#of digging. which i was. the truth is out there and so on.

[thinkinonsense]

Rotten

dofp!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: boot riding, dom!logan, spitting, slight hair pulling, bratty!reader

a/n: something short for now but the semester is over after next week so all december expect more frequent posts from me. gonna focus on the bewitched and sweet temptations mini series plus the new one im working on with worst!logan x camgirl/of fem!reader :)

"i only got a few more papers to grade, princess."

one of the greatest lies ever told, you think to yourself as you sit on logan's lap while he grades essays. two hours turn into four and before you know it, half the night is gone already.

"c'mon baby..." you whine, kissing his neck and leaving little marks, then watching them disappear. "the rest can wait until tomorrow."

deep down logan almost feels bad but he can feel you softly rubbing your pretty blue lace panties on his thigh.

"told ya' only got a couple left to grade then im yours." he says, paying little attention to you as possible.

a sigh of annoyance escapes your lips. slowly you rock yourself back and forth to gain some sort of pleasure from him.

"quit it, sweetheart." logan says sternly, smacking your ass rather roughly.

"fine." you huff, rolling your eyes over his shoulder.

a beat passes before you slowly kiss your way down his body, leaving a glossy trail down his abdomen and v-line until you're settled on the ground in between his thighs under the desk.

logan tries his best to ignore you. he really does but god, it's so hard when you are resting your head on his lap, inches from his bulge.

"what are ya' doing down there?" he asks, raising an eyebrow down at you. sweet doe eyed angel, peering up at him as if it were nothing.

"just resting here until you're ready." you said, biting back the smirk daring to appear.

he's not sure why he trusted you to keep your word. especially when he's spoiled you rotten over the years, always giving into your needs.

steadily, you wrap yourself around his left leg and take a seat on the front of his leather boot. cheek pressed against the inside of his thigh as you resume your grinding from moments ago.

"fuck lo..." you moan, sinking your nails into the material of his jeans; grabbing fist fulls near his calf.

a small puddle of slick leaks from your panties onto the leather, making it easier to move. quickly, you remove the lace and sit your bare core on his boot. a loud moan spills from your lips at the feel of cool leather on your clit.

"f-feels so, ahh!"

logan watches your head tip back, too fucked out to be care about how much of a mess you were making on his shoe. the essays were long forgotten by now, instead he is busy watching you attempt to get off.

"tell me how it feels, princess." logan says, big rough hand gripping your jaw. his hazel eyes were now unrecognizable, dark and blown out with lust for you. "that bratty cunt of yours is just weeping for me, huh?"

"yes, lo! it's s-so fucking good." you struggle to keep eye contact with him, which only spurs him on further into this game. "need you to fuck me, lo. please, wanna ride you."

logan tsks, shaking his head and leaning in to rest his arms on his thighs. inches away from your pretty face.

"rotten girls don't get to ride."

without warning, logan begins to tap his foot up and now. the front rubbing your button just right. soft bounces and lewd noises flood logan's bedroom.

under his cold looking exterior, logan was struggling inside the dark denim covering his large bulge. truth be told, he was enjoying this almost as much as you were. the sight of your slightly parted lips and scrunched eyebrows were prettier than any painting he had ever seen.

"such a messy pussy." he mocks, moving his foot faster, allowing for more of your pretty moans to escape you. "gonna tarnish the leather, sweetheart."

"uh... uh fuck..." you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. " 'm s-so close!"

logan's lucky that you aren't the one with claws, considering how deep you are digging your nails into his legs while humping his boot pathetically chasing your high.

without warning, he taps your cheek signaling you to open your mouth. half expecting him to place the pad of his thumb on your tongue but pleasantly surprised by the string of spit connecting the two of you.

the kiss is almost as messy as the scene below you. all teeth and tongue. oxytocin fills the room as you reach your high, moaning in logan's mouth and gushing all over his poor boot.

when the two of you finally pull apart, logan can't help but take in the image in front of him of you clinging to his leg with a hazy stare, and glossy kiss bitten lips.

"finally gonna fuck me?" you giggle as he pulls you back into his lap.

"maybe." he hums, rubbing his hand up and down you back. "seems like someone is pretty spoiled though."

in a split second, logan's got a fist full of your hair wrapped around his rough palm, tipping your head to the side so he can leave marks on your neck.

"it's not my fault, lo." you pout, slipping your fingers under his shirt.

"i know, baby. i know." he chuckles to himself before lifting you over to the mattress and laying you flat on your stomach with your ass in the air, waiting for him.

it's going to be a long night.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Whumpee & His Collar part 2

Warnings: tight collar around Whumpee's neck, severely restricted breathing, mentions of beating and past torture & conditioning, panic attack and choking

The collar was tight around his neck, digging into his skin with every strained breath he took.

"Oh honey, I promised I wouldn't hurt you here, and I keep my promises," Caretaker tried to soothe. "Why don't you want the collar off?"

