me when we bicker,” Iriye stated. She watched as he continued cooking with what she had, moving to plate the paste with the sauce for her. 

“I did the best I could,” He said, moving to get her a glass of water for Iriye. He place it by her. “Now eat,”

“Someone’s bossy,” Iriye dug into the meal. He watched her eat, Iriye knowing that he was focused on her. Once she finished, she watched Aaron move her plate out the way and pulled her chair closer to him as they sat at her counter. “What has gotten into you?” Iriye asked.

“You have, Iriye Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his hand moving to her cheek and cupping it. “So if this is what you don’t want,” His hand sliding up her thigh. “You’ll tell me to stop,” He cupped her pussy through her sweats and Iriye bit her lip.

“Aaron,” Iriye moaned. His hand slid into her sweats, finding her pussy as she didn’t put panties on.

“No panties. You made this so much easier for me, love,” Aaron slipped two fingers inside of Iriye and he quickly found that spot inside of her that made her gasp out.

Iriye was going to shut her legs but Aaron stood, moving to stand between her legs. His hand went to the nape of her neck and twisted his fingers into the hair there, making her look at him.

“You want me to stop, say it,” Aaron challenged her, blue eyes piercing her own. “Say it,”

Iriye couldn’t say anything as she moaned, his fingers working inside of her, his thumb touching her clit.

“The thing is you need me, Iriye,” Aaron said. “And I need you,” He leaned down to kiss her lips and Iriye kissed him back deeply. 

Iriye cupped his cheeks as their lips moved against each others, Aaron swallowing every moan and gasp that slipped as he worked her pussy with his fingers, feeling her juices coming out more and more. 

Aaron pulled back from kissing her, taking his fingers out of her pussy and sliding them to her lips, letting her taste herself amongst them. Iriye moaned, tasting her sweet juices. He pulled his fingers and kissed her, groaning.

“Come on,” Aaron lifted Iriye up, her hands moving to his neck and her legs wrapped around him. He led them to her bedroom and she gasps as he dropped her on her bed. “Strip,” Iriye sat up and with the look in his eye, she knew not to play around. 

Iriye shuffled her sweats down, leaving her bottom half bare and then her shirt came off, her titties bouncing back to their space. Aaron;s eyes took in every part of her body and she felt so exposed like a raw nerve. He got himself out of his shirt, the slight hair on his chest coming into view and the same speckle just above his pants. No belt was in his jeans and she watched as he unbuttoned it, his boxer briefs coming into view to show the hard bulge below as he got out of them. 

“Can I taste you,” Iriye asked and Aaron just chuckled. 

“You think I’m going to let you have what you want?” Aaron stated. “After you drove me mad all week, worried about you,” Iriye thought it was posessiveness making him act like this but it was more than that. “Get the condom,” Iriye shuffled up her bed to check her sidetable draw. Just as she was about to grab the gold foil, she felt a smack to her ass and she moaned from the sting, looking back at him. “Get the condom, Iriye,” 

Iriye grabbed it, shifting till she was laying against the pillow. Like a lion, Aaron crawled over her. He took the condom out of her hands and opened it, slipping it onto himself. 

Aaron crawled over Iriye, his eyes meeting her and leaning down for a soft kiss. And Iriye hated that she felt like she didn’t deserve him being sweet for a moment.

“Let me in, Iriye,” Aaron whispered and it wasn’t just her opening her legs and bed to him. It was everything else. Letting him into her life and her heart.

Before she could reply, Aaron pushed into her, a groan leaving his lips as he pressed into her pussy. She gasped as the familiar feeling of her body stretching around his length.

Aaron took a moment to regain himself, his body rocking into her as Iriye’s nail went to his back to find purchase. But he took both of her hands and pressed them to the bed.

“No. You’re just going to feel me. Feel what I do to you. That’s your only focus. Do you understand,” Aaron demanded.

