#not them being almost in the same positions
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Class is in session everybody:
1 selective reading of history
"act of aggression against Anglo traditions" recognises that the institution of Parliament is inherently European, but ignores that it was established over top, through war, of existing governments in this country.
2 setting terms for the argument
"this isn't a cultural difference issue, it's a moral one" no further argument about why their position is morally right. Same language as David "let's just have a debate" Seymour. They're trying to pick their battleground, because they lose when it's about history or facts.
3 lying
"remove their racial privileges" is a lot different to "remove their contractual rights" (words changed to make it clear). If your boss changes your contract without asking you and cut your pay, you'd be pissed. That's one of the things happening here. It's a lie to say it's about "equality" and it's a lie to say they mean the same thing.
4 fascism
"lesser power can't dictate to the stronger one" our whole democratic system is based on putting checks and balances on the strongest power. It's why the opposition exists in parliament. Thinking that this is "just politics" is admitting you'd be fine becoming a dictatorship.
5 "I'm a racist"
Normally, it's a lot less blatant than this, and tries to mask itself with convoluted logic. But this is the point where much of everything else said ceases to matter, because it reveals that they truly believe that racism is the way the world should work. Everything else is just an attempt to lessen how vile their worldview is.
6 snowflake
Funny how quickly revealing oneself to be a racist is followed by being butthurt at getting called names. Almost as if they know name-calling hurts, and the reason they do it to others is to hurt them.
7 pointless arguing
Also normally not said so clearly. Anything said here won't be listed to by them. So none of this is for them, but for anyone else coming past this.
This is what racists sound like. This is amateur work that's easy to see through, but others are a lot better at it. Racists like this want to be the ones to define the status quo, be the ones who sound reasonable and content while everyone else is screaming.
So don't let them set the terms. Name them for what they are. Call racists out so their voice isn't the only one. Help others to see through them. Block them, shun them, don't let racist's horriblness destroy your hope.
this is actually so fucking disgusting especially coming from the official ACT account.
For those who don't know there is a new bill that has been proposed in NZ that will have significant negative impact on māori in this country. For more info on the bill and jts potential impacts read .
This specific post that Seymour made is referencing a conference that was being about this bill where, during her turn to speak, Hana Rawhiti began a haka which was then joined in on by many of the other people in attendance. David Seymour, one of the main proponents of this bill then posted that on his party's official Instagram page trying to paint Hana as an uncivilized thug. This is a common tactic for racists and seeing an acting member of parliament openly say something like this makes me feel genuinely sick to my stomach.
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⟡ cw: BACKSHOTSSSSS!!! (daddy) chris is very degrade-y, he squishes the reader's face in his big sexy hand, 2 lil cheek slaps, dumbification, crying, drooling, no gendered pronouns but he calls the reader his good girl and i know all of you desire to be chris's good girl... freaks! /j oh yeah and he says slut once sorry!
⟡ a/n: reposting this one first because its a personal fav <3. as always, mdni, and thank you for reading! any & all feedback is welcome. :*
husband!chris, ever so soft, attentive, and doting.
when describing him outside of an intimate setting the only thing you can ever talk about with your girls is how pure and consuming his love is for you. it's a relationship akin to one that feels like sunbathing in a beautiful, massive garden and being hand-fed grapes. but when he's got you in a position so vulnerable, like now, with your wrists clasped together behind your back in his hold, and he's so deep in your guts you feel like you're going to die in his arms, his hot and heavy cock abusing that sweet spot in your messy cunt with no restraint — gentleness is far from his demeanor.
you've been at it for hours. so much so your knees have indented it's place in the mattress, and his brutal pace is making it no better. you're sure you've got carpet burn at this point. your weak sobbing and incoherent wails begin sounding winded, and you struggle to gather air into your chest but he knocks the breath right out of your lungs almost immediately after every gasp you take. “fucking slut.” he sneers. he's in his zone. a usually hidden place chris only goes on special occasions you're in bed with him.
then he utters something. it's so muffled you can only feel the vibration of what he says and you barely make out any syllables.
“ — be the good girl you know you are and moan my name.” you miss the first half of his sentence again, completely zoned out and held prisoner to his thick cock in your cunt. struggling to speak, stammering over weak little whimpers, you manage to get out a small “ch — chris —,” but that's not what he's looking for you to call him.
he grips your cheeks in his palm, squishing them together and suddenly he's tilting your head back to force you to make eye contact. well, if you could even call it that; you can hardly see him through your blurry wet eyes. his thrusts slow and he's pressing all the way inside with a harsh jerk of his hips, balls pressed tightly against your throbbing clit, and you cant help but whine again, body trembling like a leaf. his gaze is pointed and you feel pinned to him, chris’s expression mimicking a scowl he's so focused on getting a response from you. “y’fucking stupid? that's not my name.”
your head is swimming, drool slipping down your chin and you babble wordlessly like some brain-dead toy, hips gyrating pathetically as you're trying your damnedest to get him to just move again.
“stop fucking squirming and listen.” he hisses, using that same palm that's currently holding your face in place, and tapping your cheek twice. enough to get you to focus, but not enough to hurt. he gives you a second sharp thrust as punishment, grip returning to your face. his hold on your cheeks are so tight, it's puckering your cute little lips. “i won't ask you again.”
“d-daddy!” you squeal, and a cocky grin takes it's place on his flushed face, his hips picking up speed.
atta-girl.
#𐔌 mimiwriting!#stray kids smut#skz smut#bang chan smut#bangchan smut#bang chan x reader#bangchan x reader
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Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights
Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader
Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.
She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.
Word Count: 11k
Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes
|Next
The one with the late night bookstore
If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.
Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.
He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.
The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.
Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.
“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”
He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”
“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.
“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.
He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.
Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.
He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.
-
Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.
There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.
You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.
You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”
You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.
You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.
Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.
It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.
You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.
“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.
“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.
Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature. She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.
Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.
He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.
He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.
“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.
You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.
“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.
It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.
You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.
“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”
Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.
“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.
“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.
You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.
Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.
“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.
Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.
You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”
Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.
You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.
“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.
The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.
You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.
“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.
You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.
Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.
“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.
You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.
“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.
You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.
“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.
You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.
The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.
“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.
The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.
Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.
She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.
Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.
“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.
You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”
The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”
Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.
He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.
Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”
You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”
Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.
If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.
“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.
“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”
Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”
He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.
The one about Halloween
You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.
There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.
To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.
You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.
“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.
“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.
You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.
“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.
Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.
“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.
You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.
Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.
He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.
-
“Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.
“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.
You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”
Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.
You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.
“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.
Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.
Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.
Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.
You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.
-
You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.
“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.
Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.
“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.
The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.
“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”
You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”
Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”
He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.
“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.
Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”
Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.
You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.
You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.
“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.
Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.
“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”
You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.
Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”
You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”
“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.
It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.
“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.
“But you love it?” Spencer asked.
You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”
You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.
“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.
“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.
Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.
You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.
-
Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.
Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.
It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.
There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.
Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.
“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.
“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.
For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.
For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.
After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.
“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.
Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.
“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.
He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.
You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.
After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.
“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.
“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.
“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.
Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”
“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.
He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.
“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.
You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”
He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.
“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.
Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.
“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.
You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.
You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.
When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.
You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.
“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.
“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.
You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”
“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.
“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.
“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.
“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”
Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”
You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”
Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.
“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”
“South?” he asked.
You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.
Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”
You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.
Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.
Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.
“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.
You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.
Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”
Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.
“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.
“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.
Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.
The one after Haley’s funeral
You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.
You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.
You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.
You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.
You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.
His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.
“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”
Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.
“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.
The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.
Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.
There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer’s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.
You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.
He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.
“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.
Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”
He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.
That love had cost him Haley’s life.
“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”
Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.
You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.
He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.
“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.
You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.
Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.
“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.
He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.
You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.
“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.
“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.
Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.
“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.
“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.
“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.
You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.
You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.
You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.
You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.
Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.
Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.
“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.
Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.
You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”
You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.
Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.
You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”
“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.
“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.
Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.
“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.
He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.
You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.
“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.
Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.
“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”
“Someday.” you reaffirm.
The one about family
Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.
One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.
What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?
The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.
Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.
When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.
Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.
You look like a zombie, barely functioning.
You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.
Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.
“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.
Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.
Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.
“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.
You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.
Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends’ private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.
You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.
“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.
You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.
You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.
You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.
“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.
“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.
You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.
“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.
You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.
“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.
“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.
“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.
“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.
Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.
Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.
You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”
Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”
You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.
You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.
“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.
“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.
“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.
Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.
“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.
“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.
“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.
You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”
You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.
Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”
You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.
-
It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.
There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.
What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.
“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.
You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.
“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”
You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.
Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”
Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.
“Birdie-”
“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.
“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.
She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”
You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.
“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.
Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.
You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.
“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.
You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.
You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.
Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.
“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.
“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.
“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.
You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.
“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.
You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”
You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.
Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.
“This is so kind thank you.”
Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.
Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.
You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.
“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”
You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”
Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.
“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.
Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott
Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.
Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.
You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.
Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.
You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.
When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.
Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.
You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”
You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, “Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.
Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”
“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.
Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.
You shine bright like a star, like the sun.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#x reader
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my skin on your skin, again and again
lando norris x franco colapinto
summary: lando skips the gp celebration, and franco joins him to offer comfort. their mutual attraction surfaces, leading to a night of vulnerability and passion.
warnings: explicit content
word count: 1426
a/n: this work was inspired by the results of the brazilian gp but it took me a while to finish it (im sorry ig), and people on twt keep shipping them so here it is another story :) english is not my first lenguage
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It was Sunday night, and Max and the other drivers went out to celebrate after the race, everyone except Lando. He just wasn’t in the mood. Things hadn’t gone the way he wanted on the track, and even though some of it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t shake the frustration.
Meanwhile, Franco wasn’t feeling as low as Lando, but he’d had a rough race too. He didn’t feel like mingling with the others at the party, so he chose to stay back in his hotel room instead.
