#it's Factual that it was rushed. we all know that. i feel like they should have waited before making s2

[peanutbubba]

The Boy is Mine

Law x male!reader, pre-time skip, smut, Sub!Top Reader, Dom!Bottom Law, unestablished relationship to an established one, jealousy, brattiness, possession, praise, riding, overstim, mentions of fingering, oral, not beta read, 3.5k words

Breathtaking, that's what you were, devastatingly easy on the eyes. It’s what pisses Law off so much, even without trying to you demand attention.

And Law hated it when you got it, even in your boiler suit, you pulled it off annoyingly well. The way that women practically threw themselves at you, trying to spend a night with you, it disgusted him.

The hand on his sword clenching tighter, these people needed to learn no meant no. He watched as you tried to get the women away from you, a nervous smile on your face as you kept rejecting them.

His eyes narrowing he raised two of his fingers in a familiar position, “Room. Shambles.”

One second you were surrounded by a bunch of women, the next you were standing right beside Law, the unamused look on his face already telling you something was up.

Surprised at how you disappeared the women look around curiously, eventually one of them pointing you out a few feet away a shriek coming from her. “It’s Trafalgar Law, the pirate rookie!”

At those words Law’s lips turn up in a grin, his half lidded eyes flickering across all the women in the bunch. “So you’ve heard of me?”

His eyes narrow dangerously, a glint of jealousy in his gray eyes. “Good, that means you can listen.”

You let out a yelp as Law catches the back of your boiler suit, pushing you in front of him. “This man here, he’s mine, got it? So leave him alone.”

A crimson tinge blooms on your cheeks, your face mimicking the looks of the women, surprised and confused.

Letting go of you, Law turns around, a disinterested look on his face once more, “Finish up shopping, Y/N, we’ll meet you back on the Polar Tang.”

Straightening up you respond immediately, “Of course, Captain!” Your verbal confirmation being all he needed before he sauntered off, not another word leaving him.

Looking behind him you saw Bepo, realizing what Law meant by ‘we’. Then your face drops, looking around you watching how everyone is instead now scared of you, shopping was going to be a hassle.

When Law met where Bepo was standing, his navigator giggling behind his white paws, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Law let out a sigh, his eyes slipping closed for a moment, heat rushing to encapsulate his face as he pushed his hat further down his head.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, passing Bepo his sword.

Bepo takes the sword and immediately down turns his head, a sorrowful expression on his face, “Sorry, captain.”

Beginning to walk towards the submarine, Law stays silent, listening to the gasps of civilians as he passes through the streets, Bepo following closely behind him.

“You know you should tell him,” Bepo starts, trying once more for the millionth time to convince his captain to confess his feelings to you.

Law simply rolls his eyes, deciding that today he’d play dumb to Bepo’s pestering. “Tell who what?” He questions.

Bepo frowns in turn, his black button nose twitching in annoyance. “Y/N! You can’t keep denying that you like him forever.”

“I don’t like him,” Law says flatly. If it was anyone else they would have been convinced, but considering that Bepo has been with Law longer than anyone else he knew how to read the man.

Bepo shakes his head at the audacity of his captain, “You literally called him yours in front of a whole bunch of people!”

“Well he is, he’s a part of my crew.” He states factually, making eye contact with Bepo.

“Yeah, well we both know that’s not how you meant it.” The polar bear mink bites back, a small frown on his face.

Law matches the frown, his brows furrowing in irritation that he couldn’t hide anything from Bepo. “I’ll tell him…”

At those words Bepo perks up, finally glad that he was starting to talk some sense into Law, “That’s good-“

“…eventually,” Law finishes his sentence off, Bepo’s happy face dropping once more.

Bepo lets out a sigh, no longer bringing the subject up as they reach the Polar Tang, the other crew members welcoming them back.

Giving Law his sword back Bepo walks away to Shachi and Penguin, deciding to give the two a hand with whatever task they were currently struggling at.

Law went to his captain’s quarter, not really wanting to be bothered at the moment with anything other than his own thoughts.

The sound of the door closing behind him immediately has him placing a hand over his chest, feeling how his heart thumps against it, as if it was going to burst out of his chest.

It was pathetic really, how much you affected him. He just wanted to sink into the ocean and never have to face you again, because even seeing you was enough to send his heart into shock, even as much as he tries to deny it.

Sucking in a breath he slowly exhales, trying so desperately to regain his grip on reality, how embarrassing it is to be this much of a mess from just seeing and talking about you.

Letting out a grunt he goes to his desk, perhaps he’d have better luck distracting himself when by doing actual work. A mix of research papers and medical books scattered around his table, both organized and messy at the same time. His fingers thumbing over pages as he compares notes, diseases, and cures.

It isn’t long before night hits, shrouding the Polar Tang in a cloak of stars and purple, not that Law really noticed it, too engrossed within the papers in his hands.

Rasping of knuckles against metal being the only thing that could knock him out of his stupor, hardly looking up from the pages in his hands as he yells, “Come in!”

The handle of the door twisting with a screech before relaxing again as it’s pushed in, revealing you with a tray of dinner resting between your hip and hand. “I brought you dinner, Captain.”

“Is that so?” He responds back, eyes skimming across a page of text, not retaining any of the information as he listens for any other movements or words you’d bless him with.

Feet shuffle over to his desk, each foot step you take having Law’s heart pounding and learching, fingers tighten on the papers as he tries so desperately to keep his composure while you’re so close to him in this enclosed space. The sound of the metal door closing by itself, the feel of paper wrinkling under his hand doing nothing to soothe him.

Brushing some of the papers on Law’s desk to the side you create an opening wide enough for the tray, on it a plate of onigiri and a mug of steaming black coffee resting neatly upon it.

The smell alone of the coffee had Law meagerly looking up, catching how the dark liquid rippled from your prior movements. Your hands release the handles of the tray, maneuvering so you were next to Law’s desk instead.

Your captain’s tired eyes going from the coffee to following you, his brows furrowing in an unspoken question.

Letting out a hum you answer his peeking curiosity, “Everyone is back on the island gathering the last of the supplies, I don’t want to be alone.”

Law doesn’t answer, letting out a sigh as he goes back to the medical page in his hand, his other free hand reaching for the coffee that you made him. Taking the fact that he didn’t kick you out immediately as a good sign you turn around, sitting down and leaning your back on the side of his desk, arms crossed against your chest.

It wasn’t like you were Penguin or Shachi, you wouldn’t purposely or even accidentally cause him trouble, something that Law grew fond of you over, which was also why he allowed you to stay. In a way it was a win win, you got to not feel alone and Law got to bask in your presence.

Taking a sip of his coffee Law almost melts in the chair, how you made a coffee taste so bitter and yet sweet enough to cancel it out he had to figure out, it was perfectly made.

His hand switched between the mug of coffee and the onigiri, eating and drinking as he peacefully studys away, you by his side. He wouldn’t have been surprised if when he died this is what he’d see in heaven, if he’d ever make it there in the first place.

Light snores taking up the silence after what Law can only assume is somewhere close to an hour, his eyes looking over to examine how your head is slumped over, your body completely still from the position you originally got in.

Seeing you sleep also makes him realize his own aching need for rest, the energy the coffee and food gave him already spent.

Pushing his chair out he stands up, stretching his arms up with a small groan falling from his lips, ecstasy reaching its grubby hands on his body since he was finally up and standing after so many hours.

Walking over to you he squats down, observing for a moment how your chest rises and falls, how even in your sleep your beauty maddeningly still clings on to your body. If god had favorites he was sure you were at the top of the list, there was no other excuse in his eyes.

Raising up two of his fingers he planned on just teleporting you to your bunk, before an idea planted itself in his head. Well, can you blame him? How many times is it that your crush is asleep in front of you, clueless as to what you’re doing?

Planting a hand down on the floor to steady his balance he leans forward, shivering slightly at how your breaths brush so lightly against his whiskered chin. Pushing himself to continue his lips meet your forehead, barely there for more than a second, just a small kiss to confess what he truly thought of you, even if you were asleep.

Leaning back away just by a little he doesn’t even realize how your snores stopped, or how your eyebrow twitches ever so slightly, too sidetracked with how heart pounds like drums, and how his other lifted hand shakes.

A tight grip on the scruff of his neck pushing him down, you looking up to meet him in the middle, a teasing smile on your face as you talk with your slight sleep laced voice, “Hi, Captain.”

Law’s face blows up in red as a response, inked hands reaching for your chest and pushing himself away from you, breathing heavily as he gets away from your suffocating presence.

Falling on the floor butt first, hands trying to find purchase anywhere on the metal floors, tilting his head down to hopefully hide some of it behind the brim. Truly he wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you scared him, or the fact that you caught him left him more out of breath.

“Y/N-ya it’s… it’s not what it looks like,” he tries in a small voice, raising his left arm so he can hide the rest of his crimson face behind his sun kissed skin.

Loud boisterous laughter only makes his eyes widen further, his mouth gaping as his heart stutters, the laugh not mocking nor meant in a bad manner, genuine humor seeping out of you.

Even your laugh was hot… God must have favorites.

Standing up you wipe imaginary dust off your boiler suit, smoothing it down under your fingers before walking over to where Law was sitting.

Leaning down and hooking your hands around his waist he was about to yell at you, a clear scowl forming on his face, before he was lifted up from the ground, standing him up straight.

Law’s scowl turning both flustered as well as dumbfounded, since when could you pick him up like he was nothing but a mere feather?!

Goosebumps racking his body at the implications of that, and from the fact that very clearly through his hoodie he could feel your strong grip on his waist, sending an uncharacteristic satisfaction and desire through his mind.

“You know, Law,” an almost purr like noise escaping your mouth, not missing how Law quivers at his name rolling off your tongue, “if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have asked.”

As you lean forward Law’s left arm shoots out, grasping your lower face and pushing it away from him, “I don’t want to!”

“Idiot, you shouldn’t say stuff like that!” He grumbles, his other hand placing itself on your chest, just now realizing how close the space between you both was.

A chuckle escapes your lips at your captain’s behavior, a mischievous glint in your eye as you release your right hand from the grip on his waist, placing it on Law’s wrist instead to keep it in place.

Lips pressing against the palm tenderly throwing him for a whirlwind, hand tensing then relaxing, releasing his grip on your face. He gapes, your lips making it across his hand, from his roughed up palm to the inked letters in the backs of his fingers, then back again.

Each kiss makes him melt further within your arms, your eyes flickering to his as you place one last kiss at the base of his ring finger, a grin making its way on your features. “Can I kiss you, Captain?”

And Law can simply nod dumbly, too speechless with your attention on him. Your hand going from his wrist to his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him in.

Warm lips landing on his own so nicely, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans into it, tilting his head slightly as you nip at his lower lip, a soft whimper escaping him.

Parting his lips, your tongue slips in, his fingers tightening in yours as you both fight for dominance, the two of you too stubborn to give in.

Breaking away for air the two of you stare at each other for a moment, enamored by how drool dribbles out the corner of Law’s mouth. Pants and huffs fill the air, and when you go to break it further Law cuts you off, “Shut up.”

You hardly take offense to his words, your easy going nature only making you amused at your Captain’s orders, still following them ever dutifully.

Law lets go of your hand, placing his on your chest and pushing you back until your back near his desk, moving you over to his chair and watching how your knees buckle under the corner of it digging into you.

An ungraceful look about you as you tilt your head up, a look of adoration in your eyes as you admire how your Captain now towers over you.

Your hands go to hold Law's hips but are slapped away by him, an almost evil look to his face, “Don’t touch, just watch.”

Nodding your head you put your hands to your sides, holding on to the arm rests instead, allowing the man to have his fun.

He goes for your clothes first, unclasping the button by your neck, quick fingers making due of the zipper next. You pull your arms out of the sleeves to make his job easier, lifting your hips as he pushes it down with your pants under the suit, only leaving you in a tank top and boxers.

One of his hands reaches for his hat, taking it off and placing it gently on the floor, black locks of unruly hair sticking out in the air now. His other hand goes to the hem of your underwear, hooking a finger under it and lifting before letting go, a wicked grin adorning his face at the sound of the snap against your hips and the jolt of your knee.

Reaching again he actually pulls your underwear down this time, his breath hitching as your length is released into the air. Fingers reaching for your tip, smearing the precum already gathering there, a grunt leaving you as he circles his finger, your dick twitching in interest.

His entire hands wrapping around as he leans in, licking and sucking at your base while he pumps the rest in his hand, eyes flickering up to see how your face contorts in pleasure.

Leaning back up he kisses the tip of your dick wetly, then he opens his mouth, engulfing half of you in his mouth.

The hand previously on your cock reaching down and undoing his own belt and pants, his eyes fluttering closed then opening again, leaving you with enough imagination to already guess what he’s doing under there.

His tongue licks at the underside of your dick, a soft moan leaving him before he lowers himself further, throat closing around you as he chokes slightly. That doesn’t deter him though, slurping obscenly around you as fucks you in his throat, drool messily spilling from the corners on his lips.

The flecks of yellow in his irises now more pronounced as tears brim his eyes, the lust encapsulated in them only making you harder.

Your hands twitch and shake due to how bad you want to go for his hair, but you force them on the arm rests clutching so tightly as Law sucks so sweetly, moans falling from your lips.

Much to your displeasure Law only stays between your legs for another minute before standing, chest rising and falling harshly finally able to catch some proper breaths.

Though you perk up again when you notice how his hands go down on his own body, reaching for the band of his pants and boxers. Slowly he pulls them down to expose more of his skin to you, kicking them away when they hit the floor, his shoes going next.

The plush smooth skin sent you into a craze, so badly did you want to fill it with marks, though you refrained praying you’d be able to another time.

Going over to you Law places his knees beside your hip, trapping you between the chair and him, not that you were complaining.

Hovering over your dick, Law let out a chuckle, one hand grasping at your cock and lining you up with his hole, the other resting on your shoulder. “You ready, Y/N-ya?”

