#then I've probably been abducted

[cosmicmouseart]

I wanted to make them JoJo pose <3

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

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Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

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That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

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The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

You kept your voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

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Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

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The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

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You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

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part III　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[cheriesbucky]

THE PERFECT FIT • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY : In a tense, overworked precinct, the team grapples with the challenge of an elusive suspect and considers an undercover operation. Rossi identifies a perfect candidate for the task, trusting her experience and ability to seamlessly blend into the unsub's world.

PAIRING : fem!oc x spencer reid

a/n : hi it’s me again! so obviously this is just the first part of a hopefully long series ? i have a lot planned but if you have any suggestions pls send them my way!

you will learn so much about my oc along the way so rest assured the mysteries will soon all be revealed.

english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry for the mistakes!!

wc : 3.2k

tysm to my sweet angels @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id for your insights and help on this first chapter<33

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In a precinct nestled within the city of Los Angeles, California, the air was heavy. The scent of stale coffee was persistent along with the monotonous hum of an overworked fluorescent light. The room buzzed with urgency, its walls plastered with boards full of frantic scribbles and blurred photographs — each a crucial piece of the puzzle in their elusive case. The table was a chaotic landscape of empty coffee cups and half-eaten takeout cartons, remnants of their unwavering dedication. The BAU team gathered around, eyes laden with fatigue and spirits running low, as ten days of chasing an elusive lead had left them both weary and resolute.

JJ leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "We've got nothing. Ten days and nothing."

Morgan tossed the file he was reading onto the table with a frustrated sigh. "This guy's like a shadow," he grumbled, his tone thick with annoyance. "No prints, no DNA, no camera footage. Garcia, is there any way to bypass his loops and get to the raw feeds?"

Garcia's image flickered on the video call screen, her expression determined. "Oh, I've been down the rabbit hole with this one. Our guy's not just looping the traffic feeds — he's gone full Hollywood on us, splicing scenes together like a pro editor. He's got a digital cloak of invisibility, and trying to untangle that mess is like peeling an onion, layer after layer of encrypted nonsense. I'm working on a backdoor algorithm to slip past his smoke and mirrors, but this dude’s playing hardball with the big leagues. It's a serious code tango, and he's leading."

As Garcia spoke, Rossi sat at the table, his eyes scanning the chaotic room, taking in the exhaustion on his team's faces. When Garcia finished, he leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "We need to think outside the box here. This guy's clever, but he can't be perfect. There's always a mistake, something overlooked."

The team absorbed Rossi's words, a collective silence settling over them. Meanwhile, Reid stood by the map pinned to the wall, absorbed in his own world. His fingers traced lines between cities, a maze of interconnected thoughts. The map was a mosaic of colored pins and scribbled notes, each representing another victim. Brunettes in their mid-20s, lured from dimly lit corners of strip clubs, where the unsub's charm and confidence masked his dark intentions. Each victim shared a haunting similarity—small stature, easily overlooked, but deeply missed by those who loved them.

Hotch turned to him, noticing his intense focus. "Reid, what about the geographical profile? What are you seeing there?"

Reid, still deep in thought, replied, "He's moving in a logarithmic spiral pattern, starting from urban centers and expanding outward. I've calculated the average distance between abductions to be about 7.3 miles. By applying this pattern and factoring in the time intervals, I could probably estimate his next move with some degree of accuracy. It's a bit like plotting a Fibonacci sequence across the map." His team listened, trying to grasp the complexity of his deductions.

Morgan, eyebrows raised, said, "Alright, genius, break it down for the rest of us."

Reid nodded, using his hands to illustrate the pattern in the air. "Basically, he's moving in a way that covers more ground over time, making sure he doesn't hit the same spot twice," he explained, tracing a wide spiral with his finger to show the movement. "If we look at how far apart the abductions are and how often they happen, I can make an educated guess on where he might go next."

Emily leaned in, her voice thoughtful but with a hint of urgency. "If we can predict where he'll be next, maybe we could set up an operation to catch him in the act. We've got the patterns, the locations, and we know his type."

Morgan nodded, his expression serious. "If we do this, we need to be crystal clear about the risks. This guy's not just smart — he's a genius. High IQ and extremely cautious. He knows how to stay two steps ahead and cover his tracks. If he even senses we're onto him, he could vanish without a trace."

Emily continued, her mind racing through possibilities. "We need to think this through, consider every angle. An undercover operation is risky, but it might be our best shot. We need someone who can blend in seamlessly, someone who wouldn't raise suspicions or tip him off."

Hotch glanced around the table, weighing the risks. "An undercover operation could work, but none of us fit the victim profile. We need someone who matches his usual targets."

JJ nodded, her voice bringing a sense of determination to the room. "It has to be someone who can handle the pressure, someone with the right look and demeanor. We need to find the perfect fit, someone who can walk into that world and not get noticed until it's too late for him."

As the conversation unfolded, Hotch noticed Rossi sitting quietly, lost in thought. There was a hint of something in his eyes—mystery, perhaps a plan forming. "Dave, you've been awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”

Rossi looked up, a sly grin forming. "I think I’ve got someone who fits the profile perfectly. She’s got the right look and experience to navigate his world without raising suspicions."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a touch of concern in his voice. "You sure she can handle it, Rossi? This is a big operation, and the unsub is dangerous."

Rossi nodded confidently. "She's more than capable. She's tackled the toughest cases. And, she owes me," he added with a grin.

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing through the implications. "Dave, this is critical. We're talking about a case that could easily go sideways at the slightest misstep. The stakes are higher than ever, and we can't afford any mistakes. I need to be sure that whoever we bring in is not only skilled but also completely reliable. Are you absolutely certain she's the right person for this? Because if anything goes wrong, it won't just be on her. It'll be on all of us."

Emily chimed in, "Hotch, we don't really have many options. If Rossi trusts her, maybe we should give it a shot."

Rossi met his gaze, his expression earnest. "I trust her, Aaron. She's proven herself time and again, and I wouldn't call her if I didn't believe she was the perfect fit. I know how much is riding on this, and I'm telling you, she can handle it. She's exactly who we need."

Hotch thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, Dave. Make the call."

Rossi stood and reached for his phone, stepping into the hallway. The team watched him dial, anticipation hanging in the air. The phone barely rang once before she picked up, her voice playful and teasing. “David Rossi, you never call just to chat. What’s up your sleeve this time?”

Rossi chuckled, a warm sound amidst the grim atmosphere of the case. “I need to cash in that favor. Think you’re up for a mission?”

She laughed softly, exuding an air of confidence. “A mission? Sounds intriguing. You know I can never say no to you.”

“Great. I’ll have my technical analyst send over the files and the location details."

Just before they hung up, Rossi's tone shifted to serious. "And kid, it’s a bad one."

The change in mood was palpable, and her response was immediate, filled with determination. "I’m on the next flight."

Rossi returned to the room, his expression resolute. "She's in. Let's get to work."

The team gathered around, the tension in the room shifting from frustration to determination. They were tired, yes, but they were also resilient. And they wouldn't stop until they caught their ghost.