Franco knew Lando had decided to stay behind, and he thought he might be able to cheer him up. To be honest, Franco had felt a spark of attraction ever since he had first met Lando. He liked the way Lando was so funny and kind, always the first to include him in every conversation and every plan the others made. He liked Lando.
But he wasn’t sure if Lando might feel the same way—or even if he’d feel something for another guy. Franco had heard rumors about Lando dating that girl, Magui or whatever her name was, and that only made him more insecure about how he felt. But he decided to ignore his doubts, take advantage of the small boost of confidence he was feeling, and go knock on Lando’s hotel door.
Lando opened the door after a while. His curls were wet, and he had a big old shirt that clearly didn't fit.
“Hello” Franco greeted, his boost of confidence beginning to fade.
“I thought you went with the rest”
Franco denied “I didn't really want to go out”
Lando invited him in, his room was a bit messy and a bottle of wine on the table.
“Want a drink?”
The youngest nodded, just because he didn't feel like going out didn't mean he didn't want to drink.
“How did you know I was here?” Lando asked
“I saw you a little depressed, I assumed you weren't in the mood to go out”
Lando nodded, agreeing.
“Can I ask what has you like this?”
“The race didn't go as I wanted”
Franco was genuinely mesmerized watching Lando vent to him, he has always been positive and cheerful attitude, he had never seen him like that.
And deep down it scared him how much he liked being able to be there to cheer him up.
“What can I do to make you feel better?”
Lando looked at him with a raised eyebrow and raised the wine glass to his lips. "You can’t do much."
Franco clicked his tongue. “Come on, ask me anything”
Lando analyzed the situation. He had Franco in front of him, on his bed, trying to cheer him up and he had just told him that he could ask him for anything he wanted. And Lando certainly didn't feel like asking for what his mind wanted.
“Is what you want so difficult?” The youngest smirked, a playful glint in his eyes as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Lando’s breath hitched, feeling as though the moment might just undo him.
And at that moment he didn't mind too much to leave the almost empty cup on the bed and jump on Franco to join their lips.
Franco didn't hesitate a second to give it back, if Lando regretted it at least he would be left with the experience.
But it wasn't like that, Lando didn't pull away, in fact he began to move his lips deepening the kiss, and Franco was clearly not indifferent, opening his mouth to give himself more access.
The bed had already several red stains due to the wine, but none of them cared, not when Lando was under Franco trying to pull him closer by the hair.
Franco was the first to break away, to try to catch his breath and get an explanation for what was happening. He looked directly into Lando's eyes, his pupils were so dilated that it was hard to distinguish their color.
“What's wrong?” Lando asked between gasps
“What are we doing?”
The curly-haired man's brow furrowed slowly. “Don’t you like it?”
“It's not that, I just don't understand why we're doing this”
“Cause I like you and I can tell that you like me too” Lando said, frustrated by the lack of action.
Franco sighed, relaxing a little, not too much, he couldn't when Lando was completely at his disposal with his messy curls and his lips and cheeks completely red.
He didn't think too much and joined Lando again in a battle for who had control between their mouths, he knew he wouldn't regret it. And if Lando for some reason did, the memory would be eternally in his mind as one of the best moments of his life.
Franco’s hands roamed over Lando’s chest, his fingers brushing against the smooth skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his touch. Lando’s breath hitched when Franco’s lips found his neck again, kissing along the sensitive skin just below his jawline. A low moan escaped Lando as he tilted his head back, giving Franco better access, urging him to continue.
The tension between them was palpable, both of them needing more. Franco’s hands moved lower, skimming down Lando’s sides, pulling at the waistband of his pants. Lando’s breath caught, his body instinctively arching toward him, as he pulled Franco back into another deep kiss.
Lando broke the kiss, gasping for air, his hands pulling at Franco’s shirt, desperate to feel skin on skin. Franco didn’t waste any time, quickly stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. Lando’s hands roamed over his chest, tracing the muscles he had only imagined touching. They shared a heated, hungry kiss, their mouths moving together as if they couldn’t get enough of each other.
Lando’s hands gripped Franco’s shoulders, pulling him down onto the bed, the sheets tangled beneath them. Lando’s legs wrapped around Franco’s waist, pulling him closer, grinding against him. Franco groaned, his body responding instantly, the friction between them driving him wild.
With a quiet growl, Franco moved lower, his lips trailing down Lando’s chest, kissing along the line of his collarbone, his breath hot against Lando’s skin. Lando shivered, his hands pushing at Franco’s hair, urging him to continue. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Franco kissed his way down, finally reaching Lando’s stomach, pausing for a moment to glance up at him, his eyes dark with desire.
“You okay?” Franco murmured, his voice low and rough.
Lando nodded, his breath ragged. “More than okay.”
Franco didn’t waste a second. His lips found the sensitive skin of Lando’s lower abdomen, and Lando couldn’t help but gasp. His body tensed in response, his hands fisting the sheets, his mind buzzing with the intensity of the moment.
Franco’s hands continued to explore, pushing aside the final barriers between them, his touch demanding and precise. Lando’s head fell back into the pillows, his breath coming faster, louder as he lost himself in the sensations coursing through him. Every touch, every kiss, sent waves of heat through his body, and all he could do was moan, letting Franco guide him.
As the intensity grew, their bodies moved together in perfect synchrony, each movement as a dance of desire. Lando’s moans filled the room, punctuated by Franco’s heavy movements, the sound of their connection echoing between them. They were both completely consumed, the rest of the world forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.
Eventually, the pace slowed, their movements becoming more languid, more intimate. Franco’s lips returned to Lando’s, this time soft and tender, as though savoring the closeness between them. Lando kissed him back just as gently, his hands running through Franco’s hair, pulling him closer.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their chests heaving as they gazed at each other. The tension had eased, replaced by a soft, quiet intimacy that wrapped around them like a blanket.
Lando smiled, his fingers tracing the line of Franco’s jaw. “That was… incredible.”
Franco chuckled, his eyes softening.
They lay together in silence for a while. Lando’s head rested on Franco’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and Franco’s arm wrapped around Lando, pulling him closer.
It was the kind of quiet moment that made everything else feel insignificant. Just two people, tangled up in each other, finding a kind of peace that neither of them had expected. It wasn’t about the race, or the pressure, or the world outside. It was just them, and that was enough.
#f1#lando norris#zayn malik#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto fanfic#lando norris smut#lando imagine#lando x reader#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto#formula 1#formula one#brazilian gp 2024#f1 one shot#f1 fanfic#f1 fic
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https://www.tumblr.com/angelloverambles/764895328406274048/alphanikto-who-feels-like-a-failure-as-an-alpha?source=share I love this idea!! I'm just imagining that the 2 of them for some mission have to stay in a very hot safe house, reader taking first watch. When they switch watches Nikto has to sit there watching as reader all but rubs hersellf onto the bedding he just used to get more of his scent onto her in her sleep
I am so sorry for how long this took. I love forced proximity, I hope I do this justice.
Alpha!Nikto hates when a space is too warm. Russia is cold, its how he grew up, a preference. It doesn't help that alphas tend to run warmer than the other dynamics.
That doesn't mean the hot is all that bad. Underneath his gear, he sweats almost an annoying amount. it feels normal to be able to have a scent again, even as faint as it is. After a simple recon mission in Urzikstan, Nikto and you stumble into a safehouse. Evac can't get a helo in without being noticed for at least the night. Nikto and you fight over who takes first watch, but he truly cannot tell you no.
Nikto gets even warmer as he sleeps, wrapped up in a shitty blanket left in the house. His scent seeps into the sheets, the blanket, Hell even the mattress takes that rich scent. He can only rest for a few hours before the voices in his head wake him once more. He still waits for another half an hour before he comes to take over watch, silent in the trade of positions.
His scent is so rich in the next room, almost a startling amount. Enveloping you in his warm, fiery scent. It helps relax you into a nice, peaceful sleep. Nikto can't help but to come check on you. Only to find you snuggled up in the same blanket, rubbing your face into the same pillow, inhaling him, scenting yourself full of him. It is an addicting sight for him to see. Almost ridiculously hard for him to not barge into the room just so he can give you his scent himself.
By the time Evac arrives, everyone can guess why you smell different. No one tries to get an explanation. In fact, it almost seems like no one approaches you for a few days. Your newfound shadow is making sure no one can ruin his claim on you, but you don't mind. Do you?
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honestly thinking about the sonadow twitter takeover and how the plummeting to earth thing very much affected Sonic a lot more than it affected Shadow. like in a previous takeover Shadow even made it a positive memory about Sonic trying to save him.
Meanwhile in Prime, Sonic has a moment of saving Shadow from falling into the void that's very reminiscent of that other fall (in the same way Prime has a lot of motivations and references that only make sense from a fandom insider perspective).
Sonic also gets repeatedly tilted, loud and anxious, (which I'm pinning more on RCS's/whatever writer's sense of humor, as is all the voice acting gags) and is coping badly any time Shadow comes out ahead. I think Sonic's insistence on his ability to grow chest fur is as big a Cope as floaties=fashion statement.
But really, Sonic's repeat date suggestions and Shadow's own descriptions of Sonic's behavior (dragging out their races, etc "just to annoy me") reads, whether romantically or platonically, that Sonic just really wants to spend time with Shadow.
He feels he needs to justify it, though, insisting that he and Shadow have something other than occasionally getting in each other's way ("two sides of the same coin") (friendly competition being "why you keep me around-" seemed like odd wording to me).
Needing to make it meaningful, because that's what Shadow wants out of a relationship- Shadow /says/ he dislikes Sonic for being frivolous and inauthentic, that (for instance) his hugs don't mean anything, and that he doesn't want "(Sonic's) kind of hug."
Sonic really wants to spend time with Shadow because he's also intimately aware that that time is limited. Either Shadow's patience (and/or social battery) is limited and he's liable to make a batman exit if he doesn't want to be somewhere (not that we've ever seen Shadow do this in canon, he seems to awkwardly/quietly hang around as if he doesn't realize he can just hit the bricks (or he likes being there and has no idea how to express it re: smiling at Big the Cat) ), Or Sonic and Shadow will get caught up in their own lives again and not see each other until Fate Deigns to Allow Them to Cross Paths Once More.
