#she deserve everything she worked so hard for

[trampleddoves]

bad idea right

Holiday break with your new stepfamily gets more interesting when you catch your stepbrother's lingering glances.

Pairing: afab!reader x stepbrother!Spencer Content: angst + slight smut, 2.7k words, DDDNE, no kinks, but Spencer is your stepbrother (set just before-s1), reader is a college graduate and mentioned to wear dresses and makeup, reader gets tipsy, complicated family dynamics and unhealthy coping mechanisms, making out, dry humping.  Notes: MDNI. I do not condone the choices of the characters, this request truthfully just brought to me a fully-fledged idea that I could not ignore. Once again, scroll away if this isn’t your cup of tea. Title is indeed from the Olivia Rodrigo song, which I extensively listened to while I wrote. This isn’t even that smutty, but I really enjoyed exploring ideas of resentment simmering beneath the surface. I suppose this affirms a previous anon who accused me of being a freak—evidently. Of the highest order. Welcome. I bear cookies and milk. They’re poisoned.

Winter break. The chill wraps around the air like an overbearing mother—inescapable, looming in corners you wouldn’t suspect—although Spencer Reid wouldn’t know what having an overbearing mother entails. Diana Reid had never been overbearing even in her lucidity but the comparison seems apt. A certain foreboding attitude hangs over the house. Gathering here, with his father’s new family, a measly, pathetic attempt to be closer. 

He’s never particularly gone through the usual sulking phase of adolescence. Too busy growing up, being good, working hard to hide how he’s splintering at every corner—a young boy burdened by the weight of his genius and a mother absent from reality. A life without the support of a father. 

A father who is now desperately trying to reconnect, accepting him—forcibly, under the guise of love—into the fold of his new family. It’s all so performative, but then again Spencer knows all about performative. Having spent years trying to seem okay, like his mother isn’t rapidly deteriorating, hiding the fact that she’s unfit to be his guardian behind clean, well ironed clothes and his remarkable academic performance. His entire life is a laughable farce, so he sees through everything—the perfect spread of Christmas dinner, being forced to open presents in the morning together—they’re all facades precariously balanced on everyone’s cooperation. 

He'd played the part, baring his teeth as a way of smiling—he's never quite properly learned how to smile, having little cause for the action—posing for pictures, thanking his new stepmother for the new copy of Foucault’s Madness and Civilization. 

It’s a good gift, even though he’s already read the material. Shows that she made an attempt to know about him. Spencer could admit that the woman is kind, thoughtful, stable, he could see how his father would fall in love with her. But there's the underlying implication—she's nothing like Diana Reid. 

He decides he hates her the day after Christmas. He decides William Reid doesn't deserve her either. 

It feels like now he’s getting his life’s worth of teenage angst. After Christmas is over, he locks himself away, talking only when talked to. His father and stepmother are gone today, attending a fancy brunch with their shiny new friends, so Spencer ventures out of his room cautiously. His quiet footsteps are simply manifestations of his unease. Trying to create the least amount of noise, take up the smallest space. He does not feel welcome here, and he doesn’t want to.

Winter break. The chill insists upon invading the house, despite the heater. 

Yet you’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of cereal in nothing but a slinky, emerald green slip. 

You. The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

His stepsister. 

He pauses at the doorway, mouth dry, eyes trained on the way the fabric falls over your body, reflective silk casting shadows and highlights and making every single curve seem so supple and soft and oh so tempting.

He clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” you look over your shoulder to regard him. He’s found that you’re even more displeased by this arrangement, this quick merging of two families. Traditional holiday festivities ring hollow now, obviously ornamental to make the marriage seem less dismal. Your way of showing your displeasure is the exact opposite of his. Instead of holing up in your room, you’re always outside if you can help it. He’s not sure where, but it’s obvious that neither of you are happy.

He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He’s finally reached a point where college graduates are age appropriate enough to be considered his peers. No longer the youngest person in the room. But at this point, his social grace is completely in reverse to his intellect. That is, nearing zero. He has no idea how to talk to you.

“I’m gonna meet a couple of friends for lunch,” you say, lifting the spoon to your mouth. His gaze follows, before he finds clarity and looks down.

“That’s good,” he mumbles, walking to the fridge and finding the milk carton.

“You wanna come?”

“Not really.”

He sees you shrug from the corner of his eye. Part of him wants to retract his rejection, but you’re already rinsing your bowl. Soon you’ll flounce off, and he’ll be alone. Good, he decides. It’s better off like this, holding you at a distance. He doesn’t need more fuel to add to his inappropriate attraction to you.

Leave it to him to mess this up. He doesn’t even want this new family—he’d much rather spend Christmas in Nevada. A small room he rents near Diana’s sanitarium, so he could spend time with her whenever he can. Still, he can’t believe he’s committing to this cliche. Nerdy step brother ogling his beautiful step sister. It’s as if he carries some permanent malady, inflicting it upon everything he touches.

“I’ll see you later then, Spencer.” your touch on his arm makes him flinch. 

He ducks and nods, hiding away from the odd look he’s sure you’re giving him. A look everyone gives him, even his mentor, the only man who could ever keep up with him. Weakly, he answers, “Yeah. Later.”

Later turns out to be way past dinner; Spencer is alone for far longer than he anticipated. His father and stepmother return around dinnertime, the woman drunk and stumbling about. William Reid pats his son on the shoulder, before quickly retiring to the master’s bedroom, “We’re both exhausted, Spencer. Make sure your sister gets home at a reasonable hour.”

What constitutes reasonable? He’d never gone out and partied when he was studying—or after, if he’s being completely honest. Still, he nods at his father, deciding there’s really no harm waiting up for you. 

It is quiet when you stumble into the house, but there’s a light in the kitchen that makes your heart rate spike. Your mother? William? Are you in trouble for staying out? Can you even get in trouble when you’re an adult? What are the rules for adults still living with their parents? You’re unsure. There’s no curfew, but the presence of the light reminds you all too well of past conversations when your mother had caught you sneaking back in.

It’s easy to regress back into the habits from your earlier years when you’re around her. Locked in this perpetual dynamic of mother and child—mother and daughter, which is arguably even worse—where you’re meant to forever stay young, her baby as she likes to say, with a beaming smile as if that would soothe the sting of having to move back home after college. 

Tail tucked between your legs, accepting defeat. You had plans of making it in a big city—didn’t everyone? But money and luck and a whole other host of factors are not on your side, so you’d begrudgingly accepted her offer. Come live with me until you get your feet solidly planted on the ground, she had said. Conveniently leaving out the part where she remarried. But you didn’t want to be homeless, so you had smiled through gritted teeth and moved back in, accepting William Reid as your new stepfather, as if your old, real father wasn't buried six feet down the ground only eight months ago.

It’s his son now that’s waiting in the kitchen. Spencer. Scrawny, bug eyed. Your mother had gushed about him in the past few weeks—apparently, he’s finished three PhDs., and is being considered for the FBI even though he’s technically too young to even apply. He’d never be like you, struggling to get past the first interview. No, he’s too brilliant for that.

He looks up from his book as you pad through the halls. Dim light softens the gaunt angles of his face, making him almost handsome. He smiles, and the illusion is gone, replaced by the reality of what he is: a boy still fumbling about how to be a man. 

“You’re back,” his voice is soft as he closes the book—some Italian writer you remember reading for a literature class.

You walk past him, grabbing a glass. “Yeah. Why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, training his eyes on the floor, but not before you catch his gaze lingering at your bare legs. “It’s so quiet around here.”

Right. He still lives in the city where, even in the dead of night, there’s an undercurrent of sound. Still accustomed to the slight hum, the pulse that lets you know there are other people awake around you, doing night shifts, or partying, or making love. Here in the quiet suburbs, with the strict homeowner’s association, a car revving down the street would be the cause for a noise complaint.

“Hm,” you gulp your water, “Should’ve come with me.”

“I didn’t want to intrude on you and your friends.” he replies, eyes flickering back to you. Clear amber, even in the dim light, “I hope you had fun, though.”

Try as you might, you can’t hate the guy. He’s much too earnest, too bumbling to ever be of any real danger. Besides, he’s stuck here just as much as you are, into this stupid tableau of family values your parents have forced upon you. Your resentment would only be wasted on him, especially since his resentment is just as obvious.

So you flash him a smile, lips reflective and mimicking wetness thanks to the lipgloss, “I did, thanks. How’s your book?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes trained on your mouth. 

“Spencer?”

“Oh, it’s good,” he turns his gaze back to his copy, old and worn, with papers sticking out of them, “I’ve read it before, I’m just reading through my annotations.”

“Ah,” you nod. Of course he’s the type to annotate. And reread said annotations. You walk closer, leaning against the table beside him. The way his eyes dart down your bare legs, not in full display, within touching distance, fills your mind with dangerous thoughts. So you steer the conversation that way, pressing his buttons ever so slightly, “Sorry you’re stuck here by the way. Could’ve been out getting laid at D.C.”

He shakes his head, a self deprecating smirk tilting at his lips. “I’m not—that’s not really my thing.”

“No?”

“Girls don’t really find me appealing.” he mumbles, risking another glance at your legs. You wait for the usual self pitying speech, the one with underlying anger and misogyny, but it doesn’t come. He simply looks wistful.

You find yourself filled with genuine intrigue, “No?” 

It’s interesting how the same word could carry such a different meaning with the slightest shift in inflection. Spencer seems to pick up on the softness of your voice.

“No, I don’t really���I spend most of my time reading.” he tells you.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your time holed up in isolation,” your finger touches his chin, tilting it up to meet you. A strange sense of power fills your stomach as you watch his pupils dilate. “You’d find someone.”