“Yes,” Iriye moaned as she felt him beginning to thrust his length inside of her. Soft gasps left her as Aaron was commited to being slow and steady. His length slide in and out of her, the wet sounds echoing amongst their moans and groans.

Aaron was rolling his hips too good into her. Rocking against her as her feet tried to find purchase on the bed. His chest was rubbing against her nipples, growing harder and making her pussy throb with each movement.

“God, I wish I could feel how wet you are again,” He whispered against her lips, him leaning down to kiss her. Her hands were gasping the covers as Aaron pinned her down.

“You feel so good inside of me,” Iriye moaned out, feeling him thrust a little harder into her and causing her to cry out. 

“You really wanted to end this,” Aaron groaned against her neck. “Look at me,” He twisted his hips in a way that had Iriye arching her back, body still rocking slowly into her. “You want me to stop?”

Iriye gasped as he thrust again, hitting her g spot. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a second.

“You didn’t answer me Iriye,” He thrust harder into her. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” Iriye whined out. Aaron paused for a moment and she was about to moan her discontent.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Iriye did as she was told, her legs wrapping around his waist. He lifted her back up from the bed. “Arms around my neck,” She wrapped around his neck and that’s when she knew he was trying to ruin her for anyone else.

Aaron’s muscles weren’t just for looks as he began bouncing her on his cock, lifting her like she was nothing. She began crying out, not caring that her neighbors would most likely complain. If they were getting fucked like this while on their worst behavior, they would understand.

“You really want this to stop,” Aaron lifted her, his cock hitting her g spot just right and her being forced to take the onslaught was wrecking her. They were both trying to breath between gasps and moans. “A-Answer me,” He stuttered as Iriye’s pussy spasmed.

“No. Please! No! Don’t stop,” Iriye cried out loudly. She clutched onto him for dear life as the wet slaps fell against his hips.

“You really wanted to run from this,” Aaron was thrusting up into her harder. “But no one can fuck you like this,” He made sure to puntactate each word with a hard thrust, forcing cries from her body. 

“Aaron!” Iriye whined.

“When I am done with you, you’re only going know my name. You understand, love,” Aaron thrust harder into her.

“Fuck! Yes,” Iriye cried out. He thrust up into her as he brought her body down onto his length, cries and moans leaving Iriye’s body as he moved faster. “You’re going to make cum!” Iriye whined.

“Good. Cum on your cock. I’m yours baby,” Aaron leaned in to kiss her. Her lips hungrily found his and she cried out as she felt her pussy spasming. It took a couple more thrusts before Iriye screamed out. Her juices flooding his length just made Aaron thrust harder, him groaning out as his orgasm hit her and they crumpled to the bed, entangled in each others arms. They would have to talk at some point but their bodies did most of the work and that was enough for now.

@wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[tobiasdrake]

hello. odd question: if you were given the choice, what sort of post buu sequel would you personally want to see? you don't have to write a whole story or anything, just, what kind of story would you want to see told if it were up to you? in terms of basic premise, tone, or "gimmick" if you'd like to see one.

Probably unpopular opinion but my ideal vision of a post-Buu Dragon Ball sequel would be to retire Goku and Vegeta after the Buu arc for good. Goku's story ended very satisfyingly with the Cell arc and I don't think Vegeta could ever go out on a higher note than what Buu gave him. I think Dragon Ball has a lot of potential for future storytelling beyond Buu but if we're working from scratch then these two characters, specifically, I'm ready to be done with.

What Dragon Ball needs to give it that shot in the arm is to have the courage to do what it wanted to do post-Cell: to start over and reinvent itself.

I do understand why that fell apart with Gohan. Gohan doesn't like martial arts. He never has. He enjoys it as an activity he can do with the people he loves, but he isn't a martial artist at heart. He has no drive for it as a hobby; His only relationship with it is as a necessary evil he sometimes has to engage in to protect his loved ones.