He hardly gives you the chance to respond though, sinking down on you, letting out a groan at Law’s tight heat. No longer being able to resist you place your hand on his hips, not missing how he glares at you, but he doesn’t say anything.

It takes him a minute to adjust to you, his hand coming to wrap around your other shoulder as well, then lifting himself up before dropping back down, both of you moaning softly at the feel.

Law shuts his eyes as his grip on your shoulders tighten, pushing himself up and thrusting down on you at a steady pace, your hips bucking up to meet him halfway.

One of your hands wanders from his hip to his stomach, going to lift the hoodie up but you’re stopped when Law goes down and your hand pushes against his tummy, throwing his head back as a loud guttural moan comes from him.

It felt like his brain was pouring out of his ears, a haze only being left in his mind as he grabs your wrist, forcing you to push down again as he whimpers.

Clenching around your dick when you do push again, fuck you felt so good, this had to be heaven. His eyes find yours again, once gray eyes now almost completely overtaken by yellow, tears well in his eyes, some spilling through his thin lashes.

Leaning down Law catches your lips with his own, a passionately messy mix of tongue and spit, Law’s lips wrapping around your tongue with a moan as he sucks.

Pulling away he presses his forehead to yours, messy babbles of, “So good!” And your name tumbling out of his spit slicked lips.

Getting closer to his climax, Law looks at you, a pleading look in his yellow eyes, “Say my name again. Say you’re mine. Please, please Y/N-ya.”

Your eyes widen at his request, grunting at practically harsh thrust before you comply. “I’m yours. All yours, Law.”

At those words Law lets out a long moan, mouth forming a perfect O as he his eyes roll back, pure ecstasy adorning his face, whispering your name like a prayer.

And it isn’t long before you’re pushed over the edge as well, Law’s hole sucking you in so deliciously as he continues to bounce on you for your own pleasure.

Overstimulation making him whine and shake as he helps you ride out your high, a soft moan leaving him as he feels you filling him up, your hot seed making his slim stomach pudge out a bit.

Putting your hand back on his hip you stop his movements, both of you sucking in air harshly for a second.

Your hands tighten on his hips a grunt escaping you when he begins grinding down on you, a devilish grin on his face. “You can go again, right, Y/N-ya?” He says so sweetly.

—

This was supposed to be posted yesterday but I both got distracted, and ended up writing WAY more details then intended.

Hope you enjoyed still, Pea’s out!

[rebelliousstories]

Jasmines and Vanilla

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,869

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: A certain smell catches Reid’s attention in the bullpen.

American poet Diane Ackerman once said, “Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains.”

There was absolutely nothing remarkable about today. It was a paperwork day, which meant staying in the office. No flying on the jet to go stop an unsub in some other part of the country, or hopping in their government issued SUVs to find them on their home turf. The whole BAU team was stuck in the office and it was glorious. Having just come home from a case the day prior; everyone was excited about having a paperwork day to relax.

“Ugh, don’t get me wrong, I love these days where were not jet-setting across the country. But why do they always feel like they pass by slower than when we are going all over on the governments dime to stop bad guys?” The bored voice of Emily Prentiss called throughout the bullpen.

“An increased dopamine rush to your brain increases your internal perception of time. But dopamine and adrenaline cause such similar reactions inside your brain, it has the same effect leading to you feeling like time passes much faster when we’re in the field and-” Spencer was quickly cut off by the aforementioned agent.

“I really should know better than to ask after all these years.” Reid cast his eyes back down to his paperwork and felt embarrassment creep up his neck. In all honesty, he should be used to that after all these years but it still never got any easier to have someone shut him down. Turning back to his paperwork, he ignored the scoffed chuckle from JJ and tried to recenter himself.

There was no unusual sounds from the area heard for a while after that. Or maybe there was, but Spencer chose to bury himself in his work so that he would be less likely to go on an embarrassing factual rant. He did not know how long he kept his nose buried in the case files on his desk, but he knew what drew them out of it. A collective confused noise from the women around him, and perfume.

It was unlike anything he had smelled around the office, and it caused his head to perk up. In walked a woman around his age, yet much smaller than him, even with the heels she had worn. Her hair was curled up and out of her face, reminding him of the victory rolls worn during World War II by the working women of the era. In fact, her entire look reminded him of that era. She wore a type of secretary’s uniform from the era, had on red lipstick that complemented her features nicely and a winged eyeliner that drew attention to them.

A visitor’s pass dangled from on of the lapels. She was obviously here on purpose, but for what purpose, no one knew. But what drew him in, was that smell; the smell of her perfume. It was intoxicating to him. How he was this way about a woman he had never met before, let alone knew the name of? All he knew was that she had enraptured his senses in less than a minute, fifty-six seconds to be exact.

Heels clicked into the bullpen, and a tidal wave of color followed. It was almost comical seeing Penelope standing next to Derek, who had opted for all black for his relaxing day in his office. The clicking stopped shortly after the pair locked their eyes on to the new woman out in the middle of the floor.

“Who is that?” Garcia squeaked out, unable to pull her eyes from the mystery woman. Morgan’s eyes were glued to the same place, but he went to go introduce himself to her.

“Haven’t got a clue, baby girl. One sec.” He made his way down the stairs to where everyone was confused. But before he made it to her, Derek’s eyes caught on to something even more interesting than the visitor. It was the look on the resident genius’ face. With a smirk, he strutted to where the other man sat and placed his hand on his shoulder. Spencer jumped in his seat and looked to who had startled him out of his own thoughts.

“You should go introduce yourself, pretty boy. She looks a little lost.” The younger man pursed his lips and shook his head in defeat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” While Spencer tried to turn back to the case files, his eyes kept flickering up to the young woman.

“Well, I think I’m gonna go introduce myself to her then.” And with that, Reid was forced to watch the spectacle of the enigma that was Derek Morgan in action.

“Hello, miss. Is there something I can help you with?” He stuck out his hand and waited for her to notice him. She looked down at his hand and offered a wave instead of reaching for it.

“Hi. I’m looking for Aaron Hotchner. Do you happen to know where he could be?” Her voice flowed like honey and Spencer was in heaven. He really needed to get a grip on his senses.

“Um, yes. I do. He’s up there, but you know Dr. Reid here could show where he is exactly. I’m running late for a meeting but I’ll be around if you need anything else.” Said Dr. Reid was starting to panic. Morgan was walking her towards his desk. Was his hair acceptable? Was his perpetually crooked tie still crooked? Was he slouching? She was getting closer and closer, and he could smell her perfume more heavily.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. Reid, this is… I didn’t actually get a name but I’m sure you’ll introduce yourself.” And with that, the suave agent left the two youngsters alone with each other. But they were not alone. Eyes stared at them from women all around the bullpen who were treating this like a mid day spa opera.

“Hi. I’m Reid, um Dr. Spencer Reid.” He raised his hand in a wave as he stood to greet the woman.

“Hi, I’m,” cut off from her introduction, was a deep voice sounding through the pen.

“Honey, is that you?” Mystery woman turned, and let out a bright smile at Aaron Hotchner who stood at the top of the stairs right outside his office.

“Hey. I was looking for you. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to the young doctor before her.

“It was nice meeting you Dr. Reid.” She turned to leave, but there was a moment that she hesitated. Spencer saw this, and without warning, or the ability to stop himself, he spoke.

“Did you know that in the Middle East Jasmine is typically called, ’Queen of the Night’ because the cooler temperatures and darkness allow the blossoms to emit a greater concentration of their scent? Also, the buds of the Jasmine plant are far more fragrant than the fully bloomed flowers?” As soon as he finished, Spencer cringed. He could not believe himself. Here he was trying not to make himself look like a fool in front of this mysteriously pretty woman, but that flew out with window with his big mouth and infinitely bigger brain.

“I did not know that. I’m quite shocked you picked up on that note. Everyone always smells vanilla.” With her body turned, Reid could not help but to profile her. Her shoulders were relaxed. One foot pointed towards Hotch and the other one him indicating that she wanted to keep her conversation going yet needed to turn and leave him. A soft smile let him know that she was genuinely interested in the conversation and her eyes sparkled at the knowledge that someone took the time with her.

“That’s because jasmine is not incredibly common in the perfume world, nor the botanical world. It’s a member of the olive family, although no one associates the two. Vanilla however is a far more common scent and is easier to use in bulk quantities to mask other fragrances.” He rambled. However unlike his colleagues, friends, family, and other women he had been interested in, she really seemed to appreciate his knowledge.

“Well, Dr. Reid, I always love learning new fun facts. Hopefully you’ll have some more for me when I come back out?” She looked towards him hopefully, and slowly turned to leave, keeping her eyes on him till the last second.

“Yeah. Definitely.” Spencer felt himself get giddy at the thought that she wanted to hear more fun facts when she came back. She wanted to come back. It almost felt to good to be true. He watched her ascend the stairs and get pulled into Hotch’s office before he returned to his paperwork. But the women of the bullpen and his team refused to let him forget that. Reid turned his face to where he felt the stares coming from and confusion twisted his features.

“What?” He was genuinely confused at their shocked faces. Emily’s jaw was on the floor, and JJ stared at him like he grew a second head. Penelope on the other hand just looked plain dumbfounded.

“What? What do you mean ‘what?’” Prentiss was the first to speak up.

“You talked with her.” Garcia spoke softly, trying to get over her shock.

“Well, she was nice and Morgan did kind of place her at my desk.” He tried to find himself lost within the papers on his desk, but it was in vain. Garcia marched her way over to his desk, and took the report out of Spencer’s hands to stare at him dead in the eye. He let out a noise of protest but that was overridden by the colorful woman’s own statement.

“Oh, you are smitten.” She stated so plainly.

“No! No, I’m not. Give me my report.” Spencer tried to take it from her hands but she stepped out of his way before he could take them back.

“His voice went up! 187 has got a crush on the mystery woman!” Her giddy tempo made the agent in front of her purse his lips in frustration. Reid stood up and tried once more to swipe the file, but was unsuccessful yet again.

“Garcia, give it back. I am not smitten nor do I have a crush.” He tried to protest, but even to him, his words sounded false.

“Oh, you are, my dear boy wonder. You’re blushing. I haven’t seen you blush in ages!” Penelope turned back to her female agents to gauge their reactions on her revelation. Spencer took this opportunity to take back his file with a snatch and go back to his desk.

“Spence, it’s fine to think she’s attractive. There’s nothing wrong with that.” JJ tried to reassure him in her motherly tone, but he still squirmed in his seat under the attention.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing going on. Sure, she’s pretty. But that’s it.” And with that, Spencer stuck his nose quite literally in the file that he was holding to get away from the scrutiny before him. However, he was unable to get away from it long, before he smelled jasmine’s again.

“I really appreciate you doing this dad. It means a lot to me.” Her voice carried through in the same way it had before. But now he was confused. Why was she calling Hotch dad? He only had one child, Jack.

“Anytime, honey. You need to come over for dinner at some point. Jack misses you, you know?” Now, everyone else’s attention was on the pair before them. Aaron’s hand helped her down the stairs and across the stair from her shoulders. He seemed to notice everyone’s eyes on them and turned before they made it out of the glass doors.

“Oh and this is, at least some of, my team that I was telling you about.” Everyone stood up to greet the woman standing near their unit chief.

“This is Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, our tech analyst, and Dr. Spencer Reid.” Aaron introduced them one by one. And in that order, everyone shook her hands and greeted her with warm smiles and kind words.

“Doctor? What kind?” Her words held genuine intrigue, and Spencer could not help his smile from taking over his face.

“Um, the academic kind. I have three PhD’s.” A smile on her face overtook it in the same way it had his. Their eyes stayed locked onto each others, and neither felt the awkwardness of maintaining direct eye contact for that long.

“Everyone, this is my daughter.” He said her name, but everyone stopped for a moment and could not process this information. That hit everyone like a freight train.

“But, you don’t have any children other than Jack?” Garcia said so slowly that everyone could tell she was trying to wrap her head around the information before her.

“Well, when Haley and I were around seventeen, we got pregnant. But, realized that we were not in any capacity to take care of a child before we were out of high school or into adulthood. So we gave our daughter to a lovely couple that couldn’t conceive. We kept in contact and got regular updates throughout her life.” Aaron looked at his daughter with such adoration, everyone could see it.

“Now, she is about to finish up her second degree, and wants to go into law enforcement. Specifically, she’s thinking about joining the bureau and needed a letter of recommendation.” The words his boss said piqued Spencer’s interest.

“Second degree? What are the in?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level, but everyone could hear that tinge in it.

“My first was a PhD in criminal psychology, after getting a minor in psychology. Now I’m working on a BA in religious studies.” Reid was liking this girl more and more the more she talked.

“Oh, I could totally help with getting you into the bureau. I’ll give you my number and you just let me know when you put in your application. I can totally make sure you get into whatever department you want.” Garcia offered, her bubbly personality shining through her bright smile and fast hand movements.

“Garcia.” Hotch warned her with his tone.

“Totally legally, of course. I’m not doing anything that would jeopardize either one of our jobs. Nothing illegal, sir. Just want to help.” She stepped back just a little bit and held her hands in front of her to calm herself down.

“Well, I’ve gotta get going. I’ve still got work to do at home, but I’m hoping that I can see everyone here again.” She waved at everyone again, but stopped when she turned to the doctor in the room. Walking over, Spencer’s hands got all clams no matter how often he wiped them on his trousers. He could feel his heart beat out of his chest. Smelled her perfume getting closer. Jasmines and vanilla never seemed so enticing to him.

“I really want to continue our conversation from earlier. Maybe we can talk PhD’s or something similar. Here,” she handed a small card to him, “this is my number. Maybe we can meet for coffee sometime?” Hope laced her words, and Spencer felt giddy as he took the card from her hand. Their fingers brushed against each other and chose not to draw attention to the spark that flew.

