#kinda far fetched maybe

[papyrusgayfont]

* something that I’ve only just started thinking about recently is how in-universe, nobody knew what the miraculous were or how they worked, even though people had been looking for them since at least the 1940’s, in WWII I’m thinking: Master Fu, after WWII, made a wish to erase the knowledge of the miraculous from everyone’s minds

* that doesn’t mean they never existed, or that they were never used, it’s just that after the point in time where he made the wish, nobody was able to remember them

* but since he made the wish, there had to be a reaction to his action, so I think in exchange for “everyone will forget about the miraculous”, someone would have to learn about them again at some point, and that someone was Nathalie Sancoeur

* look, I don’t exactly know how or when Nathalie would’ve learned about the miraculous, but before the events of the series she was a hunter of magical artifacts. She could’ve found something relating to the miraculous, and decided to try and find more info about them.

* where and when she would’ve done that, I don’t know, but that doesn’t rule out the idea (at least to me)

* now according to the show bible, Tomoe was the one who introduced Nathalie to Gabriel and Emilie. Since the bible is outdated in certain areas (especially with Nathalie), this could also be outdated, but for the sake of this argument I’ll imagine that it isn’t

* what I think could’ve happened is that Nathalie learned about the peacock miraculous, and she told Tomoe (how they’re connected, idk, but whatever) about this, and so in turn Tomoe told her about the Agrestes and that Nathalie should be the one to help them out

* Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie would’ve met afterwards, and then the rest is history

* maybe I’m just reaching in all this, I don’t know lmao, but it was fun to think about, so

[yonemurishiroku]

In what delusional world are you living in to be actually scared that Will’s gonna die in the sequel…

Like. I mean Rick is an inconsistent money-driven white man and all that but a fool he is not. Forgetfully, maybe, but def not foolish enough to kill off st that’s 1/ gay 2/ a literal attraction for attention that sustains half of the fanbase. 🤷‍♀️ People can make hcs etc as they want but what reasons are there for yall to worry srsly... Wake up, this isnt Jason.

[souenkun]

I loooove the jp fandom's headcanon that geeta and larry are childhood friends who met during their time in the academy and, sometime in the future, geeta personally recruited larry to work for the paldean pokemon league, as she must be one of the first people who knew of his prowess in pokemon battling! Like yeah, the whole geeta being a "strict boss who is frustrated by larry's stubborn insistence to be an average worker that she has to assign him different workloads just to broaden his horizon" idea is intriguing, but stepping it up a notch by making geeta be the "best friend a.k.a the only one who has seen larry at his very best and his very worst, and knows for a fact that he could excel at anything he put his mind into if he steps out of his comfort zone, so she doesn't particularly drag him out of said zone, but pushes him out of it each time she can because she can't bear to see her best friend be unaware of the good chances and positive things that awaits him out there, not if she has a (small) say in it" is also downright hilarious 😭🤚

[acediaedeus]

a little afterthought from the last post about Ichigo, which I didn’t want to leave as a tag, cause it felt kinda unrelated, but yeah: the amount of existential and identity crises this boy had to go through is astounding.

he sees ghosts;

he killed his mother;

finding out he’s a shinigami;

finding out he’s a hollow;

finding out his father is a fucking liar (that one was a banger, straight up A+ parenting, give it up for Isshin);

finding out his whole life was planned and orchestrated by Aizen (I know Eren would go mad if someone pulled this shit on him);

finding out the spirit he thought was his sword wasn’t his sword all this time and actually is kind of the god he’s supposed to go defeat (casually, yk, like we all do on a nice Tuesday morning), and his actual sword is the Hollow he thought he needed to fight. but oh no, wait a moment, BOTH of them are his swords:

and oh yeah, he’s a quincy;

also don’t forget his mum dying wasn’t his fault, but wait no, it kinda was??

and of course that time he lost his powers aka the only thing allowing him to fulfil what he sees as his purpose in this life;

and then that one time a random dude pulled up and started gaslighting everyone around him, to the point that Ichigo started thinking HE was the one going mad (all that while still being powerless, so his sanity was already nonexistent);

and yeah, don’t forget the training with squad 0 when he got kicked out no sword, no nothing! (and was so ashamed and afraid of his father’s reaction he couldn’t go home, so he went to his boss???)

I could probably add some other stuff, but it’s not really canon, so let’s settle on these 11 points. obviously not in chronological order, bc I have memory issues and haven’t re-read the manga in a while, so don’t hold that against me, pls.

also, if this seems a little bit erratic, manic and unhinged… it’s bc it probably is, tbh. so I’m putting down tumblr before I write more bs.

aand last, but not least, I must thank @kingofanemptyworld , you are truly a darling and I couldn’t agree with you more, you never fail to validate my delusions!

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[daincrediblegg]

You know… I think I’d enjoy bridgerton more if it engaged in its stakes more than it engaged with its payoff. You know. Like all the jane austen’s novels it’s trying to chase through charm

[bixy]

Lowkey I’ve been craving to romance the fuck out of someone, I just want to make their favorite food, play with their hair, just lie next to them and talk for hours

[invoncible]

mark grayson & fem!reader, MDNI cw. unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy

"ow, ow, ow." you whined.

"sorry." mark whispered, loosening his grip on the fat of your waist. "sorry."

"s'okay." you hummed, shifting on top of his lap. the second you moved, he was gripping you again, hissing as his fingers dug into you painfully. "mark!"

"i'm sorry!" he said hurriedly, snatching his hands from your body completely and curling them in fists at his side. "maybe this was a mistake."

the mistake? letting him fuck raw. it started as a joke, like "oh baby, i love you so much i wish i could get rid of this thing keeping me away from you," as if it wasn't just a flimsy barrier of latex, so thin, but apparently enough to create a distance for him.

he laughed when he said it, like it was a far fetched idea that would never come to pass. but nothing is off limits with you. not where he's concerned.

naturally, he did not expect you to agree. couldn't stop the rush of blood to his dick when you said, "you can get rid of it, as long as you pull out."

those were magic words if he's ever heard any, and who was he to reject the gift you've given him?

"just..." his breath caught in his throat, groaning involuntarily when your nails scratched the back of his neck. "stay still."

"mark," you whine. "i don't have super strong legs like you do."

he was on his back. you straddled him, legs folded in a squat so low that your heels poked just underneath your ass. you tried your hardest not to sink down on him completely. he was barely halfway inside your pussy when he begged you to stop with an urgency. but it was getting harder and harder now that you could feel every groove and vein of his cock twitching inside your walls.

your hand curled around the base of his neck while the other clung to his broad shoulders, the sweat of his skin making your palms all clammy.

you pouted, huffing impatiently. "you were the one that wanted this."

"i know, baby." he hummed hoarsely. he looked like a virgin, all tense underneath your naked body. besides his curled fists, his head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. "but i'm gonna cum if you move."

you blinked down at him, fighting the urge to laugh and failing. "seriously?"

his body heats up at the sound and he peeks open one eye, brows furrowed in offense. "don't laugh."

"it's kinda funny." you hum and lean down. "kinda cute."

mark catches the way your eyes were lidded, the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to stop your sweet giggles. the swell of your tits, hard nipples pressing against his chest, your hair brushing against his skin as you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth—

"fuck," his hips bucked up, jolting you in his lap. you squeaked as your hips were finally seated flush against him with a wet plap! you tumbled against him, face planted into the crook of his neck.

fully sheathed in your gummy walls, mark thinks he's found heaven. you were so warm, so wet, so soft. and squeezing the life out of him—he was this close to getting you pregnant, he could feel it.

the satisfied moan that leaves your lips almost made him feel bad. but for the sake of your future, he had to take extra caution.

"okay, wait." mark inhaled a shaky breath before gripping your arms, pushing you up and away from his face. a shiver snakes its way down your spine at how easily he manhandles you, keeping your torso upright above him. he has to physically turn his head to stop his eyes from trailing along the delicious arch in your back. "don't move. i'm gonna—" he starts to pull his hips back ever so carefully. "slowly—"

"mm..." your thighs press tight around his hips, pussy tightening around him like it was begging him not to leave, to stay warm and deep inside your pretty little cunt.

"fuck—babe," he whined, brown eyes pleading as they gazed up at you. "you're not helping."

mark was gripping you way too hard again, his hips stuttering in place. you were squirming in his lap, grinding against him and he grunts, eyes screwing shut.

"mmf, m'sorry, you just feel sooo good." your eyes flutter, whimpering breathily when your aching hole was finally, finally getting the attention it needed. not enough, but still better than nothing. "we need to do this more often..."

the fact he was doing this at all coupled with the thought of doing this a second time made his head spin.

"i seriously wasn't—ah—kidding before." he choked on his words when he felt your glossy pussy clench around him, spilling slick around his pulsing red tip.

think about anything else, he begs himself. there was a new issue of seance dog coming out soon. oh, and a collectible. did he have enough money for that? holy shit, he could hear the smack of your ass against his thighs loud and clear.

his eyes flickered to your face, twisted with pleasure. you were so pretty. he loves you. he wants to grow old and retire with you. leave this fucked up hero thing behind someday. how many more times will he get to lose himself in your soft skin, body rolls, and perfect tight pussy before he kicks the bucket? he could've died happy even after the first time with you.

