#the problem is that it's part of The Process now so i don't really think about hOW i do it

[lpetersonwrites]

Okay, so. Around 2019, I realized that I hadn't read a book by an author of color for fun in at least a decade. My school reading lists had been more diverse than average, and I hadn't had a ton of time for leisure reading in high school and college, but the leisure reading I had managed to fit in had only included books by white authors.

When I realized this, it was a big YIKES moment. But staying stuck in shame wasn't going to help the situation, so I did what I try to do as often as possible when I'm experiencing shame: I asked, "What am I going to do about this?" I couldn't change the past. I couldn't go back in time and make sure I read a diverse range of books prior to 2019. But what I could do, and what I have done in the time since, was deliberately seek out books by authors of color.

One of the keys to doing this, as has been pointed out by many other people before now, is to read books in genres and categories you already like. I do think there are times when it's important to learn more about a topic by reading nonfiction, but if your main goal is to diversify your reading list, stick to types of books you know you enjoy, especially at first. If you like horror, find authors of color (or disabled authors, or trans authors, or whatever type of author you're trying to read more of) who write horror. If you hate horror, don't start by reading horror by diverse authors, because you'll probably hate it! There is no one singular book that everyone needs to read to become a good person or whatever. And if you associate reading books by diverse authors with reading genres you hate, that's going to disincentivize you from reading diverse authors. So find a genre you like and read a diverse range of authors within that genre.

Basically, what I'm saying is that I used to be one of the people who would have used tags like the ones screenshotted above. And now I'm not. And if you haven't read any books by Black women, you can start now! Doing better going forward is more effective at fixing the problem than staying stuck in a shame spiral is. Here are some books I've enjoyed that are by Black women, sorted by category, if you'd like a place to start.

Middle Grade Fiction

The Addy series by Connie Porter: This is a six-book series written as a tie-in for the American Girl doll franchise. In the first book, Addy escapes slavery along with her mother, and the series follows their lives as free people in the North. I appreciate the research that went into the book and the way that the books portray slavery as horrific in a way that still considers the age of the intended audience.

I've read three books in the Dear America series that are by Black women, two by Patricia McKissack and one by Joyce Hansen. The titles are A Picture of Freedom: The Diary of Clotee, a Slave Girl; Color Me Dark: The Diary of Nellie Lee Love, The Great Migration North; and I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly: The Diary of Patsy, a Freed Girl. I read these books in elementary school, so I don't have super clear memories of them, but I loved the Dear America series to the point where it was my special interest in fifth grade, and I'm really glad that the publisher made sure that books about Black girls were written by Black women. These books were good introductions to some key parts of American history that got glossed over in school, especially the Great Migration.

Young Adult Fiction

Color Me In by Natasha Diaz is about a biracial Black Jewish girl whose Jewish dad just left her Black mom for his white secretary. The protagonist is trying to connect more with her Black cousins and community while also going through the process of preparing for a (late) bat mitzvah. I found the book deeply emotionally resonant.

Little and Lion by Brandy Colbert is also about a Black Jewish girl, but in this case, the protagonist's Black mom married a Jewish man following the death of her husband, and the protagonist and her mom converted after that. The book is largely about the protagonist coming out as bisexual while trying to keep her bipolar stepbrother from destroying his own life. It's really intense but also really well done.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas is about a Black girl who sees her friend murdered by the cops and has to navigate working for change while processing her grief. This book is also very intense, but it has so many important things to say.

Let's Talk about Love by Claire Kann is about a young, asexual biromantic Black woman who has a summer job at the local library and is falling for her Japanese American coworker while trying to decide what to do with her life. As an asexual biromantic person myself, it was lovely to see that orientation represented, and the story was very sweet.

If It Makes You Happy, also by Claire Kann, is about a young, fat, queer Black woman working at her grandmother's diner for the summer and navigating a queerplatonic relationship with her white ungirlfriend, Kara, while also falling for a charming Black boy named Dallas. It's the first time I've read polyamorous rep in a YA book, and I really enjoyed it. Something I'll say about Claire Kann is that she has a very particular way of writing Black parents and grandparents having high expectations for their children/grandchildren, and that was a harder part of both of her books for me emotionally.

So Many Beginnings by Bethany Morrow is a retelling of Little Women, set in a freedpeople's colony during the Civil War. The book is extremely well researched, and I learned a lot by reading it. It's also a gorgeous tale about family, how different sisters can be, and how many different kinds of dreams are valid.

Adult Fiction

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston is an American classic about a young Black woman in the Jim Crow South growing up, leaving home, falling in love, and encountering hardship. Hurston wrote in the first half of the twentieth century, and she's revered for a reason.

The Thing around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is a short story collection about being Nigerian, both growing up in Nigeria and living as an immigrant in the US. It's poignant and funny, and I found it especially interesting to learn about Nigeria and how the United States looks from a Nigerian woman's perspective.

The Space between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson is a sci-fi novel about a world where there are over 300 Earths in alternate dimensions that are similar enough to travel to, but you can only travel to other Earths if the version of you who's from there is dead, so people who are dead in most dimensions are recruited to work as world-hoppers. The book follows a queer world-hopper who is dead in all but a handful of dimensions as she uncovers and tries to stop a sinister plot. I haven't been giving trigger warnings for most of these books, but this book has a lot of graphic violence, including some graphic intimate partner violence that really got to me, so I figured I should note it. I still think it's worth reading, but bear the violence in mind.

The Binti series by Nnedi Okorafor is an Afro-futuristic sci-fi series about a mathematically gifted girl who survives an alien massacre on her way to the best university in the universe. The series grapples with the interplay of futuristic technology with indigenous African practices and knowledge, as well as cultural prejudice not only between humans and other humans but also between aliens and humans.

Graphic Novels

Check, Please! by Ngozi Ukazu is my first entry on this list with a non-Black protagonist. It follows a gay white Southern college hockey player as he overcomes his PTSD-related block against being checked, bakes a truly ridiculous number of pies, and falls for his anxious bisexual Quebecois captain. It's so sweet and funny and captivating, and although both the leads are white, the ensemble cast is pretty diverse.

Bunt!: Striking Out on Financial Aid, also by Ngozi Ukazu, is a comedy about an art student trying to get a scholarship to cover her tuition by using a long-forgotten rule saying that student athletes on teams that win at least one game in a season get full scholarships. It is, in large part, a commentary on the cost of college and the things people do out of desperation to pay for an education, but it's also funny and romantic.

Memoir

The Days of Rondo by Evelyn Fairbanks is a memoir about growing up in the historically Black Rondo neighborhood in St. Paul, Minnesota, in the decades before the neighborhood was destroyed by freeway construction. I grew up in St. Paul and went to school in Rondo, so this book was an important part of my education about local history and my immediate surroundings.

Dust Tracks on a Road by Zora Neale Hurston is Hurston's autobiography about her life as a writer and anthropologist, growing up in poverty in the rural Jim Crow South, becoming an integral part of the Harlem renaissance, and all the work she did afterward. This is the kind of book that really rewards close reading, and I'm glad that I read it in an International Baccalaureate class that specialized in paying extremely close attention to the text.

You'll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey: Crazy Stories about Racism by Amber Ruffin and Lacey Lamar is a comedy memoir that uses humor to get at the absurd and brazen nature of American racism. Amber Ruffin is a comedian, and she co-wrote the book with and about her sister Lacey Lamar. It's not the only book that I think people should read about racism, but it's an easy place to start.

Becoming by Michelle Obama is Michelle Obama's memoir that begins with her childhood, growing up with her parents and her brother, and continues through her college days at Princeton, her work in Chicago's legal and nonprofit sectors, all the way to her husband, Barack's, political career in Illinois, the US Senate, and the White House. It's extremely well written, and I loved it.

Sociology and/or Religion

The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander is a book about the criminalization of Black folks and the use of incarceration as a means of racial control in the United States. I'm very glad I was assigned to read it in college. It made me look at a lot of things differently, and I wound up doing my senior project on mass incarceration.

Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God by Kelly Brown Douglas is a book that traces the theological roots of what she calls "stand-your-ground culture"--the idea that white people have a right to be anywhere they want to be, while Black people are potential trespassers everywhere they go--back to ancient Rome and Renaissance England, prior to the British colonization of North America, and then follows that thread through the writings of figures like Thomas Jefferson all the way up to the murder of Trayvon Martin. It's masterful scholarship.

Call to Allyship: Preparing Your Congregation for Leaders of Color, edited by Angela T. !Khabeb, is a book by multiple authors, all of whom are church professionals of color, about how the white congregations they work with can be less racist to them. Angela !Khabeb is another sister of Amber Ruffin and Lacey Lamar, which is an interesting connection. Only some of the chapters in this book are by Black women, but Angela !Khabeb is a Black woman and was the one who pulled the project together and wrote both the introduction and the conclusion, so I'm including it.

hello fellow non-Black tumblr users. welcome to my saw trap. if you'd like to leave, please name one (1) Black woman author who is not Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, or N.K. Jemisin. bonus points if she's published a book in the last five years.

[nexus-nebulae]

so. for A Long While now we've considered officially pursuing converting to judaism. and we've finally really started the whole research process and getting familiarized with the religion and everything and. does anyone have tips on how to feel comfortable in a new religion when you've been so harmed by specific religious groups in the past (especially when the religion you have bad history with is so close to the one you're converting to, like being another abrahamic religion)

[brown-little-robin]

my last week, a visual demonstration

[janniks1nner]

god give me the strength 🫠🫠🫠

[talkorsomething]

Did everything i need to today + some fun things (game, artfight modelling) but... not enough it feels like. I'm just so tired...

I guess i should just try to go to bed since, there's some things i think i'm doing tomorrow ? But... idk. Should be practicing more and right now it's hard to find out when/where is best for that.

Want a good way to 'schedule' out my day but haven't quite gotten there yet. Of course all my reminders are set up, but i stopped the notification for practice since i wasn't doing it/was sleeping in too late for it to matter.

But it's been a year & ½ (more or less...) since then. & i have a reason to be dedicated to it. So... when to put it in my day?

...

Hmmm.

[intromortal]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon ◜teaser◞

OUT NOW: read here

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon

this work contains ⋆ smut, minors so not interact. multiple smut scenes, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, besties jaykewon, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon sorta kinda, some degradation but nothing crazy (i think. maybe i'm just a freak), alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slutshaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit if violence, blood, injury, and patching up said injury :3 ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ teaser ⸻ 1.2k words. full fic ⸻ around 15k words. hopefully less but it's me so :p

taglist ⋆ (closed!) either comment here or send me an ask! please make sure to have a visible age somewhere or i won't be able to add you.

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

[...]

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers.

You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases.

Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon has known both of you all his life.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge.

You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[readingloveswounds]

Can you share how you outline a paper? I always find it difficult to organise my argument when dealing with complex ideas that don't seem easily "decomposable"...

I can sure try! I've been doing it for a while now, so I'm not sure my process is entirely coherent.

Some background: in middle and high school (and the first couple years of college if we're being honest), I hated outlining papers. Would not write them unless it was a part of the assignment. I've since figured out how to do them in a way that helps me.

For the actual outline:

I usually start outlining once I have a general idea of an argument to make. This goes at the top of the page for now. It does not need to be detailed, polished, or even anything close to the final argument. It can even be '[thing] is weird, huh?'