“I’d really like that. Thank you.” He smiled at her, and ran his fingers over the ink on the business card in his hands. Aaron led her out of the glass doors afterwards, and everyone appeared to resume their work. Except, they did not. In fact, they watched Spencer return to his desk and set the card down within view.

“Pretty boy. My man!” Derek returned from where he watched the interaction with glee from the sidelines, and clapped the young agent on the back. This was now the second time today that he had done that.

“Spence got himself a date.” JJ sounded impressed and amused, and Morgan was eating it up. Beaming from ear to ear, he returned his attention to the man who just wanted to get some work done.

“Shut up.” Reid dismissed them quickly and it appeared to work. Although that may have also been because Hotch had just walked through the glass doors once more and no one wanted to be reprimanded today. All the agents dispersed, leaving the young doctor alone with his paperwork and thoughts.

However, his thoughts were overtaken when he could still smell that same perfume she had been wearing earlier. Spencer’s eyes drifted over to where that card laid perfectly against his desk. Bringing the card to his nose, he smelled perfume on it. It was still as intoxicating as when she was here. Setting it down, Reid turned back to his paperwork, and worked for the rest of the day in blissful silence. He knew that he would be smelling that perfume yet again, and soon.

“Scent is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived.” Helen Keller

[ambreiiigns]

ok so the thing is This

i hate jujutsu kaisen i wish i'd never watched it. i have to watch more of it tonight w my brother.

[itiswormtimebaby]

Time

You're beginning to question why Bucky won't sleep with you, but you ask the wrong person

Pairing: Biker!Bucky and Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, Plus sized fem reader) (Steve is reader’s adopted brother) CW: Friend’s calling each other “bitch”, references to sexual acts

“I don’t know if I should call you a stupid bitch, a dirty bitch, or a lucky bitch.” Cilla, the platonic love of your life, stares at you from the passenger seat of your car. “Straight out the gate and he’s already hitting it raw, I guess I’ll go with all three you stupid, dirty, lucky, beautiful” she tacks on the end to soften the blow, “Bitch.” Stupid was probably fair, dirty was a compliment, and lucky was factual so you let the comment ride without protest. There was one thing that was bothering you about her statement though, “I don’t think it’s fair to say he hi-”

“Bitch,” She cuts you off, “be so fucking for real.” 

“He turned you into his own twinkie- cream filled.” The voice comes from the backseat where McKenna, the third member of your friendship trio is devouring a nerds filled grape slush. Cilla groans in disgust at the bad joke while you pull a face in the rearview mirror, refusing to break eye contact with the man until he cracks first, slowly lowering his plastic spoon back into the sticky purple treat; “I, uh, I really regret saying that.” “Good! That was fucking weird, and now we all have to live with it. Sit in your shame.” Despite your admonishing tone there’s no real upset behind you words as you carry on;

“But as I was SAYING, it was just the tip so I don’t- like it doesn’t feel like that counts. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing, I just…” The silence sits heavy in your ears but you can’t find it in yourself to continue, suddenly embarrassed despite being in the presence of the two people you’ve trusted with damn near every dirty little secret you possess; why hadn’t it progressed past that?

“Fuck it! Who wants to lose their virginity on a Monday, anyway?” McKenna’s outburst breaks the silence and blessedly removes the spotlight from you, “Yeah,” you acquiescent with a half-hearted chuckle, “you’re probably right.” The conversation moves on quickly enough, though the thought is persistent in your mind- why hadn’t it progressed past that? 

Hours later, McKenna returned home to his husband, sun dropped beyond the horizon, you pull to a stop outside of Cilla’s house, the dark-haired woman making no move to exit the vehicle; “How are you actually feeling about it?” There’s clearly only one situation she could be referencing but in truth you’re not sure how to answer. She was the first call you’d made after coming down from your chocolate-brownie-hell-high, after Bucky finally showed back up in the aftermath, after dates one through four, and especially after five, she’d heard details even McKenna hadn’t, every salacious little tidbit. But you hesitate now, a bond forged in college deadlines, all nighters, stress induced coffee comas, movie marathons and evening walks had blossomed into a beautiful friendship with two main tenets; you burn I burn, and no bullshit. You knew she would listen and take it all in without judgment, but part of you hesitated, worried that her honest take, because she would be incredibly honest, wasn’t something you were ready to hear. 

“I’m confused,” You finally settle on. She doesn’t offer acknowledgement besides a small hum, no pushing, no rushing. “Everything has felt so good.” At that Cilla does let out a little snort, raising her eyebrows suggestively, though makes no other move to interrupt; “I wasn’t actually talking about that, though he does make me feel amazing. I just mean…Bucky’s been in my life since I was pre-pubescent, he may actually be what jump started puberty for me,” Cilla’s eyes roll at your joke as you pause again to gather your thoughts. “He was this larger-than-life presence, cocksure, the muscle to Steve’s mouth and I just- oh my god I was so in love with him. I’m sure there’s still notebooks floating around where I waxed poetic about his eyes, wrote Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes over and over again in the margins…”

You peter off before taking a steadying breath, suddenly thirteen again and trailing along behind Steve and Bucky, the latter of which was the epicenter of every girlish daydream you had. “He had this girlfriend when we were in High School, Dot? I was so fucking jealous of her, she had everything I wanted because she had him. I know Bucky cared about me, in some way, but it wasn’t the same as he cared about her and it broke my heart.”  You can still picture her; pretty red curls, shy smile, hand wrapped in Bucky’s anytime he was within arms reach. 

“Once he enlisted, once there was some space between us, I realized there was a lot of naivety I needed to tear through-” You hesitate, fearing the explanation will be muddy but push on anyway, “like, the love I felt was real- but I also built it up a lot in my head? In a way I think it was probably unfair to him, projections from a kid who was newly navigating the difference between romantic and platonic love, but everything just felt so big and all encompassing.”

“He was your first love.” 

“He was,” You nod in agreement, picturing  Bucky at fifteen, knuckles bloody, Steve behind him with a bruised eye and busted lip, the body of your latest would-be-bully crumpled on the floor, “but that’s not- that’s not how he felt about me.The romantic love, or infatuation, or whatever- it was one sided, very obviously so. I used to wish it was different, dream of a day where he’d drop Dot’s hand and reach for mine but then I realized-” You squeeze your eyes shut, thankful for Cilla allowing you to set the pace of the conversation as you ruminate over the relationship, “I realized after he’d left how shitty that was, just because he wasn’t in love with me didn’t mean he didn’t care, what we did have wasn’t a consolation prize.” 

Your friend rests her hand gently on your forearm, nodding her understanding; “Life went on, he and Steve were deployed, I was in school, they came home, they joined the club, he dated other girls, I dated…But I never really got over that feeling of first love, it just- deepened?” You nodded your head at that, happy enough with the explanation, “It sprouted new roots, more substantial ones, I fell in love with him all over again, a different version of him in a way.” 

You were getting to the part you didn’t want to say, the part that worried you most, “Like I said what we had wasn’t a consolation prize, Bucky’s always been one of the best people in my life, even when I probably annoyed the hell out of him. I’d made peace with knowing that how we felt about each other didn’t line up and then, well…” 

“Then he showed up on your doorstep with flowers begging for a date?” 

“He showed up with flowers after I accosted him with my feelings.”

“Don’t forget the FINALLY.” She prods you pointedly at that, having been driven half mad over your analytical obsession with the word, when I FINALLY fuck you, “he clearly had thought about it, and he even said that’s not all he wanted, don’t go where I think you’re about to go.”

“Where am I about to go?” You ask her. 

“Questioning his intentions, whether he really likes you, wants to be with you…HE asked YOU out, that means something. Just because y'all aren’t having sex doesn’t take away from everything else.” 

Everything else. Cilla was right of course, it’s not like Bucky was running around acting disinterested; he brought you flowers, took you on dates, kept you fed, ran errands with you just for some extra time together, gave you mind blowing orgasms, made you laugh. But then why…

“But then why won’t he sleep with me? He clearly cares about me, thinks about me, but why not- his body count is high, why not one more?” You deliver the last line like a joke, but no part of it feels funny. “I know he cares about me, truly I do. But I guess I just worry- like he’s cared about me since we were kids, so maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with me because he’s figuring out that romance isn’t what he really wants between us and that’d be harder to walk back having-”

“Don’t,” Cilla cuts you off, “do that.” You look at her a bit helplessly as she pushes on, “Has he actually given you any indication he doesn’t want to date you? Aside from not sticking it in?” 

It was crude but she had a point, and you knew Bucky, knew he wasn’t one to string people along. 

“No.”

“Exactly, it’s just dick, don’t let it ruin something special.” 

“I just- I’m all in, so why is he holding back?”

“It’s still a new relationship-”

“I’ve known him forever-”

“But not like this. This is new. He may not be exactly where you’re at but clearly he has feelings for you. My advice would be to hop out of your head and just enjoy things as they progress.”

You nod once in acknowledgement, still not quite ready to move on from the topic;  “Should I just ask him why?” 

Cilla mulls it over for a minute, “I… wouldn’t, not yet. Give it some time.” 

Time, right.

But you couldn't help the worry that persisted, what would Bucky be figuring out in that time?

All things Bucky and Bug found here: to be loved Main masterlist: here

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 4

Casper felt *strong*.

He felt like until now, there had been a fear in the back of his mind. A fear that one day his body would fail him.

But as he reached for the metal shutter door, several meters wide and taller than him, his muscles pulled without hesitation. There was no pain, no pressure as his arms engaged and tore the metal upwards with the ease of lifting a single petal that had fallen from a delicate flower.

Once the shutter was mostly up, it stopped and dented, jammed at an angle, Casper considered it for a moment and mentally shrugged, his arms not being able to make that gesture at the moment.

Ducking under and through the shutter door, the man looked out across a great landscape. Turning to peer left and right, the building he had been in was a featureless concrete slab that showed signs of scorch marks and lumps of the solid material broken and pitted as if shot with a gun.

There were no windows or doors all along the space with the exception of the series of hanger bay doors. But Casper had no interest in those, he was staring at the odd shapes and objects in the distance partially hidden by huge rolling hills and dunes.

Who could stop him now from taking a quick look? He felt *free*. What would have caused him pause before was no longer a concern.

The moment he stepped from the safety of the shutter door, he felt his foot sink into the earth, unsteadying him, making him look down. Casper watched as great mounds of dirt built up around his metal foot, as if he was far heavier than normal. He *was* heavier. Why was he..?

It came rushing back. He was piloting a mech. It was an odd sensation to remember such an important and obvious concept. How could he forget such a thing?

The man straightened and took a breath.

Breathing in the alien world's clean air it satisfied him. It was cool and rich with untainted oxygen. He could taste that there were very few particulates to damage him. He knew information this on a factual level.

The young man breathed in again; he could feel his lungs fill and his heart sing for it. He touched a hand to his chest over his heart, only for a 'clang' to draw his head down.

A metal hand, against a metal chest.

If he could frown, he would have. He settled for his optics to click shut, clean themselves, then click open again.

Why was it so hard to remember who he was inside the machine?

"Casper! You having fun there?" Demanded Zeet inside Casper's head.

[I think I broke the door. Sorry about that.]

A moment's pause.

"Ha! Break all the doors you like, it appears like you're already, ready to go for a stroll?" He sounded completely unfazed by the human's destruction; almost giddy even.

[The air out here is... I don't know how to describe it. Cleaner?]

"Your generator needs oxygen to burn, the one in your chest is only a basic model. Barely enough power to run your current rig, although I have tinkered with it, so it should suffice for what we have planned." Came a smug response from Zeet.

"I suspect the air out there is a better quality than the hanger, what with the enclosed space and multiple generators running." The head engineer explained, again, unbothered by the idea of generators running without significant air flow in an enclosed space.

[I think you're right.]

Casper took another step, for the second time finding his footing unstable. Zeet seemed to anticipate Casper's next question.

"We deliberately use loose dirt in the starting area, the idea is to force new pilots to learn how to adjust and fall without fear of being at the top of a hill or a distance away from rescue."

[I think I'm alright.]

As Casper took more steps, they became more confident. He stopped looking down and looked up, to the horizon where the strange square shapes peeked over the hills.

[What's that?] The human asked, while the mech briefly lifted one of its arms and pointed at the structures before dropping it back down to its side. Why did it move so organically?

"An assault course of sorts, although this would be far into your future as a pilot before you'd go over there. That said, I feel that it would be rather pointless to have you make such progress without letting you find your limits. Why not head over and see what you do?" Suggested the voice.

"This is ill advised. We haven't got nearly enough sensors or monitors to keep track of the relevant information." Came Wren's voice, quiet until now.

"You're telling me you don't have his readouts?"

"Not nearly as many as I'd like or choose! This was meant to be a proof of concept! Not a full-scale exercise!"

"Then you will take a page out of our books and plan for any eventuality in future. Casper! Onwards!" Zeet demanded, dismissing the doctor's comments with an almost audible flick of his hand.

Casper urged himself out into the open fields and over the green grass covered dunes. He wandered over to the distant objects without issue, merely walking up then down the rough terrain without delay. By the time he began to near the objects, the human inside the towering machine had long forgotten that he existed once more. Once he arrived at the strange shapes, the young man discovered that he found that they made up a replica of a large town, or centre of a city.

As he walking amongst the buildings, choosing the centre of a street, he noted there were no vehicles, the shop fronts weren't hollow and the buildings themselves; solid blocks without features. It was strange to be reminded of what the world was supposed to somewhat look like now, as he strolled down the main road of the faux town.

[I thought you said this was an assault course?] Casper sent back to the hanger, not seeing the drones overhead, watching his every move. He gingerly laid a hand on the top of what could have been a low corner shop as he reached a intersection of four roads.

"Well we can certainly put you through your paces if you like?" Came a flat tone. Gone was the confidence or giddy vibe to his words. Casper's optics clicked as he felt a strange sensation of danger creep over him. He looked down at one of his hands and made a fist before relaxing. Unlike his own hands, that had a constant tremble since the loss of Earth, these metal hands were perfectly still. Casper never noticed this however.