You have a plethora of fucked up things upon which you can place the blame for why you do the next thing—your life not going the way you want it, the growing resentment for this entire holiday, your alcohol addled state of mind. That’s a problem you’ll figure out in the morning. Right now, you’re leaning in to kiss him. Your lips are sticky against his dry ones, palms cupping his jaw as you move your lips gently.

For a moment, you’re afraid you’ve misread the signals—he’s rigid, as though frozen by the permeating frigidity of the house. You consider pulling away, but then he is kissing you back. Slowly, at first, matching your pace, but then your tongue darts out to drag across the seam of his lips, mouth parting, and suddenly he’s moving with desperation. Kissing you as if he intends to meld your mouths together, making the prettiest little noises from the back of his throat.

There’s little time to think, not when there’s so much resentment and frustrations pouring out of both of you and into the kiss. He’s trying to keep up with your anger, but inexperience makes him uncoordinated. It’s sloppy and just on the edge of painful, clashing teeth and tongues poking harshly into crevices, not with the intention to explore but to take. 

When you tug at his pants, he pulls back, holding onto your hips like you’re some sort of lifeline. “W-we shouldn’t,” he pants.

“No?” you press your palm on his crotch, raising a brow at the obvious erection hiding beneath the fabric. 

He moans, eyes squeezing shut. “This is wrong, you’re drunk and—and my step sister.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumble, moving to straddle his lap, dress hiking up to your hips and giving him a full view of your legs. Your cunt goes directly over his crotch. Only a few scraps of fabric separate you, and the thought makes you moan, makes you nip at his lower lip. He stiffens in response, face bright red.

“At least deny the step sister part,” he complains, resting his forehead against yours.

You don’t have anything to counter it, at least not with words, so instead you move your hips over the spot where you’ve settled. A moan trembles from his lips as you grind on his crotch, seeking friction from the growing bulge. You swallow the sound with another kiss, and this time he doesn’t fight it. 

“It doesn’t count,” you say in between kisses, hands tangling in his hair, “If we don’t actually fuck.”

He laughs, breathless and disbelieving, his breath warm on the skin of your jaw where he’s begun trailing kisses. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yes, it does.” you insist, grinding your hips on his crotch, moaning as the thin lace of your panties grow soaked with your arousal, making the friction feel that much sweeter. “Makes perfect sense. Perfectly logical. It’s just masturbating then.”

Spencer is whimpering into your neck, large hands holding your waist to keep you balanced on his lap. “That’s still wrong.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you haven’t been jerking off to the thought of me.” That’s a risky sentence; you’re not actually sure. But with the way his hips jerk up into you, you realize he has done it. Lowering your voice, you lean in and bite his ear, rocking your hips into a rhythm that mimics the movements of sex. “You have, haven’t you? That’s why you spend all that time alone in your room?”

“I—fuck,” he groans, nails digging into your hips as he ruts his hips up to match you, “Yes. Yes, yes, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Spencer.” you moan, arms wrapping around his neck. “God, this feels so good.” Pleasure courses through your veins, heightened by the alcohol and the fact that neither of you shouldn’t be doing this. Beneath you, the chair he’s sitting on scrapes on the kitchen floor, creaking slightly from your rocking bodies.

“Yeah,” he groans, teeth clamping around the sensitive part of your throat. You hiss at the sting, grinding down on his erection harder, an action that sends his body into a fit of tremors, stiffening and then shuddering as he muffles his moans against your skin.

He’s coming, you realize, and the fact makes you go harder, eager to chase your own orgasm. His length is still rock hard, easy to rub your sensitive clit on it to find stimulation, and soon, you’re quivering on top of him as the pleasure finally snaps and overtakes your body.

He holds you tightly to him, arms around your waist as you try to regain your breaths. “W-we can’t do this again.” he whispers, voice hoarse, arms trembling despite their tight grip on you.

“Right,” you murmur, gingerly climbing off his lap, “Just this once, never again.” 

His arms linger, wanting to keep you against him longer despite every brain cell yelling at him about goodness and morality and legal complexities. Reluctantly, he lets go.

You regard him, strangely sober after such a high. Cheeks flushed, a stain at his crotch, the very picture of ruin. With a smile, you bend down and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Keep this between us?”

“Of course.”

You make two promises that night. Only one of them is kept.

[solmire]

Having a secret admirer for deaf!gojo before car accident wasn't something unfamiliar.

Cute love-letters right next to his laptop, some handmade gifts are pushed into his bag and, of course, strawberries in chocolate are inside his mouth.

"Do you know that it's not safe to eat food from someone whom you don't know in person?" Sukuna is questioning all his existence every time he spends his time with Gojo and his antics. He believes that he deserves to be paid for such a torture.

"Maybe you are right." While chewing strawberries Gojo said. "But I know this lady is the one who I can trust. It's the same handwriting with the one I got last week with those cookies."

"And so what? What if she drugs them or puts another man's semen or even worse - her own vomit?" The disgusted look on Sukuna’s face says that his imagination working not on full hundred percent, but hundred fifty percent for sure.

"Woooow, didn't know you were that freaky man." While chuckling said Gojo. All that laugh caused him to choke and some pieces of the strawberries are all on Sukuna’s face right now.

"Is it really so hard not to laugh while you're talking, you stupid dumbass."

The scene of play-fighting friends are right in front of you. The strawberries that didn't make to Gojo's weekly present are waiting for you to devour them like you imagined to do so while sitting on boring lecture hour ago.

However, it's too hard to focus on yourself, when Gojo Satoru enjoys your food and admits that he trust you.

The time when you heard that he has a sweet tooth and what happened after should be studied.

Person, who had never been able to cook, started to work like a dog day and night only to impress her crush.

Your every evening wasn't full of hang outs, parties or even study sessions, you were spending all your time practicing baking, making everything perfect so Satoru could enjoy them from the first bite. Fingers are full of burns and cuts, and all those sacrifices were made only for your little stupid crush on Gojo.

Life of being secret admirer is difficult. One second you are savouring beauty and laugh of your crush, and the next second you are watching how his pretty, elegant girlfriend sits right on his lap and is getting kissed by her boyfriend.

masterlist

Taglist: @someonenamedray @totallyuniquenut @not-aya

[stylesispunk]

Fics I love on this app: April recs ✍️ ✨💌

I'm coming a bit late because I totally forgot about this. Last month, I promised to share some of my favorite readings from the month. April was a hectic, busy month, and I didn't have the time I would have loved to have for this, but I still managed to read some wonderful works here. You never disappoint! Since the events of that episode, I mostly read Joel's fics to ease the emotional damage. Writers on this app deserve a lot of love for their wonderful work and for sharing all their talent with us. I hope you're giving them all their flowers. I also have my masterlist in case you want to give it a read of some of my works.

p,s share your recs with me too, I want to read a lot.

The boyfriend act (frankie morales x f!reader) by the lovely lovely @capuccinodoll

I know I already recommended this before, so what? I will do it until she stops writing this story. The last chapters are amazing, and the love story between these two makes me want to have a boyfriend. YOU MUST READ IT.

Also, she is posting a new story this month? "A haunted body" (Joel Miller x f!reader), I'm already waiting to read that one.

Falling (Joel Miller x oc!female character) by @damneddamsy

Again, I know I recommended this one too, but how couldn't I? This story follows the story of Joel and a female original character, so well written that it made me fall for her immediately. The dynamics between all the characters are perfectly written. The complexity is a thing that made my heart ache, too. But this story is so perfect that words are not enough to describe it. READ IT.

heartlines (harry castillo x f!reader) by @lonely-ey3s

This one here has made me fall in love, laugh, kick my feet, and blush. I'm a hopeless romantic, and if you're too, you should read it too.

Also from the same author, "Ride or die (Rodeo/cowboy!Joel Miller x f! reader)

No words, just chef kisses.

It only falls into place when you're falling to pieces (Jackson! Joel Miller x f!reader) by @theetherealbloom

I know saying goodbye to Joel was hard, but this one is so beautifully tragic. Literally a love letter to Joel, and that's what love the most. Give it a read, tears are worth it.

What's left behind (joel miller x fem!reader) by @beasangel

I cried? Yes, but again. A tragic portrait of the events of episode 2. But the tears are worth it because it is beautifully written.

Them or us (Joel Miller x f!reader) @punkshort

Literally the first fix it fic I read after episode 2. This is what should have happened, and this is canon. That's it. By the way, I love everything from this one.

After All (Joel Miler x f!reader) by @talaok

Domestic Joel? A bunch of fluff? must read piece of writing for sure.

A beautiful lie (Harry castillo x f!reader) @greenwitchfromthewoods

I'm trying to fall in love with Harry before that movie comes out, and this story is doing this job. I love everything about it. I love everything the lovely Anetta writes, and please, follow this story, it is so worth it.

I think of you all the time (young dieter Bravo x f!reader) by @schnarfer

I haven't had a lot of time to get to fully read this one, but so far it has been amazing. I usually never read dieter stories, but this one is stealing my heart.

Harry Castillo x reader series by @foxtrology

Amazing story, amazing plot, and yes, totally in love with Harry Castillo thanks to this one. I hope you're giving lots of love. I still have to read one more chapter haha.

[lov3lyl3tters]

“Time casts a spell on you but you won’t forget me”

Summary: He thought breaking things off would set you both free. Now, months later, you’re still right there—quiet, distant, unforgettable. And Spencer Reid is starting to realize: You didn’t leave. You just became a haunting.

warnings: Angst, Post-Breakup, reader haunting spencer, spencer not being able to move on

(Inspired by: “Silver Springs” by Fleetwood Mac (Live 1997))

A/N: i wrote this on a whim and i dare say this is a personal favorite this will be part of a “series” if i can call it that it will basically be around 5 fics inspired by “Silver Springs” they will all be different plots but will surround itself around the song!

He didn’t plan on breaking up with you. Not really.

But he did. He said it quietly, the way he does most things. A soft, apologetic kind of detachment. The kind that makes you feel crazy for crying even as your heart splits clean down the middle.