"y/n—"

"cum inside," you demand, brows furrowed in exertion from holding back. you wanted him to fuck you like he meant it, like how he usually does.

mark's heart lurches in his chest, his cock twitching inside you that pulls a string of moans from your pretty lips. his cheeks heat up. "y-you don't mean that." you couldn't mean that. "you said—"

"forget what i said." your head hung loose above him, upper body still suspended in the air. "cum inside." your voice was pleading, a near sob as you begged for him. "please?"

mark never told his girl no and he wasn't going to start now.

he brought you down against his chest, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. cradling you close as he pistons his hips deep inside your cunt. "yeah," he grunted, shifting his hips to get some better leverage, slamming up into you without any inhibition. "you're so fucking hot, god, you feel so good—"

all you could offer him was a strangled moan, feeling him in your stomach, chest, throat.

"fuck. i love you," he whined so sweetly, hugging you close and sinking his teeth down onto your shoulder. "m'gonna cum, but i'll make it up to you, baby, promise—"

within the next second, you felt his body tense. his grip on your ass was bruising, heavy balls tightening and spilling hot strings of cum deep inside you. his cock was coated with his own release, a milky white ring collecting at his base. you moaned softly against his skin, feeling warm and full, satisfied with the way he panted in your ear.

he didn't bother to pull out. he pumped into you slowly, fucking his cum deep inside. if he was gonna do it, might as well do it right.

then he rolled you over, laying you delicately against the sheets with a breathy chuckle, like he'd just won the jackpot. he brushed some hair out of your face and kissed your forehead.

"you're right, we do need to do this more often." he hummed, pinning your wrists beside your head and intertwining your fingers. "now, how do you want me?"

© invoncible

[thepigeonhasapen]

Finding Them When They're Trapped: Olympian Edition (NSFWish)

(I promise I'm working on requests but the horny bug bit ok)

🩷Aphrodite🩷

"Oh, darling, I'm afraid something simply tragic has happened. One of my suitors has taken advantage of me and left me like this!"

"...In your own bedchamber?"

Aphrodite waves a hand. As well as she's able to with the short chain connecting it to the bedpost anyway. "Sweetheart, it's sex. We don't need to apply logic to it."

"...I see." You sit next to Aphrodite, admiring the way the restraints draw her body into long, smooth curves. She wriggles in her chains, a deliberate enticement. An enticement too is the way she's looking at you, lashes fluttering and eyes locked sweetly upon your own.

"As I was saying..."

"Yes, yes, a horrible man left you tied to a bed and now I'm here to take advantage of that fact?"

"You do catch on quick, my dear."

⚔️Ares⚔️

Ares does not think this is funny. Unfortunately for Ares it is objectively pretty funny.

He glares at you from the bed, squirming against his chains. "Stop laughing and let me loose."

"I can't believe Aphrodite just left you like this!" You giggle. "I'm pretty sure she just straight up forgot you were here actually."

You can tell Ares is positively fuming about the whole thing. The headboard creaks as he yanks at the cuffs, but all the furniture upon Olympus is far too durable to break that easily. He glares at you once more and then sighs.

"Will you please set me free? I have something I wish to discuss with our dear Aphrodite."

Aphrodite has been so kind as to leave your favorite god naked, and you take advantage of this by resting your hand on his groin. You don't miss the sharp intake of breath when your skin touches his own.

"But it would be such a shame to let you go when I already have you here like this."

"I... be that as it may, I-" Ares's pupils blow wide with lust as you swing onto the bed to straddle his lap.

"Aphrodite isn't going anywhere. And-" You laugh. "Neither are you apparently."

"I suppose... my evening might still be salvageable after all."

🏹Artemis🏹

How embarrassing... to get caught in one of her own traps. Artemis is never going to live this down if anyone finds out about it. Too late for her, though, you've already found out about it.

"It's not funny! I just forgot where I set it, okay? Now let me down so we can both forget this ever happened."

Perhaps Artemis might be more intimidating if she wasn't blushing so fiercely. Oh yeah, and hanging upside-down by her ankle from a tree branch. That too.

"So if you're the prey, what's hunting you then? A deer? A bunny?"

You didn't think it was possible but Artemis blushes even harder. "Yeah, yeah, just get me down."

"Deal... but in exchange for not telling anyone about this, you'll owe me."

If looks could kill, not only would you be dead, you'd have been vaporized from existence. You start to walk away. "Or I guess you could just wait for somebody else to come by... Hermes, maybe?"

It doesn't take long for Artemis to break. "Okay, okay, deal! Now cut me loose before somebody sees."

As you're helping her down, Artemis shoots you another dirty look. "You’re just lucky I've got a soft spot for you."

🦉Athena🦉

One of the last places you expect to find Athena is stuck in a hole in the ground, but here you are. She looks up at you, visibly relieved to catch sight of you.

"Hail, Y/N. It would seem the Lady Artemis is leaving her pit traps strewn about the grounds. Again. I really must have a word with her about it. But first I require your assistance."

"Oh yeah? I hope you're not expecting me to carry you out of that hole." Look, Athena's like twice your size. You love her but it's just not gonna happen.

"No, nothing of the sort. If you could run to Hephaestus's workshop and fetch a ladder..."

You sit down at the edge of the hole, elbows resting on your knees. "I might do that. But to be honest, it's kinda hot seeing you be bested every once in a while."

"I was not bested. This was no battle of wills. This was my foolish half-sister being careless once again."

"Still... you being trapped is kinda doing it for me."

Athena sighs. "If you fetch me a ladder, I swear I will let you tie me up to your heart's content. Do we have an arrangement?"

"Done."

And you can't wait to take her up on that.

❄️Demeter❄️

"I'm going to kill that wretched foster brother of mine. We'll see if he can still throw his precious lightning bolts when he's encased in ice."

You've stumbled across Demeter cuffed to the railing of her balcony. You don't quite know what happened, but Zeus had something to do with it from the sounds of it.

"He told me I ought to get more sun! That it would be good for me! Put a smile on my face! Pah, as if there's anything to smile about upon this blasted mountain."

"Ahem," you say.

Demeter softens. "Ah... my apologies. Of course you give me cause to smile quite often."

"Would it make you smile if you said you looked cute in those cuffs?"

Demeter doesn't look in the slightest bit amused. "It most decidedly would not."

"Ah."

🍇Dionysus🍇

Dionysus had asked you to meet you in his vineyard but how strange, he doesn't seem to be here. Well, since you're here, you may as well look around. As you wander deeper through the plants, you hear rustling and the sounds of someone struggling.

He looks almost sheepish when you find him, half-buried in foliage with rogue vines twined around his limbs.

"Hey, so uh... there may have been a little... incident. Would you mind maybe lending a hand?"

"Don’t you have control over grapevines?"

"...These are special grapevines, yeah?"

And how kind of the vines to splay him out so beautifully. And to let him take off his cape first. And that all of his usual retinue is conveniently absent.

Dionysus shivers when you run a hand down his muscled chest. "And how exactly am I meant to help you if even a god as powerful as you can't set yourself free?" You stop just above where you're certain he wants you to touch him. "Shall I fetch someone to help?"

Dionysus whines when you remove your hand. "You’re such a damn tease, man! Just have your way with me already."

"I'm a tease? I'm not the one who's tied myself up in hopes of being ravaged."

"If you want we can switch places." Dionysus offers playfully.

"Hmm. Maybe later." You think you're gonna pass this up? Not a chance.

🪽Hermes🪽

You didn't expect to find the Messenger of the Gods tangled in a bunch of vines, but to be perfectly fair you're pretty sure he didn't intend for you to find him like that either.

"Oh, hi there, boss. I seem to have encountered a spot of trouble here but don't you worry, I'll be out in a jiffy."

He squirms, trying to free himself, but he's really just making the problem worse. Something he soon figures out when he sighs and looks helplessly at you.

"Don’t suppose you'd care to lend a hand?"

"Haha, oh alright," you manage through your giggles. "Hold on just a moment."

"Kinda can't do anything else," he points out.

You wade into the bushes, reaching for the vines that ensnare his wrist. Unfortunately, there's a bit more of them than you bargained for. One catches on your foot and you go tumbling forward, knocking both you and Hermes to the ground.

"Shit, sorry!"

But Hermes doesn't look as bothered as you thought he would. It's probably because your hand has landed squarely on his groin. You hadn't quite been sure if he was blushing before, but now he most certainly is.

He's not quite looking at you as he says, "You know it would really be a shame for you to let an opportunity like this go to waste, you know."

...He makes a valid point.

🔱Poseidon🔱

"Damn that blasted nephew of mine! I swear when I catch him, I'll- oh hello, dear! Would you mind helping your favorite sea god out of the predicament he's found himself in?"

You laugh. You can't help it; Poseidon looks absolutely ridiculous looking at you upside-down from the floor. Somehow he's ended up wrapped head to toe in chains, his arms pinned behind his back and his legs bound firmly together.

"What happened here?"

"That good for nothing nephew of mine, Hephaestus swore to me that he'd created chains so powerful that nothing could break them! I, of course, had to put such notions to rest. Nothing can overpower the might of the sea! Anyway, I uh..."

"So you let Hephaestus do this to you?"

You've never seen Poseidon look quite so flustered. "I, er... well, we don't need to linger on the past. Why don't you set me free and we can both go out to a nice dinner?"

"Not a chance, sea god." You drop to the floor beside him, greedily taking advantage of a sight you so rarely get to see. The might of Poseidon, bound. And looking quite handsome in his chains if you do say so yourself. "I think I've got a better idea than dinner."