"What did I do wrong?" Whumpee choked out.

"What did you... do wrong?" Caretaker echoed, confused. "You did nothing wrong, Whumpee -- what gave you that impression?"

Whumpee pointed with a shaky finger to the collar around his neck. "Y-You were going to take it off, which means I did something horrific and need to be thoroughly punished for it." He couldn't understand why, but he saw Caretaker's eyes fill with sad tears.

"I... think I understand now. But you're not with Whumper anymore," Caretaker spoke softly. "New house, New rules, okay? You will never be hurt here. Not even with your collar off."

Whumpee found it hard to believe her words. His entire life revolved around this collar, it gave him a clear sense of direction and purpose. So that he would always know what to expect at any given time, depending on how tight it was strapped around his throat.

But Caretaker hadn't done anything with it in all the time since his rescue. So... maybe she was telling the truth...

Whumpee's chest was heaving with the effort to keep breathing by now, his mouth gaped open as he gasped and choked on sobs.

"Whumpee, please -- you're going to pass out if you keep it up. Please let me take it off. I promise I won't hurt you, and I will always love and care for you. Do you trust me?" Caretaker reached her hands out toward him, pausing a few inches away as though waiting for permission to make contact. Giving Whumpee a choice, to accept or deny her help.

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut tight, terrified beyond belief, but forced himself to give a shallow nod. But he still reflexively flinched when he felt Caretaker's warm hands gently cup his face, a soothing and comforting presence.

"You're going to be okay, Whumpee, just breathe..."

Whumpee tried his absolute best to obey, he really did, to be good and perfect for her -- but it was just so difficult with the tight collar in place, his situation worsened by the panicked hyperventilating. He felt Caretaker's hands gently slide down from his jaw to his neck, carefully fiddling with the clasp keeping the collar on him.

The fear washed over him all over again, but he managed to hold still as Caretaker finally unbuckled the collar and took it off completely. Cold air hit the skin where the collar always rested for the first time in weeks, a sensation so unnatural and foreign to him.

Then there were strong arms around him, pulling him away from the wall he was curled up and cowering against and into a fierce hug.

“You're so brave, Whumpee, so so brave” Caretaker praised comfortingly, running a soothing hand through his hair in the way she knew he liked most.

Whumpee trembled like a fragile leaf in her arms with a whine, burying his face into her shoulder, and clinging to her desperately like a lifeline. It felt different to be able to properly breathe again, so strange after he'd gotten used to the calculated, measured breaths he'd take whenever the collar was on.

He gulped it down greedily, sucking in as much fresh air as he could with each deep breath. Caretaker was right, it felt so much better to have the torturous collar off.

“Y-You're not going to abandon me now that's it off, are you?” Whumpee asked quietly, his voice wobbly and uncertain.

“Never, Whumpee, never,” Caretaker answered firmly. There was no hesitation whatsoever in her tone, and Whumpee wanted to cry again – in gratitude this time instead of fear.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Caretaker,” Whumpee mumbled into her shoulder.

“Always,” Caretaker whispered into his ear. An eternal promise, one that she would forever keep.

⏪️ Back

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @floral-comet-whump

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

[cheylouwho]

do you know of any famous south park fanfics that ended up becoming published books?

ok so I think i answered something like this before on my blog but i cannot find it for the life of me so I had to go dig out some old stuff from sphs from when we were putting together the iceberg and remember my sources so i'm hopefully not giving misinfo. So for all of these I will mention that I don't know if any of these fics were considered "famous" by any means, just that the author decided to publish them.

1, it is a common misconception that the story "Both Sides Now" by Peyton Thomas is SP fic gone published work. That is simply not true at all. The author had like one sp fanfic and did like one things for SPBB back in the day but actually was on record apparently saying Both Sides Now started as IASIP mpreg fanfic, not SP (and god dammit the link to the interview where this was said is now a dead link, but damn proof I had it). And while the connection people made to the antagonist being like cartman is uncanny, it is NOT south park. Apparently also when the fic was first being published there was some promotional artwork that did look very stan/kyle and yes the author was partially in the fandom but it was not Originally SP. There might have been some accidental references because of the author being adjacent to the fanbase but nothing intentional.

2. Actual published work number 1 is called "Fighting The Truth" (same name when it was pubished for sp) which is legitimately published and can be found HERE. Absolutely insane little story that managed to get away with flipping some character names, hilarious recap by sekrit here. And apparently, is exactly the same save for name changes.

3. Actual published work number 2 is called "Raisin" which was originally titled "Raisins Boy". This one is a technicality since it is actually a self-published work, in which the author did not go through a full fledged agency to get it out there. Still, the character names are changed and it was in fact originally SP fanfic, so it fits the bill. You can find it HERE, with another funny recap by sekrit HERE.