That's not a spark that can drive a Dragon Ball protagonist down a road of self-discovery and personal improvement through a deep, personal relationship with the art. And all the attempts to make Gohan relevant again just amount to giving him free power-ups and browbeating him into doing things that, on a fundamental level, he just hates doing.

Gohan doesn't want to be a Dragon Ball main character. He has never wanted that, and we shouldn't force him to. It's better for him and better for the story to just move along.

So where does that leave us?

I think the Buu arc gave us all the tools we need to reinvent Dragon Ball already. I think the characters who have the most potential in telling new Dragon Ball stories are the ones the franchise kinda just... wants to sweep aside. It's Goten, Trunks, and Marron. Pan and Bra. And our new green god Dende. The next generation of Dragon Ball heroes.

It's Goten and Trunks looking at their fathers' backs and knowing that these are the mountains that they are meant to climb. To become more than Goku and Vegeta ever were. And questioning if that's even what they want for themselves. What is their relationship to the art, independent of their fathers? Independent of each other?

Who even are they to each other? Are they to be a reflection of their fathers? Are they to be their fathers' mirror opposites? Or are they to be something else, something independent of their fathers, something only they can identify?

And what does the art mean to them personally? When it stops being "I'm doing this because my family does it," what is it to them? Is it even what they want or, like Gohan, do their destinies lie down another road?

Who is Marron? Who will she grow up to be? What does the art mean to her? In this world of Saiyans and Namekians, what are the limitations that her humanity imposes on her? And how can she break those limits and become something super?

These are the questions that I think could fuel a really interesting sequel series. I think the key to Dragon Ball's artistic future is in allowing someone else to go on a martial arts journey of their own, so we can watch them grow from a wide-eyed child to a wizened master as we once watched Goku.

[forgetfulfish]

I originally posted this as a reply to a reblog but I'm posting it here anyways:

The spiraling horror of the way the tasks get more and more mundane is brilliantly done. The viewer sees Gabby's situation and they're jarred by how screwed up it is. Severance for personal and selfish reasons. Then they emphasise the reality of this kind of existence so blatantly with Wellington Gemma's "I was just here", going to the dentist over and over again.

This image of the ultra rich handing off uncomfortable things goes from childbirth, to the dentist, to airplane turbulence. People so devoid of humanity they would in a literal way slice off a part of their own self and use it to avoid all pain and discomfort. However, the airplane amps it up a level of bizarreness, because that's a discomfort that is already fully avoidable. Countless nervous flyers every day take a sleeping tablet on a flight. Checking out of the concious world on a flight is already an option, so what's the appeal? That one could stay awake and converse and keep up appearances while on the flight? There's no possible reason that isn't entirely based on keeping up appearances. There's a whole other more ethical way to avoid that discomfort right there. The situation has spiraled from selfishly avoiding pain and locking that poor innie in the cabin 3 times, to the Wellington Gemma that ensures endless dental procedures to allow an outie to avoid even the most routine and trivial uncomfortable procedures, to keeping a person eternally on an airplane to avoid showing any even perceived weakness or fear. We've seen what having only the severed floor does to the Lumon innies, even with other innies around and diconnected from the outside world. Now scale that down to an airplane but there's nobody who understands you and you're never really anywhere always in the sky. Always expected to socialise with outies like you aren't even an innie. Gabby's innie wouldn't admit to being one, she put up a front, it's a reasonable jump to assume that's what will be expected of them.

And then they show the Christmas room. An innie created to avoid writing thank you notes at Christmas. A person who exists solely so that one would not have to go to the effort of actual human connection. But it goes deeper than that, this is a task one could pay an assistant to do for them. Any person who doesn't give a damn about thank you notes and can afford an optional brain surgery like severance could probably outsource this task with ease. Heck, a thank you note is something you could just forego entirely. But no, they think that one must keep up an appearance of gratitude, of a hand written thank you note, and they see no issue having one woman write forever so that they can have that. And this one scene hammers home the goal of keeping up appearances because the innie is expected to return their spouse's declartion of love. The innie must behave as the outie spouse would. A big cultural holiday that's meant to be about spending time with family is turned into her constant suffering all in the name of the outie avoiding being even slightly inconvenience having to perform a kind gesture. And what better framing for the corporatisation of human feeling than Christmas, a holiday famously intensely corporatised.