Casper had done assault courses on Earth. 'Team building' exercises. He wasn't brawny or even particularly fast. He was clever, but powerful wasn't a word he'd use in any self description.

Until today...

He *felt* powerful. He could trust his legs, trust his arms.

To the camera drones overhead, the basic mech, one that was designed to take punishment, but not excel at much else, tilted its reconnaissance unit that sat atop its shoulders as if to crack it's neck. If it were organic, of course.

[Go for it.]

"Understood." Came the immediate reply before Casper got the profound feeling that his next words were not address to the human. "Qik? You're up."

[Qik?]

"Defend yourself Casper." Came a dispassionate response.

[Wait, what? I thought this was an assault course?]

"Defeat the aggressor. No further communication will be acknowledged or sent." Zeet stated, before the human felt whatever connection that was within Casper's head, closedoff.

'Defend' himself? 'Defeat the aggressor'?!

Was he expected to fight? Casper couldn't fight! He'd never been in anymore more than a scuffle when he was twelve! He stepped away from the corner building and into the centre of the intersection, looking around himself for a threat. There were alleys and smaller roads he could duck down to break line of sight, but he need to know *where* the 'aggressor' was coming from!

Casper blinked, and in his panic, his need to find the threat, he felt his mind suddenly expand past what he could see.

It was as if a new sense had just opened up to him. Like he'd lived his life with his eyes closed and was blind, only to discover now; that he could see. This new sensation was not sight, but Casper could *feel* movement of something large and fast approaching him from the hangers to the south, where he had been only a few minutes before.

Whatever it was, it was big and fast. He could sense it was as big as he was. Nothing like the tiny dots that floated harmlessly above.

Aware of the direction of the threat, Casper ducked, dropping his head low and ensuring he himself couldn't be seen over the tops of any of the lower buildings. Quickly shuffling, the man got off the street and ducked down a side road, scooting further down, almost leaning against the building with his back. He paid no attention to the scrapes and loose concrete dust the metal of his back scratched off the structures.

{What idiot did that moron trick into this game this time?}

It was a genderless statement, devoid of emotion. It wasn't talking, like Zeet over the radio. It was text, and an image of a command line and the words filled in at the front of Casper's mind. The man could feel that he could respond.

[I'm the new guy.]

{Cute. Come out and I'll make this quick.}

[Sure, where are you?]

{Finally, a smart one, I'm coming up the main ingress.}

The young man had no interest in revealing himself. Just because the words carried no tone or emotion did not mean that he was a fool. He could sense the threat, it had crossed the distance from the hangers to the fake-town in a matter of less than a minute, whereas it took him substantially longer. Now though, he could see the pulsing 'blip' in his mind's eye. It was slowly making its way up the centre of the town, truthfully being exactly where it had told him it would be.

{I'm starting to suspect you're thinking you're clever...}

[Why's that?]

{You're hiding.}

[I'm struggling to work the controls. Only just started piloting.]

{I don't like liars 'new guy'}

As he crept around the main road, quickly tip toing across the intersecting main road, and using the alleys and smaller side roads to move around, Casper caught his first glimpse of the threat. It was a mech, but unlike his own; blocky, thick with exposed metal, pistons and wires. This one was sleek, designed for speed, but no less deadly. It reminded him of a sword. The sharp angles, the pointed feet that stabbed into the ground. It had a series of spikes along it's back like boney wings.

The whole thing screamed 'professional', all wrapped up in a red and silver paint job. It was the mech of a main character to Casper's eyes.

It didnt so much as walk or move either, the word that sprang to Casper's mind was 'stalking'. It stalked forwards, it's 'head' a pointed eagle-like structure, turning left to right, obviously scanning for him.

[What makes you think I'm a liar?]

{This is just getting insulting now. I'm the final test 'new guy'. You think they'd put you against me? Before you can even move?}

[Stranger things have happened.]

Casper got no response to his last message, but watched as the pointed head, ducked low and out of sight. He was positioned behind her now, closer to the south, nearer the hangers where she had entered, but he now lost track of her. Casper wasn't a fighter, he had no intention of getting into a brawl and made his way to the edge of the town fully intending on running back to the hangers.

The young man wasn't without some knowledge of how to throw a punch. After a physical altercation in his younger school years, his overly dramatic mother had sent him to self defence classes to stand up to the bullies. Instead of being beaten up in just a school setting, he was summarily beaten up in an official setting instead.

All he'd learnt was howto roll with the punches, literally. Casper never stayed on the ground, that was where 'bad' always ended up 'worse'.

Still crouched, sometimes using his hands against the hardtop of the fake roads to help him move, Casper finally made it to the edge of the town and learnt that it wasn't going to be that easy.

The second part of his mech broke the edge boundary of the faux town, a klaxon sounded along with one of the annoying drones swooping down with a red, flashing light directly over his head.

Casper bolted across the road and practically dived into an alleyway, into the town and away from the alarm, which remained in place. His head poked out from around a corner further into the town to see if the mysterious mech had approached to investigate.

The pointed leg that swung at Casper's head missed by what felt like mere inches, saved only because he flinched at something moving fast and fell backwards, deeper into the alleyway. The assaulting red and silver mech obliterated the plain wall with its kick in a shower of destroyed concrete and rebar; bent and demolished at the sheer force of its strike.

{You're fast.} Came a message.

Casper was up, his fists raised, elbows in. He was in his pocket and ready to protect his head.

The heel kick to his solar plexus sent him backwards, arms outstretched by the sheer force as he flew out of the other end of the alleyway and rolling head over heels into the main road again.

{Not fast enough.}

Casper backward rolled onto his feet, one of the buildings arresting his movement in a jarring thud that stuttered his vision. He didn't think, merely moved as he dived to his left down the main road. The besieged building that he'd lent against only moments ago was already buckled, but the rocket propelled mech that slammed into it with its shoulder, destroyed it in a shower of crumbling dust and materials.

The assaulting mech stomped from the cloud of debris and glared down the main road; its own optic sensors scanning for the new pilot.

The road was empty.

{You know I would have already won this right?} The red and silver mech taunted, stalking forwards, looking left and right, clearing buildings. It was sending the message over an open band, so anyone with ears on could hear it.

[I'm still standing.] Came a similar open frequency message. Qik snarled. She couldn't track or know where the new pilot was, she was working on visuals only.

{They disable my tracking system. To give you the tinest of a chance.}

She was crouched low, clearing corners, making sure the 'new guy' didn't try what she had and kick her recon unit in. Without eyes, it was an automatic win for whoever could see.

[If it's any consolation, I don't think this has a tracking system.]

Qik smirked, cocky son of a bitch. She was going to enjoy breaking him down, bit by-

[Heads up!]

A shadow flickered across the street and Qik span on one foot, swinging her leg round in a perfect roundhouse kick that would cut any mech that was in range behind her in half.

But despite her aiming high, looking to destroy an arm or even knock off the head of the opponent, her kick was too low.

From atop a building, the new mech was halfway through a jump and falling rapidly towards Qik. It was a terrible, stupid idea. Gravity was not friendly with anything as big and heavy as a mech. Only those rigs with jump packs and boosters could consider leaving the ground. But this idiot had climbed a building and had launched itself at her?!

So shocked was she, that this idiot would try such an insane and self-destructive move, Qik couldn't decide how to react. She had literally never seen this before.

That delay was enough.

On his way past, Casper grabbed a hold of the eagle-esque head and held on tight, his metal fingers denting the recon unit casing.

Gravity grabbed him and threw him against her, flipping him over her while he hurtled towards the ground in a mulit-ton mech that landed squarely on its recon unit, destroying into a million tiny, expensive pieces. Qik landed on her back, but immediately lost all visual read outs as her own unit was partislly torn from its housing.

{*What?!*} Qik demanded, unbelieving this idiot could succeed in such a stupid move! This was squidgit-shit!

"What?!" Blurted Zeet, blinking as the human had just defeated, the undefeated mercenary; Qik on his very first jaunt within a single hour of his first mech startup.

[What?] Asked Casper, also blinded and unable to move, but wholly unaware of the shitstorm he had just started.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[magnusbae]

I mean, I can't NOT prompt "Emotions are a luxury I don't have time for." with Dreamling 👀

🤘 five-and-dimes

OKAY ADMITTEDLY it does fit Dreamling very well doesn't it—? I was going to give half an hour per piece and accidently digressed way too much with this one..... whoops...? Thank you for the prompt dear 🥰💖

Dreamling || 1,174w || lowkey hurt/comfort but with ~hope

▾▾▾

“Don’t you feel anythi— fuck.” Hob stops, forcing the words back down with a thick swallow. He cannot afford himself to speak in anger, no matter how badly it burns in his veins, no matter how scourged by Dream’s aloofness he is. It doesn’t matter that he should have the right for anger. Dream is simply not a being you could, or should, be angry with if you hope to keep him in your life.

Angry or not, justified or not. Hob wants him in his life, very much.

“Dream, listen.” Hob starts, running a hand over his own face, nails scratching uncomfortably over the side of his cheek. “I get it, okay.” He really doesn’t but this is not the point “but seriously, you do have feelings, I know that you have…” his voice wavers and he gestures at the space between them, unable to voice it lest Dream would flee again. “Please.” his voice strains with the burden of it all. Wanting so much, needing so much—being forbidden from even voicing it, let alone having it.

"Emotions are a luxury I don't have time for.” Dream’s voice is deep, booming, as aloof as it could possibly get. He sounds like he’s reading a ready-made script, like he’s following the lines long since prepared.

Hob recoils, physically takes a step back, wants a distance between himself and Dream’s rejection. He should have expected it, in fact, he assumed he might get worse and yet— “Bulshit.” The short silence that follows is pregnant with tension, both momentarily silenced by Hob’s boldness. Hob is as surprised by it as Dream, apparently is.

Dream comes around first, eyebrows knotting, storms cracking in the depths of his eyes. His lips thin, the corners tug down and then he opens his mouth to deliver what Hob is sure would be either a really bad reprimand or his final words to him.

He cannot have it. If only for the simple fact that he doesn’t only want Dream in his life, but factually needs him. He doesn’t know what’s life would be worth without knowing that in the end of every story there will be Dream to share it with, a confidant, a keeper of his journey.

“I think that you’re afraid—” the words rush out without a thought, he steps forward, hurrying to finish before this would blow out of proportion “—because I know that I am petrified.” The words burn true on his tongue, there’s a dull ache in his chest, his lungs feel too full and empty of air. “I am horrified that you might leave, I am terrified that you might not lo— accept this, I am…” he swallows, his throat is closing with the emotion of it all. He cannot stop, not now that he had finally started. “I get it Dream, I know that you are, that we are… different but…. “ His hand falls by his side, no amount of gesturing would express what he feels.

He runs out of words. He was so certain he had them all when this conversation started, now he can hardly even remember what brought it about. He didn’t prepare for it as well as he thought, he doesn’t know how to word it, how to phrase it in a way that would convince Dream to give this, them, a chance. Damn.

His chin drops and he stares at the ground, burning disappointment makes his hand tremor. He closes his fist.

He is no poet, no storyteller, no writer. He is no Dream to pick and choose the right words. He’s only a man. Only a man who loves a being beyond his comprehension, very, very much.

Fuck, fuck it all. Fuck. He is about to lose him, isn’t he?

The pain in his gut is a twisting thing, like a knife slicing through the guts. Shitty death, he’d know. He dares to glance up when Dream doesn’t speak, half expecting to see him gone. Instead, there’s something softer in Dream’s eyes when he meets them. For the first time, Hob’s attention is drawn to the unnatural void in those eyes, the glint of distant stats. This is…

“Am I…” his mind struggles through the spell of dizziness, his consciousness readjusting its grasp of the surroundings. The shadows are longer, the shapes are bent a little too far, the colors are not quite right.

“I am dreaming.” He understands when he finally sees the landscape for what it is, Dream, for who he is. “Oh shit.” His cheeks color red, he is aware of the incredibly uncomfortable material of the shirt he used to wear some few hundreds years ago.

“I yanked you into my dream, haven’t I.” This is, even more than before, not how he had hoped to confess. Not even close.

“Hob,” Dream’s voice bleeds to every fiber of the dream-scape, infusing it with power, making it feel tangible, more clear, in focus. “You dream very loudly.” There’s an odd note to his voice, if Hob was to attempt and pinpoint it, he’d have to admit it sounds like astonishment.

“Sorry,” he answers, abashed. “I, uh, suppose you can’t just…” he gestures at his own head with a motion that resembles wiping chalk off of a board. “Maybe…?” he adds, hopefully.

He doesn’t regrets his feelings. He would, though, like to at least be awake when Dream rejects him, It feels only proper.

The idea of simply not raising it up at all is one that had crossed his mind frequently, and yet he knows that sooner or later he’d slip again, that he wouldn’t be able to to continue pretending like this isn’t an integral part of who he is, like this isn’t something that he feels.

Sooner or later, he’d tell Dream of The Endless that he is helplessly, hopelessly, truly and deeply— in lov…

A finger again his lips distracts him from his thoughts. “Very loudly.” Dream scolds quietly, wistfully. He sighs then, the weight of it almost buckles Hob’s knees. Dream seems to ready himself, like he is expecting a great deal of suffering and is braving himself for it. He looks exhausted. Worn down. Won over.

Hob immediately dislikes that look, it speaks too much of Dream’s past. Too much of what had made Dream as closed off as he is. Too much of what hurt him so badly. Hob wants him to be…

“Very well, Hob Gadling.” Dream’s words distract Hob from his thoughts again “We shall speak of it further in the waking world, according to your wishes.” Dream looks away into the distance, his finger lingering on Hob’s lower lip, it’s cool. “I must go now, so long.”

