#just to have her own children be the ones to undo it

[zorangezest]

THE MESSMER/MARIKA ANIMATION IS DONEEEE AUUUUAA it’ll go up tmr i liked the silly doodles i made for an end screen so im posting it on its own take it take it

[megaderping]

I feel like when people emphasize Akechi's murders, they often act like his motivation only boils down to "daddy issues" or they really make light of the impacts societal discrimination can have on a person. "But Futaba didn't end up like Akechi," I've seen people say, but the thing is, Akechi is meant to show the worst case scenario. Someone without anyone left to uplift him, to ground him, and to give him a reason to be better. Futaba had Sojiro, though that hardly justifies her mother's death, nor the horrible mistreatment from her relatives or what Shido put her through by framing Wakaba's death as a suicide. Futaba was in a very dark place, and she needed a helping hand. The Phantom Thieves saved her. But Akechi didn't have that helping hand when he needed it most. He lost his mother at a very young age, endured the foster system, never finding a new forever home, and at his absolute lowest point, was granted power he didn't understand with no one to guide him, and wanted to get close to Shido to one day backstab him and give him a taste of his own medicine. The murders came later, when Shido "instructed him." And given the way Shido yells at Akechi about what happens to people who cross him, and given what he did to Futaba (the men in suits), his cleaner, and how many people he had on his side, on top of Sojiro making it very clear how cutthroat Shido was to his enemies... Akechi was screwed no matter what. His face, his name, all of it could be used to ruin him in the real world. Alone, he would not have been enough to go through Shido's Palace, given how much trouble the Phantom Thieves had as a group. Plus, y'know, this:

Something so many people ignore when they talk about Akechi and his murders and ignore everything else the narrative tries to say about him.

What P5 tries to say about Akechi is so important to its core themes. That, if Akechi hadn't been a victim of so much injustice, he might have never gone to such lengths. That doesn't undo the damage he's done, but it's so important to understanding why the game approaches him with sympathy rather than writing him off as pure evil. Because it didn't have to be this way. If he had just met Joker sooner, if he had just had somebody. Akechi represents what can happen to vulnerable children who are failed by systems meant to uphold justice and other ideals, and how those who have nothing, who have only ever been hurt, are far more likely to lash out in turn. Persona 5 places so much importance on the suffering of children and the ways society needs to improve for the sake of children. That, I think, is one of the key reasons Akechi is framed as a victim. He is a warning, a cry to do better.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ Yandere Aegon II Targaryen: Non Con, delusional Aegon

She loves him. Of course, she does. She always has.

Aegon paces the room, biting his nails, his hands trembling slightly as his thoughts race. His mind is a storm, a whirlpool of memories and whispers, all swirling around one undeniable truth: She loves him. How could she not? She’s always been there, from the time they were children, always by his side, always watching him with those soft eyes, full of love. Yes, she loved him then, and she loves him now. He knows it. He can feel it.

He mutters to himself as he moves, his fingers tugging at his hair, pulling at the strands, his mind a chaotic mess. He hears his own voice, whispering over and over, “She loves me. She loves me. She has to love me.”

It wasn’t always like this. She used to smile at him, didn’t she? He remembers her smile, bright and warm, back when they were children. Back when she would laugh at his jokes, hold his hand, tell him he was the best at everything. He remembers those days clearly, so clearly it hurts. She was his. She loved him more than anyone. More than anyone ever could.

But now... now she’s quiet. She’s so quiet, it drives him mad. She doesn’t look at him the same way anymore, doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh. She just sits there, empty. Broken. But that’s not her fault, no, no. It’s not her fault. She’s just tired. He knows she’s tired. She’s been through so much, because of him. Because he loves her so much that it scares him sometimes.

His pacing stops as he glances at her, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall with those dead, hollow eyes. She’s so beautiful, even now, even like this. He knows she loves him. She’s just forgotten, that’s all. She’s forgotten how much she used to love him, how much she still does. He’ll remind her. He’ll make her remember.

His hands tremble as he approaches her, his breath uneven. He bites his lip, chewing at the skin until it bleeds, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are wide, almost wild, as he kneels in front of her, reaching out to touch her face. She flinches slightly at his touch, and that sends a jolt of anger through him, but he swallows it down, forcing himself to smile.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always here. I love you. Don’t you see? I’ve always loved you.”

She doesn’t respond. She just stares, her eyes dull and lifeless. He feels a flicker of rage, but he pushes it down, pushes it deep. She loves him. She’s just... tired. She needs him to remind her.

Slowly, almost tenderly, he begins to undress her, his fingers trembling as they undo the ties of her gown. His hands are rough, impatient, but he tries to be gentle. He wants to be gentle. She’s delicate, fragile, like a porcelain doll. He knows that now. He has to be careful. He has to take care of her.

“Sshh,” he murmurs as he slides the fabric off her shoulders. “It’s alright. Don’t cry anymore. You don’t need to cry. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, like a broken puppet, as he pulls her gown away, exposing her pale skin to the cool air. His hands shake as they glide over her body, rough and possessive, but his voice is soft, almost soothing.

“You love me,” he whispers, his lips brushing her ear. “I know you do. You always have. You’re just... you’ve forgotten, that’s all. I’ll remind you. I’ll make you feel it again.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. He takes that as a sign. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Of course, it is. She wants this. She’s always wanted this. He undresses himself hurriedly, his fingers fumbling with the buckles and ties, his movements jerky and desperate.

When he finally presses himself against her, his breath comes in short, ragged gasps. His mind is a blur, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he forces himself inside her, his grip tight, bruising. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t push him away, and that’s all the proof he needs.

“It’s okay,” he whispers again, his voice cracking as he thrusts into her, harder and harder, his body trembling with a sick kind of need. “You love me. You do. You’ll see. I’ll make you remember.”

His movements are rough, almost violent, but she doesn’t react. She just lies there, her eyes staring blankly ahead, as if she’s not even there, as if her soul has long since left her body. He tries not to notice. He tells himself it’s fine. Everything is fine. She’s just tired. She’s just... forgotten.

“It’s okay,” he keeps repeating, over and over, as his body moves against hers, each thrust more desperate than the last. “I love you. I’ll always love you. You’ll love me too. You will. You’ll see. You’ll remember.”

He bites down on her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, but she doesn’t even flinch. The sight of the red staining her pale skin only drives him further, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in her, in the fantasy that she loves him, that she wants this.

And when it’s over, when he finally collapses beside her, panting and spent, he looks at her with a strange, twisted tenderness. Her eyes are still blank, still dead, but he strokes her hair, shushing her softly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers one last time, pulling her close to him, his fingers still trembling. “It’s all going to be okay. You love me. You’ll see. You have to love me.”

But deep down, in the darkest part of his mind, even he knows the truth.

She never did. And she never will.