And now, three months later, you still have to look at him across conference tables and crime scenes.

It never really ends, does it?

⸻

Spencer sees you before you see him that morning.

You’re leaning against the SUV, arms crossed, wind tugging at your coat. You’re laughing at something Morgan said, that tilted, crinkled laugh he used to think of as sunlight made sound.

It still catches in his chest like shrapnel.

You turn, catching his eye. Your smile falters—just a breath—but then you give him a nod. Professional. Cool. Like nothing ever happened.

That’s the worst part. You’re so good at pretending.

He used to know everything about you. How you liked your coffee, what music made you cry, the way you read through case files with a pen between your teeth. He knew your dreams, the big ones and the ridiculous ones. He even knew how you looked in his bed, tangled in sheets, whispering facts back at him when he couldn’t sleep.

Now you’re just… someone he works with.

But God—he can’t not hear you. Even in silence.

⸻

You’re quieter now.

Not cold, exactly. Just… distant. Your edges used to be sharp and playful, all teeth and fire, but now you’re smoothed down to something clinical. Whatever’s left of your fire gets poured into cases. Into victims. Into anything but him.

Still, he sees it. The flickers.

Like today, when a suspect calls you girl and you crack back with, “That’s Agent to you.” Hotch doesn’t blink. Morgan smirks. But Spencer—it twists something in him.

You don’t laugh with him anymore.

You don’t say Spence like you used to. Like you meant it.

And he doesn’t deserve it. He knows that.

⸻

The thing is, Spencer didn’t end it because he stopped loving you.

He ended it because he thought he had to.

He told himself it was better for both of you. Safer. That if he could just carve the feeling out, bury it deep enough, maybe you’d move on. Be happy. Be free of the weight of loving someone like him.

But he couldn’t carve it out. And you didn’t move on.

Not really.

You just got quieter.

And he got haunted.

⸻

It happens late one night, in the quiet hum of hotel walls and unsaid things.

You’re in the hallway outside your rooms, both unable to sleep. A case that’s cut too close to the bone.

“I keep thinking she looked like me,” you say, arms wrapped around yourself. “The victim.”

Spencer shakes his head. “She didn’t.”

“Still,” you murmur, eyes distant. “She loved someone who didn’t love her back. Or maybe he just didn’t know how.”

He swallows hard. “Don’t.”

You turn to him, and for the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him. Not the version that smiles politely at briefings. The real you. The one he kissed under the fluorescent light of the BAU break room. The one who used to whisper “I love you” like a dare.

“I would’ve followed you anywhere, Spencer.” Your voice cracks. “And all you ever did was run.”

He can’t breathe.

You don’t wait for him to respond. Just walk away, your footsteps soft and final.

But he hears your voice for the rest of the night.

He always does.

⸻

You start singing to yourself sometimes.

Low, under your breath. When you think no one can hear.

Soft, haunting lines. Familiar melodies. Just fragments.

Time casts a spell on you / but you won’t forget me…

It’s like a ghost trailing through the office. Like the sound of what he threw away.

He doesn’t think you’re doing it to hurt him. But it does hurt. Bone-deep.

Because even though he tries—God, he tries—to focus on case files and logic and coffee and everything else that isn’t you, you’re everywhere.

You’re in the way the air shifts when you walk into the room.

In the way your chair creaks when you lean back.

In the sound of your voice across the comms line, snapping orders, steady as hell.

And it’s killing him.

Because he knows—he knows—he could have loved you. Did love you.

But he didn’t let himself.

And now you’re out of reach, made of anger and silence and a voice he can’t escape.

⸻

You get hurt on a case.

Not badly. Just a scrape and a scare.

But Spencer can’t breathe when he sees the blood.

He kneels beside you, fingers trembling. “You okay?”

You nod, dazed. “Yeah. Just a graze.”

Your voice is too calm. Like you’ve decided pain doesn’t touch you anymore.

He wants to scream. To shake you. To tell you he’s sorry. That he was wrong.

But you just look at him, your eyes unreadable.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Reid,” you say. “I’ll live.”

It sounds like a curse.

⸻

He dreams of you, sometimes.

Not the real you. The before you. The version that would curl up beside him and talk about constellations and old jazz records. The you that whispered stay in the dark.

In the dreams, you sing to him.

I’ll follow you down / ’til the sound of my voice will haunt you…

And it does.

God, it does.

He wonders if this is what you wanted. If you knew what you were doing—leaving pieces of yourself behind in every corner of his world.

But then he remembers your voice in the hallway. The crack in it.

And he knows you never wanted to haunt him.

You just wanted to be loved.

⸻

One night, after another case, you’re packing up files alone.

He walks past your desk, hesitates.

“You said once,” he begins, voice barely above a whisper, “that I wouldn’t forget you.”

You don’t look up.

“I haven’t,” he says.

You close the file slowly. “Good.”

Silence.

“I know I could have loved you,” he says. “I did love you.”

You finally meet his eyes.

“But you wouldn’t let yourself,” you reply. “That’s the part that hurts.”

He flinches. “I was scared.”

“I was, too,” you whisper. “But I stayed.”

And then you’re walking away, heels echoing down the hall like a heartbeat he’ll never quite catch up to.

⸻

Somewhere, in the quiet, your voice sings:

You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you.

And Spencer Reid believes it.

Because he never will.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Check-In Author's Notes: Short and sweet. This was just to get me back in a creative mindset. Warnings: MDNI, Mild Angst

You know, you look pretty good, despite our last conversation. I’m assuming things improved between you and the boys.

Not really. 

…

I mean I took your advice. I do my job and they do their thing.

…

What’s with the face?

Nothing. John just said something to me before they got deployed and... it’s nothing.  

It’s not “nothing” if it’s making the great Kate Laswell second guess herself. What?

…

Kate?

John had insinuated that he's going to offer you a spot on the team. I just assumed things were back to normal. That’s all.

…

…

Was this before or after Garrick’s email? Because there’s no way they’re going to offer a spot to someone who they think is incompete—

You know Kyle didn’t mean any harm with th—

Kate! Garrick flat out said that I am a burden to the team

For this mission! Look, could he have been nicer with it? Of course! But the boys don’t think you’re incompetent. Every time I talk to any of them, it always end with them singing your praises, even Ghost. 

…

Don’t roll your eyes with me.

Sorry. I’m just… I’m confused. None of this makes sense. 

In what way?

I can’t remember the last time any of them complimented my work; I hardly get a thank you these days. It’s hard to believe that men who avoid me like the plague want me to stay. 

… 

It’s fine if they don’t like me. I get it, we don’t have to be friends.  I just want to know what I did to deserve this. 

Deserve what?

This coldness! Like the other day, the day you sent the email, it was my birthday. And none of them said a single thing to me. And it’s not like I was expecting gifts or a cake, but damn… nothing… really? 

None of them said anything?

No! Kate, the only reason I didn’t celebrate by myself at home that night was because the Kor-tac boys invited me out for drinks. They didn’t even know it was my birthday. They just did it because they wanted to. 

…

Men that I’ve known for like, what, a month or so, have made more of an effort to include me than the 141 have in the past six months. Honestly, I’m really starting to consider that offer.

What offer?

…

Kid, what offer?

They asked if I wanted to join Kor-tac. 

And do you want to?

…

…

I—

[The conversation comes to an abrupt pause as Laswell’s phone goes off. She checks it and immediately excuses herself from the table. You take a sip of your coffee as you wait for your mentor.]

[It’s not long until she reappears.]

Everything okay? You don’t look so good.

…

Laswell?

…

Kate? What’s wrong?

There was an accident. 

Word Count: 459

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[zombofreak]

Sweet girl <3

Brain rotting caleb, giving his girl exactly what she deserves !! .. if not more :3

WARNINGS: SMÜT!!! fingeríng, praise, overstimulation, nghhh caleb metal hand

<3

The wet clicks of skin on skin filled the room.

Breathless moans and whimpers fell from your mouth like a waterfall, “god, Caleb, please..- can’t— i can’t—“ His fingers burried deep in your cunt, the other, metal hand, working on your puffy clit. He only murmured in your ear, “i know, baby, i know.” Whilst his hands did nothing but speed up.

You had came, what, three times now? He still hasn’t had enough. Enough of your moans, your taste, everything.

Your back pressed against his chest, you were able to feel his erection against your lower back. Your hips bucked and thighs shook against his hold, his arms wrapped around your waist, meeting between your legs where he relentlessly pleasured you.

His eyes were intense, trained on you.

You? Your eyes were closed. head thrown back against his collarbone and shoulder as you whined his name. Every touch, every push of his fingers inside you, every broad stroke to your clit.

Fuck if he didn’t stop you were convinced you’d die.

“Caleb, oh fuck.. gonna cum..-“ You pant out., jaw wide open as you moan once more. Every sound you made was music to Caleb’s ears, his hair sticking to his forehead from damp sweat. “Yeah? Gonna make another mess for me, sweetheart?” He mumbles in your ear, eyebrows furrowed as he hyper focused on making you cum.

“One more, i can pull one more out of you, right? You can do that for me, sweet girl?” He gently says with that smile, that smile that seemed to drag you by your neck. The smile that made you want to melt every time he spoke.

Minus how overstimulated you were, you nod, your naked form weakly shaking. “There we go, that’s it— God you sound so good, so good for me..” He groans quietly when your hips buck back against him. You even heard what could be written down as a whimper come from his lips.

“Caleb..” You breathe out again.

“I know, cum for me, sweetheart. ‘s okay.”. He gently coos into your ear, his rough hands portraying a different message. One final harsh circle on your clit and you tensed, body growing taut as your hands dug into his thighs, that were on both sides of your hips. Your eyes rolled back, jaw slack.