══════════════════

Meanwhile, in New York City, Isabelle Lombardi had just ended the call with Rossi. Excitement and apprehension danced within her as she stood in her cluttered apartment. Her eyes landed on the half-unpacked suitcase spilling clothes onto the floor. With a sigh, she muttered, "No rest for the wicked, I guess." The room, filled with personal photos capturing laughter and love, wrapped her in a warm embrace as she took it all in.

Rossi's call had reignited a sense of purpose, pulling her from the comfort of her home into action. It had been a long time since she'd seen Rossi, and much had changed in her life. The thought of reconnecting with him brought a flutter of anxiety.

As she began packing, her phone vibrated on the table. She paused to check it, noting the incoming files and a plane ticket to Los Angeles. A quick glance at the clock revealed only an hour before boarding. A flutter of nerves settled in her stomach.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit was renowned for its sharp minds and unparalleled expertise in profiling and solving the most complex cases. She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the thought of working alongside such a distinguished team. The prospect of engaging with these brilliant minds was both thrilling and daunting, as she wondered if she would measure up to their exceptional standards.

With her bag packed, she reached for her gun, the final piece of her preparation. She carefully checked the safety, then holstered it securely at her side, feeling the familiar weight against her.

She headed down the corridor and knocked on her neighbor's door. The elderly woman opened it, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my goodness, I cannot believe my eyes! What a lovely surprise," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "When did you even get back? I didn’t even hear you."

"I just got back last night," she replied with a smile. "How have you been Mary? It's been too long."

"Oh, things have been alright. But I see you've gotten some color! Where have you been then?" the neighbor asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Her mind flickered to places where the sun blazed hot and secrets ran deep, but she simply replied, "Oh you know, just around."

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Her tone turned apologetic as she continued, "I actually need to leave town again, and I feel terrible asking, but would you mind keeping Meow Meow for a little longer?"

"Of course, I can keep Meow Meow. He's been such a delightful guest," Mary replied. "I'm just glad you're okay. You take care, and stay safe out there."

After saying their goodbyes, she stepped out into the bustling city streets. As she walked, she pulled out her professional phone, feeling the familiar pang of guilt as she noticed the barrage of missed calls. Pausing for a moment, she stared at the screen, conflicted. The calls were a reminder of the obligations she was leaving behind. With a deep breath, she typed a quick, almost cryptic message, "I'm sorry," and tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin, the action feeling both liberating and heavy with consequence.

With her personal phone in hand, she continued toward her destination, ready to face whatever awaited her with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Los Angeles.

══════════════════

The airport was packed, a sea of people surging forward, each caught in their own whirlwind of departure or arrival. Isabelle, however felt detached from this chaos, lost in her own thoughts as she navigated the serpentine security line. Her mind was razor-sharp and focused, yet there was a persistent irritation gnawing at her. It was more than just the grumbling about long lines or the seemingly endless wait. It was the silent anxiety that came with carrying a gun through security.

She understood the necessity, of course. The world was a precarious place, and security measures were there to protect, not to inconvenience. But the knowledge did little to quell the discomfort as she watched the TSA agents meticulously inspect every item in her bag. The process felt invasive, as though she were under the spotlight for a crime she hadn't committed. Each moment seemed to stretch, a slow-motion parade of scrutiny and suspicion.

As she reached the front, she handed over her documents, her concealed carry permit perched atop the stack.

The agent, a young man with weary eyes, examined her papers closely. "Ma'am, I'll need to check this permit with my supervisor," he said, his tone apologetic yet firm.

She nodded, forcing herself to remain composed. But a flicker of anxiety sparked within her. She'd left her former job only yesterday, a position that granted her the right to carry. Could her departure really have been processed so quickly? It seemed unlikely, yet the worry lingered in the back of her mind.

"How long will it take?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with impatience.

"Not too long, I hope," he replied, though his uncertainty did little to ease her mind.

Time seemed to stretch, each moment heavier than the last. Her thoughts raced with possibilities. It was improbable that her resignation had already worked its way through the system, wasn't it? The agent returned, looking apologetic. "We’re having some trouble with the system," he explained, "but we're working on it."

Her patience was wearing thin. "I have a flight to catch," she reminded him, a sharper edge to her words.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We're doing our best," he assured, motioning for her to step aside.

She complied, though the wait felt eternal, each second amplifying her concern. Finally, the agent returned with a nod. "You're all set, ma'am. Thank you for your patience."

Finally, she was through, a wave of relief washing over her as she hurried toward the boarding gate. Her steps quickened, heart pounding with the urgency of making it on time. She flashed her ticket to the attendant, who gave a cursory nod before scanning it and waving her through.

Boarding the plane felt like crossing a finish line. She walked down the narrow aisle, searching for her seat, a window seat with the promise of a view that might offer some distraction. She stowed her bag in the overhead compartment, her muscles tensing briefly as she lifted it.

Once seated, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, leaning back as the familiar hum of the aircraft's engines enveloped her. It was a comforting white noise that seemed to cocoon her from the outside world. She reached into her purse, fingers brushing past a tangle of essentials until they found the tablet.

Taking it out, she settled it on her lap, the screen lighting up with a touch. The files she needed were there, downloaded and ready. She took a deep breath before diving in, knowing the images and reports awaiting her were not for the faint of heart. It was a necessary darkness, one she was both familiar with and perpetually disturbed by.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes drifting back to the images on her tablet. She opened the medical examiner's reports, seeking clarity amidst the chaos.

"Victim 1: Body discovered in the trunk of a stolen vehicle. Multiple stab wounds to the torso. Evidence of sexual assault, but no DNA trace found. Defensive wounds present, indicating a struggle. Bruising on the face and neck, consistent with manual strangulation severe enough to damage the larynx but not the cause of death."

"Victim 2: Similar profile to Victim 1. Well-nourished, good dental hygiene. Numerous contusions on the face, indicating blunt force trauma. Marks on the neck suggest choking, though not fatal."

Immersed in the grim details of the reports, she was jolted from her focus by the polite yet firm voice of a flight attendant standing beside her.

"Ma'am, we'll be taking off shortly. Could you please fasten your seatbelt?" the attendant asked, offering a reassuring smile.

Caught off guard, she blinked a few times, her mind slowly returning from the depths of violence and chaos to the present moment. "Oh, of course. Sorry about that," she replied, offering an apologetic smile as she reached for the seatbelt.

With a quick, practiced motion, she secured the belt, feeling the familiar click as it locked into place. The attendant nodded appreciatively before moving down the aisle to ensure other passengers were also ready for departure.

As the hum of the engines intensified, she took a moment to steady herself, then returned her attention to the screen. The world outside might have been preparing for takeoff, but her mind was still entrenched in the darkness of the case, eager to uncover whatever truth lay hidden within those files.

Victim 3: Found in an abandoned car, positioned haphazardly in the trunk. Multiple sharp force injuries to the chest and abdomen. Signs of sexual assault with no DNA evidence preserved. Defensive wounds on the arms and hands, suggesting a fierce struggle. Bruising around the neck indicates choking, with damage to the trachea insufficient to be fatal. Facial bruising present, indicative of repeated blunt force trauma."