And Sonic misses him.
(This ties in with my Sonic Frontiers is the Saddest Game Ever posting from a while back, too. Sonic is lonely AF and Needs Other People to Talk To or he'll start talking to the walls and robots, and Shadow will almost always either talk back or groan in exasperation, which is as good a reaction as any.)
All this, plus Sonic's opinion flip-flops (shopping with Amy vs shopping with Shadow, opinion on Orbot) could be either (Sonadow Optimist) Sonic is Down Bad and not even conscious of his mirroring Shadow/trying to appeal to Shadow, or (Sonadow/overall Pessimist) Sonic trying to appeal to the Most Popular Character Right Now and getting increasingly desperate as he is rebuffed.
A few of these Twitter Takeovers have had moments of Sonic in particular getting thrown off and not really able to recover. (which makes me question what the writing is like, if there's any at all and these VA's aren't just riffing on an outline. Considering they don't talk over each other constantly, there must be something like a script, but it also does occasionally feel like a bad roleplay (and I've been a bad roleplayer).) It leads to a Something Is Wrong feeling in the "We're doing this for fun" question-answering joke show. Sonic needs therapy. (We all need therapy.)
Meanwhile, Shadow really is pulling out all the grunts, groans, and whines with Sonic that, if scripted, would be egregious as hell to read or write. He doesn't make these noises in the games (or shows, really?) mostly because there's a sort of efficiency necessary to production that cuts out that interpersonal realism and partly because it's annoying? Shadow, you're the annoying one?
Unrelated, everybody latched on to Sonic's "Go off, King" but nobody even noticed Shadow's "Deal With It."(sunglasses drop) How soon we forget the sacred texts and/or the deep magic, I guess? (It's an old meme, but it checks out!)
#sonic the hedgehog#shadow the hedgehog#sonadow#I dont accept the twitter takeovers as canon#there is no lore here- just corporate sponsored voice actor engagement content#fandom is about fun though so have fun with it#angst i guess#im working on a thing that started in the mid-00s and every New Thing that happens in the Sonic Franchise is an additional rock in my shoe#that I have to debate whether it fits into the project or not and if it does then am i a sellout for including it#or will I ruin my readers suspension of disbelief if I throw it out#i think too much therefore the thing remains unfinished#longpost#long post
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Imagine...
Trainee! Curly having a crush on the new cute Chubby Receptionist!
Warnings: Fluff, some hints of spice, Flirting, Some insecurities and Crushing
Minors be gone.
A/N: I am writing headcanons for this but I NEED to write this first because I'm getting way to excited for this :)
Trainee! Curly in the progress of becoming a licensed captain for Pony Express. Pony Express doesn't have the greatest history of hiring people and giving them proper training, but if they did get one thing right that is training the next upcoming captains
Trainee! Curly coming into work ready for another day of working out and tests. When he walks up to the desk to clock in with the receptionist, he sees someone he's never seen before
Trainee! Curly almost being love struck once the receptionist turned to look at him, smiling with their chubby cheeks as they ask him for his name and employee ID. He finds himself stuttering over a few of his words until he coughs in his hand to speak
Trainee! Curly stealing quick glances at the receptionist whenever he and the other captain trainees walk by. You being enthralled in your work to notice how he looks at you
Trainee! Curly coming over during his lunch breaks to start conversating with you. Seeing how your work clothes fit your form perfectly, comfortable and laid back yet professional at the same time. But he can also see how tight some of the areas of work clothes is with your body. Especially where your rolls are more prominent, making him get a bit flustered at the sight
Trainee! Curly asks you about how your day is and how it's going, his British accent prominent. A bright smile on his face with a twinkle in his blue eyes as you exclaim how you're loving the new job
Trainee! Curly continuing to visit the cute chubby receptionist, even bringing some food and snacks he brought for his workout. He isn't too fond of sweets, but he will bring some for you if you would like
Trainee! Curly becoming closer with the chubby receptionist. Complimenting you each and every time he gets the chance to
"you look absolutely wonderful today"
"hey! Hope everythings alright, you seem stressed so I uh- brought you some snacks"
"If you ever need to, I'm here to talk to. Here's my number if you would like"
Trainee! Curly gives you his number so he can get to know you more, albeit a little nervous about the possibility of you rejecting it but he wouldn't be mad if you did
Trainee! Curly sending you good morning texts and talks about your latest interests and hobbies. You also both share recipes through each other. He talks to you about why he wanted to be a captain and also how excited he is to see space
Trainee! Curly learning about the chubby receptionist that they are a bit insecure of their weight and he reassures them, and forbid if someone says something about it to you
"Ain't nothing wrong with having some pudge on ya, you look amazing either way. If they hate it so much then they should look at themselves first before saying something like that to you"
"People who make fun of your weight are insecure themselves, they should know better"
"Don't listen to them, look at you. You're doing incredible with everything you're doing!"
Trainee! Curly being a big positive for his chubby crush, making sure they are getting the food they need if they're lacking on not eating anything. Making it known that he is very much interested in them with the compliments, little gifts, and even hangouts
Trainee! Curly known in his highschool years as the highschool dreamboat and having many relationships during his young years, falling head overheels for the cute chubby receptionist he can't help but find himself thinking of them more and more each day
#onyx writings 🌹#mouthwashing#curly#curly mouthwashing#captain curly#curly x you#curly x reader#curly x chubby reader#x reader
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SHIGARAKI NSFW ALPHABET
{ gift for my beautiful wife ~ @nutsnhonie }
warnings || smut, asphyxiation, fear play, blood kink, marking, rough sex, biting, vouyerism, {more,, but i cant rly think of what to put}
{an: wife wife wife wife wife wife}
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
he cant do much honestly, due to his quirk, but he will hand you things like a wet rag,, water bottle,, etc. even though he is an asshole, he still cares about you.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
his favorite is your hair, since he cant harm that by touching it. but from afar his favorite is definitely your thighs.
on HIMSELF,, he doesnt like much. though he is proud of his dick for some reason,,,
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
he doesn't cum as much as the others, but he still fills you up, hence the name "creampie"
will almost always do it inside of you.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
he definitely watches you masturbate, or watches you while HE masturbates. plug a lil weird but he chill,,
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
hes fucked hookers, or anyone the was willing, but he never cared for them or cared if they finished or not. therefore he is more experienced in HIS job at it. not so much the other things.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
doggy style. though he holds your hips like a british person and their teacup, its still his favorite position.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
doesnt find humor attractive during sex. therefore he is definitely the serious type.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
he has a good amount of hair, but keeps it maintained. same color as the hair on his head and has a niiiceee happy trail.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
not very romantic, but does love you. will probably be romanticish AFTER the sex. still cant fathom the fact that you want him.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
does it when you arent there. when he is really pent up with stress from either a mission or something else, then he will find different ways to touch himself. just wants to get off a few times.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
asphyxiation, blood play, the usual. he definitely likes choking you to the best of his abilities without actually killing you.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
his room, though anywhere you want him to fuck you he totally will.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
you in general, but theres just something about seeing you covered in blood that sparks a match in him.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
coprophilia or anything nasty like that.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
prefers giving, seeing it as his best way of getting you off. his chapped lips definitely make the job easier. he does enjoy receiving though as most people do.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
fast and rough definitely. will only slow down if you beg him too.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
absolutely. he loves taking risks of someone catching you. also if he is in a time crunch he will.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
this is Shigaraki we are talking about. of course he will. enjoys inflicting pain on you, risking being caught, etc
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
for him around 4, but thats just for him. if he is going down on you than it doesnt matter. he can go as long as you need him too. gets him out of team things anyways.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
has a few small vibrators that he collected for you. mainly for when he isnt there, though he definitely doesn't mind using them during sex with you.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
teasing is almost constant with him. he enjoys watching you squirm and watching your face flush up with embarrassment.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
aside from grunts and huffs, he doesnt make much noise. if you manage to get him in a submissive manner {unlikely} then he will whine from overstimulation.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
absolutely into marking. likes licking blood from cuts he inflicts on you, or marking you with hickeys or bites. another one would be fear play. enjoys watching you squirm with fear as he pretends like he is about to actually touch you fully.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
his torso and arms are toned and he is littered with scars from either fighting or missions. his dick is around 7-8 inches hard, with a slightly darker tip than his skin.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
most likely high from all the pent up anger, but wont force himself on you. {maybe in another fic....}
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
will wait for you to fall asleep until he does, but sometimes he doesnt sleep at all after.
hope you like,,, im not used to his character much since i left the fandom a while ago.
{ made by @whokilledsamara }
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WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut; "a pocketful of Kons". (( chrono || non-chrono ))
. . . okay, so they were going to the Watchtower, Tim finds out literally on the Watchtower with his two-day go-bag hooked over one shoulder. Bruce literally did not even say they were walking into a disguised zeta tube until he activated the damn thing. Dick looks wry, his own go-bag over his shoulder, but also not all that surprised; Tim is definitely surprised, and also immediately mortified. Bruce brought them to the Watchtower? The Watchtower is full of people! People who will take one look at Stud and see Superman! See Superman and also almost definitely ask Stud’s name!
And yes, obviously he’s going to need a fake one for him because secret identities exist for a reason, but the thing about being a Bat is, they use the fake names for their secret identities, because Bruce lives and breathes friggin’ 5D chess and is way more “Batman” than he’s ever been “Brucie”, so if anyone asks Tim will, in fact, have to tell them Stud’s actual name. Especially because he’s pretty much positive Stud will be a goddamn brat about it if he tries using a fake name for him anyway, given the other’s clear disdain for anything not a cape and S-shield.
So yeah, the chances of at least one if not multiple of Earth’s greatest heroes looking him in the eye and asking him what his Pocket’s name is at some point in the next ten minutes are . . . not nonzero, put it that way.
