#stop fucking presuming everyone knows what you're trying to say

[qsycomplainsalot]

So as a good NB bisexual trad wife married to a Jewish trans person I was in church this morning trying my hardest not to fall asleep on the good lord's shittiest seating arrangement, as is custom. Cutting right to it, the sermon was weird. What I listened to was a French translation of a text by one Gary Heinz, whom I've been told is a Canadian pastor but the only one I could find online is from the Carolinas, with a degree from Charleston, so for the purpose of this post I'll just say he's American in the same vague way as his tomato-based namesake.

The sermon was talking about the tale of the good Samaritan, which most people know about, and was composed thuszthly. First it goes over the tale again, then it helps define the elements of it and how they're relevant to the point made by our boy Jesus. The priest sees a naked beat-up man on the side of the rode, presumably from a mount, and decides not to get involved even though if he had any way to know the man had been Jewish he would have been bound to help him. The second man is a Levite, traditionally someone who helps priests and knows the law just as well, but decides not to get involved either. The third guy of course is a Samaritan. The Samaritans are a distinct but very closely related ethnoreligious group to the Hebrews/Jews, who we are often told hate them. The Samaritan helps the person, provides first aid, props him up on his horse and walks him to an inn where he houses him by giving the innkeeper two pieces of silver and promising to pay any extra cost on his next trip back. This according to the preacher is a symbol of limitless charity, we'll get back to that. The context of the tale was a smartass asking Jesus what to do to be saved and when being told to do unto thy neighbor as you would doeth unto thineselfe (in Middle English, which was very confusing at the time), follows up by asking who his neighbor was, aka who he should apply the law to. The point being made is that although the law could be read and almost bent into only applying to people you care about, only people you're explicitly meant to treat well and even then only once you're absolutely sure they're marked as such, it's more important to follow the spirit of the law which is to be kind to everyone. Which is a good message.

So why am I kvetching ? That was only the first part of the sermon, and if you thought the second part would be about linking that message to current event you'd unfortunately be wrong. It's instead focused on finding, or making up really, symbolism in the story that foretells the passion of Jesus. You see the Samaritan was really a stand-in for anyone you might hate, including, and I quote, "a Nazi or a member of ISIS", because even they can be saved and be your neighbor for the purpose of doing unto them like unto thyself. And the two silver coins well you see they would pay for two nights and on the third one Jesus comes back from the dead. Now I'm not an expert on the cost of living in Ancient Judea. But Gary Heinz isn't either so I'm gonna say it, he pulled that number out of his ass. Also a little confused about the same storytelling element being earlier compared to limitless charity, only now to be quantified as worth two nights at a B&B. But that's just nitpicking, what I'm really tired of is every reading of the holy texts [cut to meme] by Christian preachers devolving into improv rapping about Jesus and how he died for us. The lessons in the Bible stop being broadly applicable to daily life and are instead contrived into fifty different ways to say "he is risen" like it's isn't the sole fucking reason we're in church to begin with. That's usually bad enough, but when a pastor says that the Samaritan in the tale of the good Samaritan was here for shock value and could be "a Nazi or a member of ISIS", this changes the meaning of the tale to "be kind to everyone regardless of who they are, including Nazis apparently", from the original condemnation of prejudices. The Samaritan didn't chose to be a Samaritan, he's not doing any harm being a Samaritan, and the tale shows that his religion being slightly removed from orthodox Judaism isn't as important as his doing good and helping his fellow man. I don't think someone who joined a political party predicated on the extermination of minorities would fit that message, and I think changing said message to a more broad declaration of love from Jesus is ignoring what people need to hear these days where prejudice against minorities makes up 90% of the news.

And you might say it's not really a preacher's job to raise awareness for current events, but I'll ask you this: is hearing about how Jesus totally died for you every week supposed to make me a better Christian ? Or is learning that he told us pretty much in clear text not to hate minorities based on prejudice gonna do that. Cause I think most Christians need to hear the later more.

[bardicious]

I don't know if reporting an artwork that has "from the river to the sea" is eligible. But, by god, am I gonna do it.

I'm gonna leave this here:

[talaok]

i loved the hickey fic🥵

can i request a role reversal fic?

reader marks up joel and is unashamed about it

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

a/n: thank you love, hope you'll like this although its been so long you probably forgot about this. and if you're interested, this is the fic they were referring to

It was just you and Ellie in the kitchen this morning. You were laughing about another funny dream she had last night, this one involving Joel trying to tame a gigantic sheep so he could ride it or something, she didn't quite remember the purpose, not that it mattered.

But as you both quite literally felt on the verge of tears from the image the dream was painting in your minds, the main character of said dream, appeared in the doorway, throwing you both a dirty look as if watching two of the three people he loved the most in this entire world didn't fill his old heart with pure joy.

"It's too early to be this chipper" he grumbled, walking to you to leave a quick kiss on your cheek as he reached for the coffee pot behind you.

A gasp sounded from the other sound of the counter

"oh my god what happened to your neck?!" 

And it was then, that Joel Miller, the unafraid, stone-cold killer of a man that he was, turned red from hairline to neck.

"O-Oh fuck I-" His eyes widened, his hand going to cover your work on his neck, but it was all useless, because the second Ellie's eyes landed on the smirk plastered on your face, she knew.

"oh my god ew" she groaned, rolling her eyes, her focus going back to the eggs on her plate.

"You remember Janine, that woman I told you about?" you explained, talking to her

She laughed at that, remembering your conversation about that woman who's always flirting with Joel.

"you filled Joel's neck with hickeys because of her?"

Joel wasn't even red anymore, he was turning purple, his eyes were wider than a deer's caught in the headlights, and you suspected he hadn't taken a breath since he first entered the kitchen.

"this..." you smiled, trailing your fingers on Joel's neck "is my own little way of telling her to keep her hands off my man"

Joel choked, he literally choked on his own saliva and just then, just when he was about to have a heart attack, Tommy entered the house, his eyes immediately going to the image before him with more than a little amusement.

"What have I walked into?" he grinned, walking over to the kitchen "And why does my brother look a breath away from exploding?" he laughed, his hands gesturing to Joel.

"y/n here was giving me way too much information that I certainly didn't want to know" Ellie explained, looking at you pointedly for the last part of her sentence, making you chuckle.

"About what?" Tommy asked

"About the work of art I left on your brother's neck"

"wha-Ohhh" he breathed, smiling like a smug bastard as he understood what you were talking about "Janine tried something again I presume?" 

"You presume right" you smiled, giving Joel a little kiss on the cheek and stifling a smile at how terrified he seemed "for the last time"

"You ok baby?" you asked, stroking his cheek

His gaze was on Ellie, his mouth parted in shock.

"You still with us man?" she asked, giggling softly, making him shake his head to try and get his mind to start working again.

And then, then the words came tumbling off his tongue, filled with what sounded like pure panic

"S-since when do you know what a hickey is!?"

Everyone in the room except him laughed, but when the shock on his features persisted, and Ellie regained her composure, she answered.

"I'm not a kid Joel, I know what sex is"

Another pang to his poor heart, 

he felt all the organs inside him twist into a knot

what the fuck was happening?

Did she just say-

"sex!?" he cried, looking a second away from having a mental breakdown "I-I never said sex- H-how do you even know- I- You- You're too young- I-I"

"ok ok ok" you tried your best not to chuckle, intervening before his heart really decided to stop "How 'bout we go outside for a moment huh? Take a few deep breaths? How about that?" you murmured, soothingly drawing circles on his back 

He looked at you then, looking every bit as disheveled as he sounded 

"y-yeah" he swallowed thickly, "I-I think that's a good idea"

He looked back at Ellie for a moment to make sure this wasn't a nightmare and he didn't just make that up, before you both left the room.

And as if on cue, the second you did, Tommy and Ellie started laughing like maniacs.

"I don't think I've ever seen him so scared" Ellie laughed, as Tommy sat next to her, patting her back

"Neither have I" he chuckled, none of them saying anything before an idea came to his mind.

a hell of a funny one

"ten bucks if you tell him you know what porn is"

[fcthots]

Can I request 27. "I'm going to carry you, okay?" with an angsty dash of 5. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." please?

You shouldn't have been out.

You should have never left your apartment, especially not in the middle of the night, especially when Jason didn't know you left, but you just wanted to go on a short walk, but one wrong turn turned your short walk into a very long one.

You could hear a few things: the beating of your heart, the sound of your feet hitting the ground as you ran, the sound of their feet running after you, shouting from behind you.

"Get your ass back here or I swear to God, we're gonna fucking kill you!"

Fuck. You just had to go on a walk to clear your head. You just had to get lost. You just had to forget your phone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were running so hard you could barely breathe. You were faster than them, but not by much, and you couldn't keep it up. You were terrified, shaking, slightly crying. You tried screaming, but no one came. You were lost, alone, scared, and being chased. You wished more than anything that you never left your apartment. You wished you just called Jason to calm down, but you didn’t want to bother him. Regret. Regret. Regret.

You've basically run in one big circle, trying to get anywhere near your apartment, but you were so lost. That street sign, though was familiar, but more than that you had passed it before; something else.

Oh.

Oh no.

You knew the name on that street sign because Jason was telling you about it earlier

...in reference to a trafficking case.

Your heart sank. Their footfalls match the erratic beating of your heart. You were tired. You couldn't keep this up forever and they knew the territory. It seemed you were at every disadvantage.

You turned a corner. You had this one chance to lose them. You use all of your remaining energy to run into the gap between the closed down corner store and apartment complex,

and promptly trip on the uneven concrete. Yeah, you pulled something.

And with your absolutely stellar luck, you picked the one alley that was a dead end.

"Fucking finally. Nowhere to run now. I think we should take our time with this one. She made us waste all that time chasing her, what's a little more?"

You open your mouth to beg for your life, but the words won't come out. You try to get up but you collapse again. You use your good leg to move yourself against the wall.

The three men laugh as they slowly approach you, taunting you. They smile and joke at the tears you didn’t notice were falling. You try to think of any possible escape route, but come up empty. One pulls out a gun and you try not to look at it.

"You really thought you could just run away, huh?"

"You can scream as loud as you want. No one is coming."

The third man laughs. "Don't say that. The screaming is fucking annoying."

They get closer to you and you feel the sweat trickle from your hairline.

Everyone's heads turn when there's a loud thud outside the alley.

You aren't exactly focused on it, but it makes them temporarily stop, so you're thankful for it.

"Marcus, go check it out."

"Fuck you. Why do I have to it?"

"Be louder, why don’t you? Quit being a bitch and go."

'Marcus' leaves with a string of curses. The attention is turned back to you again, with impatient smiles and twisted laughter, but not for long.

They make it about two more steps before Marcus yells and there's a crunch and thud.

The two men stop dead in their tracks. Communicating as if with eye contact, one nods, and the other begins to walk slowly along the wall of the alley with his gun raised until he turns the corner. While the first man tries to split his attention between you and his friend, his friend screams.

The last man turns towards you. He rushes forward in an attempt to grab your arm, presumably to drag you, but he never gets that chance.

There is a loud thunk to the back of the man's head before he's on the floor. You look up and see a red helmet.

You don’t think you've ever been happier to see that shiny red.

"Hey, it's ok. It's just me. I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you, I promise. You're safe now."

You try to say his name as he rushes over to you but it comes out as more of a pathetic and terrified whimper.

"Are you hurt?"

You nod your head and watch him freeze.

"Where?"

You drag your leg out from underneath you. He sighs in relief. His shoulders hunch forward, his forehead knocking against yours. He lands a helmet kiss there.

"C'mon. Let's get you home. I'm going to carry you, okay?"

Before you could even think about attempting to reply, he has you scooped up in his arms. He takes a deep breath in and out and locks eyes with you.

"You ok?"

"no fatal injuries"

He hums in acknowledgement. The walk is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t remember most of the walk. The adrenaline wearing off was making you tired, but Jason's silence concerned you. You shouldn't have gone out alone, it was dumb, but you couldn't handle a fight with Jason right now. That's probably why he was being quiet, he’s mad at you, but knows you don’t wanna fight. He was being so sweet, but to be honest all you wanted was comfort. You can't take him being distant right now.

Fuck it. You can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry."

He stops on the outside of you apartment complex's elevator, moving to look at you.

You open your mouth to speak again but he cuts you off. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Aren't you mad?"

"I could never be mad at you."

"But you're being all silent."