His metal hand pulled away from your nerve, the other hand inside you slowed. He’s working you through your orgasam. His lips were soft, slightly chapped, they kissed down your damp neck. your hair stuck to your forehead.

You whine quietly.

He looks up with a small chuckle, “you’re still needy? I would have figured four was enough to satisfy you, pipsqueak.” He teased.

You huff quietly, “i wanted to make you feel good too, asshole..” you grumble out. You shiver with a gasp when his fingers pull out of you, feeling yourself clench around nothing. He brought his hand up to your face, “look at the mess you left..” His hands were covered in white, you look away in embarrassment.

He hums, “suit yourself,” he says as he cleans his own fingers off. You recoil slightly. “I hope you don’t plan to kiss me with that same mouth.” You say with a small smirk, he only mirrors your expression as you climb out his lap, turning to face him. He moved on his knees, boxers having a clear tent in them— and it wasn’t small.

“You might be a mind reader, because that was exactly my plan.” He says with a laugh. He crawls over you, pressing your back against the bed. When the cool metal hand presses to your warm pussy again, you tense.

“Still sensitive?” He laughs, he pushes his boxers down, kicking them off to the side with the rest of clothes he ripped off you.

“Shit.. look how hard you made me, baby.” He groans out, giving himself a few experimental strokes. He twitches and his hips buck into his own hand. His eyes drift close for a second.

You crane your head up for a second, swallowing harshly when he makes eye contact with you, hand still pumping his cock.

You huff once more, “Caleb, cmon—“ You whine. He only rolls his eyes, “impatient.” He says back, grabbing you by the fat of your hips and pulling you closer to him, you gasp. “A warning?!” You complain as he laughs.

“You’ll live, won’t you?” He sneakily replies, teasing you by rubbing his flushed tip against the sopping lips of your pussy. You groan in irritation.

He finally gives in, as he slowly pushes into you, gasping. “Oh,, shit.. you’re so tight—“

You only groan in response, “shut up..” You huff.

He smiled down at you. You had your eyebrows furrowed, trying to focus on anything but the fucking burning from the sheer girth of him. “Fuck, that hurts..-“ You breathe out, he coos. “You’re a big girl, you can handle it, right?” You scoff, as another sting hits you. “Are you in yet?” You ask with impatience.

he goes quiet. “eh.. like.. halfway..?” He guesstimates. You groan, “caleb i swear to every god if—“ You shudder, he just fully seats himself like he’s not going to puncture a damn organ.

You writhe under him. “What’s wrong? didn’t you tell me to hurry, pipsqueak?” He teases, you glare through your watery eyes. “Fuck off..”

He laughs, slowly pulling his hips back, only to sharply thrust back into you. A cry leaves your lips as your eyes shut. “God!- Caleb, you’re so damn harsh!” You complain.

He pays you no mind, his harsh thrusts seemed to hit deep parts of you that only he could reach. He was slow, making sure to really milk this moment with you. When you crack you eyes open, you saw him staring down at you.

You choke back a moan as you speak. “..What?” You mumble. He shakes his head, “don’t worry your sweet head about it, just thinkin’ ‘bout how pretty you look right now.” He hums, before leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss was mainly teeth and tongue, Caleb doing everything in his power to savor your taste. The metallic hand tightens around your waist as he groans, “holy.. shit..” He whimpers out, hips snapping forward at a faster pace as his hands push you into the bed. Basically smushing into you. The only thing you could do was gasp and moan.

“God- so pretty, you’re so— fuck.. so fucking pretty like this, y’know?”

He rambles, as if he’s drunk off your living essence. “Can’t get enough of you, sweet girl, god— you’re so perfect..-“ He mumbles against your lips as you pant for breath.

“Caleb, baby, w..wait.. can’t—“ You try to warn, He groans when he feels you flutter around him. “I know you’re close, ‘s okay, i can pull one more outta ya’ can’t i , sweetheart..?”He says, more so asking himself rather than you, mouth moving to your neck to kiss and bite at it.

You whine, “no— can’t, i can’t..-“ You tried to shake you head as he tuts against your skin. “You can, you will.” He whispers back, a dark edge to his tone.

That seemed to fill him with a new determination, he doubles down on his actions, metallic hand still on your waist as the other paws at your breasts. Toying with your nipples. Your body jolts, back arching when you let out another cry.

He smiles widely, “there we go, atta girl, cmon baby. Cum one more time for me, one more— that’s it..” He praised you quietly as he feels you shiver, gripping around him like a vice as you came, sobbing as you hands clawed at his arms.

He groans loudly, “shit— gonna cum— god.. wait..” He tried to pull out to finish on your tummy, just to avoid any unneeded mistakes, when you shake your head.

“‘s okay,, on the pill, inside. Please- Please Caleb..” You rasp out, fuck, he couldn’t say no. He buried himself back to the hilt, his head going to the junction of your collarbone and neck as he whimpered your name, and fuck, it sounded much better when it came from him.

“Cumming, oh shit!-“ He shuddered, as you feel that full and warm sensation in your stomach. Eyes closing as both you and him bathe in the afterglow.

It was quiet for a few minutes, nothing heard but both of your labored breaths. He slowly raises up, looking over your form.

He takes a breath, “come on, gotta get you clean..” You groan tiredly as he rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine, here, i’ll even run the bath for you AND carry you there, deal?”

A wide smile takes your face, you nod. “Deal, I expect a meal afterwards too, by the way.” Caleb scoffs, “I know I know, from scratch and home made, right?”

You giggle, “you already know, hm?”

٩(^‿^)۶

[vonbabbitt]

Hey hey Von !! :D Hope you're having a nice day, and I hope you're at least getting (some) rest now !!! I know you don't take breaks, but rest is needed. Go drink water if you haven't!!! You deserve it !!!1!!

I'll preface this ask by saying— Thank you for making Tetro. Thank you for sharing your vision, for telling this story, for making such a beautiful piece of art. [Red] was absolutely the perfect way to end off Tetro Pink (excluding [Depart], I at least count [Red] as the ending of Tetro PINK iykwim?). It was the first episode in tetro to actually make me sob. Not cry. Not shed a tear. Sob. I've always seen myself within Sasaki, despite our experiences not being similar at all. Her outlook on life, outlook on the situations she's put in, her mannerisms, way of carrying herself— I saw myself there. And [Red] further cemented that. I sobbed because it was the perfect way to end Pink off. It was a reflection of Sasaki, and a reflection of Pink as a whole. A classic tale about prey outsmarting its enemy, Little Red outsmarting the Wolf — A retelling of Hitomi's pain, a homage to her, now knowing that she's not the one to outsmart the wolves. It is absolutely beautiful. Thank you, Von.

While I have made short tetro videos during the months I've known about it, I've always wanted to make a full animatic. To give back to you, Von, and to the community, and to everyone. So I'm sorry for the sudden tone shift— But do you have the audio file for piano that sounds when Monomoko teleports people (?)? Do you know what note it is, how to make it sound for longer, or is it more practical to just cut it out of a video like [Depart]?

Once again, thank you for everything. Thank you for your hard work, thank you for sharing Tetro with us. See you in (at least, for me) today's stream !! or. that's. neruru mb that's your cousin

im really really glad you felt the story so deeply, thank you for your incredibly high praise and im beyond flattered by your love of tetro!

here's the note!

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

The Memories Pairing - Dain Aetos x RiorsonSister!Reader Summary - Your brother's girlfriend is missing, your squad has been sequestered away for trying to help, and you're sure that you're next to be taken in as soon as they can find you. There's only one person who you can think of that can help, and it's the same person everyone's been warning you not to trust. Will the bond you've formed be enough for him to see past the betrayal and help save everyone? Word Count - 4.3k Warnings - Canon typical violence and language!

Time was running out. The dorms were busy with normal activity, but every step you took had your panic rising. The rest of the squad was already sequestered after trying to mount a rescue mission yesterday, and you knew what Varrish was after: your brother. So you didn’t imagine it would be long until you were pulled out for interrogation, and you were terrified that they had Violet for as long as they had. If she hadn’t already broken, which you didn’t think she had or the marked ones still here would have been rounded up, how much longer could she hold out?

You could see one option out of this, but it was maybe the most dangerous of all. If you weren’t right, if you put your trust in someone who didn’t deserve it, you could get everyone killed. If you were right though . . . You could save Violet, and if you saved Violet, you saved everyone. 

There was no choice. 

You knocked on the door, and within seconds Dain Aetos was standing in front of you, looking confused. “Riorson? What are you-”

You shoved on his chest, glancing over your shoulder to make sure they weren’t coming as you pushed him back into his room. “Are you the man I think you are?” 

Dain’s brow furrowed, “What-?”

“I think you’re a good man,” you said, voice trembling with urgency. “I think given the choice, you would make the right decision, and I want to trust you even though everyone else has made me try and think that’s a bad idea, so I need to know. Are you the man I believe you are, or the one they say you are?” You asked, staring into his eyes looking for any hint of deception. 

“I’m who you think I am.” He said, without a flicker of doubt. And it wasn’t bravado. It was something deeper - like a promise. 

It’s what you needed to hear, and it might be stupid, and foolish, but you believed him. You reached out and grabbed his wrists, your thumbs brushing across his palms. “Okay, then I’m about to trust you with something that could not only get me killed, but several people that I love killed as well. I just ask for one thing.” 

Dain nodded, taking a step closer to you. 

“Give me the chance to explain everything that you’ve seen when you’re done. I promise I’ll answer any question.” And you would. You’d do anything if it’d help increase everyone’s chance of surviving. 

“I promise.” Dain said without hesitation. 

You thought your hands might have been shaking as you tightened your grip on his wrists. The room felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of what you were about to share. “Varrish has been teaching you how to search for memories using a word, right?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you lifted his hands toward your face. 

Dain nodded. 

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes - you couldn’t bear to see his expression. “Venin.” You breathed, placing his palms to your cheeks like a prayer. 