It doesn't take Poseidon but a moment to catch your drift. "Ha! You best take advantage of the moment then because I don't imagine it'll be happening again."

Maybe. Or maybe Hephaestus will let you borrow these chains from time to time...

⚡️Zeus⚡️

It's funny... this situation that you've found Zeus in almost seems... familiar.

"Curses! Damnit... that blasted, darn Hephaestus... and my foul brother. I shall have both their heads for this, I swear..."

"Whatcha doin'?"

You've never seen the King of the Gods blush before. And certainly not so fiercely. "I um... well, I've run into a spot of bother. And it is entirely the fault of that wretched brother of mine. He insisted that these chains were unbreakable. Naturally, I had to show him the error of his ways. None can stand against the power of the heavens!"

Well, apparently being a cocky, arrogant idiot runs in the family. You drop to a crouch beside him, unable to keep the amused grin off your face. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Yes, yes," he huffs, "I can have a sense of humor like any other. You've all had your laugh. Now let me loose."

You reach down and squeeze between his legs, just enough that Zeus's eyes start to go hazy. He won't get mad at you for the imposition; he thinks far too much with his cock for that. "Oh, but I never get to top."

Zeus looks as if he's already having trouble formulating words. "Well... maybe just this once..."

Once? Not if you can help it.

[pillow-coded]

Recording In Progress

Summary: A private investigator goes undercover to expose Spencer Reid’s secrets—but when he catches on, things far more personal than she ever intended.

prompts used: A thinks they've successfully tricked B... when B leans forward and speaks directly into their wire. — “Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!!

Content Warning: strong language, first person POV, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, power play, unprotected sex, light dom!Spencer, mentions of betrayal and emotional manipulation, semi-consensual dynamics/dubcon, Kinda angsty.

A/N: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Undercover Challenge (Also my first second attempt ever for writing smut, hopefully it’s not like bad or cringy)!!

Word Count: 6.3K

I’ve done worse jobs for better pay.

Political smear jobs, corporate leaks, scumbag CEOs cheating on their fourth wives. I’ve worn heels into strip clubs and smiled through dinner with men who thought I didn’t know what a burner phone was. I’ve been called a bitch, a genius, and a ghost, depending on who was signing the check.

I was hired to investigate Dr. Spencer Reid. No reason given, no name offered. Just a large sum wired to my account and a single note: Find out what he’s hiding.

Simple enough.

Except… Spencer Reid doesn’t have a digital footprint. He’s like a ghost in the machine. No scandals, no secrets, not even a hint of skeletons in his closet. And believe me, I looked.

And now here I am—three weeks into my “trial run” as the Bureau’s newest PR-friendly face. The temporary Media Liaison job I got thanks to me pulling some strings. I talk to the news reporters, fetch coffee. Pretend not to notice how agents avoid eye contact when they think I’m listening.

But Spencer?

Spencer doesn’t avoid anything.

He looks right at me when he speaks—slow, deliberate, almost too polite, like he’s weighing every word before he lets it leave his mouth. Like he’s watching for a reaction, waiting to see what sticks. It should’ve made him easy to read. But he wasn’t. If anything, he made me feel like the one under observation.

At first, I told myself he was just awkward. A little too smart, a little too soft. All anxious fingers and mismatched socks, like some deer that wandered too far from the herd and was just hoping someone might keep him company.

Innocent, I thought.

Innocent my ass.

Because there’s something behind those eyes—something that doesn’t flinch. Something that sees everything and stays quiet anyway. And now that I’ve gotten too close, I’m starting to wonder if I’m the one being hunted.

And maybe I should’ve been more careful—should’ve kept my distance.

Because it’s getting harder to tell which parts of this are pretend. The way my hand lingers on his arm when I laugh. The way he says my name like it’s always surprised him.

The wire beneath my shirt itches when I lean forward. I pretend it’s nothing, cross my arms to cover the mic. But he keeps talking.

Stories. Facts. Soft opinions. I record all of it. Hours of audio. Dozens of little truths. And yet none of it sounds like a secret.

It started with coffee.

Not because I actually wanted it—God knows the Bureau’s idea of caffeine tastes like it was filtered through a floor mop—but because he always had one. Every morning. Same cup, same lid, same little paper napkin wrapped around it like he didn’t want his fingers touching the surface.

So I started bringing him one. A peace offering. An excuse. A way in.

“No cream, four sugars,” I’d say, like I didn’t already have it memorized from the second day.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me coffee,” he’d murmur, almost shy. “But thank you.”

Then he’d take it anyway. Every time. Like it was a favor he wasn’t sure he deserved.

It disarmed me.

The first few days I kept things casual—too casual. Just enough charm to keep the agents from digging into my file, just enough polish to look useful in a crisis. And Spencer? Spencer was easy to hover near. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. Not because they didn’t like him, I realized. Because they didn’t understand him.

But I did.

Or I acted like I did, which, honestly, wasn’t hard. He talks when you let him. Especially about things most people pretend to care about but don’t. String theory. Linguistics. Microexpressions. Magic tricks.

“The trick isn’t in the sleight of hand,” he told me once, while shuffling a deck between his fingers. “It’s in where you make people look instead.”

“Is that what you’re doing to me?” I’d asked. “Misdirection?”

He didn’t answer.

Just smiled without showing his teeth.

And it messed me up more than I expected.

Because here’s the thing: Spencer Reid doesn’t flirt. Not really. He observes. He listens, catalogues, memorizes. And he gives you just enough of himself to make you want more. That’s the part I wasn’t prepared for.

Like yesterday—he’d asked about my family. Out of nowhere. Soft and curious.

“You mentioned your dad’s a journalist,” he said, halfway through a case debrief. “Is that what made you want to work in media?”

He had no idea how deep that question could’ve cut. But he asked it like he already suspected the answer and just wanted to see if I’d lie.

I did.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded. Didn’t press.

But something shifted.

He started watching me more closely after that. Saying my name more often. Brushing past me in the hallway, close enough for the hem of his sweater to ghost over my knuckles. A lesser man would’ve tried something by now. Spencer just... lingered.

And then today. God, today.

The bullpen was nearly empty. Just the two of us, caught in that odd hour between too-late and not-late-enough. I made a joke—light, harmless.

“You know, I’m starting to think you don’t actually like coffee,” I said. “You just like holding something in your hands so you don’t have to look busy.”

I waited for that soft half-smile he always gives when he’s amused. The one that makes his eyes crease, just barely.

It didn’t come.

Instead, he looked at me.

Really looked at me.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Just… observing.

I felt it before he even moved—this creeping heat behind my ribs. I tried to keep still, tried not to let the sudden tension show.

“So do you,” I replied, aiming for playful. It landed a little too breathy.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

I could’ve backed up. I didn’t.

He was close now. Closer than protocol allows, closer than he’s ever been. My pulse ticked loud in my ears. I swallowed. I waited for him to speak.

He didn’t. Not at first.

His eyes flicked to my chest, and for a moment, I thought—

But no. He wasn’t looking at my lips. He was looking lower.

Right where the mic was taped beneath my shirt.

“You wore that all day?” he asked, voice low. No heat in it—just something sharp and calm and terrifying.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

My mouth shut. The weight of his gaze was like gravity, dragging me down into silence.

And then he leaned in. His mouth hovered just beside my ear, breath warm, voice so low it barely stirred the air between us.

“Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

I stopped breathing. My spine locked. My mouth went dry.

“You’ve been recording me.” It wasn’t a question. He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way you’d study a fracture—trying to guess where the break began.

He didn’t pull away.

“You’ve been careful,” he murmured, “I’ll give you that. The questions were subtle. The charm? Believable. The coffee orders were a nice touch. But I don’t trust people who learn too fast.”

I wanted to speak. I really did. But my throat wouldn’t work.

“Especially not people who ask about things I’ve never told anyone.”

And just like that, he stepped back.

My heart was in my mouth. The wire burned under my shirt like a brand. I felt exposed in a way I never had before—caught not just in a lie, but in something deeper. Something personal. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed. Maybe even hurt.

“Who sent you?” he asked, softer now. Not demanding. Just… tired. Like he already knew.

“It’s not what you think,” I said.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. But there was nothing warm in it.

“Then tell me what it is. Because I’m trying really hard to believe this wasn’t just some elaborate… game.”

I didn’t say anything.

I wanted to. I think I even opened my mouth. But there was no defense I could give that wouldn’t sound like another lie. Another twist of the knife.

So I just stood there, heart thudding against the wire, pulse loud in my ears, and let him look at me.

He waited.

And when I didn’t give him anything—not an apology, not an excuse—something in his face changed.

Not anger. Not disgust.

Something quieter.

Like disappointment. Like resignation. Like he’d already filed me away under lost cause.

“Tell whoever sent you they won’t find what they’re looking for.”

He paused.

“And if they want to try again,” he says, eyes still on mine, “tell them next time… they should send someone I won’t miss when they leave.”

He turns to walk away, and I should let him.

But I don’t.

“Wait,” I say—sharper than I mean to.

He stops. Doesn’t turn around right away.

When he does, it’s slow. Controlled. Every part of him unreadable. Except his eyes—they're sharper now. Sadder too. Like I’d cut him without knowing where the blade was.

“You think I wanted this to happen?” I ask. “You think I planned to care?”