"I thought you'd want space. Do you not?"

"...no... I want comfort..."

"Alright. And I'm not mad at you. Never mad at you. That wasn't your fault, ok? I was brooding just now because I was scared at the thought of losing you. I love you. So much."

"I love you too."

[aperrywilliams]

I'm Sorry I Couldn't be Here for You Sooner (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: You have one of the worst days in a long time at work. When Spencer returns from an assignment to the BAU and sees your current state, he must do something.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Frustration/Hurt/Comfort. Just a self-indulgent rant. A lot of cuss words. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world.

A/N: I just need Spencer to hold me now.

-----

The clock ticks and ticks, but the time seems to stand still. Even if you don't know how long you have been looking at that piece of wood, plastic, and metal, it feels like an eternity.

In the distance, a voice keeps throwing out words and sentences to which you should pay attention. However, even if you tried, looking at the clock on the wall is still more interesting than hearing Hotch talking about new protocols for field agents.

Still lost in your head, you don't notice the meeting is over and people are starting to leave the room. Only when someone squeezes your forearm. It's JJ.

"Are you okay?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed. You look at her and blink a few times.

"Uh- yeah," you mumble. 

Are you okay? No, you're not. But why bother others with that?

On second thought, this may be a chance to spill what's on your mind. JJ is usually a forthcoming and wise person. 

"Well, actually-" you begin, but before saying anything else, JJ cuts you off.

"That's nice. Because I want to ask you if you can babysit Henry tomorrow night. Will invited me to a romantic dinner, and our babysitter is sick. Hope it doesn't make much trouble to you?" the blonde probes.

Okay, you didn't expect that.

Not in the mood to turn the subject back to you, you say yes, and after thanking you, JJ quickly leaves the conference room. Alone with your thoughts for a few seconds, you wonder if the tightness in your chest isn't an exaggeration. You decide to forget about it and go back to your desk.

Opening a folder with the information on the last case, you are ready to write your report. But not too so far on it, Emily approaches you.

"Hey, how are you?"

You have doubts about how to answer the question. A few minutes ago, when JJ asked, you lied to her, and she didn't even notice. Maybe it's good to be honest.

"Actually, not so good," you sigh. And Emily raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I just don't know, I don't feel good," you try to explain. But you're not sure how to do it either.

"I'm sure it's something you can manage," Emily muses. "Look, whatever it is, have a drink when you get home today, relax a little, and I bet you'll be as good as new tomorrow!"

You open and close your mouth several times, trying to get a word out, but nothing comes to mind. 

A drink and relax? Is that simple?

You let out a hum, and that's enough for a response to Emily.

After wishing you good luck, she heads down the hallway, presumably to Garcia's office.

It's clear that Emily didn't grasp your actual emotional state, but you don't blame her either.

The last case was hard for everyone, so there is no reason to take it personally.

Focusing on your report again, you expect the sour mood surrounding you to fade eventually.

To finish your paperwork, you need to make copies of the reports. So you get up and head to the copy machine. After carefully placing the papers in the tray, you press the start button. When you think it will start copying, the machine stops mid-scan. You frown, and after a few seconds of nothing, you press the 'start' button again. Nothing. You do it again. And again. It's not working, and you feel your blood running hot.

By pressing the button again and again, anger comes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you stupid fucking machine!"

It's not enough to swat with force the button panel; now you're kicking the machine out of pent-up frustration.

"Whoa, whoa, stop right there, pretty girl."

Morgan steps between you and the machine, putting distance with his palms. And that's when you realize your outburst. Panting and still with the heat of rage on your cheeks, you are not yet satisfied.

"What the fuck, Morgan. Now you're defending a fucking copy machine?!" You hiss. Derek narrows his eyes to assess your current state. He's seen you mad, but it usually goes away easily. You are not a dense person.

"Okay, what's wrong, pretty girl? Since when do you unleash your frustration with pretty boy on inanimate things?"

Pretty boy. Spencer. Your boyfriend. Today, your boyfriend is conducting a cognitive interview with a convict in a DC jail—Hotch's orders. You wish he were here.

Morgan knows you usually laugh at his jokes, and even when you are in a bad temper, they help to light the mood.

Not this time, though.

"Don't talk about Spencer or me like that!" You snarl. "He doesn't have to do with any of this!"

Morgan doesn't like you are talking to him. Folding his arms over his chest, he let out an unamused scoff.

"Come on, don't you think you're overreacting here? Was this whole outburst only for a joke? What, are you four years old?"

You want to keep yelling, but a lump forms in your throat that is making it difficult for you to speak or even breathe. Morgan doesn't even wait for you to say something.

"You know what?" Morgan continues. "If you cannot stand the pressure of this job right now, maybe you should go home."

With that said and shaking his head in disappointment, Dereks leaves you there.

Stumped. Frustrated. Broken.

All the anger from moments before turns into an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. What have you done to these people? They are supposed to be your friends, your family. They are supposed to understand you and support you when you need them. And now that it's the time, they've only ignored you, minimized your problems, and even questioned your worth. Maybe Derek is right, and you should go home.

Defeated, you're strolling to your desk when Hotch peaks out of his office and gestures you to come.

Great, just what you needed now.

When you walk into your boss's office, he is already sitting in his chair, sternly looking at you.

"I won't ask you what's wrong with you today because it's your private life. However, I must remind you we are all professionals on this team. If you need time off, you have the right to get it, but I will not tolerate disrespect, like when you are distracted as I give fundamental instructions. If you don't pay attention, it could affect your work in the field and even put the lives of innocent people at risk."

If you didn't feel trampled before, now you feel like a ton of dirt was dumped on you.

You know Hotch can be sharp with words, but his ultimate goal is always to look after the team. But why does it feel like you're not part of that team right now?

"Do I make myself clear?"

With no more energy left in your body, you just let out a 'yes, sir.' Without waiting for another response, he sends you back to your desk.

It's already noon when you resume your work. Your mind spins at a mile an hour, and although it's hard, you force yourself to concentrate enough to get your job done, so at least the salary they pay you is worth it. 

Like a mollusk in its shell, you close yourself in that bubble and stop paying attention to your surroundings. It's your safe place—only you. 

In the distance, you feel your coworkers come and go. Never do you look up. Time goes by, and your throat feels dry from not speaking for hours.

Before everyone starts planning lunch, you are already picking up your lunch bag.

Social interaction is out of the table, so you are secluded in the building roof where an improvisated garden has benches. You sit alone, and the breeze helps to steady your breathing. As you open your Tupperware, you tentatively plunge the fork into the almost-cold pasta.

Even so, you're better here than in the bullpen minutes ago.

-----

Spencer walks through the doors of the BAU. It's 2 in the afternoon, so hopefully, the team is still having lunch in the conference room. Slightly worried that he wouldn't be able to reach you when he wanted to let you know he was on his way, he assumed that you had a lot of work and that your phone was mute.

Arriving at the conference room, Spencer scans the place and immediately catches something odd. You are not there. JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch are, though.

With an eyebrow furrowed, he asks, "Where is she?"

His teammates perk their heads up.

"Hello to you, pretty boy," Morgan teases.

"How was the interview?" JJ asks.

"Did you eat? You still can sit with us," Prentiss offers.

"Did you get the interview done?" Hotch asks with a raised eyebrow.

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling about what's going on. He knows you weren't feeling so okay this morning, and even if he tried to convince you to take a sick day, you didn't let him.

"Neither of you responded my question," Spencer points, voice harsher than when he asked first.

"(Y/N)? I thought she went home," Morgan muses.

"Why would she do that?" Spencer questions, alarmed. "Something bad happened?"

"She said she was okay when I asked earlier," JJ explains. "Maybe she has an errand to do."

"She was way distracted when we were at the meeting in the morning. She didn't listen a thing of what I said," Hotch adds.

"And you sent her home?" Spencer directs his question to Hotch.

"No, I didn't. She didn't ask it either when I called her to my office."

"You called her to your office? Did you reprimand her?" Spencer asks in disbelief.

"Of course, I did it, Reid. She did something disrespectful to the team," Hotch defends.

"And considering her rage moment directed to the copy machine, maybe it's better if she went home," Morgan supplies.

"Why are you being so dramatic, Reid?" Emily questions, very confused about why Spencer is so upset.

Spencer huffs, frustration running in his veins.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Did you ever realize she wasn't doing okay and nobody took her seriously? Yeah, sure, she said she was okay, but did you really check on her? Did you really ask her what was wrong? Did someone listen to her?"

The people in the room go silent after Spencer scolds them. 

Did they help in any way?

"You are unbelievable, and you call yourself profilers," Spencer huffs, turning to exit the room in search of you.

"What are you doing, Reid?" Hotch asks. No turning around to face his boss, and halfway out, Spencer replies.

"The thing you should have done in the first place. And I don't care if it doesn't fall protocol, I can give you my resignation letter tomorrow."

-----

When Spencer reaches the building roof and sees you sitting on one of the benches, he lets out a sigh of relief. He suspected you might be there, considering your things were still on your desk.

You can't see it since your back is turned. Your eyes look at the horizon without focusing on anything in particular.

The breeze is nice despite the November weather in Virginia.

Not wanting to scare you, Spencer slowly approaches you as he clears his throat. You turn around and see him standing a couple of meters away from you, but close enough to see your eyes red from crying.

You know he noticed it, and you avert his gaze.

You don't like the idea of ​​looking vulnerable right now. The morning was already catastrophic enough to explain your current state of mind to Spencer.

Spencer is a man of many words. He is known for his diatribes on any topic at hand. So you expect some kind of rant or even some statistical data about what could be happening to you.

But contradicting his very nature, he just silently approaches, takes your hand to get you up from the bench, and pulls you into a tight, comforting embrace.

And for the first time all day, you feel like you can actually breathe, and your chest isn't tight anymore. Words are not necessary; just being held like that is enough for now.

Spencer kisses the top of your head lovingly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for you sooner. I'm sorry you had such a horrible morning," your boyfriend laments.

You shake your head, still buried in his chest.

Tears fight to come out from the corners of your eyes, and you no longer want to hold them back.

"Let it out, baby. Just let them out."

And that's what you do. For the first time all day, you allow yourself to cry without holding back. Spencer has you the entire time, rubbing your back soothingly.

"I don't know why I feel so bad, Spencer. I don't understand," you muffle your words into his embrace.

"It's okay, love. You don't have to explain to me, or anyone for that matter. There are days when we are not okay, and it's completely valid. Never think you don't have the right to."

Hearing Spencer say that relieves some of the pressure on your head, but you can't help but think about your teammates' words throughout the morning.

Separating yourself from Spencer to look at him, your eyes still denote your inner struggle.

"What if they are right? What if they are right when they say I shouldn't make so much fuzz and rather think about doing my job well?"

Spencer cups your cheeks so you can look at him.

"They are not. Okay? By any means, you are the most professional person I have ever met in my life. Not only that, you are also the most compassionate, selfless, and willing to help to the fullest extent of your capacity. Does JJ need help babysitting Henry? You don't think twice. Does García need assistance organizing a girls' night? You are the first one to be there. Does Hotch need to finish a stack of reports in one night? You offer to help him. Does Derek need a backup to kick his way into a place and catch the unsub? You're the first to watch his back."

You are indeed like that, and you do all that. But you've never seen it as something extraordinary. For you, being part of a team and a family means all that and more.

"And that doesn't even scratch the surface of what you have been to me.

My love, you have been the person who has entitled me to open my heart and love without reservation. You have taught me to trust and that asking for help when you feel bad is okay. You are the light of my life, and I swear I'll do everything in my power so you can see the wonderful person you are and that you deserve all the love and support in the world."

Without a doubt, Spencer has something with his words and eloquence. How can you not believe him? The veil of doubt indeed emerges from time to time, but having someone who is by your side showing you what is really important makes the doubts not cloud your path.

A shy smile appears on your face, your eyes filled with gratitude.

"There she is," Spencer whispers, stroking your cheek with love and never breaking eye contact.

"Maybe I should have listened to you this morning and called in sick," you sigh. Spencer kisses the top of your nose.

"I know you weren't going to do it anyway." 

You giggle because he's right. Spencer knows you too well.

"Lunchtime is almost over. We should come back to work," you remind him. Spencer pulls a face, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "What was that?" You inquire.

Spencer laughs nervously. "It's just I may or may not have made a scene in the conference room earlier, and I may or may not have offered my letter of resignation to Hotch if he didn't allow me to come find you."