4. Semi-counting this one, but Earily self-published her fanfic "oculus" in limited quantities back in the day. It was unchanged from the story that was on ff.net, just in a hardback form with a cover. Was a pretty neat edition of the book and regret every day not buying it. I have some friends who did purchase it though.

5. THERE IS, I'M PRETTY SURE, another fic turned published book that I was told about but cannot fucking find. I remember seeing the listing on some website (prob amazon) and being absolutely baffled by it. I remember reading the details about it years ago and it stuck with me but I can't tell you for the life of me the name of the story or what the original fic was titled. What I do recall, and idk if anyone can maybe confirm I'm not insane on this one: I think it was a style fic, something about Kyle being heavily abused by his family and sleeping in a doghouse (???????), Cartman's changed name was laughable and obvious. Nvm im tired as shit turns out this is also just im p sure raisins boy Anyway that's the stuff I can think of right now. Hopefully I covered my bases

[darkmaga-returns]

A Midwestern Doctor has written another expose on a critical topic, one which affects hundreds of millions of people. What is the truth about “high blood pressure?”

The link to AMD’s original article is at the end. I have copied the article here with the exception of the embedded video, which didn’t copy. Please use the link to view it.

By A Midwestern Doctor:

Story at a Glance:

High blood pressure (hypertension) is increasingly common, with more people diagnosed each decade.

This is because the threshold for “high” blood pressure keeps getting lowered—despite no evidence existing that those levels reduce deaths.

Excessively low blood pressure carries significant risk. Likewise, many of the blood pressure medications have common and significant side effects doctors often don’t recognize.

In this article we will review the key aspects of each common blood pressure lowering medication and healthier ways to address elevated blood pressures.

Frequently, when you dig into medical myths, you discover that many of the dogmas that underlie a popular drug are actually sales slogans a marketing company created. For instance, cholesterol lowering statins are widely prescribed despite the fact lowering cholesterol does not prevent heart disease (in fact cholesterol protects you, so when it’s low, you more likely to die), statins don’t prevent death, and these drugs harm 20% of users (often severely).

In turn, since so many people have been severely harmed by The Great Statin Scam, more and more public figures, such as comedian Jimmy Dore and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. have begun to speak out against this.

Sadly, statins are not the only mass-prescribed drug that’s marketed on deceptive premises and frequently makes the problem it “treats” worse. For example:

•A chemical imbalance from low serotonin was never linked to depression (in fact patients who commit suicide are found to have elevated brain serotonin). •Acid reflux is due to too little acid in the stomach (as acidity gives the stomach’s opening the signal to close). However, in medical school, we are always taught it is due to too much acidity. •"Sleeping" pills are actually sedatives that block the restorative phase of the sleep cycle.

Each of these drugs in turn is immensely harmful to their users, but due to how effectively their myths were established (just like “safe and effective”) they continue to be used by large numbers of people and harm them.

In turn, when you look into blood pressure, a similar pattern emerges. As I showed in the first part of this series there are two huge issues with this:

[animeyanderelover]

Hi, can I get the prompt 50 for my favorite white haired villain (Karlheinz) for my first ask.

As for the second one, I'd like to have some sort of short fic if possible (?) for this Isekai ask with him

I do not do fics unless it is with a prompt of mine so I made Hc's instead.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, manipulation, mind-break, isolation, abduction

Isekai s/o

🍷​Teeth sinking into the flesh of your lower lip, stiffled sobs tearing through your chest, warm tears streaming down your face. Truly, you are not in your most presentable state when Karlheinz discovers you one night in a desolate part of the city. Lonely, scared and in the deepest clutches of despair. Emotions he could never feel himself, a life that shouldn't concern him in the least. Yet it is no coincidence that Karlheinz has found you here. No, he's been searching for you. There is a strange energy which surrounds you, wraps itself around your figure like a second skin. An unfamiliar buzz of magic he has never encountered before in his life and it is the scientist within him that finds intrigue with that. To think that there would still be something in this world that he hasn't figured out yet distracts him from the usual boredom that has accompanied him for so many centuries now. You yourself seem painfully ordinary though, one human of many in the city which makes the energy radiating off of you only more fascinating. Karlheinz approaches you with the same gentle and charming approach he has fooled thousands of others before yet in your face he can only see shock and recognition.

🍷​Recognition not of his other personality as a benevolent politicion but of his true identity as the Vampire King, as the strongest being in this world. It only takes you brief seconds to shut those emotions down yet by that point it is already far too late. How could you possibly know who he is? You, an ordinary and powerless little thing? Golden eyes rest heavily upon your mortal form, seemingly glancing into your soul with their controlled intensity. Yet he doesn't immediately starts the elephant in the room. He has all the time in the world after all, he knows that he will get his answers the moment he desires to have them. Instead he states that you have an empty stomach, offers you to feed you as he notices that you have neither a phone nor any wallet or money on you. Instant rejection, your panic leading to your next mistake as you only further dig your hole. Your swift action to shut him down are a strong contraction against your meek attempts to pretend as if you do not know him. He tolerates those frail attempts of yours, his eyes studying you with an interest he hasn't expressed in years. That suffocating composure and confidence never once leaving his expressions.