I will make an outline that is legitimately just a few points: Introduction, Body, Conclusion. This is silly, but it takes away the fear of staring at a blank page. My argument idea can now go in the Introduction section.

Now back to it. If I want to convince my readers of my argument, what background do I need to give? I make a list. What scholarship do I need to reference? Make a list (this will probably change, but sometimes I have an idea). What examples do I want to use? Make a list. These lists go haphazardly in the Body section. Order doesn't matter yet. Detail doesn't matter yet, but if I have any sentences that come to mind or short notes on what I want to do with something, they're welcome, but I don't typically get too caught up in it

Order matters now! I arrange things in an order that I think will be effective - we need to know the background first and then I need to ease us into the theory/scholarship I'm referencing. It'll make more sense to use example x first and then example y, so I'll put those in that order.

Understand that the order can and will change when the rubber hits the road. This is just to get me started.

Example (with the added complication of tumblr not letting me use tab, so use your imagination):

Intro

Background

3 women - show cases - highlight important parts

Discussion - placement in LX - detail -- bloody, child, abject, women as generative

Conclusion

At this point, I have an initial idea of an order I want to have things organized in. For final papers in my courses, I usually wrote more or less in the order of my outline. For the dissertation, I do NOT necessarily write in order of the outline, but rather in order of what makes the most sense. I've done chronological, argument establishment, and passage analysis first. Introduction and conclusion come at the end. I have never ever put detail into my conclusion in the first outline - that often comes over the course of writing.

You mention issues of decomposability - this is completely fair, honestly, and sometimes you have to be juggling a lot in order to make an argument. I think the way I handle this is first trying to just get a basic order in place - it's not necessarily easy, but if I'm trying to teach someone (which really is what a paper is), what do I need to establish in order to make them understand? Force it into some sort of chunks, just for now. Often, in the writing of it, I'll realize that wait, I need to talk about something either now or add it back in where I cut it before or put it somewhere later. For me, it's really important that an outline can be fluid.

I keep it side by side with my writing document, but I'm not someone who adds bullet points and then joins them together. I really just have to start writing.

Another thing - and perhaps the more important thing - is that I make a LOT of smaller outlines. The bigger outline is there to give me a direction, the smaller ones are there to help me figure out the details. Smaller outlines and the big one never meet. Looking back through my notes, a lot of these smaller ones start with "why this?" In these smaller outlines, it's not really a writing roadmap, but rather me working through the relevant 5WH (who, what, where, when, why, how), which helps break things down further - and helps me make sure I understand what I need to explain/cover in the section.

I exclusively hand write these.

An (extremely impenetrable) example:

What are you trying to establish? how A effects readers

why? AL -> because of x/y

who? preface

how? readers, z, spectators (trick)

So really, I make one outline so that I know generally what I want to include and then make a lot of little ones so that I know what I'm actually going to talk about. The little ones happen all throughout the writing process and especially when I'm stuck.

Hopefully this has been helpful - it's taken years of playing around with this to figure out exactly what works for me. Thinking of it as something that not only helps you but also helps your eventual reader understand what you want to say has helped a lot. I think what I struggled with in the past was sort of an implied stability/unchanging-ness of the outline, so making a million and knowing that they're adaptable has also been good.

[nanamisgirly]

pussy slapping with your maths teacherྀི

based on this ask (I hope the anon will like it🙂‍↕️)

next part

you knew the email meant trouble the second it landed in your inbox.

subject : “Homework 6 — Integrity Dicussion.” from : Gojo.Satoru@college.ct

so now you're standing outside his office door, palms sweating, thighs pressed together in your miniskirt like that might save you from the cheating homework you assigned. it's not like you're scared of Gojo. he's just your goofy annoyingly attractive nerd math professor. the man wears Gundam socks with his loafers, makes calculus puns, and has a signed photo of Neil deGrasse Tyson on his bookshelf like it's a family heirloom.

but he also happens to have shoulders like a swimmer, hands big enough to palm a basketball, and a mouth made for sin that he hides behind dump jokes with his stupidly slutty glasses. you're not into him or anything tho, you're just not blind.

your knuckles tap against the door.

“come in,” he calls, voice low. too low actually.

you step in, closing the door behind you. 

the first thing you see are the posters of fractals and famous math equations—not surprising. in the other hand, what is really surprising is the life-size cardboard cutout of the pokémon Blastoise. what the fuck is that?

your surprise doesn't stop there, as your eyes land on the chunky old Casio calculator sitting on his desk next to a mug that says, “i'm a cute professor <3”.

he's seated at his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled to the elbows showing strong forearms scribbled in veins, one ankle resting over the opposite knee like he's got all the time in the world. a lopsided smile appears as he asks “you're nervous ?”

you scoff, clutching your handbag a little tighter. “i'm not.” he's the one to talk—how would anyone look comfortable in a office looking like this?

“mmh. tell yourself that.” he leans, pulls open a drawer and slides out your homework. he taps the edge the paper as he hold it in the air. “you handed your homework last week. and you scored…a beautiful 97.” he tilts his head, gauging your reaction. 

you're feeling a bit too hot now, sweats trickling down your spine, but you try to hold it together. you feign innocence, “yeah, incredible isn't it?” you say, rolling your eyes to play it cool.

he hums thoughtfully. “sure… if you hadn't cheated.”

you swallow, crossing your arms as you cock a hip “a girl scores high and suddenly some old grump of a man's offended by it. what a world we live in.”

gojo leans back in his chair, gaze sliding over your form—lingering a bit too long on your thighs. “is that how it is?" he hums, eyes flicking up to meet yours "just a bitter old man then?” the corner of his mouth twitches like he's trying not to grin 

he clicks his tongue and leans back further, arms spreading across the armchair like he owns the place. he does, actually. his knees spread too—annoyingly wide, “look, we both know you didn't do these problems yourself. and you're gonna redo it. right here. right now. on me.” 

your lips part. “gojo—”

“professor gojo,” he corrects, tone maddeningly even. “you don't want me to call the Academic Integrity Committee, do you?”

you glance down at his thighs, then back up. “you're a math professor. Not my—”

“—brat tamer?” he cuts in smoothly, raising a brow without blinking.

you go still. your jaw clenches, heat crawling up the back of your neck. he's so smug. smug and patient and infuriatingly unfazed.

you step forward and settle on his lap—hovering, refusing to fully sit. if he thinks you're gonna give in that easily, he's dead wrong. you don't care if your thighs start shaking. you'll squat until the apocalypse if you have to.

“ah—!” a squeal rips out of you when his hands clamp around your hips, big and warm and decidedly firm as he drags you down until you're fully seated, straddling his lap. your miniskirt hikes up dangerously high in the process, your bare thighs pressed tight to his slacks.

his breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't so hyper-aware of every single shift in the room.

“problem one,” he says, casually putting your paper on the desk like he isn't now rock-hard beneath you like a complete weirdo. his hands stay planted on your thighs, thumbs stroking idly, but his voice stays cold. unbothered, professional almost.

keyword : almost.

you swallow hard, cheeks burning from the sheer proximity—his firm chest pressed to your back, white fluffy hair brushing every time he leans in. his scent clings to your skin—clean linen, cologne, and chalk dust—it's driving you insane. and those damn impossible formulas staring up at you on the paper—differential equations, matrix exponentials, fucking laplace transforms. couldn't he have picked basic calculus ?

your brain is short-circuiting. and the little laughs of the far-too-good-looking-with-his-glasses-pushed-low-on-his-nose professor is doing nothing to ease your nerves. “solve the matrix for the homogeneous system.” your spine stiffens as his voice is nothing but hot air dragging goosebumps up your neck.

“c'mon, engineer girl. use that big brain of yours.” you let out a shaky exhale, trying to focus on the paper even while his fingers toy with the hem of your panties. he hasn't even really touched you, but you're feeling your panties clinging to you—embarrassingly wet.

“one over s-squared plus four?” you try something, mind too fuzzy to think. your breath catches as his fingertips trace your clothed slit—oh very so slowly. he doesn't bother pressing, just lets the fabric catch and soak even more.

“gojo, what are you—”

“professor,” he reminds you, tone suddenly sharp. “and…” he's turning his head, cheek brushing yours as he watches your teeth dig in your bottom lip “no guessing.” you shudder, thighs trembling on his thick one.

that’s ridiculous how sensitive you were from featherlight touches…you’re better than that..so why are your wetting your thighs by seconds ?

“from now on,” his fingers slip beneath the damp lace, two digits brushing your folds, “you get every problem right, you're so good at pretending to be smart—but be smart.” his hand curls back up—cupping your pussy, applying steady pressure to your aching clit through the underwear. your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the heat unbearable.

you stare at the same problem, chest rising and falling in heavy breath. “a-a inverse time b—?” you offer weakly.

a low, pitying sound escapes him.

smack.

“wrong again.” the sudden sharp slap on your cunt makes your entire body jolts in his lap, your ass pressing harder against his cock. your head drops forward, tears prickling your lashes, hips twitching in a pathetic attempt at friction.

it"s so humiliating. that nerd of a teacher. fuck.

“uh-huh, don't move, sweetie. who told you you get to grind on my thigh?” he grabs your jaw with his free hand, forcing you to meet his glacier-blue eyes glinting behind crooked glasses. “let's try again. if f(t) = sin(3t), then what's the Laplace transform?” his breath ghosts over your cheek, one hand directing your gaze to the paper like you aren't already losing your mind.

your mind scrambles, your pussy pulses, and you're cursing the world for putting you in this situation. you can't even help it, it just feels so good. 

your voice breaks on a moan, nothing reflecting your angry mind “three… over…squared plus n-nine—”

gojo groans softly, cock twitching under your ass. “there she is,” he mutters, hand sliding down to rub rough circles against your clit. “smart and fuckable? you might be my new favorite little project sweetie.”

and just as a whimper leaves your lips—the second your hips barely roll forward in a desperate grind—he yanks his hand away.

“what did i say?” he asks, calmly adjusting his glasses like he's not the filthiest thing on earth right now. “no grinding. one right answer doesn't mean you get to cum. you've got four more questions, we're far from done.”

he lands another slap on your clit—scarily precise. “i get to edge you again. and again. until your poor little cunt forgets what cumming even feels like.” you sob his name as he pulls your underwear taut between your fat lips, the soaked lace dragging cruelly against your swollen clit. you shove your fist into your mouth, biting it to stay quiet.

he dips his fingers back into the ruined mess between your legs. not inside—never inside apparently. he's probably a psychopathe who loves skimming his student's pussy entrance, circling it like a threat.

 “if you get all the five right tho," he murmurs darkly, "i'll bend you over this desk and fuck you, raw, with your nose pressed onto that test," your walls clench hard at his words—and he feels it, obviously…

smirking into your hair, he adds, “you'd love that, of course you would. so go on, sweetie. show me you're not just a brainless little brat. show me how much of a perfect slut you are for good grades.”

you swear once you'll get all your mind together, you're gonna make him regret everything. that cocky, small-dick bastard—acting like he's got a big game between his thighs. 

a nerd like him, isn't packing enough to pleasure you. right?