"You did what? Spencer, oh my God!" you start laughing. "Does that mean there's a chance we'll both get fired today?"

Spencer thinks about that for a second.

"Honestly? I don't think Hotch would risk losing his two best agents," he decides, winking at you.

"Hope you're right, Dr. Reid. Hope you're right," you voice, grabbing his hand in yours and making the way back to the sixth floor.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[mypoisonedvine]

I always love whatever you make but prompt 10 with a delusional Jonathan crane is making me think things 🤭

10: “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

warnings: dubcon/noncon smut (18+ ONLY!!!), professor!crane and student!reader, semi-public sex, overstimulation, hardly any plot because plot is for geeks im here to FUCK

"I know, I know," he cooed right against your ear, his tone condescending and thick with arousal as he thrusted into you, knocking you forward against the bookshelves. "I know it feels good, but you need to stay quiet. Don't want to get caught like this in the library, do you?"

But your whine hadn't been one of pleasure, at least not intentionally-- it was shock, and fear, and an attempt to beg him to stop which was not very effective with his hand over your mouth.

"I know this is what you needed," he hissed proudly, his other hand holding even tighter onto your hips. "I know you wanted this. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice-- in class, in the halls-- you're too obvious, darling."

Reaching behind yourself to try to push him away hadn't done you any good, so even though it was sort of a sign of grim acceptance, all you did was reach forward and try to hold onto the shelves for some stability.

"I know you wanted me," he insisted again, voice even rougher as his thrusts came faster, though he was still careful not to make too much noise. Truth be told, you might have had a little crush-- you weren't blind after all-- but you never wanted anything to come of it! Even if you had been looking at him as he'd accused, that was all it was: looking. You had no idea he was this obsessive, that he would corner you in the library and force himself on you... because of course you didn't. It was disturbing, really, to see this dark side he'd been hiding so well, presumably from everyone. You couldn't deny he always seemed intense, but never violent, never predatory.

It made you rethink little moments you'd had with him before, when he complimented your work or gave you a tilted smile when you answered a question in class. Had he been planning something like this from the beginning? The setting made this all feel pretty spontaneous, a crime of passion perhaps-- but the way he held you down felt rehearsed, the way he responded to every attempt to fight back was too perfect. He'd studied your weaknesses well, apparently.

Speaking of: the hand on your hip moved between your legs, fighting to get under the skirt and panties he'd pulled out of his way to fuck you. Pressing to your clit, he touched you with a shocking balance of clinical precision and rough brutality; you tried to scream, but his hand in the way muffled it to hardly a whine.

"Fucking come," he ordered hatefully through his teeth. "I want to feel it; come right now or I'll hurt you-- don't think I won't do it here. You have no idea what I can do to you."

You shook your head (as much as you could with his hand over your mouth so tightly), but it was more for yourself than for him; he obviously wasn't going to stop, and you just wanted to believe that you could still control this, that you could still hold back and not give him the satisfaction. That this didn't feel amazing even if it filled you with nauseating self-hatred.

Your knees buckled as it hit you, but he had such a tight grip on you that you didn't fall, only went limp as shivers ran all over you. "Good," he praised darkly, "keep going."

As long as he kept going, so would you-- even when your sore clit throbbed and ached, even when your hips jolted and your eyes shot wide open and your hands grabbed onto his arm in hopes of pulling it away.

"Not until I say you're done," he said, as if he was answering the plea you couldn't make. "Not until I'm fucking done with you."

[itsawritblr]

Fuck "sensitivity readers."

I see that a couple of my Followers and other writers on here are obsessed with writing POC "correctly."

As a full-time professional writer of fiction and nonfiction who's also Hapa, I need to point out:

So you're paranoid that you're gonna write something and POC are going to come after you, calling you "racist" or "insensitive" or that you're "appropriating culture."

The only reply you need to make is in 2 steps:

Say:

Then:

There's is no "right way" to write any group of people or any race or ethnicity. Know why?

I've seen this happen. A Black writer will tell white writers how to write Blacks. Then another Black writer will say, "Wait a minute, I'm not like that, my family's not like that. We're not all Urban BLM hip-hop lovers. I'm Christian, I'm against trans in women's spaces, I have several White friends, and I listen to classic country music."

So who's right? Both.

A "sensitivity reader" or some on this hellsite will tell you HOW to write POC. When all they're telling you is their POV. They can't speak for everyone. (A perfect example.)

If you want to write about a person of a race or ethnicity other than your own, sure, do a little research, as you would with anything. If a sensitivity reader tells you your Jewish character should be celebrating Shabbat, a little research on your own will tell you that not all Jews do (as it happens, I learned this from my Jewish boyfriend, whose family never celebrated Shabbat). So that "sensitivity reader" would have given you misinformation because of her or his POV.

Do not panic that you're gonna be canceled or yelled at for "getting it wrong."

There IS no wrong. Look,

All you need to remember is:

Writer and screenwriter Anthony Horowitz was told not to write Black characters because he's white and Jewish. This stunned him. He was supposed to leave Black characters out of his work? But if he did that he'd be accused of not having Black characters.

He didn't obey. In fact, I'm reading his current novel, and he has a perfectly fine Black character in it.

Read this article:

No, Authors Should Not Be Constrained By Gender Or Race In The Characters They Create. by Lorraine Devon White, Contributor

This was the BBC.com headline:

Spy Author Anthony Horowitz ‘Warned Off’ Creating Black Character:

Author Anthony Horowitz says he was “warned off” including a black character in his new book because it was “inappropriate” for a white writer. The creator of the Alex Rider teenage spy novels says an editor told him it could be considered “patronising” ... Horowitz, who has written 10 novels featuring teenage spy Alex Rider, said there was a “chain of thought” in America that it was “inappropriate” for white writers to try to create black characters, something which he described as “dangerous territory”.

Dangerous territory, indeed.

What are we to make of this? Is an author limited to only writing characters within their race? What about gender? Religion? Age? Ethnicity? Sexual orientation? Where do the boundaries stop?

The old adage, “write what you know,” is a thesis that implies a writer should limit their imagination to the parameters of their own life and experience. But does that maxim still hold true today? Certainly in these times of viral accessibility, contact, research, knowledge, and interaction with people, places, and things far outside our own proximity is as every-day as 24/7 updates from the farthest corners of the globe. Our ability, consequently, to gain perspective sufficient enough to write outside one’s own “house” is not only doable, but, perhaps, universal and insightful, presuming one does it well.

But is it “patronizing”? Are we, as writers, simply not allowed to write outside, say, our culture, regardless of how well we might do it? Has society become so compartmentalized, so hypersensitive, politically correct, and wary of triggering repercussion, resentment, or misinterpretation that reaching beyond our own skin ― literally and figuratively – has become verboten to us as creative artists?

Interesting questions, these; particularly when you consider that men have been writing about women since time immemorial without particular societal concern that they couldn’t possibly know, couldn’t authentically muster, the requisite experiential perspective. It was a given that they could get the job done; accepted without debate. Yet the specificity, the sensitive and unique nature of being female, could be considered as disparate from the male experience as being black is to a white person, but that hasn’t stopped male authors, from Vladimir Nabokov to Wally Lamb, from creating their women of note.

Which is fair. Because the explicit job of an author is to climb inside the experience of LIFE, real or imagined, to tell compelling stories that reflect the incalculable diversity of detail, nuance, thought, and emotion of any variety of people, places, and things. And the creative mind can find and translate authenticity whether writing about Martians, coquettish teens, dogs who play poker, or characters who exactly mirror the author‘s gender or race.

I’ve had my own experience with this interesting conundrum: my last novel, Hysterical Love, was told through the first-person point-of-view of a thirty-three-year-old man, and it goes without saying: I’m not one of those. Yet I felt completely capable of infusing my story with authenticity by relying on my skills of observation, as well as my experiential knowledge as the sister of five men, the mother of a son, the wife of a man; my years on the road with rock bands, and the immersive research of being a close friend to many, many men throughout my life. I’ve been told I pulled it off, even by the men who’ve read it, so my conviction proved out.

But is the divide between cultures, races, wider than that of gender diversity? Does a white writer delegitimize their prose by including black characters? Is the reverse true?

I don’t think so. I think it depends on the writer, the quality of their work; the depth and sensitivity of their depictions. Those are my initial responses. But I also understand the question:

About two years ago I had an article up at HuffPost titled, “No, White People Will Never Understand the Black Experience,” a piece that became a flashpoint for much conversation on the topic of race. It was written in response to events of the time, particularly the egregious injustice of Sandra Bland’s arrest and subsequent (and inexplicable) jailhouse death, and the cacophony that arose amongst, amidst, and between parties on both sides of the racial divide as a result. My own thesis, my perspective on the tangible limitations we each have in perceiving and assessing the realities of life outside ourselves, is made clear by the title alone. But while there’s obviously much more to that debate, here and now we’re discussing the issue as it relates to the job of being an author and I have some specific thoughts on that.

Inspired by the many responses and conversations that ensued after the aforementioned article, as well as others written on the topic of racial conflict, bias, and injustice, I took one of the stories referenced, about an interracial couple’s experiences with police profiling, and developed it into a character-driven novel called A NICE WHITE GIRL, a title that reflects commentary made within some of the conversations I had.

This “sociopolitical love story” is told through the intertwining points-of-view of a black man and white woman dealing not only with pushback to their new and evolving relationship, but the ratcheting impact of police profiling that ultimately leads to a life-altering arrest. It’s a story that’s human, gut-wrenching, and honest, built on the foundation of my own experiences in a long-term interracial relationship earlier in my life, as well as journalistic research and interviews, personal interactions, even friendships with members of the black community. Given a commitment to creating the characters outside my demographic as authentically and sensitively as I possibly could, without watering them down or pandering to political correctness, I believe I served both my story and its cultural demands well. Did I?

Every author relies on, taps into; mines the wealth of thought, opinion, perspective, and acculturation of their own unique life experience. Certainly that’s true. But as artists, as observers and chroniclers of life by way of prose, we go beyond that pool of reference. We reach out, we expand; we explore plot lines and include characters that stretch our imagination, that dig deep into worlds, events and experiences, imagined or real, that can pull us onto less traveled roads that might demand the challenge of research, of specific observation, even outside consultation. We take these extra steps, even for fiction, because we want to infuse our work with inherent realness. Particularly when writing characters outside our culture. That was certainly the demand I faced when embarking upon this latest novel.

But I am a white woman who’s written a book with a black male character, inclusive of his mother, his sister, and various friends. I’ve depicted their family life, their interactions, relationships, thoughts and feelings. Do I not have the creative right to do that? Will I be seen as patronizing, insensitive, off base, and inappropriate? Will this make my book too controversial for representation, for publishing, for sale? Will it garner derision and disdain from members of the black community? Even members of the white community who may resent the harshness with which I depict some of the police?

I don’t know. Maybe. But it was a story I felt passionate about, compelled to write; that took the many debated aspects and elements discussed in my articles and put them into fictional form, with imagined characters who embodied and borrowed from people I knew, from conversations I’d had, from ideas, agendas, politics, and passions that had been conveyed to me by real people expressing essential and sometimes controversial perspectives. I was determined to honor them by candidly, honestly, and without apology, telling the story.

But perhaps, as Anthony Horowitz was told, I’m entering territory that is off-limits, that puts me at odds with those who might frame me as presumptuous and patronizing. “A nice white girl” who’s stepped outside of culturally acceptable boundaries.

I hope not, because I, like Mr. Horowitz, see that as “dangerous territory.”

Just as brilliant male authors have gorgeously written female protagonists; as female novelists have conjured male characters ringing with truth; as writers of one ethnicity have honestly depicted another; as fabulists have invented entire worlds of imagined wonders, authors must be limited by... NOTHING. Not a thing. They must be free to create without fear of cultural naysaying, societal judgment, threat of reprisal, or the discomfort of crossing cultural boundaries.

The only mandate to which they’re obligated is GOOD WRITING. Writing with wit and clarity. Honesty. Authenticity. Sensitivity and depth. Engaging prose, compelling plots, and visceral emotion. And, if need be, if determined helpful, the use of “sensitivity readers” who can ascertain if the writer got the cultural references right.

