#pure (cynical) imagination

[cutemeat]

the new season sucks so far

speak your truth!

[thexabbyparable]

Thursday shows up at Xabby's office with her towel, notebook, and pen.

"Hello? I'm here to see Xabby. I was asked to come by this office upon receipt of her message, so here I am!"

@parables-for-days

It didn't take long for Xabby to open the door cause she was standing at the door all day. "Hello, Thursday! Come and take a seat at the computer chair."

Xabby led Thursday to the computer chairs that she lay out for her. Once she got herself seated, she gives some snacks as a welcome-to-the-office gift. "I recommend eating snacks to hold yourself over between meals, especially said meals that are taking longer to cook."

Once that's done, Xabby does take a small breath to talk about the topic that she was on. "So, about Kiel and Kokichi, around November, an update came out of nowhere for them and the rest of the corrupted employees. It puts them in a forced coma while the update does its thing. However, for some reason I doubt tech support will help, the update process is...extremely slow. Like, it won't move and no matter how hard you try, it won't budge."

Updates can be a pain in the ass, but an update like this is deadly. Xabby continues to speak. "But, if Kokichi was at the party in December, and Kokichi is also still in the mirror world office, something tells me that Kokichi is in danger of something and I don't what it is. I don't know much about Kiel's case, but the fact that I didn't know he can’t see his mother considering no matter how much he wants to find ways to....see her again permanently."

Xabby wonders to herself if her headcanon about Kiel before being in the office makes it a lot harsher in hindsight. Regardless, she decided to keep speaking. "So, yeah, that's all I know about that, but um, it seems that somehow Kiel contacted you. Is it okay if you explain it to me?"

[drchucktingle]

this was a comment on one of my post from a recent live event. it was photos of joyful queer buckaroos celebrating together and proving love is real through creation, community, and a trot of love. most important I AM LITERALLY IN PHOTO AS A REAL FLESH AND BLOOD HUMAN

it got me thinking about how DEEP AND VICIOUS the irony poisoning of these early internet communities goes. the way buds like this cannot fathom someone just being a sincere person unrelated to their OWN old days of cynical posting. it is fascinating, and i will admit, sad too

despite a DECADE of work, countless live events, 350 tinglers written well before large language models were a thing, there are still people who cannot imagine someone like me could exist. it is a strange place to be. not just part of me, but my entire EXISTENCE is often gatekept

it is easy to say ‘well chuck your art IS strange’ but honestly i think it is more than that. magical realism is common. there are stories about dinosaurs and bigfeet and unicorns. this scoundrel reaction is about two unspoken things: my art is neurodivergent, and my art is queer

heres the thing: I WILL BE FINE. what concerns me is not an issue of MYSELF, it is a concern for the other young outsider buckaroos who see comments like this one and think ‘is that what they will say if i express MY unique way? will i be dehumanized like this at every turn?'

i will be honest, i cannot say that WONT happen, but i CAN say this: for as deep as this irony poisoning goes, it is slowly dying. the way i was treated at the start of my career is LIGHTYEARS DIFFERENT from the way i am treated now. there is a massive shift towards sincerity

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY. to young artists trotting up, the things that i am harassed over and doubted for and made fun of for are NOT tangental to what has made me successful, THEY ARE LITERALLY THE SAME THINGS THAT HAVE MADE ME SUCCESSFUL. YES I AM STRANGE, WHAT OF IT?

the things that you tuck away for fear of a review that says ‘there is a PROBLEM with this art because it has always been done another way’ THOSE ARE YOUR SUPERPOWERS. the gatekeepers want you to tuck those parts of yourself away because THEY TUCKED AWAY THOSE PART OF THEMSELVES

never forget that your unique way is PURE UNFILTERED 100 PERCENT ROCKET FUEL. it will stick out (maybe, if you are lucky, scoundrels will even say that someone like you could never actually be real), but sticking out isnt so bad when you are waving the flag of love.

in fact, when youre waving the flag of love, sticking out is pretty dang cool. what are flags for, after all? LOVE IS REAL BUCKAROOS. thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this long post then please consider preordering BURY YOUR GAYS.

LETS TROT

[yzzart]

── ★｡𖦹°‧ KENJI SATO SEEING THE SCRATCHES ON HIS BACK .ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: mention of sex, oral, back scratching, sexual content.

⭑.ᐟ Everything happened, properly, while Kenji was getting ready to mark his presence, alongside the team, heading to the arena for the match later on. — Coach Shimura ordered him to appear early, something that bothered the player. — Sato didn't need this, it was something dispensable, and he was forced to agree.

⤷ Due to the fact that he was unfortunately removed from your side; unable to cling to your body, cling to your touch or worship, lasciviously. — Longing to feel you once again; even though he had done this moments ago, he was still insatiated by you. — God, just by clicking his tongue, your taste reached his palate.

⭑.ᐟ Getting up from the bed, half-heartedly and with little enthusiasm, and admiring your serene and moderate image as you rested, Kenji fought the urge to ignore the order and lie down next to you; unfortunately and evidently, the sense of responsibility spoke louder.

⤷ And, knowing you like the back of his hand, Kenji knew you would disapprove of him if he did that. — Like a good boyfriend, he wouldn't make you upset.

⭑.ᐟ On his walk to the bathroom, assuming that he could put an end to the indolence that coursed through his body, Sato did not fail to feel some burning pains, small discomforts in his back, awkwardly running his hand around the area. — Ignoring, for now, the mental questions and went to the mirror.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji could already imagine the coach's voice echoing, unbearably, in his ears, scolding him for arriving at least a few minutes later than expected; and he was already reasoning out the most understandable excuse in his mind. — Or he would just say "don't worry, it won't hinder our competence", no, better not; but deep down he would like to say that.

⭑.ᐟ In front of the mirror, which showed his hair, in pure disarray and mess and his discouraged face, feeling bored, but, enigmatically, seductive, Kenji is worried, once again, about the discomforts of his back. — While uttering incoherent mumbles and swear words and directing his hand towards his skin for the second time, Sato allowed himself to turn towards the reflective glass, wanting to know what was bothering him so much.

⤷ And that's how he came across your art.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji's eyes examined, in fact, venerated with prudence and eccentric attention the marks, made by your nails, prominent and so protruding and, at the same time, deliciously burning exposed on his back; expressing an exotic, inconceivable and voluptuous sexual countenance. — The red lines, which blended into the tone of his skin, burned him both physically and mentally.

⤷ He couldn't imagine — oh, this cynical, shameless man believed it — that there was a small, furtive possessive streak coursing through your blood as you yearned, longed, to mark him.

⭑.ᐟ His fingers moved, still in disbelief, over a part of the skin he could reach, and he felt the current protuberances there and Kenji's lips couldn't stop themselves from forming a slutty, depraved smile. — He fucking loved what he was seeing, maybe more than he should have.

⤷ The moans, whimpers, and murmurs, that begged with desire for more, that came out of your beautiful mouth cried out in Kenji's mind; remembering, again, them like a song lyric he had memorized. — Sato began to identify a pulse, a throbbing in his dick and a wave of excitement flood his chest.

⭑.ᐟ Your boyfriend didn't care how fast he had to get to the arena, he would miss the time anyway, and then he contemplated what was captivated about him. — Showing off his corpulent, athletic back, wanting to see the marks better and not wanting them to disappear from view. — Kenji would beg for more of them later, he was sure of it.

⤷ Well, you better pray your nails don't break.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Imagine a Virgin! Reader thinking she outsmarted König by saying “I’m waiting till marriage” so he has a mock wedding in the basement 😭 imagine he kidnapped a priest to do the vows aswell.

In this whole situation, you mostly feel bad for the priest. Honestly, he just drew the worst possible card of being available in town next to Konig's dwelling and not being that cool type of priest who carries a gun. Konig kidnapped him, using the same method as you - and now there are two people stuck in his basement, but only one coming out alive. And fucked, thoroughly. It's kinda your fault - you said that you will never agree to sex before marriage and that you're too pure and innocent to even think about kisses without a wedding band. Konig loves you, obsesses with you - and he appreciates just how pure you are. Compared to his jaded position and cynicism, you're a pretty flower growing in the desert. Konig's heart was broken far too many times, and his years in the military didn't help with being a nice guy either - so, he appreciates his future wife being a faithful woman who values her innocence. Still, he doesn't appreciate it enough for a normal wedding. At least he has some sense in him, not fucking you in front of the priest. Konig drags you to the bedroom in the dumb white dress that he brought specifically for you - it's drenched in blood already since the basement isn't the cleanest place in the house, but he doesn't care. You look good in red. Too good, maybe. Good enough that Konig forces you to get on your back and kneads your ass before lapping at your cunt like a mad dog. He waited for this too long - a few weeks already, when he still thought your resolve could be broken easily. He's glad he waited - the sight of you trembling and crying under him is beyond divine. He wants you, he needs you, and he is so glad he can finally sink into your pussy, feeling your innocence slowly shattering under him. You can cry all you want, maybe loud enough for the priest in the basement to hear - but you can't escape him. Soon he will make you cry and squirm on his cock, moaning from pleasure - and soon you will beg for him to do his husband duties every night, while he is not busy with his other victims.

[foxy-eva]

Damaged Goods

Summary: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms. If they can’t find love, they can at least soothe their need for physical affection, right?

“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.” - Anita Ofokansi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut, Angst with a hopeful ending

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) negative self-talk and self-deprecation (both Reader and Spencer, also in the context of sex!), implied past trauma (nothing explicit), some dark/cynical humor, loneliness, crying (also during sex), showering together, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are ready for some smangst! This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge! 

Word count: 4.3k

Masterlist

It was as if Spencer had expected you when he opened his door, a sympathetic smile spread over his face and the first buttons of his shirt already undone. As if he had known that you weren’t planning on wasting any time to get him undressed once you stepped inside his apartment. 

“He stood you up, huh?” Spencer concluded after reading your expression. 

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “I don't even know why I still try with those stupid dating apps.”

“Probably because you don't want to end up old and alone like me,” he chuckled, his tone laced with cynicism. 

“You're not old,” you countered as you stepped closer to him. “And right now you’re not alone either.”

“Technically correct.”

You came to a halt not even an arm’s length away from him. His sight wandered over your face, obviously trying to interpret your current state of mind. It was rare that Spencer made the first step in your encounters. It was important to him to make sure you were the one in control. 

“I need you, Spencer,” you finally confessed. 

There was a certain desperation audible in your voice but it was nothing Spencer hadn’t heard before. He stepped towards you to close the distance between your bodies. 

“Come here,” he whispered as he placed his hands on your waist. 

What Spencer had to offer was the next best thing to love you could get. So you didn’t hesitate to give into the temptation of feeling his body pressed against yours for the umpteenth time in those past few weeks. 

Unlike the men before him, Spencer was not scared to get close to you even after telling him the secrets from your past. He didn't budge when you tried to push him away, well aware of the darkness he’d face once he stepped closer. He wasn’t afraid that you could suck him into the void that captured the place in your chest where your heart once was. 

What he saw when he looked into the abyss that was your soul felt familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the demons that possessed his own soul. It broke his heart to see you hurting. However, as morbid as it was, it also made him feel less lonely in his own suffering. 

One particularly lonely night a few weeks ago led you into his arms for the first time – and subsequently into his bed – to at least soothe the yearning for physical affection.

There was no romantic attraction to be found between the two of you. You came to an agreement that you were both too marred to even speak of romance hypothetically. Too large was the risk of  potential self-destruction that could follow a union of two such damaged hearts. 

This was a purely physical thing – a way to pretend that your love lives weren’t completely doomed. Sleeping with Spencer was like committing to a symbiosis, a mutual agreement to use the other’s body to appease this pain that wouldn’t go away. 

You reminded yourself of that when his lips made contact with yours that night. He kissed you like a starving man, never quite able to satiate the burning hunger of his soul. What you had to offer was good enough for now, though. 

As he walked you into his bedroom, it almost felt like following a routine the two of you had adopted. Just a few skilled movements were enough to stand completely bare in front of each other, greedy hands groping whatever flesh was in reach. 

When you finally lay down on the mattress, Spencer’s lips chased every curve and dip of your body, almost as if he was determined to find the secret remedy to finally end your suffering. 

Only there was none. 

The inner turmoil never went away but during those hours you were able to tune it out. It was nothing but a distant memory once Spencer laid down between your legs. He collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue until you were squirming underneath him, desperate to find relief. 

“Not yet,” he breathed as he sat up between your legs. 

He leaned over you, sharing your own taste with you as he kissed you again. At the same moment his tongue entered your mouth, you could feel his hardness pressing into your entrance. There was no need to be reluctant, no moment of questioning if what you were doing would taint the other one. His mouth left your lips to bite into your neck instead, unafraid that his venom could ever hurt you. 

Everything I touch starts rotting, Spencer once chuckled when you tried to save one of his house plants. Cynical as ever, he had said it with a grin on his face but you knew that there was more meaning behind his words than he would ever admit.

It was different with you, though. The damage had already been done by the hands of other people. There was no innocence that could have been defiled. There was nothing Spencer could do to wound you worse than them, no matter how little he thought of himself. 

Maybe that was the real reason it was so easy for him to lose himself inside your embrace. You could see it in his eyes as he entered you. He was allowed to be himself with you, to feel lust and affection despite his hardship, despite the lack of true love. 

Those sensations were a mutual experience, too. With Spencer you were never worried about being rejected. Together you had created your own safe space, a bright pink bubble within the darkness where you could truly be yourselves with one another. 

In perfect unity you began moving with each other, each thrust of hips answered by your body grinding against him. Together you chased the feeling of sweet release, the moment of pure bliss. 

“Fuck,” Spencer muttered against your lips, announcing that it wouldn’t be much longer now. 

You slowed down your movements, desperately trying to prolong this moment, to indulge some more in this short reprieve of the mess that was your life. 

“Please, hold on,” you begged him as you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. 

Suddenly and without a warning Spencer stopped moving to kiss away the tears from your cheeks instead. He tasted the saline on your skin and imagined that it had been kissed by the ocean instead of the cruel reality.