^⌯𖥦⌯^

a/n aaaand we thanks my bachelor in engineer for my knowledge ☝🏼 tho i hope you enjoyed reading this, i don’t think it’s perfect buuut i tried :))) let me know 🫶🏻

[prokopetz]

I think a lot of folks in indie RPG spaces misunderstand what's going on when people who've only ever played Dungeons & Dragons claim that indie RPGs are categorically "too complicated". Yes, it's sometimes the case that they're making the unjustified assumption that all games are as complicated as Dungeons & Dragons and shying away from the possibility of having to brave a steep learning cure a second time, but that's not the whole picture.

A big part of it is that there's a substantial chunk of the D&D fandom – not a majority by any means, but certainly a very significant minority – who are into D&D because they like its vibes or they enjoy its default setting or whatever, but they have no interest in actually playing the kind of game that D&D is... so they don't.

Oh, they'll show up at your table, and if you're very lucky they might even provide their own character sheet (though whether it adheres to the character creation guidelines is anyone's guess!), but their actual engagement with the process of play consists of dicking around until the GM tells them to roll some dice, then reporting what number they rolled and letting the GM figure out what that means.

Basically, they're putting the GM in the position of acting as their personal assistant, onto whom they can offload any parts of the process of play that they're not interested in – and for some players, that's essentially everything except the physical act of rolling the dice, made possible by the fact most of D&D's mechanics are either GM-facing or amenable to being treated as such.*

Now, let's take this player and present them with a game whose design is informed by a culture of play where mechanics are strongly player facing, often to the extent that the GM doesn't need to familiarise themselves with the players' character sheets and never rolls any dice, and... well, you can see where the wires get crossed, right?

And the worst part is that it's not these players' fault – not really. Heck, it's not even a problem with D&D as a system. The problem is D&D's marketing-decreed position as a universal entry-level game means that neither the text nor the culture of play are ever allowed to admit that it might be a bad fit for any player, so total disengagement from the processes of play has to be framed as a personal preference and not a sign of basic incompatibility between the kind of game a player wants to be playing and the kind of game they're actually playing.

(Of course, from the GM's perspective, having even one player who expects you to do all the work represents a huge increase to the GM's workload, let alone a whole group full of them – but we can't admit that, either, so we're left with a culture of play whose received wisdom holds that it's just normal for GMs to be constantly riding the ragged edge of creative burnout. Fun!)

* Which, to be clear, is not a flaw in itself; a rules-heavy game ideally needs a mechanism for introducing its processes of play gradually.

[thestarsaboveme]

Reader thinks the Lads men are cheating with MC

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | rafayel ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver.

caleb x reader | angst/comfort

There was a time when Caleb used to show up with your favorite drink before you even asked.

He'd call you ''pipsqueak'', kiss your forehead, and ramble about the most bizarre cosmic theories while you curled up beside him.

Now…the only thing constant was his absence.

And MC.

-

''I'm going out with MC again today,'' he'd said casually that morning, slipping on his jacket. ''She's got some readings I wanna help her decode.''

You nodded, trying to be supportive. ''Again?''

He glanced at you. ''Yeah. We've been making progress. She's intuitive. Gets the rhythm of it.''

You gave a faint smile. ''Right.''

He leaned down, kissed your cheek quickly, and said, ''I'll be back late, but I'll text you, okay?''

But he didn't.

Again.

-

You scrolled through your messages that night, seeing blue bubble after blue bubble with no replies.

Dinner's ready if you want to swing by.

Hope the readings are going well.

Are you okay? It's getting late.

Each one unanswered.

And then your heart twisted when you checked MC's social feed. Just a short video clip of her and Caleb, both laughing as he showed her something on a holographic tablet.

He looked happy. Relaxed. Engaged.

The kind of look he used to save for you.

-

It wasn't just tonight. It had been weeks.

You told yourself it was work. That MC was a client, a partner, a hero in her own right. Of course Caleb would be focused on her.

But even when you were in the room with him lately…you still felt alone.

Like he was always looking past you. Toward someone else.

You didn't even notice your hands were trembling as you typed the message.

I need to talk. Can you come over? Please?

It took six minutes for his reply to come through.

On my way. Give me 15.

-

He arrived exactly 15 minutes later, his hair wind-tossled, coat still half-zipped, and an easy smile on his lips that immediately faded when he saw your face.

''Hey…what's wrong?'' he asked, stepping inside.

You didn't answer right away. You just stood there, looking at him, trying to figure out where the boy you fell in love with had gone.

''You and MC seem close,'' you said finally.

Caleb blinked, confused. ''I mean, yeah. We've been working side by side for a while. Why?''

You looked away. ''Are you cheating on me?''

The words cut through the room like a sharp blade.

His mouth parted slightly, stunned. ''What?''

''I need to know, Caleb. I can't keep pretending this isn't eating me alive.''

He took a slow step toward you. ''Pipsqueak…no. I would never. Where is this coming from?''

You laughed bitterly. ''From weeks of watching you give her your time, your focus, your energy. And leaving me with scraps. From seeing the way you light up around her. From missing you when you're standing right in front of me.''

His brows pulled together, the easy charm in his expression replaced by something heavier.

''Is that really how you feel?''

''I don't know how else to feel. You don't look at me the way you used to. You don't see me.''

He ran a hand through his hair. ''I didn't know it had gotten this bad.''

''That's the problem,'' you whispered. ''You're so good at reading the stars, Caleb. But you haven't been reading me.''

Silence stretched between you.

Then, in a voice low and raw, he said, ''You're right.''

You stared at him, heart pounding.

''I've been out of sync. Focused on work. On helping MC process everything she's dealing with,'' he said. ''And I thought…I thought you were okay. That we were okay.''

''Because I didn't say anything sooner?''

''Because I wanted to believe we were solid enough to weather it,'' he said. ''But I see now I've been neglecting the one thing I can't afford to lose.''

You folded your arms tightly. ''So what was it, then? Just convenience? You two work well together, so I got put on the backburner?''

He stepped forward, voice steady but filled with something deeper. ''You were never on the backburner. MC is a colleague. A friend. Someone I respect. But you…''

He stopped, looking straight into your eyes.

''You're the only person I've ever loved without fear.''

Your breath caught.

''You think I'm fearless, right?'' he said. ''The charming one. The one who always has a line ready. But you terrify me.''

''Why?''

''Because you're real,'' he said. ''Because you see through all the masks. Because when I'm with you, I'm not pretending to be the guy who always knows what he's doing. I'm me. Just Caleb.''

You swallowed hard. ''Then why didn't you show me that lately?''

''I was scared,'' he admitted. ''That I'd burn out. That I wouldn't be enough for both of you. For her mission, for your heart. So I leaned into what I knew. Work. Banter. The stuff I could control.''

You looked at him, searching for the lie.

But there wasn't one.

''I thought maybe…'' you hesitated, voice trembling, ''you were starting to feel more connected to her. Like you admired her more.''

Caleb stepped forward again, slowly this time, until he was close enough that you could feel his warmth.

''I do admire her,'' he said honestly, ''But I love you. You are not the same. You'll never be the same.''

Tears welled up, and you turned your face away.

He gently cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back.

''I should've told you more. Made time. Asked how you were doing instead of assuming,'' he said. ''And I know an apology doesn't erase the loneliness I caused. But if you let me…I'll prove I haven't forgotten how to be yours.''

You let out a shaky breath. ''I didn't need fireworks, Caleb. I just needed you.''

His eyes softened. ''Then let me come back to you. No shields. No distractions.''

You didn't respond with words.

You just leaned into him, letting his arms wrap around you.

Letting the quiet between you finally mean something healing.

[mercy-burning]

Father Figure (1/2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer becomes an unlikely source of comfort after his son breaks up with you. (PART 1 of 2) Category: Mature (18+) Content: Adults w/age gap, perv!Spencer strikes again, masturbation, drinking, kissing. Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Pushing the hot old man agenda once again, I'm not even sorry about it. Smut will be in Part 2, which I'm almost done with--I just have to workshop the end a little bit. And remember, pals: If he wanted to, he would. And if he won't, then his dad will (AKA the quote I saw on TikTok that inspired this fic lmao) Also, I apologize if adding a real song with real lyrics in the middle of this is cringey, but I had A Vision, and I needed it to be realized, okay? Let a girl have some fun!!!

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

...THE COFFEE SHOP

Spying on his son was never exactly a pastime of Spencer's, even less so now since the kid is not really a kid anymore. Still, when that kid breaks up with his long-term girlfriend of four years and then goes on a first date a day later, a father is left to wonder...

He feels bad especially for the ex-girlfriend, who had been nothing but an absolute joy; always bringing gifts and snacks to the house, celebrating the Reid boys' birthdays with extra love and care, and bringing a warm and happy energy that demanded love and care right back.

He can't imagine how you must be feeling.

Your face dances in flashes behind his eyelids as he pokes around the corner of the coffee shop, wondering what could possibly be so enticing about this other woman that his son would throw away something so extraordinary.

Even as he spots Cameron, beaming and eagerly listening to the beautiful young woman in front of him, it pains Spencer to imagine the other side of the coin.

He sighs and turns away, wondering what could have changed his son's mind, but understanding that ultimately it's not any of his business. From what he knows about the breakup, Cameron had been kind and forthright through all of it, offering his father the simple explanation of, "I don't dislike her at all, she's a nice girl... I just don't love her anymore. That's all."

That's all...

When you've spent the first half of your young adult life with the same someone, that logic isn't impossible; Inevitably you'll meet new people and feel bright, new feelings, and old feelings can dissipate just as quickly.

On every logical level, there's nothing inherently wrong with this situation, and still, Spencer can't fight off the uneasy tension in his chest as he sits with it.

As he turns the corner and begins to try and place where exactly that feeling might come from, a loud gasp stops him in his tracks.

His eyes take a moment to look you over, looking to anyone else like he might need some time to process that it's you, but really, his brain knows it right away. Admittedly, he's just glad to see you. Though right now you're visibly shocked and perhaps a little embarrassed, you still radiate that undeniable warmth that brings a slow smile to his face. The tension he feels doesn't fade so much as it shifts, from uneasy to something more electric. More problematic.

What the fuck is your problem? his inner-voice barks, so loudly he almost thinks he's said it out loud.

Spencer shifts direction quickly, reminding himself how to act like a normal human being, and more importantly, how to act when faced with his son's ex-girlfriend, who is clearly doing the same thing he's doing.

"What a pleasant surprise," he beams reaching forward to offer a hug, which you take. Perhaps a dumb move considering the funk he just had to snap himself out of, but if he can carefully guide you in the other direction to save you the spiral of spying on your ex-boyfriend's new date, then so-be-it.

You pull away and he does too, his hands lingering but not touching you. Still, he feels you just as vividly.

"Doctor Reid, what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hold his eye contact but ultimately succumbing to the urge to glance at the window behind him.

He sighs, offering a sympathetic smile. "The same thing as you, I'm afraid..."

The horror on your face makes his stomach churn, but then it's gone in an instant, replaced by an eye-crinkling laugh that takes him by surprise.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!"

You're trying so hard to convince him, and probably yourself as well, and it unfortunately amuses him. Your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, not bright and genuine like he's always known, but it's still beautiful. His gaze lingers a little too long on it before he meets your eyes again, watching them flash with something petrified as he grins.

"Clearly..."