But just as Idris Elba could certainly make magic as James Bond, as Anthony Horowitz could create an intriguing black spy for his books; as I can write characters both male and of a culture outside my own, so must every author of merit and worth be allowed to view the entire panoply of life as fuel for their imagination. Anything else is antithetical to the mission of art... and stymying art serves no one. Not the writer, not the reader, not the myriad members of our diverse world hungry for stories that reflect their lives. Art is imagining; creating, mirroring, and provoking... all of which can and must be achieved by artists free to explore without the limiting effect of creative and cultural boundaries.

[prettyykarmaa]

Reckless

GN!Reader x Naib Subedar

Summary - Naib gets chaired during a match. You don't want to leave him behind.

WC- 1,053 (that's actually surprising to me)

Author's Note(s) - This was inspired by @turbulentscrawl's 'Steamy Rescues' post! Please give it a read :]

https://www.tumblr.com/turbulentscrawl/740237408536231936/steamy-rescues?source=share

There is really minor violence in this, but please keep that in mind if that’s something you’re sensitive to. Also, I hc that survivors can communicate via a two-way earpiece!

"The cipher machine is primed. It's up to you now!" Luca's voice exclaims through your earpiece as you make your way to where Naib was chaired. Countless times have you attempted and succeeded in going ahead with risky plans. Still, all that prior experience was not doing much to stop your palms from sweating nor slow down your quickened heartbeat. You had ideas on why that was the case.

For one, the survivors of Oletus Manor have been on an awful losing streak recently, and it's been affecting everyone's morale. Even the survivors with relatively positive outlooks aren't doing so great. If you failed to turn this guaranteed tie into a win, you could practically imagine disappointed sighs and glares of disapproval (directed your way).

There was another idea floating around your mind as you ran, though.

You were nervous about failing him. The ironic part was that you knew he wouldn't hold any true ill-will against you. You're sure he'll call you an idiot, but he's not the type to hold a grudge over something like that. Even the best rescuers fail sometimes. So why were you so worried this time around?

Unfortunately, there wasn't any more time to linger on that question. Not when the chair was in your sight, and Naib's gaze was locked onto yours. He realized what you were trying to do the second he saw you rushing towards him. "Forget about saving me," You heard him say through your earpiece. "Just go for the tie."

"It's too late to do that." You huffed back as you looked away. You hear him let out an amused sigh before he speaks again. "Don't fuck up, then." As you got closer, your eyes scanned around his chair. Nothing. Ominous red light from the hunter? Missing. That was weird, but you convinced yourself to shake it off. Wanting to reach him in time, you forced yourself to run faster, resulting in you almost crashing into him. Almost. Using your hands, you stop yourself by planting them on either side of his head, practically pinning him against the chair.

If you had the time, you would've taken it to admire the sight in front of you. Battle-scarred hands gripped the armrests, and your eyes only traveled upwards, noticing the flex of Naib's biceps through his black long sleeve. Naib's hood had fallen, presumably during the struggle to the chair, revealing his pretty brown hair tied in its usual ponytail. It was disheveled, yes, but you that only made you want to run your hands through it to fix it for him. Yet, that all paled compared to how he was looking at you.

His dull blue eyes were trained on your appearance before reuniting with your gaze. They were filled with something you couldn't put into words, but you'd be lying if you said your heart didn't flutter. Realizing you could've completely misread his expression and he was actually silently judging, you try to save face. "I know I look breathtaking right now; you can tell me about it later, yeah?" You mumbled as you placed both hands on the safety bar and pried it off his lap before carefully taking his hands and pulling him out of the chair.

You were about to finally relax when you felt a shiver down your spine, immediately followed by a butterfly coming from overhead and landing directly in front of Naib. Without a second thought, you go between them and braced yourself. The familiar sting of Michiko's fan blade slashing you made itself known. However, it disappeared as quickly as it came, thanks to Luca popping the last cipher.

With a newfound sense of determination and the pain from injuries you both sustained becoming tolerable, Naib grabbed you by the hand and started sprinting toward the exit gate. "We're almost out. Just hold on a bit longer." He panted as he continued to pull you along. You subconsciously squeeze his hand, and surprisingly, he does it back. Another butterfly whizzes past, this time behind you. He notices and uses the hand holding yours, swinging you in front of him. Michiko barely misses her attack, giving both of you enough time to follow Luca through the exit.

Once you were back at the manor, you beelined to your room. You would've loved to have celebrated the win with everyone, but you were more than ready to sleep. When you were getting ready to turn off your lamp, you heard a knock on the door. You wanted to ignore it, but when there was a second knock, you sighed and opened the it.

It was Naib.

He appeared much more relaxed than he looked during the game, his right hand gently resting on your doorway. It was a good look on him. "Your recklessness never fails to amaze me," he says, shaking his head, which earns him a lighthearted eye-roll from you. "But nonetheless, I'm glad you rescued me despite knowing the risks." Usually, you'd tease him relentlessly for not being upfront with a "thank you," but you decided to play nice. Oh, how you regret not taking that chance.

"You know my conscience wouldn't let me leave people behind. Especially you." You say with a small smile. That second part was an understatement, as you'd drop everything and come running if he asked you to. For the sake of your pride, you didn't tell him that. He lightly scoffs when he realizes you are choosing to be passive tonight.

"It looks like you're getting ready to sleep, so I'll leave you be." He retracts his hand from the doorway, ready to head back down the hallway. Then, remembrance flickers across his face, leading Naib to turn his head back to you. Before you can ask what he was thinking, he suddenly says, "I agree."

"What?"

"You said you looked breathtaking during the game. I think you are all the time, so I agree.

With that, Naib turns around and walks down the hallway, disappearing behind the corner. Quietly closing the door to your room and shutting off the lamp, you crawl under the blankets on your bed. His words continually replayed in your head. Sleeping was going to be a struggle tonight. You would've brushed off what Naib said as him being oblivious (somehow) to how his words could be taken…

If it wasn't for the fact you caught Naib leaving with what looked to be a knowing smile.

He definitely knows.

And much to your dismay, that makes you all the more smitten over him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So fun fact, this is the first time I've ever written a fanfic but I hope it was enjoyable anyways!! Because I'm a minor, I strayed away from making this suggestive and leaned more towards romantic tension. I also had Haunted by Beyoncé on loop for quite a bit of this fic, so I wonder if y'all you can tell LMAO

Tags: @thekeeperofdreams

[crownmemes]

Angry & Irritated Sentences, Vol. 18

(Angry and irritated sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You're here to cause me grief. I can tell."

"You're breaking every rule of etiquette! What you've done is appalling!"

"Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?"

"Look, we all have tough days. All I'm saying is you've got to do your best to be nice to people."

"You're like a restless toddler."

"That look in your eye is a pain in my ass. You know that, right?"

"What I don't understand is why my best friend can't be happy for me!"

"You're a hard, callous bitch! You're just using me!"

"I don't need any favours from you!"

"I find you incredibly offensive!"

"Please don't interrupt me when I'm asking rhetorical questions."

"Don't you ever leave me alone with her again!"

"Fucking hell, you gave me a fright!"

"Swear to me that you had nothing to do with this!"

"You almost got us all killed today!"

"You knew this was going to happen and you didn't say anything?"

"Never presume to understand what I want."

"Could you please pull yourself together and act like a mature human being!"

"You are not in charge!"

"I wish I'd never met you!"

"This isn't just a job for me, so don't bring my career down with yours, you got it?"

"I don't know if you think that lying is the best way to deal with this, or you're too stupid to realise that you'll make matters worse!"

"I stopped listening to men like you a long time ago."

"I don't think I like your attitude."

"You’re doing that thing where you pretend to know more than everyone else in the world."

"I don't care where I am, and I don't care who you think you are. Men like you don't scare me, you understand?"

"This is as much on you as it is on me!"

"You're selfishly coming between two people who care for each other!"

"I didn't drive down here in the middle of the night just to babysit!"

"Be very careful about what you say to me next."

[aves-ery]

CEO or Mob boss Wanda and stripper R👀 maybe she's just getting some visit to a certain club and she only have her for R but R is kind avoiding her. R is kind of snappy and feisty for Wanda but Wanda loved her more. One night she saw R entertaining other guests so she brought the whole club and kicked everyone out so she could have R all for herself.

Idk maybe you'd like to consider, btw you works are great and wonderful and so are you! Thanks!!!

one, thank you! two, this is ctually so bad bc I'm tired and for some reason forgot how to write good smut? but heres just wanda crazy for you.

pairing; CEO!wanda x stripper!reader

warnings; smut 18+ ONLY, infatuated wanda, praise!!, strap-on, fingering

if anyone saw wanda at a strip club, it'd be a field day for press. but quite honestly, she didnt care when she laid her eyes on you. she saw the flashes of the cameras when she walked in, but when she saw you in that lingerie, she didn't care what the articles were gonna read the next day.

wanda sat snug in a booth, watching you from afar. her silk button up was unbuttoned down to her upper stomach, her boobs only covered by her tight fitting sports-bra.

"i want that one," she pointed you out to all of her boss friends, a beer bottle still in hand. you were all over someone else, a lap dance she presumed.

one of the guys whistled you over, waving a "come here" motion. wanda knew it wasnt the way to get your attention, but you followed through, stalking over to them. you smiled, waving.

"hey gentlemen," you said seductively, plopping your pretty ass onto Tony's lap. wanda rolled her eyes.

"actually, as pretty as you are baby, this one wanted ya," tony pointed to wanda, and wanda waved her fingers.

"you just caught my eye, pretty," she said. you recognized the CEO immediately. you had to fight an eyeroll because no way in hell you were letting some snob like wanda touch you. you turned to the gruffy man whose lap you are on.

"i came over to see you," you avoided. the men around the table laughed, making fun of wanda. wanda just told them to all "shut the fuck up."

she tried to get your attention all night, buying you drinks, complimenting you, trying to just make you say hi. all she'd get in response is an eye roll and a "leave me alone."

"yo, get away from the girl she told you to stop," a bouncer said, pushing wanda away from you.

"look man, im not trying to cause a problem. she's just a pretty lady," wanda laughed, trying to use her charm to make him let her through.

"sorry, the girls not comfortable with you," the bouncer said again. wanda groaned, pulling out her wallet.

"c'mon ill even pay to just talk to her, man," wanda pulled out a few hundred dollar bills, and you rolled your eyes at the interaction. "i wont touch her, fucking promise. just wanna get to know the gal," wanda pleaded.

the bouncer looked at you, pointing at the money. wanda was at least holding 500 dollars in her hand currently. it was a silent agreement, and wanda was allowed into the private room

she handed a bill to the bouncer, then a few to you, before sitting in one of the booths. "you're a feisty one," she joked. you rolled your eyes.

"you can't buy me," she snapped. wanda nodded.

"im not trying to, babe. you're just... very intriguing," wanda said.

-

you had complained all of the next week, even after you didnt see wanda. you just didnt want her around, and didn't want her paying her way to you.

wanda found that out quickly, but she couldn't help it. you deserved to be worshiped with everything she could buy.

she sent you flowers, chocolates, everything to work. she didn't even know what days you worked, and she still sent them. Every time, you snacked on the chocolate and left the flowers in the trash. you didn't complain about that though. if she was going to spend money on you, she was going to laugh about it.

wanda came again two weeks later. she smiled and waved at you, but you continued flirting with a client. your hands on the man more than usual, making sure to get a rise out of her. you avoided her, but from close by. she'd call you over, and you'd give a lap dance to a guy near her.

wanda was fucking tired of it. that week, she bought the whole strip club. when you found out, you quit.

"no." wanda said.

"what?! you're fucking crazy. you're stalking me!" you screamed. wanda raised her eyebrows, standing up

"im not stalking you!" she screamed back at you

you laughed, "right. you're just fucking craz-" wanda kissed you. hard. you pushed her away, looking at her like she was actually insane, because she was, and then you kissed her back harder.

wanda grabbed your hips, picking you up and setting you on her desk. "you were just too pretty to leave alone. I'd buy the whole earth to be with you," she told you.

you thought she was joking, but she really wasn't. wanda was infatuated with you. when you looked her in the eyes, you could tell. you kissed her hard, allowing the woman you barely knew to have all of you.

"you're so pretty," wanda said, removing your sweater and kissing your breasts. you blushed, nodding.

"thank you," you whispered, moaning softly.

"you'll never have to work again, okay? and I'll win you over, i promise. I'll take you out on dates, I'll buy you dinner," wanda got on her knees sliding your shorts down, looking at you in the eyes. "I'll do anything, for you."

you blushed again, nodding, "win me over," you moaned. wanda nodded, sliding your panties over and taking you in.