He does not sat farewell. Hob’s mind centers around it. Between one eye blink and another, Dream is gone, golden sand scattering behind.

“What…?” Hob’s mind is already fuzzing into an incoherent haze of shapes and shadows, only distantly concerned with what just transpired.

Only vaguely he wonders if he should feel loss, or…not?

[feeling-pushy]

Swapped

Thank you to my anonymous commissioner for the story! I hope I did good on the premise and hope you liked it!

~5k, fpreg, magic, body swap

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through Christie's home, mingling with the soft aroma of vanilla candles. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the modern furnishings. Christie stood in her open-concept kitchen, her black hair tied back in a loose ponytail, as she arranged a platter of assorted pastries. Making sure they looked just right.

She was expecting a visit from her daughter Candice this morning. It wasn’t often that she could come to visit these days, since her college studies and her training in track-and-field often kept her occupied. So, on weekends like these when she could come and visit, Christie tried her best to at least pull out the stops. Buying some of her daughter’s favorite sweets from that bakery she liked, and brewing a fresh cup of coffee.

She was still messing around with the platter when she heard the doorbell ring, signaling Candice’s arrival. With a big smile Christie rushes to open the door and throws it open to find her daughter standing there.

Candice stood there, her athletic frame draped in casual jeans and a snug sweater. Not all too different from Christie’s own casual weekend attire. Her blonde hair framed her face as she gave her mom a small smile "Hey Mom."

"Candice, darling. It's been too long!" Christie exclaimed as she pulls her in for a hug, holding her daughter tightly. As Christie hugged her daughter though, she noticed some stiffness in Candice's posture, with a slight tension in her shoulders, but chalked it up to the stress of school and the long drive it takes to get here.

Christie pulled back after a minute and smiled at Candice, “Come in darling! Come in!" Candice’s smile got a bit bigger as she rolled her eyes a little, “Geez, you act as if I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Well it certainly feels like years when it comes to my precious baby girl.” Christie states matter of factually, which earns her a little laugh from Candice.

They soon settled on Christie’s plush couch, both with steaming mugs of hot coffee and the tray of assorted sweets. As they settle in, Christie smiled at her daughter, “so how has school been?” she asked as she took a sip of her coffee, Candice let out a tired sigh, “College has been a whirlwind. It only finally feels like I’m getting the hang of juggling classes and assignments, but it's still a lot."

"I remember those days. It’s a lot to do. But other than that, you’re doing good, right? Eating good?" Christie’s question was met with some slight hesitation, as Candice took a bite from one of the pastries, "Yeah, I think so… It’s challenging, but I’m learning a lot. My professors are tough, but fair. And track-and-field has been good, met a lot of cool teammates and, uh, well…’ she seems to trail off before looking at Christie again, ‘Erm, well it’s been good. How’s work been treating you by the way?"           

Christie’s brows furrowed a bit at that, but she still smiled softly, "Oh, the usual office madness. You know how it is, endless meetings that could’ve been emails, and trying to make sure everyone is on the same page and that the managers under me are not overstepping their bounds. But there was this one thing the other day."

"Oh yeah?"

"Ok so, we had some new people join us for a big IT project, and in order to sort of break the ice I thought it would be a great idea to do some fun team building exercises. But apparently, someone decided that trust falls should be a part of it. I didn’t clear this idea, no one told me. So, people were just randomly walking around, and someone would shout ‘Trust fall!’ and fall backwards. Chaos, I tell you. Absolute chaos." Candice laughed, "No way!"

"I think we all lost a few years of life from the stress of it. But hey, at least it gave us something to bond over, so in the end, I’d call it successful."

"Sounds like you’re having a wild time.” Candice joked. Christie smirked a little, "Wild is certainly the word for it. But honestly, I can’t complain. I’ve got some good staff that I can trust, and even with the craziness, I manage to make sure people have some fun."

"I don’t doubt it.” Candice cheekily said with a grin, but then her smile faded a bit as she seemed to think on something, her fiddling with her untouched cup of coffee. Christie noticed this and her brow furrowed again as she looked at her, “Is something wrong darling? You seem to have had something on your mind since you’ve gotten here.” Candice hesitated, but eventually nodded, “Yeah I… Well there was a reason why I wanted to come down to see you this weekend.”

“Oh? Did something happen at school?”

“Kind of…”

“Well whatever it is, you can tell me candy cane” Christie said softly as she placed a hand on her knee. Candice gave her a weak smile, before taking a deep breath, "Mom, I... I'm pregnant." The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Christie's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly composed herself.

"How far along?" she asked softly. "About eight weeks. But I only found out on Monday." Candice whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "It was a one-time thing, w-with a teammate. I wasn't looking for anything serious, but…" she then trailed off, as her face began to crumple. Christie reached out, squeezing Candice's hand, "It's okay, honey." At this, Candice broke down a little as she started to cry. Christie was quick to pull her daughter into a hug. She gently patted her hair and kissed her head in an attempt to comfort her.

Candice tucked her arms close to her chest and let her mom do all the holding as she let herself be vulnerable, feeling the softness of her sweater and hearing the muffled sound of her heartbeat underneath the intensity of her sobs. It always felt nice to be held by her mother, especially during the hard times of her life. She trusted her mother absolutely, but was still relieved that she hadn’t gotten angry with her over her making such a dumb mistake.

It took her a minute, but Candice eventually choked out "I don't know what to do. I-I don't want to end the life growing inside me, but keeping the baby, that would mean I’ll have to stop doing track-and-field, a-and give up my scholarship, my dreams. I-I’m not ready to become a mom." Christie hushed her softly as her pet her head, “It’s alright darling, I can help you. You don’t have to drop out. You got options, ok?”

“O-Ok…” Candice mumbles, Christie began rubbing her back soothingly, "You don't have to make any decisions right now. Whatever you choose, I'll support you, no matter what my candy cane."

Candice let out a little hiccup of a laugh, “Thanks mom… If I had your life, your resources, this wouldn't be a problem. You have everything all figured out." Christie chuckled softly. "Trust me, darling, even I don't have everything figured out. We all have problems, but that’s why we have got to support one another, it’s hard to do things all on our own." Christie reassured.

Candice sighed a little, but nodded, "I know…’ Candice let herself be hugged for a moment longer, before pulling away slightly to look her mother in the eyes, ‘But sometimes I wish I could just swap lives with you." She said with a small, sad smile. As she said that, Christie's eyes seemed to light up, as she was struck with an idea. She then smiled at her daughter a bit mischievously, “Hey, you wanna see something interesting?” Candice raised a brow but nodded.

Getting up, Christie led Candice to her study. Her office was modest and simple, with an oak desk and paperwork thrown about. It was also a room Candice knew well as she had visited it all the time when she was younger. Whether that had been coloring her pictures with colored pencils on the floor when she was ten. Or lounging around on the couch, texting friends when she was sixteen. It had been the sort of company Christie had sorely missed ever since Candice left for college.

But truly, the most notable feature in this room were her many shelves and cabinets that were lined up alongside one of the four walls. It was an area filled with ancient tomes, peculiar artifacts, and trinkets from around the world.

For a  long time Christie had made a hobby out of collecting ancient artifacts, magic charms and other so-called spells. None of them ever worked, in Christie’s experience, but they were pretty and they all held interesting history, which that itself was worth collecting them in her mind. Plus she knew, it would only be a matter of time until she had found the real deal. And she had indeed found the real deal.

As they walked into the office Christie approached her glass display case, which housed some of her more delicate items, this including one of her newest trinkets, a glass orb. It was perfectly spherical, almost unnaturally so, like it had been painstakingly crafted by someone with an obsession for flawless geometry. Inside, it emanated a soft violet glow that swirled lazily inside. The energy seemed to pulse faintly, but it was likely just some of the windows light reflecting off a purple gem in the middle.

Reaching into her desk, Christie pulled out a small key before she approached the case, unlocking it and opening the little glass door. She then grabbed the orb and held it in her hands, Candice raised a brow, "What is that?"

"It's a magical orb I bought recently, I got it from a friend who is a fellow collector. My friend told me it has the power to swap people's bodies." The orb was cool to the touch and perfectly smooth in Christie’s hands, it was also a lot lighter than expected, as if it were made of air. The purple light continued its dim, pulsating glowing, with an almost hypnotic shifting and swirling of color that might have seemed almost purposeful, if such a thing was possible.

Candice, unconvinced, crossed her arms and gave her mother a doubtful look, "You're joking, right?" Candice had never been as much of a believer in magic as her mother. And while Christie always assured her that she kept the collection as a fun hobby, which in many ways it was, something always told Candice that there was more too it for her mother than that.

Christie, seeing the look on her daughter’s face gave her a small pout, “I know what you’re thinking, and while I will be the first to admit that some of these things are fake, I swear to you this one is genuinely magical."

Candice stared at the orb, "And how can you be sure of that?”

“I can’t rightfully say darling, I haven’t tried it.”

“And yet you say that it can actually swap our bodies?"

"Well not exactly.’ Christie replied, ‘Our bodies would remain the same, but our minds would swap places. So you mind would be in my body and vice versa. And it wouldn’t be permanent, we could switch back at any time."

“So kinda like Freaky Friday?”

“Darling I don’t remember which movie your referring too.”

Candice waved her off as if to dismiss the subject. But now, her mind raced a little, the idea seemed ludicrous, but the allure of escaping her predicament, even if just temporarily, was tempting. She looked at the orb for a moment before looking back at her mother, "How would it work?" she asked cautiously. "Well, I never personally tested it. But from what my friend told me, we would both have to hold it at the same time. Then focus on each other and the lives we live, to initiate the exchange, after which the orb would activate and it would take care of the rest."

Candice eyed the magical orb again, watching it as it’s somewhat ethereal glowing seemed to draw her in a little. And though she still thought the idea of magic was ridiculous, she was starting to find the prospect more and more appealing.

Christie, seeming to sense this, went and put the orb back down in its case for a second, closing it up before she went over to put both hands on Candice’s shoulders, “I know this seems like the best choice, and I wouldn’t have brought up the orb if I didn’t think this could be a solution, but I do want to stress that this isn’t the only solution. If you don’t want to swap bodies, that’s fine, I don’t want you to think this is your only choice. We can always do surrogacy, or if you don’t want to do that and carry the baby by yourself, you can always take a year off school or go to school and I can always support you with your schooling until the baby comes. Afterwards you can reapply for your scholarships.”

“I know that…”

Christie smiled, “I know that you do. How about we both think on it ok? Let’s just spend the day together and we can talk about this again the next morning.” Candice nodded as she gave her mother a thin smile.

----------------------------

Candice walked alongside her mom through the bustling downtown area, the fresh air and sunshine feeling pleasantly warm. As they passed coffee shops, the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods lingered in the air, and the shop windows were filled with cute autumn clothes, clothes that would be needed in the coming months when it started to get colder. All these things were nice, but Candice found her thoughts where elsewhere. Mostly on the offer her mom had made, and on the orb that sat in Christie’s home office.

She was so lost in thought, she could hardly pay attention to her mother as she was talking, laughter spilling from her lips as she recounted some lighthearted story from work. But the words washed over Candice without sinking in, and all Candice could do was smile and nod along as if she were paying attention, when in reality the weight of the decision she faced pressed heavily on her mind.

When they stopped for lunch they picked a cozy little Italian place downtown. When the door swung open, the warmth of the atmosphere enveloped them as they stepped inside. The comforting aroma of bread and tomato filled the space, and they found a booth in the corner. Candice slid into her seat, her gaze drifting to the window as she tried to focus on the present moment as she ordered her meal, but the thought of the orb kept pulling her back into herself.

The soft clinking of cutlery filled the quiet of the booth as Candice and Christie shared their meal. The dim, warm light from the restaurant bathed the room in a golden glow, creating a cozy atmosphere. Christie watched her daughter across the table, her expression thoughtful as she absently twirled her fork through the pasta on her plate.

If Candice used the orb, if she and her mom swapped minds, all of her problems could disappear, well at least for her. The unwanted pregnancy, the fear, the uncertainty about her future, it would all become her mom’s burden. Candice could just... escape, step into her mom’s life, and leave everything behind.

The idea was so tempting, almost too good to be true. She imagined what it would be like to see the world through her mom’s eyes, to have her confidence and ease, to be free from the overwhelming responsibility of carrying a child she hadn’t asked for. But as appealing as that sounded, doubts gnawed at her.

Swapping minds would mean that her mom would now have to take on everything she dealt with daily. Her classes, her stresses, her life. Could she really handle that? And a baby on top of it all? And could she live with herself knowing she’d handed off her problems to the one person she cared about most?

As they made their way back from their trip downtown, Candice walked beside her mother, her expression distant and her mind still clearly elsewhere. Christie wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, but she could sense Candice needed the space to process everything. So, she maintained the lighthearted conversation they had been having, doing her best to keep things cheerful, even as both of their thoughts turned to the offer of the body-swapping orb that loomed over them.

Later that evening as the two of them had dinner and with Candice quietly picking at her vegetables, Christie soon found herself lost in thought as well, as she began to think about the orb. All Christie wanted was for Candice to be happy, to be free of this weight pressing down on her. She knew, more than anyone else, that her daughter was taking this decision seriously, understanding all that it would mean.

She had raised Candice to be responsible, and to always think things threw before committing to something. So she knew that whatever choice she made, it was one made with care. Still Christie’s heart couldn’t help but ache for her daughter, and for the burden Candice carried in making such a big decision, not just for herself, but for her baby. One that she, no doubt, didn’t feel ready for. One that she didn’t really want.

But as much as Christie focused on Candice’s well-being, a part of her couldn’t help but think about what it would mean for herself. The idea of swapping minds, of carrying the baby instead of her daughter, stirred something deep inside her. Christie had always dreamed of being pregnant, of feeling a life growing inside her. It was a dream that had never come true. One that she had quietly let go of when it became clear it wasn’t going to happen.