You cross your arms, jutting your chin out and attempting a new tactic. "Look, I'm not that pathetic, okay? I don't like what you're implying. Besides, why are you spying on Cam, huh? It's not like he broke up with you to be with your best friend..."

The smile slowly disappears from his face as you speak, that sharp sense of unease creeping back into his system and curling up through his lungs like cigarette smoke. "What?"

You don't bother trying to hide it anymore, a sad shrug weighing down your body as your face softens into something melancholic and distant. Your voice is barely there when you speak, the sound of nearby traffic nearly drowning you out. "Guess he didn't tell you that part, huh..."

"No, he didn't."

You sigh and tighten your arms, seemingly holding yourself together as not to fall apart at the seams. "Did you see them? Did they look happy?"

Spencer's stomach churns again, and he shakes his head incredulously. "Hon, maybe you should—"

"Did they?" you ask again more desperately, your voice cracking between words. He can hear the sadness in it, the devastation and the confusion, the need to understand...

An irrational anger starts to brew somewhere in the depths of his being, even though he knows he doesn't have the whole story. But he firmly decides that he can grapple with Cameron and his choice of a girlfriend at a more appropriate time, and probably even have a man-to-man conversation with him about the whole thing... He also firmly decides that the arrival of these indescribable tense feelings should also be dealt with, though preferably in his next therapy session and not right this second.

Because right now, there's a bright young woman on the verge of tears right in front of him, her sparkle dulling with each passing second, and the best thing to do is to get her away from the problem at large—Not to do anything that will only make it worse.

Spencer rushes to you and gently scoops you into another hug, your body nestling into his with an exhaustion that he fears he knows all too well. As you squeeze his shirt and start to cry, he leads you away from the building and down the sidewalk, wondering if you can hear how loudly his heart is breaking for you.

Eventually he leads you away from public eye, a small clearing about three blocks away and beyond some trees. Being late August, they've started to change color, but not by much. By now you've removed yourself from his full embrace, but still cling to his arm as you find the room to calm down, looking up at the trees.

He walks silently beside you, giving you the space to breathe and think. To rest. The sun is high in the sky, bright beams poking through the leaves and limbs, and when you finally stop walking, one of them catches your eye. It glistens with tears that haven't fallen yet, and when you stare up at the sky and close your eyelids, a small droplet finally strolls down your cheek.

Your arms tighten around Spencer's and he fights the urge to wipe the tear from your face with his free hand.

"I'm so sorry," he says instead. "I wish I knew what to do."

You open your eyes then, a small breeze picking up and rustling the trees. He can hear wind chimes in the distance, he thinks, or maybe it's just a figment of his imagination—a manifestation of the dulcet, melodic comfort you've brought to his life over the years. In a strange way, he supposes you do somewhat feel like home to him. Normalcy. Softness. Beauty.

He hadn't even realized it until your sadness had overwhelmed him.

"Thank you," you tell him, pulling away finally to look him dead-on. You smile again, and though it's sad, and still beautiful, this time it finally reaches your eyes. "You're a good man, Doctor Reid."

He certainly doesn't feel like a good man.

Not when you reach up and hug him with your arms draped over his shoulders. Not when his hands feel right at home at the small of your back. Not when he can hardly breathe as your mouth murmurs another, "thank you," into the crook of his neck. Not when you start to pull away, sliding your soft hands down over his shoulder blades and tilting your head. Not when your thankful lips make contact with his cheek, featherlight and heavy all the same. Not when, even after you pull away completely, your presence is still with him, making him warm and fluttery and stupid.

Not when he misses you, hours later, still buzzing from your touch...

And when Cameron comes home that evening, practically walking on clouds and beaming with lovesick stupor after his day out with your best friend, that tension and irrational anger starts to grow stronger, muddled with confusion.

No. Spencer Reid is convinced that he is not a good man.

If he was, he wouldn't be laying awake at night, absentmindedly caressing his face where your lips had been hours before, staring at the photo on his bedside table of the three of you just a year ago.

Right after you and Cam had graduated college, you all took a road trip to the Grand Canyon and a stranger offered to take your photo. You were happy and in love, holding on to Cam's arm the same way you held onto Spencer's earlier today. The sun was shining on your face, though back then it wasn't illuminating drying tears. Your smile reached your eyes, but it wasn't masking profound sadness.

If Spencer Reid was a good man, he would be letting it go and moving on instead of vowing to spend eternity trying to mend a heart he didn't break. He wouldn't be exacting his own twisted form of vengeance under the covers, stroking himself to the thought of you—to the thought of treating you right.

If he was a good man, he certainly wouldn't be staring at your photo on his bedside table as he did so, calling out your name in a hushed whisper—a prayer.

And yet, here he lays, the thought of you bringing him to completion.

"He didn't deserve you, sweet girl," he confesses breathlessly, right at the precipice. He comes in hot ropes over his bare stomach, visions of your bright eyes and warm, beautiful lips helping him right along.

His first exhale of breath as the high subsides comes out as a form of maniacal laughter; Not only is he now stuck with a mess he has to clean at almost two in the morning, but he's also devolving, clarity smacking right into him like a freight train.

Spencer swears, wishing he'd simply ignored the feeling that urged him to follow Cameron on his date earlier that day. He wishes he'd let it go.

He looks at your picture again and sighs, laughing to himself. "I don't deserve you either."

...THE BAR

Two weeks and two therapy sessions later, and Spencer doesn't feel any better, really.

He hasn't seen you since that day at the coffee shop, but it's like he sees you every day anyway. You're there when he sleeps, mostly. He meets you in dreams, wiping your tears and kissing you better. Each time, you gladly return the favor, kissing him back and subsequently healing some deep part of him he hadn't even realized was ailed.

But obviously that's just a product of this strange, pathetic, fucked-up obsession he's spiraled into, and not anchored to the truth in any way.

That's what he tells himself, at least... no matter how badly he wants there to be truth in it.

Still, it's hard when even the time and distance between you can't seem to shake your effect on him.

Though, perhaps Cameron's role in all of this could be the key to this lingering feeling. He is a common denominator, after all, and the knowledge that he'd chosen to be with your best friend instead of you so soon after breaking it off still rubs him the wrong way. Which, in all honesty, is a conversation he doesn't want to have just yet; It would probably be best if he had a clear mind, one not constantly plagued by daydreams of railing you under the trees in the clearing where you last touched him.

Spencer sighs and takes his glasses off, tossing them aside. He presses his palms into the sides of his face, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he can until he sees stars, and promptly decides that he needs to leave the house.

Fresh air usually does the trick, but for whatever reason, this long walk to the park is not doing him any favors. The way the leaves rustle in the wind only brings him back to that fateful moment with you in his arms, seeking comfort, and quite frankly, the August heat is making him more irritable.

So, he wanders off to uncharted territories: a random bar that should be pretty dead on a random Wednesday mid-afternoon. He's not exactly sure what it is he hopes to find, but as long as it's a good enough distraction, or even some peace and quiet, he'll gladly take it.

The place isn't very busy, or bright. Neon signs and dim table lamps are about the only sources of light, but compared to the sun outside, Spencer finds it more than comfortable. Some Country duet he doesn't recognize booms over the speakers, low-tempo and sad, but not horrible. The melancholic melody swims nicely through his brain, setting the scene as he sits down at a random table somewhere near the back.

A hostess is quick to ask him what he wants to drink and offers a menu, but all he orders is a glass of water. Whether she questions it or not, he doesn't pay attention. But when she returns about a minute later with his glass, he does notice that the song has finished and started over.

"Hope you don't mind the song," the hostess says with a sigh, noting his quiet curiosity. "Poor thing over there requested it on a loop until she got drunk enough to forget about it..."

Spencer's eyes follow her head-nod towards the corner of the room, where a girl sits slumped over the table with her chin in her hand, the other hand tearing at a napkin.

His heart sinks and skips at the same time as recognition strikes him like lightning.

The hostess has walked away by now, and his still gaze can't seem to wander anywhere else. The odds of him going somewhere random to distract himself from thought of you, only to be graced with your presence, feels too coincidental. It's too good of an excuse to just ignore, consequences be damned.

Right?

Should he say hello? Should he offer to get you home before you truly do become too drunk to be aware of your surroundings?

Regardless of how he feels about you, that would be the responsible, parental thing to do, right?

Jesus fucking Christ, he sighs to himself, downing his water before getting up to see you.

As he gets closer, he hears you humming along to the song, sighing dramatically in between breaths, until you look up to finally meet his eyes and it becomes a gasp.

"Doctor Reid!" you exclaim, sitting straight up and thrusting your arms out in welcome. Your smile is tired, but life has ever-so-slightly begun to creep back into your features. The thought of being a familiar face, and a pleasant one at that, to bring you that life does more to him than he should admit out loud.

A warmth settles into him as your eyes rake over his figure, half-like you can't quite decide if he's real and half-like you might be checking him out.

Don't be weird, he scolds himself, though he's still unable to keep the amused grin from his lips as he greets you gently. Cautiously. "Hello again, sweetheart."

"I'm not spying on Cameron this time, what's your excuse?"

It doesn't entirely make sense, but he understands what you mean. Still, it's not like he can tell you that he was trying to distract himself from thinking about you, so he simply shrugs. "Felt like a change of scenery. I don't get out much."

You giggle a little and slump back down, resting your chin against your hands, still smiling. "Yeah, I know. Are you sad about something, too?"

Spencer shakes his head. "No... Just... bored, I guess."

"Well, you're welcome to join me! I'm not much fun like I used t'be, but the company'd be nice."

How could he deny your invitation, when you're exaggerating a toothy, tipsy smile and batting your eyes like you want something? It charms him almost as much as it scares him.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he tells you, pulling up a chair across from you and sliding in. His leg accidentally bumps into yours, and it sends a chill through him. He tries to keep himself calm and collected, but wonders if he looks spooked, because you give him a look.

Turns out, it's just an inebriated look of disbelief. "No, I really am pathetic these days... You don't have to be nice to me, I know it's the truth."

He knows better than to argue with a woman, especially on a subject so sore, so he takes a different approach. "Well, pathetic or not, I still care about you anyway. So I'm more than happy to sit with you for however long you need the company."

You consider his words and then pout, finishing off your drink before you loudly wave your desire for another drink. "And bring one for my new best friend, too!"

Spencer can't help the laugh that leaves him, though you're too caught up in your own little world to notice it.

The same hostess brings over two drinks, eyeing him suspiciously, but before she walks away, you laugh. "It's okay, Anna! That's Doctor Reid, he's my best friend now. My old best friend is out screwing my ex-boyfriend."

"Who happens to be my son," he offers as a more clear explanation as to why he's taken to 'befriending' this drunk woman in a near-empty bar.

Anna looks between you two and nods, amused but not questioning the drama. "Gotcha. If you need anything, just holler."

The song has started over again by this point, and though Spencer's had a bit more excitement than anticipated, it's not enough to forget about it. He recalls Anna's words and the pitying tone in her voice, and tilts his head, watching as you take another sip of your drink. "How many times have you heard this song today?"

"Dunno," you sigh. "Lost count. Cam and I used to sing it together all the time. Not very well, but it was our thing..."

"Hmm, I didn't know that... I don't think I've heard it until today."

"Yeah, well you don't get out much."