“Are you okay?” He cooed when he found your eyes.

“No,” you breathed. “But when am I ever?” 

“Do you want to stop?” He offered, obviously concerned with you. 

You shook your head as you pushed against his shoulders to urge him to lie down beside you. Climbing into his lap, you found your place on top of him while Spencer’s hands grabbed your hips. 

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure before continuing. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You know very well that I need this just as much as you do.” 

With your hand wrapped around his length you guided him into your body once more. Spencer threw his head back into the pillow as you started moving at a slow, almost torturous pace. Not much time passed until the both of you danced along the edge of euphoria again. 

It only took a few skilled motions until you finally fell over the edge, taking Spencer right with you. The high subsided a lot quicker than you would have liked and with that the bright pink bubble you had created burst again.

Spencer held you for the rest of the night, even after the both of you had long fallen asleep. Only when morning came did he dare to let go of your body as he got out of bed. When you heard him turn on the shower, your entire body began tingling as the longing to bask in the warmth his skin radiated became overwhelming. 

With quiet steps you approached the bathroom and opened the door. 

“Do you need something?” You heard Spencer’s voice from behind the shower curtain. 

You stepped closer to the shower before asking, “Can I join you?” 

“Of course.” He pulled back the curtain to let you step in, offering a hand so you wouldn’t slip. 

It was only a little awkward to stand in front of Spencer completely naked in bright daylight. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, sharing both the warm water and the heat his body provided with you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly that you were looking for when you joined him in his morning shower, but it was nice to just be close to him. 

You stepped back to find his eyes and he noticed your ambivalence. Before he had a chance to ask, you giggled, “I’m trying to decide whether I want to get clean or dirty.”

Spencer joined you with his own laughter. “Well,” he chuckled as he grabbed the shampoo bottle, “let’s start by getting you clean.” 

He began shampooing your hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. This act of innocent affection shocked your entire system. Suddenly you were unable to form a coherent sentence, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the sensation of Spencer running his fingertips over your scalp. A part of you wanted to fight this experience of being taken care of but a much bigger, much more desperate part simply indulged in the sensation. 

When you couldn’t get much cleaner, you reciprocated this pure act. Spencer didn’t resist, instead his body became pliable under your touch as you helped him wash his hair and skin. It almost felt like a sacred act to rid him of the remaining soap. Your sight followed the bubbles as they ran down his legs and disappeared in the drain. 

You couldn’t quite explain it but somehow this shower felt more intimate than any sexual act you had shared in the past. It wasn’t your intention but it felt like something between the two of you had shifted as you stepped out of the bathroom and got dressed. 

It felt like the safest option to lighten the mood with your usual playful banter. 

“My therapist said something stupid the other day,” you finally broke the silence. 

“Did she say that you should stop sleeping with me? Because then I might need to have a serious conversation with her,” Spencer joked. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. I never mention you in therapy,” you lied. 

He saw right through you but let it go anyway. “Right,” he said instead. 

Spencer walked right behind you as you made your way over to his kitchen to make some coffee. 

“She said that I need to start learning to love myself before someone else can fall in love with me.” The coffee maker made a hissing noise right as the last word left your lips. 

“Yikes,” Spencer deadpanned. “Good luck with that.”

“I know, right? I’ll probably end up old and alone like you,” you snickered.  

Spencer laughed at your words. “I was talking about the coffee maker but I deserved that.” 

The ringing of your phone distracted you from your mission to make coffee. When you got it out of your purse, you saw a message from the guy who stood you up last night. 

“The guy from last night is asking for another date. Apparently he didn’t show up because of some work emergency,” you explained with your eyes still glued to the screen. 

Spencer huffed in response. “You're not seriously considering it?” 

“What choice do I have? It’s not like people are lining up to finally date me.”

He rolled his eyes as he poured some coffee in a mug. “He’s not the right person for you. You should say no,” was his final advice. 

“That's the thing with damaged goods though, isn’t it? People can sense that we are not worthy of their time, that they can do better. So we have no choice than to settle for something, or rather someone not quite perfect.”

Months ago you had come to an agreement to stop cheering each other up when it came to your love lives. There was a mutual understanding that telling the other one they would for sure get their happily-ever-after soon didn't help at all. It was sort of comforting to be able to talk about the unadorned truth with one another. 

“There's a difference between not quite perfect and absolute dipshit though,” Spencer retorted.

His choice of words made you laugh. It was rare that Spencer used crude language but he never minced matters when talking about your Tinder chronicles.  

He found your eyes and added, “You deserve better than that.”

Half jokingly, half seriously you asked, “Do I really?” 

A smirk formed on his face when he teased, “Well…” 

You playfully punched his arm and laughed, “Don't be a dick, Spencer! Now I’m going to go on this date out of spite!”

Spencer had seen the worst of you and he was aware that you’d probably fall back into old habits quickly, even if that guy was decent. That poor man didn't stand a chance to fight through all those walls you had so carefully built to protect your heart.

There was another, unspoken reason why the two of you had stopped cheering each other up so long ago. In the unlikely case that you would actually finally find your soulmate, what would that mean for Spencer? That he had been more broken than you all along?

It’s not that he didn't want you to find happiness. But the thought that he might be left behind was devastating. Ending up old and alone was only a tolerable thought if he could have you by his side. 

So Spencer did what he knew best and started pushing you away.

Several days passed without hearing a word from him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was nothing you could hold against him – you had done the same thing before. It couldn't have been a coincidence that right when you were supposed to leave for your date, you found yourself standing in front of Spencer’s apartment door instead. 

Three firm knocks announced your presence. You heard some shuffling on the other side of the door but he didn't open. It was to be expected. You got his spare key out from your purse to enter his place uninvited. 

It was the couch where you found him, his arms wrapped around his knees, making him appear so much smaller than he really was. He was wearing an old Caltech shirt and sweatpants and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. The redness around his eyes revealed that he had been crying.

Instead of greeting you, he groaned, “I shouldn't have given you my key.”

“Well,” you shrugged as you sat down beside him. “Too late.”

“I mean it, you shouldn't be here.”

“Nice try,” you quipped. “You should know by now that you can't scare me off that easily.” 

The truth was that he didn't want you to leave, even when the words that left his mouth claimed the opposite. You had proven to him over and over again that no matter how many of his scars he let you see, you stayed.

Old habits die hard, though. So he still tried walking away, even if he wouldn't get far. You watched as he disappeared in the bedroom and threw the door shut behind him. The sound didn't even make you flinch. 

Slowly you counted to ten before you got up to follow him. He knew you better than that but he still had a surprised expression on his face when he saw you walking through his bedroom door. A part of him still believed that there would come a point where all this darkness became too overwhelming even for you. 

“I won’t leave,” you reminded him, a loving softness laced over your voice. 

You sat down beside him on the bed when he started crying again. To your surprise he didn’t wince when you reached for his hand. 

“Talk to me,” you finally offered.

“You don't understand,” Spencer whimpered. “I feel so alone.”

Right as the words left his lips, he looked up at you, tears still running down his cheeks. He looked at you and remembered that what he said was wrong. 

Because you did understand. 

And he knew that very well. 

That was when he remembered that it wasn’t his apartment you should be at right now. He took a deep breath before wiping away his tears. 

“You're gonna be late for your date,” he stated, his eyes glued to the floor. 

Your words were genuine when you countered, “You're so much more important than a stupid date, Spencer.”

After hearing those words, he leaned over to catch your lips with his without a warning. The fervor he displayed knocked the air out of your lungs. He kissed you greedily, his hands grabbing your waist to push you against his body. 

His tongue begged for entrance and you granted it, melting into him with this kiss that tasted more salty than you would have liked. How easy it would have been to fall back into your old routine, to lose yourself inside his arms as you both chased a quick solution to a problem that couldn't be fixed. 

His hands started searching for the softness your body had to offer, calloused fingertips brushing over the velvet of the skin he found underneath your shirt. It was not like you didn't yearn for it too, for this make-believe game you liked to play. More than anything did you crave the sensation of his touch, this moment that briefly let you forget all the marks past lovers had left on your body. 

It didn't feel right, though. Not anymore. 

Spencer instantly sensed your hesitance and pulled back to find your eyes. Never before had he looked more vulnerable than in that moment. 

“I don't think it’s a good idea,” you breathed as your hands found his face to wipe his tears away. 

Spencer pulled away from you, denying you the access to his skin. 

“So it's okay if you cry during sex, but when I do it, that's where you draw the line?” He huffed. 

The harshness of his words shocked you but you could see the regret in his eyes instantly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

You reached for his hand as you softly spoke, “It’s okay. You're upset, I get it.” 

Several moments of silence passed. Seconds of contemplating how to proceed until you decided to offer him the comfort he craved anyway. 

You leaned in for another kiss. It was a lot softer and slower than before but Spencer took what he could get. When you got ahold of the hem of his shirt to take it off, he pulled back. 

“Wait, I’m not sure about this,” he stuttered. “I don't want you to feel like–”

“Spencer,” you interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”

A quiet breath fell from his lips before he nodded. “More than I ever thought possible.”

With that there was no more resistance to be found when you continued undressing him. He moved with you until only underwear was covering your bodies. 

“Lie down,” you cooed and he did as you said. 

Unlike your previous encounters, it was apparent that what the both of you craved was not sex this time. You laid down beside him to pull him into your arms, no distance allowed between the two of you. His skin was pressed against yours, so much so that it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began. 

He left featherlight kisses on your neck before resting his head against your shoulder. You held him as close as you could, not daring to loosen the grip you had around his body. 

With his arms and legs all bent and folded to fit inside your embrace, there was no more trace of the tall man he usually was. He seemed small, almost fragile. Even more so when another fit of sobs shot through his body. 

Spencer trembled inside your arms and you held him. You held him until he had successfully cried himself to sleep.

At least that was what you thought. The harbingers of your own slumber had already begun numbing your senses when you suddenly felt his lips brushing over your cheek. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered almost inaudibly. 

I know, you thought but were already too far gone to answer him. 

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found Spencer already awake, looking at you. His eyes were still a bit swollen but his facial features looked soft, almost content. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Like what?” He mumbled. 

“Like a lovesick fool!” 

Spencer didn't seem surprised at your words. It seemed like he was aware that you had heard what he said to you last night. 

“What if I am?” He asked, a smirk spread over his face. 

Now was not the time for your usual sarcastic banter. Not when everything you had with him was about to implode. 

You sat up in the bed and warned him, “Stop it, Spencer.”

He shook his head, “I can’t keep pretending. It’s the truth.”

You got up to get dressed while you huffed, “How can it be true after you have seen the worst of me.”

“I have seen the worst of you and I still love you.”

You started pacing up and down his bedroom, trying to come up with something to say to that. Spencer got up too and put his clothes on. You came to a halt about an arm’s length away from him before you said, “This is not what love should feel like.”

“How would you know?” He countered. 

His words seemed cruel but they were true. You didn't know what love actually felt like. There was this image you had in your head of an innocent, saccharine kind of love that probably only existed in fiction.  

Spencer didn't let it go just yet. There was a certain insecurity audible in his voice when he practically begged you, “Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel the same way ” 

Instead of looking at him, your sight fell to the floor. “What I feel is the urge to leave.”

It was to be expected that this would be your reaction. Spencer knew you well enough to be aware of the risk he took by confessing his feelings. He suspected that you reciprocated them but were still too afraid to admit it. 

He stepped out of your way and gestured towards the door. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

To your own surprise, you hesitated.  

“What are we doing, Spencer?”

A very timid smile appeared on his face when he realized that you didn't follow your instincts to leave. Maybe there was hope after all. 

“I’m not sure,” Spencer answered. “…but I’m willing to find out.”

It wasn’t like this thought had never crossed your mind. In fact, there was a part of your brain that sometimes overpowered anything else and let you fantasize about a potential future with him. 

However, you were very familiar with the demons Spencer had to fight every day. And you were even more aware of your own darkness. You were afraid that the combination of those things might become a poisonous mixture that had the potential to destroy the both of you. 

So it was only logical to voice your concerns. “I don’t think I can make you happy.” 

“It’s not your job to make me happy,” he sighed. “But maybe there is a chance that we could find happiness together. In little those moments, just like before, when we woke up together. Or when we took a shower the other day. Maybe those little things add up one day to something bigger. To something better. Something worth taking the risk.” 

You looked at the door once more but decided to sit down at his bedside instead of leaving. 

You found his eyes and breathed, “Okay.” 

Spencer sat down beside you. “Okay?”

What you had with him was imperfect and not at all what you had imagined. Some might think what you were about to do was stupid, maybe even reckless. It was only a matter of time until one of you got hurt, got caught in the crossfire of the intensity of your emotions. But maybe it was worth giving it a chance. 

Yes, some might call it reckless. But in that moment you thought of it as bravery. 

“Yes.” You confirmed. “Let’s give it a try.” 

A split second after you said those words, you felt Spencer’s lips on yours. The kiss felt different than the ones before. There was no desperation or insatiable hunger noticeable in his actions. This kiss was sweet, almost innocent. It was a way to melt into one another with no hurry, no need to compensate for something you’d never truly experience. 

Soon you were both shedding each layer of clothing before lying down on the bed to continue the kiss without any barrier between you. His chest was firmly pressed against yours and you could feel his heart thumping against your skin, almost as if it was looking for its counterpart inside your ribcage. 

You could feel your heart calling out to him. For the first time you didn't want to be with him to shield your heart from the rest of the world, no. This time you wanted to open up, to give Spencer a chance to feel your affection.

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses. 

He leaned back to smile at you and you could feel how his love entered your body, how it was on a mission to bring light to even the darkest corners of your soul.

“I love you, too.”

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @castiels-majestic-wings @emiliaserpe @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @hales-17 @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @bunnylovesani @spenciesslut @billie-lover8 @indyvelazquez @evrmorets

[deebris]

The Fractured Bonds

Nolan Grayson x daughter reader (platonic!)

Mark Grayson x sister reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Mark finds himself facing an unexpected threat to his family when Angstrom Levy decides to hold his mother and sister hostage. Despite the family turmoil they've endured and Nolan's departure, he returns to rescue his daughter.