With a sigh, she closed the ME’s reports. The brutality was difficult to stomach, but she had a job to do. She turned to the BAU profile, curious to see the psychological insights they had pieced together.

The BAU had outlined a profile that was both intriguing and frustrating in its lack of specific detail. They suggested the unsub was a white male in his 30s, characterized by a disciplined and cautious nature. His proficiency with technology was evident—hacking traffic security feeds and leaving no digital trace required a high level of skill and intelligence. He was organized, methodical, and deeply familiar with law enforcement procedures, as evidenced by his ability to avoid leaving DNA or identifiable traces.

Their theory was that he might have been rejected or humiliated by a woman similar to his victims, fueling his rage. He was a predator, choosing his victims carefully, and his MO suggested a compulsion rather than a need.

Isabelle found the BAU's insights valuable but sensed gaps in their understanding. The unsub's unpredictability and geographic spread made it difficult to pin him down. She knew they were up against a formidable adversary.

Her focus shifted to the witness statements, each pause in her reading a moment to absorb the unsettling patterns.

"Witness 1: Described him as discreet, seated in the darkest corners. Rarely engaged with others, but when he did, it was brief."

She paused, letting the words sink in before moving on.

"Witness 2: Noted his attractiveness but also his aloofness. He was watching the victim intently before she approached him, lured by the cash he offered”

"Witness 3: A bartender recalled serving him drinks on his visit. His voice was calm and composed, with an edge that hinted at something darker underneath. He never drank much, always aware, always in control. He left a generous tip, but there was an unnerving intensity in his eyes."

Each account painted a picture of a man who was meticulous, calculating, and intensely focused on his target. He seemed to have rehearsed every move, ensuring he left nothing to chance during his solitary visit. The pattern was chilling in its precision, a testament to his predatory nature.

The last section of the files was dedicated to victimology. It was stark in its clarity—each victim was a brunette in her mid-20s, small, and pretty. The unsub's rage was unmistakable, directed with a chilling intensity towards these women. It was personal and filled with a fury that spoke volumes about his psyche.

As the plane cruised through the sky, she pondered the unsub's motivations. His hatred was a dark mirror, reflecting a twisted perception of the women he targeted. The pattern was there, written in the blood of his victims, and she was determined to decipher it before he struck again.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Hello, how you doing ?

I've been stalking your blog for a while now, and finally gathered the courage to send a resquest (if you don't like it, feel free to ignore or change it).

So here's my idea: Reader comes from a family that offers their daughters to the creatures of the forest (i was thinking maybe a male harpy ?), but Reader ran away when it was her time to be taken, she moved into a big city and hid there for years.

Now she is back in her old city for some reason (maybe her sister just had a baby and she wants to see if said baby is a girl too) and her mate is looking foward to get what's rightfully his.

Kabr0z Writes episode 59: Sacrifice

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: noncon; dubcon; receiving cunnilingus; tentacles; abduction; hypnosis; mind control; parasites;

A/N: I'm taking a few liberties with the queue again, otherwise we'd have a couple of feral stories in a row. So, hellhound anon, you'll get your story in tomorrow's catch-up double feature!

As always, if you have any requests for scenarios or kinks you'd like me to explore, drop an ask or a DM, anf it'll go in the queue!

########################################

You passed the city gates. You'd not been back for years, for good reason. When your family is a hinge of the local cult, it's less than ideal. As the eldest daughter, your fate was to be given to the so-called gods living under the city. Being a sacrifice to a horror you'd never seen wasn't your speed, so you ran. An ocean away, you hid.

That was a decade ago now. You'd never intended to come back, but you heard the news. Lily had a daughter. You'd made her promise you she'd never have a child, she'd break the line and never subject her own to the beast below. Maybe she never had a choice. Either way, you had a job to do. The plan was simple: you'd been in touch with Lily since you made landfall, first mailing her a sending slab, then using the paired tablets to convey codes messages etched in the wax surface. Tonight was the night. You'd meet her in a cistern under the main square where she'd give you her child, Holly. Baby in tow, you'd get out of the city that night using a Ring of Recall you had tuned to your home. Once you were safe, far across the Sea of Stars, you'd raise your adoptive daughter.

She'd never know the importance of her bloodline, or the terrible fate she'd been spared.

You jumped from the cart you rode in on, the less the people you trusted to get you here knew, the better. Worst case scenario they think you're a thief or something on a heist. In a way, that's precisely what you were. Your first stop was an alms-house you knew about. Old, run down, a den of disease and suffering the gentry and the guards all ignored. Nobody's asking questions about who comes and goes from there, even less in the dead of night. The perfect place to lay low until the right time. You took the opportunity while there to swipe a blanket or two. You weren't worried about disease, potions are cheap enough, and you only needed it to cover you from the grotty lodgings to the network of sewers and drains under the city.

So you sat. In that stinking hovel. Turning the enchanted copper ring that would get you home over and over in your fingers. It was probably worth more than the building you hid in, but only you new that. Lily had advised you to get one made, getting it bound to a spot so far away wasn't cheap, but it was doable and you'd paid for the best you could get.

The appointed hour drew close. Covered in blankets, affecting a hunch, you scurried down an alleyway to a loose grate. Amazing how nothing ever gets fixed in the bad parts of town, even after so long. The pile of blankets muffled you closing the grate behind you before stealing into the dark. You knew these tunnels. They were your favourite haunts as a teen, playing with your little sister, fantasising about getting away and growing old together. You both knew it couldn't ever be. The cistern was your home from home. You hung sheets from the ceiling once upon a time, dividing the upper level into rooms of sorts. The grating making up the floor stayed dry enough and with some blankets and rugs didn't even hurt your feet to walk on.

It was like you'd never left.

The blankets were still vibrantly coloured, if a little rat-gnawed at the bottom edges. Your blankets were gone, so you could see through the grate to the dark water glinting below, but you knew the layout.

Lily waited for you in the centre of the cistern, under the grate in the pavement that led straight down, the moonlight hitting her in a silvery beam as she cradled a swaddled bundle in her arms.

"Lily, it's me" you whispered.

Your sister turned. You could see her robe was open at the front, the infant in her arms latched onto a breast. Your eyes drew down to her belly, round and gravid

"You have another one on the way?" That wasn't part of the plan "I think I can recall with you both, but I'm not sure... Why didn't you tell me?"

Lily stood there. Silent as the grave. She started to chuckle "Put on your ring"

"What? That'll take me home, I need you to pass me Holly so she'll be safe"

Lily didn't meet your gaze as she handed you her baby. The infant fussed in your arms as her mother's milk was taken away

"I'll come back for you. I'll bring another ring." You put on the ring.

The world swam. You saw, for a moment, the morning sun of your home, but when it cleared you were back in the cistern, clutching the child. The ring was on your finger. It nearly worked. Why didn't it work?

Lily took the baby from you and looked into your eyes.