He just looks at me. Long and hard.

“You didn’t plan anything,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He steps closer. The space between us evaporates. My pulse flutters. His eyes fall to my chest—where the wire sits taped beneath my shirt. His jaw clenches.

“I should report you,” he says. “Walk you out of here myself and forget this ever happened.”

“You should,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly through his nose. Like he's trying to talk himself down from something.

“I knew something was off,” he says. “But you—you looked at me like…”

He stops. Closes his eyes for just a second. Opens them again.

“I was doing my job,” I say.

“You were lying.”

We’re close enough now that I can feel the tension roll off him like heat. His hand lifts—hesitates—then brushes the edge of my collar. Just two fingers. Just enough to press gently over the place where the wire sits.

His voice is low, and it trembles with something between fury and want.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”

He doesn’t count.

Neither do I.

Because I don’t move.

And neither does he.

Not until the pretending breaks—soft and sudden, like the snap of a wire pulled too tight for too long.

His breath stutters, and I see it—right there in his eyes—that flicker of recognition. That I’m not going anywhere. That whatever this is between us, it’s no longer something we can ignore.

Then he moves.

Slow at first, like he’s giving me time to pull away. Like he’s testing the current between us.

But I don’t flinch. I can’t.

Without a word, he closes the remaining distance, seizing my chin gently between his fingers. His touch is deliberate—measured—there's heat in it, too. His thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, slow and careful, brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath.

His other hand finds my hip—strong, sure—as he pulls me flush against him. I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of my clothes, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding against the softer lines of mine like they were made to fit.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don’t.

His lips hover just above mine, a hairsbreadth of space between us. I can feel his breath mingling with mine, warm and unsteady. The scent of him fills my lungs—clean cologne, warm skin, and something unmistakably him.

“Last chance,” he whispers, voice low and rough and dangerous in the best way.

And I don’t take it.

His words hang in the charged air between us, suspended for a single, trembling moment. Time seems to slow—each heartbeat stretching into forever—as I stand there, breath caught, teetering on the edge of something I can’t undo.

He murmurs something under his breath—too quiet to catch, too dark to be innocent—and then he moves.

He closes the final inch between us, and his lips crash into mine in a searing, hungry kiss that steals my breath and sets every nerve in my body alight.

One of his hands tangles into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss. The other tightens at my hip, pulling me harder against him until there’s nothing between us but heat and tension and the press of his body against mine—hard, unyielding, and everywhere.

His tongue slips past my lips, bold and sure, stroking along mine and sending sparks through me so sharp they feel like electricity in my bloodstream. I can taste the desperation in his kiss—feel the pent-up longing in the way his fingers clutch at my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear.

It isn’t a kiss. It’s a demand.

And I give in to it, completely.

He walks me backward, mouth still on mine, until the edge of his desk catches the backs of my legs. I hit it with a quiet thud, breath hitching—not from shock this time, but from the sheer, aching need curling low in my stomach.

His hands skim up my sides, fingertips dragging slowly over the thin fabric of my blouse. His palms are warm and slightly rough, catching just enough to make my skin spark beneath the surface. I feel every inch of contact like a live wire beneath my clothes, and when his hands reach my ribcage, he pauses—just for a breath—before slipping his fingers to the buttons of my shirt.

One by one, he undoes them.

I gasp as cool air brushes the skin beneath, the lace of my bra suddenly far too delicate, too flimsy. But his attention isn’t on the fabric. Not entirely.

His fingers ghost over the mic, still taped below my sternum. He lingers there, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over it. Then he looks up, eyes dark, mouth curling into something between a smirk and a warning.

My stomach flips. My mouth parts—but I don’t know whether it’s to object or to breathe.

He doesn’t wait for a response.

He leans in and presses his mouth to the base of my throat, kissing a path downward. His lips are hot. His stubble scrapes. He grazes my pulse with his teeth before his mouth latches onto that tender skin just above my collarbone.

He suckles and nips with deliberate intent, letting his jaw rasp against my neck as he pulls another broken breath from me.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he mutters against my throat, voice low and uneven.

Without warning, his hands grip my thighs and lift—effortless, like he’s been waiting to do it for weeks. He sets me on the edge of his desk, the cool surface biting against the backs of my legs. In the next breath, he steps between them, settling into the cradle of my hips.

The zipper of his slacks scrapes rough against my inner thighs, and then I feel it—hard, hot, and insistent, pressing right where I need him most.

He doesn’t move. Not yet.

He just waits—daring me to admit I want it just as badly.

His eyes lock on mine, sharp and unrelenting, like they’re looking through me, not at me. There’s heat there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s intensity. Focus. A fire that catches deep in my belly and threatens to devour everything in its path.

The air between us pulses, thick with tension. A silent standoff. Neither of us willing to look away. Neither of us willing to surrender first.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and raw, rough enough to scrape down my spine. His hands tighten on my thighs, grounding me. Holding me still. “Tell me you’ve felt this too. The way we… fit. The chemistry—it’s like a live wire between us, and you know it.”

He leans in, mouth brushing so close I can feel the shape of the words before he says them.

“I want to hear you say it. Admit it. That you’re just as lost in this… thing as I am. That you burn for my hands, that you crave my mouth, that you ache to be undone by me.”

A tremble works its way through my spine. I don’t trust myself to speak.

His hand slides from my thigh up my side—slow, deliberate. Fingertips grazing the curve of my ribcage, mapping the slope of my breast. He palms it through the thin lace of my bra, the heat of his touch making me gasp.

Then his thumb finds my nipple.

Rolls it. Just once.

A shock of sensation shoots through me, and I bite my lip to stop the sound that nearly escapes.

He feels it. Knows it.

And his mouth curls, just slightly. Like he’s satisfied—but not nearly done.

He gathers my answer without a single word—reading it in the tremble of my thighs, the sharp hitch in my breath, the way heat blooms across my skin in a helpless, rosy flush. His eyes, now dark and heavy-lidded with want, drag over me like he’s cataloging every reaction… and storing it for later.

I don’t even know what I’m begging for when I whisper,

“Spencer… please…”

But it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

Something shifts in him—like control has finally slipped through his fingers, and now he’s choosing to let it go.

His hand dips beneath the lace of my bra, his fingers brushing bare skin. My breath stutters as his palm curves around me, warm and possessive. He cups the weight of my breast, rolling it gently, then pinches and tugs my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it stiffens in his grasp.

The sensation ricochets through me—sharp, heady, electric.

Before I can even moan, his other hand finds its way into my hair. He fists it at the base of my skull, not rough, but firm enough to steal my breath. And then he kisses me.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat.

His mouth crashes into mine with a hunger I feel in every nerve ending. It’s the kind of kiss that scrapes thought from bone. The kind that tells me this isn’t just lust. It’s possession.

I’m not kissing Spencer Reid.

I’m being devoured by him.

He devours my moan like he’s starved for it—like the sound alone could satisfy something buried deep inside him. His mouth moves hungrily against mine, swallowing every breath, every sound, as if he’s trying to consume me from the inside out.

His grip tightens in my hair, angling my head with a rough kind of reverence that opens me completely to him. The hand on my breast isn’t gentle anymore. He kneads the soft flesh firmly, expertly, and the mix of pressure and pleasure sends shivers racing down my spine.

When he finally tears his mouth from mine, I’m gasping—but he doesn’t give me long to recover.

His lips blaze a trail down the column of my neck, his teeth dragging, tongue soothing, until he reaches my pulse point and lingers there. He bites, just hard enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, in a way that makes my whole body clench.

He trails lower.

Mouth warm and wet as he moves down the swell of my breasts, over the valley between them, until he reaches the curve of lace hiding what he wants most.

His lips close around my nipple through the soaked fabric of my bra, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. My hips jerk instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him.

His fingers don’t hesitate. They find the clasp at my back, working with practiced ease, and I feel the tension in the garment give way.

I’m panting now, barely keeping up with the pace he’s set—as the cool air hits my bare skin, kissing over every exposed inch and pebbling it with goosebumps. But there’s no relief. Not from the heat pouring off of him. He’s everywhere. Surrounding me. Consuming me.

He shoves the fabric of my bra aside and his mouth descends without hesitation, closing around my nipple in a wet, greedy heat that makes my head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. He licks, broad, deliberate strokes, then circles the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling, hungry and unrelenting, like he’s ravenous for me.

I cry out. I can’t help it.

His other hand cups my remaining breast, fingers rough and insistent as they knead and pluck, teasing the tip until it aches under his touch. Every movement marks me until I feel like there’s nothing left untouched.

And still, it’s not enough.

His hips begin to move—slow, grinding rolls that press the hard ridge of his arousal against my center. Even through the barrier of my clothes, the friction is maddening. Precise. He grinds again, and I feel my thighs part a little more with each thrust, until the thick swell of him is nestled perfectly against the place I need him most.

I arch. I whimper. I burn.

“Tell me what you need,” he growls, voice rough and low in my ear.

I meet his gaze, barely holding it. My voice trembles as I breathe,

“You… all of you.”

His hand leaves my breast, trailing down the center of my body in a path that feels like fire. slow and deliberate. His fingertips glide over my trembling stomach, dipping lower until they reach the waistband of my skirt.

He doesn’t ask permission.

He just slips his hand beneath it, under the thin barrier of my underwear, and groans softly when he feels how soaked I already am.