But he’ll keep pretending. He’ll keep telling himself the lie. Because it’s the only thing holding him together.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[erwinsvow]

hii shea idk if someone has already made this type of request if that's the case please ignore me but i can't stop thinking about shy!reader absolutely cock drunk asking for the first time rafe to fuck her raw and the question caught him so off guard that he felt feral and dizzy, his composure slipping away just wanting to please his sweet girl<3

hi baby omg no i don't have any reqs like this here it is hope i did it justice <33

rafe was teasing you today.

after more than an hour of back and forth at whatever party you two had gone to for the evening—and only because rafe wanted to sell and your friends had already promised they'd be there—you were more than ready to go home.

except rafe hadn't taken you home yet. instead you'd been all around the house—on rafe's lap in the living room to start. leaning in to your boyfriend's ear, you know he can tell how desperate you're getting.

you don't do well with denial anymore—rafe had spoiled you too much for that.

"can't we go now?" the words are whispered to rafe, and you rest your head on his shoulder, blinking up at him while you wait for a response. one of his hands leaves the armstand of the sofa and grips your exposed thigh, skirt riding up a little too much.

"it's early. hold out a little longer. can you do that for me?"

you think your eyes are going to roll all the way back. the answer is yes, of course, you can do that for him. you would do anything for him. you just don't want.

following that, you accompanied rafe to the other side of the house where a whole swarm of people were chasing their next high. though you should really stand next to him, you just can't find it in you today, instead staying his back, peering out every now and then like shy children do.

it's all worth it, because moments later rafe takes you upstairs, murmuring something about how you're being a good girl for holding out. there's an empty bedroom that you think is the perfect place to spend the next hour.

rafe's talking to you—though you're so deliriously horny you can't really hear him. you nod and stare up, agreeing to whatever your boyfriend wants to do, just wishing he would hurry up and do something already, when the door opens.

you're not naked, though if they had barged in a few minutes later, you might have been. and normally you think your face would be burning, that you might die of embarrassment at someone catching you like this.

instead you're just mad.

it's the owner of the house—which makes sense, since your boyfriend has brought you up to the master. he's got a girl of his own on his arm, and you grind your teeth getting up with rafe, furious and impatient now.

"at least knock next time!" you yell when you shuffle through, ignoring splutters of it's my house!

you think rafe is going to ask you what you want to do next—but he doesn't. your boyfriend, like always, knows what you need before you can even know it sometimes. you follow rafe back to his truck, ready for, at the very least, some peace and quiet.

when you finally get up to rafe's room, the buzz of the party is wearing off a bit. your feet hurt from your heels and you can't believe you yelled at someone. lost in your own thoughts, you don't even process rafe sitting down next to you, until he takes your feet into his lap, undoing the strap of your shoes for you.

it's instant—one touch from him is enough to set your skin on fire.

"oh," you say, at the sudden realization you might finally be getting what you want. you stare at where rafe is holding your ankle in place, shoes on the ground now. "thank you."

"s'nothing, kid. get on the bed." eagerly, you comply.

in the vain hope that rafe was as impatient as you are—you thought he would just fuck you already. but it seems not, with the slow way he kisses up and down your neck, down to your tits and your stomach.

you find it a lot easier to ask him for things now—a new dress, dessert, money for your nails—but it seems impossible to ask him for this, so you opt for enjoying it and staying silent.

but even then—rafe always knows when something is wrong. you're practically vibrating from anticipation—you had wanted your boyfriend to fuck you hours ago on that stupid couch from that stupid house. it seems your body was only now realize how long you'd been clenching your thighs, biting your cheek and ignoring the tense knot in your stomach.

a few touches from rafe was enough to have you practically melting—staring up and still not saying anything.

"y'okay, kid?" he asks, and you really don't know how to answer. "s'okay. you're getting what you want."

you can do this. you're patient—you've always been patient.

"can you-please, just-" alright, maybe not. "can you please just fuck me raw, please, please, just fuck me-"

of course, rafe's not stupid. he could tell you've been on edge all night, he just hadn't known why. he stares down at you, all flushed, hot skin and heavy breaths, looking up at him. he knows whatever reaction he gives you will stay on your mind, and though he can try as hard as he wants, you are impossible to say no to.

"jesus. s'that really what you want?" you nod eagerly. "can't regret this later, baby. once we do that, it's-it's serious. what if i knock you up, huh?"

rafe watches you take in the words, facing twisting in understand.

"please knock me up."

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny!! please may i order swiss roll with a side of tonic water and mocha coffee served by fernando? and please make it spicy!! 🤍

bakery menu

orders are still open! hit me up! i've been writing a lot more and i love creating these little pieces for you! thank you to all who have submitted, i am working tirelessly to get through all of them! so thank you! from this lovely anon, thank you! i love a good fernando alonso fic in my inbox, fans of his always have the most interesting orders, haha! especially with the swiss roll prompt! wow!

swiss roll ("everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you.") + tonic water (age gap) + mocha coffee (breeding kink) served by fernando alonso (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, age gap (20s/40s), sugar daddy-adjacent, mentions of children & pregnancy, alonso likes having power over you, slight baby trapping, sub/dom

when your university friends told you getting involved a man almost double your age was a bad idea, you simply scoffed it off. in a bit of fairness you had little dollar signs in your eyes when fernando first started to spoil you. his praise was a fountain that kept you full.

but everything came with a price tag, pequeña paloma and after three years of messing around, fernando expected a return on investment.

"you know, you're getting up their in age, alonso." he heard over dinner. it made the man laugh against his wine glass with his other hand on your lower back. your shifted a little in your seat and kept your focus on the conversation.

the same member of the team added, "it's about time you had kids, no? you can't keep racing forever. if you start now you can have the kid in racing before you know it."

you looked away briefly and tried not to blush too hard. you had been out of university for a month for summer vacation and now they were talking about children? but your fernando just laughed and said, "well, i guess we aren't getting younger. right, dove?"

he pulled you a little closer to him and rubbed your shoulder, he looked at you. those dark eyes pulled you in as always. it made you rub your thighs together with a throb that he had trained you to feel whenever he was somewhat domineering.

you nodded and giggled a little, "well you aren't." then giggled when your much older boyfriend pulled you close. he kissed you on the head and you felt his warmth. he then turned back to the team member and flashed him a grin.

it was a return on investment. fernando alonso gets involved with a pretty young thing from a pretty little private university, spoils her and gives her the attention her daddy won't. then have her get all soft with his child and be a good mother to them.

and that was what happened when you got back to your room for the night. his broad hands on your shoulders as he bent you over to touch your toes. just as he trained you, stretched you out nice a good, in more ways than one. he admired you for a moment with his stiff cock nudging against your backside.

"he was right, pequeña paloma. i'm not getting any younger. about time i have a child. and who else would i pick, but you. you're almost done school and now my live-in girlfriend. i feel like a baby would make it a home." he leaned over you and placed his large hands on your middle, "it's only fair you give me what i want. everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. i own those, so i guess that means i own you."

you nodded, "yes." and you felt something to twist in your gut before fernando made you stand up right once more. his hands on your breasts, groping them between his strong hands. you whimpered a little bit from the pain.