And while adopting Candice had filled her life with joy and love, that small, lingering ache had never fully disappeared. Now, the possibility of finally experiencing pregnancy filled Christie with a tiny spark of excitement that flared at the thought of carrying the baby herself, of nurturing and protecting that life.

But it wasn’t that simple. As much as the idea thrilled her, Christie knew this wasn’t just about fulfilling an old wish. It was about what was best for Candice. Swapping minds meant taking on her daughter’s struggles, her fears, her pain. It meant stepping into a life that Candice hadn’t planned for, and it meant Candice would take on her own responsibilities, her own challenges.

Christie watched Candice push her food around her plate, her expression distant, and felt a rush of protectiveness. She wanted to shield her daughter from all the hurt and confusion she was feeling, to take it all away. But she knew that Candice needed to make this decision on her own, that she needed to think it through and understand the gravity of what they were considering.

Dinner continued quietly, the unspoken thoughts between them filling the room with a thick sense of fear, and longing. Christie took a deep breath, pushing her own feelings aside for now. Her focus had to be on Candice, on making sure that whatever happened next, they would face it together, as mother and daughter. Because, in the end, that’s all Christie really wanted.

----------------------------

The next morning, the house was filled with the smell of fresh coffee and toast as Candice and Christie sat at the breakfast table. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Candice was quiet, her gaze fixed on her plate, her mind far away. Finally, Candice broke the silence as she looked up, her expression steady but serious. “I’ve made my decision.’ Candice said, her voice firm, ‘I want to do the body swap with you.”

Christie felt her heart skip a beat. She had known this was a possibility, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way that hit her unexpectedly. She set her mug down, her hands suddenly feeling unsteady. “Are you sure about this Candice darling?” Christie asked, searching her daughter’s eyes for any hint of doubt.

Candice nodded, her eyes resolute. “I am Mom. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I know this is what I want to do. I need this.” Christie studied Candice for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “Okay. If you’re sure, then let’s do it.”

A little later, they stood in Christie’s office, the door closed behind them and curtains drawn, shutting out the rest of the world. The orb sat on the desk between them, its violet glow pulsating gently still, despite the lack of light source, casting eerie shadows that flickered across the walls. Candice and Christie both reached out at the same time, their hands gripping the orb firmly. The glass was cool against their skin, and as they held it, the violet light seemed to intensify, growing brighter and more vibrant. The energy inside seemed to swirl now as well, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Christie took a deep breath, her voice calm but firm. “Close your eyes, Candice. Focus on me. Focus on my life, my thoughts, my feelings.”

Candice nodded, closing her eyes and letting out a slow breath. She concentrated on her mom, imagining what it would be like to be her, to see the world through her eyes, to feel her emotions and thoughts. The orb began to hum softly, a faint vibration that she could feel through her fingertips, traveling up her arms.

Suddenly, a wave of warmth spread through Candice’s body, starting from where her hands gripped the orb and radiating outward. It was a strange, tingling sensation, like static electricity prickling over her skin. The hum grew louder, filling her ears, and she felt a pull, as if something deep inside her was being gently tugged away.

The world around her blurred, and for a brief moment, everything went dark. She felt weightless, as if she were floating in a vast, empty space, disconnected from everything. Her senses seemed to blur together, her thoughts mingling with feelings that weren’t her own, a strange mix of emotions and memories swirling around her.

Then, in an instant, everything snapped back into focus. She felt a sudden jolt, like being pulled back into herself, but everything was... different. Candice blinked her eyes open, feeling a strange mix of emotions wash over her, a swirl of confusion, excitement, and a lingering sense of awe. She looked down at her hands and saw her mom’s hands instead. Her heart raced as the reality of what they’d done hit her. She was in her mom’s body now.

Across from her, she heard herself gasp, and she looked over to see her mother, now in her body, as her eyes widened and she adjusted to her new form. The room around them seemed to shimmer, as if the very air were charged with the magic that had just occurred. Christie looked down at herself, her face a mirror of Candice’s awe and disbelief.

Christie’s new body felt unfamiliar to her as well in this moment, her limbs heavier, her balance slightly off. She was no longer curvy, now more slight and built. She was also a head shorter than she used to be.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, both of them grappling with the enormity of what had just happened. The orb’s glow slowly faded, leaving the room in a hushed, almost reverent silence. They had done it. They had truly swapped bodies.

"It worked," Candice murmured, her voice richer, more resonant. Christie touched her face, feeling the smoothness of her now more youthful skin, "It did. It really did."

As the afternoon turned into evening, Candice and Christie settled back into the living room, the sun dipping low in the sky and casting a soft, golden hue across the room. They had spent the last few hours acquainting themselves with their new realities.

Christie, now in Candice’s body, had guided her daughter through the intricacies of her role as a CEO. The meetings she’d need to attend, the decisions she’d be making, the pressure of running a company. Candice, adjusting to her new role in her mother's body, had also filled Christie in on her college schedule, the classes, and her commitments to the athletics team.

But soon a quiet settled between them. Candice, holding a cup of coffee with her mom’s hands, took a sip, savoring the taste. She felt an odd mix of emotions. She felt relief, a bit of anxiety, but also a strange sense of freedom. The heaviness she had been carrying around for the last week seemed to have lifted, leaving her feeling lighter than before.

Christie looked at her daughter, now in her body, and smiled softly. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice warm and gentle. Candice took another sip of coffee, thinking for a moment before answering. “Honestly, I feel... oddly empowered. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” She looked down at her hands, her mother’s hands, and flexed her fingers, marveling at the strength she felt in them. “It’s strange, but... I kind of like it.”

Christie nodded, giving her a soft smile, she could see the relief in Candice’s eyes, the newfound confidence that seemed to be settling into her. Christie had hoped that this swap would give her daughter a chance to breathe, to escape the overwhelming situation she had been facing, and it seemed to be working. “And you?” Candice asked, her gaze shifting to Christie. “How are you feeling?”

Christie smiled, a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she placed a hand gently on her still flat belly, already trying to picture what it might be like to feel the child moving within. It was a feeling she had never thought she would experience, and despite the uncertainty and challenges ahead, she couldn’t help but grin wide, “I’m excited.’ she admitted, ‘Excited for the change in perspective, for this new chapter. To see what the future holds, not just for me, but for both of us.”

She kept her hand on her belly, already feeling a connection she hadn’t expected to form so quickly. The baby, now growing inside her, and the new beginning it represented for her. Candice watched as her mom smiled softly, as her hand continued to rest protectively on her belly.

She felt a rush of emotions, it still felt strange to see herself from an outside perspective, yet she was also filled with gratitude and admiration. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, for either of them, but seeing the peace and excitement in Christie’s eyes made her feel like maybe, just maybe, they had made the right choice.

"Mom," Candice began, "thank you. For everything." Christie reached out, squeezing her hand. "Anything for you, Candice."

Over the next few weeks, Candice and Christie adapted to their new lives, getting used to the ups and downs of their swapped realities. Candice, now in Christie’s role, was pleasantly surprised with how quickly she found her footing as the CEO. She attended board meetings with confidence, her sharp mind and innovative ideas impressing even the most skeptical clients.

She found she relished the challenge of planning meetings, in making negotiations, as well as making those decisions that shaped the company’s future. There was a thrill in the power and responsibility, a sense of control she hadn’t felt in her own life for a long time. And in the midst of her busy days, she occasionally indulged in simple pleasures, like stopping by her favorite burger joint, drinking coffee and indulging in the occasional glass of wine. Enjoying the freedom of choice that came with being in her mother’s shoes.

Meanwhile, Christie fully embraced Candice’s life, attending classes, engaging with the material and gaining new perspective. She found herself invigorated by the academic environment, and how it was a lot different than the seemingly endless repeating of days at the office. She of course had to drop the track and field, since she was with child now. But that opened her up to trying out clubs that Christie herself never got to experience during her own college days.

Participating in clubs rekindled an old passion for the creative arts that she had long forgotten, and she marveled at the freedom she now had to express herself. And while she did occasionally miss the sophistication and refined pace of her old life, craving the comfort of her former routines. She found herself happy she had the opportunity to reinvent herself a little bit.

Not to mention the joy she experienced as she felt the subtle changes in her body, as week by week the baby slowly grew. Her hands were always touching her belly as she eagerly awaited the eventual swell she would gain, of eventually feeling the baby kick. She looked forward to experiencing it all and finally fulfilling her long forgotten dream.

And threw all of this Candice and Christie actually stayed more closely connected. Whereas before Candice was usually too busy with schoolwork to call, with phone calls spanning weeks in between, now the two communicated almost daily to update each other on their day-to-day activities as well as to check in on each other’s mental and emotional health.

This experience had done more than just provide Candice with a way out of a difficult situation. But it had strengthened their bond, deepening their understanding of not only each other, not just in terms of their new roles, but in how they viewed themselves and each other, reshaping their relationship for the better.

[hooked-on-elvis]

"IF I CAN DREAM" SONG | REMEMBERING MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. ON HIS BIRTHDAY 🤍

TODAY IS MARTIN LUTHER KING'S 95TH BIRTHDAY. PHOTO: 1964.

☆ Born on January 15th, 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia † Died on April 4th, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee.

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A few days ago, I don't remember how, I ended up for about an hour or so, probably more, reading a few of Martin Luther King's speeches. I prefer reading factual documental writings (newspapers and articles about the world's history, even poetry) out loud, in a way to better understand and feel, using intonation, the words. As you can imagine, I got very emotional that day and today I am now in the same solemn mood.

If you at least once have heard or read to the 'I've Been to the Mountaintop' Martin Luther King's speech, you feel your heart sink from the words Dr. King spoke by end of it. I'm gonna share an excerpt from that one speech [I hope you all can read it], which is gonna remind you what happened to Dr. King the very next day those touching, meaningful and resonant words were addressed to the population in Memphis, Tennessee. Take your time to reflect and permit yourself feeling inspired by Dr. King's words.

As the article goes on, I'll share how the mood around the filming set of 'Live A Little, Love a Little', the movie Elvis was filming, when they heard the news about Dr King was murder, and what Elvis did with that feeling.

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Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.:

You know, several years ago, I was in New York City autographing the first book that I had written. And while sitting there autographing books, a demented black woman came up. The only question I heard from her was, "Are you Martin Luther King?" And I was looking down writing, and I said, "Yes." And the next minute I felt something beating on my chest. Before I knew it I had been stabbed by this demented woman. I was rushed to Harlem Hospital. It was a dark Saturday afternoon. And that blade had gone through, and the X-rays revealed that the tip of the blade was on the edge of my aorta, the main artery. And once that's punctured, your drowned in your own blood -- that's the end of you. It came out in the New York Times the next morning, that if I had merely sneezed, I would have died. Well, about four days later, they allowed me, after the operation, after my chest had been opened, and the blade had been taken out, to move around in the wheel chair in the hospital. They allowed me to read some of the mail that came in, and from all over the states and the world, kind letters came in. I read a few, but one of them I will never forget. I had received one from the President and the Vice-President. I've forgotten what those telegrams said. I'd received a visit and a letter from the Governor of New York, but I've forgotten what that letter said. But there was another letter that came from a little girl, a young girl who was a student at the White Plains High School. And I looked at that letter, and I'll never forget it. It said simply, "Dear Dr. King, I am a ninth-grade student at the White Plains High School." And she said, "While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I'm a white girl. I read in the paper of your misfortune, and of your suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I'm simply writing you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't sneeze." (...) If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering. I'm so happy that I didn't sneeze.* And they were telling me --. Now, it doesn't matter, now. It really doesn't matter what happens now. I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane, there were six of us. The pilot said over the public address system, "We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong with on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we've had the plane protected and guarded all night." And then I got into Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! And so I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!! — Excerpt from "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speech by Martin Luther King Jr. (April 3rd, 1968, Memphis, Tennessee) | source: americanrhetoric.com READ/LISTEN THE FULL SPEECH HERE

* [1958] KNIFE ATTACK: On September 20, 1958, King was signing copies of his book 'Stride Toward Freedom', in Blumstein's department store in Harlem when Izola Curry — a mentally ill black woman who thought that King was conspiring against her with communists — stabbed him in the chest with a letter opener, which nearly impinged on the aorta. Thankfully, Dr. King survived that attempt of murder. That is the incident Dr. King refers to in his 'Mountaintop' speech from 1968.

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Gladly, from that one attack Dr. King survived.

He could've let that 1958 incident take the best of him. He could've chose a safe life if he led fear win him over. But he said himself why he didn't on the 'I've Been to the Mountaintop' speech:

"Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will." — Martin Luther King Jr.

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Let's recall that after that 1958 near-death incident, as before that too, King was arrested many times, he was put down and lashed out by people who wanted him to remain in silence. But he chose to fear not.

PHOTO 1: King was arrested in 1963 for protesting the treatment of blacks in Birmingham. His 13th arrest out of 29. (29!) | PHOTO 2: Copy of King’s letter from Birmingham jail (Samford University Special Collections) Martin Luther King.

Excerpt from King's 1963 letter:

"…I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection." Excerpted from Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter from Birmingham Jail (1963). READ THE FULL LETTER HERE [via University of Pennsylvania]

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Martin Luther King never failed to give us the right questions to ponder.

As this humble post comes to an end, let's read a few other of Dr. King's inspiring words as spoke in his most famous and praised speech, the one who Elvis Presley sang about in 1968, the same year Dr. King was murder.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. [...] This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling disco rds of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. On August 8th, 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.: "I HAVE A DREAM" SPEECH. READ/LISTEN FULL SPEECH HERE.

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I should mention the following story because it is part of how a tribute song to Martin Luther King's life and efforts to make the world a better place, came to be.

A young Southerner, who's been commonly, unfairly, called racist over the years after his passing, fell in deep grief hearing the news about Dr. King's assassination.

On April 4th, 1968, the day Dr. King was shot dead while he was standing by the window on his hotel suite, just like the rest of the world, when Elvis Presley heard the news, he grieved.