"such a good girl," she praised, licking you fully. you shook softly, tangling your hands into wanda's hair. her lips found your clit, sucking softly.

you let out another breathy moan, and another as two digits pushed into you. your hand flew everything off the desk, and you lied back. wanda could deal with it later, you decided.

she was quick to make you cum, cleaning your thighs and kissing them both. she got rid of her pants, revealing a large red strap on. you looked at wanda with shaky arms and legs, smiling at her.

she didn't bother to take her button up off, only her pants and boxers, before shuffling towards you. "can i make you mine?" wanda asked, kissing your palms. you smiled up at her.

"yes," you said again, kissing her deeply. wanda smiled, lining her strap up with your cunt, before softly making her way into you.

the strap was the biggest you've taken, so you were grateful for wanda's soft nature. she looked at you, searching for any sign of discomfort. when she didn't find any, she started to go faster.

your hands found her back, gripping her shoulders and scratching down her back, "faster, wanda," you pleaded.

wanda nodded quickly, making sure to pick up the pace, "anything for you, doll," wanda kissed her thumb. she grabbed your boobs, kissing them both before kissing your lips. "you're so pretty like this," wanda said, kissing you again.

"thank you," you moaned. wanda's hand found your clit, rubbing softly until you came around her strap.

when you finished, she pulled out and washed you up with a washcloth. she then put you back into your shorts, and then her own hoodie.

"gonna get you back home and run you a bath, kay? dont gotta worry about anything ever again. I'll take care of you."

[potol0ver]

*cough* you called for a prompt of erik being whipped for his lover? how about his reaction when he wakes up to find his lover holding him and whispering sweet nothings to his presumably asleep form

This is adorable hell yes- also thank you to everyone sending asks/requests, I am glad to take all of them <3 hopefully, I can get one more done tonight I'm loving these prompts y'all are feeding me-

Tags; Erik x GN reader, buckle up this is wholesome and kind of cheesy, fluffy as fuck, reverse comfort, short and sweet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Erik have quite different schedules in general, he works afternoons to morning, and you work mornings to night. So naturally, there will be moments one of you is sleeping while the other is awake no matter how much time shifting you both do in your schedules.

Currently, Erik is deep asleep in his bed as you lay side by side next to him, running your fingers through his natural hair and adoring him. How he slept hugging his pillow, to the tiniest snores, and even the rare sight of peace on his face made your heart warm. He was just so cute, you couldn't help but adore him.

“I love you, darling,” you praise as you gently trace over the scarred part of his face. “I don't know how long it'll take for you to realize I adore you but I do,” moving towards him just enough for your body to touch him you rant and spill your love to his sleeping figure. In reality, he was awake the moment you sat down on the bed.

Erik didn't move because he didn't want you to stop giving him affection, but now you're saying such sweet words and caressing his face, he can't keep the charade up anymore. His face twisted as he started to cry and grabbed your hand to kiss it before you could pull away.

“How could you ever say things like that about me.” Erik sobbed holding the back of your hand to his mouth. The sight wrenched your heart out, your other hand came up and cradled his head.

“Oh my sweet Erik, how could I not? Come here,” you say pulling him closer to your chest. He gladly let go of the pillow and replaced it with you, crying into your chest holding you tight like you'd vanish into thin air. “I love you Erik.”

“How? I am hideous, maman couldn't even love me because of it.” sobbing his grip tightened as he buried his face more into your chest.

“And she is blind my dear because what I see is a handsome man who is a musical genius,” gently saying to him as you try and coax him with your hand to look at you. “I see a handsome man that has pure adoration and devotion to his lover, not many people have that my love.”

Finally, you were able to turn his head up at you and look him in his tear-stricken eyes. “And I see a handsome man who has had a too harsh of life, please Erik let me love you like you should've gotten from the beginning.” you plead to him kissing his temple.

His eyes widen as his sobbing gains a second wind, this time he didn't cry because he feared you were lying to him or deceiving him, he cried because he finally had someone who loved him. You and Erik laid together embracing each other tightly, giving each other the occasional flurry of kisses as you both eventually fell asleep.

[admiral-mason]

I'm bored, random crossover time again

Recently I have gotten into a little shooter game known as Ultrakill.

For those who don't know: Ultrakill is basically a shooter game that combines elements from Titanfall, Doom Eternal, Devil May Cry, etc. You play as V1, a literal blood-powered combat robot that descends into Hell (from Dante's Inferno) to get more blood. On the way, you fight demons, angels, and other machines.

So? With my blog basically sporadically alive, let me revive it with another nonsensical crossover!

Gender neutral reader

SPOILERS AHEAD!

How these two games crossed over:

So you own both a PC and a phone/tablet. You would mostly play Genshin Impact on your mobile device while you played Ultrakill on your PC.

You've managed to complete both games and right now you tried obtaining all the alternate 'slab' weapons in Ultrakill. You have one already, simply called the slab revolver by many. Your next weapon to obtain is the sawblade launcher, located in stage 4-4 Clair de Soleil.

So, you did so. Whiplashing the blue skull from the right room after you used the first jump pad, the door opened and you shot your railcannon into the water. However, when you did so, the game decided to crash on you.

"What the hell??" You said before grumbling a little and trying to boot the game back up to no avail. Closing out the game, you bothered to play a little Genshin. However, within a few seconds of booting up the game, you got shocked and blacked out.

How you got to Teyvat:

After waking up, you found yourself in a plains area... and then you saw an anemo slime.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." A voice that sounded like Microsoft Sam said from behind you.

(V1's voice from this program)

Turning around, you were greeted by the blue camera head himself.

"What the frick V1 how are you here??"

"I don't fucking know, one moment I touched the sawblade launcher, and now I'm here in what appears to be Limbo but not fake with the human who basically assisted me in murdering all of hell for blood. By the way, you perform really great shotgun yeets!*"

"Uh, thanks." You awkwardly responded.

"Now where the fuck can I get some blood?"

In Mondstadt:

The two of you ended up wandering around V1 had managed to kill a few wild animals for blood with his revolver. It didn't take long for someone to hear the sounds and approach you two afterward.

"You two! Stop right there!" Amber heard the sounds of V1's revolver shots as she ran towards you two. If it weren't for you rapidly telling V1 to not shoot her, she'd likely be on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

"...Hi there." You awkwardly said before she ended up tackling you to the ground in a hug with V1 just looking at the sight.

After Amber took you two to Mondstadt, word spread quickly of the Divine One and their blue angel-looking machine. The two of you managed to receive free housing with the Knights of Favonius alongside a tour of the city.

V1 abused his superior mobility to cross the entire city from one side to the other in less than a minute. This astonished the local citizens at this strange individual's movement skills. And then he accidentally crashes into a random citizen's cart.

"WHEEEEEEEEEEE"

"V1 don't you're gonna-!"

V1 crashes into a cart full of cabbages, toppling it

"..."

Everyone's also confused at his ability to seemingly generate coins... before shooting at them with that curved thing he holds in his hands and then it kills stuff. (I presume that most Mondstatians have never seen guns, the closest they have seen is probably a bow,)

Then he somehow pulls a giant double-barreled minigun?? Then a tube that shoots rockets??

Expect Klee to be all over him.

"Well see, this rocket launcher used to be an industrial tool, until some-"

"HOW BIG OF A BOOM CAN IT MAKE?!"

"...Let me demonstrate!"

V1 activated the freeze mode on his Freezeframe Rocket Launcher and fired a few rockets at a group of wolves...

...Safe to say, those wolves and their surroundings got blown up to high hell.

When Jean found the destructive duo, V1 just took Klee into his arms and proceeded to abuse his mobility yet again.

"BOING! Catch me now, bozo!"

"Get back here you blue thing-"

"I am not a blue thing thank you- BOING!"

Looking past shenanigans, Albedo and Sucrose have taken an interest in V1's lethal arsenal that's even far superior to Fatui tech. Noelle might ask to train with the machine after some introductions.

In Liyue

After a few days of staying in Mondstadt, you kinda wanted to see Liyue so you told everyone else and asked V1 to accompany you. Upon arrival though, you found out that Liyue prepared a celebration for the two of you. Turns out news can leak out quickly to the world even if you've only interacted with a part of it.

V1 found Liyue significantly more fun to traverse and navigate around. From mountainous marvels to spacious streets, the nation provided him with no short of tricks to pull off.

Everyone interacted with V1 normally until he started using the Whiplash to grab items from various vendors merely flipping a few coins at them in return. This led to a scuffle with the Millelith and he ended up shocking everyone by knocking all of the soldiers out with a mere punch to their chest.

Thankfully you managed to calm him down.

When he saw the Jade Chamber, he made it a personal challenge to ascend without using the proper way. He unfortunately did so while Ningguang was pleasantly talking with you.

"This, your grace, is-" You could then faintly hear rocket sounds in the distance, with Ningguang following suit shortly after. You both turned in the direction of the sound to see V1 flying on a rocket with his Freezeframe Rocket Launcher yet again before he jumped off and landed right next to the two of you.

"Hi friend I'm back! Mechanic abuse is funny!"

Ningguang just blinked at the sight of the combat machine that somehow stood on a small flying object to get up here without proper authorization. "...Your grace what the heck did that thing just do??"

"I AM NOT A THING-"

Part 2?

*Shotgun yeets refer to projectile boosts.

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part ix -- copia x reader

warnings: all the angst, brief mention of blood

word count: 4.8k

taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @calitmediondell @copias-juicebox @copiasprincipessa @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @fishwithtitz @ghostfangirlsweden @ivycasket @justa19 @ladyrevealedofcloak @lurancyvenom @sodoswitchimage @water-ghoulette @zombiesnips-blog (divider by @gothdaddyissues!)

Copia bursted through Sister Imperator’s office door, emotions still running high. “Where is she?!”

“Who– Where– What?” Her tired eyes showed a slight disdain at someone barging in unannounced yet again. She pinched the bridge of her nose with a lengthy sigh. “What happened now?”

“Fucking Terzo! All of a sudden he’s been talking to Infernals and saying there’s more about the goddamn prophecy!”

“Such as…?”

“‘By her side remains one of the halves from the sacred consanguineous line. Together, they bring forth a new age.”

Imperator pursed her lips together, a look of concern eclipsed her face before she slammed her hand on the table in frustration. “We need those fucking books from Rome.”

“With all due respect, but what good are some books going to do?” 

“Cardi, listen to me. You and I both know Terzo cannot be the one by her side. I don’t care what the Infernals are saying to anyone. She needs to complete her first summoning ritual immediately and you– you need to summon an Infernal.” Her tone was stern, words commanding.

“He threatened to send me back to Italia,” Copia said, briskly and quietly.

Imperator let out a cold laugh. “Ha! He can try. Let me worry about that. Right now, you need to worry about finding her.”

Copia ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breath of disdain. “I’ve looked everywhere for her. There’s only so many places she could be!”

The sound of running could be heard from outside the office. Copia opened the door and stuck his head to see what the commotion was. Ghouls were bolting towards Terzo’s office. One looked at Copia and broke away from the others by his side. Copia presumed it was Swiss. He dragged Copia out of the office as he casted a glance back at Imperator, who hurried to follow them. “Wh-what’s going on? Is she in trouble?” Swiss only nodded in the response as he picked up the pace, quickly catching up with the other Ghouls.

That’s when Copia realized exactly where they were headed:  Terzo’s office. Anger instantly fueled up inside him. They burst through the door to find Terzo near purple and about to pass out with your hands wrapped around his throat. The determination in your eyes, the anger… No, the hatred that exuded from you. It permeated the whole room. 

Two of Terzo’s own Ghouls, Alpha and Omega, pulled you off of him. Your reaction, near animalistic. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t who you were. It couldn’t be. With your arms pinned down, you stopped thrashing your legs, realizing you weren’t going to be freed anytime soon. 

You were panting. Your eyes, crazed and wild, despite being completely black. A snarl was still plastered onto your face. Your eyes followed Copia as he approached you. You were too far gone to recognize him right away. 

In an instant, all sounds faded, everyone remained still, frozen in place. and then Copia felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“My child, it’s time we’ve had a talk, isn’t it?” 