"that's what i like to hear." he said before he pulled back a little to undo the zipper of your dress. he didn't know why he was taking it off so delicately, you weren't going to be able to wear this form fitting number in a few months.

but don't worry, he'll get you something to show off that growing middle. once he got you in your bra and panties, you turned to face him. you looked at him and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. his hands were on your hips are you did your duty to get him undressed.

the liked the sight of you, submissive. so cute.

once you undressed him, you led him to the bed. you got up on it and crossed one leg over the other. fernando soon crowded your space and got you on the bed. laid out to perfection for him.

you said to him, "we don't have to make a baby now."

he looked at you and responded, "we have to. anything could happen tomorrow. i need to make sure that your sweet cunt is taken care of. bred to perfection." he said softly, his words left you feeling tingly all over.

you looked good under him as his eyes raked your naked body. pretty little thing. fernando's little investment. have a good place to keep his cum for years to come, but right now he wanted you to end up with a baby at your hip.

"you know you can't deny me, my love." he said softly, "you know you can't. you let me do whatever i want to you. just like your apartment, your bed, your services. i own it all, and you have to start repaying." he licked his lips and got between your legs.

you squirmed a little and held onto the soft white covers under you. fernando's cock twitched at full attention and he shifted his hips a little before he grabbed you by the legs and got them over his shoulders.

he pressed into you further, putting your knees to your chest and fully trapping you underneath. he said in a low tone, "you know how to be good for me. right? you know how to stay under me and let the man who owns you do what he pleases." he got his cock into with ease and watched your back arch.

such a beautiful sight, there was a large period of time where they weren't women like you. so willing to please a man like fernando, do anything to keep your man happy. and he in turn made sure you didn't want for anything. if him bruising your cervix means your silly little tution was covered then so be it. you just hoped that you didn't get pregnant before you finished your program.

it felt weird to have your knees so close to you while he rocked against you. his hands on either side of you as he dragged his cock in and out of you. at one point he only had the tip in before he quickly pushed it back in to the base. you felt the force of that in your chest as his cock explored your insides. you knew his cock was a cervix kisser and it was getting very familiar with yours.

a man almost double your age hitting the back of your pussy with everything he had. he was a man on a mission to make sure your cute little cunt stayed around his cock. barely touched a man before he met you, now he was promising filthy things to the woman who was going to give him the family he wanted. you'd fill out so nicely with pregnancy, a little thickness to your hips would make his cock leaky every time he saw you. he knew that you'd be kept busy with a little alonso baby toddling after you.

he eventually eventually got your ankles over his shoulders, helplessly rested against the strength of them. he groped at your breasts as he continued to fuck you. he watched your cute curves bounce with each thrust.

you whimpered, "please, frenando." your back arched a little from the intensity of his movements. how hard he gripped onto you as the bullies his cock into your sweet pussy. your heart hammered in your chest as he continued to move against you. your much older boyfriend was breeding you, he was fucking you nice and deep to make sure it all took.

if he was going to get you pregnant then he was going to go all out for it. hips tilted so gravity could work its magic and flood your pretty, younger pussy full of come. promise of a future together. don't worry, fernando would be an attentive father and he wouldn't stick you with two or more children. well, until he retires at least. then you're going back to his country with a big piece of land. and you'll be the perfect alonso wife. plus the kids to keep you busy, there won't be any time

so maybe the degree was a bad investment, you won't be able to use it for raising the little brats that you were going to have. but, he'd happily pay for a master's program if it meant that your cunt would be stained with a sheen of his cum across it. sticky dna up against the furthest parts of you thanks to your lover.

he continued to rut against you. his mouth was full of filthy promises as he moved up against you. your heart was hammering in your chest as you tried reach your climax. happily taking what fernando gave. you tried to shift a little but he pressed into your further. he kept you trapped under him as he felt his cock with in your sweet cunt. he knew he was could he could feel the heighten feeling around him. the thump of his heart as he had every intention to breed your sweet little sex.

"please. honey"

"i know, i've got you. you just let yourself finish. i'm right here. just like when i first made you come. you love this feling don't you. you want me all the time. that's why you're letting me finish inside of you. you want me."

you took him by the face and pulled him closer once more. you came around his cock with a noise leaving your chest. you felt hot all over, like a splash of pleasure through your system. your lover took you by the face and moved yoou into a searing kiss as he own pace started to stagger.

"honey."

"shh. i know, i know. i'm close." he really started to work your body was you laid there in a blessed out state. you looked beautiful even now, unaware of how quick fernando was fucking you. the bed squeaked under you two as the headboard rocked against the tacky wallpapered wall. a few more strokes and he finished inside of you with his hands on your hips. he had left pretty marks on your breasts and hips, a sign of his. as if the future child you'd carry wouldn't prove it.

you whimpered a little bit but fernando silenced you with a kiss. no need to be a whiny girl, you were supposed to behave for him. be on your plush behind and let him thrust up into you. watch those breasts bounce. but he didn't slow down once he came. instead he got you on your stomach and pressed his cock into you even further. the new angle had your toes curled.

his words were in you ears once more, it muddled your thoughts. all you could think about was your lover as you arched your back.

fernando alonso wasn't getting younger. so he was going to spend all his time making sure that you became the mother he knew you could be. <3

[emtheanxiousdragon]

Thinking about Psychonauts 2 again, and you know what scene pops into my head a lot? It’s near the end of the game, when Raz runs back to the caravan to get his family’s support to take down Maligula. In a game about mental health and coping with loss and mistakes, this scene, while small, says volumes.

If you don’t remember, when Raz makes his way to the caravan while Nona is in the middle of her big water tornado, this is how he finds his family; gathered around Augustus, offering whatever support they can.

Look at how Augustus is sitting. The classic “face to your knees” pose naturally signals that he’s upset, but there’s something more to that. When you think of this pose, who do you think of?

Children. Children are more likely to sit like this as they process their big feelings because sitting on the floor doesn’t feel inappropriate. When you get older, you feel embarrassed expressing yourself the way you did as a child and you move onto other coping mechanisms, ones that are less visibly upset. But not Augustus, not in this moment. I first when I saw this, I wasn’t sure what was happening, until Donatella spoke.

Remember, Raz just finished sorting through Nona’s memories and unlocking the psychic barriers that kept Maligula trapped. We recently learned that Ford messed with both Nona and Augustus’ memories to make them believe Nona was truly Augustus’ mother, not his aunt. Both of Augustus’ parents died, and have been dead for decades. While Raz was undoing the mental blocks, he wasn’t just revealing the truth to Nona. He was unraveling the truth in Augustus’ mind too.

Imagine you’re with your family, looking for your mother. She’s old, she’s wandered off, she isn’t as sharp as she used to be. You need to find her and keep her safe, you almost lost your son a few days ago and you can’t lose your mother too. And then the memories start unlocking. Memories of two graves, of a packed orphanage, of a strange man warping your mind and delivering you into the care of a woman you knew deep down to be the arbiter of national genocide, who this man made you think was your mother. Of course you break down. Of course you act like a child, even in front of your own children. What else can you do?

When Augustus says this, the statement is twofold. The mother he thought survived has been dead all this time, and the woman who did raise him has warped back to the traumatized, angry shell that caused so much death in your past. He’s lost both women in this moment.

The series does an incredible job of connecting us with the trauma and baggage of whoever’s mind we enter. But we never enter Augustus’ mind. We only get to see his trauma through show not tell, and that leaves us with a more evocative scene than many of the mental worlds we’ve visited before.

The writers know how powerful this scene is, and they make sure we linger on it with this long zoom out. The entire family embraces Augustus and shares in his woe. They’ll need their strength to help Nona soon enough, but they have to grieve for a moment, they have to acknowledge the hurt and pain they’ve inherited if they hope to rebuild their family.