Warnings: Contains scenes of violence, emotional distress and it mentions that the reader was murdered in other realities. The reader is 5 years old. This is just an idea I had a long time ago and kept it stored. This scenario was inspired by Chapter 33 of the "Invincible" comics in portuguese.

Word count: 3.6k

As soon as Mark flew into the house through the window, his heart stopped when he saw you and his mother clinging to each other, as if your lives depended on that embrace. When Eve told him that Debbie had called, but the voice on the phone was a man's, he couldn't help but rush back to you two and imagine that something was wrong, and indeed it was.

At first, he ignored the hideous figure holding you both hostage, but made a point to glare at him with hatred now. His head was larger than that of an ordinary person and the shape of his brain was imprinted around the skull; moreover, the expression on the stranger's face was manic and as furious as Mark's, but there was a kind of excitement shining through.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Your brother's voice was deeper than usual; an attempt to sound more authoritative and intimidating.

"He wanted me to bring you here..." Debbie suddenly began to speak "I-I didn't know where you were. I remembered that Eve had called, I thought maybe she knew." Her voice was faltering, full of pauses between words due to nervousness. And it was while his mother was speaking that Mark noticed her bruised face, with a bleeding nose and purple patches on her arms as she held your small body as protected as possible.

You seemed to be in better physical condition than her, but your injured knee did not go unnoticed, as a thin trail of blood had formed around your calf. In an adult, the wound wouldn't have been a big deal, but your delicate skin stung with the cut, and he knew it hurt because of your sniffles. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. H-he hurt me, he was going to hurt my baby." She said the last part with regret, referring to you, while holding you closer and running her fingers through your hair.

"In fact, I think your son was talking to me." Interrupting his mother, finally that man had spoken, and his tone was cynical, too unconcerned for the taste of the furious Mark glaring at him. As if that weren't enough, he dared to touch Debbie's shoulder, acting as if he had every right to do so.

"Let them go now." Mark ordered him with dangerously calm voice, although the expression on his face was one of pure disgust.

"Not yet." He opened a diabolical smile as he began his ridiculous speech: "I've learned a lot about you, Mark Grayson. Many things. I know how violent you can get when you're angry, like now..." He paused dramatically, as if he needed to emphasize what he was about to say next, and it was only irritating Mark's impatient. "I know you got it from your father."

The scowl on Mark's face deepened as you tried to peek out from your mother's arms to try to understand what was going on, but she pulled you closer to her embrace. "Stay here with mommy, sweetheart."

Both she and your brother hadn't had the courage to tell you what had happened to Nolan; you were still too young, maybe you wouldn't even understand. They both spent the last few months avoiding mentioning your father at home, and when they did, it was in whispers so that you wouldn't start asking questions they wouldn't know how to answer. No child should know that their own father was a superhero killer, let alone that he had abandoned his own family out of sheer moral caprice.

"Did you know that your identity is public in almost forty percent of the realities where you exist, Mark?" The villain continued his taunts, wanting to get to some point. "That's almost half. And that means you're careless."

"Get to the point already." Mark asked, or rather demanded. If this continued, he was sure he would snap. This dialogue was irritating him, but as long as his mother and sister were witnessing everything, he would need to hold himself together until he found a way to get him away from here.

"You see this?" He pointed to himself, referring to his own appearance "I'm a freak... A deformed freak. So I guess it's understandable that you don't recognize me." Then he wrapped you and your mother around his arm in threat, and the grip was painful. "When you saw me before, when you did this to me, I looked much more normal!"

"Oh, god... You're that guy." Realization struck him, widening his eyes as he remembered the past.

"That guy? Is that all you remember of me? That I was that guy?" If that man's temperament was bad before, now it must have risen about twenty degrees with the lack of importance his sworn enemy had given him. "I'm Angstrom Levy! The next time you forget my name, it will be because you'll be dead!"

He was certainly furious, pouring out hatred and continuing to blame Mark for interrupting his inter-dimensional goals, blaming him for his current deformed appearance, repeating that he would always be a freak, even though he had sought out the best surgeons to reconstruct his shattered body.

"The greatest minds in a dozen realities couldn't find a way to fix my brain!" His hands clenched into heavy, tense fists, ready to crush something "And it's all because of you!"

After that, he exploded and everything happened too quickly for Debbie to stop him, and even if she were quick, she wouldn't have had the strength. In moments, you were ripped from your mother, who had taken a punch to the face. Levy held you and stretched one of your arms with the free hand. You hadn't acquired powers yet and were nothing but a child; you couldn't defend yourself alone.

Mark took a step forward, but Levy raised your arm in a strange position, ready to break it. You cried and sobbed desperately due to the intense pain. "Mommy, make him stop! Mark!" You pleaded as he twisted your arm, and irrationally shouted for your brother repeatedly, seeking someone who could come to your rescue.

"Let her go!" Mark was no longer the Invincible, even in his superhero costume. He was just a man trying to protect his family, and he felt so useless and powerless that it was agonizing. Without thinking, he lunged at the hideous villain in front of him, ready to confront him in physical combat at that very moment.

"That's right. I'm right here. Come get me!" And he did, but Mark was taken aback to find himself in a completely strange place. He was no longer in his home; Angstrom Levy had sent him through one of his portals to another dimension.

He watched in shock the weird jungle he found himself in, with mutant dinosaur-like creatures devouring the carcass of another beast as large as they were right beside him. The animals noticed Mark, and suddenly they... Spoke? He heard the beasts mention that it had been a long time since they had seen any Homo Sapiens, obsessed with devouring him. Apparently, he was in some apocalyptic dimension where humans had been extinct by these beasts. He could have ended these animals in seconds, but still couldn't help but feel fear, not for himself, but for you. How would he return to help you?

At home, Debbie had to plead with Levy to return you to her, and with some pity for your cries after he broke the arm, he returned you, allowing you to be comforted by your mother. But he kept you two close to him, with a firm grip on the older woman's shoulder, so he could use you against Mark at any moment.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay," she repeated comforting words as she wiped away your tears and rubbed your back gently. Debbie had seen and heard of many cruel villains thanks to her life as the wife of a "hero," but how insensitive would a human being need to be to break a 5-year-old's arm like this? Of course, she knew that even more horrendous things had happened to children in this world, but you were her daughter, and it hit her deeply.

Debbie felt you faint in her lap and panicked. She shouldn't have shaken you the way she did, but in the midst of desperation, the last thing she wanted was to see you silent, with your eyes closed. You passed out from the pain. It's normal, she's aware of that, but it was still terrifying. She was only taken out of her stupor when she heard his disgusting voice again:

"I can't believe you're going to lie to her like that." He drew attention to himself. "What kind of mother are you? How can you say that to her? You're not sure about that." Debbie ignored him, and he took it as a challenge. "I bet you're not even listening to me. Blocking me from your mind, aren't you?" He insisted. "Are you sure you don't want to talk? I could use your company."

He tried once more, but still received no response from the woman. Levy shifted his gaze from Debbie to carefully observe you. He knew the pain must be intense; he should have given up injuring you as soon as Mark passed through the portal, but he preferred to do it as a reminder. A warning for when his brother returned. If he returned. "Let's check on your son. Let's see how well Mark managed to survive this reality."

Extending his hands to summon a portal that glowed green, a figure in his yellow superhero uniform passed through the colorful circle.

"You were going to hurt my sister?" The boy shouted as soon as he saw he was back home, numb with a sense of vengeance.

"Not only was I going to, but I did." The statement made Mark's blood run cold.

"Mark?" Debbie called him desperately to show your state. She couldn't bear to see you suffer. Mark held his mother's gaze, interrupting only to finally notice you, who were motionless. Your arm was in such a unusual and swollen position. Your face, which was once red from crying, now had turned pale, and if it weren't for your shallow breathing, he would have thought you were dead.

"What have you done?" He asked furiously.

Levy made no move to respond, taking you from Debbie's arms once again. "No! Let go of my daughter!" She shouted angrily, completely abandoning her earlier fearful expression. She refused to allow that horrendous creature to take you away from her a second time. Debbie had felt how cold and clammy your skin was, and the more she looked at you, the paler your face became.

"Welcome back, Mark Grayson." Levy said after observing the hysterical scene of the woman beside him unfold with some indifference. "Your little sister here is really cute; I personally adore this chubby face of hers." Mark's throat tightened at the sight of you in the arms of that despicable man, scared with force, and seeing his broken mother in the corner of the bed only made his heart beat harder. "You know, I've encountered her in other realities." His tone was perverse, too cynical. "But unfortunately, those versions of her didn't get to advance much in age compared to this one. Isn't that interesting?"

"You bastard!" It didn't take much intelligence to understand what he meant, and it made Mark's nostrils flare with fury.

"That also makes me wonder what must have happened differently for her to survive longer in this dimension." Debbie moved from where she was on the bed and carefully reached for the bedside lampshade while Angstrom Levy was distracted, but a brief glance at her son made her abandon the idea. Mark discreetly shook his head negatively, implying that she shouldn't do that. "Or maybe I am the trigger for this event here," he pointed out with a smile.

"If you hurt her more, I swear-" Mark said with hatred and tense body, but he was interrupted.

"What? You'll kill me? Of course, you will." The villain stared at him seriously, with some skepticism. "Don't worry. However, her well-being really only depends on you. After all, it was you who let Anissa kill her once, and Conquest, and Thragg... Although the latter was more your father's fault," he stated matter-of-factly while scratching his chin.

He seemed like had finished speaking, but decided that the hero needed to hear more upon seeing the boy's shocked face at the mention of those peculiar names, yours assassins, curiously, all Viltrumites. Levy wasn't sure if Mark was already aware of these people, but what really mattered to him was to disturb the boy. "But it's you whom I want to hurt. I want to hurt you so, so much... Your little sister is very safe, as long as I determine that the only way to hurt you is by hurting her."

Then suddenly he lifted your unconscious body in his arms as he prepared to throw you into a portal. Debbie's heart was in combustion, beating faster than ever as she suppressed a scream. But your brother's temper finally snapped, completely determined to kill him once and for all.

Mark moved forward to stop him, but within seconds, the roof of the house was pierced and him felt something, or rather, someone push him away. He couldn't see much, but he followed his mother's pleas and embraced her, protecting her from the wreckage. His throat tightened at not seeing you, not knowing what was happening, but soon part of the dust began to settle.

Struggling a bit, the boy managed to see his father's back, apparently holding the man, who moments ago was about to send you away, in the air by the neck. He relaxed a little more when he saw traces of his hair resting on Nolan's broad shoulder, finally free from the dangerous clutches. Despite the disturbing events regarding his father, Mark knew he wouldn't let anyone harm you under his protection.

Levy felt himself losing breath, his brain throbbing from the blow he received from a piece of wood fallen from the ceiling. An intense pain hit him as Omni-Man began to bash his head repeatedly against the wall. His skull was now partly mashed into the concrete, and the red liquid that was his blood flowed to the ground.

"If my left fist weren't busy, I'd make you suffer much more," Nolan's thunderous and deep voice sounded intimidatingly throughout the room. "Despicable trash like you should keep your filthy hands to yourself."

Nolan struck one last time as he whispered in a chilling whisper the last words that man would hear before having his skull pushed against the wall slowly, until it crushed like gelatin: "I'll ensure that every version of you that dares to appear here on this Earth, or anywhere in this Universe, has a slow and painful death before laying a finger on my daughter again."

And as the Viltrumite increased the grip on Levy's neck and continued pressing his head against the wall, it seemed like his eyes were about to pop out. The skin that was once brown now split between purple and pink in some spots due to the continuous pressure while him was dying.

Observing the man coldly, Nolan withdrew his hand and took care not to stain you with the blood dripping from his fingers, portraying a much gentler grimace as he observed your sleeping figure. He always found it adorable to see how incredibly tiny you looked in his arms, It awakened an intense feeling of protection. But upon noticing that you were injured, his eyebrows furrowed, carefully examining your broken arm while wondering how Mark had let this happen.

"Father, what-" Mark broke free from his mother, finally finding words amidst the shock, but was interrupted.

"Your sister needs to go to the hospital." His voice was distant, almost emotionless, successfully masking the concern.

Debbie honestly wasn't ready to face the man she had been deceived by so soon, but she couldn't care less when the only thing she had wanted for hours was just to keep you safe and close to her. She avoided his eyes as she anxiously waited for an opportunity to have you back in her arms, and her ex-husband seemed to have noticed. As hesitant as he was, he walked over to her carefully, avoiding showing a more human side of himself to his family, but also not being hostile in his gestures. He surrendered to the act and pressed his lips to one of her temples before putting you in her arms.

"Take good care of her." He stared at his son with some severity. "I can't always be here, I'm entrusting her life to you, Mark."

The boy looked at him with some indignation, as if his father doubted that he would do everything to protect you, but he knew he had been too careless, as Angstrom Levy said he was. Even though he had the strength to defend his little sister, he still found himself vulnerable tonight, almost incapable.

"You don't need to ask for that." Mark was firm, and Nolan nodded satisfactorily. He thought about saying something more, even though he didn't understand why, the last thing he should want is to speak to his father again. Perhaps it was to unload the disgust he still felt, but the health of both of you was a more important matter to him now.

"Go away." Debbie's voice surprised them. She was obviously defeated, too tired for all this, but still found the energy to stand while holding you. "It was the necklace, wasn't it? Are you spying on us?"

Nolan's gaze was hard, trying to hide how his ex-wife's contempt affected him. The months of bitterness he spent in space had changed his demeanor a bit, but he thought it would be less painful for both of them not to hear his regret after all the harm he had caused. He didn't consider himself worthy of his family's pity, although now they considered him a stranger. He knew that Mark and Debbie still harbored a monstrous image of the person he was, and perhaps he really was.

"Aren't you going to admit it?" She asked him again with indignation, seeing that the man didn't make a single move to leave.

The object she referred to was a gift from both of them to you, or rather, from Nolan. He was the one who had the idea of ​​putting the necklace around your neck with the excuse of keeping you safe. He wanted to know where you were and who you were talking to, and the way he found to do that was by projecting this piece with the help of his planet's technology. "I hope every time you hear this little girl mention your name, you wriggle with remorse and agony, if you still have any kind of heart. You were better off away."