His muscles tensed and his eyes widened. Slowly, he turned around to face a man, slightly younger than himself with pale white hair that cascaded down past his shoulders. His angular features made his beauty ethereal as did his brilliantly deep, crimson eyes. Copia didn’t even need an introduction; he knew exactly who was finally appearing before him.

Taking the hand on his shoulder in his, he turned and knelt down to kiss the ring on the man’s finger. “Lord Lucifer,” he greeted. 

“I truly admire your devotion, but I’m afraid we’re short on time. You’re on your knees enough for me already as it is,” he lightly chuckled, motioning him to stand up. Once Copia was at eye level with Lucifer, he continued, “I need you to forgive my tardiness. It seems we have a rogue part of The Trilogy who takes a liking to meddle in things.” He casted a weary glance at Terzo’s slumped form. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to Copia. “You are just as valuable as either of them. Just because I haven’t blessed you with a vision, doesn’t mean you are any less worthy than he is. Do you understand?”

Copia blinked at the Dark One in front of him, shellshocked. His worth was something he always struggled with. It’s partly why he was as high up in the Clergy as he was; he had to prove he deserved to be there. He had to do everything and more to make sure there was at least that one thing that stood out about him, above all else. Finally he nodded. “Y-yes. I– I understand,” he stuttered.

“Good! Between you and I… if I could choose who is by her side,” he said, pointing at you, “it would be you. Nothing against dear Terzo here, but he can be, eh… irresponsible at times. Whereas you are able to keep a level-head and stay steadfast. That being said, freewill does play a part in this…” Lucifer sighed and shrugged. “So, no matter what happens, you keep that in the back of your mind.”

“I– Heh… thank you, Your Eminence.” 

“You have a way with people, Copia. You understand them. You can lead them. And I know that’s no easy task. The rituals of ascension will be… demanding. Extremely demanding, but I’ve chosen you three, because I know you all can handle it. There’s just one thing you must remember. She may still love Terzo,” a look of pain shot through Copia’s eyes, “but she does love you too. You bring balance to her life; you keep her grounded. She needs that now more than ever.”

“Something happened between her and Terzo that started all of this, didn’t it?” His voice was quiet and soft. The question just sort of slipped out of him as he voiced his musings.

Lucifer nodded. “But that’s not my story to tell. You have a great deal of power, my child. Never underestimate the power of seeing, of understanding those around you. That will give you an upper hand… should you need it.” Copia furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucifer held his hand up, stopping him. “I’m sorry for the ambiguity, but I fear our time here must come to a close due to the state our beloved is in. But before I return you, I need you to give Sister Imperator a message for me.” Copia nodded. “She needs to stop hiding the truth. It won’t do anyone any good if she continues to keep her secrets.”

As quickly as He appeared, He was gone. It was like the play button on the scene around him had been pressed. Your snarling filled his ears. His head was swimming with what had just happened and the overload of information, but his attention was focused on you. 

Without hesitation, he strode over to you, cupping your face in his hands. You tried to thrash your head side to side to avoid his gaze. Your wild eyes bored into Terzo as he lay crumpled on the floor still.

Not that he had time to really register what he was feeling, but Copia’s white eye started to tingle the longer he looked at you. He changed his grip so he was holding your head tightly enough to stop your incessant thrashing. Shaking you, he forced you to look at him. “Come back to me,” he commanded, giving you another shake. Your eyes landed on his, which made the prickling sensation increase to the point where he was fully aware of it. Similar to pins and needles, it intensified to a burning feeling as your eyes locked. “This isn’t you, amore,” he added gently.

You blinked, his words enveloping you like a blanket after a day out in the cold as if warming you, comforting you. Slowly you feltl the darkness fade from you. Copia’s hold on you loosens as his hands slip to your shoulders, allowing you to take in the scene before you. 

First you see the look of total concern and worry etched into Copia’s features, then it hit you that you're being held by ghouls. Cautiously, your eyes find Terzo who had stopped his dramatic display on the floor and had sat up, resting his head in hands on his knees. He looked up at you, hearing your commotion stop. You see the bruises, in the shapes of hands, starting to form on his neck, and his beaten and bloodied face. His eyes met yours, fear instantly widening his, while tears formed in yours.

Abruptly, you turn away, shame diverting your gaze. You practically go limp in the ghouls’ hold as tears fall. They release you and you slump forward, Copia’s arms fly out to steady you. He could be looking at you with sympathy, with anger and frustration, or with hurt. After everything, it’s almost impossible for you to distinguish between them. 

Quickly your eyes dart towards the exit, your body twitching as if you’re about to make a run for it, but when you see Sister Imperator, Primo, and Secondo standing there, you stay frozen.

“Lucifer in Hell…” Sister Imperator gasps, clutching her grucifix. With a shake of her head, she doesn’t waste a single moment getting straight to business. “Copia, get her back to your quarters and out of sight. Primo, Secondo, you are to start preparing for the first ritual – her ghoul summoning. She’s left us no choice; we must start the ascension. Tomorrow it begins,” she barked.

Secondo nodded and turned to leave. Primo couldn’t help his eyes darting from Terzo, to you, and to Copia, then back to Terzo. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. A pained look in his eye at what had befallen his family. “Andiamo, Primo,” Secondo said softly to him, as he tried to turn him away from the scene in front of them. All the oldest Emeritus brother could do was sigh and nod as he followed his brother to begin the preparations.

Omega looked like he was watching a tennis match with the way his eyes jumped from Sister Imperator, to you, and to Terzo, waiting for something to give him a command. 

Impatiently, she said, “Omega, take Terzo back to his chambers and get him cleaned up. And make sure his vocal chords aren’t damaged. We are set to leave for the last Meliora shows in Mexico the day after tomorrow!” She squinted her eyes at you, simultaneously blaming you for this mess and warning you not to fuck it up further.

Omega and Terzo pass by you on their way. He was practically clinging to his ghoul, but his eyes showed a forlornness that made you think he at least felt some sort of guilt towards all of this. You bowed your head, feeling nothing but shame and remorse.

“Sister, what if the siblings see?” Copia asked.

“It’s dinner, the chances of anyone besides ghouls roaming about are slim, but we need to act quickly. Move! Get her out of here!” 

Alpha places a hand on your shoulder. Are you strong enough to walk, Your Eminence? 

You nod at him. Just don’t ask me to run a marathon. You could see the ghoul’s shoulders shake from a fleeting burst of laughter. You took a deep breath and wiped the remaining tears from your face. After straightening out your clothes, you nod once, keeping your head held high as you make the trek back to Copia’s.

The apartment is silent except for the movement from Cannoli in his cage. After taking a shower and changing, you took your usual place on the couch. Copia opted for the chair. A telltale sign the unreadable expression on his face leans towards your earlier assessment of him possibly being angry with you might not be far off; he always sat on the couch with you, always. 

“What were you doing in Terzo’s office? Aside from trying to kill him,” he asked, breaking the deafening silence. You winced at his tone.

“I… He wanted to talk to me about something.” 

Copia raised an eyebrow at you. “How long were you in his office?” 

You chewed on your lip, avoiding his eyes. Consequences, dear child… you heard ringing through your thoughts. Needing an outlet for the surmounting anxiety, your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. “Not that long…”

With a shake of his head, he tossed a glance towards the ceiling. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he said through barely parted lips. His exhausted tone was somehow worse than if he had yelled. “Were you there when I was?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words came up empty. The shame had opened a hole in the ground and swallowed you whole – or at least, you wished it would. Solemnly, you nodded.

“Why? Why were you even there? Why were you hiding? What were you tw–?”

“Because I was terrified of what he would do to me!” you cut him off as your words rushed out. “If I didn’t see him… I didn’t know what– how he would retaliate, s-so I went to his office when I didn’t hear from him. I was scared… I wasn’t sure if it was a test or not.”

“Terrified? What did he–?”

“I can’t talk about it, Copia. I promised… I can’t lose you. I can’t. I–” You pulled your quivering bottom lip in between your teeth, biting down just enough to try to keep the levy of tears from breaking. 

“He can’t send me away, if that was his threat, which isn’t even a new threat now that he said it to me himself. Sister Imperator would never allow it anyway,” he said as he waved his hand dismissively before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t been yourself since the summons, all the changes aside. Just… tell me what happened.”

“It was my fault; this is my fault,” you mumbled. “I should have stopped– stopped it, o-or stopped him. And– and I didn’t.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. A tear slipped down your cheek and you turned quickly to wipe it away. You sucked in a shuddering breath through your teeth. Nothing could hold back the tears now that you were left without a choice but to confess everything.

“What happened, cara?” he stressed. “Did he hurt you?” He shifted to the edge of his seat like he was seconds away from finishing what you had started.

Your eyes shut tightly again as you shook your head. “No, no. Not physically. I– we–” you stammered, before your voice turned into a meek whisper. “I think… I think there was a part of me that… that liked it…” What was the point of hiding anything now? You looked up and rapidly blinked, doing your best to keep the tears away.

Even without seeing him, you could feel the emotion draining from him. His posture turned rigid and tense. His jaw clenched and the leather of his gloves creaked under the strain of his hands balling into fists. He knew now exactly what had transpired. And that caused the levee to break and the tears to freely flow while the words flew from your mouth in a stream of consciousness. 

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I told him to stop. I pushed him away. Please, please believe me. I didn’t want to hurt you. But… H-he said if I kept fighting him or I breathed one word of this to you… he’d send you away and I couldn’t– I didn’t know… And then there was this voice, telling me to… submit? And I just… I let him do whatever he wanted to me. I let him…” Your eyes scrunched shut, a look of pain casted over your face as you shook your head. “When he was done with me… when it was over… he said again if I said one syllable of this to you, you’d be gone. And that I was his. And I think that’s when… it happened. I don’t remember anything but rage after that. Pure rage. But it was my fault. It was all my fault I let him. And then I… I left s-something in his office and he texted me last night that I had to get them today and I just didn’t know what he would do. I didn’t know if he’d try and– try and hurt me again or hurt you if I didn’t. Even after the hex I casted, I just– I didn’t know what to do. So I went and then he told me everything. And I thought… It was like he was back, like my Terzo was back. And before I knew it, I– we were… we kissed and– but then he mentioned you and I pushed him away. And he kept saying how it would be him, it’s always gonna be him, and he promised to be better, but the promise… I just– That’s when I snapped. I tried to kill him. I tried. I just wanted to make it stop. But it’s all my fault.” Your voice finally broke after everything flew out of your mouth in a burst. When you finally looked at him, you couldn’t even register what emotions were on his face, if any. Your eyesight was so blurry with tears. So you flew off the couch, kneeling in front of him, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorr-rry,” you repeated over and over.

Copia slid out of the chair and onto the floor to hold you as you sobbed. He didn’t say anything. He allowed you the space to cry, the space to mumble your string of apologies between gulps of air and wails of despair. 

When you calmed down enough to almost be able to breathe normally, he was shocked when you pushed away from him suddenly. You pushed yourself back until you hit the couch, frantically shaking your head. “No, no, no. Why aren’t you– You should hate me. You should be— What are you doing? I don’t deserve this. I– I’m…” The pain that flashed through your eyes was nearly indescribable. Your voice sounded so strained as you tried to speak through your gasping intakes of breaths. “I’m– just– like– him.”

There was no way for you to see the utter look of shock and hurt and remorse that came over him. You missed how his eyes watered with tears he couldn’t let fall, because you needed someone strong, you needed someone to hold you up as everything crumbled around you. Leaning forward on his knees, he placed a hand beside on the couch to hold him up as he leaned over you. His other hand found its way to your chin, trying to gently convince you to look at him. 

“Dolcezza, look at me…” he spoke gently. “Look at me.” Reluctantly you obliged. “You are nothing like him. You will never be anything close to the monster that he is, do you understand me?” You couldn’t do anything but stare at him as your eyes continued to well up with even more tears. “He manipulated you, cara. He used you. Time and time again. The only way for that bastard to change is for his soul to leave his body,” he growled. He shut his eyes briefly, taking a deeping to regain his composure.

You shook your head, sliding away from him, trying to create distance. “No, I’m worse.” You hugged your knees to your chest. 

“You’re n–”

“I tried to kill him, Copia. I wanted to kill him.” Your eyes grew distant as you stared ahead. “I could have, too… if no one stopped me. Y-you don’t know what it’s like to lose control like that – to not have any control.” A humorless laugh fell from your lips as you shook your head almost in disbelief. “And then there’s everything I did to you.” Your lips curled over your teeth as you pressed them into a straight line in a feeble attempt to fight the next onslaught of tears. You turned your head away from him as one managed to escape.