A laugh bubbles up out of him involuntarily once again, your charm—even influenced by alcohol and misery—a natural harbinger of joy. The fact that you probably don't even know it only adds to the experience.

Even the way you laugh at his laughing is infectious, until the two of you are mutually giggling and sipping your drinks, and while the song is not forgotten, it's at the very least drowned out by the sound of laughter. Alcohol still may be involved, sure, but where you'd been tired and lost before, the weariness has been lifted by his hand, if only for a moment, and so for now that would have to do.

Eventually, there's a rather quiet moment between you, a lull in conversation that isn't driven by awkwardness or boredom, but by something else that Spencer can't quite put his finger on. He's not entirely convinced that you've sobered up at all, but the hazy look in your eyes isn't so much drunkenness as much as it is mystified. By what, he doesn't know, but it's making him warmer inside than a singular ounce of any alcohol could ever accomplish.

The thought makes him set down his glass; Perhaps he's had enough.

"What's that look for, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, a little too afraid that he should have omitted the nickname. Where it'd been intended innocently before, this time it comes out entirely different, his enamored, lust-drunk curiosity getting the better of him before he can think differently.

His stomach twists.

Still, that look on your face intensifies, and your head tilts thoughtfully, eyes studying him again. Their trail winds everywhere, from his mouth to his hands to his neck... When you finally meet his gaze again, you lean back in your chair. A smile unlike any other he's ever seen adorns your face and sends a jolt through his nervous system.

"I like when you call me that, you know..."

"Yeah?"

Stop it, Spencer...

You nod slowly, never taking your eyes off of him.

If he were a good man, he'd blame it on the drinking and tell you to get home safe, being on his merry way, considering the fact that you're probably just hurting and desperate to get back at Cameron somehow, and that he's a convenient means to a sweet, revengeful end.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a while, holding your stare and feeling his resolve start to crumble beneath the weight of it. That damn song still drawls out beneath the sharp, distant clatter of dishes and late-lunch conversation, and your pretty eyes are easily the brightest source of light in the whole place, begging him to make a move and singing just as loudly, too. They're waiting. Eager. Hungry... All of it is almost too much to take at once.

And then...

"Let me take you home, sweetheart."

He knows it's mean. He also knows that it's going to hurt. But if he doesn't, he knows he'll end up regretting it.

Spencer helps you out of the building and gives Anna a twenty-dollar tip on the way out.

You're more stable than he thought you'd be, walking in a straight line and not stumbling at all as he takes you to your car. He holds his hand out for your keys, to which you oblige without problem, letting your touch linger. As he helps you in the passenger seat and buckles your seat belt, he notices your eyes are closed, but that you're smiling.

"Something funny?" he asks, getting the buckle in place. Still he remains there, arms trapping you into the seat.

You shake your head and open your eyes, searching the features of his face and sinking further into the upholstery. Your smile softens, but doesn't waver in its genuine joy, which is why it breaks his heart when you reply, "Nope." The word is quiet. Serious. The moment is everything he wished it could be, your eyes swimming with some form of devotion that calls to him like a sirens' song.

Only, he can still smell the inebriation on your breath, potent and grounding him to reality, and so he must continue to be mean.

He smiles at you before pulling away and closing your door, then walking to the drivers' side while taking the deepest breath of his life. It's courage and disappointment and humor all in one fucked-up intake of oxygen, but it gives him the push he needs to finally open the car door and begin your journey home.

The ride is mostly quiet, though, save for your humming. The haunting melody will stick around in his head for weeks, he's sure, just another thing to constantly remind him of you, and another thing to break his heart every time he sees his son's smiling face.

Even though he can feel the fury and confusion and lust swimming around in his body like a whirlpool, Spencer manages to walk you up the stairs of your apartment, and to your door, without losing any ounce of control. He leads you gently through your home until you've reached the bedroom, and even then he doesn't falter.

It does make him nervous though, feeling your hands on him. You're a little more unsteady now, though he attributes that to the soon-to-be broken, unspoken promise of sex. It pains him, knowing he used your influenced in-the-moment attraction to him as an excuse to get you safely home. But had he simply left you there to suffer alone, at the mercy of substances and strangers who might not have been so kind, he would have felt worse.

He helps you take off your shoes and puts your belongings on the bedside table, feeling your eyes on him and hoping you won't remember enough of this later to hate him or hate yourself after the fact.

When Spencer turns around, you're already sitting on the bed, and while the sight of it entices him more than words could accurately say, he refrains. He puts on his most fatherly face, crosses his arms, and braces himself for the blow.

"Come on. Under the covers."

"It's only like noon."

Not quite the response he was expecting, but he can work with it. He smiles, just a little. "It's almost Three-PM. You should really get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Your eyes drop to the floor, and Spencer can feel his heart drop there, too, when you say quietly, "I haven't..."

Against his better judgement, he steps forward and catches your attention again, your head lifting to meet his eyes.

"I know, sweetheart. Sleep."

Your response is a shaky breath and big, watery eyes, the last few weeks of sadness catching up to you. Watching it unfold in real-time is utterly heartbreaking, so much so that when you ask him an unexpected question, he doesn't have the heart, or the brain, to say no.

"Will you sing me to sleep?"

"Of course."

You lie down then, shuffling your way under the covers as Spencer sits down beside you, helping you settle in. His hand instinctively reaches out to gently massage your scalp, something that had always put Cameron to sleep when he'd wake up with nightmares.

Though, he never sang to him. He never was good at it...

Still, because he can't seem to resist your charms, he tries anyway, singing the only thing he can think of at the moment. A newly familiar smoky tune that he now knows every single word to.

"Every woman deserves a moment of weakness. Last night with me was yours, I guess. I must have whispered what you wanted to hear. And when I asked you, you probably said yes."

Softly, you hum along with him on the next part, a duet of desperation and longing that definitely sounds better over the bar speakers, but feels more accurate in this small, sorrowful bedroom.

"Cause it sounds like something I'd say, in the midst of lonely and the Marlboro haze. It sounds better in the dark than in the light of day, but it sounds like something I'd say."

With your eyes closed, you smile, breathing a small laugh through your nose. "You're better at it than he was."

Spencer is surprised by your words and how much they twist this serrated, beautiful knife. They only remind him of the gravity of the situation at hand—at how badly he shouldn't be here right now... He shouldn't care so much, he shouldn't revel in the fact that you're actively feeding into this fantasy where he's healing you and fixing the mistake that his son made...

He shouldn't be falling in love with you.

Of course, he refuses to even consider that possibility, even though he's feeling things around you that he's only ever felt for a few others.

Still, it rattles him enough that after you've finally fallen fast asleep and he walks home, he schedules an extra session with his therapist and takes a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away any lingering trace of you.

Naturally, no amount of scorching water, soap, or steam seems to do the trick.

He wonders if it ever will.

...THE CLEARING

Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest, and in your brain, and in your fingertips... You can practically feel it thrumming in every part of your body as you sit on a log and soak up what small rays of sunshine manage to find their way through the trees.

Thank you for bringing me home earlier... I'm sorry if I made your day weird or inconvenient.

The world around you is beautiful, bright, and lively, though something nameless is missing. You know whatever it is will appear with vivid recognition when he shows up, but there's a small lick of fear creeping up the back of your neck and finding its way into your brain that wonders if he won't... That somehow you've fabricated this whole thing—plucked out imaginary moments of warmth from a desperate place in need of comfort, and neatly placed them in the massive hole left in your heart by Cameron and Danica and their betrayal.

It's not a problem at all. I'm glad you got home safe. Rest, and remember to take your time. These things don't heal overnight.

You hadn't expected Spencer to text you back right away, given that it was just after midnight and you'd never really known him to be much of a night owl. Not to mention you probably should have deleted his phone number after the breakup in the first place. Sure, he had been kind to you after everything which was a relief and a comfort, but there had to be some unspoken rule about late-night texting your ex-boyfriend's dad and expecting a response, much less right away.

But then, your phone lit up with his message almost immediately, and there was an odd clenching in your stomach that refused to subside even long into the early hours of morning.

Your fingers moved in response before your brain had a chance to think it over.

Did you sing to me or did I make that up?

There was a bit more time after that until he responded, and you swore you'd fucked it all up. You threw up and downed a glass of water, but when you picked up your phone again, his name was there. You were suddenly nauseous again, but at the mercy of something else, something familiar and foreign all at once.

I don't know if I'd call what I did "singing"... But sure. Ha

God, you hadn't smiled so hard in... Could you even remember how long it had been? Even now, you think on it and can't even come up with a ballpark answer, which should sadden you but only makes your heart flutter once more. In that moment, reading his words, memories came flooding back. Flickers of your drunken afternoon with Spencer started to string together, feeling more like a movie and less like a silly revenge fantasy.

Without even thinking, you texted him with the truth, even if you didn't quite know what it meant yet.

Either way, I like hearing your voice. It'd be nice to hear it more often.

His response made you laugh so hard you almost threw up again.

Are you still drunk?

You weren't, and you aren't, but you may as well be. Merely the thought of him has you dizzy, and every day it grows worse and worse as you text and talk on the phone like you're best friends.

This morning's message still sings in the back of your mind as you wait for him, melodically bright and filling in the gaps of silence where the trees don't rustle.

Is it weird that I really want to see you again?

You replied, Is it weird that I don’t think that’s weird at all?

And since then you’ve wondered, is it even weirder that you’d go so far to say you’re so incredibly flattered by his words that your entire body pulsates with a violent wave of heat just thinking about seeing him face-to-face again?

The gentle breeze does nothing to cool you down, the sweet, damning effect of Spencer Reid burying you alive even hours later.

When you spot him, the world stops rotating. He’s bright smiles and warm eyes and long, fluid limbs, and as he makes his way towards you, you forget how to stand. Your ass is completely glued to its resting spot on the log, and your legs are of no help. All you can do is stare at him and feel your heart flutter rapidly in your chest. You’re not even sure if you’re smiling, though the thought of being caught just staring at him with your tongue practically hanging out is embarrassing enough to pull one from you anyway.

Only when his hand extends to help you up do you finally snap out of whatever dream-world you’ve put yourself in and clear your throat with an avoidant laugh.

“Hi,” you greet him stupidly, still too overwhelmed by him to try anything more interesting.

Spencer grins down at you, your gaze trailing softly upwards along the length of his face until you meet his eyes, and only then does he reply, “Hi.”

The word is infinitely more interesting coming from his well-spoken, experienced lips. They even go the extra mile, twitching up into a larger grin at your silence.

You’re lovesick, he’s amused, and this is entirely fucked.

“What were you up to today?”

Thankfully, even your poor attempt at small talk is merely a small embarrassment scrawled in sand and violently washed away by the tides of his voice. When he speaks, it cleanses you. Clears your mind. Offers a clean slate.

“Nothing special… Read a couple books, made some lunch… If I’m being honest, I mostly just tried to occupy my mind while I waited to come see you.”

Despite the clear setup for him to be cheeky or smug about it, Spencer’s words only exude comfortable honesty. He doesn’t tell you this to get you blushing or to take advantage of this situation. No, every word is spoken without an ulterior motive at all. Though, his sparkling eyes seem to tell a different story.

“Same,” you confess through a small laugh. “I know I joked about you being my new best friend at the bar, but these days it really does feel like it.”