She still remembers when he told you: 'Whenever you want to talk to me, just hold your necklace close. That way I'll always be with you.' At the time, it was something so beautiful, something they hadn't thought of doing with Mark, but now it could be different. In your childish mind, it was as if it were magical and a piece of your father would really be with you all the time. But now it stirred disgust in her, she wanted to destroy it.

"Don't take it off, Debbie. Please." Nolan's imposing voice had become softer, almost frightened, and he had finally shown some kind of weakness after so long. "Please." He repeated the plea.

"Mom, maybe it's a good idea to let her keep wearing it. At least sometimes." Mark interfered not for his father, but thinking of you. If Nolan had been able to appear today to save you, he could come to your rescue more often, although the idea of ​​you being in danger again gave him chills.

Debbie hesitated, giving up tearing the necklace off your neck. Knowing that Nolan would be able to experience their day-to-day life bothered her, but she would deal with it later, remembering that you needed medical care. She was very hurt, but her own condition didn't matter to herself as long as she saw you awake and well again. "Mark. Hospital." she announced hurriedly ignoring the fourth person in the room and the bloody scene beside her.

Nolan sighed in relief for a moment, looking one last time at you and Mark, ashamed, but adopting the stone-cold expression he had previously. "Mark, don't let her take it off." He didn't want to sound like that, but the tone of his voice carried a threat. The boy cared little about giving him any kind of response, returning a grim expression to his father as he departed at a thunderous speed through the now-open roof, just as he had come, raising the dust once again.

"Let's go," Mark said gently to his mother, lifting her delicately since you were in her arms.

[mrsoharaa]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝑰𝒏 𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏!

characters: Miguel O'hara x Reader

cw; none! all fluff! rainy cuteness! (I honestly think about this type of scenario allll the time ♡)

a/n; couldn't stop thinking about this so I decided to write it! ..... at 2 in the morning LMAO! Miggy my beloved, you are sooo loved! (✿ ʃƪ ˘ ³ ˘) ♡ (another impeccablyyy self indulgent piece for my soul ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა)

since it's raining ever so gently and lovingly where I live rn I'm just thinking about reader happily twirling in the gentle pattering rain, arms stretched out, head tilted back to welcome the cooling droplets of the skies natural, tranquil gift cascading across their blissful face. A lulled delicate hum of delight rumbles from their chest, enjoying the cooling bits of the tittering rain caress the tender of their flesh. Basking in nature's soul cleansing refreshness.

Lost in their own little world, drowning in the pure delight and awe of the descending liquid seeping into their skin.

All while Miguel just crosses his arms and leans against the foot of your apartment front door, brows risen and a confused gaze hinting in such soft carmine irises.

"What are you doing? you're going to get sick, entra" he watches you smile wider, simply enjoying the blissful, peaceful moment of embracing natures purity. You stop momentarily in your tracks, now facing towards your looming boyfriend who was still wearing such a cynical expression. You giggle giddily, feeling the collecting moisture from the ground recoil over your bare feet.

"Come join me Miggy! it's so refreshing and freeing!" you chime with a perched smile, arms stretched out towards your skeptical partner. He scoffs, eliciting a eye roll.

"It won't be so refreshing when you get a cold the next morning, now come, before I have to go over there and throw you over my shoulders" he insists.

"Please! just...humor me Migs! I promise after one twirl, I'll come inside with you!" you swirl your arms a bit, flaunting him those wide, glimmering pretty doe eyes of yours, the very ones he could never refuse from you, with a beaming smile.

He groans inwardly, hesitating on his questionable decision but kicks himself out from the frame of your door. Slightly tenses up from the sudden change of temperature clouding over his stocky warm body, soften water droplets permeating through the waves of his beautiful cocoa locks to the comforting fabric of his clothes. Leaving little, to no room, for the wandering imagination.

He huffs out heavily, standing just a few inches before you, brows perking higher as he watches you gleam up at him with such wonderment and love. Can't help but raise a lipped smile as he feels your tiny hands entangle with his subtly, drawing him closer to you, allowing the rain to dance and embrace the two of you.

"See, it's completely soothing and soul cleansing, no?" you tilt your head to the right, still wearing that heart melting smile on your adoring face.

Miguel only hums in reply, glances up at the dim lit, foggy sky, seeing nothing but muggy darkness.

He closes his eyes slowly, musing to your silly portrayal about the rain being so cleansing and comforting. In a way...he did feel a sort of contentment resonate all over his firm body. Cradling, nurturing to his rugged soul.

You couldn't help the giddy grin widen across your radiant face, mirroring his actions with your hands still holding his.

The harmonic sound of the rain bouncing off against the ground around you and distant thunder wooed you both into a deep state of pliancy. Serenity.

Feeling your souls connect ever so perfectly with the pattering water waltzing around you.

Your fingers curl further into Miguel's deeper, pulling at his larger hands with a dire request.

Miguels lowly hums, peering open his eyes as he looks down at you, noting the familiar glint of want and admiration swelling in those gorgeous round globes of enchantment. A flash of unmistakable plea peering up at him, he could only scoff with a lit smile.

He carefully pulls you close to his looming stature, lifts his left hand to delicately brush away the sticking wet strands of your hair clinging to the sides of your face and tuck them behind your ear. Eyes never leaving one another, as his palm soothes down from the plush of your soaked cheeks to the side of your jaw, holding you still with tender and adoration.

"You really are something else, aren't you cariño?" he mutters softly, leaning down to press his lips against your own with such passion and affection. Smiles wider when he feels your body practically melt into his arms, your own lips curling into a wider smile as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers generously weaving into his damped, soften curls.

[yurtb0y]

Ted infodumping:

OKAY. Ted is so horrifically mischaracterized that I don’t even really know where to begin. I’m fresh on my Ted lore because I spent the whole night listening to the audiobook and tweaking out like a nerd 😭

Book Ted is so interesting. Without considering game lore, a lot of people seem to think of him as just a cold, self righteous misogynist. However, the thing is that Ted HATES himself. All of his paranoid delusions stem from insecurity, but the way he frames it in the narrative sounds like he’s ’bragging.’

“They hated me because I was the youngest” and “I was the least affected” both sound like points of insecurity for him. Not that he wanted to be tortured more, but in the sense that he was aware he suffered less, and he was insecure of the fact that it was obvious. Ted watched as Benny was transformed from a handsome, normal guy to a straight up ape, and he seems to use that as a comparison point for the other torture they experience. Like, “Well, I don’t have it as rough as Benny, and my mind is still intact because I would know if it wasn’t!” is essentially what Ted was getting at.

Based on how the canned food incident was mentioned in the game during Benny’s route, it can be assumed that the game takes place shortly after the book (seeing as it’s still only been 109 years), and obviously Ted and Ellen didn’t get to kill everyone.

Ted’s route and section in the game strategy guide highlight the reasons why he is the way he is. He was basically groomed by an older woman when he was 19. He had no education, and was forced to work as a mechanic. Then, this woman shows up and shows him the high life; he doesn’t even realize he’s being used by older women for his body.

Notice in his route, Ted never offers to sleep with the maid or the witch.. they offer it to HIM. And it’s not necessarily even an “offer”, it’s in exchange for something. Ted has always used intimacy as a way to get something, and that explains why he has such a cynical view of Ellen. She services the men to try and keep them sane, but Ted can’t seem to fully understand how it’s a selfless act. He has always attributed sex as a means to barter, and here’s a woman having sex with them for “no reason.” Seeing as he couldn’t make her finish, that furthers in his mind that she’s not getting anything from him, so WHY is she doing it? It doesn’t help that AM altered her to make her crave intimacy more, but Ted can’t escape his own disturbed views of sex, and so he blames Ellen for her service.

Then in the game, the reason I think he’s suddenly switched up so fast was because he saw the opportunity to be the fairytale hero that he always imagined being. In the game strategy guide it mentions how he felt cheated because he already saw Ellen as /his/ partner (or something like that), so now he had an opportunity to play the part of a gallant knight for the damsel in distress.

FUN THING TO NOTE!! In Ellen’s route she’s obviously very self-sufficient and intelligent. She’s strong, too. However, every time Ted narrates something (such as the book or his route) he perceives her as weak and emotional; when she doesn’t seem the type. She’s KIND, compassionate. Ted sees that as a form of feminine weakness. It makes you wonder if you can ever trust anything he said about her in the book, from her crying to her “emotional outbursts”. Ted is 100% an unreliable narrator, but people don’t seem to realize just how unreliable he is.

Another thing worth considering is that Ellen has Ted’s infatuation purely because she is the last woman on Earth. There is no other woman for Ted to run to, and he desperately needs the company/affection. Instead of coming to the terms with the fact that he’d never truly have something genuine, he deludes himself with the IDEA of Ellen (I assume his ideal version of her is the one in his route — pliant and submissive). He doesn’t love her for her, he loves this handcrafted idea that he’s built of her.

I personally think a lot of Ted’s inner hate towards Ellen in the book was also because he was jealous. She gave Benny a lot of attention because he was objectively the one that had the most shit going on (I mean… monkey 😭) and Ted immediately assumed the only reason she must like him is because he’s got a big package. This all ties back to Ted viewing sex as a bartering tactic. She doesn’t give Ted that gentle attention, and he can never make her finish. “Therefore, Ellen must give Benny tons of attention because he’s a good lay!” Is what I think his thought process was.

Now, this might be a crazy take, but I also think Ted projects his potential sexual trauma onto Ellen. He was used by older women throughout his young adult life, and he may not know it, but having sex with them to maintain his finances and social status must’ve been traumatic to some extent. But, he could never realize that, this happened in a time period where people were even more likely to not believe a male victim. Ellen takes him out of turn to thank him for going with them to get the canned goods, and all Ted can seemingly think about is how she MUST be using him. She was just trying to do something nice for him, but Ted is so tangled in his own paranoia and delusion that he can’t fathom why she’d do something nice for him.

Sorry if this doesn’t make sense I just woke up but ooooh I love Ted lore so much ugh!!!

y’all get him so well and this was sm fun to read THANK YOU!!!!

[nanoland]

all i want out of Nocturne Season 2:

with Tera out of the picture, Mizrak is now a mother to three extremely traumatized magical teenagers

and if Olrox wants to win him back, he has to win THEM over first.

cue Olrox trying to befriend 1. the kid whose mother he killed, 2. the kid whose mom was just vampirized by the lady Olrox was nominally allied with, and 3. Annette, who... is probably going to tolerate him better than the other two if only because she's less naive and recognizes how badly they need allies, but who's also pure of heart, staunchly ethical, and does not approve of people running away from a fight. you know. that thing Olrox made Mizrak do against his will.

imagine ruthless, cynical, self-serving Olrox sucking up to Annette. Mizrak's going to spend HOURS every day making puppy eyes at her and being like "look, he's... he's doing his best..... :(.... and he's.... really very handsome..... ? ....'"

[alilixx]

Henyoo!! :3 Can I please request a House M.D. married polyamorous Hudson (House x Cuddy x Wilson) AU and them having two daughters together? Maybe half domestic fluff at home and half ridiculous shenanigans at the hospital with House's DDX team finding out about all of this by slowly piecing together clues? Much appreciation if you do this one, thanks in advance! XD <3

Ahah i love the idea! First time i didn't write about a character x Reader but why not (i love them sm too dw).

The throuple was pure chaos, at least on the inside, but from the outside, no one would have guessed, except for House and those close to him, like his team. Of course, it took some time for it to become obvious. Cameron was the first to notice the small detail that seemed insignificant: how often Wilson and Cuddy were eating together.

For Wilson, this didn't seem unusual. He was used to eating with his patients, with House, with everyone, really. But Cuddy? Cuddy was the type to eat alone, stuck in her office between meetings or while catching up on paperwork. Seeing her in the cafeteria, and not just to scold House, but actually having lunch with Wilson, was the first clue that Cameron picked up on.

At first, she didn’t pay much attention, thinking it was perhaps just a coincidence. But as days went by, the lunches became more frequent. Cameron then began to observe, mentally noting these moments that were multiplying: a shared coffee break here, a knowing smile there, conversations that seemed longer and more animated than usual. She talked to Chase and Foreman about it, who initially shrugged, skeptical. "You're imagining things," Chase would say. "Wilson is sociable; Cuddy and he are probably just talking about the hospital and the stress House causes them."

But for Cameron, there was more to it. She knew Cuddy and Wilson well enough to know that it wasn’t just about work. And then there was House, who, while always hiding his true feelings behind a cynical facade, seemed a bit more irritable every time Cuddy and Wilson were together. The looks he gave when he caught them laughing, whispering secrets, all of this only strengthened Cameron's suspicions.

Of course, the young woman tried to bring it up with the team again. After observing Wilson, Cuddy, and House for several weeks, Cameron could no longer ignore the signs. The muffled laughter, the knowing glances, and those meetings in the cafeteria that seemed to last a bit longer than they should. Something was off, and she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. One morning, while the team was gathered in the diagnostic room, she decided to bring up the subject.

"Have you noticed anything strange with House, Wilson, and Cuddy lately?" she asked, breaking the silence as Foreman and Chase were reviewing the latest results of a patient.

Chase looked up, intrigued. "You mean apart from the fact that they all act weird most of the time?"

Foreman, always pragmatic, frowned. "I see where you're going with this, Cameron. They do seem closer. But that doesn’t mean anything. They've always been close friends."

Cameron shook her head. "No, it’s different this time. I’ve seen them together several times, and it wasn’t just work conversations. There’s something more. And House... he seems strangely calm when the three of them are together. As if he knows something we don’t."

This revelation caught Chase's attention. "What are you suggesting? That we start our own little investigation on our colleagues?" Cameron shrugged. "I just want to understand what’s going on. And I’m sure you’ve noticed things too."

At first, Foreman and Chase remained skeptical, but little by little, they started paying more attention to the interactions between House, Wilson, and Cuddy. What seemed like simple coincidences became harder to ignore: exchanged smiles, moments of silence that seemed to say a lot, and the way they synchronized without even speaking. As the weeks went by, the mystery deepened.