We went from singular rich lady selfisly offloads her suffering, to avoiding routine medical procedures by having a person go through them endlessly, to having somebody locked eternally in a vehicle simply to save face, to creating an innie to avoid anything that is even mildly annoying and in doing so turning what should be a relatively mundane task for the outie into an infinitely stretching never ending hell for an innie.

The viewer sees the horror of Gabby's innie's situation and the show just takes it lower and lower and lower. Absolute doom spiral of situations and motivations. Quality storytelling.

[bunnylouisegrimes]

My Love For You (Patrick Bateman X Reader Attempt, Fem Reader, Contains (Noncon) Kidnapping, Stalking, Obsession, Patrick being creepy and yandere, etc.)

(A/N: So I randomly decided to attempt a reader insert fic with Patrick. I was inspired by the fantastic works of @makeyoumine69 and @creepybeanie

I'm personally not really a fan of writing the second person POV of "you" from a narrator's perspective. I much prefer to do it from a character's POV. It's been a while since I wrote from Pat's POV anyway, and it's always so fun. I missed doing it! Hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading 💗)

Oh, hey, sleepyhead! Did you have a good nap?

You know, there's no point in trying to squirm. Those ropes? You're not going anywhere with them. You should know I've had plenty of experience typing women up. You're not the first woman I've bound to a bed. In fact, it was easier to do it here in my summer home rather than my apartment's bed. I really like the way the bedframe works up here.

Go ahead, try to scream. There's no point in it. Do you know how much land surrounds us and separates each house? Nobody will hear you.

Even if I did let you go, just for the fun of the hunt, you'd never find your way out. You'd probably get lost on the beach. Your only way out then would be the cold, vast ocean. Would you take that risk? Jumping into that ocean where a shark could eat you or where you'd freeze to death?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Who am I? Oh, sweetheart, I'm your little shadow. I've been following you around for quite some time. I've watched your every move for the last... three months or so...

Yes, dear, it's been that long. I remember our first date... I caught you at that coffee shop. You were so quiet and awkward, so shy and cute... I fell for you the moment I saw you. You were so...different, different from the other women I've been around in my life. They were models, hardbodies, loud party girls, but you... you were the antithesis of all of that. And that's when I finally realized what I was missing in my life, what I needed.

I needed a real woman.

I needed someone who was genuine, kind, sweet... I needed someone who, while beneath me, felt just as lonely as I did. You've heard of trickle down economics? Of course you have, you pay attention to the headlines, as much as they worsen your anxiety. Well, I believe that loneliness is the one thing that seems to be trickling down through our society. It's lonely at the top, but it's just as lonely down there. That's why you and I need each other.

Because we can understand each other against all odds.

You're lonely down here, I'm lonely up there. We both know what it's like to be different, to be surrounded by fake people... it's miserable, isn't it? But you... you don't try fitting in like I have for so long. And for that... that is something I admire. Something I need... something I can escape within... You know you can escape within me, right?

Don't squirm so much when I sniff your hair... I can't help myself around you... darling, you are soooo intoxicating to me... God, I need you... You need me, I know it... don't deny it, don't fight it... I know how touch deprived you've been. You poor thing... I know you need this. You've needed this for so long. You barely even leave the house... It was apparant to me the moment I first saw you at that coffee shop.

I could tell it wasn't really your thing to get coffee somewhere. You much preferred to just make your own at home. But I've grown to understand that leaving the house isn't your strong suit. As I've followed your every move and hid in the shadows, completely undetected by you, I learned it doesn't help you have no friends, no lover... you're all by yourself...