You screamed.

When you were kids, her eyes were hazel. The colour of evening sunlight on dry grass in a heatwave. Now they were a milky blue-white. Pinhole pupils stared into you.

"When you ran, they made sure to protect me. The masters wanted me to be their sacrifice, but I needed to keep the blood. When Holly was born, I became ready, but someone needed to take her place."

A wet hand grabbed you from behind. You tried to spin and hit it, but your head was still light and you stumbled. You fell to your knees, cutting your hands on the floor grating as a hand closed around your throat.

It hauled you up. You looked into the cruel amber eyes, wide glowing orbs set in a twisted face. It didn't have a nose, or brow ridge, its head was pointed like the mantle of a squid or a cuttlefish, but the most striking part was where its mouth would be. Instead of a jaw, there was a mass of squirming, writhing tentacles. It hissed at you as you glared at it, kicking the air, trying to break the iron grip on you.

It waved its other hand. Your clothing unravelled. The sending slab clattered to the ground, the ring still inert on your finger, everything else fell in rags to the grating below you. Being naked wasn't going to deter you. You clawed and scratched at its face and the arm holding you, nails sliding off the slimy skin.

It threw you. You slammed into a sheet and slid to the floor. It fell upon you. You were pinned.

A slick pair of hands prised open your legs. Your ankles were pressed either side of your ears. The tentacled face lowered to your cunt. The tendrils brushed against your sensitive skin as you tried to twist away from it. The first pushed into you, sliding between the lips of your cunt as it tasted you. The rest followed, squirming tentacles filling you, probing your insides. You could feel your body reacting, getting wetter and wetter as the unbidden orgasm built in your belly. You squirmed and whined, bent double by the unbreakable grip, a monster eating your pussy, not caring if you wanted it or not. Fleshy appendages squirming over every inch of your cunt, inside and out. It filled every corner with activity, from the probing at your cervix to the massaging of your clit. Every whimper, every twitch, it made sure to keep up, building your release higher and higher by the moment.

It finally let you cum. You felt yourself squirt into the wall of tentacles assaulting your pussy. More and more liquid sprayed from you as you moaned and cried, your legs shaking and toes curling. The monster didn't stop. It didn't even pause.

Over and over your aching body was forced to cum, each orgasm driving the fight from you as it wore you out. By the time it stopped, you were a gasping, panting pile of limbs. Your squirt dripping from between your legs and down into the city water supply far below you.

The monster reached into its sleeve and withdrew a wriggling leech-like creature. One hand held the lips of your cunt open as it dropped the squirming creature on your soaked pussy. It moved up you. Half-burrowing, half-swimming, it slid between the clenching walls of your cunt even as you tried to force it out. You tried to scream as you felt it pushing up your cervix, but all that came out was a lewd moan as your twitching cunt slammed shut over and over, driving itself closer and closer to another orgasm.

You felt it pressing into the wall of your womb, a stinging pressure as it drilled into the soft flesh. As soon as it stopped digging in to you, you felt a warmth pulsing from it. The pain in your belly turned to a pleasant numbness. The ache in your cunt and your stinging clit became a throbbing buzz. Your head spun again, getting lighter and lighter until it happened.

You clenched on air. Your legs shook harder as your heels planted, driving your hips upwards into a lover that wasn't there.

You couldn't stop it. You wouldn't want to. Over and over you came, the leech's secretions lighting your nerves on fire, flooding you with endorphins. The room defocused and your tongue hung from your mouth as you rolled this way and that. Your cunt leaked a cocktail of blood, girlcum, and the thick secretions of the parasite driving you mad.

A part of you knew what happens now. You'd seen the fate that befell the other women this happened to. The secretions from the leech would fertilise your womb, over and over. Every month you'd spill forth more of the leeches. The strongest would be chosen and either implanted into another woman, or allowed to squirm into a man's ear, turning him into another of the tentacled gods.

You knew your fate. The hated destiny of all of the eldest daughters of your line.

You couldn't be happier.

########################################

Postscript: Yeah, the bonus points for this was a harpy, but I went for the horrifying not-illithid cult instead. Maybe they'll be a thing going forwards, maybe they'll be another one-and-done. I do prefer the awful tadpole queen idea rather than elderbrains just crapping out more tadpoles, though wish I'd come up with something better than just ripping off ceramorphosis for making the drones.

Either way, hope you enjoyed, Anon, and again if anyone had any requests they wanted to send in, my hard limits are in the pinned, beyond that have fun

Post-postscript: I hope the exposition at the tail end didn't kill the mood either, I just couldn't think of a good way to shoehorn that in, and it felt too hot to just miss out entirely.

[sunflowerwizard]

I've seen enough people mischaracterizing Early Access Wyll, so here's the best breakdown of his original character I can give.

I'll start this off by plainly summarizing Wyll's EA backstory, some of his core personality traits, then do a bit of analysis.

BACKSTORY

EA Wyll mentions being "born and bred in the upper city" into nobility. It's unspecified what exact level of influence his family occupied.

In datamined voice lines from EA (take with a grain of salt) Wyll refers to being from House Eltan specifically. Eltan was the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate in the first Baldur's Gate Game, and the founder of the Flaming Fist. Forgotten Realms lore states that the Eltans are no longer in charge of the Fist and have somewhat diminished in power, but again. We don't know to exactly what level.

This also means that this iteration of Wyll was not Ulder Ravengard's son. While he still spoke about his father in EA, the descriptions and characterizations do not line up with Ulder at all. Additionally, he comments about "knowing of" Ravengard during the burning inn sequence, but otherwise makes no connection.

The most damning evidence of all that Wyll being a Ravengard was not originally intended, is Wyll wanting to be like his father and thus "going thieving in the wrong shadows".

Wyll gets caught stealing, presumably as a teenager, and his father uses latent connections within the Flaming Fist to get Wyll sent there. Effectively the fantasy equivalent of sending your unruly kid to boot camp.

Wyll mentions that he didn't adjust well to life as part of the Flaming Fist, was not a very good fighter, and was generally not well liked. The goblin at the windmill calling Wyll "Captain Failure" implies he might have been given higher status despite not earning it.

The way Wyll feels about goblins is a big change between EA and full release, and is explained as part of his backstory.

We didn't get the finer details, but we can assume Wyll in his time with the Fist bore witness to a group of goblins razing a village. Horrified and enraged, he tried fighting a goblin, was overwhelmed, and had his eye torn out.

This is when Mizora showed up and offered him a pact. Considering he was left for dead and probably going to bleed out, it's pretty understandable why he took the deal.

Mizora is not nearly as present in Early Access as she is in the current game. Karlach was not involved in Wyll's story at all, there's no devil transformation.

It's also more heavily insinuated there's a sexually coercive element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship, with him speaking to how every time he wanted to leave her, she found some way to pull him back.

Additionally, Wyll wants out of that contract. Unlike full release where Mizora is randomly captured in Act 2, she starts off kidnapped, and insists she'll let Wyll go if he frees her

It kind of ended up being a plot cul de sac, but Torturer Spike was the goblin that took Wyll's eye--which was a quest item you could pickpocket/loot off his body. Wyll had commentary on it and everything.