“Like this?” he rasps, fingers brushing against my center with maddening restraint. “Is this what you wanted?”

The heat in his voice wrecks me. Low, rough, commanding. A far cry from the soft-spoken man I’d spent weeks practically studying. This wasn’t shy, awkward Spencer. This was something darker. Hungrier. A version of him I wasn’t sure anyone else had ever seen.

He strokes me through the slick fabric, circling over my clit with just enough pressure to leave me gasping but not enough to satisfy. Every touch is calculated—teasing, fleeting—designed to unravel me without giving me what I want.

“Tell me,” he says, the edge in his voice tightening. “Tell me how badly you need me.”

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken sound—half gasp, half plea.

His fingers press a little harder, his mouth close to my ear now, every word dripping with dominance and need.

“Say it,” he breathes. “Say you want me. Say you want to feel me deep inside you… filling you, wrecking you.”

The pressure builds, unbearable, electric. I’m shaking. I can barely breathe.

And I want it—I want everything.

“Say it,” he growls, fingers pressing harder against my aching center. The friction sharpens, maddening—his touch no longer teasing but demanding, as he rubs firm, relentless circles over my clit. His other hand grips my hip, holding me in place with bruising intensity, like he doesn’t trust me not to fall apart.

“Beg for it,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “Beg for my cock like the desperate little thing I know you are. I want to hear you scream for it.”

The words hit me like a jolt to the spine—vulgar, filthy, perfect.

His fingers shove my panties to the side, and one thick, calloused fingertip slides between my folds, slow and deliberate. He drags it through my slick heat, teasing—hovering just at the entrance, never quite giving in. A low, satisfied sound escapes him, like he’s savoring the way I tremble beneath him.

And then, with the hand not working me open, he reaches down to his belt. I hear the soft clink of metal, the zip of fabric sliding apart. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just keeps touching me—keeping me on the edge—as he frees himself with terrifying calm.

“You feel that?” he mutters, pressing himself into my thigh, the outline of him thick and undeniable through the cotton. “You shouldn’t be able to do this to me,”

His breath stutters against my cheek as he shifts his weight, one hand still working me open while the other reaches down. I feel the stretch of fabric, the quiet drag of cotton being pushed aside. Then the thick heat of him presses directly against me—bare now, heavy and pulsing at my entrance. The last barrier is gone. There’s nothing between us anymore.

He’s right there—right there—poised to push inside, to take, to ruin, and still… he waits.

And I break.

“Please,” I choke out, breathless, undone. “Oh my God, please, I—I need you.”

“I think you do,” he growls, voice low and ragged. “I think you need my cock buried inside this sweet little pussy”

And then he moves.

One swift, brutal thrust—and he’s inside me.

Fully. Completely.

I gasp, no sound behind it, my mouth falling open as he stretches me wide in a single, punishing stroke. He drives in to the hilt, hips pressing flush against mine, forcing my body to take every inch of him.

I’m overwhelmed. Split open. Filled.

“Fuck,” he snarls, the sound rumbling out against my chest, where his body presses hot and heavy over mine.

He gives me no time to adjust—no breath, no mercy. He pulls out almost entirely, just the thick tip left inside, and then slams back in with a force that steals what little air I have left.

Again.

And again.

Each thrust is brutal. Precise. Unrelenting.

The rhythm builds fast—sharp, punishing, perfect—and it’s all I can do to hold on. My cries are ragged, torn from my throat as he drives up into me like he’s trying to etch himself into my body, brand me from the inside out.

One hand clamps around my hip, fingers digging deep into flesh, anchoring me in place as he fucks me like he owns every inch of me.

His free hand moves lower, searching.

I barely register it through the haze of sensation until I feel a sudden tug at my waist—sharp, deliberate.

His fingers find the wire trailing from the recorder clipped to my skirt, and before I can react, he yanks. The movement is swift, almost angry. The adhesive holding the tiny mic to my chest rips free with a sting, the wire snapping taut as he drags the entire thing into his hand like a secret he’s been waiting to expose.

He brings it up, slow and deliberate, until it’s hovering right at my lips.

“Is this still on?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and quiet, eyes never leaving mine. “You gonna send this to them? Let them hear what you sound like when you're being fucked by the person you’re supposed to be investigating?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He just holds it there—steadily, deliberately—catching every breathless moan, every gasp, every desperate sound that spills from my lips.

“All those filthy little sounds. Let it record what you sound like when you're mine.”

And God help me—I moan for him. Loud. Unashamed.

His eyes flicker—dark and satisfied—as he presses the mic even closer to my lips, like he wants it to catch everything.

“That’s it,” he breathes, the corner of his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “Let it hear how desperate you sound when I’m inside you.”

He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust, forcing another cry from my throat—one I can’t bite back even if I tried.

“You think they’ll recognize your voice?” he murmurs, low and mocking as his hips roll into mine, relentless. “Think they’ll hear how wrecked you sound and wonder what it cost you?”

Every thrust lands with calculated force, his pace unforgiving, grinding me closer to the edge with each brutal stroke. My hands scramble for something to hold—his shoulders, the edge of the desk, anything—but there’s no grounding here. Just him. Just the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy, wrecked sounds he’s dragging from my throat.

And the mic.

Still held to my lips. Still recording everything.

“You were supposed to be watching me,” he grits out between thrusts, the words strained with effort. “But look at you now.”

Another slam of his hips, and I cry out again—louder this time, legs shaking, breath hitching. I can feel the tremor starting in my core, the tightening that warns of everything about to snap.

“This what they wanted?” he growls, jaw clenched. “You giving them everything but the answers?”

He presses in deeper—deeper than before, like he’s trying to bury himself in me, leave something behind. His forehead drops to mine, sweat-slick and shaking with restraint.

“You’re not gonna be able to listen back to this without coming apart,” he whispers, voice rough and fraying. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Spencer!”

My nails dig into his back, desperate for something—release, control, him. I don’t even know if I’m clinging to him or trying to pull him deeper, but he groans when I do it—low and wrecked—like it unravels something he’s been barely holding together.

His pace stutters for just a beat.

Then he grabs my thigh, hikes it higher around his hip, and drives into me again with brutal, unrelenting force.

The desk creaks beneath us. The microphone trembles in his hand.

“That’s it…” he breathes against my mouth. “Say my name.”

Another thrust. My body arches, wrecked and raw.

“Say it like you mean it. Let them hear you fall apart for me.”

And I do.

Each time his name tears from my throat, his grip tightens—on my thigh, on my waist, on the mic still trembling in his hand. He’s losing rhythm now, chasing something just out of reach, buried deep inside me like he can’t stop until we both fall off the edge together.

His movements turn rougher, more erratic, like control is slipping through his fingers and he wants it to.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking apart. “Come on—give it to me.”

The pressure coils tight and fast, unbearably sharp, building from deep inside me like a wave I can’t outrun. I feel it clawing up my spine, lighting every nerve on fire, and I know—I know—I’m about to break.

“Spencer—” my voice fractures.

I shatter around him with a cry that borders on a sob, back arching, thighs trembling, everything inside me clenching hard around him as my climax hits like a lightning strike—hot and endless and all-consuming.

He groans my name in return, low and guttural, pressing his forehead to mine as he follows me over the edge with a final, desperate thrust. His body jerks against mine, hips stuttering as he spills into me, his breath ragged and uneven in my ear.

And then… stillness.

Just the sound of our breathing. Heavy. Shaky. Shallow.

His hand falls away from the mic, letting it dangle by its wire like a forgotten confession. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

For a moment, it’s just quiet.

Then he pulls out of me slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to hurt me—but the ache he leaves behind is instant.

I shift, suddenly aware of my half-unbuttoned blouse, the stretch of my thigh still hooked around him, the sweat cooling between us. The shame doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps in.

And then he speaks.

“You can stop recording now.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

My throat tightens. I reach for the mic with shaking fingers, powering it off in silence. He watches me do it—watches everything—and still doesn’t look away.

“Who sent you?”

I flinch.

It’s not a growl. Not a threat. Just a question. Clinical. Lethal in its precision.

“Was it internal? Press? Private buyer?”

I try to form words, but none come. I look at him, eyes wide, mouth parted, still wrecked in every sense of the word. I open my lips—twice—and still nothing.

He exhales through his nose, eyes flicking away for the first time.

Not angry. Not even hurt. Just… resigned.

“That’s what I thought.”

He moves before I can speak. Reaches down, tucks himself back into his boxers, then zips up his slacks with that same quiet efficiency—controlled, distant, like he’s locking something away. Like he doesn’t want me to see any part of him he didn’t mean to give.

“Get dressed.”

His voice is steady, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

I open my mouth again.

“Spencer, I—”

“Don’t.”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair like it hurts to keep standing there. His shoulders are tense, spine straight, but I see the tremble in his hand. He’s not angry.

He’s wrecked.

Not because I fooled him.

Because he let me.

And he’s about to walk away—leave me in the silence we created—when the word escapes me, sharp and sudden:

“Wait.”

He stops. Doesn’t turn around fully. Just enough for me to see the side of his face, unreadable.

My fingers move before I can think. I reach down, disconnect the recorder, and slide out the memory card. Small. Light. But somehow heavier than anything I’ve ever held.

I walk toward him. Quiet steps. Careful steps. And when I reach him, I place it in his hand.

“Here,” I whisper. “Here’s everything.”