🍷​You may try to refuse him as much as your stubborn and anxious heart desires yet he points out just how detrimental it would be to you to reject his kindly offered hand. After all you speak neither Japanese nor do you carry any money around with you. What do you hope to accomplish? Where do you plan to go? His words make you waver as you cannot deny the truth in them. Still, he has learned that fear is the more infectious condition than logic could ever wish to be. It's fear of him that pushes you away from him. Whether you honestly believe that he wouldn't find you again or whether it is the fear taking over your mind and switching off your ability to think ahead, his offers are best to be not rejected. You're tired, weak, dehydrated and hungry. He can't just let you collapse now that he has discovered you. Karlheinz is a man much too attentive and devoted to his studies to treat them with disinterest and idleness. You are part of a new study now, you are someone he wants as he wishes to figure you out. Your existence feels like something that doesn't belong here yet still there you are in flesh and blood. You shouldn't neglect your own health in favor of running when there is no need, he still needs you.

🍷​There are no urgent answers you see yourself forced to give though for this would be far too easy and even dishonorable for him to consider. The Vampire King yearns to unravel the mystery of your existence himself and he devotes himself to this task. You are treated mostly well yet the tension is something that never leaves your muscles as if you always expect him to murder you brutally the next moment. Believe him, he is no brute who would ever get his own hands bloody. If he would have wanted to kill you he would have done so already. Already aware that you know who he is Karlheinz doesn't hide his identity from you either whilst simultanously never indulging you either. There's always the same composed expression on his face when you try to ask him something or create your own theories about him, your eyes uselessly darting over his face to read something that will give him away. Sometimes you threaten him weakly that you will call the police yet that meek threat quickly dies down whenever he looks at you, stating in a tone far too soothing for a monster like him that you may do so if you truly believe it to be a good idea. Unsurprisingly you never attempt to inform the police.

🍷​He realises relatively early on that he seems to be uncharacteristically attached to you and your little antics yet he initially believes that it is only based on the mystery of you that he wishes to discover. It is his first and only wrong assumption in regards to his own feelings as slowly he realises that his feelings have been turning into something entirely new, something he understands so well in others yet has never felt himself. Love. Dark, possessive and doomed to trap you yet love nonetheless. There's no instant smothering though for it is not the route he trades upon. It starts much more subtle as he turns it into a little bet with himself. He decides to not claim you as his lover before he has figured out just what you are. A little game of delicious torture for him yet a gamble much more harmful to you. You suffer from the challenge he has created for himself, an act so indulgent and unlikely for him yet something he allows himself to receive a taste of impatience, to challenge his own skills as a scientist. It's an act of sheer sadism that he drags you into this game, enjoyment and adoration coursing through his undead heart as he slowly molds you to be his own.

🍷​Only once he has discovered your intriguing origins does he allow himself to indulge in you, to taste you and claim you. By that point he has already driven you to desperation and despair, infiltrated your heart so that you cannot help but love him and yearn for him. The important details he then gets from you though and you tell him at that point almost willingly, mushy as soon as his fingers fo as much as grace your cheek. It's a strange yet curious idea that he has existed to you so far only from a screen whenever you were playing a game yet it brings with it the theory that maybe there are loose connections between different worlds that inspire others in such interesting ways as you have described. There is nothing left for him to explore for him in his world but your appearance is the catalyst for him to start investigate the idea of a multiverse with you as his first living proof. Research on how to enable someone to travel between different realities is something he intends to figure out yet not because he wishes to send you back home. It's all done simply for his own scientific interest. He doesn't plan to ever let you leave him and even you aren't sure anymore if you handle not being with Karlheinz.

[nikethestatue]

I wanted to write about something else, but as I started digging deeper, I didn't feel that my case was well-supported, and therefore, I won't write the meta.

Now, of course the investigation led me down the rabbit hole of ACOSF.

And my god, does it help to unlearn some of the things that we keep repeating and which aren't necessarily true, by actually reading the text 'raw'. Without any agenda.

Anyway, there are some very interesting things that stood out to me as I was reading the latter part of ACOSF today. First of all, I remembered how much I actually love it. I know. I know. Everyone is an ACOSF hater but I actually loved the book when I first read it and I apparently, still really like it. That aside, here are some of the more interesting things that jumped out at me, especially in light of HOFAS and the information that it offered.

To put the arguments down once and for all:

YES, there is a TRAITOR in the IC. Or, at least a potential traitor.

p. 722

"You kill me," Nesta gasped, "and you don't get the Trove. You'll never find it."