I love this game.

[incognit0slut]

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you. 

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on. 

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole. 

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. 

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay. 

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen. 

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope���s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here. 

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved. 

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?” 

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.�� There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture. 

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

[tuherrus]

päivänsäde ja menninkäinen ☀️

illustration of a classic finnish children's song that translates to "the sunbeam and the goblin" and tells the story of a love that can't be

there's a lot of translations of the lyrics but i'll put my favorite one i found under the cut!

It happened as the Sun set down That a sunbeam, for a moment Of its sisters left behind. The dusk it crept in already And the beam, with her golden wings Was about to fly from underfoot When she detected this littlest goblin approaching That had only just emerged from its den. For goblins cannot roam the earth until after sunset They do not live in daylight, no.

Peeping there at one another The goblin, in chest felt rather Strange kind of flame and ardor Said he: "Burn my eyes, this you do But never in my life have I Seen anything as wonderful! It matters not that your shine will blind my eyes forever - In darkness I trudge with ease wherever. Stay with me, please, and I'll show you the way to the home den - Keep you as my precious own then!"

The beam answered: "Gremlin, darling, Darkness would be my undoing And I have no wish for death. Away I must now forthwith fly If I'm not back in daylight soon Then I will live not a moment more." Thus left the sunbeam that beautiful But to this day still As the goblin plods alone in the dark He wonders why one of us here a child of light should be And the other, he loves the night.

[khattikeri]

one of my favorite things about mdzs is that for how heavily its plot involves politics of classism and misogyny... even the characters most directly impacted by it can't and don't free themselves from it. literally the closest exception is mianmian.

meng yao being the "son of a whore" wasn't some sort of commie awakening for him that led him to wanting everyone to be socially equal. he played the political game, climbed the ladders, sucked up to and backstabbed and murdered people, including other prostitutes who actually had nothing to do with how he and his mother were treated at the brothel he grew up in.

he put in so much extra excessive effort for even a fraction of the same respect that members of gentry cultivation clans got. and he did deserve to be treated more humanely! but he feeds into the exact same system that created him, leading to his own undoing.

his efforts were for a fragile upward mobility that was never going to hold up. he never surpassed his origins nor did he empower others in similar stations, because the society he lives in is not one that would accept that.

the second he got caught and all those crimes exposed, he was scapegoated to hell and back, replacing wei wuxian as society's terrible one-sidedly evil boogeyman overnight.

speaking of not-quite male gentry, i think it's interesting that wei wuxian explicitly doesn't try to climb the ladders in BOTH lives, knowing full well that anything he does will be punished just for the sheer fact that he is wei wuxian.

wei wuxian is scolded for giving intelligent and correct answers in school. lan wangji does the same and is praised.

wei wuxian occasionally lounges around with fellow disciples and is punished. jiang cheng does the same and mostly escapes.

wei wuxian refuses to carry his sword around in public (after losing his golden core, which nobody knows) and is scorned as an arrogant upstart. nie huaisang has been doing the EXACT SAME THING for YEARS and nobody bats an eye.

unlike jin guangyao, wei wuxian knew subconsciously from the start that his acceptance was superficial and that he could be cast out any time. when he was 10 and recently taken in by the jiangs, he canonically would not eat or use "too much" food and water because he thought they'd find him a nuisance for "wasting their things" and kick him back out.

now away from just the classism, yu ziyuan is a proud and strong noblewoman in a society that belittles and derides women for everything they do. her strong cultivation doesn't matter. she's victim to the vicious rumors of her husband loving another woman who is strong like her but apparently had a more likeable personality.

it doesn't matter even if jiang fengmian didn't cheat or that wei wuxian is wei changze's son with cangse sanren; yu ziyuan can't bear with the humiliation of herself (and by extension her children) not being "good enough". she's ridiculed for "failing" in that one duty as a wife, mother, and woman.

she lashes out and takes out that anger on everyone present for years, giving her children lasting trauma and also being a key element in how the jiang family and yunmeng jiang sect are effectively wiped out at the hands of the wen clan.

madam jin doesn't even have a name outside of the fact that she's married to jin guangshan. i don't even remember reading anything that indicates if she's a strong or weak cultivator, or what, which in itself proves that to most people, it doesn't matter. she's "just" a woman.

of course she's angry at her husband's affairs and all the bastard children they bring in. but she also can't do anything about them, so she lashes out at the few people she can: servants. non-cultivators, probably. those very same bastard children.

shoutout to meng yao getting shoved down a flight of stairs at age fourteen, because if madam jin tried that move against her husband instead, it would make her lose even more face, which as a noblewoman she'd never do.

and that's not getting into how jiang yanli is consistently sidelined for being physically weak.

that's not getting into how mianmian was actually a good cultivator, but was mocked by everyone around her for trying to stand up for wei wuxian when everyone was turning on him. how everyone scoffed at luo qingyang's words as "just some lovesick woman" who "obviously wants to marry or bed him since he saved her".

luo qingyang is the only one of these characters who HASN'T died. she didn't play society's games like jin guangyao. she didn't dig her heels in confidence of her own abilities like wei wuxian.

she didn't bitterly lash out like yu ziyuan and madam jin. she didn't gently accept it like jiang yanli.

she just LEFT.

she married an ordinary merchant and cultivates separately from mainstream cultivation society, and therein found her own peace and happiness.

mxtx doesn't bother with particularly class conscious or feminist vocabulary to hand-hold readers into understanding these disparities, but that choice highlights them & the deeply entrenched politics of their society even more. i really love it.

[loveandleases]

Okay, but I have to wonder: Do MC's parents not realize that they have potentially lost a child to their daughter's narcissism and cruelty/greed? Do they think MC will come around and fall back in line, forgive and/or forget? I hope MC can go no contact because they just don't deserve their love, care, and effort. See what it'll be like years down the line when MC has built a family of their own and the closest they can get to them (and maybe their grandchildren) is cyberstalking, unanswered calls, and information provided by other family members.

And I hope Jade wakes up one day and is struck by the knowledge that she can't undo what she's done, that Chris could leave her anytime (and hey – once a cheater, always cheater), that it was a hollow, temporary victory, and that her sibling is forever out of her reach – that she's practically dead to them. I firmly believe that people like Chris & Jade will never experience true fulfillment and that eventually, their environment will come to see them for what they are: untrustworthy and empty of any genuine sentiment.

MC, on the other hand, deserves to thrive <3333

They don't realize that, yet. In their eyes they love their children equally, even though it's obvious to others that they make a difference between MC and Jade. They don't see the differences since they're not removed from the situation, not like how MC is now.

Yes MC and Chris are over, but in their eyes that's a choice. Because MC could have tried to make it work. Now that Jade is with Chris, they support that. Because in their own delusions they're just 'being supportive'.

MC has had to make many sacrifices and be an afterthought in their own family due to their parents and Jade.

There will be an option for MC to cut them out of their lives eventually.

[starless-nightz]

Can you write about if Hera had a daughter at chb like how she would be and how people would react

Being a daughter of Hera HCs

note -> I love Hera bro Rick did her dirty. This turned more into being a daughter of hera HCs so i changed it to that sorry😭

warnings -> none.

content includes -> platonic! protective! Hera, idk what else to put.