He stares at it for a long moment. Then closes his fingers around it.

“What do you want me to do with it?” he asks, voice low. Tired. But not cold.

I meet his eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

He nods—just once—and slips it into his pocket.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

And then, softer than before, he says, “You know… You could’ve just asked.”

I step up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth still clinging to him. Close enough to imagine, for a second, that we could leave like this. Side by side.

“Would you really have told me anything?” I ask quietly, not looking at him.

There’s a pause.

Then—just barely above a whisper—

“Maybe not everything.”

Another beat. A breath.

“But I would’ve told you the truth.”

We stand there in the hallway—two liars trying to remember how to be honest.

And this time, when he turns to walk, he doesn’t walk away.

He waits.

take a slow step forward, then another, until I’m beside him again. Close enough to feel the quiet shift in the air between us.

“Well… I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” I say, trying to smile—trying to ease the weight.

He doesn’t respond. Just watches me.

So I drop the joke.

“For the record… even if you don’t believe me, it got real. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being part of the job.”

I glance up, meet his eyes.

“You’re real to me, Spencer.”

And for a moment, he just looks at me—searching. Like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

Then, finally, quietly—

“I know.”

And he starts walking.

This time, I follow.

[vampireghostlawyer]

hyper analyzing the daanelise photo because i have problems

ok first of all, i'm really interested in the overall posing. the posing and arrangement here is more similar to a lot of victorian family portraits than more modern, 1940s ones, but i think that's probably a conscious choice. miro tends to show a more victorian aesthetic with daan pretty often (his clothes for example), and i'm not sure if it's because daan's character was originally victorian himself, or if there's another reason.

ALSO, daan looks uncomfortable, which is interesting. we know from his inner dialogue that he genuinely loved elise, so i wonder what's making him look so unhappy about getting a photo together. maybe this is an early photo of them and daan is more traumatized from his past than the version of him we see in game? or maybe this is shortly before he left for war? I'm also wondering about his hand being tucked away like that. My first thought was some sort of injury, but obviously Daan doesn't start the game with one and he never mentions one either. It's his dominant hand too, I wonder if that's significant. Very possible i'm just over analyzing.

DAAN'S OUTFIT! So i'm pretty sure this is daan's outfit he wears in termina, just with the jacket removed? I always found him not wearing a jacket interesting, because I feel like he would, but this makes me think his outfit did have a jacket, he just lost it or got rid of it for some reason. I wonder if he put on this outfit for a specific reason before going to prehevil? maybe this photo was taken for a special event and he's trying to commemorate it?

ok the eleephant in the room: daan's hair. it's so curly!!!! he looks so cute. obviously in game, his hair is pretty straight, with a bit of wave. so either he curled it here, or this is his natural hair texture and he straightens it usually. really interesting either way. the 1930s (when im assuming this was taken) was a big time of experimentation for men with hair, so him curling it doesn't feel too far fetched, especially since he has such a defined part, which makes me think his hair is pretty heavily styled here. ALSO, his part is on a different side! ik there's a popular theory that he uses his hair to cover the eyepatch, and it seems like that is gaining credence.

ELISEEEEEE!!! our first glimpse of human elise!!!!!!!!! she is so cute i love her. 1.) looks like her gap tooth was confirmed, which as a truther i am happy 😌, 2.) seems like she always wore the dark lipstick. this was common in the 40s, but less so in the 30s iirc. Also, I wonder if she is the reason daan wears the lipstick too? I know miro has kind of refused to confirm or deny if daan wears makeup, but he's got purple lips so.

ALSO I love that she looks kind of dorky. she's so happy to be there and beaming and her hair's kinda messy, i love her. i have always been a huge fan of elise being a bit of a nerd so this makes me happy. i like that daan is trying to mog and she just looks like ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

also, something that @omnidraconia pointed out on another post that i find really interesting is that all of the other sulfur cultists are bald, but elise still has hair in her stitches sprites, which makes it seem like she may have sewn her hair in for appearance reasons (combined with her being really easy to persuade in dialogue, and the fact that the same dialogue makes her look somewhat insecure). i think an additional piece of evidence for this is the fact that she has noticable eyebrows in this picture, but her sulfur cult version doesnt.

it makes me wonder if this version of elise is also insecure.

UAGH. ANYWAY. i have so many thoughts.

[asocialangel]

pervy boyfriends

bllk boys who would –in my humble opinion– be pretty pervy towards their s/o. 

Shidou, Isagi, Karasu headcanons (low-key nsfw), i tried to be gender neutral but maybe it’s a bit more catered towards afab/fem reader for the Isagi part. 

ꕥ

Shidou:

Let’s stats by the most obvious of em all 

He is OPENLY and PROUDLY an OFFICIAL PERV

Let’s call it as it is

We haven't seen him talk about lovers canonly yet but i feel like he’d be a monster

This man is ALWAYS making dirty jokes to you

About you mostly 

Oh and public or not, he doesn't care, he if thought of something, you best believe he gon say it, regardless of whether your dad is around. 

He takes a sick pleasure in exposing your kinks to the whole word, especially ones you’ve told him you’re embarrassed about 

He likes it specifically when he says something in a public setting just loud enough so you will never know for sure if people heard him or not

Likes does his team’s goalkeeper know that you like being choked or not ?? You will never be sure ! (And it's not like you're gonna ask him) 

You never really heard it for yourself but you’re quite sure he talks about your sex life to his friends 

Cause multiple times they came up to you and made a joke that was suspiciously real 

“haha Y/N did you have a cat attack your boyfriend’s back ??” “Y/N can you help me out for next week’s anime convention ? I heard you’re quite good at cosplaying”

You even received a leash from a secret santa (you don't have a dog ???)

You’ve tried to ask him about it once, he jokingly said yes, so you never sure he actually meant it 

But you’re scared that if you ask too much he gon make it worse. 

Mind you Shidou is not just an asshole that crosses your boundaries. You had actually told him you were actually kinda into people low key knowing you’re a freak. But you could never say it yourself. So he’s actually nice and thoughtful to his s/o here. 

So yah let's say Shidou is not ashamed to explain to people what his position he likes you in

Also it’s almost obvious atp but he likes dirty talking in uncomfy places cause he knows it takes you very little to get you started, so he’s there getting you horny in the middle of applebees like… 

He likes telling you all the things he’d do to you once you're back home. 

He also often shares the details of how hard he was in the shower this morning thinking about you and how he chose to wait until you guys could do it cause he felt it would be a shame to waste his “precious cum” (his words) anywhere but “your pretty body” (again his words). 

So as I said, certified unashamed pervy boyfriend.

ꕥ

Isagi:

Now I think this would be an unpopular opinion because everyone and their dad headcanons Isagi as “a sweet caring innocent boyfriend 🥺” and while I agree that is true, he is multifaceted to me. 

To me, he would also be extremely pervy to his s/o, but unbeknownst to them. 

Like the minute you’re turning your back to him, he’s staring fouly at your ass

If you bend down to grab sum, he will not bother to look under your skirt that lifts up or your exposed cleavage. 

But again, he will only do it when he knows you can’t see him. 

He likes watching you doing the most innocent things and adding a double meaning to it in his head

Like you eating a skewer will be something far more dirty in his mind and you whining at the antiseptic on your wound is, in another setting, something way sexier. 

So everytime you see him smile at casual things you do, like getting on your knees to tie your shoelaces, you think wow he loves me so much, but truth is yes he loves you that much, actually way more. 

Isagi will always make the most far fetched double entendres to you, knowing damn well you’re too innocent and maybe head in the clouds to ever get it

So he says it, sees you agree mindlessly, and smiles to himself.

I’m telling you he’s an undercover perv.

Some of his dirty minded friends that have, they too, experience in that field, will sometimes get these double meanings he tells you and chuckle at his reaction to your non reaction. 

Unlike you, THEY know he’s toying with you and tbf they also find it quite cute

Isagi is not the type to put out all your sex life to his friends tho. But sometimes, just sometimes, he will (again) make innuendos about things you’re good at, like doing or like receiving.

But again, when he says it it's with a straight face. 

So his friends are never sure that he actually did mean what he said or if that innuendo was a pure coincidence. 

He just smiles smugly to himself

Also final addition: he knows your weak spots and he plays witit. 

Like he knows you're quite sensitive so he purposefully places the coffee grounds on the top shelf to see you struggle, have you jump around to see it jiggle, watch your shirt lift up and inevitably come to your help by grabbing said item from behind, basically squeezing you between him and the counter, pressing his dick into your ass, knowing damn well that’s enough to have you blush and moan.

But as always, you just think to yourself that he's so nice to help you, and you're so sensitive for reacting to a simple thing. 

ꕥ

Karasu:

let’s not forget about this pretty boy cause i feel we ALL know he can be so pervy…

To me, this boy is always, ALWAYS touching you 

He alwaysss has a hand on you like at all times TT

Saying hello ? Good morning kiss

He tries to find you in public ? When he sees you he’s gonna make himself known by laying a hand on your hip

He won a match ? You know already he’ll grab your ass when he finds you. 

He does not care about decency or whatever that social construct is: 

If he wants to feel you up, he will. 

Don’t care if his teammates are taunting him, if your friends are here, if a camera is filming

He likes the feeling of your skin on his, knowing you’re real cause he can feel it, feel the friction and the heat 

And he also likes knowing you’ll always be available for him, lending him a kiss whenever he asks for one

He should know by now you're never gonna say no, cause you love him so much, but he’s always looking to be reassured that you are his. 