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards of the Trove."

What is interesting is that after Nyx's birth, Mor winnowed ALL THREE Trove items to their proper places. Which means that she can at least touch them.

There is also a drop of blood on Truth Teller for when Azriel nicked Nesta's finger to bind the Trove objects to her blood.

Interesting.

2. Both Bellius and Briallyn repeatedly called Gwyn a 'half-breed'. A half breed of what? And why would it matter? When it comes to her nymph blood, that seems like just a drop in a bucket, and therefore wouldn't make sense to call her a 'half-breed' just because she is a quarter nymph. Everything indicates that she is otherwise a normal High Fae. So, why does it matter, especially to Bellius, who is Illyrian? It really jumped at me that they kept repeating this 'title'. They didn't even bother with her name, not once. Just called her a 'half-breed'. So, what is the 'half' in Gwyn? The only other famous half-breed that I can think of is Rhys, who is truly half-Illyrian and half-High Fae.

3. It would seem that BOTH Rhys and Feyre are Starborn, as is Nyx.

"The baby, whom Rhys and Feyre named Nyx, was as beautiful as anyone could ever dream a baby to be. Dark hair, with blue eyes that already glowed with his father' and mother's starlight, offsetting the light tan of his skin." (p. 740)

4. Nesta could Make and Un-make things and beings. Without any Trove objects, but with the sheer power of her being. We, of course know, that she Made the House and all the weapons and the bracelets. But, she also UNMADE Braillyn. She didn't just kill her. She Unmade what the Cauldron Made Braillyn--which is a crone--she brought her back to her young and beautiful self, and then she destroyed her.

This raises the question of Elain's powers and whether she possesses something similar? Can she UNMake a bond? Can she Unmake a curse? Can she Unmake death?

It also raises the question of whether the sisters' powers equal those of the Cauldron?

5. I think that Nesta WILL BE Queen. Of what, I am not sure. However, I think that the two foreshadows (not to mention her title of Queen of Queens) is the vision that Lanthys showed her, of the two of them ruling the world made of pure magic, but also this exchange:

"You could've ruled the world with your power," he said carefully.

"I don't want to rule the world." Her eyes were unguarded in a way he had never seen. Mate, she had called him.

"What do you want?" Cassian managed to ask, voice rasping.

She smiled, and damn if it wasn't the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. "You."

"You've had me from the moment you met me."

She tucked a strand of hair behind an arched ear. "I know." p. 742

6. Which leads me to my final point.

Anyone, and I mean ANYONE, who claims that Nessian would be broken apart, that they are not true mates, that Nesta doesn't like him, that Cassian doesn't love her are certifiably insane.

I think what people remember is the smut in ACOSF, but reading it closely, you quickly realize that it is a book of love and devotion. Of great love. Of love that doesn't need the words 'I love you' actually. This is a book of stunning emotions. And I wish people would reread it and get their heads straight.

Other things I picked up: Koschei can winnow others. Which means he can control the environment beyond the lake.

I think there are some other things that I noticed that contradict some long-standing opinions, but I'll leave it for another time.

[dcviated]

The relationship between their world and that of the monsters was a tense one. Raguna knows first hand how things brought over could wreck havoc- but at the same time there were plenty of... benefits? A glance back to Woof was immediate testament to that. One of his best buddies along the farm. That truth didn't excuse everything else though. Like how those powers could be abused... yet something else the Earthmate was well aware of.

Raguna crosses the boundary of the corruption, but keeps his distance from the body.

"I know that. It's not my first time here, but I didn't touch the unico- if I was hoping the body might decompose or dissipate, it wasn't a good one. And given where the edge was last time... it was about..." He finds the marker he'd left last time. And looking between the now ashen stick and the tip of the morass. "Here. And now it's gotten here. It's not much bigger, but I was only here a few days ago..."

Imagine what would happen in a week? A month? A look back towards Trampoli. And his farm. ...a year? His stomach twists in an uncomfortable fear.

Raguna looks down to his hand, curling the fingers in pensive thought as he gazes back to Noire, watching the vampir as she studies the corpse. A swallow as he sees the bolt of energy. Twisted. Different even than the Dark Rune. Retornen? He didn't even need to ask if that would have any effect.

"You be careful, too. Noire. It's not exactly safe for anyone here. Imagine if Marco had come out this way..." A sigh, well- chances were they would've recruited Candy, which would bring about some awareness. But Raguna had less faith in the boy's restraint. Adventurous elf that he was. Much like another he knew. Gloves run down his face in quiet exasperation. How was it that he was surrounded by so many reckless people?!

Not that he wasn't reckless himself. Charging into that chamber to save Noire was enough example. That hadn't had any plan to go with it. What would've happened if Blanche hadn't spoken through him is anyone's guess. Would he have been able to stop Noire's charge otherwise?