Your eyes stayed shut as you heard the rustling of fabric as he got up, sighing as he did so. His soft footsteps told you he was walking around the coffee table to kneel beside you. “Cara, I was aware of the precariousness of our… relationship well before it began.” You weren’t sure what direction he was going with this, so your eyes snapped open in time to watch as he avoided looking at you. “What surprises me the most is that I didn’t see this coming.”

When his eyes met yours, you could feel the searing pain of your guilt slashing your heart with shallow cuts. He’s upset because he should have expected this of you? For a split second you thought about getting defensive. You opened your mouth, but quickly shut it. Copia was probably the only person outside of your relationship with Terzo who knew the ins and outs of it. You had confided in him time and time again; you sought him out for comfort. He knew the pain and devastation you felt. And he knew how much you had truly loved Terzo.

“I–I– I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I didn’t want to lose you and… I thought if I could hide it from you, it would hurt you less. It– I was– Everything is just so fucking complicated now.” You ran your hands through your hair, gripping it frustration.

“I just need you to answer one question for me. Will you be able to resist being intimate with him again if the opportunity arises?”

Hands falling to your side, you took in a shuddering breath, slowly turning to look at him with a dumbfounded expression. Your stomach dropped and you could feel the thundering in your chest as your hands trembled. There was no choice but to tell the truth. “I can’t…” you shook your head. “Copia, I can’t promise that…” you breathed out the words in shame.

He nodded once. His face hardened with stoicism akin to a marble sculpture. “Grazie per la tua onestà (thank you for your honesty),” he said with his voice devoid of any emotion as he stood up. “We need to tell Sister Imperator about what happened to you. She needs to know for the sake of the upcoming rituals.” He took out his phone and began to call her as he went into the bedroom. You couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but you knew enough that he had informed her of how urgently she needed to see the two of you. 

Somehow you were able to force yourself to stand up and get yourself a glass of water as you hopelessly tried to pull yourself together. He didn’t have to tell you that Sister Imperator was on her way. You weren’t sure how long you stood at the kitchen sink, staring off into nothing, until three sharp knocks at the door pulled you out of your trance-like state. 

She eyed you as you let her into the small apartment. You casted your solemn eyes down. Copia emerged out of the bedroom and gestured towards the chair, “Sister, please sit.” 

“So what is the arduous new development now?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“The truth about her awakening,” stated Copia bluntly. 

“Ah. Of course. There had to be more than a mere conversation to set you off.”

You fought physically cringing, taking a deep breath to prepare yourself. Copia leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t look at you, his eyes trained to a spot on the ground. Sister waved her hand impatiently to tell you to get on with it. 

“He— Terzo, um…” you sputtered at first before you just spewed the story out without taking a breath. “Terzo forced himself on me and threatened to send Copia back to Italy if I said anything at all to anyone about what happened and said I was ‘his’ and I just remember the rage I felt after that and today I was hiding in office when Copia was there so I heard everything but he told me everything because Asmodeus came to both of us but then he made a dig at Copia and I tried to kill him.” You took a deep breath as you finished, sheepishly looking at Sister Imperator. During your small monologue you kept your gaze fixed on your restless hands in your lap, missing how quickly Copia’s eyes darted to you when you mentioned the visit from Asmodeus. 

Imperator’s mouth dropped slightly as listened. “Lucifer in Hell…” she breathed as she shook her head in dismay. “Do not utter a word of this to anyone, but the problem that is Papa Emeritus III will be dealt with in the coming days. I will not divulge any information on what is to happen for your safety; it is best you know as little as possible.”

“That’s not all, Sister,” Copia spoke up. “Something also happened — to me — today.” Both yours and Sister Imperator’s brows furrowed quizzically as your heads turned to face Copia. “I don’t think we need to, eh, prepare a ritual for me to summon an Infernal.” Deeper cuts from your guilt and shame slashed your heart further. He was sharing this information with Sister Imperator, not you. He probably would have shared this with you first and foremost, but not after the knife you just twisted into his heart.

Sister Imperator put two and two together. She recalled both you and Terzo having seen Asmodeus, which meant all three involved were having the visions concurrent with the awakening. The look of bewilderment etched itself deeper into the lines of her face. 

“Who did you see?” you asked, your voice sounded rattled and cautious. 

He rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes sheepishly darted between the ladies in front of him. “Lucifer himself, eheh.” 

“Copia that… That’s amazing. What did he say? What happened?” you asked, moving to the edge of your seat. Having not seen Lucifer yourself, you knew how significant this was.

“Terzo has really fucked things up, which was apparently the reason He hadn’t shown himself to me. He stressed that freewill plays a large role in your choice. So, um,” he cleared his throat, “in the end, the choice is yours and it will be respected. But, Sister… He– He had a message for you. He said that you need to start telling the truth and continuing to keep secrets won’t do anyone any good.”

You watched as the color drained from Sister Imperator’s face. She clasped her hand around her grucifix as she closed her eyes, probably muttering a silent prayer of strength. “C… I– I had wanted to tell you when I felt the time was right, but if The Dark One says that time is now…” She was stalling, trying to put together the right words. After taking a deep breath, she bared her secret she had been carrying around for decades. “There is a reason you have the Emeritus Eye. The claim you are not part of this bloodline simply is not true. This– Not even Papa Nihil is aware of what I am about to tell you. Maybe at one point he was, but I think we’re lucky he even knows his own name these days. I digress.” She paused as her hand covered her mouth for a moment. Her eyes scanned a distant spot in front of her as if she was searching for the next piece of the story she would tell.

“Before the awakening started, I was working on making it so that the rightful heir to the papal seat would be chosen. I suppose that process is now being rushed. Copia, you are the next in line to be Papa.” 

His mouth dropped, hanging open in shock. Your eyes widened. 

“Times were very different when you were born…” she continued. “The reason you will be our next Papa is because of your parents. It is true, Papa Nihil is, unfortunately, in fact your father, but why you deserve this is due to who your mother is.”

Copia blinked repeatedly before he interrupted, “But– But they told me my mother felt she was too young to have a child and dropped me off al Ministero della Roma (at the Ministry of Rome) with nothing but a note. How… How do you know?”

“That part is true. Your mother did feel she was too young to adequately care for a child, especially considering the antics of your father and his parenting, or lack thereof, of your brothers. It was best for you to be raised by the Sisters of Sin who could show you the care you deserve.” Copia scoffed. “Primo taking you under his wing was the best thing that could have happened.”

“But how do you know?” he repeated through his teeth. “What does my mother have to do with me being next in line for Papa?”

“Because, Copia, I am your mother.”

part viii | part x

[cupidsdescendant]

Mercs helping with Periods (Part 3)

GENDER NEUTRAL :DD

AM I OKAY?!??!! (changing the name bc the original was about periods in general and not just cramps) THE LONG-AWAITED ENDING OF THE SERIES AHHHH- I wanted to do part 3 for hella long but my ass forgot for like....4 months lmao- (NSFW WARNING FOR MEDIC'S PART)

Spy:

-ugly stupid frenchman who doesn't care about anyone but himself

-but this is fandom so you think I really care? no.

-He's a womanizer, man. like his ass doesn't know what a period is.

-Anyways he's super romantic! Always showering you in kisses everywhere, stomach, neck, shoulders, everywhere!

-"Aw, Mon Cheri~ Vill this make you feel better ?" He lays you on his bed and pulls your shirt up kissing all around your hip bones and belly. You giggly tell him to stop cus it tickles.

-Whenever you lash out at him/get angry if he does something you don't like he smoothly gets out of being punished

-Like you could be fucking furious but his ass will make you fall for him once more in less than an hour

-Massage expert. Like. Massages anytime anywhere.

-He's the one that makes baths for you to relax your muscles in

-the few times he's physically romantic (like with the kissing) he hugs you and holds onto you more often

-He actually sleeps in the same bed as you! Win win!

-When you get hungry he makes you food <3 mostly french food but he's open to making you something you crave

-THEE. shoulder to cry on dude. He comforts you so much and whenever you latch onto him his body is all warm. presumably from all the smoking

-He doesn't want you to talk to the mercs while you're on your cycle because if they say something slightly offensive he doesn't want you to be hurt by them

-"You all must be less of imbeciles while shes around, le bien?" He says angrily pointing at everyone. They all nod nervously, they don't really want him sneaking up on them anyways

-Oh how he loves his Mon Cheri <3 everything just for them

Medic:

-the one i've been waiting for, for so long.

-As an ex doctor, Medic is always caring and loving with you

-He's the one that asks you to take pamprin or other menstrual medication

-He knows when your period comes after a bunch of tests, and after all as his love he wants to make sure he's always available!

-Coddles you 24/7, he treats you like you're bed ridden and only wants you to stay in so he can take care of you <3

-He's always trying to make sure you're okay. At the drop of a hat he would zoom off to you if you yell his name

-"Oh vat's wrong, liebling?" He says as he rubs your aching stomach. He would lay his head on your stomach and hum.

-Always feeding you, does the stupid airplane thing if you're acting angry

-Speaking of angry, if you lash out to him he usually ignores it and continues to baby you.

okay. I'm sorry but I had to write a NSFW part because he legit. like. the demons in my brain are telling me to (NSFW WARNING AHEAD)

-He's into period sex, he finds it fascinating. absolutely hot.

-He already has fun teasing you with blood on his hands after surgery, so having your own blood on him turns him on 100%

-likes the smell. yeah i know it's gross but what do you expect from a fucking freak doctor who stole a patients skeleton

-"Did jou know sex is a great way to relieve menstrual cramps?" He taunts you as he kisses you up against your neck.

-Knowing you're on you period turns him on so much. All he wants to do is fuck you until there's blood on over your thighs

-Now this man is disgusting and unsanitary but! He still gives you showers and baths, of course, he has to be in it with you.

-He likes watching the blood fall from your legs and down the drain, usually muttering the most unhinged horny things in german.

k I'm sorry. like. fr. Thanks 4 reading though!

[gnashingwailing]

@fireflywritesgt LOVINGLY WRITING MY UNHINGED CH23 THOUGHTS AND THEN BURYING THEM UNDER A READMORE. I felt such overwhelming hype when I saw we got 2 chapters in 1 day I truly was ready to throw my phone out the fucking window. TOO MUCH JOY FOR ONE LITTLE GNASH... I hadn't even finished processing ch21......

first off pov Joe when he goes to Calloway's to pick up his cute new tailored fit in 3 days

soooo right from the jump. hey.

"“…’cause he’s way better off than I am, it’ll make it harder for me to leave him or something. That he’s luring me in. I mean—” Joe laughed nervously as he steeled himself in preparation for how the captain would react to his next statement “—if it were a giant treating me the way he treats me, everyone would call me a pet.”

“Well of course they would, Joe. That’s because giants are evil.” The captain said matter-of-factly.

He may as well have poked Joe squarely in the eye. Nonetheless, the bartender continued."

hey. UM. Joe you beautiful idiot who canonically has bad luck and, presumably from reading this very chapter, a terrible poker face. Maybe you should have said. Any Other Thing? GODDD in my heart he's definitely sooo overconfident and drunk like wow I am so smooth :) nobody suspects a thing :) while Calloway is having a conversation with him like uh... just saying, but you know, none of us could stop you from. for example. idk. becoming a giant's pet. we wouldn't like that but it's just a random thing that came to mind just now, unrelated to the really tall really wealthy really powerful guy who is afraid of taking advantage of you by luring you in and giving you things like a giant would and maybe isn't treating you like a person. And you're afraid you shouldn't want it. Like BRO IT IS SO OVER FOR YOU even without Harry literally calling Joe's name 3+ times in the dead silence 😭😭😭😭 And presumably Harry having been waiting around there for a while to see Joe! Loitering in a way we know tinies are on guard about since they all noticed that snatcher back in Ch13!