“So you do remember that day…”

“Most of it, yeah. Kind of embarrassed about that to be honest…”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, only hums consideringly as he squeezes your hand. The small gesture suddenly reminds you of his physical presence, and a rush of warmth pulses at your fingertips.

“Truthfully, I am, too.”

This takes you by surprise. “How?”

He seems to regret saying anything, a quick flash of panic in his eyes before he sighs and squeezes your hand again. “Knowing it was my son who did that to you, and not understanding why… You have no idea how much I… I hate that I can’t figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not your responsibility… I guess that’s mostly why I’m embarrassed about the whole thing. You shouldn’t have to fix something that you didn’t break.”

“Didn’t I, though? In one way or another?”

The intense emotion swirling in his eyes takes over you like a tidal wave, and suddenly you’re heartbroken for another reason entirely.

“Don’t get all philosophical on me over this,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand back. “Cameron made that decision, not you. You’re not him.”

“But he’s part of me.”

“So? You didn’t break my heart, he did. And I don’t care what you have to say about that. You are a good man and a good father, and you shouldn’t doubt that.”

You aren’t sure what you expected as a response, but it surely wasn’t the bitter laugh that tumbles from his lips.

“What?” you ask sharply in desperation, grabbing his other hand and practically begging him to listen to you. “What’s so funny?”

Spencer sighs, pulling you flush to his body and taking your breath away in one second flat.

“I doubt those things every damn second I’m with you…”

Not only is your breath gone, but now the ability to think has gone with it. All you know is Spencer. His eyes are pulling you in and daring you to look away. His hands are sliding up the expanse of your arms, and chills erupt in their wake. The world around you has faded to a nothingness that isn’t even scary. It’s just forgotten. Irrelevant.

The only thing that feels natural is the way you tilt your head to brush your lips over his. Just lightly, barely even a touch at all. Still, the intimate contact shocks you at first, bringing you to life in a way you hadn’t thought possible. Slowly, you lean into it, and he does, too. With each second that passes, this one press of your lips against his becomes stronger, the two of you drawing more and more near until it’s all there is.

And then, when his mouth parts, inviting you deeper, it’s like he swallows you whole. Your body melts into his as he welcomes you into his entire world, hugging and kissing you at the same time. Behind closed lids, your eyes flutter to the back of your head, a soft whine escaping your throat and feeding Spencer’s desire until it becomes heavy.

A slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue into your mouth and the sudden press of his erection to your thigh is what jolts a sense of reality into you, and as much as your body is screaming at you to indulge, you know there will, in fact, be consequences.

You pull yourself away from him, just enough to disconnect your lips and remove yourself from the world of lust he’s opened for you. Still, his arms embrace you, loose and comforting and ready to conform to however you see fit.

Spencer stares at you, waiting, studying your kissed-out, panting lips and the panic settling in your eyes as the reality of the situation catches up with you.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, still clutching onto his shirt and then letting it go to smooth it out. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

When you meet his eyes again, they haven’t changed. A vibrant chill runs through you again, but you’re still cognisant— Still worried about how fucked it is that you’ve just made out with your ex-boyfriend’s father. Still praying to whoever or whatever is listening that you didn’t just ruin this beautiful friendship you’ve started to form—the one thing that was beginning to pull you out of the darkest period of your life thus far.

You’re scared, you realize, as you stare into Spencer’s eyes, charged, unresolved need hanging thickly in the atmosphere around you. 

You’re terrified, and yet something urges you forward.

Whether it’s insanity or stupidity or desperation to feel something, you don’t know, but the way he practically catches you and welcomes you back without stumbling is satisfying enough to quell the need for answers.

Besides, his lips are the only answer you want, frankly.

You lunge and kiss him with a fervor that makes you question everything about your previous relationship and this new bond you’ve started to form with Spencer after the fact, but only for half a second before his own fervor only rivals it. In fact, the way his mouth possesses yours—coaxing your submission from you with just a few meticulous strokes of the tongue—has you wondering if perhaps he’s going through a similar dilemma.

How long has he wanted this? Has he dreamt of it? He sure as fuck kisses you like he has, but how much of that is truth and how much is merely a product of your unspoken, deep-seeded desire to get Cameron back for what he did to you?

And would he actually be willing to offer you that satisfaction, if you asked?

Perhaps you’ll ask him these things another time, but at the moment, your brain is more than ready to grow numb at the mercy of Spencer’s kisses.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Weird black neglected!reader and the things the hate about the batboys do that disgust reader

So basically, there was a post ask what the bafamily does that disgust readers, or what disgusts readers—that's something like that. I can't find the ask because I answered it by accident when I wasn't finished, so whoever asked, you know who you are.

What disgusts readers the most about Bruce is his playboy persona; it irks readers to their core. Readers have always held Bruce to high expectations because their mom only spoke well of him. But all that changes when they attend a gala and see Bruce flirting with a girl decades younger than him. It makes their blood boil. Readers know the next girl is just the woman of the month, maybe day. When they were younger, a lot of the ladies would try to be nice to readers just to get on Bruce's good side. And Bruce tries to tell the reader it's just a fling and it means nothing, so no one will think he's the bad guy, but you don't care (he could be loyal, and loyal to your mother). Making the bat really guilty.

Dick, with his fake smiles and womanizing ways, makes it hard for the reader to support someone who hides their feelings or opinions when reporters or paparazzi approach him. He feels compelled to smile even while seething inside. Not only that, the reader dislikes when Dick attempts to fix everyone else's problems just to elevate himself and suppress his feelings; his womanizing tendencies are even more off-putting. The reader once looked up to Dick as a younger sibling would to an older brother, but his constant flirting with anyone within a five-mile radius has turned that admiration into disdain. This makes your poor older brother feel horrible and like a bad remodel.

Jason's nonchalance or indifference to things is perplexing, especially since you know deep down he is passionate about something he cares about. Yet, he'll never express this, at least not with you. He acts as if nothing is wrong when there is indeed something wrong. Deep down, a little Robin is screaming out and asking for help, but he'll never let it out. This type of denial disgusts the reader. Being your true self is the best self you can be; being passionate and headstrong is the best feeling in the world. Yet, he refuses to embrace it; he would rather stay constant than move forward. Jason really wants to make connections; he desperately wants to be a part of something. He wants to confide in the reader, but it might be a little too late for that.

Tim, a hypocrite and a smart-ass, reader is okay with being corrected; it just shows that they needs to learn. However, nitpicking every little thing he does really irks them. Telling the reader that something is wrong is not actual criticism; it’s just a way to put someone down. Boy, he is such a hypocrite! Timothy will literally tell you that monsters are bad, yet he goes and downs six Red Bulls before a patrol. Sure, he needs the energy, but he could eat a protein bar like a regular person. Not to mention, he is always telling you that something is really unhealthy, only for him to eat little to nothing at all. You always snap at him, and he’ll try to tell you he’s looking out for you like a brother should, but you don’t care. He really just wants you to be better than him, and be more responsible but the reader doesn't care for that.

Damian, pretentious and with a God complex, is literally an Arabian prince, so what did you expect from that little twerp? He thinks he’s better when he’s not that special. He’ll show off to readers every day and in every way. You pick up new hobbies, and it's his hobby now, and he’ll be better at it than you, probably discouraging you in the process and making you give up. If you're good, he'll try to be twice as good. Some younger siblings want to be like their big brother or sister or whatever, and it’s cute, but this isn’t cute; this is just stupid, and you hate it because Alfred always makes you hang out with the hellspawn. He’ll show off to your friends or brag about being Robin or how he used to live before the manor, and you want to hit the living daylights out of him. But even if you're taller, the kid was trained to kill at birth, so there’s no way. But all of this is because he really wants your attention and praise. You’re the only person in the house who doesn’t praise him or give him the time of day. He’s your younger brother; he shouldn’t be ignored like this. He’s royalty! Why are you rolling your eyes while he’s telling you about all the places he's been? You should be clapping and smiling—don’t ignore him!

[tikitakatia]

Fixer Upper — A. Putellas x Reader

"Not My Circus, Still My Monkey"

WC: 1.5k

Summary: A few missed calls, one goat in the locker room, and somehow, you're the one writing apology emails to management.

You wake up to twelve missed calls, three texts, and a voice note from Alexia that just says:

“Hola cariño… There's a goat in the locker room. And I think it’s mad at me.”

You don't scream. You don't even sigh. You just lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the phone pressed to your face, trying to piece together which specific life choices led to you dating one of Spain's most decorated footballers, and also the human equivalent of a disaster waiting to happen.

You call her back.

“Please tell me that was some weird metaphor,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“Nope!” she replies cheerfully, popping the p. “It’s literal. He even has the little horns and everything.”

By the time you get to the training facility, the goat has made itself disturbingly comfortable. It’s in the locker room, snacking on a protein bar wrapper. Irene is crouched next to it, looking like she’s been babysitting a toddler with questionable decision-making skills.

You walk in, half-expecting the usual football drama, but instead, you're greeted by this. The goat. The snacks. The unsettling calm. Alexia is sitting on the bench, completely unfazed, wearing joggers and a sports bra as if a goat’s presence is just another part of her everyday life.

“You named it?” you ask, eyeing the hastily written “KIKO” on a piece of paper taped to the goat’s side.

Alexia shrugs, completely casual. “Felt rude not to.”

“Kiko’s got trauma,” you deadpan, narrowing your eyes. “I can see it in his eyes.”

“He bit Patri,” Alexia adds with the sort of nonchalance that only someone who’s caused an incident could muster.

Patri, sitting across the room with a frozen peas bag in her hand, offers a thumbs-up. 

“Deserved.”

You close your eyes briefly. You really, really should have stayed in bed today.

“Walk me through this. Slowly,” you mutter.

Apparently, last night’s evening training ended with Alexia “rescuing” the goat from a farm nearby. Why, you ask. Well, the poor thing was outside in a field, “looking lonely and sad” according to the blonde, and she just couldn’t leave him there. He was apparently “baa-ing pathetically” and needed a change of scenery and some friends. So naturally, she decided to bring him to the Barça training grounds. Farm field, football field. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Pere walked in, took one look at the goat, sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Without a single word to the team, he turned on his heel and walked straight out, muttering that practice was delayed until “this problem” had been resolved. That’s where the logic train derailed entirely. Now, you’re left standing in the locker room, trying to process how one of Europe's top football clubs has devolved into a petting zoo.

You can’t just call animal services. No, that would be too easy. First, you have to grill Alexia about where she found Kiko.

“Where did you get him?” you ask, arms crossed, eyeing the goat like it’s about to burst into flames.

“I... I can’t tell you,” Alexia says, looking extremely protective of the goat, as though she personally gave birth to it.

“Why? What’s the big secret?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a farm... a private farm,” she says, her eyes shifting as if she’s trying to avoid your gaze. 

“And I think he could be the club mascot.”

You stare at her for a moment, blinking. This is the point in the conversation where your brain asks if you should be worried about the state of your life choices. Of course, you don’t even bother asking if she’s serious. She is.

And that’s how you end up spending the next half hour chasing down the farm’s owner, trying to figure out where in the world this goat came from. You finally reach a very upset farmer, who sounds more like he’s about to implode than help.