...doubting her strength seemed more likely to offend her than anything else. The look in her eyes (which were enough to distract him all their own) assuaged any concern. Trust in her. She knows what she's doing.

"I was going to ask if you wanted help, but ...um. I'll find somewhere to dig the grave. Let me know if there's something to keep in mind, there's another clearing down the hill that might work." And far (hopefully not too far) from the desecrated soil. But one never knew. As soon as he found a spot, channeling his magic through the shovel would likely make for short work of the ground. Enough to easily clear out the volume needed.

Even Woof seemed perturbed by the sudden shift in the air. The negative runes were almost palpable in the air. Had this been Blanche she could not go anywhere near this place. She would have immediately felt sick given her own runic make up. But all things considered, maybe Blanche was the only one who could do something in the first place.

She had to swallow down the thoughts of doubt. They'd come this far. It was just burying a dead unico and purifying some runes. Even if she herself couldn't do it there were ways to restore rune density to an area.

But it became fairly obvious to Iris as soon as they caught glimpse of the body and the surrounding flora, and it explained why Raguna had been throwing all of his alchemical expertise in trying to devise a potion to fix it.

The land was crying out in pain. The runes here were.... corrupted... tainted... angry. It made Iris' stomach lurch as she felt ill just being in the area.

"The body hasn't decayed at all. That's... part of the problem. What rises from the earth should return to earth, and the problem is monsters like this are often pulled from the rift and don't belong here in the first place. It's upset the balance."

She stared at the corpse and the deep gashes on its body and how the horn had been broken off. The poor thing must have suffered greatly in its final moments.

To be ripped from your home and to suddenly be slain so cruelly... Iris feels her chest ache. The missing horn is also a cause for concern, but for now they should focus on burying the body.

"...Let's lay this little one to rest. A proper grave should appease the spirits. At least for now. We'll... have to find a way to deal with the tainted soil after." Iris reached out a hand towards the beast only for it to be zapped away. She flinched briefly, but was otherwise unharmed, "Here, I'll move it. You... shouldn't be touching something like this. It could hurt you because you're an Earthmate. We can deal with the soil and flora after this one returns to the earth."

[jdmara]

ok yes i’ve seen the asshole video but can u go more into detail abt the tour im just super curious and it’s so hard to find information abt them

you basically gotta take everything i say with a little grain of salt because i was being five in feb 2003 so i’m getting this all second and thirdhand but it’s not terribly difficult to put a timeline together based on various interviews and website sources and archived photos. everybody involved here is prone to exaggeration and narrativization a little bit but there’s a grain of truth to be followed. if you want any specific sources i can go pull them for you but basically it goes like this:

brian schechter is working as a tour manager for the used. back in august 2002 he goes to an mcr show at maxwell’s and decides he wants to manage them, and begins the slow process of wooing them. flash forward to february 2003, he’s still not their manager but he gets them a spot on a tour with the movielife, the used, and finch. the first date of that tour is february 4th. (by all accounts 2 days later in irving plaza is the first time they met bob bryar, then sound tech for the used.) gerard and bert get along like crazy.

february 14th. bert breaks up with kelly osbourne over the phone in indianapolis and gossip rags pick up the news. also, ray posts on the website that mcr has scheduled their first headlining show and also have gotten word of perhaps some european dates, though they don’t have the specifics yet. brian, still not their manager, has come in clutch yet again.

february 15th. frank splits ray’s head open with a guitar and somebody takes an awesome photo of it.

february 16th. in chicago, gerard and bert go on the bender they refer to as their first date and where they first kissed. there was actually a reporter there following the used who wrote about it a little in an mcr retrospective relatively recently.

february 17th. bert and gerard are so hungover they miss soundcheck for the second chicago show. also, brian officially comes on as mcr’s manager, though they never actually put anything down on paper, which is gonna make it real difficult for everyone when they fire him years down the line.

february 19th. ray posts on the mcr website again to say they still don’t know the exact europe dates but that if you look at the used’s europe dates they’re probably on most of those. so brian is gearing up to spend all of his money on this european tour for a band he literally just signed on to manage.

february 21st. mcr’s first tour with the used ends. not to worry though the european tour is very soon. brian schechter’s about to make a real risky financial decision. it is gonna pay off, though.