Tim seriously considers just finding the nearest airlock and hacking through the safety protocols in self-defense.
Or maybe just the incinerator. There’s probably an incinerator somewhere on the Watchtower, right? There’s gotta be.
Dick pats his shoulder sympathetically. Tim immediately feels worse, because if it’s that obvious how mortifying this whole experience is about to be for him, it’s going to be even more mortifying than that.
“Codenames only,” Bruce makes a point of stating, not bothering to look back as he strides down the hall ahead, Cat all masked up and hidden under the fall of his cape. Which as a statement, obviously, is meant for Stud, but given how stubborn and contrary Stud’s been so far . . .
“Please,” Tim hangs back to add under his breath as Dick heads after Bruce with Star and Red on his shoulders, Red in her own mask and Star not having bothered, for obvious reasons. Stud frowns, looking puzzled.
“Rob?” he tries warily, still looking a little confused.
“Right,” Tim agrees, resisting the urge to try convincing Stud to hide under his cape and just following after Dick and Bruce. Chances of Stud being willing to hide are unlikely, and it seems much more likely to annoy or upset him. So like–fight the battles you can win, and all. And avoid aggravating your tiny, unpredictable soulmate who isn’t actually Superman but sure does look like Superman.
Tim really, really hopes that Stud is Supergirl, because that implies him being capable of turning into a form much easier to explain to his dad and also maybe at least not being just a guy, which is still something he doesn’t know how he really feels about. Even if it also implies Lex Luthor Junior being immediately relevant to the state of his love life. But he’s not really holding out much hope for that right now, considering . . . everything, basically.
Though dealing with Luthor Junior might be better than dealing with the creepy cyborg guy, whoever he is.
“Rob Rob Rob,” Stud chants happily to himself as he flies ahead to Red and she gives his head a pat, and Star flies over to meet him and gives him a big, body-squeezing hug, nuzzling into his curly hair as her own half-envelopes him. Stud crows delightedly and lunges into the hug to send them both tumbling through the air, and Star croons affectionately at him and swings him around as she hugs him harder, glowing sunlight-bright at the same time. Stud crows, and Tim hears Cat laugh lowly from inside Bruce’s cape.
It’s–weird, sort of, Tim thinks for a moment, half-distracted and resisting the urge to frown to himself. The way the Pockets have been interacting, he means. Stud’s been aggressively flirty and boastful and constantly chattering on and on in Pocket-talk and is clearly trying to be charming while mostly being overbearing, which isn’t very much like either Supergirl or Superman and also should have at least Red annoyed with him, and most likely Cat too.
Except Cat just seems to find Stud funny and Red sort of wryly accepts him, even though neither of them have much patience for anyone as loud and pushy and attention-demanding as Stud’s been acting. And Star flirts back with him a bit, but more playfully than anything else; she’s mostly treating him like she thinks he’s cute–like, cute like a puppy or a baby, not like another fully-grown sapient adult being. And they’re all putting up with behavior they usually wouldn’t tolerate from any man, for whatever reason.
That’s . . . weird, yeah.
Very weird.
Tim frowns to himself after all, then immediately gets distracted by the mortifying experience of Stud zipping over to loop around Bruce’s head and chitter indignantly at him until Cat slips out of the shadows of his cape and purrs up at him. Stud lights up in unrestrained delight, then dives down and snatches her up to carry off back to Star and Red, crowing triumphantly as he does. Cat cackles and Starfire giggles and Red lets out a huffed little laugh of her own.
Bruce at least ignores him and Dick muffles his own laugh, but Tim is still mortified.
Stud looks back at him looking way too proud of himself, then chirps excitedly and holds Cat up in–like in display, almost, like he just won a prize or an award or something and is showing it off to him. Cat just chuckles indulgently and scritches him under the chin.
. . . yeah, “weird” is actually not a strong enough word to go with here, probably.
“Weird” is so not a strong enough word to go with here, in fact.
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mammon is the type to make a whole big plan and wait and wait and wait for the perfect moment, he's got a dinner reservation set and rose petals and a speech
but then just blurts it out because he CAN'T contain himself - and it's over something as simple as you idk, buying his favorite drink or doing something for him (like making breakfast)
just the thought of being remembered and the idea of "i want to spend the rest of my life with you" being cemented in that moment that he can't form any other words than "marry me"
imagine cooking pancakes and you go to flip them and he comes stumbling in all sleepy (because he's not a morning person), and you say "good morning! I know you got home late so i made pancakes, and i even went and bought bloody syrup. That's your favorite, right?"
"...Marry me"
"....What?"
and he's coming to his senses and oh fuck did he just ruin all his plans? no, he has to go along with it. but at the same time, it feels so perfect. he wants more mornings like this- forever.
"Ya heard me. I said marry me. And there's only one correct answer here."
HAHAHA OKAY I'LL STOP SORRY I'M AJSJWJ
you are right. carry on???
-
Mammon has been preparing to propose to you for weeks. It was obvious enough. He thinks he’s being subtle but he wasn’t, in the slightest.
“Babe, can you let me see your fingers?”
That was what he had asked you a couple of days ago. Even a fool would know he was planning a huge surprise for you. Seriously, he was scrutinising your fingers so hard that you almost drew blood from biting back your tongue.
But, of course, you didn’t call him out.
.
It was a random morning after you had spent the night in his room to watch movies together. You had gotten up early to make breakfast while he was still dozing off in his room.
“Mammon.” You call out, shaking him on the shoulder.
He didn’t answer.
“Love? I made breakfast.” You continue to whisper by his side, squatting down by the bed.
This time, he grunted and flipped over as he screwed up one eye to look at you. You stand there with a pout, pointing at the tray you are holding.
“Wha-” He murmured, still rubbing his eyes.
“Get up, sleepyhead.” You stifled a laugh, noticing his bed hair sticking up in all directions. “I made pancakes for you.”
He grunted again, finally moving to position himself in a sitting arrangement. He notices the dark red liquid on the top of the pancake and arches an eyebrow.
“I snatched the last bottle of bloody syrup from Beel.” You say with a teasing smile. “It was a hard-won battle, you know.”
He coughs. The emotion that swelled up within him was almost embarrassing except for the fact that both of you had been in a established relationship for a long while.
“Really?” That was all he could croak out.
The innocent expression that you purposefully kept on your face infuriates him to no end. “You were murmuring about it in your dreams.”
His eyes travel to your hands, smudged with the flour you hadn’t managed to wipe away, and up to your face.
You’re so damn pretty, he thinks, but he doesn’t need to say it. You already know it with how often he says it.
“Feed me?” He says instead.
You nod, sitting beside him on the bed. You lift the fork, pancake dripping with the bloody syrup giving off an almost sickly nauseating smell. Mammon just stares at you, heart palpitating for some reason.
He eats the piece, slowly swallowing it.
It’s sweet like you.
“By the way, I finished the paperwork.” Mammon stares at you for a second, brain sifting through his memories to decipher what you meant.
Fuck.
“That was today?!” He almost jumped out of bed barely remembering his state of undress.
“Love, I finished it.” You say with a chuckle, watching him with an amused smile as you continue to chew on your piece of pancake.
“Not flattering myself but I think I did great with this panc–”
“Marry me.”
“Wha–” You’re slackjawed and wide-eyed.
And he's coming to his senses, hands flexing as he clears his throat. Oh fuck, did he just ruin all his plans? No, he has to go along with it. But at the same time, it feels so perfect. he wants more mornings like this.
Maybe, forever.
"Ya’ heard me. I said marry me. And there's only one correct answer here."
You stare at him and mutter something faintly like dumbass underneath your breath. But Mammon doesn’t care. He’ll be your dumbass as long as you’ll let him be.
“Confident, aren’t you?” You ask, but your smile is bright and if he looks at you closely, he can see your hands shaking.
“I swear I prepared everything but–”
“I know.” You cut him off, placing the plate down gently on the bedside table. “You weren’t exactly hiding much, love.”
“Ya’ knew?” He gathers himself after a second, eyebrows furrowed in the way that makes his eyes squint just a little. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why would I?” You retorted back in kind. "I wanted to see how you pulled it off."
"Anyways husband, can you hurry and eat this? You have a shoot at ten, remember?" You continue, picking up the plate to shove it into his chest.
"Cancel it."
"Wha-"
"I said cancel it." He repeats again.
"We're staying in today."
#obey me#obey me mammon#mammon x reader#i did not know how to end this#satangwrites#satang can do it!#sorry i was sick and forgot all abt my challenge
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There's absolutely no denying that the star of this scene is Edward Herrmann as Steve Newsom, and the purpose of this is not to detract from one of the most haunting and devastating scene within the entire series. I just noticed a few things and need to put them down somewhere.
Hawkeye and BJ came in to the tent ready to yell and let Newsom have it. Their immediate and gut reactions were that he had abandoned his responsibility. Potter and Charles have already spent an undisclosed amount of time with Newsom on the floor, and while maybe not understanding or knowing all the details - are both already visibly upset. It's telling that Hawkeye and BJ, the ones in the camp that everyone seems to look at to set some sort of example, are the ones that get down on Newsom's level to try to figure out what's going on - and how they can help.
It feels like Hawkeye starts to piece it together a bit quicker than BJ does. That whatever happened is bigger than just choosing to abandon any and all responsibilities. When Newsom looks back and forth between them immediately, Hawkeye's face doesn't change - like he's waiting for Newsom to spill. BJ, gives him a reassuring smile. This feels very indicative of how the two of them generally seem to approach issues and/or problems. Hawkeye doesn't want to dance around the issue - just put it out there and let's figure it out. BJ wants to make everyone comfortable and calm - and then we'll figure it out.