Eventually, the team couldn’t resist the temptation to conduct their own investigations. They began asking subtle questions, closely monitoring their habits, and exchanging theories. All this was done without the trio realizing they were the subject of an unofficial investigation.

But of course, nothing really escaped House. He quickly started to notice that his team was particularly curious about him, and he mentioned it to Wilson and Cuddy. One evening, the three of them met in Cuddy’s office, laughing about the situation.

"You really let them think they could figure us out?" Wilson asked, laughing. House smiled, amused. "Why not? It keeps them busy. And besides, it’s quite entertaining to watch them try to play detectives."

Cuddy shook her head, a smile on her lips. "They won’t give up until they know the truth. You know that, House." House shrugged. "Maybe. But it’s not like they could ever understand what we have, anyway."

Months passed, and as the team continued searching for clues, the throuple increasingly enjoyed their attempts. The tension of keeping their relationship secret became less and less burdensome because they knew that as long as they were together, they could overcome anything.

One day, news changed everything. Cuddy announced to Wilson and House that she had decided to adopt a little girl, Rachel. It was a decision she had thought about for a long time, and she knew it would change their dynamic, but she felt ready.

Wilson smiled when he heard the news. "Rachel, huh? That's a beautiful name." House, surprisingly, seemed moved. "You know this is going to make everything even more complicated, right?"

Cuddy nodded. "I know. But I think it’s the right thing to do. And I want both of you to be there, for her and for me." Wilson took Cuddy's hand in his, and House joined them, placing his hand on theirs.

In the days following Rachel's arrival in Cuddy's life, the throuple, of course, was different now. At first, they had to adapt to this new presence, this little girl who demanded all the attention and time Cuddy could give her. House and Wilson, although not really knowing how to handle a baby, did their best to support Cuddy in her new life as a mother.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, Cuddy suggested taking Rachel to the park. She thought it would be a good opportunity for all of them to relax a bit. House, who wasn’t particularly thrilled about the idea of spending time in a crowded park, grumbled a bit but eventually gave in to Cuddy’s persistent request.

When they arrived at the park, Wilson quickly spread out a blanket on the grass while Cuddy placed Rachel on the ground, surrounded by a few colorful toys. House sat down next to them, his sunglasses hiding part of his face, observing the scene with a feigned look of indifference.

Rachel, curious about her new surroundings, started crawling on the blanket, grabbing one of her toys and chewing on it happily. Wilson smiled, amused by the little girl’s boundless energy.

"She seems to be having a good time," Wilson said, turning to Cuddy, who was watching Rachel with obvious tenderness.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes shining with pride. "I think she likes being outside. She’s so curious about everything."

House, who had been silently observing the scene, suddenly leaned forward and grabbed one of Rachel's toys. He held it up in front of her, shaking it slightly to catch her attention. Rachel, intrigued, reached out for the toy, bursting into laughter when House lifted it out of her reach.

Wilson laughed. "You know, you could at least try to be nice." House shrugged, a sly smile on his face. "I’m just teaching her a life lesson: you can’t always get what you want."Cuddy rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. "Yes, but maybe we could be a bit gentler with her, don’t you think?"

House looked at Rachel, who was staring at him with innocent curiosity, and he felt something inside him relax a little. He lowered the toy and handed it to Rachel, who grabbed it joyfully, letting out a little cry of victory. "I guess I can make an exception," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Of course, there were plenty of little cute moments like that. Especially with Rachel, people who didn’t know them might think House wasn’t affectionate, given the love Wilson and Cuddy showed Rachel, but it was the opposite.

She and Wilson crossed paths in the hallway, clearly exhausted. "What are we going to do about Rachel?" Cuddy asked, worried. "I can’t leave the hospital right now, and she can’t be left alone any longer."

Wilson quickly thought through possible solutions. "I could call someone, maybe a friend, but it will take time..."

House, who happened to be passing by, caught their conversation. "Looking for someone to babysit the little terror?" he asked with his usual sarcastic tone, but there was a hint of something else in his voice, something softer.

Cuddy and Wilson exchanged a glance. They knew House wasn’t exactly the first choice for looking after a baby, but they were out of options.

"House, would you be willing to take care of Rachel tonight?" Cuddy asked, her voice tinged with both hope and doubt. House rolled his eyes but sighed. "Yeah, why not. I don’t have anything better to do anyway."

So House found himself driving to Cuddy’s house. He couldn’t help but smile, imagining what his team would think if they saw him in this situation. Upon arriving, he entered cautiously, not wanting to wake Rachel if she was already asleep.

Rachel was awake, sitting in her playpen with her toys, and as soon as she saw House, she let out a little cry of joy. House couldn’t help but smile despite himself. "Well, looks like you’re stuck with me tonight, kiddo."

He sat down next to her and watched her play for a while. Rachel, with her usual energy, began reaching out toys towards him, babbling happily. House, unfamiliar with this kind of play, clumsily tried to participate, shaking the toys as he had seen Cuddy and Wilson do.

Minutes turned into hours, and soon, Rachel began showing signs of tiredness. House gently picked her up, rocking her as he had seen Cuddy do. Against all odds, Rachel quickly calmed down, resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes slowly closing.

House found himself on the couch, lying down with Rachel cuddled against him. He was surprised to find himself enjoying this unexpected moment of calm, the comforting warmth of the little girl against him. Before long, the fatigue from his day overcame him, and he fell asleep, Rachel peacefully asleep in his arms.

Wilson and Cuddy arrived a few hours later, exhausted from their long day at the hospital. Entering quietly into the house, Cuddy signaled Wilson to be quieter so as not to wake Rachel. They walked down the hallway to the living room, expecting to find House probably slumped on the couch, feet on the coffee table.

What they saw stopped them in their tracks. There, on the couch, House was lying down, Rachel nestled against his chest, her little arms around him. Both were sleeping deeply, their breaths synchronized in a soothing rhythm.

Cuddy put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. "I never would have thought I’d see this," she murmured, a tender smile forming on her lips.

Wilson also smiled, warmth filling his heart as he saw the scene in front of them. "Who would have thought House could be so... gentle?" he whispered, approaching the couch carefully.

Cuddy came closer too, trying not to make any noise. She crouched down softly next to the couch, watching Rachel, peaceful in House's arms. It was an unexpected but beautiful image, and she felt her heart swell with tenderness.

"Should we wake them?" Wilson asked in a low voice, hesitating to break this peaceful moment. Cuddy shook her head, the smile still on her face. "No, let's leave them. They both look comfortable. And besides, it's nice to see House like this."

They stayed there for a moment, just watching, soaking in the unexpected tenderness of the scene. Finally, Cuddy gently draped a blanket over them, covering Rachel and House, before standing up. "I'll prepare something to eat. We can wake them up gently afterward."

Wilson nodded, following Cuddy into the kitchen, casting one last fond glance at House and Rachel. That evening, they had seen another side of House, a softer side.

It was rare for House to be so adorable, to be honest, but don't think it was everywhere; it was only in private. When Rachel came to the hospital, House tried to act normal, but Cameron could see a bit more gentleness, Foreman was sure it was because of some paternal instinct, and Chase didn’t care; he wanted to have that too, so he avoided being there.

Over the months, the relationship between House, Wilson, and Cuddy deepened and became more refined, each day bringing new moments of closeness and affection. Wilson and Cuddy loved this side of House, but who would have thought it? Certainly not them!

One morning, Cuddy woke up before the two men, a rare moment of calm and peace. House and Wilson were still asleep, each on their side of the bed, the soft morning light reflecting on their relaxed faces. Cuddy smiled, appreciating the sight.

She leaned over to Wilson first, placing a light kiss on his lips. He murmured something in his sleep, a smile spreading across his face. Then, she turned to House, kissing him on the cheek, near his stubble.

House opened one eye, grumbling slightly but smiling nonetheless. "Handing out morning kisses again?" Cuddy laughed softly. "There's never a bad time for a kiss."

Wilson woke up as well, opening his eyes to see Cuddy and House talking quietly. "Did I miss something?" he asked, stretching his arms over his head.

"Just Cuddy waking us up gently," House replied with a smile.

Wilson smiled, moving closer to give a kiss to Cuddy and House, a gesture of tenderness and affection that never failed to warm their hearts. "It's the best way to start the day."

As they enjoyed this quiet morning, a thought crossed Wilson's mind, and he felt it was the right moment to share what was on his heart.

Wilson sat up slightly in the bed, his expression becoming a bit more serious. "Cuddy, House, I need to talk to you about something important."

Cuddy also sat up, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "What's going on, Wilson? You seem worried." House, still lying down but now fully awake, raised an eyebrow, ready to listen to what Wilson had to say.

Wilson took a deep breath before continuing. "I got a call from the psychiatric hospital last night. My brother, Danny, is still there, and his situation isn’t really improving. He won't be able to take care of his son, Max, and he has no one else. I think... I think I should adopt him."

A silence filled the room, each of them absorbing the news. Cuddy nodded gently, understanding the weight of the decision Wilson was considering. "Wilson, that's a big decision. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Wilson sighed and nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. Max needs someone, and I can't let my nephew end up in the foster system. I want to be there for him, to give him a family."

House looked at Wilson with a mixture of admiration and challenge. "That's a big step, Wilson. Adopting a child, especially under these circumstances... It's going to change your life. Our life."

Wilson knew that this decision would affect not only him but also their dynamic as a throuple. He was ready to take on this responsibility, but he wanted to make sure that Cuddy and House were also comfortable with the idea. "I understand this will have an impact on all of us. I just want you to know that I'm not expecting anything from you. I just want to be there for Max."

Cuddy squeezed Wilson's hand a little tighter, a reassuring smile on her face. "Wilson, you are one of the most compassionate and generous people I know. If you want to adopt Max, we will be here to support you. To support him."

House rolled his eyes, but there was a barely perceptible smile at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, yeah. We'll just have to learn to get used to having more people in this house. Let's hope the kid isn't as insufferable as you."

Wilson chuckled softly, touched by his partners' support. "Thank you, both of you. It means a lot to me. I know it will be an adjustment, but I truly believe it's the right thing to do."

House leaned over to Wilson, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "Then let's do it. And if this kid has even a tenth of your kindness, it will be worth it."

Cuddy kissed Wilson in turn, then rested her head on his shoulder. "We’ll be a family for Max, just like we’ve made our own. He’ll have a lot of love here, that’s for sure."

In that moment, wrapped in a warm embrace, Wilson felt that despite the challenges ahead, they were ready to welcome Max into their lives.

The first Christmas the new family spent together was a particularly magical moment, filled with warmth, laughter, and both new and old traditions. Cuddy's house was decorated with string lights, scented candles, and a large holly wreath hanging on the front door. A big Christmas tree stood proudly in the living room, sparkling with golden garlands and ornaments carefully hung by Rachel and Max.

That morning, the house was full of excitement. Rachel woke up first, as usual, and jumped into House and Wilson's bed to wake them up. She was already in her Christmas pajamas, red and green, with a little Santa hat on her head. She bounced on the bed with energy.

"Wake up! It's Christmas!" she shouted joyfully.

Wilson was the first to open his eyes, laughing softly at Rachel's excitement. "Well, it looks like someone is ready to open presents," he said as he sat up.

House, who was not a morning person, grumbled as he turned over, but he smiled when he saw Rachel so happy. "Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas, little elf," he muttered as he sat up. He couldn’t help but smile at her contagious enthusiasm.

Cuddy, already awake and downstairs, was preparing breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, pancakes, and bacon filled the air, giving the house an even more festive atmosphere. Max came down the stairs slowly, his eyes still half-closed, but a big smile on his face. He was wearing a Christmas sweater he had insisted on putting on, decorated with a reindeer with a bright red nose.

Cuddy smiled when she saw Max enter the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Max," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Did you sleep well?"

Max nodded. "Yes, I had a dream about Santa Claus and his reindeer," he said excitedly. "I wonder if he really came!"

Once everyone was gathered around the Christmas tree, they began to open presents. Rachel, impatient, rushed over to the tree and grabbed the first package with her name on it. She tore it open with enthusiasm, revealing a huge teddy bear. "Thank you, thank you!" she shouted, running to hug Cuddy, Wilson, and House in turn.

Max, more reserved, opened his gifts carefully. He received a high-quality drawing set and a collection of books he had mentioned wanting to read. "Thank you so much," he said with a sincere smile, his eyes shining with gratitude.

House, pretending to be bored, theatrically opened his gift to discover a black cashmere scarf. "Well, at least you have good taste," he joked, but you could see in his eyes that he genuinely appreciated the gift.

Wilson opened his own gift, a classic watch with an inscription engraved on the back: "Forever, together." He looked at Cuddy and House with emotion, thanking them with a simple, "It's perfect."

Cuddy opened the last gift. It was a delicate silver necklace with a star-shaped pendant. "It's beautiful," she said, tears in her eyes. "Thank you, really." She leaned in to kiss House and Wilson, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

After opening the presents, they all sat around the dining room table for a sumptuous Christmas meal. The table was beautifully set with festive dishes and red and white candles. A large platter of roasted turkey sat in the center, surrounded by mashed potatoes, grilled vegetables, stuffing, and gravy.

Rachel sat next to House, who helped her cut her turkey into small pieces. "You know, Rachel," House said as he handed her a plate, "turkey isn't so bad when you're surrounded by good people."

Cuddy smiled as she served Max some juice. "I agree, House. This year has been full of surprises, and I am so grateful to have this family."

Max raised his glass of fruit juice. "To family," he said with a smile.

"To family," everyone echoed as they raised their glasses.

While Cuddy, House, Wilson, Rachel, and Max were celebrating Christmas in a warm and festive atmosphere, others at the hospital were starting to piece together the puzzle regarding their colleagues' unusual relationship.

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman had spent the past few months observing subtle but significant changes in the behavior of House, Cuddy, and Wilson. The exchanged glances, the knowing smiles, and the hints at events they'd shared together had become too numerous to ignore.