Being a daughter of Hera is quite hard, your relationship with your mother would is complicated, you would feel a lot of pressure to uphold her mother's image, feeling the need that you always need to please her

Contrary to others belief Hera genuienly loves and cares about you, you are her one and only demigod child who she would do anything for, compared to most of the demigods you get to see your mother more often, in your dreams or reality, and while she does have high expectations for you she still cares about your well being, shes pretty protective of you

Being a daughter of Hera you would likely have a sense of authority and justice, you would be very loyal to your family, you might have a strong moral compass, but also a sharp temper when crossed, much like your mother, you would also likely have a strong sense of responsibility, always feeling like you must do the right thing

You would be the biggest talk of the camp, Hera doesnt have any mortal children and considering her reputation at the camp you wouldn't be very well liked at first, they didnt trust you one bit, especially Percy and Annabeth since they dislike Hera and saw you as trouble

There would be whispers about who your mortal parent is, considering the fact that Hera stays faithful to Zeus, but you try your best to ignore their comments and whispers

The chances of Zeus killing you if you stepped foot out of the camp are 100%, so unless you were going on a quest or somehow Hera made him promise not to hurt you you would have to be at the camp all year round

Your powers would included being able to manipulate the weather and shapeshift just like your mother is able to, but you would also be able to command respect and admiration in social situations, it is an active one, you could influence and manipulate people's emotions subtly, especially when it comes to loyalty or trust

Over time, as you prove yourself, you would likely earn the respect of the other campers, but there might always be a layer of fear or awe regarding you considering your mothers reputation as a goddess of revenge and loyalty

Some demigods might come to you for advice about family matters, given your divine connection to the goddess of marriage and family

You might find yourself unintentionally forming you own group consisting of kids from different cabins who are drawn to your authority and leadership, this new group could act as a neutral council within the camp, where issues about family dynamics, justice, and fairness are resolved

You are a natural mediator in conflicts between other demigods, especially when it comes to disputes between families or friends, you would be respected for your fairness, though you could also make enemies if your decisions don’t sit well with everyone

At some point you might go on a personal quest to redeem your mothers reputation, especially if other campers constantly throw Hera’s past deeds in your face, you might seek to undo some of the damage Hera caused, whether it’s helping mortals affected by your mothers wrath or finding a way to prove that shes different from the stories

Some campers might be hesitant to get close to you, fearing that befriending you might attract Heras attention, Hera is known for her jealousy and punishments, and campers might worry that their own families could be drawn into your mothers web of divine politics

There might be whispers that Chiron and the other leaders give sou special treatment due to her mothers status as queen of the gods, this could cause resentment among the campers, especially the children of lesser gods, who might feel overlooked in comparison, especially if they learn how often your mother talks to you

[uptoolateart]

Here's a whole bunch of initial thoughts I have after watching the London Special.

Time Travel

Speaking as someone who writes way too many stories involving time travel...there were a lot of holes in this special. Also, I appreciate that it's been 15 months since the S5 finale aired, and they probably wanted to remind us (and especially children) of the key moments...but some scene repetition felt like it was just there to pad out the episode length. But I'm gonna shrug all that off because of everything else this special did.

Lies, Lies and More Lies

I've not been quiet about how angry I was over Ladybug lying to Adrien and keeping vital secrets, in that S5 finale. I'm so glad to see that this special addressed that stuff. By the end, we see that both heroes are keeping secrets. Cat's identity has become more pertinent than never, and she has no idea.

Going Too Far

In their final conversation, Ladybug told Cat she worried she might have gone 'too far' this time. Throughout S5, we were repeatedly told no one has ever been able to handle unifying the miraculous like Marinette can. We also watched her change dramatically over that season. By the S5 finale, I felt like she'd become overpowered. In this special, I think she acknowledged that. Maybe she handed out the other miraculous because she realised she was in danger of becoming another Gabriel, e.g. making decisions about what's right for Adrien, etc.

Did She Make the Right Decision?

With no one else to turn to, Marinette asks Plagg and Tikki if she made the right decision. They don't tell her she's wrong, but they also seem very undecided. She also asks Bunnyx, who tells her that both paths - telling or not telling Adrien the truth - will lead to both happy and sad moments. This warns us that hard times are on their way. She wants to 'protect Adrien', but she can't. She can't keep him from pain. seems to suggest that Marinette's choice to keep the truth from him is going to lead to some hard times.

Kagami

Kagami intimated that she disagreed with Marinette's decision. When she comforted Adrien in the white room and told Bug Noire to go...that really hit me. There is so much going on there. Transformed, Marinette can't comfort Adrien. In fact, she's just hurt him, and Kagami is the only one in that scene able to help him pick up the pieces. Not just that, but Kagami can relate. Remember her name means 'mirror'. She's now in the position Adrien could be in, if he knew the truth. She's the one trying to come to terms with the truth about her parent. She's the one dealing with the knowledge that she's a sentibeing. She is an example of Adrien's alternate path. When she tells Bug Noire that she's letting her love for Adrien blind her...Kagami is speaking personally - as someone who can put herself in Adrien's shoes in a way Marinette just can't.

If I Could Turn Back Time

When Chrono Bug got that black cat calendar as a lucky charm, she must have known it meant Cat Noir was somehow the solution. But she ignored it. I think her emotions regarding Adrien blinded her from understanding what the universe was trying to tell her.

She and Bunnyx spent much of the episode trying to determine the crucial moment when things started spinning out of control - the moment they needed to change. Marinette focused on the revelation of her identity, which I'm sure was vital. BUT...the elephant in the room was the moment she chose to lie to Adrien. Standing in that time burrow, she had a chance to change the story she told him and undo everything that's on its way. Surely that cat calendar was hinting at this.

Kitten

I think it's telling that the cat on the calendar was a kitten. It felt like the universe was telling her there's something she isn't seeing in Cat - that he's more fragile and in need of nurturing than she acknowledges. When she sees him at the end, and he tells her he has his own awful secret - when he cries over it - she should be questioning why he's that eaten up about missing that final battle. What's his secret? Why's he so devastated? But she's too wrapped up in her own conundrum. Like in Cat Blanc, she's not 'listening'. For me, the most painful moment was when he tried to reassure her that things would be okay - now it'll be 'you and me again, just like old times'. She hasn't yet told him there's actually a huge team now. But they both must understand that the old times are well and truly gone.

The Truth Is Out There

We're now waiting for yet another reveal. Adrien and Marinette still have to find out they're Cat and Ladybug - but Adrien also has to find out the truth about his father. This special hammered it all in so hard that it's Chekhov's gun waiting to go off. What I wonder is if the writers had this angle in mind all along, or if they did this after they saw the fan reaction to that S5 finale. I suspect it's a bit of the latter, particularly because they also had Bunnyx explain that Marinette's reaction to Gabriel in the S5 finale was her getting the 'proof' that he was Monarch. Her reaction was one of many things we all questioned after that episode first aired, so I think the writers were trying to 'fix' things with this special. And I'm fine with that. I'm pleased that they're listening and not just moving on from this stuff / trying to sell it to us that lying to someone is 'the right thing to do'.