You weren’t sure how his signet worked, but you thought maybe if you tried to think about what you wanted him to see, he would. So you focused, dragging the memories forward like pulling barbed wire through your chest. 

Your mother’s hand gripping yours in the dark, your thirteen year old body trembling as she smuggled you across the border. You hid beneath a crumbling wall as a wyvern’s shadow passed overhead, a venin rider perched on its back. 

Then your old home - just ash and ruin. Your mother’s arm across your chest, holding you back as green fire devoured the walls. Her hand muffled your sobs while the sky turned to smoke. 

And finally - 

The blue cloak rippling in the wind. The pale skin. The crimson eyes. The red veins spidering towards his temple. And the smile. That cruel, twisted smile as he drained the life from the woman who’d given everything to save you.

Tears were streaming down your face as Dain stumbled back like he’d been struck. HIs eyes were wide - horrified, yes, but also shattered. As if some piece of his world had cracked beyond repair. He whispered your name, but there was no accusation, only heartbreak. 

Heartbreak you didn’t have time to deal with right now. “My brother has been smuggling weapons for years from here trying to arm fliers protecting Poromiel. Navarre knows, leadership knows, and they haven’t done a damn thing to help.” You said, a little bit of viciousness leaking into your tone.

Dain turned away again, his hand gripping the windowsill like it was the only thing holding him up. “So when I told my Dad about them being in Athebyne . . .” He shook his head, barely able to finish the thought. “They were smuggling weapons to protect citizens.”

You nodded, your chest tightening. “He’s  trying to save as many as he can.” 

“Do you - do you know how long Violet had known?” He asked. 

You hesitated for a moment, but you promised to answer his questions. “She found out everything at Athebyne.” 

He stood at the window for a moment, and you watched the deep breaths he took through the rise and fall of his tense shoulders. You could feel the clock ticking away, on not only Violet’s life, but your brother’s as well. You were about to say something when he turned back around to face you. “Why are you trusting me with this?” 

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Because I think Varrish is about to summon you to read Violet’s memories. And I . . . I think he’s using her to get to Xaden.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep from falling apart. “I can’t let them die. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my brother. He’s all I’ve got left.” You admitted, then went in for what you knew would convince him if nothing else would. “You can save Violet. Get her out of there before Varrish breaks her - before Xaden walks right into a trap.” 

“How do you know-?”

A loud bang rattled the door. You jumped. 

Dain didn’t. In one swift motion, his hand pressed against your stomach, guiding you to the wall beside the door. Hidden. Shielded. 

“Aetos! Open up!” Yelled a voice on the other side. 

Your heart rate increased as you looked at him, panicked. 

Dain put his finger to his lips in a clear sign for you to be quiet, and kept his hand on your stomach as he turned the doorknob and opened the door. “What do you want?” 

“You seen that first year from Flame Section? The one bonded to the blue daggertail?” 

It took everything in you not to make a sound with terror clogging your throat. His hand was warm - steady - where it rested against your stomach, grounding you even as fear curled in your chest. Without thinking, you clutched it, needing something real to hold onto. 

“Not since class. Is she in trouble?” Dain asked, his voice careful and controlled. 

“Varrish wants to talk to her.” He responded, and your blood ran cold. 

Dain’s hand gripped yours tighter, but his voice betrayed nothing. “Might want to check down by the river. I know she likes to go there sometimes to relax.” 

How . . . How did he know that? That was your place. Private. Safe. No one was supposed to know about it. Yet, it was the perfect place to send them searching. Isolated. Distracting. Smart. 

“Is that all you need?” Dain asked, sounding bored. 

“Not quite. He wants to see you too.” 

You were right. 

Varrish wasn’t just coming for Violet - he was coming for everyone you loved. 

And he was going to use Dain to do it.

“Alright. Let me grab my jacket.” Dain turned back to you, shutting the door behind him. “Stay here. Wait five minutes, then run. Head for the Vale. We won’t get Violet out without Tarin.” 

You tugged on the bond to Bhaltair. “Did you hear that?” 

“We will be ready when the time comes. Stay safe little one.” 

“We’ll be there.” You told Dain. 

He started to let go of your hand, but your grip tightened. Fear surged through you, catching in your throat. 

When he looked back, determination in his eyes, you couldn’t hold it in. 

“Please be careful.” You whispered. 

Dain nodded, then slipped through the door. The silence that followed was deafening.

You hugged yourself, eyes locked on the second hand of the clock as it ticked by. Each breath made your chest feel tighter, heavier. 

Something wasn’t right. 

The plan was sound, but every part of you screamed that walking away now - leaving Violet, leaving him - was a mistake. A betrayal. And your air signet . . . maybe it wasn’t enough, but it was something. 

“Change of plans, Bhaltair.” You told him, and decided it had been long enough. You opened Dain’s door, made sure no one was looking for you, and headed to where you knew they would be going. 

“I hope you’re ready to change them again.” His gravel-worn voice echoed in your mind.

You faltered mid-step. “What do you mean?” 

“Your brother has arrived.”

 A wave of relief swept through your body, followed by an, oh shit. Because Dain was with Violet, and if Xaden found them together and thought Dain was a threat - he’d kill him without blinking.

You ran like the world was ending - because for Dain, it might be. 

By the time you made it to them, Xaden was almost to the cell, and was slicing an officer’s throat. You heard Garrick shouting your name in surprise, but without even thinking about it, your wind blew him against the wall and out of your way. One thought pulsed through your veins - get to Dain before your brother killed him. That was all that mattered. Your eyes widened in panic as you saw Xaden aim for Dain with his daggers, and you didn’t even think. “No!” 

You threw yourself between Xaden’s blades and Dain, holding your hands up in front of you. 

You’d never seen that kind of rage in your brother’s eyes. It was blinding, absolute, like even he couldn’t see past it. Luckily, Violet spoke at the same time as you, and he was distracted as she started to fall and Dain had to catch her. “He saved me,” she whispered. “Don’t kill him.” 

You watched the wrath in his eyes turn to horror as he looked at her. “Gods, Violet.” Shadows exploded around all of you, and you stepped behind you until your back met Dain’s chest as Violet stumbled forward into Xaden’s arms. 

“I told you to go to the Vale,” Dain said, his hand on your hip as he tried to pull you behind him. 

There was no chance of that happening. You held your feet in place, not trusting Xaden not to kill him yet. “In all the time you’ve been my wingleader, I doubt I’ve listened to you more than twice, Dain Aetos. I wasn’t about to start now.” 

All of you were interrupted by Garrick’s arrival. “Godsdamn. You took off running, and then couldn’t save a single one for me? Took me forever to clear the barricade of bodies in the staircase after your sister blew me into a wall.” He said, giving you a look, but then frowning as he caught sight of Dain’s hand on you. 

Thankfully, Violet grabs his attention, turning her head, which had been resting against Xaden’s chest, to smile at Garrick weakly. “Hi, Garrick.” 

It was the first time you’d gotten a good look at Violet, and you had to hold in your gasp. Oh gods she looked horrible. What had they done to her down here? Her face was a brutal canvas of bruises, black, purple, green, blue. Blood clung to every edge, and the swelling made her almost unrecognizable. You wanted to say something, hug her, anything, but you knew no one was going to give her more comfort right now than the man holding her.

Garrick recovered faster than you, giving her a quick smile. “You’ve looked better, Violet, but I’m glad you’re alive.” 

“Me too.” She murmured, her voice hoarse. 

“It’s chaos up there,” Garrick tells Xaden, and when he looks at Dain again, you take another step back further into his touch, and Dain’s hand flexes on your hip - like he knew he should let go, but couldn’t make himself do it. “Leadership is launching all over the place to get to the border.” Garrick continued, turning back to Xaden. 

“Then it worked.” Xaden states. 

Before anyone could ask what worked, a groan sounds out through the room and you all snap your head in the direction of it. It’s Varrish, holding what appears to be a fatal wound in his side. This time, you’re so stunned that you let Dain tug you behind him so he can put himself between you two. “You’re turning traitor?” He hissed at Dain. 

“Oh, is that what’s happening?” Garrick asked, looking between Dain and Varrish. 

“Your father will be so disappointed.” Varrish said through clenched, bloody teeth. 

Fucking bastard. Since Dain had let go of you to push you behind him, you reached out and rested your hand on the small of his back, reminding him you were there. You didn’t know why you felt you had to, but he didn’t move out of your touch, even as he bent down to pick up his sword. “If he already knows what they’ve shown me, then I’m the one disappointed in him.” 

Oh shit. 

Everyone’s eyes shifted to you, but it was Xaden’s low voice that made your stomach twist in knots. “They?” 

You met Xaden’s stare without flinching, spine straightening. “If it helped keep Violet alive, I’d do it again. No regrets.” Because if it kept Violet alive, it helped keep him alive, and that was all you wanted. 

Xaden’s jaw clenched, but there were more important things to worry about at the moment as Varrish let out another bloody cough, and Dain aimed his sword at him. “No, not you.” Xaden snarled, and his shadows shot out, dragging Varrish into a chair and binding him there. “That honor belongs to Violet, if she wants it.” 

“She does,” Violet answered. 

Dain dropped his sword and stepped back toward you. Your hand slipped from his back as he turned, still shielding you from Varrish while Violet and Xaden closed in. To your surprise, Dain reached for your hand - and you didn’t hesitate to take his as together they stabbed Varrish, ending his life. 

“Give us a second, and keep Aetos breathing.” Xaden glanced down at where Dain was holding your hand, and his eyes narrowed. “For now,” he added to Garrick. 

You felt Dain start to loosen his grip, but you didn’t let him, holding his hand tighter, even when Garrick saw your hands and gave you a pointed look. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, kiddo.” 