And when Newsom starts talking about how the blood won't come off, no matter what, this is the moment that I think blatantly divides where Hawkeye and BJ truly are in regards to their journey of acceptance or denial about being where they are - and ultimately what will become of them. BJ looks stunned to hear what Newsom is saying. Like he almost can't wrap his head around it, and he looks over at (assuming) is Potter's direction. Someone in a position of leadership and authority to validate what he is hearing, and he looks back at Newsom and still looks stunned. We learn later that BJ is even a bit confused and can't make sense of it because "he was as strong as any of us." And on the flip side, Hawkeye just hangs his head. He gets it. Where BJ needed validation or confirmation that what Newsom was saying could make sense - Hawkeye got validation and confirmation that not one of them are immune to this exact same thing. Not one of them is safe from the destruction happening around them. Physically, emotionally or mentally.
And then Hawkeye looks at BJ, and it feels like he's trying to telepathically ask him "do you get it?" Or "are you listening and not just hearing?" There's multiple instances where BJ has to learn some sort of lesson (BJ Papa San), and Hawkeye patiently waits for BJ to get it. This feels exactly like those moments. BJ very briefly glances up at Hawkeye, but Hawkeye isn't looking over at him anymore but back to Newsom. For as independent as the two of them are, for as different as they are, the fact that they (even for a nanosecond) look to one another to try to gauge what the other person is thinking, and how they are processing all of this - really says a lot about the foundation of whatever their relationship is or isn't.
The scene then ends with a smack to both of their faces at the severity of what they're dealing with. When Potter tells them that they should call Sidney because it's "a little out of our ballpark," they both look like they can't believe that's the solution. That surely there must be something else that they themselves can do. They both look like they are trying to rationalize and figure out what that ultimately means not just for Newsom, but themselves or others as well.
And then we have confirmation that Hawkeye was essentially associating everything happening to Newsom to what if it happened to him, or BJ, or Charles, or Potter - or anyone close to him. Hawkeye got it. By the sheer fact that he has been at this longer than BJ, Hawkeye saw the bigger picture while BJ is still collecting the pieces. BJ is still clinging to the idea that he will leave Korea no worse than he arrived, even though he's already admitted to being angry and generally is very different than when he arrived. Denial is a scary thing.
Anyway, the point I'm failing to make is that you can watch, in real time, Hawkeye and BJ be provided the exact same example of what could happen to them - and both of them process it and interpret it vastly different - because of where they are in their individual journeys of accepting where they are and what they're doing there.
One of the great things this show repeatedly does, is remind the viewers that no two experiences are ever alike. It doesn't matter if two individuals see the exact same situation unfold in front of them, together. Personal experiences help create framework for interpretation, and who better to demonstrate this than two characters who get along extremely well - but at the end of the day are very very different.
#analysis#heal thyself#i may delete this one later because im not certain it makes sense to anyone but me
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A short fic of the aftermath of session 6. I haven't seen anyone wrote one yet, so might as well.
***
Scar was wide awake inside the Bambunker, sitting on top of one of the chest, accompanied by small snores of Jimmy and Lizzie from the new room they just made.
They're now red. His teammates are now one death away from being eliminated for good. Whether it's from the hostile mobs or their own clumsiness, once they're dead, it's over. The thought was infesting his head, but he was relieved that they're still alive. However, it wasn't that that kept him awake this late.
Scar looked over to his sleeping teammates, contemplating his action before making a decision, even though he knew there was nothing to be contemplated. It was pure instinct, like a fight or flight in a dangerous situation, Scar grabbed the blanket from his bed and left his base.
It was nighttime. The chill air of the night bit him to the bones. He shivered, yet it didn't stop him from moving. He went down the cherry wood stairs, skipping a step or two and practically jumping his way down the mountain. On the last step, he saw what he knew would be there.
Scar walked towards Grian, sitting in front of the two graves in front of him. The headstone on the right says "Here lies Mumbo. The best Bridger that ever Bridged", while on the left says "Here lies Skizz. The best Skizz that ever Skizzed".
The graves of his teammates.
It's hard to tell if Grian noticed his presence from the lack of reaction, but Scar decided to wrap that blanket over Grian and sit next to him in silence.
Minutes passed and the silence still as loud as ever. The night wind getting stronger and the cold air started to getting the better of him. Scar thought to himself if he could ask Grian to share the blanket with him, but that would be the most awkward thing to do at the moment. Even so, he could not—he refuse to leave him alone.
Is there any logical reason not to leave? No, there isn't. It's simply instinct. Whether they're on the same team or on opposing side, being there with or for him was something that came naturally.
Scar needed to be there, until something happened, no matter how long it would take.
Just as he began rubbing his arms, Grian finally spoke. "When Mumbo died, I was feeling sad, you know?"
Scar looked at Grian whose gaze was fixated on the graves. "I mean, that's normal."
The blanket over Grian moved a bit when he shrugged. "I was there when he died. I saw the explosion right in front of my eyes. I was sad when he died, and I made him a grave for that."
Grian took a long pause that Scar wouldn't want to interrupt with a response. "But it's the "Oh, he died" kind of sad, like it's just another reality that hits you that you just accept just happened." Grian continued. "I didn't cry. I didn't try to deny it. I wasn't angry. I just...accepted it. It's the same thing with Skizz."
Scar was listening intently that he didn't notice Grian had changed position. His hands were on his arms, griping the red fabric of his sweater for dear life. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but Grian's whole body was shaking.
Grian let out a dry laughter. His voice was shaky and his gaze, while looking forward, is at anything but what's in front of him.
"Isn't it messed up, Scar? I...I lost my teammates, and yet I didn't even..." He took a breath, "I didn't even cry for them. I just accept it, like I'm some kind of psychopath who expected them to die."
"Grian." Scar spoke, his voice was rasp and small. Under the moonless night with low visibility, Scar saw it: tears. Grian is crying.
"And here I am crying, Scar, but not because they're dead." His voice broke, being held together by nothing but frustration. "I'm crying because I cannot cry. Because I cannot cry for them when they were gone! How—just—what is wrong with me?"
Grian broke down at last. He wailed his heart out.
Scar pulled him into an embrace, keeping him as close as possible, while raking his brain. What should he say at a time like this? "There's nothing wrong with you"? "I'm sorry"? "I'm here for you"? Every response, no matter how sympathetic, felt inappropriate to be said. Everything sounds like an insult. So Scar kept quiet, waiting for Grian to finish pouring his heart out.
For what felt like hours, Grian finally calmed down, although still sobbing. Scar couldn't remember when he started to pull Grian into a hug, but all he knows was that his shirt is now wet from tears.
"I cannot cry for my own loss," said Grian between the sob. "I can no longer cry for my own loss."
"But you just did." Scar spoke at last. His hand was caressing Grian's head. "And I'm proud of you."
That was all Scar could manage to say, and he didn't think he got anything more genuine to say. For Grian to let it all out instead of bottling it in, Scar was genuinely proud.
Scar felt Grian pushing himself closer, and he heard the guy spoke, but it was muffled due to him talking with his face on Scar's chest.
Scar chuckled. "I know." He said, caressing Grian once more.
#i did this in one go so do pardon the grammar and simplicity#i was going for something more bleak and go full angst but I just updated a list that got me depressed#so i need a bit of fluff#anyway i was dying at Skizz's headstone#grian#goodtimeswithscar#goodtimewithscar#desert duo#secret life#double life#life series#wild life smp#wild life spoilers#traffic life#traffic light series#traffic smp#trafficblr#trafficshipping#traffic series#life series fanfic#grian fanfic#gtwscar#gtws#scarian
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this is all my personal opinion as a somewhat new arcane enjoyer.
act 3 of arcane really ruined it all for me. one of the things that makes me love shows so much is when they make me just feel so so much. and arcane did this so well, especially in s1. act 1 and 2 of s2 also did this very well, tho not even close to as well as s1 in my opinion.
i felt sad about isha's death, but i don't really care about jinx's. this isn't bc i cared more abt isha than jinx, a million percent no, this is bc it didnt feel liek there was any weight to it. we saw a very small clip of vi sobbing then, boom, she's almost fine???? her humming powder's lullaby isn't enough, i need to see her grieve. jinx literally completely gave up because of isha's death. vi wasn't even close to being in the same position as jinx but that was still her sister. her sister whom she tried so hard to protect and get back and finally got her back. it just didn't feel real. and on top of that, everyone thinks she's not actually dead. i wish they showed the "proof" of that later or something because i needed that grieving period from vi.
i felt so strongly about jayvik and their whole dynamic snd ending this season. in act 2 i felt that the writing for caitvi wasn't as good as it was in s1 and act 1 but then it just pissed me off at the end. i kinda liked the fact that they were in a cell when they had sex lol but i feel like it was weird timing and also could be a weird setting. but what rlly got me was the fact they don't fucking talk. they dont talk it out. one of the bjggest reasons i love jayvik is because of their lines too eachother. theyre so devestating and beautiful and thats what we got with caitvi before act 2. i was hoping they would talk about alllll the problems they were having because they were having a lot but, either they didn't or we just didn't see it. the resolution to jayvik was so satisfying because we got to know all of their closing thoughts and emotions. we didn't get to see cait apologizing or vi talking abt jinx and it just felt so emotionless.
im really sad they got rid of all the political stuff. i feel like the first step to doing that was putting vi in an enforcer outfit but with that i thought theyd explore into it and the trauma around it even more. but they didnt at all. they put more of the oppressed into the oppressors outfits and called it "fighting against a greater evil" i think thats a fine thing to happen but not if you throw away the whole conversation about politics you were having beforehand. i felt enger towards the piltover people and council just because they were a part of the oppressive regime. after s1 i felt like they tried to act like those ppl were never in the wrong. they swept it all under the rug.
it really just felt like there wasn't a clear conclusion. what happened to zaun and piltover? the scene of sevika sitting at the table isn't enough (don't get me started on sevika I MISS HER). what happened to the firelights?? everyone says ekko lost everything but like do we know what happened to the tree or to the firelights??? i wanted to see the progress the two cities made and how PILTOVER compensated for their actions.
thats it ig, im rlly trying to be happy abt the ending and to do that i have to think abt jayvik bc theyre the only perfect ending in my eyes and i miss caitvi i miss them
#arcane#arcane season 2#arcane act 3#arcane ending#caitvi#jayvik#timebomb#ekko#jayce#viktor#caitlyn kiramman#vi#zaun#piltover
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The phrase was undoubtedly common by the time historiographers like Pausanias were alive. One common trait between people like Pausanias or previous sources like Apollodorous is that they quote a lot on the sources they gather from local traditions and different telling. Which is why pausanias as well as Apollodorous etc always say "I heard" or "others say" etc. The adittion to the myth roughly at Augustean times (potentially further back too although we do not know for sure) were already famous at that time and already part of beloved narratives or in this case a proverb. The proverb of Diomedes Necessity could even apply to the essence that Diomedes joins the war even if he is not part of the oath of Tyndareus (unless you take Apollodorous as a source. Then things are different) or at how he had to kill members of his family in the war of Epigonoi etc. By the time Pausanias collects information this adittion was already a thing.