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

wanting to visit the archives without looking like a fanatic bc nobody likes posting government documents online apparently

[ladycatofwinterfell]

people who defend everything about lestat and insists he did nothing wrong because he says so in his books and that louis is either blatantly lying about all lestat put him through or mind controlled by armand into saying what he’s saying are so annoying… partly because it’s simply not true he insists he did nothing wrong in the books, he admits to wronging his fledglings and understands why claudia wanted to kill him. but also because lestat abused louis and claudia and he’s also interesting and i enjoy him as a character and it’s fine to do so. he doesn’t need to be good for you to like him, i promise you, you don’t need to justify it with that actually he’s a good person. no one in this show is entirely good and never in the wrong, they only have different perspectives on what happens and excuses for themselves. every single character becomes less interesting when you take their motivations and use that to completely justify or vilify their actions instead of seeing it as a reason for why they acted as they did. because lestat is neither an angel nor evil incarnated and for a show that explores cycles of abuse and patterns of violence so effectively you'd think people would understand that

this sort of defence of lestat also leaves a bad taste in my mouth because the violence he enacts on louis and claudia is so gendered and racialised, he's the white patriarch in the family and his gender nonconforming manners and at times progressive beliefs do not change that. he can be a flamboyant bisexual who does drag and still uphold patriarchal structures within his family. it just becomes weirdly racist and misogynist to completely disregard it.

for me the bad things about lestat can very much coexist with that i'm sympathetic to what he's been through and how that shaped him, that i believe he has good sides and that i think he's fun. because he is fun! it's a treat every time he's on screen! it can also coexist with that he loved both louis and claudia very very much. and that louis especially loved lestat very much in return. it's a very intense love, love to the point of hatred.

maybe next season we'll see him grow in the modern timeline, become a better person, be better to those around him than he was to louis and claudia during their time in new orleans. maybe his backstory will provide clarity on why he behaves the way he does as it did in the books. maybe we’ll see him still be toxic and abusive in ways. sam reid himself said he believes there needs to be a toxic masculinity to lestat for his queen of the damned arc to work

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

i love defending pete wentz against the mania haters who call him the music industry's mr krabs bc he sucks in other ways.

[zippers]

kinda been spiraling over the lori vallow case. she/her family remind me a lot of my mom's adoptive family. (down to cheating with religious leaders!) thankfully we did not have the mormon element to justify killing as my adoptive grandma has only ever claimed she has killed to get back at people, police were able to rescue the hostages alive. and WE are the estranged ones... everyone else is on my grandma's side (the other people involved in the hostage situation have since gone back to her—ie it was triggered by my mom trying to help my aunt (bio daughter of this woman) move across the country away from this woman and she has since moved back to live in one of her dozen hoarder houses.) and they accuse my mom of being abusive/manipulative/etc which is such a joke.

[bookshelfpassageway]

wish i could beam ALL the fallen london lore into my brain so i can proceed to play with my ocs in it

[izvmimi]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[nereidprinc3ss]

pretty little things

in which you can't keep hiding your stuffed animals from your boyfriend. spencer would like a formal introduction.

fluff! warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, newish established relationship, they're so cute, reader is still kinda shy around him, I'm really obsessed with this dynamic actually, implied intimacy if you decide to interpret it that way, kissing/maybe mildly suggestive a/n: this is dedicated to my friends @parfaitblogs and @gublersg1rl bc in another universe we are actually just three jellycat plushies on someone's bed which is where the inspo for this little thing came from. and thank u willow for naming your fox. ok bye love u hope u enjoy !! :D

The first time you’d shown Spencer your room, and the handful of times he’s been in it since, you very intentionally hid your stuffed animals underneath the bed. After all, you’re an adult. You have a grown up job. And you don’t need him thinking you’re some kind of freak this early into the relationship. You like him too much. 

Today, however—you didn’t have any warning. He comes over unannounced, which is all well and good, until you bring him to your bedroom so he can sit on the bed while you change from work clothes into something comfier for movie night. As soon as you open the bedroom door, you see them, lined up neatly by your pillow, and you know it’s too late. 

“Uh…”

Spencer runs into your back and takes it as an excuse to settle his hands on your hips as he peers over your shoulder. 

“What?”

You slip out of his easy hold and skitter to your bed, practically throwing yourself on the mattress and sitting unnaturally as the little beaded eyes of your friends dig into your back. Even your brightest smile doesn’t distract Spencer. He’s like a bloodhound for the truth. At least, that’s the sense you’re beginning to get. 

“What are you doing?” He tries again, eyes narrowed and closing the door carefully behind him. 

“Nothing!”

The urgency with which you say it has his eyebrows raising. Obviously delighted by the embarrassing secret he��s sure to uncover, he approaches. You lean back further even as he towers over you until you’re almost on your back and he’s folded over you, menacingly (and dizzyingly) close. This sort of position is still new-ish and has your heart pounding, even if it’s entirely playful and ostensibly innocent. 

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

You nod, still shying away from him into the pile of pillows. Without looking he reaches under you and pulls out your pink bunny. You squeak and hide your face. 

“What is this?” He laughs, and you yank it away, sitting up so he’s forced to give you some breathing room. The bunny is cradled protectively in your arms, though you try to hold it a bit more casually when you notice. 

“I said it’s nothing.”

“What about the other two behind you? The fox and the… what is that? A deer?”

“No—”

“I didn’t even know they made deer stuffed animals—”

“Spencer, stop!”