You rolled your eyes, leveling the man you thought of as another brother with a glare. “Please. Like I don’t know that, old man? But I’m not letting any of you lay a hand on him.” You said, the words coming out more ferocious than you had intended. 

“I don’t need you fighting my-”

“This one you do.” You interrupted Dain. 

“She’s right.” Garrick agreed. “Her and Violet are the only reason you’re still breathing.” He looked far too smug about that. 

You gave Dain’s hand another squeeze and sent him an imploring look. “Trust me.” 

Dain stared at you for a moment, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. You hadn’t asked for something easy, but you’d trusted him. He needed to do the same now. 

He seemed to reach the same conclusion, nodding as he squeezed your hand in return - and for just a moment, the world felt less chaotic. There was something grounding in the way his fingers curled around yours. You didn’t know what it meant, not really, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. 

Garrick blinked, then grinned. “Holy shit - are you two a thing?” 

“No!” You both said at the same time, and when you looked over at Dain, it was impossible to miss the heat staining his cheeks. 

Garrick ignored both of you. “Let me know when you tell Xaden so I can have some snacks ready to eat while I watch.” He said with a smirk and a wink in your direction. 

You start to shoot a retort at him, but then Xaden starts calling out orders, and there isn’t much time after that for conversing. You’re taking supplies from Dain and wrapping Violet’s ribs while Xaden splints her arm. “We are nearly back, little one. Someone had better find the antidote before Tairn becomes even more insufferable.” Bhaltair’s voice curled down your bond like smoke.

Bhaltair gave a roar in return to what you were sure was Tairn’s displeased voice. “We need to get the antidote for the suppressant so Tairn doesn’t rip the quadrant apart.” You told Xaden who barked at Garrick to get Bodhi on it. “And you,” you added to Bhaltair. “Maybe stop antagonizing the giant dragon helping keep my brother alive?”  

“I can handle my sister’s mate.” He snapped at you, and you let out a sigh as you tied off Violet’s wrap. You winced for her - because gods that had to hurt - and sent her an apologetic smile. 

“The rest of the squad is fine. We tried to get you out yesterday, but they caught us. They’re in the interrogation classroom, and Ridoc distracted them before they could find me. I’ve been trying to get help ever since.” You assured her, glancing at Dain then looking back at Xaden. 

Gratefulness lit Violet’s face. “Thank you.” 

“Xaden! We have a problem!” You heard Garrick shout from the staircase. 

Shit. Of course we do. 

“Fuck,” Xaden said, glancing between his swords and Violet who was in no condition to walk right now. 

“I can carry her,” Dain offered, voice careful. 

Xaden’s head whipped toward him, and even you flinched at the force of that glare. 

“The only reason you’re still breathing, Aetos, is because my sister seems to have formed some ill-advised attachment to you, and you helped save Violet. You can bet your ass I’m not trusting you with her.” 

You didn’t bother defending yourself or your choices. There were no words that would make this better right now.

“I can walk. I think.” Violet interrupts, trying to keep the very little peace there was, but when she tried to take a step, it was obvious she couldn’t. 

Xaden sheathed his swords behind his back. “How about this - I promise the next time I’m beaten for five days straight, I’ll let you carry me out of the prison.” 

“Thank you,” Violet says as he lifts her into his arms. 

Xaden didn’t even bother to look at you and Dain as he started carrying Violet up the stairs towards Garrick. “Follow me, or die. It’s your choice, but make it now.” He told Dain, because there was no doubt you’d be following. 

While Xaden headed up the stairs, you tugged Dain to a stop. 

“I won’t let him kill you if you don’t want to come with us . . .” Your voice was low, unsteady. “But I want you to.” You squeezed his hand, like the small pressure could somehow anchor the mess inside of you.

Dain stared at you, and for a moment it felt like he was seeing everything - every crack and flaw and fear. Then, he stepped closer until your bodies were almost touching. His free hand came up, warm and steady, cupping your cheek. 

“I won’t follow him.” He said. 

Your breath caught. Your heart cracked a little. You opened your mouth, ready to plead - to say screw it, and ask him anyway - but he kept going.

“But I’ll follow you.” 

Oh gods. 

You blinked. Stunned.

Had anyone ever believed in you like that before? It was terrifying. But when you looked into those steady, warm brown eyes, something inside you settled. You swore, right then and there that you’d earn that faith. You’d be worthy of it. 

Emotion surged like a wave, thick in your throat. “I’ll try to make sure you don’t regret it.” 

Dain gave you the barest smile, the kind that felt like a secret, but then you heard Xaden calling your name, and you bolted up the stairs, tugging Dain with you to find the General waiting. 

She took one look at you, then at Dain. Her gaze dropped to your still entwined hands, and with a sigh that sounded like it had been aged in disappointment, she muttered, “both of you, really?” She said, looking from Dain to Violet. 

“Aetos!” Xaden snapped from the next set of stairs. “Did you decide to follow?” 

“Clearly,” he grumbled. 

“Then fucking follow.” Xaden ordered as he started up the stairs. 

You winced, shooting Dain an apologetic glance, and then hurried after your brother, fingers still laced with his. As you passed Violet, you caught her eye and gave her a small, uncertain smile. She tried to smile back, but the look in her eyes said she knew what storm you were stepping into.

You expected Xaden to start questioning you the second the four of you were alone, but instead, silence fell like a blade. Heavy. Sharp. Suffocating.

Your chest tightened. 

You hated this. The weight of Xaden’s silence. The feeling that you were letting him down. That you’d chosen something - or someone - he would never approve of. All your life, you’d only ever wanted one thing: for your brother to be proud of you.

And now? 

Now you weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye. 

Almost as if he knew you were thinking about him, Xaden glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes met yours - and softened. “You wanna go home, little bit?”

The words knocked the air from your lungs with a wave of homesickness. You missed it so much. “Please,” you whispered.

“Home?” Dain asked, his voice quiet as his gaze flickered from you to your brother. “So that was Aretia I saw. It didn’t burn?” 

Just like that, the brief softness vanished from Xaden’s expression. He didn’t say a word, turned his back, and kept moving. 

Your smile dropped. You looked up at Dain and gave a faint shake of your head. No point in hiding it now.

His brows drew together in a frown, eyes lingering on your face then shifting back to Xaden. He didn’t press, instead he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

You squeezed his back, grateful.

At the top of the stairs, the silence turned razor sharp.You dropped your gaze to the floor, trying not to look at anyone. Not at Xaden, who’s disappointment would gut you. Not at Garrick, who’s teasing smirk would make you flush, and not at Dain, because you weren’t sure what you’d find there, and your chest already ached with too much. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Violet joined the four of you, and they decided to give everyone the chance to make their choice with all the information. Xaden didn’t seem keen on the idea, but if Violet wanted it, you knew she would get it. Then she turned to Dain, “it won’t be safe for you here. Not after what you just did.” 

“Not that it’s going to be safe for him where we’re going.” Garrick said, looking between Xaden and Dain. “You can’t be serious. We’re going to trust this guy?” 

You glared at him, but your attention shifted over to Xaden, knowing he was the one you had to convince. “He didn’t just help save Violet. They came looking for me. He helped me hide. Lied to cover for me, and planned to get us both out near the Vale. All before he even knew you were here.” You took a deep breath, heart pounding, and suddenly you knew what you had to do. “I’ll take responsibility for him.” 

“The fuck you will,” Xaden growled, stepping closer to you, and you had to fight the urge to shrink under his gaze. 

You resisted the instinct to step back. Instead, you lifted your chin, even as your stomach twisted. “You can’t stop me.” 

Your fingers reached for one of the daggers on your chest, but a shadow, sharp and solid, wrapped around your wrist, tugging your arm away. 

You gasped, eyes flying to Xaden, who didn’t look the least bit remorseful. 

“If he wants our trust, he’ll earn it.” He said coldly. 

“He already-!” 

“Guess my last official act as a wingleader will be to call a formation.” Dain interrupted, jaw flexing as his gaze dropped to the shadow still wrapped around your wrist. “Let her go.” 

Xaden smiled, sharp and amused. “Sure thing.” 

The shadow slithered off your skin - only for a dozen more to lash out and strip you of every dagger you carried. Your breath hitched, and you felt exposed. 

“You can have them back,” Xaden said, already turning away, “as soon as you come to your fucking senses.” 

Emotions surged. Anger, guilt, heartbreak, embarrassment, all tripping over each other in your chest. You didn’t even realize you were staring after him until you felt warm fingers under your chin, tipping your face up. 

Dain.

“Don’t piss him off because of me.” He said. “I can tell how much it hurts you to make him mad.” 

The words hit too close, too true, and your throat tightened. “What if I think you’re worth it?” You asked.

He didn’t answer with words. He held your gaze for a long, aching beat. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Soft. Deliberate. Anchoring. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, breath catching in your lungs. For a moment, you stood there, head bowed toward him, fighting the urge to melt into his arms and forget every burden waiting above you. 

“All right, not-lovebirds.” Garrick muttered, his voice thick with amusement. “Let's get this show on the road.” 

Heat flared across your cheeks as you straightened. Dain’s hand stayed in yours. 

You didn’t let go.

[missvnzn]

📂 — what if dani becomes someone you won’t talk about? late consequences of breaking up with you.

pairing: daniela avanzini x fem!reader

genre: angst

a/n: first post yayy 🥳 silly angst in honor of dani coming out as straight! sorry for any grammar mistakes lmao

daniela had everything a normal person would envy until their bones break. a successful girlgroup that has her chest exploding with pride, a talent that everyone admires, a body to die for and an insane amount of boys behind her back waiting for her to give them a chance. she truly had everything— everything but you. on days like these, she can not stop the growing gut wrenching feeling that she firmly believes will eventually take her happiness away. she dropped her phone to her lap, giving up on her many attempts to distract herself until they arrive to mnet. a sigh escaping from her lips catches manon’s attention.

although gnarly era has started in the best way possible, dani couldn’t feel entirely focused on her job. she knows you’ve heard the song, she knows that she has probably popped up on your phone many times at this point and the crack starts at knowing you won’t talk to her. that she can’t talk to you. she can’t tell you about all the cool stuff she’s doing lately, random things such as sending you pictures of her many outfits for the era and the silly stuff she’s shy to admit like how she bought your favorite bubble tea this morning.

she stares at the empty cup standing on the car, tiny pieces of ice already melting inside. she doesn’t realize the tight grip she has on her phone and how hard she’s biting her lower lip.