Yes it is possible that as it happens with other stories of people who claim to follow the Epic Cycle or the lost scripts of Nostoi etc they often confuse the local tradition to the actual myth. But even if it is indeed part of Little Iliad still the reasoning behind it could differ. But either way all of the said parts of Epic Cycle are also not fully compatible to Homer or even with each other (classic example how Little Iliad mentions Neoptolemus as the killer of Astyanax briefly while Iliou Persis mentions Odysseus. Ironically most recently the version of Iliou Persis gained popularity especially with the dislike of Odysseus as a character by post homeric sources especially Roman, but in ancient art the most frequent version is Neoptolemus and his death is implied on different ways than than throwing off the walls)
Other traditions such as the infamous scene where Odysseus throws his shield on the beach and lands on it to outsmart Protesilaus are also not that much mentioned by the sources which always speak highly on the bravery of protesilaus and even speak on how he jumps at the same time as Achilles and just happens to land first etc.
Oh I wouldn't speak on that because of Pausanias because as I said above Pausanias seems to be gathering information and not comment on them or show his preference to them. I mostly speak on Conon's adition to the story or rather the detailed description of betrayal upon betrayal between the two heroes that were known to interract very well so unless Conon was aware of some parts of Little Iliad or even before like Aithiopis etc which indicates some detrimation between the two heroes (something that other writers like Quintus didn't mention to their work of Posthomerica) then this version seems more like an added tradition fired up more by the anti-odysseus wave of the time. What is more Attic tradition was also generally against Odysseus as a persona even from classical times by writers such as Eurypedes. Even Sophocles who generally is one of the most fair writers in regards to the complexity of Odysseus oftentimes makes him almost the antihero of his work (for example Philoctetes). My estimation is that at classical times when Athens and Sparta rivalry was on their peak, Odysseus as a peraona fitted more to the aspects that Athenenas placed upon Spartans; fight and theft. An Athenean propaganda that wanted to differentiate themselves from the other city states and claim how honorable and righteous they were, wouldn't much allow space for characters like Odysseus being posed in a positive light and instead that was used as an example not to follow or as a symbol for what happens under the table in a war.
If I also dare to expand it further from Epic Cycle like Telegony Odysseus is associated with the area of Thesprotia which was an ally to Philip or Alexander and the Macedonian kingdom was not good news to the Atheneans which wouldn't help the projection of Odysseus as anti-hero. So all and all I am not surprised if especially in Roman times such proverbs with this context would be famous in Roman Athens and even combine them with local traditions and such and given how the Palladium Heist is memorized by ancient art but never in a negative light makes me more convinced that this is a later adittion that was aflame by local traditions etc.
I am not sure if the theft of the Palladium specifically fires so much controversy given how there was also the prophecy indicated that they needed it. Unless they wanted to use it to imply that "Odysseus was ready to do anything to win" the theft itself is presented by the Epic Cycle as a necessary evil. I would say Athenean anti-odysseus wave is mostly linked to Odysseus methods and their propaganda against war in general and against Sparta in particular that drove this. Odysseus was a controversial figure even in antiquity given how his methods opposed the ideal of the time of straightforward fight. Not to mention that Odysseus was also married to a spartan princess which I am sure for a fanatic patriot Athenean would be an interesting controversy hahaha 😆
Heyo!
I don't know how exactly to phrase this but I was wondering if you know anything about Odysseus trying/planing to kill Diomedes while they were stealing the Palladium. I have heard some people say that Odysseus did try to kill Diomedes while doing so but Diomedes noticed him so Odysseus stopped.
This feels so strange to me as Odysseus and Diomedes aren’t antagonistic in the Illiad and Diomedes is loved by Athena like Odysseus so betraying him, especially for hubris, seems like a good way to end up on Athena's bad side.
Also the translated summaries of Little Illiad I know don't mention it either but I know those translations can be missing out context. I suspect the Odysseus Betrayal is a "later adition" to the Epic Cycle but I am not that confident on that opinion.
Yes absolutely and I understand completely what you say. That is because the Palladium Heist betrayal story was peobably not part of the original epic cycle but rather a later adittion. More specifically through the work called Bibliotheca by Photius I, the ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinopole in 9th century seems to be mentioning in his work a Roman mythographer named Conon.
Conon lived and created during the times of Augustus. It seems that he is one of the oldest if not the oldest mythographer to ever mention this story. So the story quoted by Photius goes as such;
Basically after the revelation of Helen's Diomedes and Odysseus enter the city. Odysseus helps Diomedes on his shoulders so that he could climb but when he reaches out his hand Diomedes doesn't take him in and goes for the Palladium himself. When he comes back apparently Odysseus asks him on it and, according to Photius who quotes Conon, Diomedes "knows his cunning" and says that he didn't find it. That a spirit stole it and that he has another one. Odysseus realizes he is lying so he eventually draws his sword to kill Diomedes and take the Palladium to the Greeks himself. Apparently as he goes to stab Diomedes in the back, his sword casts a shadow by the moonlight or the glint of the weapon, Diomedes sees it and deflects him. He draws his own sword and threatens Odysseus with it wishing to "punish him for his cowardice" but eventually he decides otherwise (arguably knowing that the war needs him) and thus he drives him back to the camp while hitting him on his back with the flat of his sword. And according to Photius this is what gave the famous phrase to Greek language διομήδεια ανάγκη (Diomedes Need) which basically means "do something unpleasant out of necessity for the greater good"
So as you see the story does seem pretty bizarre. First it implies mutual distrust and rivalry between the homeric heroes for Diomedes doesn't take Odysseus in the temple, Odysseus asks him on the Palladium obviously with intention to steal it and Diomedes lying to him and of course the actual act. For starters Odysseus ready to kill Diomedes for the sakes of fame (while he literally saves his life in the Iliad) and not only that, be greedy and stupid enough to hold a sword to the moonlight. So it holds many contradictions to the entirety of Epic Cycle even Iliou Persis which also shows a more unpleasant side of Odysseus.
My guess is that the story is mostly linked to traditions of later years especially Roman sources and is not directly linked to the Epic Cycle. Even art of later years doesn't depict the Palladium Heist as a negative aura between the two heroes. If anything they seem to be cooperating just fine. And as I said this myth as told by Conon shows BOTH Diomedes and Odysseus as rivals and equally antagonizing and deceiving each other which doesn't usually appear to the Epic Cycle. Although of course we cannot be 100% sure given how the Epic Cycle is lost, it seems to me more like a roman legend that usually depict Greek heroes of Troy in general and Odysseus in particular, in the most negative light possible given how Odysseus is known for taking Troy, the mythical city of origin to the Romans (given how Aeneas who barely escapes with his life from Troy is the ancestor of the founders of Rome)
I hope this answers your question; to summarize it seems to me that this story of the Palladium Heist has as much connection to the Epic Cycle as Ovid has to Medusa legend; seems more like a version either created or told by Conon based on traditions of his time and the general anti-Odysseus climate.
#yeah although the poems are lost and we only have their retellings by later weiters or scholia from later writers#but as i mentioned before Odysseus was generally pictured in a negative light in almost all post-homeric sources with some exceptions#many people spoke about him in that light which is why i mostly compare homeric poems and their transactions in art#misquoting was indeed common and also many writers oftentimes quote sources to make their theories or beliefs more believable#tagamemnon#greek mythology#odysseus#the palladium#the palladium heist#the epic cycle#trojan war
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pitching our idea for past leif and muse as a hologram boss. the potential background for this being a Thing that can happen is that hb realizes the b.o.s.s could read the crystals inside of leif and when they try to do that this is what happens
their main gimmick is that muse has a bug ton of hp and 2 defense, and leif has much lower hp and no defense, but leif can't be attacked while muse is still standing or else she'll move to shield them. in addition to this leif will use items to heal muse and give her positive status effects
muse attacks exactly the way you'd expect her to, primarily just by kicking. she can do a normal single hit kick or a special one that knocks the target down, followed by a stomp (like mothiva does). she can also do a dash attack that, if unblocked, knocks the target down and lowers their defense for a turn after. finally, she can charge for a turn, and then do a spin/kick attack that hits the whole party
leif is mostly support, but can also attack by throwing a few items, or the book that they're holding. the items that they can throw can inflict sticky or ink status (especially sucks if they throw an ink bomb on the same turn muse charges. no bubble shield!) they also have a completely unique "attack" where they can spy on your party and say something about you!
"That bee looks awful young to be fighting, but she wields that boomerang quite well. Maybe I should invest in a weapon. Her attacks are difficult to block, but she's no harder to hit than any of the others. Muse will make quick work of her." "This beetle has quite the protective aura about him. I can tell he doesn't take kindly to his friends being hurt. That horn looks like it could pierce some tough armor, too... but he still won't be a match for Muse." "What an interesting creature. It looks almost exactly like me... but it's the wrong color. It has quite strong magic, so perhaps it's some sort of glamour? Either way, I trust Muse to see through the veil and strike it down."
if you beat them, you're awarded with a medal called "color corrector". it's purely cosmetic and changes leif's appearance to their original red palette. and, you know, a heaping load of new issues for them to work through. have fun with it!