He does, at the desperate tone of voice and the way you’re still hiding from him. 

“No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m sorry.”

As usual he’s over apologetic, now sitting knee to knee with you on the mattress and leaning down to try and catch your eye. You huff and grant him some eye contact just so he doesn’t go over the edge with worry. 

“But it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s really not,” he laughs. “It’s cute. I can’t believe you’ve been—what, hiding them from me? This whole time? That’s like not telling me you have kids.”

“It is not like that.”

“Hm. I don’t know, I think you should probably introduce me.”

You give him a look, letting your head fall to your shoulder. “Spencer.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to be apart of their lives now. You can’t keep shoving them under the bed every time I stay the night.”

This nerd is going to be the death of you. 

Eventually, you groan reluctantly. 

“Fine. Okay, um—this one is… well—her name is Bunny. It’s not… very creative, but it’s—that’s just her name, okay?”

Spencer doesn’t react to your unjustified defensiveness—only grabs your bunny’s round little pink paw and shakes. “Enchanted.”

“Shut up.” Your face is so hot as you bury your smile and set Bunny aside, making sure she’s comfortable against the pillow before bringing out your deer. Spencer doesn’t have the shit-eating grin you were partially expecting when you glance up at him from beneath your lashes—he’s smiling, but it’s so soft. A little twisted, like he’s holding back the full extent of it for your sake. But you wouldn’t mind it at full power. It’s like he’s hiding the sun in a saucepan and the lid’s not on quite right. And he’s looking right at you. Like you’re the source of all his joy. 

A moment passes. You clear your throat and look back down. “Um—this is Bambi. ’Cause—you know.”

“I do,” Spencer agrees genially, nodding as if this were a normal conversation. “Kind of a dark thing to name your deer, though.”

“You’re judging,” you accuse balefully. He chuckles and his hand finds your knee, rubbing apologetically. 

“I’m not, I’m not! I take it back. I retract it. Continue, please.”

For a moment you only pout, but it doesn’t deter him—he simply looks at you expectantly, and now those syrupy eyes come with the added bonus of his hand on your leg. Fine. He wins. But not without a deep, tortured sigh from you while you’re grabbing your fox that makes the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

“This one is…”

The name dies on your tongue, too ridiculous to be said out loud. 

“Tell me,” Spencer pleads in that gentle voice and with those big eyes that you’d consider burning him at the stake for because that look on his face has to be witchcraft. 

“Okay but you can’t laugh,” you insist in one quick breath, giving him a serious look that he can only partially reciprocate. 

“No laughing.”

“It’s… Mr. Cuddles.”Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to keep his promise. You melt inside both from embarrassment and from the way it only further defines an already superbly sculpted bone structure. “Do not.”

Spencer scoffs at your warning. “Don’t what? I’m behaving.”

“Don’t make fun of Mr. Cuddles!”

“Does it look like I’m making fun of him?”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Her. Mr. Cuddles is a girl.”

“I see… can you explain that to me?”

“If a human person said I am a girl and I would like you to call me Mister, would you question that? Would you ask them to explain it to you?”

“I guess not.”

“Exactly. Don’t be rude.”The way Spencer is looking at you now, eyes so clear and still so full of affection, like you’ve got some sort of heavenly spotlight trained on you, lips parted as if to say something but still silent, has you forgetting your momentary confidence. You shrink. “What?”

“I just… you’re amazing.” You throw Mr. Cuddles at his chest and fall into your pile of pillows with a groan. Spencer only continues rubbing your leg. It’s very nice, actually. He’s gentle. And patient. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t believe you came to this conclusion just because I introduced you to my stuffed animals.”

“Not solely because of that. There are a lot of contributing factors. I mean, the stuffed animal thing helped.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you insist for the umpteenth time. 

“It’s adorable.”

Spencer pushes pillows aside and lies next to you so you’re eye to eye. It’s nice how his presence isn’t exhausting the way people sometimes are. He’s easy to exist with. He makes you enjoy existing a little more than usual. Even now. 

You raise your eyebrows and speak, cheek squished against fabric. “I’m a serious adult.”

“I know you are,” he assures with a solemn nod. 

Your eyes narrow ever so slightly. 

“Okay… well… don’t go forgetting that. I’m fun but I can also be not fun.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“No you wouldn’t. You would hate it. You’d be so scared.”

Spencer gives up on holding back a smile and moves his hand to tuck hair behind your ear. 

“You’re right. I’m already terrified. The anticipation… it’s killing me, you know?”

You’re giggling as you roll over on top of him and he roots his hand in your hair, pulling you in for a long, smiley kiss like he knew it was coming. Only when he blindly throws your stuffed friends from the bed do you pull away—just by an inch or so. 

“No respect,” you scold playfully. He kisses you again, tangling your legs and hands wandering. 

“Can I apologize later?”

You’re good with that. 

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.