“hey, you okay?” manon asks quietly. knowing dani wouldn’t really answer if the rest of the girls hear the conversation.

“yeah,” but manon doesn’t buy it. she knows the latina like they’ve been growing up together. dani sighs again as she knows better than to lie to her friend. “i’m just… thinking.”

“about…?” she raises her eyebrow and gives a little nod with her head, trying to encourage her to keep going.

“doesn’t matter,” she shakes her head as if the action itself would erase the thought out of her mind— or at least make manon forget about the topic, but it doesn’t work. “i’ll have to suck it up i guess.” she shrugs and looks away. she prefers to look out the window rather than pay attention to manon anyways, knowing that everything the girl says can break her walls.

“is it…” she hesitates. “you know… her?” she murmurs, maintaining the privacy bubble around them.

daniela can only look down at her hands and nod weakly.

“i’m trying not to,” she feels the words getting stuck in her throat. “but it’s so hard,” the older girl listens carefully. “she’s— she’s all i can ever think about.”

back when dani’s name was called out as one of the final member of katseye, she felt like she could have the world in her hands. she felt invincible. she was ready to live out her dream. dani was worth it all and you made sure to tell her how proud you were of her. daniela could see you sitting next to her parents, always looking at your direction when she knew the camera wasn’t on her and when the show was over, you were patiently waiting for you turn when dani came out to hug all of you. although you were the last one, she hugged you so tight and held your hand in such a soft way that you could never believe what was going on in her mind. her mom quietly taking pictures of the cute little moment in front of them as the two of you were so immersed in your own world.

“you deserve this. i love you.” you said with a smile.

but dani couldn’t say that she loved you, not to the world. and even when you thought dani was the sweetest soul alive, everything came to an end a few days later, right before she left. apologizing between sobs and tears, you felt your heart wrenching at the sight of your now ex girlfriend standing in front of you.

you tried to understand her. you did actually, trying to convince yourself that this was the best option for her until the very first weeks of the break up, when you realized that dani was just a bag full of excuses— that dani was nothing but a coward. even when you knew deep down that the relationship wouldn’t last that longer because of her career, you couldn’t stand her fake personality no more. watching clips of her felt like a punch in the stomach over and over again. of course dani would fit into the perfect girly model, of course she had to break up with you. even when lara had come out to the public you couldn’t understand how she could be so ashamed of you. of her. knowing that dani does nothing else than lie to the people.

dani notices the pity in manon’s eyes and knows that it’s way too late to regret it. so even when she had everything, you were still missing, and now it was her turn to face the reality she has been avoiding for so long. the thought of you feels like a ghost that haunts her everywhere she goes and she feels hopeless at the fact that you could probably never contact her again. she wants to ask manon for some help, for her to try and help her get you off of her mind, afraid that there’s no way out. but she knows she has to do it alone. the hopeless stare makes the older girl worry as tears threatens to fall.

daniela misses you. and lucky for her, her schedule just gets busier.

[fernslivers]

Fluffy Skincare HCs with Modern!Mizu

A teeeeeny tiny little one for this next pt, But I needed some Mizu fluff in my life 😭

Hope you enjoy!

~~

Mizu definitely uses that 50-in-1 shampoo/bodywash/conditioner/toothpaste/paint stripper/firestarter/cooking oil combo stuff

She might also possibly be one of those girls that uses Mane ‘n’ Tail

She's fastidious about showers/hygiene, she's just not very fussy

Has had the same towels for YEARS, they are worn down almost transparent

Queen of “it still works fine” when it comes to everything she owns.

She used to cut her own bangs as a teen, but accidentally cut it really badly one time and has since just let it grow, only occasionally hacking off the split ends

She uses regular scissors for this, I'm sorry to say

She would rather chew her own leg off than sit in a salon and make small talk

She washes her face every day to make sure there's no blood evidence

Accidentally ends up with perfect skin

She really could not care less, barely notices

But it is kind of nice when you praise it

she will let you put face masks/other spa-day things on her, but she will sulk like crazy about it

Glaring at you like a cat getting a bath the entire time, but…

She secretly loves it

Loves how excited you get to show her the stuff you're going to be using

Loves the chatter about how it works for your skin

Loves staring into your eyes while you apply it, how you go very quiet while you're concentrating

Loves the gentle, careful way you touch her face as you apply it

Nobody has ever really touched her that way before, like she deserves a caress

Loves the way you fidget with your own mask, constantly touching to see if it dried yet, or peeking in the mirror–it's so cute, you're so eager

Loves that you just gasp and pat her skin with that starry-eyed amazement, every time

“It looks so good, you're just glowing!”

She thinks she looks the same, just scrubbed a bit pink and shiny

She looks really hard in the mirror, though, wishing she could see what you're seeing when you look at her

Loves it that you always stress about her hair getting in it, so you make her sit in front of you while you braid it

So she gets to lean back, bracketed between your thighs, your fingernails lightly raking over her scalp

Tingles running up her spine, absolutely losing track of whatever it is you're watching

Never takes the braid out until it's falling out or she has to shower

She'll tell you she hadn't thought about it, but actually, every time one of the strands tugs in her hair as she moves, she gets the shivers thinking if your hands on her again

She never got to do that kind of "girly" stuff growing up and now she feels a bit silly about it, but with you, it feels kind of healing

She'll never admit to it, but she's occasionally started to Pavlov-style buy you expensive little skincare gifts when she's having a bad time, because she knows you'll insist on a Spa Night to try it out, and she doesn't know how to just ask for one

You're quickly amassing quite the collection

BONUS:

Taigen uses whatever the influencers are hawking, and always, always picks the one that’s revealed to cause hair loss six months later

Mizu WILL NOT show mercy about this

Akemi actually buys the good shit.

She will both cut a bitch for stealing her products..

…AND immediately decant you a sample bottle of anything you like, IF you ask

Akemi has a twelve step skincare routine for both morning and evening, and gets up early to ensure she has time

She is absolutely FURIOUS that Mizu barely does anything but still somehow has beautiful hair and skin

She would LOVE to go with you to the store to find exact products you need!

She will show up with a sheaf of notes about your particular skin type and what the reviews say is best.

Ringo just uses soap.

BAR soap. From the grocery store.

Madam Kaji is the one that put Mizu on to the Mane n Tail–it's cheap and it works. End of story.

She’ll tell you the only thing that really counts is perfume anyway.

[callalillywrites]

Your Eyes Brought It All Back

Written for @steverogersbingo. E3 - Amnesia.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Steve Rogers Bingo | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1616

Summary: Steve and you took some nasty hits. While you're stuck in a coma, Steve's healing but having a hard time remembering you. All he knows is that you deserve better than an absent fiancé as he watches over you.

Warnings: Medical setting; injured Steve; injured reader (coma); head injuries; grumpy Steve; protective Steve; memory gaps; happy ending; fluff; hurt/comfort

A/N: Since this an amnesia story, I went a little crazy with the cliches. I regret nothing.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

Steve wanted to pummel your fiancé.

The man had some nerve to leave you alone at a time like this.

All Steve knew was the man had a lot to answer for if he ever dared show his face.

Three days.

Three goddamn days.

That's how long you've been asleep in the bed next to him within the medical ward of the Tower.

Well, sleep wasn't quite right.

Coma would be more appropriate.

The doctors had ordered it to better help you heal your injuries, especially the nasty knock you'd taken to your head. They've been monitoring your progress ever since, and they're all relatively optimistic you'll make a full recovery. You just needed time to recover, and that's what they were giving you.

Having taken a heavy knock in the same incident that's led to your current predicament, Steve hadn't needed to be induced. His serum would take care of any healing his body needed, and it has for the most part.

The only hiccup had occurred when he woke up and couldn't recall the past couple of years.

It'd been a real shock to learn that not only had they won against Loki in New York, but his best friend hadn't died that day on the train as he'd thought for so long. He'd also made friends with another guy, who'd been sitting at his bedside as much as the others. That same man had been an integral part in assisting him and Nat to get Bucky back.

Steve found he really liked Sam, who seemed to always have a knack to lighten the mood. Sam also had a special knack for driving Bucky crazy, which was equal parts exasperating and amusing.

He'd also met Sharon Carter, another who'd helped to save Bucky from Hydra and taking Hydra down after they'd infiltrated SHIELD at all levels. She was definitely nice enough, and he really liked the spark he saw within her that reminded him so much of Peggy.

While she had checked in to see how he was doing, it was actually you that had drawn her to the room.

You were apparently good friends with Sharon, having served as an agent alongside her for a few years before you joined the ranks of the Avengers. She quickly filled Steve in on how you'd gained psychic powers after exposure to the Mind Stone. With some help from the others, you'd quickly risen into their ranks and helped them on several missions.

Hearing Sharon talk about you really made Steve sad that he couldn't remember you.

You seemed like someone who cared about the team and them for you in return.

He wanted to remember you. He really did.

Before Sharon left, he couldn't asking, "Why hasn't her fiancé visited her? What's got him so hung up that he can't be here when she clearly needs him?"

"Well, it seems he's a little lost at the moment. I'm sure he'll come as soon as he can," Sharon said with a not-unkind smirk spreading across her features. It softens into a genuine smile when she glanced at you again, still sleeping so peacefully. "He really loves her. I've seen it firsthand just how much. They're both so lucky to have someone who cares so much about them. I know he'd never leave her alone unless something kept him from being at her side."