So with Karasu, it does not stop at hand holding when you're going out

More like, hand holding, stroking your ass, kissing you passionately then placing his hand on your chin, smiling and walking again like normal until five meters further he wants to feel your waist. 

Mind you you tried to tell him this was not socially okay, being so explicit on PDA. His answer ?

Says who ? It’s not like people don't know where to be together. I dont think I'm breaking news to them that we get physical if I kiss you in public. 

“Babe, this is not about the kiss on my cheeks in public. I’m talking about you stretching my shirt collar to look at my cleavage while you’re on half time and a whole literal stadium is looking at you”. 

“What, you want to keep it a secret that I smack you ass naked when I win ?” “Well yeah that's kinda exactly what i'm saying” “Useless to bother hiding, they must know already” 

BUT THEY KNOW CAUSE HE WON’T STOP BEING SO HIGH KEY IN PUBLIC. 

So yeah when I say he’s a perv I mean he won’t bother to wait till behind closed doors. He will whisper in your hearts while grabbing your waist from behind no matter if you are in the middle of ordering coffee. 

At least you’re sue he loves you and won’t mind letting others know

ꕥ

A/N: yayyy this came up to me as i was falling asleep, Isagi staring relentlessly as your ass the second you turn around and then thought yeah he'd defo not be the only pervy bf in bllk. Hope u like it~~ still have many more things to write.

[fanged-fanfics]

Can I request a platonic weasel (creature commandos) x reader where weasel, for one reason or another, gets really attached to the reader. Maybe here, reader is a witch that’s in jail with him and the others for killing a bunch of bad rich people and was forced to join the creature commando squad

☆ Following Like A Lost Dog — Weasel & Witch!GN Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff, Platonic || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 At first, you didn't really think anything of Weasel above what everyone else did. He just seemed like a mangy, likely-rabies-powered monster stuck in there with the rest of you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Over some time, you began to kinda pity the thing. Nobody was ever really pleased to be anywhere near him, he barely seemed conscious of himself, and he was very often completely written off

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Slowly, you got kinder to Weasel. Offering him leftovers of your food, sharing your space, and even occasionally finding ways to engage in games with him. It felt a little strange still, but at least the mutant was appreciating your efforts

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Weasel began looking out for you. He tugs you back when he can sense something dangerous is ahead and brings you back some scraps whenever he fetches food, even getting defensive when someone he doesn't trust gets too close

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You become someone Weasel responds to very well when it comes to telling orders or explaining details. He's still a few fuses short of a fully conscious mind, but he at least tries to listen to you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Fetches anything he can to bring it to you for play, even during missions. Sometimes it's something as harmless as a stick, and other times it's a whole arm or dangerous weapon. Best to keep an eye out whenever he starts wandering too far

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Notices whenever you're in need of emotional support and tends to offer it by placing his head on your lap or atop your shoulder, whimpering in concern for his closest friend

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Very excited to introduce you to his caseworker, and she's very grateful for you helping Weasel feel less outcasted while stuck in penitentiary, as his behavior genuinely began improving a lot after meeting you

[deifyruby]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlittle theorizing timeee~~~

beware, spoilers for i spent 100 days hidden in a secret minecraft base.

(ps ps. i didn't do a post for the other eps, but fuck yeah, FUCK YEah, i called it. the director is sooooo meta. fist up in the air moment.)

the moment the director involves themselves in the story they wrote, egg stops being meta (mentioning his irl life, literally said he watched spoke's videos when wemmbu asked him if he knew spoke) and starts taking uu seriously (literally told someone to chill because minecraft empires were Not That Serious, famous words thirty minutes before taking a minecraft empire Very Seriously), and spoke is acting out of character + there's clearly missing story between s1finale and s2e1. do you reckon the director is finally stepping up, busy with hunting down parrot and orchestrating tax duo's gradual descend, so they don't have enough time to fill in spoke's blank spots? couldn't bother to write anything abt minute and mape? because, a director only has two hands. godly being or not, i assume the director has a human-like form. maybe someone like cc parrot. :)

since we're going down this rabbit hole, do the mcs have protagonist halos? is it a halo granted to them by the director? then, can they lose it? when they lose it, will they stop uploading, because they are no longer center piece? also, i believe s2 is gonna heavily revolve around taking away the mcs' support network. isolating them from their best friends (wifies, eggchan and mape. i had a feeling when they killed off wifies, but egg suddenly doing a 180° just furthered my suspicions. and today we Clearly saw, mapicc and minute were not even Mentioned or referenced).

on that line of thought. the video was so out of character and Not unstable universe like at all, that when spoke actually brought up s1 after being weirdly vague about squiddo and ash as if he hadn't known them more closely than he was acting like, that it actually broke my immersion a little bit? so not immersive i got immersed in the not-immersiveness. 😭

side note, i don't have the ss but squidswag kiss in uu i know that's right... i knowww ash did that on purpose, and the way squiddo went quiet. 😭🫵🏻 why are We third wheeling. why is Spoke third wheeling rn.

also we saw a new side to ash today. :) he's a retired guy who just wants to live in his bunker with squiddo. i can respect that, to the point i felt... kinda bad for ash! crazy isn't it? since when do i, the viewer, feel bad for ash and (mildly) upset at spoke? after the stunts ash pulled? whatever spoke did may lowkey be his karma ngl. :crying:

by the way... ash is changed now that he is no longer the director's pawn. does this mean uu characters were already existing, not entirely the director's creation; just being influenced by the director? but when the director is no longer puppeteering their strings, they are now perhaps free to be the person they always were. maybe ash liked squiddo because squiddo was not a big character in the director's plot, so they saw through the role that was put upon him by the director.

not to cleanse ash of his sins, i think it'd be interesting if the director actually chose the puppets for their play based on pre-existing ambitions and traits. would make ash still a greedy manipulator, but maybe he wouldn't make a whole ass mafia?

hey. doesn't this whole yap remind you about someone else? egg, perhaps? what if the director got egg. influencing him, taking away the bits from egg that inconvenienced his plans. the fact that egg was so meta was inconvenient, wasn't it? egg may just be the closest to busting your whole play. without egg, wemmbu always seems to crack less jokes. to take the situation more seriously. without egg around, wemmbu is less likely to break the fourth wall; to even realize it's there in the first place.

wowieee i went a bit crazy yapping my head off, but hey. we'll see how far fetched this was. :P

you 🫵🏻 will not convince me that spoke s2e1 isn't intentionally edited that way. it feels meta in a weird way. if i can care enough i'll rewatch it and hopefully come out with a theory about why it's this way.

[mysumeow]

──YANDERE ACE DRABBLE

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Reader is referred to with gendered terms like girl. Yandere Ace. ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: Headmage Crowley assures reader he found a way back home. Ace attempts to impede it. ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 984 ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: Ace as a yandere is a thought that greatly amuses me. He's a silly mix between a tsun and a yandere which is kinda ironic within inself but I find the idea fun. I had this halfway written and today i decided to revisit it to finish it haha. I'm trying to finish the many drabbles I've abandoned D:

⸝⸝⸝

Ace holds on to his claim of him liking you only as a friend (... sort of) as if his life depended on it. Even if he sabotages any means of your escape from Twisted Wonderland.

First, he tries to make you doubt Crowley’s veracity.

“The headmage told you that? The headmage?” He repeated it slowly. “You’re trusting that guy after everything he has put you through?”

Headmage Crowley was, with little room for argument, not the most trustworthy person on this land. Yes, he has his instances of being helpful, but you can count the number of said instances on your fingers.

That’s why Ace’s concern didn’t seem too far-fetched to you.

“I could at least try it.” However, you were dreaming of returning home from the first time you sat foot in this place. You couldn’t just give up like that.

“What if it fails and it kills you?”

The weight with which he blurted those words took you off guard—he’d said them with absolute conviction.

“Are you... perhaps worried about me?”

“You’re a naïve, magicless girl who knows nothing of this world. I’m simply looking out for you,” he was quick to retort, as if offended by your conclusion. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“Aw, you’re worried about me,” you teased him. “You’re such a good friend, Ace.” you reached out to pinch his cheek.

“I’m not,” he swatted your hand away, both tips of his ears and cheeks growing red. “Geez, you can be annoying sometimes.”

Used to his attitude, you just chuckled at his response. You couldn’t help but wonder why everyone in this stupid college was at this level of emotional constipation. And if not everyone, a good portion of the student body wasn’t an exception.

Ace racked his brain trying to convince you to stay. He couldn’t waltz into the Magic Mirror’s chambers like he owned the place and destroy it, nor could he threaten the headmage. All he had left was to convince you not to go back to your world. Or implant fear into the fatal what-ifs of the mirror malfunctioning. Deceive you.

His words were half truths. Yes, there were a couple of cases of the mirror sending living beings into another dimension, but they were presumably dead since the subjects never reported back, nor did they send any signal of making it out alive.

But it was a long, long time ago. Maybe millennia. Since then, the arts of magic have strengthened and perfected, minimizing the margin of error. It was plausible for the headmage to have found an irrefutable way back to your universe.

A fact Ace didn’t like one bit. To the point he sneaked into Professor Trein’s office and seized one of those old dust-covered books that archived many accidents that happened because of the mirror.