Presley was filming 'Live a Little, Love a Little' on the day that Dr. King died. He and everybody on the crew heard the news with sorrow. Elvis was heartbroken, as the rest of the world (at least the human portion of society). It's said by different people that were there with him on set how sad and deeply bothered by that Elvis was.

His leading lady for this movie, Michele Carey, shared her accounts on how Elvis reacted to the sorrowful news.

Actors Michele Carey and Elvis Presley. Scene and photo shoot for 'Live a Little, Love a Little' (1968).

Michele Carey played the guitar but the piano was her favorite! In this scene, she's actually strumming those first few chords of the song. The guitar in the scene belonged to Elvis. He often played it while singing songs on the set. He was preparing for an upcoming Christmas special that later turned into the well-known 68 Comeback TV show. At the end of this scene, one of the last filmed, just 10 days after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King. Elvis signed the guitar and gave it to Michele as a gift of appreciation for what she did to console him on the day of MLK's funeral. We have covered that fateful day when the cast and crew learned he had been shot and killed in Memphis. Production of the film had been temporarily suspended over the weekend. On the day of the funeral which was televised, the cast gathered around one TV in the studio. As Elvis and cast members watched in silence, and as Elvis and others wept openly...Michele sat at a box piano and began playing softly. Within minutes, Elvis sat beside her and as she played the Beatles song All We Need Is Love, Elvis and cast members sang the lyrics. They sang the song over and over for nearly 20 minutes, hugging and crying with one another. As violent as 1968 had been, the assassinations of MLK and RFK, the Vietnam War, the clashing of protesters and police, at least for one short period on April 9th of that year, a small group of people came together in song to show their love and respect. — Published on Michele Carey Facebook fanpage, on October 12, 2023

During 'Live a Little, Love a Little' production, Elvis was preparing for his '68 Comeback Special and, it turns out, they included a song called 'If I Can Dream' on the setlist, a song written by Walter Earl Brown, recorded by Presley in June 1968, just two months after Dr. King's assassination, and also a short time after Robert Kennedy's assassination.

The song was composed, inspired by this feeling of sorrow but also gratitude and, above all, hope. The song was soulfully performed by Elvis, and until today its one of the most important and touching recognized performance of his music career.

The song was sang soulfully because Elvis meant every single word in it. One of Elvis' certainties about life was that we must live in equality.

“Everybody comes from the same source. If you hate another human being, you’re hating part of yourself.” — Elvis Presley

Today, o Martin Luther King's day, on his birthday, we remember his life with gratitude for all the good he had done for the world, for bringing awareness that changes needed to be done, for inspiring people to get together, to live in equality, peace and union.

Most importantly, today we remember the fight isn't over.

King was a vital force, a powerful asset to the Civil Rights Movement, but as much as his dedication came to blossom in positive sociological changes while he had us walking at lengthen steps towards a better world for all of us to live together in peace, it doesn't make his murder any less painful as we remember him with a great sorrow, yet hearts filled with gratitude, today. His assassination, and many things following it, even in this modern world, remind us the world isn't the place Dr. King dreamed about just yet. Not all of us, certainly, will have to give our lives to help others in need, but even so we shouldn't be afraid to do what's right whenever we need to.

Dr. King made us reflect upon when, on both his letter from 1963 and the 'I've Seen the Mountaintop' 1968 speech, his inspired words recalled us about the Good Samaritan parable, about doing what we can with what we have, and also brought questions to our mind about how damaging it can be living in denial, for that's worse than acting against the ones in need, because those acting in denial are majority.

Are we gonna be the ones to walk on by and turn our faces the other way, letting be somebody else's problem as we leave a brother or sister left to their own devices? Are gonna be the ones who'll be moderate? Who'll see injustice right before our eyes and choose ignorance, social irresponsibility, selfishness? Dr. King certainly expect us not to. Let's be the ones that, even against all odds, even when there's nobody looking or when we find ourselves without great resources, let's be the ones who will stop and reach out our hands to the ones in need. Be kind and supportive.

So let's keep honoring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.' memory — and many others who came before and after him, who died or spent their whole lives trying to make the world a safer and fair place for all human kind.

Towards Martin Luther King's dreamland we shall march.

Happy birthday, Martin Luther King Jr. ♥

May your righteous, courageous soul, rest in peace.

[scarletlilyy]

This whole Diddy situation is absolutely disgusting I hope everyone involved in the committing the horrible crimes truly suffer a painful death

what's especially sad is that people are making a joke out of this situation and just using this as an opportunity to cancel celebrities they don't already like instead of acknowledging the victims and expressing sympathy towards them I feel 8000 800 bad for the women that fell victim to that disgusting piece of shit

And the whole canceling celebrities thing isn't being done well at all.

because the thing with Diddy's parties is that he had private & public parties

public parties which were usually taped for an audience every known public figure had to be at, while the private parties were where the sex trafficking and all the other weird shit happened.

Not everyone attended these private parties and at these point ppl r just throwing random accusations at people who just seemed to even glance at Diddy once which sometimes the assumptions are justified

like for public figure like naomi campbell, drake and trump who r known not only to be VERY Problematic but most likely pedophiles themselves

keep in mind naomi and trump were both very close with eipstein, so if I had to guess they were definitely in on this.

But some other accusations/assumptions are just absurd, I'm not here to blindly defend any celebrities or anything but considering that some of the celebrity event attendees were VICTIMS while should we be assuming their perpetuators without knowing the full story? Like look at Justin Bieber, I have a feeling people would have assumed he was in on it too if someone didn't speak up for him and if he wasn't a minor at that time

and that's another thing, it's not just the minors that were even affected (it gets more disgusting)

Terry Crews a 240 POUND man got sexually assaulted at one of these big Hollywood parties, if he hadn't came out as a victim a very long time ago ppl would have easily assumed he was part of those pedophiles

so what I'm tryna say here is ppl really take their time and understand the situation before throwing at accusations, like I said something attendees are very much clearly affiliated with Diddy and should probably be investigated as soon as possible!!!

I'm not saying idolize the others who have seen like angels their whole lives, just don't idolize any celebrities at this moment and also don't rush to "cancel" them without much factual proof to it or confession from a victim

Once again my hearts out to the victims, they truly deserve better.

[drownindreams]

headspace

i've been feeling inspired lately. In a way i haven't been in awhile.

Love is an incredible emotion. It is quite a bewildering concept. The depths capable of a tiny body is a concept that i haven't quite grasped. The world is a tough place, and i am incredibly blessed if never again, to have felt that once in my life. But once is enough, for love, as incredible, as awe-inspiring, as adrenaline rushing as it is, it's pitfalls are just too much for well, the same small body to bear.

I've always thought that this tiny body of mine was capable of a huge depth of love, that love was a concept many wanted to hold, few could grasp, and a lucky few were born with. When i was younger, someone i looked up to once told me i wasn't capable of greatness in life, but she did say that i had one gift, and that was my gift for loving. That i was capable of love few could comprehend, and by extension, those who were loved by me were incredibly lucky. Bear with me here, i know this sounds like i'm tooting my own horn, but this is nowhere near that.

When i was 19, i met someone in a way i've never known anyone before. Now, i met her i was 14 but, i only truly knew her when i turned 19. It was a beginning of an incredible love story, one that if the commoners knew about, they would plead at the feet of gods to have a taste of what we had. I know that because i knew i would have done the same too. That incredible paradoxical love that felt like the realms of the universe couldn't contain it, that we were the world's orbit and a love so out of this stratosphere even the universe couldn't contain it. I've been finding the words to put what i once felt when i was 19 into words, i never could before, but in retrospect things somehow make much more sense. It was a drug and i was high off of life. I found inspiration in every corner, from the rays of sunlight, to the fall of leaves, to the beauty of the universe - i saw the world in a light i never did before. The touch of her skin, the sound of her breath, the twinkle in her eye, the lightness of her touch, the weightlessness of her every move. I was so incredibly lucky to have ever had that in my life. For that I will forever thank the universe, for bringing us together.

As with all relationships, even the best ones, it all dwindles, the harder you fall, the harder the crash. I loved her deeply, more than words could ever describe it. But i'm losing myself and i go through the motions of losing her every single day, over and over and over and over again, and sometimes, even this is too much to bear for a heart that was once named a model, for a body this small, and for a love that transcended time and space, to bear.

As time goes on, the simple yet complex foundations of bonds, of souls joining, seems to get overthrown by the complications of life - of values, of dreams, of hearts, of cities, of lives, of the difference in needs. This complexity which our love just doesn't capable of tiding over, of overcoming together, is a foreign language to me. Because love is simple, it's 2 people who made the choice to be together, through all the toughest times, and forever is a word that should never be used lightly, but somehow our love just isn't capable of doing that. Maybe, you've always been a little more factual, a little more practical, i've always been a dreamer, and that's who i was and who i am today. We haven't changed not one bit, the practicalities of life is what have changed and the chemicals upon which our bonds were founded are no longer viable driving forces because two is better than one and it's like an engine that has lost it's power and there's no way we can pull through over it because there's not enough torque.

I thank you. And i'm not ready to let go yet, so i write this here as my unsaid piece, of hurting every single day from losing you every single day, i write this with an incredible amount of pain i never knew a tiny body could hold, i write this with a longing heart, i write this with an angry heart, i write this with a forgiving heart, and i write this with a hopeful heart, non-begrudging, i write this with a heart that doesn't ask you to stay, but longs deep inside, that you might possibly find it within you to fall in love with me again, the same way i have been with you, since day one. - words i will never say to you, for love never wishes to burden, never wishes to guilt, but only wishes for the truest feelings, and the most genuine emotions, anything less would be a disservice to it's name, and anything less the universe would lose all it's meaning.

[my-strange-attraction]

>call yourself a label anarchist

>use incorrect pronouns for someone every chance you get

yeah that checks out. the act of degendering by using they/them is transphobic and is radfem rhetoric. You call other people TERFs without proof and yet you are the FIRST IN LINE to misgender someone and defend yourself with “oh but it’s gender neutral”. It is not when a person has specific pronouns!!! use👏 correct👏 pronouns👏 idiot👏

"every chance you get" Factually incorrect I did use he/him in my response to the ask that mentioned it, and I apologized! I messed up, I admit it. I am a human being! Mispronouning somebody once by accident does not a transphobe make, I should hope anyone if the queer community at all is aware of that, otherwise a lot more of us are transphobes than we thought (even actual trans people!).

Also factually incorrect that I called him a terf. I specifically said he wasn't one, and I honestly don't think he's even likely to be one in the future. He seems very genuinely supportive of trans people, which made me feel better when I first clicked on his profile. I was just pointing out that this is the kind of exclusionist thinking that terfs will absolutely latch onto to start a conversation and convince you that using the label of trans is hurting regular old queer people. That's why I called it a pipeline, not a terf dogwhistle.

I'm assuming because of the timing that you're also the person who called me a straight up liar for saying how queer my school is. I don't know why anyone would lie about that, I mean just being at any college you're going to be surrounded by queer people, especially if you are queer yourself. I wouldn't need to make up a fake number about my school to say I'm in college and my friends are all queer except for like five people.

It just happens to be one of the main selling points of my school that there is a majority queer population, so the percentage is higher (although I do want to reiterate that 70% is on the higher end of the figure, rather than the lower end like I implied in my first post where I mentioned it before I looked up the figures). Also my school is quite small so it's not as difficult to attain a higher percentage as it would be at a state school or ivy.

I would be happy to tell you all about my school in the spring after I graduate and get out of this place, but I was raised to be very wary of putting any information on the internet. I know it may surprise you, but cloudy is in fact just my screen name and not my real name. I'm really careful about this stuff.

Also it's just wild to me how many people have questioned my intelligence or called me stupid in this whole thing. I have never done that! I would never do that! It's one of the meanest things you can call somebody imo. Is it just that you get a rush from saying it? Does it make you feel morally superior? Or is it like a confirmation bias thing, like me being stupid confirms that my disagreeing with you is not due to something you should actually think about and consider but just because I'm obviously not very good at thinking things through?

Idk, I know it's the internet, I just think for a bunch of people who claim to be arguing for the liberation of queer people, you sure put down other queers a lot.

Although maybe you're not fighting for queer liberation, seeing as you want to police what words other people use to describe only themselves...

[talldarkandroguesome]

11th of Last Seed, Fredas

It has not been until this morning, when I came to training directly from a bath, that Luayl noticed the scaring I have from my battle with the dragon. I still think it will heal up, but he saw the slashes across my back that seemed to drive home the factual reality of facing a dragon for him.

I do not know what the House has told him, but it seems as though, despite the evidence, none of them fully believe that I fought an actual dragon, let alone two of them. They are, after all, the sort of creature one reads about and knows to not be a worry in our world today.

And yet, there they were.

His hands felt so good tracing the three long strokes of claws across my back. To be honest, I do not even know when exactly it happened in that final battle. Everything was moving so very fast. In a battle with a dragon, you have to be moving fast.

Still, I was glad to have his soothing touch and words of concern. Then his comforting.

I do not know how much training we did today, but I am hardly upset by the time we spent together. In fact, to have someone who I could just let hold me and tell me it was alright, without any emotions attached, that was a near meditative state.

And then he looked me in my eyes and I felt that rush of warmth to my cheeks that I have not felt since I was young. Those feelings I do not want to remain, still do. A part of me, despite all the changes, all the time and distance, still loves him.

I hate that. I hate being emotionally bound to someone. Especially someone who is only here temporarily. He is only here to teach. He has made that clear. This is just a part of our dynamic, but there is no feelings involved for him.

If only I could feel the same way. If only I did not want him to love me. It was so much simpler when I was young and we just met for our private lessons and then stayed the rest of the night together, enjoying the feel of one another. That pure sensation of someone just loving you regardless of who you were or what anyone else felt like.