The Wild Card

At the end of S5, I thought it was clear that Lila had worked out Ladybug's identity. I assumed S6 would involve some vendetta against Marinette. This special demonstrated that would make things too easy, so they levelled the playing field. Lila doesn't know Ladybug's identity. But she does know Monarch was Gabriel. I think it's inevitable that at some point (probably not for ages, because the writers will want to string us along in suspense), she'll tell Adrien the truth about his father.

Cat Blanc

I think 'Cat Blanc', and Adrien's vision in the white room, were foreshadowing. In this special, we saw how angry Adrien was at Bug Noire when she told her story. He demanded to know why she couldn't save Gabriel. He seemed to have forgiven her by the end, but when he learns the truth, he's going to feel so betrayed. And when he breaks down...watch out, moon.

The Inevitable Break-Up

I think it's inevitable that Adrinette will break up...but only temporarily. When it all blows up, it could be the necessary turning point we've been waiting for, where they finally get on equal footing - where their relationship is based on honesty and total mutual respect.

Conclusion

Buckle up, guys. We're in for a bumpy ride - but I remain optimistic. After 15 crazy months, I'm finally no longer angry about the S5 finale.

[avaf00rd]

Fridge

Little shits pt 2

Kyra Cooney cross x teen!reader (platonic)

actually finished this shockingly quick. (Not proof read). Submitting it now and going to sleep. So it’s bad.

I had a Leah fic that was pretty good but then half didn’t save in the draft. And rewriting is the worst. I’ll try to get back into it tomorrow if I can promise.

Enjoy bbys

——————————————-

“shit.” Kyra blankly said as she made a huge dent in the mcfoord new fridge. Don’t ask how.

“How the fuck did you manage that!” You exclaimed checking out the massive mark left right in the middle of the fridge.

You and Kyra had been in Baylor against Katie and Caitlin for a few weeks now. It was hilarious to all of you. You were also all getting great content for the Arsenal new YouTube channel where different players would do vlogs of game days and other activities.

“Ok everyone Kyra just broke the fridge” you sighed running your palm over your forehead looking back into the camera

“It’s not definitely broken. We can just undo it” she said. You grabbed the camera to point it towards her raising one eyebrow.

“It’s as big as a bowling ball” you said. Kyra turned to you and the camera with a blank expression.

“I say we grab the toilet plunger.” Before quickly getting up to find it.

“If I were Katie I would rather have massive dent on my fridge then have the fridge smell like my own shit.” You sighed as u sat down on the stool. You two were truly truly fucked this time. Some of your pranks included putting pictures of drunk Caitlin all around every second cubby at the training grounds. This round it was slightly lighter by super gluing the lids to their foods in the fridge. Lame right? Kyra somehow managed to pick up a random pot and accidentally charge it straight into the fridge. You forgot about the camera as you were lost in thought thinking about how badly you fucked up this time. Brand new fridge for their brand new place. It was over.

“Ok no plunge but I did some googling. We just need an ice cube” you guys were the definition of blind leading the blind. So of course you grabbed an ice cube and placed it on the large dent 10 times its size. “Is it working” Kyra asked holding the camera towards you and the ice cube. You slowly turned your head around to face her wiht a blank expression reading no you fucking idiot.

A knock on the door made you both share a look of panic. “The pantry” Kyra pointed intending that you just run away from this problem.

“No dumb ass” you said before getting up and walking to the door. You were nearly 100% it wasn’t Caitlin and Katie as you walked the hallway before twisting the handle.

“Hey tiny” Leah said in surprise to find you here.

“Hey Leah”

“What on earth are you doing here” she questioned

“We need your help” you said hopefully. Kyra peaking around the corner to be seen with a sad smile and a nod. Leah slightly chuckled before following you down the hall. Where you stood from afar with Kyra pointing to the fridge. Leah just bursted out laughing.

“Shit you did this” she chuckled checking it out.

“Yes what do we do!” You slightly yelled. Kyra still in shock from what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. They might be mad but Katie was telling me a new fridge and oven was arriving so it doesn’t really matter-“

“This is the new fridge!” Kyra exclaimed

Leah jaw slightly fell “you’ve truly done it again children”

“Leah please answer. What do we do?” You asked desperate for help.

“We wait until they get home” she said softly before filling up a cup of water for herself and sitting at the dining room table on her phone.

You waited around 20 minutes doing nothing. Kyra on her phone, probably researching how to fix it. And you now just sitting next to Leah looking out the window. It might not seem like a big deal. But a brand new expensive fridge, with a possible non-fixable problem was defiantly a big deal to your young minds. You just had a plan in your mind. Offer to pay to fix it. If you can’t fix it. You and Kyra will go halves on a replacement. Kyra tried to rebuttal when you brought up that plan, but quickly shut up when she realised it was the only option.

This was amusing to Leah. The panic in your faces made her laugh. The whole team was just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

“Let me get this straight you were trying to superglue all of their food? Aha! That’s good” Leah exclaimed with a goofiness in her voice. You and Kyra just sat their blankly. Kyra soon chuckling at the thought of how this whole situation is kind of funny.

A rattle of keys on the front door made your heart completely stop. “Oh hey Leah. And girls. Oh shit what did you do” Caitlin asked with a smirk on her face kind of ready to see the next prank. Just so she could then plot her next one.

“Ok ok so” you put your hands on both their chests before they could walk much further. “We were doing a light hearted prank right. Then we made a mistake. Dear Kyra here-“

“-we both made a mistake ok! We are very very sorry and we will pay for this.” Kyra said. You both stood in front of the three older girls with your hands behind your backs. Apologising like a five year old who just stole lollies.

“Huh” Katie said confused towards the girls, while Caitlin walked into the kitchen to put her bags down.

“Kyra Cooney cross!” There was a yell across the flat. A somewhat fuming Caitlin voice coming from the source. Katie quickly following to see.

“It wasn’t just me!” Kyra quickly defended in panic.

“You did this!” You said to Kyra . Then looking at the two other girls

“I’m gonna head” Leah waved before leaving behind all of you.

“I’ll pay to get it fixed. Even though I didn’t do it” you said to them. Mumbling the last part, targeted towards Kyra.

“Bet your ass you guys will” Katie said

“This is new” Caitlin said looking at the fridge

“That we both know. And we are very very very very sorry a million times” Kyra said pointing between the two of you. You just nodded next to her.

“Sleep with one eye open. Next one will be serious” Katie said smirking. Plotting her next prank.

“You two can go” Caitlin waved you and the 21 year old off. Kyra nodded quickly zooming down the halls.

“Send me your bank details!” You said before walking out. Forgetting the camera on the bench. You went to grab it before heading out again.

“Bye gooners!” You said. Before turning the camera to Kyra who was waiting for the elevator next to you. Who turned around and poking her tongue out.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Simon Riley x reader - Hot Cocoa

CW: childhood abuse, implied alcohol and drug usage, angst/comfort

You didn’t know it at the time, but it was more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

Soft hands–so unlike his mothers–never having been braced against the impact of another’s cruelty, yet clutching his with the same maternal insistence as you slip the steaming mug of sweetness between the gnarled, calloused proof of his misfortunate life. 