“I don’t know who let that goat leave,” the farmer grumbles, his voice frantic. “He’s my favorite goat, I was worried sick! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for him? You can’t just take a goat like that! What kind of asshole steals a goat?! I'm calling the cops on you!”

You swallow hard. There’s no way you’re dealing with a police situation over a goat. Not today.

“Wait, no, please don’t call the cops,” you say, trying not to sound like you're begging, but let’s be honest, you really are. “Look, I’ll send you some tickets to the next game, good seats. VIP treatment. The best we’ve got. And I’ll... I’ll take care of the whole thing. Just don’t... don’t call the police. Please.”

The farmer pauses, his tone wavering slightly. After some back-and-forth that involves you discussing what exactly the VIP experience entails (and throwing in some team memorabilia for good measure), the farmer reluctantly agrees. “Fine. But you make sure he’s brought back to the farm, you hear me? I don’t want him roaming around anymore.”

You let out a sigh of relief and hang up. One crisis averted. Or so you think.

You turn to Alexia, who’s standing in the corner, casually sipping her water like she didn’t just steal a farm animal and bring it into the team’s locker room.

“I got him, okay?” you say, trying to keep your cool. “The goat’s going home. But you need to tell me where exactly you found him. Now.”

Alexia just grins at you, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Maybe it’s better if we keep this our little secret,” she says, winking.

You want to say something sharp. You want to remind her that you're the one who’s been dealing with this whole mess while she’s been acting like it’s all some sort of adventure. But you don’t. Instead, you turn back to your phone to draft yet another email, this time to the club’s management, explaining the situation and the implications for the field.

Typing with all the formal professionalism you can muster, you write: “My client regrets the goat-related disturbance.” You then go on to clarify that Kiko’s “enthusiasm for grass” has “disrupted the quality of the pitch’s surface” and caused the field to be “unearthed” in places. You make sure to mention that Kiko is, unfortunately, not a “FIFA-approved emotional support animal.”

Alexia reads your email, then looks up at you. You half-expect her to apologize, maybe at least offer a hint of regret. But no, of course not.

Instead, she grins. “Why’d you call me your client?”

You blink, trying to keep your cool, but the day's gone too far off the rails for any semblance of composure. “Because I’m trying really hard not to call you my problem.”

Her grin widens, clearly enjoying every second of your escalating stress. She steps closer, and you immediately feel the gravitational pull of her unshakable confidence, like she’s defying the very laws of nature and casually bending your sanity in half.

“I am though.” she says, her voice smug, teasing, and so completely certain of itself that it radiates from her. She’s practically in your face now, daring you to say anything, her confidence as palpable as a weight in the room.

You sigh again, not because you don’t want to kiss her (you do), but because you know exactly where this is heading. And, frankly, you’re not sure if your fragile sanity can handle any more right now.

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, voice flat.

She presses her lips to yours quickly. Just a soft, affectionate kiss, as though this isn’t the third crisis you’ve had to sort before your first coffee. You let her, of course. You always let her.

When she pulls back, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her grin growing wider. It’s the kind of grin that says, “I know exactly what I’ve just done to you, and I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

“Oh, by the way..” she adds, casually, as if she’s just reminding you of the time you accidentally threw your keys in the garbage. “Kiko peed on your laptop bag.”

You freeze, staring at her, your brain still struggling to process the fact that you've gone from a relatively normal morning to this. Your mouth opens and closes, but all you can manage is a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a small, defeated groan.

Her grin widens like she’s just told you the funniest joke in history. “It’s just a little pee,” she says, as though it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to add to your already ruined day. “What’s the big deal?”

You rub your temples, wondering how much more of this you can take. 

“I love you..” she says with a tiny, embarrassed chuckle. Clearly pleased with herself, and yet somehow still acting like she’s the victim in this scenario.

You blink, mind still racing as you try to find something to hold on to. 

“I love Beta blockers,” you reply with a tone dry as dust. At this point, you can’t think of a better way to cope with this absurdity.

Just when you think you’ve reached the limit, Alexia, without skipping a beat, drops her final bombshell. 

“Mi amor,” she says, “when are we getting Kiko a jersey? You know, for the team?”

You don’t even look at her, your voice flat. “I’ll get right on that.”

She grins and gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, clearly pleased.

“You’re the best.”

You resist the urge to scream.

[mullermilkshake]

Realisation is a fucking eyesore

Part 20 <- Part 21 -> Part 22

The aftermath is excruciating. Jinwoo gets your true perspective.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Pregnant!reader Tags - Mentions of potential self harm, Yandere thoughts/behaviours, Mental health, Body horror (eyes)

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST CLOSED

“How could he not have known she was in there?”

Jong-in was a fucking idiot.

“He was embarrassed when he got here.” You defended him. “He said he looked here already, three times and called, then he saw all the missed calls from his phone. Just the wrong place, wrong time.”

Were you still punishing Jinwoo for the way he behaved? Sure he did something he never should have done to you, but you were incredibly forgiving of Jong-in's behaviour. And that was fucked up.

“I guess… but if it were me, I would have found you immediately.”

You nodded, rubbing your arms for warmth over your little jacket. “I know that, but Jong-in isn’t you, he doesn’t have your resources. I wouldn’t give him too much of a hard time. Hae-in’s back with him, and safe. That’s all that matters right now. But what I’m concerned about is what’s going on in that place. That’s what we should be thinking about.”

Jinwoo slipped his jacket off to settle over your shoulders, he listened out for your quiet ‘thank you’. He was suspicious of why you had changed your tune so suddenly. You were worried about getting Hae-in out, yes. But the overall subject came across as moot from you, Jinwoo couldn’t understand it.

As much as he was happy you didn’t cause issues, he was expecting more of a fight or disruption. Had your will and independence melted into the pavement in the ten minutes he was gone? Or perhaps Jong-in said something to you while Jinwoo was away?

Jinwoo could just imagine a big, grand gesture at your feet, Jong-in only coming because you called him and had nothing to do with Hae-in. No… you weren’t dense to it, even if you were oblivious to the way Jong-in felt towards you. After everything you said to him in the apartment, you wouldn’t bend to outside influences so easily.

“What do you think is going on?” Jinwoo took your hand like a lifeline.

“I-I don’t know…” You said. “The whole thing is odd, hearing her so frantic, so sure that this is what’s going on. I don’t know what to believe. What did the doctor say?”

“She was pretty sure that Hae-in wanted to hurt herself. That’s the gist of it anyway.”

“Fucking hell… You don’t think she would have, right?” Was that all you would say on the matter?

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Jinwoo decided to take a different approach “She was really distressed. It was a bit strange though, right? I’ve never seen Hae-in like that.”

“I know, it’s taken a moment to process it, I just wanted her out of there. After having time to think about it, I definitely won’t be going back inside that place… sorry I freaked out.”

“It’s alright, just take a step back and remember that you’re pregnant. You can’t go stressing yourself like that.”

Something wasn’t right.

“I know. I wasn’t thinking… it’s just seeing her like that- I want to blame baby brain, but I can’t, can I?”

What the hell was going on with you? “You’re incredibly blase about this.”

You slowed for a second, wide eyed in his jacket where the cuffs dangled past your fingers. “I’m not-“

“You are. If anything that Hae-in said was true, we have a bigger problem on our hands. Our babies could be at risk and you’re acting like we just went out for coffee or something, what’s wrong?”

“No, Jinwoo, it’s not like that. Please don't-“

“Then what is it?”

“If I think about what she said, and it turns out to be true, I can’t bear it!” You halted in the middle of the pathway, ripping your hand from his in a fit of defiance. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this while also trying to be strong for Hae-in, then you yank me out of there and make what is already a terrifying thought closer to reality! I’m terrified already, Jinwoo, I don’t need another thing on my plate right now…” You sniffled into his jacket in an attempt to hide yourself. “As soon as I heard those words, my heart broke, but if I’m supposed to become a mom, then how can I panic in front of the babies? They feel everything I do, I can’t hide any of it!”

The mana spike coming from you pulsed the strongest it had ever done thus far in the pregnancy. Still, Jinwoo challenged you. He wanted answers.

“So you’d rather ignore it?” In hindsight, it was a dick move stressing you out just to get answers.

“No! I just need to deal with it in my own way. I- just forget about it, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Wait.” Jinwoo grabbed your wrist to stop you leaving, you didn’t resist much. “Then help me to understand, because we can’t be falling apart right now. Baby please, not after all this tonight. We’re on our own and we shouldn’t be at each other's throats. The association’s left us to our own devices so we have to decide how to move forward.”

“I feel guilty. Okay? I feel guilty that I even entertained the idea of going in there. I put my trust in the institution that’s accepted us for who we are and our abilities, and they’re up to something shady. Something we can't see.”

Your eyes were wet, tearfully dripping down your shirt, you rubbed your belly like any mother-to-be would. “What if that were me in that bed and I went there willingly just like Hae-in did? What if they really want to take her baby? What if I’m next? Or there’s the next harsh possibility that Hae-in is sick and she’s seeing things. Thinking dangerous things. Is that why she’s saying they want to take her baby away? I don’t know. And it’s killing me.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, it’s not your fault.”

“So why can’t I stop feeling guilt? Why am I trying to ignore everything I saw in there so that I might feel a little better? I’m a terrible person… A terrible person who just wants to be with you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I pulled something like this and you left me-“

“I wouldn’t do that.” Jinwoo did not let go in fear you’d run away from him and he’d never catch back up. You were making leaps and bounds properly in his direction and admitting what he wanted to hear for the first time. “We’ve been through this already. Don’t say things like that. I’ll never leave you… And you’ll never be in Hae-in’s position because I’d burn the whole association down before that happened.”

Should he say it?

“I’d kill before that happened.”

Shaking your head never swayed him, you wiped away the wet from your face with the jacket sleeve. “One day you might think differently, and that thought terrifies me if I think about it.”

“I won’t- why are you thinking like that?”

Where were you going with this? Why did it sound like a break up? Jinwoo wouldn’t allow that, he couldn’t. But as he stood there watching you, his heart pushed his brain to assume the worst with something he couldn't control, even as the S-Rank he was.

“The last twenty four hours have been ridiculous. And with each second that passes, I can’t get it out of my head that we’re getting married at some point… and when I think of that, it comes over me like ocean waves, but the tide’s coming in now.”

“What does that mean?” 

This is it, she’s done with me. It’s how this goes, right? 

“It means that I’m evolving, Jinwoo.” That could mean you were finished with him. “And it’s getting to the point that I can’t think of my future where you’re not in it. God, this is crazy! My head is all over the place, but if I did things all over again, I’m convincing myself that I’d do all of this again and I can’t put a reason to it.”

“So… you’re not breaking up with me.”

“What?! No!” You pulled him into an embrace as close as you could and the babies mana fluctuations ceased. “Why would you think that?”

“I just- look, I think we tackled this wrong.”

“I wouldn’t break up with you over this.” Your eyes were glossy as though they’d tear up again at the next word. “Things are happening so fast and my emotions and feelings are constantly changing… if anything, tonight has shown me just how far you’re willing to go and how much you care for me.”

Jinwoo exhaled one long breath, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “I care more than you know. Fuck- I’m so sorry for what I did, I just needed you out of there as soon as possible in case things got bad. I know I left Hae-in on her own, but here’s the ugly truth.”