On Christmas Day, the trio found themselves at the hospital for an unexpected shift. They finished their tasks earlier than anticipated and decided to settle in the break room to chat. The conversation quickly drifted toward their colleagues.

"Have you noticed how much they're always together lately?" Cameron asked, glancing at the others. She was, of course, referring to House, Cuddy, and Wilson. "They spend a lot of time with each other, even outside of work."

Chase nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I've seen House and Wilson coming out of Cuddy's office several times after hours. And it doesn't seem like they’re having regular work meetings."

Foreman, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "At first, I thought it was just House being... House. Always trying to get closer to Cuddy. But Wilson too? And both of them? That can't be a coincidence."

Cameron smiled, leaning forward in her chair. "I think you're right. They're more than just friends, that's for sure. Maybe even... together."

Chase raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "You mean, all three of them? It's possible, but it seems... complicated."

Foreman crossed his arms, thinking. "House likes complicated things. And Cuddy and Wilson have always been closer to him than we thought. It could actually work. They all have strong, but complementary personalities."

They stayed silent for a moment, absorbing this new perspective. Cameron, with a sly smile, shook her head. "That would explain a lot of things, actually. Why they're all so happy lately, despite the usual tensions at the hospital."

Chase chuckled softly. "If they're happy, then good for them. They deserve some happiness, especially with everything that's going on here."

Foreman smiled as well, relaxing in his chair. "Yeah, I guess it's none of our business. As long as they keep doing their jobs, that's all that matters."

Cameron nodded, her eyes sparkling with amused curiosity. "I have to say, it's an interesting dynamic. But you're right, Foreman. To each their own private life."

At that moment, the trio burst out laughing, imagining the reactions of the other hospital staff if they found out the truth.

A little later, as they were getting ready to finish their day, they walked past House's office. Through the window, they caught a glimpse of a scene that confirmed their suspicions.

House, Cuddy, and Wilson were sitting around House's desk, sharing laughter, knowing glances, and even tender gestures that left no doubt. House had his hand resting on Cuddy's, while Wilson was smiling softly, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

Chase, Cameron, and Foreman looked at each other, smiles on all their faces. They didn't need any more proof. They walked away quietly, leaving the trio to their moment of happiness.

[pink-november]

Do you ever think about how the burning grey is in a bridal gown because the smitten wanted to marry the damsel before you stabbed her in the back? How een when she's trying to kill you she stays with you, eyes locked in forbidden embrace as you both melt in her fires?

Or how the drowning grey is in funeral attire because she's mourning what could have been? How the line "Your lungs fill with water as mine filled with blood" is so fucking raw?

I think the dichotomy of the greys is very interesting, is what I'm saying.

I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me.

Boy do I ever think about the contrast of the two greys huuuu fascinating how they're connected despite being so different.

The first time I saw the Burning Grey, I immediately took notice of her white bridal gown and all that entails. Burning with her felt like a betrayal at first and watching her slowly becoming a charred corpse was horrifying. Was this her revenge for stabbing her in the previous chapter?

The Drowning Grey made me detest her. I hate her with a passion when she drowned us, looking down on us while her bloated corpse grabbed us on the ankles like how some of my nightmares typically goes. Not to mention the path to get to her is downright harrowing when I played through it. I didn't take notice of her black dress at that time because the sheer shock I've experienced between The Prisoner and The Drowned Grey was immense. What caused this seemingly stoic and rational princess to be this vengeful at this point? My brain hurts trying to come up with the answer.

But then, they came up during the Shifting Mound's fight.

They loved us. Painfully so. To the point that they imagined thousand of different futures with us if we escaped the cabin together.

Damsel, and despite everything she was at that point, wished so genuinely to be with us, her innocent love so boundless and pure that at the end of the day, all she wanted was to make a home with us. And we took that away from her. And she laid there on the cold cobblestone floor, accepting what her dashing knight did so readily like some caricature. But she cried while she died, the futures she wished to see flashing before her, taken, burned away to a crisp.

She watched with hollow eyes from the dry corners of a memory, every possible happy ending we could have gotten and will never happen because something else is interfering, something was preventing the union she seeks, and she sets it all ablaze, hoping that the flames of her passion would burn away this horrendous ending we've given her. She holds us in a fiery embrace, scared that even with the fires of her love we might slip away and vanish.

Prisoner, despite her cold and cynical nature, loved us. But she cannot readily show this feeling to us, not when she knows something else was pulling the strings, something so eager to end her showing its ugly face so early on. We showed her we trusted her, despite bringing the knife down, that we are willing to drop the blade and use it for her sake. But then she had to kill us and if we played our cards right, play a game of tricking The Narrator into setting her free.

But we left her to rot. She trusted us that we understood her intentions, that her own love is enough to look past the horror and confusion and set her free. She believed that once we get out the cabin, whatever entangled us would also set us free. And our real happy ending would start after.

She watched with hollow eyes from the dark corners of a forgotten place flooded by emotions left unspoken. The world cries. The tide rises. The cabin floods. She smothers you with a love so achingly terrifying, even her bloated messed up corpse holds you in place, hoping against all hope that maybe you'll stay with her for this agonizing ending, her throat flooded with words she wishes to convey but her lungs filled with blood so she chokes while the tides take and take our breath away, trying to make us see and feel the emotions she left buried and left to waste.

They loved us. She is passion betrayed but even then her love never faded. And we killed them. She is guarded sorrow and alone but had the courage to share with another. And they killed us. We taught them death is a temporary ending, a seed for a better beginning, and they loved us.

I kill you and me.

They hope the next beginning would be happier.

[teddypickerry]

hii bb!! love ur stories sm

do u think u could do a angst jess mariano imagine where the reader is in a relationship with someone else and jess get really upset and jealous and ends up confessing his love to the reader x.🤍

𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄 !

pairings! — jess mariano x fem reader

warnings! — cheating (kind of), cursing (…LMFAO), lowk jess being a fluffy bitch so watch out

a/n! — this is kinda out of character for jess imo??? BUTTTT I LOVED WRITING IT. i love this idea + jess just being a fucking lovebot. i want to kiss his face (if you can’t tell from the picture)

THE TEENAGE BOY sat on the steps of the Stars Hollow gazebo, his eyes locked on his best friend laughing with another guy across the town square. They were both drinking coffee and seemed lost in their own world, completely oblivious to Jess's presence. He'd known you'd been seeing a guy for a few weeks now. But anytime he'd ask about him, you would change the subject. Jess was doubting himself at this point. Why would his best friend lie about her very own boyfriend to him?

It was a few days later that Jess was finally blessed with his presence — Daniel was his name, a pretty boring name for the burnout that he was. He wasn't anything special to Jess. Just a tall guy with greasy hair and a shitty sense of humor. To you, he was a good time. Something that most of the Stars Hollow residents lacked.

Friday afternoon marked four weeks since Daniel first locked eyes on you, vowing to his friends that he was gonna win you over. He wrote his number on a cigarette that he offered you which was quite the distinctive ask out. Ever since the boy had entered your life the other boy in your life, your best friend (the asshole + idiot) Jess Mariano, had been a bit slaggish. It wasn't that he was rude to you outright but he seemed uninterested and... different.

You finished your afternoon of homework by replacing your jeans with a pair of comfortable shorts, awaiting a much needed night in. A knock on the door kickstarted your heart a bit, not expecting anyone until later (the takeout guy and your friend Rory, who are not the same person). When you opened the door, revealing an intense Jess. He didn't say a word as he sunk into his jean jacket in the cold weather. You stepped aside to let him in, the worried look on his face enough to suffice as an excuse to let him in. Despite his asshole attitude the past few weeks. "What's going on?" Your voice was hesitant, unsure of the possibilities of Jess's ulterior mood.

"It's... it's Daniel. I don't fucking trust him," he muttered like it was nothing making you sigh. "I can't explain why, I just... I dunno. He looks at you like a freak and I don't think he's good for you." He admitted straightforward whole fumbling with his pockets. It was a rare sight to see Jess anything less than... how do I put this lightly? A cynical, judgmental, cocky bastard. 

So this was a sight to see. He was confident in his words but an internal conflict was dragging him down revealing an inner mood. "What are you.." Your voice trailed off in pure confusion. Reminiscent on the idea that this is why Jess has been so on edge lately. "Where are you even getting this from?" A stern look took over your face.

"Listen to me, Y/N. Something's off about this guy. Everyone can see it." Jess snapped before he sighed and attempted to calm himself down. He didn't want to get angry at you, that was the last resort actually. "What if we just followed him? Just for one day? We would find something-"

"What the hell? No!" You interjected in genuine question if your best friend had gone mad. "Can you stop accusing him of being a dick? Does this get you off?"

The two had gone silent as they both swallowed your words. There was a hint of regret on your behalf even though Jess was showing signs of insanity. He stepped forward, his hand placing a gentle hold on your arm. He was desperate and it showed. "I'm telling you, something's wrong with that guy. I can't tell you why... or how, I just feel it. Believe me, please. For me?"

You contemplated his words for a moment before looking him in the eye directly. Now or never. "Is it that or something else?" You hushed, a hasty breath releasing. "What do you..." His voice was soft, which you'd never experienced from Jess. He tried to sound curious and failed miserably when he took a deep breath.

Another silence fell over the two when she tried to decipher what he was thinking. She had no idea which route to take. "Are you upset that we don't see each-other anymore? I know I've been distant lately but you can't just put the blame on Danny, Jess."

Safe route.

His hand ran down her forearm to play with her fingers unintentionally. Jess was silent which showcased his answer. You were right and he didn't want to admit how much that affected him, or how much that was apart of the problem. He also half expected you to say something else but realized how idiotic that thought was. "It's true... but only because I care about you. I don't want you to get hurt or whatever... you know?" Once again, safe route. Or as I would say... bullshit.

"Are you sure about that?" Your voice came just below a whisper hardly enough for either of you to hear. His face seemed to harden at the accusation he wanted you to believe him. "Can't you just believe the 'I miss you' lame thing?" He attempted to joke with a straight face. You didn't budge and let out a soft breath before glancing away. "What do you want me to tell you, Y/N?" Jess's voice raised into a heavier tone seemingly upset with his best friend's lack of belief.

"That you love me," you uttered even shocking yourself. Jess quite literally couldn't believe his ears. He didn't waste anytime to do the thing he couldn't stop thinking about anytime he saw you. Jess stepped forward with your faces nearly touching. "I do love you."

Now was your opportunity to not waste any time. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. A sudden surprise for Jess, which he obviously appreciated. The short but passionate kiss was ended with a soft breath, only for him make an attempt to take the lead. He took a deep breath and pulled you back into him. A deeper and more intense kiss coming over the both of you. You were soft and sweet in his arms that were now tangling around you. Due to dire need of oxygen (sadly) your lips were pulled apart. The elephant in the room needed to be addressed and no I'm not talking about your dad's elephant hat. "What are you gonna tell the asshole?"

"Jess," You warned teasingly being brought out of your trance. "That I'm the asshole. I shouldn't have stringed him along like this. I know we weren't exclusive or anything but... I feel really bad. Because I've been in love with my best friend for a long fucking time."

Jess had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from kissing you again. A new addiction of his has occurred and they were called your lips. This conversation was heavy on your heart, you needed his advice rather than his spit. "How do you think he'll react?"

"Well how would you react?" You scoffed before pressing your head against the wall. "He'll take it out on me, not you. I'm sure." This was the time Jess realized this situation would have consequences to be dealt with. Something he was never too fond of. He liked living life his way, not with a barrier. The thought of Daniel being pissed at you made him want to knock him out, which to be fair is something he's wanted to do for a long time. Jess pressed his lips to your cheek softly, in an attempt of comfort. A sweeter Jess was something you'd never seen. But you weren't arguing.

"I'll talk to him if you want... I promise to call him Daniel and not Dickwad." Jess teased with his nose pressed to the side of your face. You giggled before turning towards him. "That might not be the best idea since I just spent my evening confessing my love to you."

"Fair enough." Now was his turn to laugh shining his crooked grin you were so fond of. "I'll wait outside with a crowbar for him and a kiss for you." Jess's joke made you playfully roll his eyes before leaning in for a soft kiss. You wanted to take in as much as this moment as possible. It was still unbelievable. "I'm yours, I'll be there for whatever you need. Like your own personal Bosley?"

"Does that make me your angel?" You teased while he replied with his lips touching yours for the seventh millionth time that evening. But you knew you'd never get sick of this feeling. Neither of you could bare to hold back as you fell deeper into the kiss. When you finally pulled apart he was full of energy and adrenaline. He could run a marathon screaming about how he was kissing the girl he loved loudly. He wanted to know how you felt about him too. "Tell me I'm the only one for you," He whispered intensely. Jess's look was pure fire as he intensely looked into your eyes.

"I love you, Jess Mariano. Only you."

"Good. Now let's watch Detroit Rock City."

"Hey!"

[hopefull-mindset]

I've started reading The Great Gatsby (I've fallen into the reading classical literature trap 😔. I really need to finish Crime and Punishment.)

Anyhow I think it's really interesting how Asagiri chose to characterize many of the people in BSD. Especially after learning that irl Fitzgerald was more of a cynical person (at least towards the end of his life) than his animated counterpart. And it made me think of all the other characters of the show and how their characterized.

What was Asagiri's purpose as he came together with these characters? Why'd he have some characters act as their irl counterparts while others act more like the characters they wrote or people in their lives?

These aren't really questions that I wanted the answers to they were moreso just thoughts that I had. I'd love to have a peek into this man's mind and how it works

I think a lot of us have fallen into that trap LMAO. This is my favorite topic though. I could talk about this forever because Kafka Asagiri is an interesting person who has integrated a lot of literature into this one series. I don't know what goes on in this man’s mind and I know these aren't literal questions, but I am interested in sharing what I know!

As you've pointed out, some characters do act more like the people in these works written by them than the actual people. BSD isn't purely just taking these authors, their relationships, and then implementing them just like that. it also takes these authors’ literary personas, their impact socially, and their works to make them into who they are. Asagiri is doing this because it makes it more interesting, but also imagine writing about this authors where most of them lived depressing lives with qualities that don’t make uh, the type of story you want to tell.