There is no preamble of cracked leather; no metal branded welts to be found from a diseased monstrosity who does not care if they are hidden. Simon’s knuckles are intact, not bruised nor split against his sperm donor’s chin. Sentinel instincts are rendered obsolete without the triggering sniffles of his traumatized sibling. No need to keep playing the brave little soldier – the screams of nearby children are not born from brutality.

Doe eyes gaze up at him with an exuberant sparkle, no glassy haze plying you into absent submission. Water molecules of heated breath turning crystalline vapor in the frosty night air hold no trace of ABV – no lingering aroma of whiskey sorrow. The tremble in your bones is from a lack of knitted mittens, not survival induced adrenaline spikes. Frozen fractals catch in silken strands kept immaculate and washed, a polished sheen so unlike her familiar limp straw, reflecting the untarnished soul within he’s done his best to keep pure.

The failure of his mother’s visage haunts his waking past, but the dying warmth of her love renews in an unexpected presence.

He never told you of the act – the ritual of younger nights in a bygone civil hellscape. When the door had finished rattling on rust weathered hinges and the taillights of abuse were all but distant fireflies. When his brother crawled out from his false sanctuary of childhood innocence, having braved the monsters beneath the bed rather than the one he still called ‘papa’. When the woman who should’ve loved them better remembered who she was, the pain of mottled flesh replacing the lucidity of the mind. When he saw his mother for who she was: a woman worn down by sadistic malice. Who was just as much a victim with the scars left on her skin, the pockmarks on her elbows forced there by a stronger hand, the blonde hairs scattered and bloody pulled like cobwebs from her scalp.

Red rimmed eyes spoke wordless apologies for the naivety of her past; for the regrets of choosing wrong the father of her children, the life she wished she had the chance to go back and undo. 

A dead end promise to fix the mistakes of their future – someday.

He clung to the cheap disposable cardboard like the memory of crawling into a threadbare twin, shadows kept at bay with the weak glow from Tommy’s nightlight. The kettle whistled as the pair of them settled, packaged powder dumped into chipped ceramic and brought to them with a shaky smile. He would never voice aloud his own preference for less marshmallows, to give force to the cracks already shattering her resolve. If not for her sake than for his brother’s. 

The expression on your face brings him back from gloomier times, wrapped up in festive cheer all windswept and frost bitten, a backlight of radiance from the bustling market stand you purchased the beverages from. He watches as overeagerness singes your tongue, the small yelp of complaint soothed by a mouthful of whipped cream, the pain doing nothing to retract from the unbridled joy you feel in this simple cherished moment.

You. 

A gift–he knows–sent from heaven by the broken woman he forgave so very long ago. Her promise to him taken physical form.

It’s so much more than just a cup of hot cocoa.

It’s healing.

Masterlist

[handageddon]

I think the big issue with the way that schemas/attachment disorders/idk probably other psychiatry things is that it's like.

Worded as

Well the patient will be "afraid" to form connections, they will "avoid" emotions, do all those EVIL BAD PERSON behaviors because they are afraid of abandonment or being hurt. So these "professionals" will try to trigger that response only like. My whole thing is that I'm not afraid of these relationships or actively avoiding them I just literally do not know how to do that. But it's like... well we need to work on your avoidance. You say you would go on walks but would never talk to any classmates... like bro they were avoiding ME. I was very unpleasant to be around, because children are self centered and think they are the ones being victimized when someone else is being abused. I was just minding my own business.

I don't have a bad evil BPD meltdown when it's brought up that I will never see my mom again because my life is functionally the same, and emotionally better off without her. Even recently as up to this year I would come across something and want to share it with her because she is my mom and I love her. But as a source of support or comfort I lost nothing. As a source of stress I felt a positive sense of loss. And so I don't get triggered when these people try to play games with me like... oh Val we will never have another therapy session again! And I'm just like, 👍. Started from nothing, gone back to nothing, lost nothing. And then they try to schedule another appointment.

I just need simple advice on how. How, how, how. I can't do literally any of the shit they say that's ripped off the front page of Google because I just don't know how. I'm not being defiant or disobedient when I question what they mean, I'm just insecure. I simply know from experience, lots and lots of experience, that I'm doing everything wrong somehow.

I'm just a circuit that's stuck open, and every experience in my life has been a terminal short, a burnt trace, or a vengeful break in the line. And I can't get started because I don't have the resources to close at any point. "OH but that's just learned helplessness, not actual trauma." Yes, but the dogs in those experiences still needed external help to undo their "not actual trauma"

I don't respect mallows hierarchy of needs because how am I supposed to have a safe and meaningful sex life if I don't have self actualization. I don't respect that comic of the guy pretending he's stuck in a jail cell because I'm not in a prison, I'm in an oubliette, and when I try to walk out I get thrown back in. And then the guards get mad at me because they have to spend all their time keeping me in here? SMH my head.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Duty

Here I try a hand at Emperor Obi Wan. It just feels right. 

It starts after Order 66, after the march on the temple. When Obi Wan says that he cannot go after Anakin, Yoda believes him. Instead of Yoda going for Sidious and Obi Wan for Anakin, they reverse it.  Yoda heads for Mustafar. 

Obi Wan goes for Sidious.He’s so done, traumatized and tired. He is also somewhere between passively suicidal and actively suicidal.  He attacks Sidious in front of the newly formed Imperial Senate and no one is more surprised than him when he takes Sidious’s head off cleanly (Sidious did not consider this one tired, hurting Jedi to be a threat and Obi Wan went in full throttle, hoping to do some damage before his death). Even though the Empire is only a few days old at this point, there are some old rules that are already in place, backed by the Force (which is why no one really questions what happens next). One of those rules is the right of conquest. 

To the winner goes the Empire. 

Now Obi Wan is the recognized Emperor, including to the chips in the Clones.   Obi Wan does not want to be the Emperor. Obi Wan wants to go sit in a depression cave and contemplate his infinite sadness in peace, please. 

Bail Organa manages to convince Obi Wan that being the Emperor and helping to unfuck everything is his duty (Bail is both semi reluctant-he knows that duty is Obi Wan’s buzzword and hates that he needs to take advantage of that-, and not, as he is pretty sure that is all that is keeping Obi Wan alive right now). 

So Obi Wan agrees to be Emperor until they can figure out how to undo the Sith’s great plan (while all 1000 years was not spent creating a web of fucked up laws that slowly built the trap they all fell into, a good portion of that time was).  He manages to rescind the Order that the Jedi are traitors, but is not able to deactivate the chips (this is another where the chips turn the clones into Automatons, with no independent thoughts). There is some code phrase that will shut the chips off, but only Palpatine knew it. The Kaminoans are sure that, now that the chips are active, removing the chips will cause brain damage and death to the clones (this is not true, but we are still several months away from Ahsoka and Rex-as the only two who have proof this is patently false- coming back into Obi Wan’s life).  Obi Wan has recalled the 212th, unable to stop himself from wanting them around him, even as they are. Yoda successfully captured Anakin, who is currently being held in a medically induced coma until they figure out what to do with him (he is decidedly fallen, but also is coming off as being in middle of a clinically psychotic episode-also both Yoda and Obi Wan are not so secretly hoping there is something that makes his actions…not Anakin of his own free will slaughtering children). Now Yoda is off in the galaxy trying to find Jedi survivors. Mace Windu was found and is Bacta and would be there for a minimum of a year. 