They're idiots ur honor, so true, but it's all worth it to see Joe get rescued and swoon like a damsel ... I definitely wonder if Calloway observed any of that, and what he might think about it if so. >:) May or may not have been daydreaming and writing bits about how horrifying it would be to give your surrogate kid all this well-meaning advice, see him nearly slip to his death, and while you're hurrying down to try and help him, watching him call out to a walking nightmare for help and then get whisked away by it

I have a pet theory that everything we've seen from Calloway so far has been pretty heavily colored by it being from Joe's perspective when he's having a bad day, and maybe he will be more understanding than we think? Objectively, I didn't think he was being very rude or anything back in Ch 13, when he was speculating on Joe's love life. It rankled Joe, which is understandable, but he 1) he's happy that Joe looks good, 2) he doesn't let Gutters or O'Grady rag on Joe too hard and 3) he just generally seems like an interested father figure would about his kid's love life:

"“Oh, lay off him, Tim. It’s a good borrowing year!” Captain Calloway cut in. “We all have ‘em, we all enjoy ‘em, we all cry ourselves to sleep when they’re over.”

Relief washed over Joe like the warm water in Harry’s sink.

“Though I gotta say…” The captain gave a wry smile as he continued. “…it could just as easily be someone else’s good borrowing year if ya’ catch my drift. Could be he’s got a little sweetheart looking after him. A brick of pure chocolate? That’s practically a dowry."”

Although I may be wrong here, since Ch 21's incident at Tiny Town with the Italian mob that saved him gives us the insight that "[for] the first time in Joe’s entire existence at that, Joe understood what it was like to have a real father." So maybe Calloway is not that nurturing to Joe and not much of a caring dad -- as @remordsposthume's tags so wisely point out:

WTF WAS HE DOING LETTING HIM LEAVE THE BAR LMAO. Calloway's Den of Drunkards confirmed for an "everybody drive home drunk. it's not my problem" bar??? Everyone is processing TAoLaW thru their own cultural lens and. in that spirit. lmfao. I must say. Calloway reminds me of the libertarian redneck dads I've known who just let their kids do whatever. If he was a giant I think he'd let his kids ride ATVs thru the woods drunk. Most probably he would also be ridin around drunk with them. "If you die it's your own damn fault" being his motto is too on the nose LOL. Huge farm dad "I LOVE MY SONS. ONLY HALF OF THEM WILL SURVIVE TO ADULTHOOD BUT I DO LOVE THEM" energy. To Me.

(Btw Harry & Joe processing their parental issues together WHEN <3)

BUT ANYWAY YEAH EVEN IF CALLOWAY WAS THE MOST UNOBSERVANT GUY IN THE WORLD RE: THAT SUSPICIOUS CONVERSATION? YOU WERE LITERALLY BOTH SCREAMING EACH OTHERS' NAMES LIKE LOVESICK ROMANCE PROTAGONISTS RIGHT UNDER THE DREDGE THAT'S STILL PROBABLY GOT AT LEAST SOME NIGHT MARKET CUSTOMERS? HELLO?? @94444 we are on the same wavelength rn

AND MORE ABOUT CALLOWAY... I am very heartened by how you mentioned once, Warren, that you planned to give each character real depth and treat them with sincerity. I feel very interested about when that time will be for Calloway! We know that he takes in kids (or at least O'Grady and Joe scratch that. tag lore be upon me) and teaches them how to sell trinkets. We know that he hates giants. We know he's been horribly injured in a way that led to him losing a hand, an eye, and possibly teeth. Knowing what we do about the risks of being a borrower, and how casually cruel giants are to them, it's not unlikely those last 2 things are related. I'M TAKING YOUR TAGS AND RUNNING AWAY WITH THEM LIKE A DOG W SOMETHING IN ITS MOUTH.

So Calloway knew them for several years as vulnerable kids... then lost them for a year or so... then got them back after they escaped the watchmaker's? I will be interested to see if that trauma means he's more protective of them, or uh, still more drunk libertarian dad about them. Lmao. He seemed like he cared about Joe getting into Tiny Town way back in Ch3 tho at least! (as an aside... interested in who Gutters is, too. He SEEMS to be older than Joe/Tim, but he could also still be a Calloway Kid himself... he seems to defer to Calloway... and/or he could just be some guy embittered about giant/tiny relations. which. fair, brother.)

If the broader Tiny Town culture (such as it is... would word get around about this incident with Joe and Harry, or does news just not travel that well amongst lots of secluded borrower communities? much to consider. it makes sense in a dark way why you would physically mark somebody who's transgressed against society's cardinal rule, in a culture where you cannot generally spread information effectively) would reject Joe for his proclivities... will Calloway, too? Or is it Joe's anxiety making him think that? I'm afraid we already know how Tim would feel. Other than him, Calloway is the person who Joe seems most connected to in miniature society... Although Harry's worry about Joe not spending enough time around his fellow miniatures in Ch22 is at least partially motivated by his own guilt-trip, I think he has a bit of a point! I hope Joe doesn't lose touch with everyone -- or if he does, I hope there will be new friends out there for him, too, who are more understanding.

(LORRAINE WHEN)

Now Calloway aside, OBVIOUSLY THE ENDING OF THIS CHAPTER HAD ME HOOTIN AND HOLLERIN.

“Joe… can we go back to the big, sexy giant part for a second?” <- LIT'RALLY me rereading this chapter 800 times

A snapping turtle is a fantastic little horror for poor Joe to face, woof. Those fuckers are scary enough when ur height is measured in feet. The quick way they snap is no joke. Just want to 👏👏👏👏 about how good this passage is: The turtle’s maw emerged from the waters of the lake like the gaping mouth of some ancient monster that fed on the souls of sailors. The grimy lakewater rushed over its beady little eyes as its beak, sharp as a dagger, flew towards Joe faster than a gunshot. YEAH.

It just!! makes my little heart sooooo happy to see that Joe does have someone who will unconditionally look out for him...!!! Harry has his issues, and they're still learning how to open up about themselves, but he consistently shows up!! :') the thought of him waiting for his man all night ... hoping the dredge would be the place Joe meant ... and then acting sooo fast when he saw a tiny guy fall off of it... what a faithful hound of a [future] boyfriend. Calloway is so right. Joe deserves somebody to look after him. And Joe has done the (forgive me for the loaded meme) girl math on this. One big man is the best possible outcome for him. ONLY THE BIGGEST MAN WILL DO to keep him off of his bullshit as much as possible 👍👍

And OF COURSE god their conversation is just so so so fucking funny. "Thank you" "fuck no I'm not" -> "FUCK YOU" is INCREDIBLE i CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT lmaooooo and Harry still being so gentle about receiving this insult and trying to parse what Joe means ... he does listen to Joe, they're definitely not back to square one as drunk!Joe feared, his own issues are just getting in the way! (And Joe's are getting in the way of him seeing thru Harry's facade into what the real issue is! We love to see it!)

"“I meant that. You don’t get to call me handsome until you start listening to me.” He slurred. “You gotta—you gotta want it.”

Joe crossed his arms and scowled up at the beautiful man and his beautiful face as Harry tried to parse what Joe was saying.

“Want it…?” Harry echoed.

“Yeah. You gotta want to be my friend. And screw what anyone else thinks!”"

And did anyone else cackle at how Joe telephone-gamed Calloway's advice to still be in plausible-deniability-land. "You gotta want to be my friend" ok. not what he fuckin said. run that back real quick -> "Not if you’re being open about what you want and everything. That’s how love works, Joe. You gotta want it."

I just adored the moments of insight between them, too. "... Joe knew his real answer was yes – he was just too afraid to say it overtly. He argued and fought and begrudgingly accepted it instead. / What was that saying to Harry?" vs. Ch22 Harry's revelation: "How much of his relationship with Joe was genuine, he wondered, and how much of it was Joe going along with Harry’s suggestions in the name of diplomacy?"

Joe IS acting like somebody who's being coerced! Harry IS being a trustworthy guy by noticing it and checking in once their relationship is definitely turning intimate! It's so fascinating to think in hindsight that every time Joe turned red and embarrassed, Harry was having a thought at the back of his mind like "he doesn't want this. I'm scaring him. He doesn't want me, and he doesn't even know the real me yet. And worse, he can't tell me, because he's afraid of what I might do to him." But he can't SAY all that because it would hurt too much if he said it and Joe confirmed he was actually correct, so Ch22 comes out as a trainwreck where he's accidentally insulting Joe's ability to survive without him. (Side note I KNEW Harry wasn't REALLY considering Joe his landlord. Sad!!! That fucked up scrawny starving guy has squatter's rights and he was doing pretty good all things considered maybe !!!)

The respective issues ~Society~ has given both of them just make it impossible to talk about the root of their problems without baring your guts in a really terrifying way. OOF.

HOWEVER this chapter confirming that homophobia isn't such a problem in tiny society is going to make this eventual conversation betwen them real interesting... Harry like "You don't understand Joe :( there's something really wrong with me... ... I like ... men..." and Joe being like "omg :) :) :) :) :) wait what's wrong with you tho" and then Joe "No you don't understand Harry :( I know this is sick but... I like.. giants... I'm sure you could never see someone smaller than you as anything other than a pet ..." and Harry just ":) :) :) :) oh what no :) Georgie was shorter than me" I hope they can have a good, baffled laugh at how long they could've been snuggling guilt-free. At the end of the angst. <3

[utilitycaster]

i feel like for the critical role trauma thing i HAVE to ask about caleb even if that’s a subject that’s been talked to death. i’m also super interested in your thoughts on Yasha in this conversation

The thing about Caleb is he is very visibly not okay from the get-go. He has a mechanical penalty to killing humanoids with fire which we see very early on. Then his backstory came out pretty much in full quite early as well. And before I continue, I want to stress: I really love Caleb as a character. I think his story is fantastic. He is hands down my favorite Liam character. He is complicated and difficult and sympathetic and heartbreaking.

He also garnered some of the most unbelievably toxic type 2 (ie, "um he is traumatized and can do no wrong?") fans I've seen in my LIFE, and many of them were also mixed with the "there's only room for one traumatized person in this d&d party and therefore whoever fits my idea of What Trauma Looks Like and/or whoever I personally project onto the most is the winner." I'm talking people actually getting on my posts and saying "why haven't the Nein stopped all the pesky adventuring and world-saving they're doing and taken him to Duasad Keef (an NPC only mentioned in the EGTW at the time, ie, post hiatus when the plot pretty quickly went to Eiselcross and stayed there, whose methods of therapy would actually probably be triggering for Caleb and who was probably well out of their paygrade and frankly unlikely of anyone else in the party to have heard of)." Those people have largely left because they hated that Caleb decided the best revenge was doing what he could to heal and living well and ensuring no one in the future would suffer as he had, rather than murdering the entire assembly and presumably dying in the process, but man, they left a mark.

There's definitely his detractors too, and I have no patience for the "ewwww sadboy attention hog" people, many of whom were either of the "I am feeling uncomfortable when we are not about Beau?" variety or that bizarre cohort of people who just fucking hate Liam for reasons I have never been able to fathom, but I'm not going to lie, as someone who likes Caleb a lot, the fandom response was rough because there was definitely a noticeable faction who really just did not accept the idea that basically everyone in the Nein had some degree of trauma. The High Richter Heist is a great example. Fjord holds Caleb at swordpoint for deviating from the plan. We later learn that while Caleb is acting from his trauma (trying to collect as many books as possible to achieve the purpose that is frankly his main reason for living at that time), Fjord is just as much acting from his (was very recently betrayed by Sabian deviating from the plan in an all hands on deck situation, stabbing him, and blowing up the ship leaving everyone, Fjord included, to drown). The infamous Bowlgate, not long after, is also a similar case of Beau and Caleb's respective traumas clashing. It's why Campaign 2 is so good, but man, it really is a litmus test if someone's like "actually Caleb is objectively 100% right in either of these situations;" you know you're dealing with either an idiot or someone who can't conceive of the possibility that trauma isn't a competition that Caleb has obviously won.

So, with that, Yasha: I think Yasha is tough for a few reasons. The first is that she wasn't around a lot early on, so while we learned the basics of her backstory in episode 46 we simply didn't see how she reacted in all situations. The second is that the fandom is specifically really fucking bonkers about people whose romantic partners die young; see again how people were like "see? Orym would be happier dead with Will!" like that isn't the kind of statement anyone with a brain would be MORTIFIED to say. So there was some of that with Yasha. I think the extent of what happened with Obann came up in a pretty dense arc and only got unpacked after the fact (and once Ashley was at the table regularly). And finally, Yasha got a lot of hate from shippers that was not strictly related to her trauma but did sometimes include it. So she's an interesting case of "trauma not so much ignored as frequently misconstrued or taken in bad faith to support interpretations barely related to Yasha herself, compounded by the fact that you had to read between the lines to understand her trauma in the first place."