You poor thing... you've been so lonely for so long... but that's okay. Let me be the one to touch you, bring you warmth, comfort, companionship... I know my love is twisted, but you will learn to accept it and embrace it. You will learn to accept my perverse love because you know you need it...

The few times you have left the house, I've spotted you at several places. I've watched you enter and leave the hospital you work at. That's the only time I've seen you truly leave consistently. I've seen you go to the grocery store and the convenience store every now and then. I've seen you go to your old school, where you could just wander and reflect upon your journey so far in life. That hiking trail, that park... I followed you to the mall, where you watched that scary movie... remember, the zombie one? Then you hit the arcade and then ran through a spending spree throughout your geeky stores to buy things to make you feel less lonely... remember the hot pretzel with spicy sauce you bought for yourself at the food court?

Of course I remember all these details. It's not often you leave the house to do fun things, love. It's easy to remember one day's worth of details. Especially since you spend most of your time inside your house playing video games and watching TV, sometimes sitting on your front or back porch. I watched you the whole time in spots you were completely oblivious to... the windows, the bushes... it was all so easy...

Remember that convention you contemplated wanting to go to? I wish you weren't so shy and scared to go. Maybe you would've met someone just as nerdy as you! Or... maybe... you would've met me! Maybe I would've finally presented myself to you, you wouldn't know at that point I had been watching for you some time... but then again, if we had gone, you would've probably known I didn't belong there, and that would've ruined everything...

Or how about the county fair? That theme park? You mentioned possibly taking time off to go there. But you just didn't see the point...why don't you? You deserve happiness, pumpkin... you deserve to be loved... and I will show you...

How did I find all this time to watch you? Ha! Because nobody cared to look for me! I could skip days of work, and nobody even knew. I would just be mistaken for someone else. It's not like I have true friends or close family that would go looking for me. I'm just as alone as you are, my love... don't you see how much we need each other?

Shhh...shhh... Don't cry... Don't cry, pumpkin. I know it's so hard to be so lonely... but I'm here now, and I will make it all better...

Can you leave? Why, of course, not! And why would you want to leave? So you can secluded yourself in your house again? My darling, what kind of life are you giving yourself? You see, I am giving you a much better life. You might not feel like it right now, but you will see. With how much money I have, I could provide anything to you. I could provide trips to other countries for just the two of us, I could buy you anything you want...I could provide you the world on a silver platter. You won't have to work, and neither will I! I'm quitting that Wall Street job. It wasn't good for me anyway, I see that now. I might just leave the city entirely. The empty nights of hookers and blow... all of the bloodshed I spilled... they'll be replaced with nights full of lovemaking with you... We'll be so happy together, princess...

All you have to do is behave... and be a good girl for me...

Do you like it when I kiss you? It feels so good to kiss you... mmmm, fuck, baby, you're driving me insane... I'm gonna give you the ride of your life tonight... you know, most women I've given the rides of their lives to always end up having those same lives taken away from them by the end of the night... I can't do that to you, my little angel... I could never hurt you... I would only kill to protect you... because the closest thing to love is what I feel for you... you are the first and only one I will ever feel this for...

This is why I've done all of this, my dear. I did all of this for you. And now, you are mine. Forever and ever and ever...

You will always be mine, dear. If you ever run from me, I will always catch you. If you ever hide from me, I always find you. And I will bring you right back here, safe and sound. To be mine for all of eternity. You and I are one now... and always will be...

So keep on squirming and crying and screaming all you want... you'll exaust yourself. You'll come to realize this is for the best. You'll come to realize how right I am. You'll come to accept me and my love for you. You'll realize that you love me too. Whether you like it or not, we are soulmates, and we will be bound together forever... You'll see that all of this is for you...

And all for my love of you...