Perhaps it is selfish to word it so. Avon gives me so much love and dedication to me and Sildras and my family and House. Yet I do not feel the same for him. And there is always that guilt over it. That maybe I am just leading him on and not allowing him to move on emotionally from me, even though he says that he has. Even though we say that we love one another purely as brothers and that sharing our bed together is just that same expression of love and lust we have always had. I am not so blind as to not see just how much he longs for more. That playing family has brought much love and joy to him and I know that he is more parent to my son than Urtisa could have ever been.

Yet for all of our ability to be honest with one another, I have to hold back. Our relationship is inherently unfair to him. I know it. I hate myself for it sometimes, just knowing that in some small way, as happy as I am with things the way they are, it will always hurt him to be with me. If he had any option that did not mean marrying and bedding a woman, I would suggest that he do so. Yet his family will force him into marriage the moment he is released from his duties here. They have been trying to get him to do his prospect meetings already and he has had his duties as excuse.

I do not know what to do about it. I may not be able to protect him from that for long. The House, even now, even with everything else going on, continue to try and push me to select a mistress and father more heirs. They treat me like a stallion in need of a mare. I am breeding stock for them and little more of value.

As soon as I have even one more heir reach the age of nine, they are likely to begin commissioning for my assassination. At least those who were long loyal to uncle Tanval. I have already seen their attempts. I do not know if their impatience may encourage them to start working on it sooner.

Well, at least I have some letters to write today. That should get my head off of these less pleasant topics.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

[docholligay]

As much to myself as anyone, but also, let’s reflect on it today: It’s a really really human thing to hate being corrected. Even when we’re factually wrong. It’s normal to get defensive or tetchy when someone points out something.

The challenge is in moving past that defensiveness, and looking at yourself.

Now sometimes this is just, “Okay I was factually wrong about this, but I’m not a bad person for being misinformed, and they aren’t a bad person for telling me I’m wrong.”

And sometimes this is, “I’ve been told this part of my argument is wrong, and how do I feel about that? Do I think they have a point, when I am divorced from the situation? When I don’t take my own opinion as gospel, but allow that other thoughts can and do exist? Do I feel this way because of a feeling, or experience, that may not be universal?” THIS IS THE HARD ONE. (Though I am also no great fan of option one) But I really, really encourage everyone to work on stepping back, and rotating your argument a little in your mind. Your values, and how you express them.

Defensiveness and a rush to clash is not something to hate yourself over, but neither is it something to feel proud of. I say this as someone who is constantly spoiling for a fight over the MOST irrelevant bullshit. Deep breaths! If your argument is good now, it will be good later. Something I’m working on, and encourage others, is to come to discussion with a sense of curiosity instead of victory. I fail at this sometimes! I am very reactionary, as a person, and while that makes me, just, fantastic in any given crisis, and GIRL, if you need a Rude American to get in someone’s face, I am THERE, it doesn’t always serve me in the way I’d like.

To be the master of something is not the same as keeping it constantly caged. I want to train my temper, my defensiveness, my bluster, and keep it to heel. I don’t want it to drag ME along. And I think that’s a good lesson for all of us.

I also think that we should consider--and again, I am talking to myself directly--working on how we correct others, how we approach into these conversations. Our motivation shouldn’t be to “make them look stupid” or “win” or something but to come to a better place, where, at the very least, we can SEE each other, even if we can’t MEET each other, you know? I can’t change other people, I can only change myself, but we have to remember that a flood starts drop by drop, i think.

[ganymedesclock]

So I discovered the trailer for Belle (2021), and it’s making me think about what I love about Beauty and the Beast riffs, and what makes a story scratch that particular itch for me or not.

And I think a huge part of it for me is the examination of monstrosity as a social role. To just use Disney’s animated classic as my base for comparison here, Adam, The Beast, is not literally cursed with fur and fangs, claws and horns- he has those things, and may have mixed feelings about them, others certainly have bad reactions to them-

-his curse is ostracization. His curse is to not be seen as human. What actual, physical features he has are irrelevant to that. They’re just quirks he can learn to live with, or a further excuse to tell himself he deserves this isolation, this frustration, this misery.

So the breaking of the curse, to me, is not the scene where Belle sobs confirmation of what we knew well before then into his stilling chest and brings him back, minus those quirks- if anything, that his happiness comes with the loss of those things has seemed to me (and I’m not alone) as almost something of a betrayal depending on how it’s framed.

By contrast, to me, the breaking of the curse is the ballroom scene, and the moments leading up to it. Adam returns to Adam, rather than The Beast, at the point that he decides that he deserves to be treated like a human being- not as a labor of love from Belle, but from himself. Yes, it’s love with Belle that they dance together, that they have this ball scene when there’s no high society to impress, but before that point, he had to make a decision; that he can clean up and dress nice and have an evening. That he deserves to.

When we first see The Beast, he has all of the means and resources to act like a prince, to present like one. He could make himself comfortable and be surrounded by splendor, but the truest thing he suffers under is he’s ceased to see himself as worth the effort. It’s not as if he could cut the fur down and prune back his claws, file down the horns, and look the way he feels he ought to- the way he thinks he should. He’s broken every mirror in his house except for the one he hides from, and this is a gesture of absolute defeat. He knows what he looks like. He can’t pretend he doesn’t. The only way he can tolerate this is not looking at himself.

As a neurodivergent queer person, the monster in the mirror is something I have a very complicated relationship with. I have an “advantage” in some ways. My appearance is not shocking to most people. I do not benefit from an obvious mobility aid or assistive device; I speak within a range people think of is normal. I have an “unusual haircut” for a “girl” and I don’t aggressively correct people on my pronouns or presentation.

But I’ve always had this feeling, that perhaps, my fangs and fur were simply easy things to trim off, and it’s so easy to wonder, would I still be okay if they weren’t? Because really, it’s none of the granular details that make a monster. For every imagined horror creature, there’s almost certainly a real animal it resembles, and real animals are not monsters. A monster is a monster; anything else, we believe, has a place, has a home. Deserves to exist.

To be a monster is to be a thing that doesn’t fit, or, more directly, to be a monster is to be a thing that is unaccepted. Rejected for not fitting. Unworthy of love, from within, or without.

At the end of the day, I know, factually, I am not a monster. I know that I’m a real person. I know that I deserve dignity and respect and love, even if only from myself. I’m not owed another person to love me just to prove that I can be, but, also, no man is an island; as humans we seek each other one way or another, romantically or platonically. That’s a fact of anyone, not just people who struggle to see a real person when they look at their reflection.

And yet, at this same time, I can’t help but feel betrayed, left behind, when the narrative goes that if the monster does everything right its reward is to be shaped into the likeness of a Real Human Being. Because you can’t just pull a feathered skin off me and make me like I “should be”, like my various diagnoses and self-identifications all present me as an aberration from. If you showed me a me without any of those qualities, that’s honestly the thing I’m the most afraid of, a me without me. A Miss Perfect who’s a good, normative daughter, and in my insecurity I wonder if people would like her so much better than me that they wouldn’t miss if I was gone.

Which, that’s nonsense. I know a lot of people who care about me the way I am. But nobody ever said fears had to be rational.

At the end of the day, as much as I hate the idea of being a monster to others, I also relish the notion of qualities that are categorized as monsters. I love dragons. I love putting big, horrible teeth and leering eyes and wings and claws on heroic characters. Because brought into the light, qualities are just qualities. And if you bring those qualities into the favoring, soft light of stories about human connection, romances, queerplatonic bonds, friendships and found family alike, those qualities can even be charming, alluring, inspiring; a character can look like anything and we still feel a rush of reassurance that this specific character is there.

And that’s the other side of Beauty and the Beast: Adam is running away from being a monster, and Belle is trying to run away from who she is, too. Because Belle is the other side of that trap.

Let’s be honest; it isn’t just that Belle’s an outspoken woman with opinions. It’s that she’s pretty. She’s the prettiest girl in town. She’s someone people want, people have expectations for- and those expectations have little room for what she actually wants. Hell, that’s one of the major dangerous driving forces of the climax- Adam nearly gets murdered by a mob because Belle made a choice that her community really didn’t like, especially Gaston, and it’s easy to point to Adam as the wrong choice because he’s pointy.

“Beauty”, as much as “The Beast”, are dehumanizing categories that people are sorted into. The doll and the monster. One is considered beneath monstrosity; beguiling, an object of appeal and desire but not someone with opinions, oh no, and not someone able to make a choice that you disagree with. People driven to the fringes by opposing forces but regardless find each other in the place they’re trying to find room to breathe in.

And that, I think, is one way some of these riffs can, for me personally, miss the point- and that’s not a mark against them, it’s just that there’s a specific thing I see in this story, and it’s very specifically not, “to be beautiful and desirable to mass public consumption is the way to be happy; we will have a story about how to rehabilitate someone so they can be beautiful too” but rather, “what does it mean when people stop seeing you as yourself, whether the alternative is perfection or a monster? what would you do to be seen clearly?”

[sarangbe]

the moment that joomi's arm wrap around him and pull him closer, sarang's breath hitches in his throat—the strength of the other's limbs causing pleasant chills to glissade down the length of his spine. there's nothing he loves more than being handled by another man's power, and the firmness joomi clutches him with causes him to deepen their kiss just before it inevitably breaks. he could remain here forever; locked into an embrace that feeds spoonfuls of sweet sugar to his heart and soul. the rush of endorphins satiates him like nothing else, and he hopes that joomi feels the same way—even it it's just a little bit. sure, their intentions tonight may not be fully roseate in hue, but they can still pretend, right? at least for one night.

"don't tempt me," he whispers, then pecks him once more. "i'll steal your heart away and keep it all to myself, if i'm allowed to..." sarang's voice is soft, low, and rather serious in tone; his mood shifting from luxuriating in their afterglow, to wanting to indulge in his lover once more. however, he won't take things there unless given the green light. he doesn't want to completely exhaust joomi of his energy... unless he'd enjoy that, too.

allowing himself more affection, he leans in and begins to pepper kisses across his senior's neck and jawline; hoping that each one further emphasizes his statements. in his honest opinion, joomi is lovable, and magical, and deserving of all the good the world has to offer, and though it may be difficult for him to believe that himself, sarang has made it his new goal to convince him that it's factual.

if the mystery man in joomi's life is unable to do that, then why can't he pick up the slack in the meantime? it's the least he can do.

slowly, sensually, he begins to gyrate his hips; causing the most delicious amount of friction between their connected centers. "i hope that i'm right, too, but until then... i'm so happy you're here, and that you agreed to come out with me tonight." sarang continues to thank him, and show appreciation, because he knows how busy joomi is—him making time in his overloaded schedule for something like this isn't being taken lightly, that's for sure. "makes me feel like you and i should make more use of the time we have together..." the younger of them teases, gently applying more weight to his titillating motions.

longing for more contact, sarang is quick to kiss him again; his hands placed on joomi's chest to keep him balanced, lightly clawing at his delicately-toned flesh. he infuses a lot of passion into this one, even going so far as to reintroduce his tongue; hoping all the words he wants to say are communicated mouth-to-mouth.

"you're so hot," he lilts as their grasp slightly unfolds. "you should stay over..."

it has meaning, sarang says, and joomi knows he's right. it does; it has too much meaning, for something that is essentially nothing. it's nothing but it's something and it's far too much all at once. sarang says it like whatever feelings he harbors for jinyoung turning into love is inevitable, and maybe it just is. maybe joomi will feel better if he just accepts it and tries to come to terms with it now.

that's how it was on next gen, wasn't it? when he accepted his feelings, instead of thinking about how stupid he was for them, he felt better. he found a way forward to do his best on the show, and in the end, left getting more good out of the situation than bad. this is different, but is it still possible to leave whatever happens between him and jinyoung with more good than bad?

is it possible to not have to leave at all?

thinking it scares him. it's too much. maybe a lasting love exists for some people, but he's never seen it. he doesn't think it's out there for people like him and jinyoung; he thinks jinyoung would agree. they'll be lucky if they even end up with a lasting friendship. if matters between them get anymore complicated than they already are, he has a feeling they won't have that, either.

he'll come around, sarang says, among other things, and joomi half sighs, half snickers, and smiles a little, close-lipped. sarang is so sweet, and for a moment, he thinks about what it would be like to love him. warm. fun. still painful, maybe, because he seems like he might be a little flighty when it comes to serious feelings. he would feel loved every day, though, in some way, and he resents himself and his own feelings; like he's robbing himself of joy he is long overdue for.

sarang shifts; straddles him, and joomi looks up at him. pretty, he thinks absently. "please do," he jokes back, and laughs into their next kiss. part of him means it. part of him wants literally anyone else to make him fall for them, but it would be especially nice if he loved someone like sarang. not perfect, but...nice. he thinks loving sarang would feel how love is supposed to. joomi doesn't know if he'll ever know what that feels like.

special, sarang calls him. magical. lovable. no one has said that to him before. no one has told him such kind things and meant them, especially not while in bed with him, and it's overwhelming. his chest tightens, and when sarang kisses him, he's glad, if only so he doesn't have to say anything for now. he kisses him back, and wraps his arms around sarang, pulling him closer to him. when their lips part, joomi still doesn't know what to say, so he just squeezes him. "thank you," he says at last, voice little more than a whisper. there's nothing else to say, is there? he's not going to argue with sarang over his lovability, because when sarang says it, he believes him; he knows sarang means it, at least.

he doesn't think he's magical. lovable, maybe; deserving of someone who cherishes him, yes, probably. does he ever think he'll find it? not really. he certainly doesn't think it will last, if he does. he realizes, then, how desperately he wants it to be jinyoung; how much he wants to matter to him, and this is overwhelming, too. it's overwhelming and devastating and the weight of it feels like heartburn in his chest.

"i hope you're right," he breathes–– about jinyoung coming around; about all of it. for now, he just tries, once again, to focus on the weight of sarang's body, and the fact that he, at least, thinks highly of him. that counts for something.