Padme is on bedrest for her own safety, and the safety of her children. She is also subject to frequent lectures on seeing an actual medical professional while pregnant. It turns out that she had an uncommon, but not rare, condition that meant that a natural birth would kill her. This condition can only be diagnosed in the third trimester (also notably that this condition could not be fixed with the Force, Light or Dark). Obi Wan cannot bring himself to visit her, if asked he would have the excuse of ‘too busy’ ready to go but the truth was he couldn’t face Padme, whom he had considered a friend, after she had spent so much time lying to him about her relationship with Anakin (Also he now has access to all the instances that Palpatine knew about where both of his dear friends abused their power for the sake of the other).  Even after the children are born, Obi Wan keeps his distance. 

So we have Obi Wan, holding himself by a thread as he simultaneously tries to: figure out how to undo hundreds of years of damage against democracy, run an empire (if he has to do this, he will do it right), deactivate the chips (this means going through every single Palpatine has ever recorded in hopes of discovering the code- no matter how horrific), figure out a place that the remaining Jedi can live (the temple is out of the question with the death that clings to the walls like a slime).  There is no one he can truly trust, not even Bail (For all that Bail entreaty to remain emperor was 100% necessary, it did damage Obi Wan and his friendship in a way that it would take a decade to recover).

It will eventually get better. Other Jedi will come from hiding, giving Obi Wan people he can fully rely on. But right now, about a year into the Empire, Obi Wan is running on the barest fumes, heart sick. He is surrounded by the Senate, whom he does not trust, and the puppeted bodies of the clones, whom he forces himself to treat just the same, to never forget that these are people. He has had to order the clones to ignore any order that contradicts his (in order to prevent abuse by senators) and make an explicit order for the clones to defend themselves and to see to their own needs. He is facing the prospect that there may be no way to undo this damage.  

However there is something that no one knows about the chips. Like in cannon, they do eventually break down, as the clones are forced to go against their own morals and fight the chip, it wears it down.  The irony is that Obi Wan treating them as sentients causes less wear than Palptine’s treatment. 

The 212 love their general, none more so than Cody.  As part of that, each one made a point to memorize the signs that Obi Wan was overworking himself.  Now Obi Wan is, to the clones trapped by the chips, overworking himself beyond anything they had seen. The chips do not allow for this kind of care, which starts to cause the same kind of wear that cannon saw. While most of the clones do not fight the chips with Obi Wan in charge, the 212th begins to fight even harder. 

Their general needs them. 

It starts around the 1 year mark, and is so small that Obi Wan thinks he is imagining it.  It starts with Cody frowning faintly at a senator bringing another unnecessary problem to the Emperor to solve (something that they should have been able to solve themselves).  Then Obi Wan realizes his cup of tea keeps getting refilled (Boil does it when Obi Wan isn’t looking-it both is and is not a breakthrough, the chip means that if Obi Wan had asked for the tea Boil would have provided it, but it is Boil himself that is able to anticipate the need and choose Obi Wan’s favorite tea). Several of his guards (all members of the 212th) subtly herd him down lesser known hallways and paths to his destination, causing him to avoid other senators trying, badly, to curry favor. All the while not able to say anything but “Yes, Sir” or answer direct questions with the least amount of words in a monotone.

Something shatters, just a little, in Obi Wan’s heart at those responses. He continues to talk to any of the clones,including promises that he will find a way to fix this, but does not ask as many questions. 

The first substantial sign that the chips were wearing out on their own came from Cody. It was late, Obi Wan had not slept in days, had not eaten in even longer. Cody's voice was raspy, and his words were slow, deliberate (if you have ever spoken to someone with mild aphasia, think of that with long pauses between words). He looked right at Obi Wan and said “You…have…not…eaten.”

Obi Wan found himself whipping around so fast he nearly tripped on the pretentious robes he had been forced into to stare at Cody, whose face was twisted into this incredibly focused look. 

“Cody?” Obi Wan asks, breathless. 

“You…need…to…eat” 

Obi Wan takes another step closer, almost close enough to touch “Cody?”

Cody’s jaw tightens,  “We…are..still…here…we…we…we...can…hear…you.”

Then all at once Cody’s face smoothed out again, responding to Obi Wan with a monotonous ‘yes sir’, back under the chips' control.  

It is both better and worse for Obi Wan. He now knows for sure that the clones are in there, but he still does not know how to free them.  His mindset and self care is bad enough that he actually cannot make the connection between what seems to bring members of the 212th forward in spite of the chips (and Cody is only the first, the spark is usually Obi Wan taking particularly bad care of himself, and that definition is variable for each clone-Helix the head medic is almost himself more than he is controlled within a few weeks).

It is a few weeks after this that Rex and Ahsoka finally arrive. They had been found by Yoda, who convinced them that it was safe to return to Coruscant.  Part of the reason they had not believed it before hand was that it was clear that the Clone were still controlled by the chips. 

They are the ones to break the news to Obi Wan that the Kaminoans were wrong (and it was they were wrong, not they were lying, they truly did believe that the chips could not be removed after they had been activated), the chips could be removed. 

Obi Wan takes that news in, asks a few questions on what is needed to remove the chips, then makes arrangements for the medics to have their chips removed (with the idea that they can then supervise the surgery of everyone else-Obi Wan currently has trust issues and cannot think of letting anyone who is not a clone operate on the 212th, in particular). At that point he sits on the floor of the room they were in and has a small breakdown (Disturbing both Rex and Ahsoka, and bringing his current guard, Wooley, to the point of breaking the chip entirely). 

There is still so much to do. Obi Wan still knows that. He still has a duty to keep the Empire together and undo enough damage that it can become a republic again.  He still has to live with the horrific things that Palpatine had recorded (experiments, thoughts, his plans for Anakin) and figure out what to do with Anakin (who is still being held in a medically induced coma). The knife’s edge of the politics he has been balancing on has not grown any easier (in fact Ahsoka and Rex, having internalized Anakin's beliefs more than they realized are going to make it more difficult not less). 

But Obi Wan has hope, hearing that the clones would soon be free. Through he does not make any kind of suggestion or let himself have an opinion on who goes when for choir removing (save that all of the medics needed to go first so they could sort out who was going next), the medics in charge prioritize the 212th, because Obi Wan desperately needs his battalion back. Also because no one is completely sure that they won’t all give themselves brain damage fighting against the chip. 

There are enough medics that Ghost Company is dechipped at the same time, with minimal recovery.  Boil and Wooley immediately take charge, while the others lock Cody and Obi Wan into Obi Wan’s ‘temporary’ apartment (What had been Palpatine’s living space- the senate insisted) opening the door only for to provide food while Obi Wan is made to take an enforced ‘vacation’ or at least a ten day (They accept no criticisms, or questions from the Senate. The first senator to protest was shot with a stunner and told to be glad for it-the others decide that they will accept Wooley and Boil as a substitute Emperor).

Cody cuddling Obi Wan produces the first true sleep he had since Utapau.  Obi Wan sleeps for a full 24 hours.