He prepared to get hit in the face by the way the night had gone, but who was keeping score now?

“You are more important to me. If I had to choose between you and Hae-in, I’d choose you everytime. Everything comes as a second thought when you’re involved. That’s how much you mean to me. I didn’t forget about Hae-in, but your safety is paramount. Our babies safety is crucial.”

When it came to silence, Jinwoo just kept talking.

“I’m so sorry I shouted, and I wish I could take back how I handled the situation. I didn’t mean to hurt you, or put my hands on you. I just didn’t know what to do, and I went into autopilot.”

You did not slap him, nor shout, just gave him those beautiful doe eyes he loved so much. “Look, if it were any other situation, I would have been pretty turned on with you pulling me about like that, but please don’t do it again… That being said, I’m sorry I just buried my head in the sand and tried to deal with it on my own…”

“Baby, don’t apologise-”

“The truth is, Jinwoo… I’m really not okay. I haven’t been for a while and I think tonight just tipped me over the edge so that I shut down instead of opening up to you.” You looked down the street away from his gaze and anywhere else that wasn’t on him. “The thought of something like tonight happening to me is too real and I’m terrified all over again, it’s one vicious cycle and I don’t know how to tackle it.”

“Then we do it together. I won’t know unless you tell me everything… You can trust me, I hope you know that- like really know that.”

If you came to Jinwoo tonight after having killed someone, he’d take care of the body himself without so much as an acknowledgement that you’d even done anything illegal.

“I do... My emotions and thoughts are all over the place at the best of times. I know I shouldn’t wish it away, but I really can’t wait until I’m not pregnant anymore and the twins are here. I want to feel like me again. And with all this on top, I want- seriously, I don’t know what to think.”

Jinwoo rubbed your baby bump, secretly hoping that those S-Rank babies were good at telepathy or something, sending messages to them to try and not go so hard on their mom and calm down on the whole mana absorption thing. 

Nothing changed.

Okay, so the babies aren’t telepathic, noted. 

“Anyway… enough about all that. What are we going to do about Hae-in and Jong-in?” You linked your hand with his and continued walking back home.

As far as Jinwoo was concerned, Jong-in could kick rocks for all he cared. And Hae-in? Well, she wasn’t Jinwoo’s priority either. But now, Jong-in had a reason not to be around you with Hae-in being the way she was. While too dark to admit out loud, Jinwoo understood that this couldn’t have gone any better for him.

Jong-in was distracted, the association had knelt to Jinwoo due to the engagement, the association doctor backed off pretty quickly and seemed to understand that his threats left nothing to ambiguity.

And lastly, he was going to marry you and keep you close. At last. 

Even so, he couldn’t expressly state that to you, could he?

“I think we play it as it goes, the long game. We keep our ears to the ground and wait to see if we pick anything up. We’re halfway there and you need plenty of rest to grow our babies. So let me deal with it, yeah? I don’t want you worrying anymore, I’ll handle everything.”

“That’s a lot on your shoulders, Jinwoo.”

“Let me worry about that, just focus on yourself and stay stress free. I have a feeling that it’ll all work itself out if we let it.”

“How do we do that?”

The only thing he really could do. Sit and wait.

Jinwoo would investigate wit ha hard head if he didn’t have you and the twins to think about. If he went to far too soon, you’d see his darker side for what it was, and you’d run away from him. If he sat back too much, the association would go unchecked like a festering sore.

Things would be so much easier if I just wiped them all away out of existence. 

Jinwoo had no choice but to stick with the not-so-happy median. “If there really is something shady going on, then we let the association hang themselves with their own betrayal.”

And then Jinwoo would burn them all.

“And what if it’s all a misunderstanding?”

“Then it’ll all calm down once Hae-in is settled and Jong-in takes control of his end of things.” 

Or just gets his head out of his ass and quits talking to my fiancé, full stop. 

“And that doctor in the meantime? I still have to go to my appointments. And then there’s labour and everything else- oh my god… this is a shit show.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll deal with her. Something tells me that she won’t be an issue now. I attached a shadow to her just in case. But… it’s odd, I’m not getting anything from it, like the shadow keeps getting lost. Yet she has no mana, and I couldn't see any aura… It’s something to take into account, I’ll keep an eye on it.”

If she became an issue, Jinwoo would burn her eyes right out of the sockets.

“Really? That is odd.”

“Don’t overthink it, baby.”

“Ugh… I still can’t get over how weird this night has been. The twins are kicking like crazy, it’s making my stomach flutter.”

Jinwoo smiled, shoving away the dark stuff for just a moment. “See? They’re trying to tell you to take a deep breath and-”

Your stomach rumbled.

“No wait, I think I’m just hungry.” 

“Yeah, I think you are.”

“These cravings will be the death of me.”

And then you laughed, more like cackled in the street after the long night now behind you. Jinwoo couldn’t stifle his amusement either, his shoulders bouncing at the little slice of life amidst the darkness.

The darkness he’d make even darker if the association tried to test him further.

Part 20 <- Part 21 -> Part 22

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[burningcheese-merchant]

I like the fact that the devs agreed and added the parallel that the ancients are all very kind to themselves, even at their worst, how vulnerable they can be. In chapter 10, HB accepts Lily's wrongdoings, and despite the fact that it took her a while to process her trauma, she tries to make peace with her.

Now with the beasts, it's so different because, if you notice, despite having a problem, they don't try to change their ways. That's why most of them don't understand each other; their philosophy clashes greatly. Despite one of them claiming to be very close, in reality, each and every one of them feels so alone. It's undeniable how many people still believe they're close.

It's fascinating to see their parallels. It's good to know they're not close; it's complex and interesting. I want to add about episode 10 i feel outraged by the fact that no one talks about how complex ES's character was the last part of the episode made me cry because i know she only had one purpose when she was created and the fact that HB proposed to her to leave their garden and go with her was the most painful and touched me so much. (seriously my friends asked me if i was okay because i cried a lot LOL) everyone thinks it's an unrequited love, if it wasn't reciprocated HB wouldn't take the time to understand ES and explain to her that the world doesn't have to be perfect like she describes it. it's an episode with a queer tragedy explained in the hardest but sweetest way possible... And the game is from a country that litteraly is a sin to be like this or not good received as well.

All of the BxA r Indeed were pure art but with different narratives as well

Yeah definitely!! I've always loved the parallels between the Beasts and Ancients - not just individually, but as groups. While they both endured equally great suffering, in the end, the Beasts chose the easy way out. They chose darkness and despair. They chose to inflict their suffering onto others instead of properly addressing themselves and their shortcomings. And what's fascinating is that, for a time, the Ancients chose similarly: Golden Cheese succumbed to delusion and hid herself in a fantasy world in order to assuage her grief, Hollyberry abdicated and ran away from her family and her people and her life, drinking and fighting and partying her woes away, Dark Cacao built literal and figurative walls around himself and shut everyone out, Pure Vanilla was an amnesiac for a while, thus technically foregoing truth (albeit not necessarily by choice), then he allowed himself to be a Cookie of Deceit for a while, White Lily... we know what happened to her lol. But they managed to save themselves because they had each other. For each and every one of them, their salvation and enlightenment came when they remembered their bonds with each other and with others they care for. It was that sense of connection and community, which never ever broke despite everything that happened to them. And then opposite to them are the Beasts, who broke apart and descended into villainy because they themselves did not have those connections; not just in reference to them never having had the chance to live as normal people, but in reference to their bonds with each other specifically. I believe now more than ever that they never REALLY cared for each other. That they were never REALLY friends. If they were, why didn't they help each other when they started corrupting? Example, Burning Spice: I believe that what he needed the most was assurance that the cycle of change is not and does not need to be inherently painful or bleak. That there is good and meaning in that endless repetition. What would've helped was him having a constant in his life; someone or something that was always there with him even while everything and everyone else slipped away, as the cycle of change mandates. For all intents and purposes, the other Beasts should have been that constant; they're immortal too. They're gods too. They're his friends. They WERE his friends. Or... were they not? I don't really think so anymore. What the Ancients have together, the Beasts either had a very weak and fragile copy, or never really had at all. IF they were ever friends, they were pretty shitty ones lol. And that's a big part of why they corrupted, and why they're all so bitter and lonely: they each feel as though no one ever understood them or their struggles, not even their supposed "friends". Then these 5 thieves come along and inadvertently give them that lifeline, to which they all react differently (in how they express their attachment, I mean. They're all obsessed but they let it show differently and to different levels), but underneath those differences lies a shared feeling: "oh God, someone finally understands me, someone finally feels what I feel, I can't ever let them go, I need them". It's so horrendously sad and disturbing and darkly fascinating. I love it. I love these pairs, I love talking about them, I can do it forever

And I agree with you that Eternal Sugar is a complex and very interesting character, and I'm disappointed in the people that think otherwise (I hate saying this, but a lot of the complaints kind of sound like they're just butthurt that Eternalberry was canonized and they're looking for any excuse to tear the update down because of it). She seems to be a step above Mystic Flour in that she really, truly thinks she's doing something GOOD (MF behaves this way as well, but ES is legitimately delusional). She actually thinks she's helping people. Deep down, she DOES understand that she's a bad person and she's only hurting those she claims to care for, Hollyberry included, and this dialogue demonstrates such:

She seems to have succumbed to a form of insanity above that of other Beasts; she is still clinging to her old desires to carry out her godly duties and make people happy, but her perception of such has become so warped that she actually thinks things like keeping people in jars forever is making them happy. Furthermore, she purposefully orchestrates situations that "prove" her mindset and ideals correct (allowing people to leave the garden if they wish ("see? I'm not controlling! I'm not desperate! I'm not a dictator! You can leave, it's ok!"), but having them leave while smelling like the perfume that permeates the whole area so Beast-Yeast monsters are drawn to and attack them, thus forcing them back into the garden and further convincing them that it's a safe haven and they belong there). So much confirmation bias with Sugar, it's crazy. SHE is crazy. She is LEGITIMATELY crazy, a sort of crazy that the others aren't, not even Shadow Milk. It is delightfully awful. She is delightfully awful

And oh... Holly... Holly and Sugar... Passion and Sloth... Them...

One begs the other to stay... The other begs them to wake up and leave. Holly is now the second Ancient to fully, directly express understanding and sympathy towards their Beast. She's now the second to fully, directly state that she wants to be with their Beast.

She's HAPPY at the prospect of them being together. Of being two halves of a soul. She would GLADLY complete Sugar and let Sugar complete her... but Sugar has to wake up first. She has to see the error of her ways. She has to leave her garden. And Sugar agrees to this. She probably didn't really mean it, she was probably just swept up in the Yuri Wave and saying what she thought Holly wanted her to say, but even so. I think it's meaningful. Out of all the Beasts, I think Sugar has the best shot of being redeemed. And she has just the right Ancient to help her with such a thing. (Tbh I think they can all be fixed. Not easily, not right away, absolutely not. It would take time and effort and a lot of very painful conversations and realizations on everyone's part. But I think it can be done. Each of them has shown that one little seed of doubt, of regret, of disillusionment. Each one of them has faltered, if only for a moment. Because of that, I think somewhere deep down inside of them is someone worth saving. But that's just me haha) Beast x Ancient is 5 different, delicious flavors of a beautiful and compelling tragedy and they kill and resurrect me several times a day