Steve wasn't so sure about that.

He couldn't be.

From what the others had told him, he'd been ready and willing to burn the world down to get Bucky back. He'd done everything he could to keep his other friends safe. He'd almost died doing so, but then, that sounded like him.

Something seemed off about this fiancé of yours.

If it was him, he knew he'd never let anyone or anything keep him from your side.

Even if he couldn't recall who you were, something about your presence calmed him. It made him want to stay at your side and keep you safe. Your fiancé was a lucky guy alright, but did he really deserve you? Steve couldn't keep that question from repeating itself as the days wore on.

The only other thing bothering him were a pair of eyes that haunted him in the few hours of sleep he got. He never saw more than those eyes, no other defining features, but they were so distinct that he doubted he could focus on anything but them. They were so distinctive and lovely. He'd seen them through a myriad of different emotions, too, as though he knew them.

But he couldn't ever place them.

He tried, too. He really did.

Every new person that came into his room, he studied their eyes in the hopes of finding the pair that haunted him.

The notebook Bucky had brought him quickly filled with every iteration of those eyes. He couldn't stop drawing them, hoping they'd spark something. Anything.

When the doctors tried to release him after his first day, Steve refused to leave.

Your fiancé still hadn't shown up, and he couldn't let you stay in this room by yourself. It wouldn't be right. You deserved to have someone watch over you and keep you safe, even if you couldn't be safer than in the Tower's medical ward.

"Hey, man, she'll be fine," Sam had said, but Steve had shaken his head.

Nat and Bucky tried to back Sam's assertion up with Bucky adding, "You could use a real shower, punk. It's not like we can't visit her later."

"I'll use the shower here. Just bring me some things from my quarters, please," Steve said softly, his gaze remaining on you. "She shouldn't be alone. She doesn't like it."

"How do you know that?" Nat asked, her curiosity piquing. "Are you remembering?"

Steve shook his head.

How he wished he was, but no, he just simply knew. It wasn't something he could explain; it was instinctual, almost like knowing the sun rose in the mornings and set in the evenings. He just knew that you hated waking up alone, and he couldn't let you do that when the time came.

The doctors said it could be any time after they'd weaned you off all the medications that kept you in the coma. Your signs remained stable, so it really was just a matter of when you would come back to them.

Over the next few minutes, they finally convinced him to take an hour. Get some of the food Tony had ordered in, take a shower in his quarters, and then he could come back. Bucky had even set an alarm on his watch while Nat promised not to let to your side until Steve returned.

To his credit, he did take the shower, insisting on it first. The shower did actually help him feel better as he wiped away the last couple of days from his skin. What wounds he'd had already healed up, leaving it easier to clean up fast.

Sam and Bucky, having waited on him in his little sitting area, followed him to the common areas where they loaded up their own plates. Whenever Steve would try and bypass something else from the massive amounts of food, they'd redirect him until his plate practically overflowed. In fact, they made sure he had enough food that it required a tray, which Bucky insisted on carrying for him while Sam handled both his and Bucky's plates.

"You know she's not going anywhere," Sam teased even as he quickened his steps to keep up with Steve's purposeful stride. "Your hour is definitely not up yet, man. Just relax a little."

While he knew Sam had a point, Steve couldn't shake the thought of you. He definitely couldn't shake his desire to sit beside you. It didn't matter that no memories had stirred in the last couple of days. All he knew deep down is that your presence soothed him even as his ire had risen at your absent fiancé.

Low voices and the occasional giggle reached his enhanced hearing as he neared your medical room.

Figuring Nat was probably on the phone, Steve wasn't anywhere near ready to see you actually awake and interacting with Nat.

When your face slid his way, he nearly fell to his knees.

Your eyes.

He knew those eyes.

They'd been the exact same ones that had haunted him these past few days. The ones he hadn't seen you open yet had seen so clearly in his dreams.

The longer your gaze synced with his, the more everything started coming back to him.

The total cliche of a B-rated rom-com that you enjoyed watching.

"Ah, there it is," Nat said, clearly thrilled at seeing recognition lighting up his features once more as he stared at you. "Was wondering when he'd finally remember. He's been sitting in his bed next to you, ready to beat up your fiancé. No idea at all that he was that fiancé or that he'd been here with you the entire time."

Maybe he should've felt a little silly for not realizing it sooner, but he couldn't care at that moment.

No, all that mattered was he remembered you. That you were awake and seemed just fine, too. That he hadn't lost out of his future because the two of you would pull through.

"Morning, beautiful," he said softly, finally closing the distance between you. He placed a gentle kiss against your wrapped forehead. "I trust you slept well."

Your smile, always so beautiful, beamed up at him as you came back with your usual reply. "I always do with you around. Thank you for being here with me."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be."

[bueckershaven]

THEE most deserving. #5 you are so special.

[silverlining-ships]

I feel like she'd get a kick out of watching me play Skyrim, considering how awful I am at it

[kdelarenta]

potential tw: slut-shaming, catcalling, misogyny, parental abuse

me when i try to break the cycle but the cycle breaks me 🙂💔🥀

name: claire coleman

li: alaric

story: debt of deception by @debtofdeception-if

[a-a-a-anon]

appreciation post for Lise Mayer!! she co-wrote The Young Ones (and The Bachelor Boys book, additional material like when they did Comic Relief, etc), which is well known. but she also wrote for other things in the alternative comedy scene like Rik Mayall and Ben Elton's comedy tour (source: BBC Breakfast Time interview)! and, something I didn't know until recently: she co-wrote/wrote for Kevin Turvey! she's not credited in his television appearances, but see below for sources.

i really loved the podcast episode she did with Alexei Sayle about TYO, you gain a lot of insight into her perspective! she also mentions misogynistic treatment like being asked to go make tea when they were doing script readings, not getting invited to a big BBC party because it was presumed she'd be Rik's plus-one, and getting groped at the BBC bar. it pissed me off on her behalf and partly prompted this post.

some specific accolades/accreditation/fun facts:

Rik crediting her with writing/conceiving the Kevin Turvey non-joke "All right, biting political satire: What do Lech Walesea and Menachem Begin have in common? They’ve both got foreign names! What do you mean it’s not funny?" (x)

Alexei Sayle in Thatcher Stole My Trousers crediting Lise with co-writing Turvey: "Lise was, like Linda for mine, a vital part of Rik’s career, co-writing both The Young Ones and Rik’s character Kevin Turvey..."

a 1987 source for Lise co-writing Turvey: "The assumption that women do not write comedy scripts was one with which Lise Mayer, co-writer of The Young Ones television series, has also had to contend. She started writing for Rik Mayall’s Kevin Turvey in the television series A Kick Up the Eighties..." (x)

Rowland Rivron (comedian who toured with The Comic Strip gang and lived with Rik and Lise) in What the f*** did I do last night?: "[Lise] also had the unenviable job of standing at the side of the stage when Rik was performing, and jotting down anything he said that was unscripted. If it got a laugh, it would be woven into the next night’s routine."

the only time i've ever seen a Rik Mayall/Ade Edmondson/Lise Mayer writing credit: for a poem called Distance which was collected in this anthology! Rik and Ade seem to have acted it out (or at least a version of it) in this 20th Century Coyote performance

Rik on Lise writing TYO: "‘She discovers different things: the comedy of embarrassment and awkwardness – she draws out the cheating and stealing that goes on in the house.’" (x) (Lise also says her "favorite comedy was always the comedy of embarrassment" in the Alexei Sayle podcast)

Rik: "... Lise Mayer wrote this great scene where I find a tampon in a handbag and it's my birthday party and I think it's a present because my character is Rick, who is such a git, he didn't know." (x)

Helen Lederer in Not That I'm Bitter, writing about being on The Young Ones: "[Lise] was known to be the brains behind it all, particularly the more surreal elements…"

she and Rik chose the bands (x)

Lise: “We’d have a table read at which point we’d discover that the script ran over an hour long, and then I’d have a sleepless night editing it.” Alexei: “You did that?” Lise: “Usually me, yeah…” (she later explains they'd present the script Monday and rehearsals were Tuesday, Wednesday-so she literally had one night to edit!) (x)

facts from the blu-ray commentary tracks:

Rick's yellow dungarees in Interesting were based off a picture of Lise in a similar pair

Lise wrote an essay about the tampon joke in Interesting so that the BBC didn't cut the scene (though they still edited it)

Paul Jackson (producer) credits Lise with arguing "you are seriously telling me that we cannot refer on television to something that happens to 50% of the population for about 30 years of their life? and we're not allowed to even refer to it" to make an executive back off about the tampon joke in a meeting

Lise came up with Neil's flowerpot covering in Nasty

Vyvyan/Vivian's name comes from Lise having lived in Vyvyan Terrace, Bristol

Lise thought of the cast switching costumes in Bambi (one of my favorite moments!!) (/end of commentary track facts)

this is guesswork, but i've seen Ben Elton and Rik Mayall's handwriting and i'm pretty sure the editing/handwriting on the bottom left on this script must be Lise's, which gives insight into what/how she wrote: (x)

i feel like it's easy for people to overlook or minimize Lise's impact, something that happens to female creators far too often. i hate when women's identities are framed around their association to a man-girlfriend to Rik in this case-which was the norm whenever i saw Lise discussed in articles/books/online discussions about TYO. it's important to know she was a writer and co-creator with her own identity and (underappreciated) contributions. The Young Ones (and Kevin Turvey, and things we don't even know she goes uncredited for) would not have been the same—or wouldn't have even existed—without her!

[carnivalls]

Killing myself a thousand times over. Do I want the setting of Good Intentions to be past based (fantasy greece meets the industrial revolution) or futuristic (fantasy greece meets itself after a stupidly ambiguous amount of years)