(A/N: Thank you so much again for reading! Sorry if this isn't the best, idk if or when I'll write more reader insert stuff, it can be hard for me, as self insert stuff is what I'm most comfortable with. But I'd appreciate any feedback! 💗💗🫂🫂😘😘)

[jingyichickenwings]

This is less of a Deep Cut and more of a case of schadenfreude, but I love when various members of a creative team are messy in public about their high budget group project. Reality TV for nerds. It speaks to a profound lack of media training or fucks given. You guys realize that future employers can Google you, right? Unintentionally hilarious.

Linke and Yee were told in no uncertain terms that their season 1 storyboard was shit, so they hired Overton, who hired half a dozen actual writers, and they did basically a full overhaul. The script was objectively much better. But this was Linke's baby, and several years later you still see signs that he is Big Mad that he didn't get his way, and that he doesn't know or care about what actually became season 1 canon. I'm sorry that your Jewish stereotype villain didn't get to be a pedophile, I guess? Idk. Yes, yes, I am sure your version of Svengali is really innovative. Maybe someday, buddy.

Meanwhile they start writing season 2 in early 2020, while the season 1 air date isn't until November of 2021. So, they don't have public feedback on the script yet, just, yanno, actual writing professionals. Anyway, according to Overton, they needed to fire the non-management part of the writing team because of the pandemic?! Lmao babygirl you do your best and I respect commitment to the official PR excuse but nobody sensible believes this. Netflix writers average 110k/year, and you needed six or so from season 1. That is not a big part of the overall budget. Also, y'all could have saved money with Zoom meetings.

So the very thing that saved the season 1 script got line-itemed "because of the pandemic". That sounds like an extremely convenient excuse for Linke to be like, no, fuck you all, we are going back to Plan A, the rough draft of season 2 based on his shitty version of season 1. Honey. That ship has sailed. You already lost this argument.

So presumably some combination of Linke/Yee/Riot/Netflix was like, it's important that we have at least one actual grown adult writer on staff. So Overton gets to keep her job.

Now, I want to preface this by saying that season 2 would have been even worse without Overton. That being said, there is a reason they needed a deeper bench of writing staff. Overton and Linke over-connect with the characters Caitlyn and Jayce respectively, to a degree that they frequently forgot to evaluate how other characters would likely behave in certain situations. It led to contrivances, plot holes, etc. There is a lot I could add here but tbh go read any of the meta already out there.

In addition to the Mary Sue type behavior, Overton thought it would be Neat to make the writing more like Avengers, like multiverse time travel fuckery is a shiny beach pebble and not narrative napalm. What in the ADHD was she thinking? Even if they had the run time to world build enough for this, there was nothing in season 1 to even suggest this as an option. And let's be fucking honest, multiverse a lot of why Marvel is on a downward spiral. If Viktor can go to Build-A-Bear Workshop and 3-D print a million Jayces, why should I give a shit about his kill count? He can just be kind, rewind, and try again. Actions are decoupled from consequences.

Anyway, moving back to the topic at hand of the Arcane team. Apparently, Overton, Linke and Yee only half-wrote season 2?! Linke said something about how they "extensively collaborated with Fortiche on the story"? Which, it's not inherently a bad idea to get creative feedback from your art team, but ummm, maybe the writers and Fortiche should have worked to a point of agreement on basic story beats. Based on a lot of what Fortiche has said, the art for season 2 passive aggressively advances what they wanted the writing to be against Linke's wishes. They literally have just been straight up disagreeing with Linke and getting paid for it. Which, to be fair, I respect the sheer pettiness! Linke can't write his own damn show but wants to slow down the very expensive art team? When the actual writers that got fired "because of the pandemic" would have caught a lot of the season 2 issues?

So post airing of season 2, Overton is all about that girlboss copaganda, Linke is having multiple public meltdowns and getting fired by Riot(?), and multiple voice actors and artists at Fortiche are being like "yeah, we actually wanted something else so there are now multiple competing narratives for season 2". Which is hilarious. The way in which the show is messy is the same way in which the creators are messy. These bitches are a cautionary tale about hubris and the need to engage in team-building.