#bug fables#bug fables spoilers#bf muse#bf leif#leifmuse#stuff i made tag#translating the way we draw muse to the sprite style and keeping her recognizable is. hard#but we are incapable of drawing her any other way by now
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Cien Años: Anya Mouthwashing x Reader
Please enjoy! I hope you guys like it!
Warnings?: Anya kinda having a breakdown, and death :(
I remember when I first met you. We were both in college. I remember when you first passed by me, our eyes met, and you still passed with no regard. But for some reason, in that moment, I found myself drawn to you. Though you didn't see me, I saw you. Though you didn't hear me, I heard you. I thought it was just a crush, but I would've never possibly thought that you would become the sun of my life.
You remember sitting at the same table as her in your anatomy lab. She didn't really talk to you unless it was to ask a question or pass along whatever unit you were studying. But then again, you never made much of an effort to talk to her either. Still, no matter what, you both sat next to each other every lab, a quiet, unremarkable duo. And that was that—or so you thought.
Then the new semester began, and there she was again, in another class with you.
There was no way you could talk to her, you told yourself. No way.
It started with a small conversation—just a casual exchange, the kind you could've had with anyone else. But none of them were her. None of them were Anya.
You soon found her to be ambitious, focused. She knew she wanted to be a doctor, and she'd known since she became a CNA at sixteen. That's when she realized she wanted to help people—anyone, everyone. You admired her for her determination, her heart, and her resilience. You admired her for simply being her.
And that's how it started.
You became friends, meeting at the library to study, sneaking snacks in your bags, and finding the farthest corner where no one would bother you. You tried to stay quiet, when you were together, everything was funny. You almost got kicked out twice before realizing that maybe studying in the dorm rooms was a better option.
Even though your majors were different, studying with her became something to look forward to. Just having someone to keep you on track felt like enough, but you soon found yourself getting distracted.
It was the way she adjusted her glasses. The way she frowned ever so slightly when she lost her page. The way she teased you when she caught you staring. She was mesmerizing. She made you feel things you'd never felt before, things no past girlfriend or boyfriend had ever stirred in you.
She was everywhere—living full-time in your thoughts and your heart. No matter what you did, you always found a way back to her.
With Anya in your life, it felt like there could never be more rainy days. Her smile being enough to pull the sun from the clouds, making everyday a sunny day.
And somewhere along the way, you realized you were falling for her. Desperately. Completely.
You'd never expected it, not on the first day you saw her. You didn't sense it coming. But now it consumed you.
You thought you hid it well. You were sure she hadn't noticed. Anya was always focused—engrossed in her books, attentive in class. There was no way she'd caught on.
But she had.
You weren't as subtle as you thought. The way you tried to brush her hand. The way you laughed and immediately looked to see if she was laughing too. It was written all over you.
And she called you out on it one night.
The glow of the laptop cast soft, shifting light across your faces as the movie played on. You hadn't said a single word in ten minutes. Your gaze kept drifting—no, pulling—to her. The flutter of her lashes, the curve of her cheek, the way her hand rested just a breath away from yours on the blanket.
She adjusts her position, her shoulder brushing yours, and whispers teasingly, "You're not even watching."
Her voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you realized she caught you mid-stare.
Your breath hitched. You could've denied it. Maybe you should have. But there was no point.
She turned slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to face you, the movie forgotten. "If you're going to keep looking at me like that," she murmured, her voice low and steady, "you might as well just go for it."
Your heart pounded. The scent of her strawberry shampoo filled your senses, and every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap.
When you finally kissed her, it was everything you imagined—and more.
It felt like the world stopped spinning, like a weight you didn't realize you carried had been lifted. It was a moment you knew you'd never forget.
That was your first kiss. And every time you think of it, you can't help but smile.
After that, you were hers, and she was yours.
It wasn't a fantasy anymore. It was real. And it was everything.
We started off as friends but we were both aware that we could be more. It started with one kiss. One kiss and my life began to feel like a never ending dream. Because with you in my life, there are no rainy days, with your kisses you have erased the scars in my heart. With you, there are no more lonely nights, and they are once again wonderful, knowing that I get to hold you close, and wake up each morning with you.
"When we graduate, where would you want to live? I think I'd want to live in the suburbs," Anya murmurs, shifting closer to you."It's quieter and way better for driving. The apartment is nice, but do you really want to keep hearing our drunk-ass neighbors every night?"
You chuckle and lean your head against hers. "I think I'd like the suburbs too, but wouldn't we still have to drive a lot just to get to work?" You try to calculate the drive times in your head, but her warmth against you makes it hard to focus.
Anya lets out a little laugh, "Yeah, but don't you remember that time we went to that pumpkin patch?"
"The one near Martin County?"
She nods, her face lighting up. "Yes! That one!"
A smile tugs at your lips as you watch her talk about how much she loved that little town. Her eyes shine with excitement, and you can't help but feel your chest tighten. It's in these quiet, unassuming moments that makes you realize just how much you love her. Waking up next to her every morning feels like a gift. Even when she accidentally kicks you awake because she's running late, or when her alarm blares three times before she finally turns it off.
With graduation looming, the two of you spend so much time talking about the future. Right now, it's one of many conversations: Where should you live? What kind of house should you buy? How many pets should you adopt? The questions pile up, but none of it feels overwhelming. With her, the future doesn't feel scary—it feels like something to look forward to.
Whether it's the good or the bad, you love every single part of her. When she almost burned down the kitchen trying to microwave something wrapped in foil. When she was thirty minutes late picking you up from work but made it up to you with your favorite coffee. When she stayed up all night to help you with that essay you couldn't finish. When she cut up fruit for you on a bad day because she knew you needed comfort.
You look at her now, rambling about the pumpkin patch, and you can't help but interrupt.
"I love you, Anya."
She blinks, caught off guard, her lips parting slightly. "Where did that come from?"
You shrug, a soft laugh slipping out. "I don't know. I just wanted to tell you."
Her cheeks flush, but she quickly smirks and lightly slaps your chest. "Don't do that! You scared me for a second."
You laugh and pull her closer, burying your face in her neck as you pepper her skin with kisses. She's laughing too, her hands weakly pushing against you.
Moments like this make everything else fade away. Whatever happens next, you know one thing for certain: you're the luckiest person in the world to love her and be loved by her.
Along with your kisses, give me your sorrows, your sighs, give me your pain. Let me wipe your tears. I'll remind you of your strength, and lift you up when you are low. Because the foundation of our love is stronger than any challenge life throws at us.
"I didn't make it in."
Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper, as she grips the rejection letter, crumpling it in trembling hands.
Your heart shatters at the sight of her tears. Without a second thought, you pull her into your arms, her body collapsing against yours as she sobs. She clings to you like you're the only thing holding her together, her cries muffled against your shoulder. You gently rub circles into her back, hoping it might soothe the ache you know you can't take away.
"It's my second rejection," she chokes out, her words jagged. "I—I can't take the test for another year. What am I going to do?" Her tears fall harder now, streaking her face as despair overtakes her.
You cup her face in your hands, brushing your thumbs across her wet cheeks. "Anya, it's going to be okay. The MCAT is one of the hardest tests in the world—"
She jerks away, shaking her head as fresh tears spill over. "But I worked so hard! Hours, days, weeks! I thought I had it this time! I wasn't even close." Her voice cracks, rising with every word. "How can I be so stupid?" She buries her face in her hands, her words muffled but sharp. "They're going to bar me from taking it because I'm a fucking idiot!"
"Anya, stop—"
"Five more attempts." Her voice drops to a whisper, full of fear and self-loathing. "That's all I have left."
You reach for her hands, gently pulling them away from her face, your heart aching as her shoulders shake. "Anya, listen to me. You're not stupid. You're brilliant. You've worked so hard, and I know how much this means to you. Don't let this stop you. You can try again, and I'll be right here to help you through it. Every step of the way."
Her wide, tear-filled eyes search yours. "You don't think I'm stupid?" she hiccups, her voice trembling.
"I would never think that," you say softly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You're the smartest, most determined person I know. And I know you can make your dreams come true. I believe in you, Anya, and I'll do everything I can to help you."
Her lip quivers, and she nods, finally letting herself melt into your arms again. She buries her face in your chest, her sobs quieter now as you hold her close, cradling her with all the love you can give.
You had me so accustomed to your love, that the biggest challenge for me were the months that I had to be away from you, your hugs, and your kisses. Waiting at home like an abandoned puppy, wishing for you to come back home already.
"I need to talk to you."
You look up from your plate, signaling that she's got your attention.
"I got a job interview." She murmurs, pushing her food around with her fork.
You immediately sense something is off, but you try to mask it.
"That's great! But... what's wrong with the job you have now?"
"Nothing. But this company offers nursing classes. I could train to be a nurse there."
Your brows furrow. "What company?"
She hesitates, then barely gets the words out. "The Pony Express."
You pause mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air. "Wait, isn't that the company that does shipments in space?"
She slowly nods.
"You're not thinking of getting on one of those ships, right?"
Her eyes dart away.
"Anya."
"Shipments only take a few months," she says quickly. "The money is supposed to be pretty good."
"Anya."
"I'll be gone for a little while, but with that check, you wouldn't have to work so much. We could finally get a house together. I could finally—" her voice cracks, "I could finally be something."
You set your fork down and lean back, rubbing the bridge of your nose. "You don't have to—"
"I do!" she snaps, tears spilling over. "Do you think I like being stuck here? Stuck in this same place, day after day, while you go to work with a purpose and I—" She swallows hard. "I can't do it anymore. I need this."
Her words cut deep, and you know she's not wrong, you know it's been killing her. Still, the thought of her being out there, alone, on one of those ships...
"Anya, it's dangerous. You've heard the stories about what can go wrong out there. It's not worth the risk."