Sleepovers at Ramshackle happen often enough for Riddle to not even bat an eye when Ace must report to him that he’s going to spend the night over there.

“Oh, do come back with this homework done, Trappola,” Riddle dropped the pile of textbooks on Ace’s awaiting palms. Of course, much to Ace’s dismay. “I’ll personally revise it and do corrections if needed. Am I not such a great housewarden?”

Ace had a couple of thoughts that would differ from that claim, but he nodded along, not fond of the idea of getting collared.

The next step of his plan consisted of roping Deuce into lying to you as well. It wouldn’t be easy, given that he tended to be more sincere (in comparison to himself)... However, no matter how much Deuce attempted to be a goody two shoes, the fact that the news of you going back home would devastate him increased the chances of it being easier to convince him.

Ace surmised such, at least.

“Leaving? The headmage actually found a way to…?” Deuce trailed off, an evident ache within his chest. After some contemplation, Deuce accepted the inevitable. Deep down, he knew the day would arrive. Eventually. Although he’d hoped for it to be later. “I-I’m glad about it! I really am. You know how important of a deal that is.” To go back to where you belong and see your loved ones…

“That’s not the point, Deuce.”

“Then which is it?”

“The problem is that you both are blindly trusting that headmage’s word. Everybody knows how unreliable he can be. Don’t you think so?”

Deuce opened his mouth to refute; yet the longer he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with any good argument.

“Well, Crowley can be reliable. Sometimes.”

Ace’s lack of conviction was evident in his deadpan expression.

“Are we talking about the same guy? The one who abandons us to our own devices during hardships? The one who made the prefect deal with these past overblots? A magicless student, at that.”

“Okay, fine. I get it. You’ve got a good point there. What should we do, then?”

“We’ve got to convince the prefect to not head into the mirror. I borrowed a book. It contains logs of past attempts to send people back through it. None of them successful.”

Deuce eyed the book. “Those happened a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but the prefect doesn’t need to know that detail, duh!” Ace rolled his eyes.

“Ace—” Deuce caught the meaning behind Ace’s words, and, as much as he wished for your friendship to not come to an end, there was a voice nagging him at the back of his mind. “We can’t do that.”

“Don’t be a wimp about it.”

Deuce clenched his fist. “Hey!”

“And we’re not doing this for ourselves—we’re doing this for the safety of our prefect.”

Despite a certain sense of doubt pestering him, that was enough convincing for Deuce. This wasn’t for himself or for Ace. It was for you.

Yes, that’s the sole reason. He assured himself.

[cultofasparagus]

I have a new delusional theory I would like you guys to indulge in:

Listen, listen Felix x Kagami was dropped on us with no warning too so this isn't too far fetched

Anytime there is a group shot in the intro almost all of the canon couples are together (except for alya and nino but that's so they can stand next to their respective best friends) and all the singles people are posed alone except...

Very consistent wouldn't you say...

I know that's kinda far FETCHed but I have other reasons. Both Zoe and Sabrina are pretty heavily featured in the trailers meaning they will probably both get some kind of character arc the season

Sabrina just lost Chloe who was her only friend. If you remember in the original evillustrator episode Sabrina immediately starts trying to treat Marinette like a replacement Chloe the moment they are separated. I imagine even though she's free from Chloe, she's still going to try and find a replacement for her since she doesn't really know any other way to be friends with someone. What better person to replace Chloe than her sister with rhyming name. Obviously Zoe would never treat Sabrina like her sister, but they may end up becoming at least friends. Maybe even more if I'm not being fully delusional about the group shots. Side note on the trailer vs group shot: notice how like Zoe, Sabrina will also change her hair after going through some type of arc? (Zoe does it for her?)

Anyway thank for for coming to my conspiracy TED talk, I know there's not a lot of evidence and this is age really bad, but trust.

[blueorchid1707]

Ok so someone asked to see my very long list of httyd stuff that I noticed so here you go:

1 . Hiccups autistic traits (pretty sure one of the writers mentioned this too)

2 . Soick, Valka and Hiccup (the bridge between vikings and dragons)

3 . Drago and the bewilderbeast both losing a 'limb' (similar to hiccup and toothless)

4 . Eret in Drago's camp (trying to tell Astrid to stop talking)

5 . Valka's story/flashback and 'toothless comes back' - same musical themes

6 . Different types of fire from different dragon species

7 . Hiccup's dragon blade (trying to seem more 'dragon like')

8 . Stoick and Hiccup relationship development from movie 1 to movie 2

9 . Terrible terrors and book toothless being very similar

10 . Dragons can be controlled through sound (the red death, valka's staff, Drago's bewilderbeast, Drago's staff + shouting)

11 . Hiccup and Viggo competing in a sort of 'battle of intelligence'

12 . Toothless' shot limit in his 'alpha mode' increasing

13 . 'where no one goes' - Toothless flying through smoke made by plasma blasts (invisibility in Httyd 3- natural instincts maybe?)

14 . Hiccup gaining confidence as a leader and friend

15 . Hiccups first and last words to his father being the same

16 . Valka talking about Hiccup's birth at Stocks funeral (motherly instincts probably?)

17 . Toothless watching the birds (forbidden friendship) reference to the deleted scene in thw

18 . "this is berk" shows all music themes (all except toothless' - adds to the mystery of his species)

19 . Hiccup theming inventions after Toothless

20 . Valka subduing Toothless effortlessly

21 . Parallels (Toothless catching Hiccup (httyd 1) Hiccup catching toothless (httyd 2), both falling separately (httyd 3)

22 . Valkas reflection in the the axe after meeting Cloudjumper ("his soul reflected my own")

23 . Valka being unused to human touch after so long

24 . Hiccup is an artist (I LOVE HIM 😭❤️)

25 . Toothless protecting Hiccup from Valka

26 . Valka's dragon like movements

27 . Stoick mentioning Valka after Hiccup meets her in a completely different setting

28 . The dragons look like their riders (sort of)

29 . Hiccup mimicking Toothless

30 . Toothless and Hiccup in sync a lot

31 . Hiccup could be favoured by the Gods?? ( way too many close calls with death) (Slightly far fetched ik)

32 . Hiccup never necessarily 'hated' dragons?

33 . Hiccup and Toothless never being apart (rtte, never really mentioned separately)

34 . "Dragon racing" and "see you tomorrow" (same themes referencing adjusting to dragons)

35 . Valka's bewilderbeast and Drago's bewilderbeast (Valka's has a more natural tusk shape, Drago's are more controlled and almost man made looking)

36 . Valka uses a staff rather than a sharp weapon (trying not to seem as a threat)

37 . Hiccup loses his left leg, Toothless loses his left tailfin (helping each other to adapt)

38 . Hiccup has a comfort item? (The dragon plush Valka made him)

39 . Valka's physical affection towards Hiccup (deprived of human touch)

40 . Valka and Stoick talking about their shared interests with Hiccup (well, at least trying to)

41 . Astrid's protective nature towards Hiccup (I love this)

42 . Foreshadowing Stocks death ("I thought I'd have to die before I could do that dance again")

43 . Astrid mentions that Stoick is alive - Drago doesn't notice (or he appears not to)

44 . Stoick and Gobber are almost always seen together

45 . Valka stands separate from Hiccup, Stoick and Gobber when they find her (Valka leaving the vikings, the others staying)

46 . Astrid - the perfect balance of ferocity and femininity (hell yeah)

47 . Hiccup feels that he has to lead like his father (this is kinda explicitly stated tho)

48 . Hiccup is the perfect balance of his mother and father

49 . Astrid chooses to ride with fishlegs rather than snotlout or the twins (The battle with Drago) (I don't blame her tbh)

50 . Valka's detestation about losing her husband and almost losing her son in one day

51 . Hiccup is incredibly intelligent and open minded

52 . Drago doesn't necessarily seek out physical battles (rtte - krogan and Johann doing it for him)

53 . The wild dragons are more easily influenced and controlled by dragos bewilderbeast

54 . Stoick and Valka's love ballad appears in multiple pieces where they're together (and stoicks funeral)

55 . Hiccup overestimates himself (I can't remember what this means now that I'm going back through this but I'm just gonna trust that my past self knew what she was talking about)

56 . Hiccup and Viggo are basically mirrors of eachother (games of intelligence and strategy, polar opposites of each other)

57 . Toothless spreads his wings to appear more intimidating to enemies (similar to real animals instincts)

58 . Toothless was probably pushed to his limit by Drago without his tail being properly controlled

59 . Hiccup is only ever seen with flammable weapons in httyd 2? (the dragon blade, the arrow for his father boat)

60 . Stoick just doesn't understand Hiccup, but he still would protect him with his life (httyd 1) (kinda the whole point of their relationship in movie 1, idk why I wrote this down)

61 . Circular narrative - httyd 2 (starting and ending with dragon racing)

62 . Hiccup has one of his dragon fins when he is crowned as chief symbolising his dragon soul? (The fin on the back of the flight suit)

63 . Hiccup looks very anxious when he's crowned as cheif

64 . Stoick and Valka share different stories from different point of view about dragons

65 . Hiccup yells when he's angry (showed multiple times) (love this 😭❤️)

66 . Foreshadowing "don't worry bud, I won't let anything happen to you" (spoiler alert: he let something happen literally like 2 minutes later)

Anyway yeah this mostly just word vomit so it doesn't make that much sense. I could also probably add more bc this is mostly just httyd 2 stuff