TL;DR: -Born to a noble family with Flaming Fist connections -Caught Stealing and sent to work for the Fist as punishment -Tried to fight back during a goblin attack and was gravely injured -Mizora offers a pact -Uses his pact to become a traveling monster hunter, presumably to make up for his past failure to protect people. Antagonistic towards goblins in particular -Ultimately wants out of the pact, but Mizora won't let him go -Wyll and Mizora get abducted by Mind Flayers -Mizora agrees to let Wyll go if he frees her from the cultists

PERSONALITY

This is a bit less concrete than changed story beats, but I can say this: a lot of Wyll's core traits stayed intact between EA and full release. He's still willing to put his life on the line for the Tiefling refugees, with a whole cut line about how the kids he's training deserve to have a carefree childhood. He wants to do good in the world, probably because he spent so much time in his youth feeling like a fuck up.

There's also a much clearer divide between "Wyll" and "The Blade of Frontiers". Notably, in EA he didn't introduce himself by name. Not even a "my friends call me Wyll" quip at Shadowheart like he has currently. During his old romance scene, he has a line about being used to being the hero, and not used to needing one. He's a symbol. An emblem of something bigger than himself. The fact he's so self-aggrandizing as The Blade makes it apparent he's not confident in himself as "just Wyll"

He's also decidedly more forward and flirty in EA, with no reservations about courtship. In fact, the main obstacle to your budding relationship is Mizora herself. Wyll's trauma from her treatment interrupts your first night together. Whether you have sex or just snuggle, Wyll has a line about how he doesn't want to start a relationship until he can "give himself completely" after being freed from his pact.

THOUGHTS & COMPARISONS

I'm also not entirely sure if I'd say EA Wyll is substantially angrier than current Wyll, so much as he had more opportunities to be angry during Early Access. I can understand why the goblin stuff was cut, because it did dip into "Let's make the one black guy fantasy racist" trope. However, it did very much feel like the narrative was pointing in bright, flashing colors that this is a trait Wyll would have to grapple with, learn, and grow from. The fact EA Wyll's most glaring character flaw was scrapped and didn't get much of a replacement in full release makes his story feel less realized.

While I appreciate the overtly sexual element of Wyll and Mizora's relationship was removed, I feel like the final version is somehow even more creepy. During Early Access she existed in the background as a vague villain you only experience via Wyll. And if you do his romance scene and see the way he panics at the mere memory of her, you get the impression of oh shit. This broad is bad news and I've gotta get my boy out of there. The same principle behind not showing the big scary monster too early in the horror movie. Once you've seen it, you can't let your mind fill in the blanks. Mizora went from this intimidating figure whose motives you couldn't fully ascertain, to a mean girl that thinks she's smarter than everyone else but is really just the bumbling lackey of a bigger fish. Who pulls Wyll around with an actual metaphysical leash like a dog. And you're meant to find this sexy.

My final point, and I've said this before: current Wyll's personality seemed more suited to being a scion of house Eltan, while EA Wyll seemed more suited to being Ulder Ravengard's dissapointment son. Current Wyll speaks and carries him like someone raised in nobility despite only being elevated to such status as a teenager. Perhaps this is cynical and maybe even a bit of a conspiracy theory, but I genuinely think he's only Ravengard's son to save on time and assets. Why give Wyll a whole unique family with its own story when we can just tie him in to the "rescue the grand duke" plot, regardless of how much sense it makes!

[thephantomsdream]

so I've been reading real published romance books and they cannot fill the void that ao3 and company do fill, but they did give me an idea. ok, lmfao, hear me out. (I've had this in my drafts for way too long, i decided to release it because why tf not)

content: alien!141, soulmates!141, abduction, intergalactic human trafficking, space shit; very vague idea of anything ever; probably made up alien names; writer is at work while dealing with annoying costumers so it's rushed and dumb.

imagine:

Good ol' you, in your house, unaware that in the deep, vast universe, trafficking also existed. Not long ago, a reptilian race found out about our warm bodies, interesting features and intelligent yet primitive brains, and started to abduct and sell men and women to rich buyers. It was good business, especially considering our side of the universe wasn't even aware of extraterrestrial life, so they couldn't even guess where they disappeared! The treaty and all intergalactic laws were vague about us. "Let them be" meaning "Let them fuckers figure their shit out, lol idk".

Well, as you can understand, the Sheh'deauz (lmfao stay with me) decided to in fact not let us be. So back to lovely you, yeah?

Home alone, playing videogames or something, when suddently you see some flashes of light out the window. It was weird considering it wasn't raining but you remained calm, as you assumed maybe a storm is approaching? Mainly, you couldn't give a shit but the moment you heard scratching and hissing outside your door, you panicked. Long story short, your house slowly started filling with an invisible gas that just made you pass out, but you did see your door opening, same weird blue-white light emanating from under it as it did, and a scaly leg entering your home as you fell on the floor.

You figured, as the genius that you were, that you were, in fact, not dreaming as you spent many hours (days? felt like days) in a cage. Very oddly technologically advanced. In another strike of genius, and of course, after seeing your kidnappers, you figured it was a spaceship and you were in some deep sci-fi shit. (maybe after laughing and asking them where are the hidden cameras. i would...)

After throwing tantrums and having the ugly multi-colored creatures mock you and hiss at you, you kinda gave up and sat by the very human bed you've been given and allowed time to pass. You were given food every so often, a toilet nearby, water at your disposal. But you feared for your life.

Well, let me tell you something. You have the luckiest misfortune of all, really. Or maybe, just maybe, things are meant to be this way. Maybe it was all meant to happen like this. Allow me to explain.

In another corner of the universe, four of the greatest warriors of the Intergalactic Army frowned at a holographic screen. A female alien, older, still beautiful, ethereal looking, skin creamy white with some lavender edges and striking blue eyes was frowning back.

"You're fucking kidding me." Their captain said (in a different language than ours but your writer here is multi-lingual, don't worry), getting closer to the screen. She just nodded, rubbing her forehead.

"Where is that again?" Asked another.

"So like—" a third one, this one with a distinct accent compared to the others, tilted his head incredulously. "They're our cousins genetically?"

"You can say so." She groaned. "The Council decided to not touch that part of the galaxy. They are being observed. Fucking hell! They were going on the right path."

"If they don't destroy their own planet before." The captain muttered, voice tired and coarse. In his many, many years lived, he's seen it happen again and again. Greed and stupidity almost whipped their race, so he's been following the Terrans close-by, as close as a mere Intergalactic Task Force Captain (stick with me lmfao) could follow.

"So what's the plan?" The tallest one asked, mask made of what others assumed was one of his most dangerous prey's skull was placed on his face.

"We give them hell." Captain commanded, Laswell nodding.

"Stay close, at the outskirts of their galaxy. We intercept any package and find their buyers."

"What do we do with our lil cousins then?"

"Eliminate any witnesses."