"I don't care." Her voice softens, breaking apart. "For once in my life, I want to feel like I'm going somewhere."
You sigh, your shoulders slumping. As much as you hate the idea, as much as it twists in your gut, you can see it in her eyes—this is something she has to do.
"Are you mad at me?" she asks, her voice small.
You shake your head, barely meeting her gaze. "No. I just—" The words catch in your throat, but you push them out. "If this is what you want to do... I'm not going to stop you. I'll support you. No matter what."
She reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Thank you."
Her smile is fragile, but you force one in return. Even if it hurts, you'll stand by her.
And it did hurt.
When she finally stepped onto that damn ship, you told yourself you'd be okay. You told her you'd be okay. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. Every fiber of you wanted to grab her hand and pull her back, beg her not to go. But you didn't. You couldn't. She needed this, and you had promised—promised—to support her no matter what.
The first few days, you checked the clock constantly, imagining where she might be in the vastness of space. The silence between you felt like an eternity. No calls. No messages. Just the void. Seven months, you told yourself. Seven months without hearing her laugh, seeing her eyes light up, or feeling her fingers brush against yours.
It felt like an eternity.
Nights were the worst. The bed seemed colder, emptier than ever, like it was mocking you. Dinner tasted bland, the silence deafening. You'd catch yourself staring at her empty seat, whispering things you wished you'd said before she left.
But when those long, torturous months finally passed, and you saw her standing there on the dock, it was like the world finally started spinning again.
You didn't think—you just ran. Ran through the crowd, past the families and her fellow crew members. You didn't care who saw. You crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her like they never wanted to let go again.
And she didn't care either. No teasing, no scolding. Her lips were on yours before you could even speak, her hands gripping you as tightly as you held her. For a moment, it was like the whole world disappeared—just you and Anya, tangled up in each other.
"I missed you so much," you whispered, your voice cracking. You buried your face against her neck, breathing her in.
"I missed you too," she murmured, her breath warm against your cheek.
When you finally pulled back, your hands stayed on her shoulders, as if to reassure yourself she was real. You smiled through the tears threatening to spill. "Do you want me to take you out? You must be starving after seven months of... whatever you guys eat up there."
She laughed—a real, warm laugh that you hadn't heard in far too long. "I just want to go home."
On the drive, she talked about everything: the fear when the ship launched, the monotony of the days, the quiet moments alone. But then her voice softened.
"The hardest part was being without you," she said, turning to you, her eyes glistening. "The moment I got on that ship, I regretted it. Every single day, I regretted it." She hesitated, her voice catching. "The contract's for two shipments, but after this next one, I'm taking the test again."
You pulled into the driveway and turned to her, your heart swelling. "I'm proud of you, Anya."
She blinked at you, surprised. "For what? I haven't done anything yet."
"For not giving up," you said softly, your smile trembling as you looked at her. "You've always been stronger than you think, Anya. Even when things feel impossible, you keep going. That's what I love about you. No matter how hard it gets, you never stop reaching for what you want."
Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. You reached out, gently tilting her chin so she'd meet your gaze.
"I'm proud of you—not because you went to space, or because of what you're planning to do next—but because you never stop trying."
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she just looked at you, her eyes searching yours, shimmering with the tears she refused to let fall.
"Anya," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."
But then she shook her head, a faint, trembling smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "You don't get it," she said, her voice breaking. "It's you. You're the reason I keep going. You're the reason I don't give up."
You didn't think, you just leaned in, your hand cradling her cheek, and kissed her. It was soft at first, careful, almost tentative, but when her hands found your shirt and gripped it tightly, pulling you closer, it deepened.
Nothing else mattered—not the months apart, not the uncertainty of the future. Just the warmth of her lips, the way she breathed your name against your mouth, the feeling of her heart pounding as fiercely as yours.
When you finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.
"I missed this," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
"Me too," you said, your thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "But we're here now. Together."
She smiled again, this time a little stronger, and kissed you once more—this time slower, as if to savor every second.
"Let's go inside," she said softly.
And this time, you didn't argue.
Her next shipment was longer than the first—over a year this time. You knew you'd never get used to the long stretches of time apart, but you clung to her promise. Just this one last shipment, she'd said, and then she'd take the test again. Then she could finally chase her dream. Just one year. You told yourself you could survive one year.
You were driving home from work when the phone call came. At first, you didn't think much of it, glancing at the unfamiliar number on the screen before answering.
"Hello, is this (Y/N) (L/N)?"
"Yes, this is (Y/N)."
"Hello, (Y/N). I'm calling from The Pony Express. We have your number listed as the emergency contact for Anya Musume."
Your stomach dropped. "Is she okay?"
The voice on the other end hesitated—a moment too long. "Are you driving right now?"
Panic clawed at your chest. "Yes! What's going on? Is Anya okay?"
"I'm going to ask you to pull over. Please, for your safety."
Your hands were already trembling as you flicked on your hazard lights and swerved into a nearby parking lot, barely noticing where you ended up. You turned off the car, but your heartbeat thundered in your ears.
"I've pulled over," you said, your voice cracking. "Just tell me—please—is she okay?"
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, in a voice carefully measured but edged with regret, the caller spoke.
"(Y/N), Anya was aboard our space freighter Tulpar. A few days ago, we lost contact with the ship following a crash."
You gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. "What do you mean, crash?"
The voice softened, though it didn't waver. "We regret to inform you that the crash was catastrophic. All evidence suggests that there were no survivors, including Anya and the other four crew members. We are currently searching for the wreckage to confirm, but... we believe the loss was total."
It felt as though the air had been sucked from your lungs. For a moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't even think. And then the words sank in.
"No," you whispered, the denial tearing its way out of your throat. "No, that's not—she promised—"
"I'm so sorry," the voice said quietly. "I truly am."
Your vision blurred with tears, and before you could stop yourself, a sound erupted from your chest—a raw, anguished wail that filled the car. You clutched the wheel as if it could anchor you, but the world around you was already spinning, collapsing, crumbling into nothing.
She was gone. Anya was gone.
The drive home was a blur. You didn't even remember how you made it there, your body moving on autopilot while your mind remained trapped in those words.
No survivors.
You sat in the car for what felt like hours, staring blankly at the steering wheel, as if waiting for the phone to ring again and tell you they'd made a mistake. That she wasn't gone.
But the phone stayed silent.
Inside the house, everything was just as she'd left it. Her favorite mug sat on the counter. The blanket she always curled up with was draped over the couch. The framed photo of the two of you at graduation still sat on the coffee table, her smile so bright and alive.
It felt wrong. It felt impossible.
Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed onto the floor. The air felt heavy, like it didn't want to fill your lungs. You pressed your hands to your chest, as if you could physically hold the pieces of your heart together, but it didn't help.
"She can't be gone," you whispered, your voice trembling. "She can't be gone."
The room was silent, but in your mind, you could still hear her laugh. See the way she'd roll her eyes when you teased her. Feel the warmth of her hand slipping into yours.
You'd told yourself so many times that she was coming back. You'd counted down the days, dreamed about the moment she'd walk through the door again.
But now the only thing you had to hold onto was the echo of a promise she could never keep.
Tears streamed down your face as you curled in on yourself, your body shaking with the weight of it all. The emptiness was unbearable, and yet somehow, it was all you had left.
A few months later, you stood alongside the families of the other crew members at a memorial service. The mother of the young intern cried out, a raw and guttural sound, as her husband clutched her trembling frame. She dropped to her knees, screaming that it was her fault, that she should have never let her son work for the company. Your heart ached as her cries echoed in the air—a mother had lost her son, a sister had lost her brother, a wife had lost her husband. And you... you had lost the love of your life.
The wife of the ship's mechanic placed a trembling hand on your shoulder. The two of you stood there, silent yet bound together by a shared pain—both of you had lost the love of your lives.
"You know," you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it all, "I was going to propose to her when she came back. I even wrote her a speech. But now—"
The words crumbled in your throat, and she pulled you into a fierce embrace.
"We had so many plans," you said, your voice muffled against her shoulder. "A house. Maybe adoption. So many dreams... why?"
And then there were no words, just the shuddering of your bodies as you wept into each other's arms.
At the end of the service, you found yourself alone at her headstone, clutching a weathered piece of paper. It was meant to be the start of something beautiful—the words you'd planned to say when she came home. Now, they were your farewell.
"I remember the first time you walked past me," you began, your voice trembling. "Our eyes met for just a second before you kept walking, completely unaware of what you'd done to me. In that single moment, I felt something shift—like gravity had finally found its center. You didn't see me, but I saw you. You didn't hear me, but I heard you. At first, I thought it was nothing—just a passing crush—but I never imagined that you'd become the sun of my life."
You paused, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, but you forced yourself to keep going.
"We started off as friends, but we both knew we could be more. And then there was that kiss—the one that changed everything. It wasn't just a kiss—it was the beginning of a dream I never wanted to wake from. Because with you, there were no rainy days. Your love erased every scar, every ache in my heart. You made the nights less lonely, and the mornings something to look forward to. You were my everything."
Your fingers tightened around the paper as tears blurred your vision.
"I would've given you all of me—your pain, your joy, your burdens—I would've carried them all, just to keep you close. You made me strong. You made me whole. You gave me a love that felt invincible, even when you were thousands of miles away. But now..."
Your voice broke, and the paper slipped from your hand. You fell to your knees, tracing her name etched into the cold, unfeeling stone.
"And now, without you, the world feels empty. But I know, no matter how many years pass, no matter how far I go, you'll always be with me. You're tied to my soul, my existence, in a way that even death can't undo."
"And if I lived a hundred years—or a hundred lifetimes—I would still spend every moment loving you."
This was inspired by the song Cien Años by Pedro Infante, a song about unrequited love, but I mostly was inspired by the last lyric:
“And yet, you remain tied to my existence,
and if I live for a hundred years,
then for a hundred years I’ll think of you.”
It’s a beautiful song! I love being mexican 🇲🇽
hope you guys enjoyed :)
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