I’m impressed with how creative he is.

I’m trying to limit myself on how much I should talk about this, but I fear that I’ll leave out important bits about how Asagiri incorporates these people into the work. I’m also just jittering and excited. Like I almost forgot to bring up the fact the reason BSD has a war narrative is because it takes Japanese authors from Meiji to Shōwa era, so about the time Western influence kicked in, forcing them to modernize and keep up with the rest of the world during what is a fairly short time for huge development like this, to post-war Japan where, you know, the Occupation of Japan is happening and they have to intake the traumatic repercussions of everything before that.

This can make The Great War functionally WW2, but obviously not a one to one match. I’m not a historian or anything, but this should come to mind for anyone who’s in the know about some Japanese history. Now that I’m bringing it up though, Mori’s attitude during the flashback with Yosano is put into context because he pretty much says himself that he needs his country to realize that they keep up with the rest of the world and that the battlefield is changing, and real life Japan did not care about how they did that.

With N, Chuuya, and Stormbringer too. I’m almost hesitant to bring this up because it’s so serious, but yes, Japan did do lethal human experimentation for that same purpose to keep up with the rest of the world and prove themselves.

Ahh, I went off track. Sorry, we were talking about how Asagiri writes characters, right? There is a lot of crossover between the real authors and their writing, so it’s sorta hard to tell with people like Dazai where the work influence ends and the the real person begins.

For me currently in my classic lit research period, I’m almost upset at myself for barley reading anything by Ryuunosuke Akutagawa because he’s my favorite character. I’ve just been so caught up doing my Oda Sakunosuke essay that I don’t have too much time for other authors. I’ve also picked up “The Similitude of Blossoms: A Critical Biography of Izumi Kyōka” recently (and A New Hamlet by Osamu Dazai, but that’s not important).

Ah, how much should I talk about.… hmm… how about Chuuya as an example of Literary Voice vs Real Person…. Lucy Montgomery and Edgar Allen Poe for Social Impact (for Japan specifically)…. and then.. Oh whatever, I’ll figure it out. One day I’ll talk about Kyouka, but not now. I’d feel ill prepared.

If you’ve ever read a poem by Chuuya Nakahara, taken in the emotion and deep feeling, and then found any fun facts about his interactions with other authors, there’s a huge contrast between those two modes that can be jarring. Im sure you can tell how that carries over to BSD. I’m impressed by how Asagiri is able to balance both the brash attitude of Chuuya and the inner literary voice that voices the emotion and care he has in him.

Edgar Allen Poe is slightly more obvious than Lucy’s influence (or maybe it’s Lucy’s, ah it depends), but both pop out at you when it’s pointed out. He was one of the first American authors to be introduced to Japan and fairly popular, but mainly we would point to Edogawa Ranpo as the most blatantly influenced by him and who his name is quite literally attached to. While Lucy Montgomery isn’t attached to anyone in particular, Anne of The Green Gables was wildly distributed in Japan when there were few english children books and became a hit.

There’s a television series too if you search for it. Any redhead, pigtail-braided girl you see in some Japanese media is because of her! It’s probably why these two have the most presence in the story currently compared to other members of the Guild and work with the Agency at times.

There are times when Asagiri will use influences outside of the author’s own catalog to create them, some literary like Albert Camus’s The Stranger and The Myth of Sisyphus (in writing characters like Dazai or Fyodor, I could make a post about that), and some just of his own anime/manga interests in other series like Jojo, Cowboy Bebop, Black Lagoon, etc. if you’re familiar.

I’d feel bad if I don’t at least show one example of this so, how about an Odasaku example with The Long Goodbye by Reymond Chandler? I was going to avoid talking about him until the essay, but I can’t help myself. Many have pointed out these parallels before, but Asagiri did point it to be his favorite book last year in an interview.

If you’ve noticed that the presentation for Dark Era in the anime comes off like a Noir film just like how Untold Origins came off like a black and white samurai film, good job! The Long Goodbye is a Noir novel about a detective named Phillip Marlowe who is unable to let go of a case involving a friend that was accused of murdering his own wife, but supposedly commits suicide and confesses to it before Marlowe is able to leave custody. By the end of the book, he uncovers the real perpetuator (a past lover of Terry Lennox’s before he was ever called by that name) and finds out where Lennox really is by poking into the story of where the message he got was sent.

He comes in with a new look and identity, and he asks if it’s too early for a gimlet. They say their last few words to each other, Marlowe flipping back and forth from acknowledging him as Terry Lennox and as a person he never knew, and then Marlowe tells him that “he’s not here anymore”. Marlowe had already told him goodbye when it was sad and lonely, so Lennox does the same here. That ends that mutual, long goodbye and he never sees Lennox again.

The immediate response I’ve see about this is how it parallels the relationship between Dazai and Odasaku. In The Day I Picked Up Dazai, just like how Marlowe brings him to his home to clean him up and meet up at the same bar for the next few months of their friendship, Odasaku also does so with Dazai and drinks a Gimlet for reasons he doesn’t know. In reality, Gimlets are a representation of the friendship between Marlowe and Lennox as it’s Lennox’s favorite drink. It makes it a little painful when Marlowe ignores him when he ask to go get a gimlet at that same bar they always went.

BEAST is more hyper specific about it by having Dazai ask the same question that Lennox asks when he gets smoked out and Odasaku asking for a gimlet with no bitters, which is specifically how Lennox takes it. Odasaku does not drink the gimlet at all though, showing that there is not friendship to start or accept or say goodbye to, as Lennox does ask Marlowe to drink a Gimlet to say goodbye to him in the letter. Just like TDIPUD is like their beginning, BEAST is their ending without ending because BEAST Dazai is not the same person he was friends with.

Odasaku fulfills being a detective and Dazai is the tragic friend with a past he doesn’t say anything about. Great. Now what I think people are missing when they entirely focus on Odasaku and Dazai when they talk about Lennox and Marlowe is that Lennox is narratively also Andre Gide.

If we were to split Lennox into three people just like his three identities, this is what it would look like:

The Friend: You help him out and don’t judge for his faults, in turn you go out to a bar with each other. It’s uneasy, but it’s worth a lot to the both of you. Eventually you have to part ways in death. (Dazai & Terry Lennox)

The Unknown: Is he someone you know? He acts like it, but he looks nothing like what you’ve encounter before. Maybe in some world you were, but that’s not now and it’s too late for this goodbye to be playing out. You let it happened though and you never see him again when he walks out that door. (BEAST Dazai & “Señor Maioranos”)

The Soldier: The past is right around the corner and its come to bite you in the ass. White hair and war memories haunting him with a scar as a reminder, he’s a reflection of you but maybe not. Who knows? (Andre Gide & “Paul Marston.”)

The initials “P.M.” of both his past name and Phillip Marlowe’s is meant to clue in how Eileen (the past lover) is connected to Lennox by her thinking of Marlowe as her past lover as she attempts to seduce him in some trance. What I’m trying to note here though is that you can take this as Lennox being another reflection of himself. It’s easy to do that reading for both Dazai and Gide as they’re both his foils and are purposely similar, but Gide aligns more with this past identity than Dazai does and retains his white hair.

Uhhh, wasn't planning to make a mini-analysis in the middle of my talking but okay. I'm leaving it off there. I went blank a lot while writing because I didn’t know what I wanted to comment on. There's too much to say about this large cast. I have way more literary fun facts and ideas to say, but nah.

[sl-ut]

a lady’s demand

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra comes face-to-face with her former best friend years later, and all of the feelings that she thought had simmered down have begun to boil over.

warnings: got/hotd typical triggers, mentions of children dying :(

words: 3K

date posted: 31/01/23

(REPOSTED BC TUMBLR FLAGGED IT??)

previous part

Life had been increasingly bland for Rhaenyra since she had been promoted as the heir to the Iron Throne. As a young lady she’d imagined herself in two situations; one where she had taken a husband but still had her most faithful friend and paramour at her side, and another where she had actually been able to take a wife rather than a husband. She was not able to accomplish either of these things in the twenty-odd years that had passed since she had last seen her dearest Y/n.

The princess had been married at the urgence of her father’s failing health to young Ser Laenor Velaryon–her cousin. There were still many who had not yet come to terms with the fact that Rhaenyra was still first in line for her father’s throne, especially after the birth of three young princes on Alicent’s part, so it was not beyond Rhaenyra’s comprehension as to why she was being pawned off to the second most powerful and ancient houses, as well as the only remaining family with pure Valyrian blood in their veins. She had thought that this might have silenced many of the hurtful whispers at court, though she did very little to help herself when she birthed three dark-haired princes, all who appeared to be the spitting image of Ser Harwin Strong rather than her husband.

She found it much easier to accustom herself to the married lifestyle than she had ever expected it to be, though it would be improper if she were not to admit that she did not live the typical life of a royal wife. She and her husband had very little to do with each other physically, but had grown to be very good friends, and he remained a somewhat dutiful father to their three young boys, despite the fact that he was fully knowledgeable of who their true father was. Between the relationships she had found with her husband, children, and occasional lover, she had expected to have been too busy to even consider the fact that she might be lonely.

As much as she may have wanted to deny herself anything but the utmost feeling of confidence and security, Rhaenyra could tell that her political position was wavering, as well as her social standing. Few could genuinely stand to exchange too much conversation with the princess–she had often come off as harsh or cynical at feasts, and had also made it very clear to the court that any friends of the queen would be the enemies of herself. She had fallen so far from where she had once stood, no longer the one that lords fawned over or whose ladies tried their best to impress with pretty songs and needlepoint, and she could pinpoint the exact moment where the rapid descent had begun.

Over the first year of Y/n’s marriage, she wrote to the princess many times. The first letter contained a heartfelt apology, begging her to understand why she was forced to leave and only referring to her as her ‘dearest Rhaenyra.’ The second came a month later, a few weeks after Y/n’s wedding–Y/n proudly wrote to her old friend that she was with child. In the third, she told her of her early labours, though she claimed they were well worth it once she laid eyes on her sweet little boy, as well as congratulating Rhaenyra on her own marriage, wishing her and Laenor a lifetime of happiness. Rhaenyra sometimes wondered if things might have been different if she had done the same to Y/n–a fight could be forgiven, Rhaenyra understood by this point that there was simply nothing that Y/n could do in order to avoid her marriage, especially now that she had been forced into her own. However, she began to understand the brokenness of their relationship as letters began to arrive only every few months.

The final letter that she would receive was messier than any of the others. The seal was smudged, but the princess had very no doubt of who this letter was from. Her heart clenched at the sight of the tear-stained parchment, the penmanship not nearly as neat and tidy as Y/n had been trained to produce. Rhaenyra wept silently as she read the vague details of the sickness that had spread through the north, and how both of her young children had met the Stranger in the early hours of the morning. The final letter referred to her only as ‘Princess,’ rather than any affectionate nicknames, and Rhaenyra understood this to be the final chance being given by her friend, but it would not be taken. Rhaenyra quietly wiped her cheeks and slipped the letter inside the locked wooden box with the rest.

The princess was surrounded by family at court, and yet, she was almost entirely alone. Her father was growing increasingly ill, and most of Alicent’s time was spent caring for him and her children. Rhaenyra’s own boys were now at the age where she was unable to hover over them at all times, aside from Joffrey, who was still a babe. Laenor was a friend, someone she could confide in, though it was quite rare that he was sober while she did so, and was off with the prettiest of boys at court more often than he was with his family. Harwin, well he was physically comforting to her, but they both knew that the relationship between them was born out of mutual loneliness, not love. She could not deny that she missed having Y/n at her side, nor that she was not apologetic over the nature of their parting, but she was unable to overcome her fatal flaw of her undying pride. In fact, there were many times when she asked Harwin to come to her bed, only to close her eyes and imagine her dearest friend as she reached her climax. Even his death caused her to mourn the physical comfort that he brought her more than any sort of emotions that may have been involved.

It was not until she’d been widowed and remarried within the same few days that Rhaenyra had caught wind of the death of Lord Crane, leaving Y/n a widow in the north, where she had no family or allies. Her initial instinct had been to write to her, to invite her to stay at Dragonstone, perhaps they could even mend their relationship–she couldn’t imagine that Daemon would be entirely opposed to welcoming another woman into their marriage.

But she did not. Instead, she wrote no letters and continued to keep every ounce of love that she still held for Y/n secret from her husband. She understood that there would come a day where it did not hurt so much to think of her, though the princess did not doubt for a moment that Y/n of House Y/l/n was the love of her life.

Political tensions surrounding the line of succession seemed to have settled tremendously since the princess’s departure to Dragonstone, though that was likely more so because she simply was not present to hear any of the newly-brought up courtly gossip. It plagued her to return to King’s Landing in order to restore her son’s inheritance, but it made it clear to her that just removing her boys out of the public eye was not enough to prevent them from being shamed and scrutinised over their birthrights, especially now so that she had given Daemon two more sons, both of which inherited traditional Valyrian appearances.

Rhaenyra was immediately underwhelmed by the greeting that she received as she returned to the palace where she’d grown up. She pictured herself climbing out of the carriage and meeting her sweet Y/n at the gates after touring for betrothal candidates. Instead, she was met only by a handful of guards and servants and Lord Caswell, who had proven himself to have been the only member of her father’s court who hadn’t been eagerly awaiting her eventual misstep so that they might usurp her and have her replaced by her younger brother, Aegon.

The Red Keep, too, had changed. The large tapestries and sigils of her ancestral house had been removed, and large figures and artwork depicting the Seven had taken their place. This was no doubt a decision made by the queen, who had once tried her best to influence Rhaenyra with her own religious values. She also recognized very few of the courtiers; of course all of those who had been devoted to serving the queen, the hand, or both were still present, though there were many new faces.

The silver-haired princess sighed, clasping her hands together in front of her as she stared up at the crimson leaves hanging from the weirwood tree above her. This was the one place in the Red Keep that had seemingly not changed too much in the years since she’d removed herself from court, but there was still a strange energy that lingered over the area as she huddled closer to herself beneath her shawl.