Shit went down really quick. You figured they were preparing for something as the guards by your cell somehow summoned some advanced looking chairs from the walls to strap themselves on and hissed at you mockingly, as they've done before. You just sat in a corner, by the bed, and wanted to cry. You were going through all stages of grief every few hours and it was getting exhausting. You were just now starting to understand how dire your situation was and how little chances you had of going home.

They turned off the main lights and a thousand scenarios crossed your mind. It was as if they were bracing for something. You frowned as you saw the guards tense as some alien hieroglyphics appeared on a holographic screen. It looked... like a countdown... You grasped the bed, trying to brace yourself for something. And good that you did because it felt as if the ship collapsed with something.

It basically shook you off to the ground, and while you'd think this was supposed to happen, you quickly realize it wasn't since the guards unstrapped themselves from the chairs and started shrieking as alarms suddently blared. After that? Seconds and it was over. Two white blasts ended them both, hitting them exactly in the middle of their ugly skulls. You did not hear any footsteps but you saw a shadow approaching your cell, so you scurried closer to your bed and now presumably magic shield that will block blasts that melt alien skulls.

The barriers from your cell unlocked, sliding to the sides and someone jumped in front of you. Someone big, dressed sleekly in black, although you could swear the edges of his frame looked transparent for a second. It was big, yet had the complexity of a human so you stayed locked in place, big scared eyes on the person pointing a big son-of-a-bitch gun at you. You heard it growl and speak something shortly, and the hairs on your whole body pricked.

World stopped for Price as he cracked another neck, just after locking eyes with the leader of this "cargo" ship. He was about to take a step forward to gently guide this person towards personal enlightenment by confessing all the information they needed, even if it would be involuntarily, when Soap spoke... well, growled just one word in their comms.

"Mate."

[dandylovesturtles]

oh yeah so Yes pretty overwhelmingly won the poll so you guys only have yourselves to blame for seeing this nonsense I will probably not do much more with lol

anyway I've been mentally calling it the Draxum's Kids AU or Step-brothers AU because I didn't come up with anything creative

high level premise is that, due to ~mystic shenanigans~, Draxum from the OU (post-movie) gets pulled through a portal to another dimension, about a year behind the OU dimension, where he kept the turtles and accomplished a lot of his human eradication goals but was also a terrible father. Draxum sees the writing on the wall that his AU self's foolish actions have led to an impending apocalypse and finds the AU's Mikey (who is only called Boxshell) to help him get back to the original dimension. But as soon as he meets back up with Boxshell his Dad Instincts kick in and he realizes he can't just leave "his" kids here to die, so he decides to kidnap all four of them back to the original dimension.

this is complicated a bit by all of them hating each other

under the cut is about 3000 words of Draxum getting abducted

Draxum would really appreciate it if they could make it six months without a potentially world ending threat.

This one seems particularly suspicious. Giant black swirling vortexes giving off massive mystic energy signatures don’t simply <i>appear</i>, not for no reason. The fact that Michelangelo had been the first to notice it, cocking his head to the side like a bloodhound hearing a rabbit, was not putting him at ease, either.

“Soooo,” says Leonardo, swords already drawn and held loose at his sides, “what is it, Draxy?”

That is not his name, but because the situation is serious, he answers anyway. “You expect me to know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Come on, you’re our mystic guru! So get with the guruing!”

Draxum just gives him the look that the kids are coming to call his “not mad, just disappointed” face. He doesn’t have any more answers than he did two seconds ago. On the plus side, it doesn’t seem like anything is coming <i>out</i> of the dark swirly vortex, nor is anything getting sucked in. It’s just hanging there, in the sky over the Hidden City, menacingly.

“Doesn’t it feel familiar?” asks Michelangelo. Unlike Leonardo, he still hasn’t drawn any weapon. He’s just watching it, curious.

“I don’t remember the Krang portal looking like that,” says Donatello. “We could see the Prison Dimension on the other side. That’s just… an indistinct vortex of doom.”

“Not like the Krang,” says Michelangelo, but he doesn’t offer any further guesses. He just watches it with big eyes.

“But we gotta do somethin’ about it, right?” asks Raphael. “We can’t just leave it up there.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone,” says Leonardo slowly.

“Just because it is not doing anything in this instant does not mean it will stay that way,” says Draxum.

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonardo slices through the air, a blue and less chaotic looking portal opening up. “Let’s check it out, Dee. Get some energy readings and all that nerd jazz. The rest of you, stay here in case it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it’s me,” says Donatello, but he steps up to the portal anyway. 

Draxum feels uneasy, because he doesn’t know what that thing is or what it will do, and because he doesn’t want the two of them going alone. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and when the kids give him a look, he quickly adds, “I may notice something that Donatello would miss.”

“I don’t <i>miss</i> things,” Donatello snaps back, but that’s factually untrue, so Draxum just grunts in response to it. 

“Sure, goatman cometh,” says Leonardo airily. “Let’s just go!”

Just to be sure nothing bad will happen, Draxum steps through first. The twins follow him.

They’re on a rooftop now, just under the vortex. Draxum had been expecting… something, but there are no threats, no signs of anything amiss. It’s a bit windy, and the vortex is making an ominous buzzing noise, but that’s all.

“Can you tell anything from here?” asks Leonardo, looking between the two of them. Donatello has his goggles down and a holoscreen up, incomprehensible numbers scrolling by at a fast pace. For his part, it seems the same to Draxum here as it did across town.

Donatello’s readings slow, and he raises the goggles again. 

“It’s… definitely massive, but I can’t tell much more than that. Though… I think Mikey was right. That it feels familiar.” He looks at his brother, something complicated in his expression. “Like we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” says Leonardo, before turning his attention to Draxum. “How easy is it to make an interdimensional portal, anyway?”

Draxum snorts at this question. “For a pocket dimension, relatively simple. For an actual, separate world… Theoretically, it could be done, but it would take a massive amount of mystic energy and decades of experience. Especially if one does not have a mystical object to channel a portal through, like the key that was used for the Krang’s prison dimension.”

“But Mikey was able to do it,” Leonardo points out.

“Yes. And need I remind you it almost killed him.”

“You needn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m just saying… <i>if</i> it can be done, it really seems like someone’s trying it right now.” He still has his swords out, watching the vortex warily. “And what’re the odds that they’re coming here for a friendly visit?”

Draxum doesn’t argue there; he’s already treating whatever this is as hostile. Better to assume wrong and apologize later than to let down his guard and let one of his kids get hurt.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind them, and the three of them turn at once, startled. “Well, there’s Mikey,” Leonardo is already saying in a resigned sort of way, like he knew Michelangelo would join them before he gave the command.

“Sorry, Leo,” says Raphael, landing with heavier tread on the rooftop just behind Michelangelo. “He gave me the slip.”

“Guys, it’s fine!” Michelangelo argues, in that tone he uses when he feels like he’s being babied. “I’m telling you, whatever’s making that portal isn’t here to hurt us.”

“And you know this based on what evidence?” asks Donatello.

“It’s a feeling!”

“Ah yes, feelings, how quantifiable.”

“Well <i>you</i> don’t have any evidence it’s evil either, Donald!” Michelangelo retorts.

Draxum is about to step into the middle of this quarrel when Leonardo stops it for him.

“Guess we’re about to find out who’s right,” he says, eyes locked on something above them, and Draxum looks up just in time to see that there’s <i>movement</i> coming from the vortex now. “Dee, take Raph; Miguel, you’re with me.”

“Wait, guys, we should just-” Michelangelo tries again, but a shimmering blue portal under his feet stops him. Leonardo and Michelangelo reappear in the sky above, Leonardo using his portals to stay airborne while Michelangelo catches himself with his mystic powers. There’s the roar of a jet, and then Donnie is after them, his shimmering mystic tech carrying himself with Raphael dangling underneath.

And of course they’ve left him on the roof. Draxum sighs. <i>Children</i>.

He pops several vines on the roof and uses them to propel himself skyward, eyes searching for what has come through the portal, if that’s what it is. It’s difficult to see against the black coloration, but the boys seem to have gathered under a figure in a dark cloak, who emerges slowly from the middle of the vortex. It seems to cling to them like dark, black ink, the mystic energy drawing out behind them in long, gooey ropes. 

Draxum knows he is still many meters away, but even still, he doesn’t think the figure is very large. It’s a surprise, given that the vortex itself is at least fifteen or more meters across, but the figure coming out is short and slight, not even as big as Michelangelo. Of course, that doesn’t mean much; plenty of yokai are small statured naturally, as are some humans. Even Lou Jitsu is small, now, but still mighty. He can’t let the size of the person put him off guard, especially when they have summoned such massive mystic energy.

“Hey!” cries out Michelangelo. “Can we talk to you!?”

The figure in the cloak seems to startle at being addressed. For a moment, they hang in the air, the ropey energy of the vortex growing thicker on their arms and legs. Almost like it’s trying to pull them back.

The figure seems to realize this, too, because they jerk forward and raise their arms in a panicked arc.

Fire comes out - dark flames with incandescent blue cores that Draxum knows are hotter than any normal flame. If the boys are struck, the damage will be severe. Thankfully, Michelangelo yelps and whirls aside before he can be burned.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking!” calls Donatello.

“That’s alright,” yells Raphael, his ninpo lighting his body red, “because <i>I’m</i> interested in smashing!”

The midair fight begins in earnest now, the boys darting around the figure with their weapons drawn, even Michelangelo. The cloaked figure fights back with the flames, dark and so hot that as Draxum’s vines carry him closer, he can feel the heat coming off of them. Yet, despite the intensity of the attacks, Draxum notices that they are unwieldy and unpracticed, like the wielder has no real experience in fighting, and certainly not midair against so many opponents. Add to that, the strange, inklike properties of the still-spinning vortex seem to be actively trying to pull the figure back; each time they make progress, the moment their attention is drawn by one of the boys, they’re yanked back another few feet.

Draxum sprouts a few more vines off his main one, so that he can move more freely. Aerial combat has never been his forte, but he can make it work. So long as none of those desperate fire attacks burn through his vines and send him tumbling to the ground (he can only hope, in that event, that one of the twins notices him). 

The cloaked figure is still attacking wildly, and the boys have to move fast to keep out of the way. It’s easier for Michelangelo and Donatello, who can stay airborne indefinitely; Leonardo, meanwhile, has to use his portals to catch himself and Raphael periodically, portalling them back to the sky or giving them a portal to ground to launch off of. This leaves them open to attack.

Draxum couldn’t have made it in time if he’d wanted to, but in the moment he isn’t thinking he has to.

One of the unfocused black flames strikes Raphael; his ninpo projection protects him from being harmed, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise as it burns rapidly through the ninpo itself, leaving him exposed. Donatello swoops in to catch him before he can fall, and all the boys hang back for a moment, stunned by this development.

“What was <i>that</i>!?” Leonardo calls out, portaling above Donatello and landing on his constructed battleshell (Donatello says, “Oof!” loudly, but doesn’t throw him off). “It just burned through Raph’s shield like it was tissue paper!”

“Augh… that felt… weird.” Raphael is rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “Raph did not like that.”

“Alright, clearly this guy is dangerous.” Leonardo is tense, eyes focused as he watches the cloaked figure yank free of the stringy ropes of magic from the vortex, coming closer. “But see how the portal’s trying to pull them back in? We just gotta get them close enough and send ‘em back where they came from.”

He glances over at Michelangelo. Draxum looks, too. The boy’s brow is creased, like he isn’t happy with this outcome, but his eyes are focused on Raphael.

“...Yeah,” he says finally, and gives his nunchucks a swing. They light up with his orange ninpo, the bright fire a stark contrast to their enemy’s dark flames. “Let’s send ‘em back!”

The boys spring back into action, and Draxum follows suit, his vines carrying him up, closer to the vortex. Now he can feel more of the thing’s power directly, a great gusting wind that pulls rather than pushes. He hangs back from the direct fighting and instead watches the boys closely, should he need to intervene the way he hadn’t for Raphael. If the fire can eat through their ninpo, then any of them being struck would be disastrous - especially if one of the others could not catch them in time.

The kids are succeeding in their gambit to push the figure back towards the vortex, but that means they are also increasingly putting themselves in range of its dangerous reach. The ropey strands of dark mystic energy reach out like hungry tendrils, latching onto scales before being cut or shaken off. Leonardo has all but abandoned the fight against the figure and instead puts his efforts into slicing the strands apart any time they touch one of his brothers, either directly with his katana or with a well placed portal. He leaves the strands that attach themselves to the mysterious person, and they wrap more firmly around the legs, arms, and neck of the one in the cloak.

And that’s when they finally speak.

“No!” they cry out, in a voice unmistakably juvenile. “No, please! I just want to escape - don’t make me go back!”

Michelangelo stops short, bobbing uncertainly only a few meters from the screaming figure (a boy, Draxum thinks, but cannot be sure). “Guys,” he says hesitantly, lowering his weapons. “I really think we should-”

Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a burst of flames from the cloaked boy’s hands, spiraling directly towards him.

“MIKEY!” shout several voices at once; Draxum only realizes a beat later that one of them is his. He’s the closest, and he moves fast, putting himself and a wall of vines between the flames and his son.

The flames make such short work of the vines, it’s almost comical. Draxum watches as the fire races down the towering stalk he’s made, eating them away and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. The vine Draxum was standing on is, of course, completely obliterated, and he feels the swoop in his stomach as gravity starts its relentless pull.

“Dad!” he hears Michelangelo call out. The boy reaches a hand toward them, and in his panic Draxum reaches back. They are only a few meters from each other, and then less and then less, fingers almost touching-

But it is something else that grabs him first.

The vortex’s dark energy feels disgusting and slimy where it touches Draxum’s fur, like a leech pulled from some noxious bog. Its tug is ferociously strong, and he realizes that if Leonardo had not been quick, if the magic had wrapped around any of his brothers’ limbs the way it’s wrapped around Draxum’s arm, disentangling them would have taken massive effort. As it’s going to take to free him now.