“Are you alright, mother?” She turned her head, finding Jace standing several feet away, concerned marking his features as he took in his mother’s own expression.

The princess sniffled, “Of course, my boy. ‘Tis only strange to see my home so different from how I remember it.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“It does.”

He stepped closer, standing close to her side as he stared into the ruby eyes of the tree, “What happens to us if they side with Vaemond Velaryon–if they find Luke, Joffrey, and I to be illegitimate?”

“Do not ask such questions, Jace,” She snapped, “To even question your own birth as my heir, and to question my virtue as the future queen is treasonous. Besides, there is absolutely no evidence against us, it would be impossible to–”

The oxygen left her lungs as if someone had beaten her in the gut. As she turned to face her eldest son, an eerily familiar face appeared behind him. The woman appeared spooked at the sight of the princess, turning on her heel and rushing off in the direction that she had come from.

“Mother–”

“Go back to your rooms,” Rhaenyra ordered as she pushed past him.

“”But–”

“Go, Jace.”

Considering the fact that the princess was more than halfway through her sixth pregnancy, she was rather quick on her feet as she desperately raced through the corridors, finding herself wandering into the darkened, winding corridors that travelled beneath the Red Keep. Her eyes darted back and forth in the darkness, aided only by the receding shadow cast on the wall, disappearing more and more as the figure furthered their distance from the nearest light source.

“Stop!” Rhaenyra cried out, pausing as she found herself face to face with Balerion the Dread–or what was left of him. This portion of the underground was brightly illuminated by candlelight, disallowing anyone to go unnoticed, even the crouched figure hiding behind the large pedestal that supported the weight of the large skull.

The princess sighed, feigning exhaustion as she slipped behind one of the large columns, exaggerating her footsteps as she did so. For a few moments, there was nothing. Then, like a spirit appearing out of thin air, Rhaenyra rounded the column and came face-to-face with the Lady Y/n.

“My lady,” Rhaenyra pursed her lips, suddenly aware that she hadn’t considered what she would say to her in this situation.

Her violet eyes scanned the woman in front of her; her hair was shorter than it had been since she’d last seen her, and she had matured into a much more womanly figure–no doubt aided by the process of having children. Her face had aged considerably as well, and her eyes portrayed a soul that was much older than she truly was, someone who had faced many hardships. She was beautiful, that much, Rhaenyra could not deny, but she could not help but feel sorrow dwelling in the depth of her stomach at her sadness.

“Princess,” Y/n’s gaze remained directed to the ground, “I had heard that you had returned to the capitol.”

“I cannot say the same for you. Pray tell, what are you doing so far from the north?”

A flash of despair crossed Y/n’s features, “I should not be so surprised to find that you have not heard of my husband’s passing, and without his sons to be raised, there is nothing for me in Denmerhell.”

Rhaenyra blanched, feeling a pinch of agitation at her words, though she knew that she could not blame her for feeling as if Rhaenyra had abandoned her.

“Or perhaps you have not yet heard of the death of my boys,” Her voice cracked, “I wrote to you, though I’m not certain that you ever received any of my letters.”

“I did,” Rhaenyra whispered, “I received them. I read them. I still have them.”

Y/n appeared taken aback, “And yet you did not respond?”

Rhaenyra shrugged, “I was angry with you, just as I imagine you were with me.”

“Angry with me? For an argument we had as girls–over something that you know I had no control of?” Y/n scoffed, shaking her head, “I wrote to you, begged you to forgive me. I was not angry with you, Rhaenyra, but I am now.”

“You left,” Rhaenyra barked, taking a series of steps closer to the other woman, “You may not have had a choice in the matter, that much I understand, but you cannot blame me for being angry with you. You were all that I had, my father was too preoccupied, and Alicent wanted nothing to do with me.”

“You did not lose me, Rhaenyra,” She whispered to her, closing the gap between them and taking her hand, “I was with you, I tried to be with you. I would have visited, just as you could have visited me.”

A tear trickled down Rhaenyra’s cheek. She tipped her head forward, pressing her forehead against Y/n’s as her free hand cupped her jawline.

“I am sorry,” Rhaenyra whispered. Her pride was something that she had always been unwilling to submit to anyone else, and she had felt a pang in her gut for doing so, yet she knew that this was long overdue, “For your children, for your husband, for not writing to you. I would wish you a lifetime of only goodness if I were able to, but I cannot deny that I am thankful that the gods have brought us back together.”

Y/n raised her free hand, pressing it to Rhaenyra’s swollen womb beneath her shawl, smiling lightly through her own tears, “As am I. I only wish that it was under much different circumstances. I had once dreamed of our children growing up together, playing together.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly, “I had once dreamed of our children growing up as children, and you would be my wife.”

The peaceful expression slipped away from Y/n’s features, “You shouldn’t say such things, Rhaenyra, you’re married. You have children, you are pregnant with your husband’s child.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, perfectly placed strands of silver hair bouncing and reflecting the candlelight as she did so, “I love my husband, my children, and you. A thousand miles and anger could not smother the love I hold for you.”

Y/n did not respond, only blinking her eyes closed as leaning closer to her former lover. She absorbed every ounce of comfort that Rhaenyra was offering, free to indulge herself while they were away from prying eyes. Carefully, the lady nodded her head, eyes sliding open to meet a deep sea of amethyst before leaning closer and capturing her lips with her own.

If Rhaenyra was surprised by this, she did not show it as she immediately reciprocated. Both of her hands moved to grasp the sides of Y/n’s face, holding her close as she forced every ounce of love and despair that had been dwelling within her over the past twenty-odd years into the movements of her lips.

“Please,” the silver haired woman murmured into the embrace, palms sliding down to grasp at the thick material of the lady’s gown, “Allow me to have you.”

Y/n pulled back, “After all of these years, is it truly only my body that you lust after?”

Rhaenyra shook her head, purple eyes beaming in the candlelight as she tipped her forehead against Y/n’s, “I yearn for your body, mind, and soul. My only mistake was not telling you sooner. I beg of you, my love, let me have you.”

There was a pregnant pause, only the deep, bated breaths of both women lingering in the little space left between them. Y/n tugged her lip in between her teeth, gnawing at the swollen flesh anxiously. Rhaenyra could not blame her if she refused, quite honestly. The princess was married, and heavily pregnant with her sixth child, while Y/n had recently lost a husband who she had been rather fond of, and was still in deep mourning of her own two children who were taken from her so cruelly. It was her only wish to bring her even a sliver of the joy that she had once possessed back into her life, and perhaps if he were agreeable, Daemon might even be willing to give her more children to allow her to feel the glory that came with motherhood once more–and of course Rhaenyra’s own children would take to her as a second mother. There was nothing that Rhaenyra would not seek to give her, even if she refused her, but she so desperately wanted to display her own love to her, which had been festering like an untreated burn for far too long.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, Y/n whispered out a meek question, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra almost laughed at the irony, the very same question that had torn them apart so many years ago now holding the power to string the broken pieces of their relationship back together.

“No,” She shook her head, “You needn’t take orders from me ever again, my sweet. Instead, I will make it my mission to bend to my lady’s every demand.”

[onewomancitadel]

Major spoilers for Death's End, the final book of the Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy beneath the cut.

So about that terrarium...

My intial somewhat dismayed reading was that of an uncharacteristic, hackneyed sentimentality: even when the books took such an indulgence, there was always a cynical chaser. You don't get to experience the fantastical sense of romantic love without Luo Ji's understanding of women (or lack thereof) and the belief that people only love imaginations of each other and stay together so long as they don't conflict with reality. (This is probably key to the fact that the star-crossed lovers never meet in Death's End, neither of them being disabused of their fantasies. It's juvenile).

Suffice it to say, I really struggled with the ending. I struggled with Death's End in general; not necessarily the fundamental approach (I don't think undoing the victory was a totally bad idea, since I liked evolving that thesis past what it means to win) but the structure felt less whimsical and more directionless, a series of entries - quite literally - which felt disparate and never quite managed to hit that sense of dispassionate historical observation I think the text was trying to go for.

So the idea that there was this terrarium and message in a bottle left behind in a universe built specially for Cheng Xin was just kind of bizarre tonally. It felt silly.

I get it: the entries about Earth's past is right there in the trilogy title. But it felt very self-important; it didn't cohere with the overwhelming notion that humanity was 1. very irrelevant, 2. very bad at what it does, 2a. its women are very bad at what they do, and its men - if soft and weak - are similarly bad, 3. at every moment anything that isn't about pure survival is cut at the knees. Remembrance seems more like farce. Actually, the entire sequence on Pluto felt out of place, almost like we're meant to laugh at the little bugs trying to save their precious granules of sugar.

I was discussing the ending with my best friend and her family - actually I related all the events of the books to them, somewhat out of chronological order, because I know that they all collectively would fucking hate these books (I personally didn't, glimmers of brilliance make me all the more frustrated) - and she said this amazing thing which was like, well, you say there's all this umming and ahhing over whether the universe might not be able to reboot if there's mass left behind - and it seems alright just to leave something - what if this is Cheng Xin's final fuck-up, finally chosen in an active way?

It's actually her seeming passivity which would allow this final stunt at all. Nobody would dare assume - not her last companions - that she would intentionally do this at all. So far she's damned humanity once, and then effectively twice (at least I think she is implicitly damned), and she is, really sincerely, a complete fuck-up wastrel who never does or thinks anything interesting. Luo Ji gets to be a fuck-up wastrel who thinks interesting things and does interesting things, and fails once, twice, three times, probably more, as a Wallfacer, and has a moment of stunning success because he's a fuck-up wastrel. This is a great idea, which unfortunately suffers in the face of the fact that Liu Cixin is obsessed with strong men.

The idea that Cheng Xin looks at the face of the overwhelming loneliness of her universe, the cruelty and inhumanity of the dark forest thesis, the wars upon wars which ravaged multiple dimensions until they were folded into flatness, and then decides to weaponise a sense of sentimentality to finally damn that universe - to prevent it from being reborn, to escape samsara - when she would never be expected to be capable of such a thing, to finally actively choose this maternality she's passively carried and passively condemned humanity with - is maybe the thing which could redeem that ending for me. It's bleak - and I still don't agree with the overall attitude the books hold - but it is actually a real thesis! It does actually deliver on this threat that's expounded upon and seems like, in any other story, would surely allow for some small space to remember humanity. But how much mass is enough? If enough pocket unvierses all leave behind a few hundred grams, surely it would start to add up.

The alternative interpretation is that Cheng Xin once again fucks everything up but not on purpose, merely through an innocent-intentioned sentimentality. But I think the fact that she acknowledges the threat allows a bit of wiggle room. The argument here would be that Luo Ji's final Wallfacer plan against the Trisolarans is concealed from us until its reveal; this move has been pulled once before. The key difference is that we never see whether the universe reboots. I think this is very meaningful for the argument that it doesn't, and that we wouldn't see the payoff of Cheng Xin's plan, because there is no universe anymore. This really makes it a true twist ending to me which - most meaningfully of all - doesn't go against what the books were trying to do, but actually strengthens it.

But she put the effort into recording humanity's history, and I might go so far as to argue that she did that to explain her motivation to end it all, instead of slipping into it, but actually thinking about it.

The real conflict here, actually with any ending, is the sense of anthropocentrism which it otherwise sought to subvert. But I think reading against that, if we take it seriously that human beings are moral creatures who make moral judgements irrespective of our place in the universe (however small that is), I think that actually pairs better thematically with the idea that a graveyard remembrance of humanity also serves as the final, very small thing - this small living thing - which says 'no more'. The sense of reincarnation and enlightenment here, too, feels fitting, though I'd argue that its overly cynical view of the universe does the argument better.

I wrote all this out and then I went back to reread the last few pages. (I'm using an ebook version, so I don't have page citations). I'm going to see if this interpretation actually holds:

Cheng Xin asks if she can leave five kilograms behind, and then:

As long as the tiny sun inside the sphere continued to give off light, this miniature ecological system would persist. As long as it remained here, Universe 647 would not be a lifeless, dark world. “Of course,” said Guan Yifan. “The great universe isn’t going to fail to collapse because it misses five kilograms.” He had another thought that he did not voice: Perhaps the great universe really would fail to collapse because it lacked a single atom’s mass. [...] Ultimately, the great universe was certain to lose at least a few hundred million tons of matter, or perhaps even a million billion billion tons. Hopefully, the great universe could ignore such a loss.

So the sequence of events is this:

they're going to heed the call of the Returners

Cheng Xin wants to leave behind something to remember humanity by

Guan Yifan says of course she can, so graciously giving her permission

they acknowledge the general fact that others may do the same thing, or maybe even a single atom might be enough to prevent the universe rebooting, so it's a gamble anyway

Holy fuck this is terrible. Anyway, if we go through this with the perspective of the books - that every civilisation is interested first and foremost in survival at any cost, and short of that, to be remembered (survival in memory) - it is near-inevitable that there will be other mass left behind. But the flipside of this is that each individual choice matters; maybe with enough choosing to forego that, the universe could reboot. It's not definite. The ending is left open, the 'science' here is left imprecise. But we are reading between the lines of motivation. I'm not sure that my reading holds as an intended reading - because I do think the thematic compromise of the ending really does feel quite clear - but this is how I would make it more concordant with the series.

I much prefer it for the fact that Cheng Xin uses her contemplation in this lonely, ugly pocket universe to come to a conclusion of leaving mass behind to damn the universe. It would give her something to do. It would improve it tonally - haha, just rereading it, my God, I can't believe this is the ending to these books - and I think I like it just because it subverts that patronising treatment Guan Yifan affords her, like a little child asking for a lolly, concealing the truth of the potential cruelty of nature... which she is actually very well aware of.

I don’t know how much those catastrophes and the final destruction of the Solar System had to do with me. Those are questions that could never be answered definitively. But I’m certain they had something to do with me, with my responsibilities. And now, I’ve climbed to the apex of responsibility: I am responsible for the fate of the universe.

I would like Cheng Xin to abuse the trust in her sweet passivity. This would parallel neatly with Luo Ji's defense against the Trisolarans, the deception within deception within deception, against the ultimate enemy, suffocating it in the cradle.