There’s a yank, and he’s ripped away from Michelangelo and towards the vortex.

“No!” screeches the cloaked boy, and sputtering flames spill out around him, forcing the turtles back before they can move in to rescue him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!”

“Gladly!” Draxum shouts back, ripping and yanking to try and free his arm. “Just close this foolish portal and go back where you came from!”

“I <i>can’t</i>!” the boy screams, and he sounds so wretched, Draxum almost feels some sympathy for him. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“You must!” Draxum argues, because he can tell. The energy has wrapped too securely around the cloaked boy now; there will be no freeing him. The portal he made is impressive, <i>especially</i> as young as he sounds, but it is not complete. He could not be severed from it, even if they tried to help. In fact, if they fully pulled him from the vortex, it would likely kill the child.

No; he must go back. But… is there still time for Draxum?

“Barry!” he hears the boys call out. They try to get close, but another burst of searing heat from the panicked boy in the vortex keeps them from advancing. More of the stringy ropes of magic are wrapping around Draxum now, on his arms, his torso, his legs. His neck. They yank him back, hard, and he gasps as the air leaves his lungs. The mystic energy slithers over him like a living creature, wrapping him up more and more securely in its snare.

It seems… there is not.

“<i>NO</i>!” screams the cloaked boy, one last panicked, desperate cry, but then his voice is abruptly silenced. There’s a roaring noise, incomprehensibly loud, and Draxum faintly wonders if this is how it sounds when a star collapses in on itself.

The last thing he sees as the portal closes around him is Michelangelo’s face, eyes wide and afraid, mouth open in a shout, hand outstretched as far as it can go.

And then all is dark.

…

When Draxum wakes, he’s laying on the ground in an alley in the Hidden City.

He feels a flash of <i>something</i> markedly unpleasant when he realizes he’s alone: sadness, betrayal, perhaps even, Titan forbid, <i>loneliness</i>. It seems the boys have left him to his fate and gone home.

Then he remembers the portal, and Donatello and Michelangelo’s guess that it was interdimensional. It’s likely the boys don’t know where he is. It’s possible he’s not even in the same time.

Or the same world at all.

Disturbing as that thought is, the part of the Hidden City he can see from his vantage point seems familiar enough. He recognizes this as a part of the old downtown, not far from where he and the kids had been fighting the cloaked boy. Even if this isn’t his time, at least he should still be able to navigate - that makes things easier.

He gets to his feet, shaking the soreness out of his limbs. He hears something pop, and is suddenly immensely glad the boys aren’t here after all. He’d rather not endure another round of teasing for being “old”.

The Hidden City he travels through seems largely the same as the one he left, to a degree that he starts to wonder if it wasn’t an interdimensional portal after all. If it was, the dimension he’s in now seems to have only slight variations.

Or that’s what he thinks, until he makes it to the nearest portal back to New York City.

There’s a checkpoint set up in front of it, one that didn’t exist here before. There are guards standing sentinel, ushering through a line of yokai and occasionally asking questions. They don’t seem hostile to the yokai, but it does seem like precautions need to be taken for… some reason.

More startling to Draxum are the crests that adorn banners hung around the checkpoint, matching emblems blazed on the uniforms of the officers.

His family’s crest.

It seems this dimension is quite different after all.

[rainebelowzero]

May I request an abduction-play story? :3 (sorry I didn't know how to word this x3)

Kurt Kunkle X Dom Male Reader

notes: sorry this took so long :') anyways, I think this is the last request I had in my inbox and I have lots of time on my hands so please request stuff, also I love all of you guys, I've seen so many people that have been around since the beginning in my notifications so I wanna thank you guys for sticking around and also welcome the new people, I plan to be way more active so don't worry, I won't disappear again 😋

♡ kidnapping, having sex on stream, roleplay (technically), the reader is mentioned to be an influencer but it's up to you if that's real or just part of the roleplay, using spit as lube (i know that's cringeworthy in real life but lets just pretend its an acceptable replacement for lube in this) ♡

‘What the fuck?’ You think, your eyes opening hazily. You're….in some room, but not one you recognize. Your head hurts, and you can't even remember where you were before this. You were leaving a party one of your influencer friends was having, but other than that, you couldn't remember what happened.

You look around and realize you're tied to a chair, and you try to yank your arms back but they refuse to budge, making you wince at how tight the rope is. You huff, leaning back in the chair, trying to examine your surroundings and figure out what to do next.

Suddenly, a man comes into the room, a crazed look in his eyes despite his calm demeanor as he stares at you, holding his phone. You squint up at him.

“I wasn't expecting y-you to be awake yet.” He says with a small laugh. “Do you…remember anything?”

You don't even really want to talk to him, but knowing it's probably the only way to get out of this, you do so begrudgingly.

“...no.”

Kurt frowns, almost like a kicked puppy. “But..you said you would give me a shout out, you can’t- you don't r-remember any of that?” He asks disappointedly, his voice whiny and kind of annoying to you.

But something else he said…you said you would give him a shout out? It makes you remember what happened better. He was your weird Spree driver that you got on your way home. He made the conversation super awkward when he brought up your following and kept asking to collab, so you agreed to give him a shout out just so he would leave you alone. You drank out of a water bottle and then…you woke up here.

You glare at him.

“You're that fucking freak from the rideshare, aren't you? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask, once again pulling at the rope.

Kurt frowns again, moving a little bit closer.

“There's no need for insults." He says softly.

“This is seriously pathetic, you expect me to, what, just tell people to follow you? Maybe make better content, dude.” You say with a bitter laugh.

He looks genuinely hurt by what you said, and for some reason it briefly makes you feel bad, though that feeling instantly goes away. It makes you realize that he might be easy to manipulate. You could work with that.

“H-hey, I work hard on my content! And I’ve- I have a lot of fans.” He replies defensively. You put on a fake guilty expression.

“You're right,” Saying that makes you cringe, but you continue. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. But I can't get into my phone if I'm tied up.”

You can see him considering letting you out, but then he grins and leans forward, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“That's okay, I can do it myself.” He joyfully holds up the phone to unlock it with the face ID, but he frowns again when you start shutting your eyes and moving your head to stop him from unlocking it.

He grabs the back of your head, trying to force you to stay still to unlock the phone. You wince and glare even harder at him before turning your head and spitting at him, hitting him in the face. He steps back, shocked with wide eyes as he loses his grip on your hair. You swear you can see his face flush as he wipes it off, suddenly very fidgety. You squint, watching him as he avoids eye contact with you, his hand holding the phone slack at his side.

“Were you fucking into that?” You ask. This man is a freak. Little does he know, there isn't a person alive you can't outfreak.

You finally see a way to get untied, and you slide forward a little bit, spreading your legs as you stare at the man.

“Your name is Kurt, right?” You ask, lifting your leg and nudging him with your shoe, trying to get him to come closer. He does, hesitantly. He nods at your question, glancing down at your lap and then back at your face.

You're slightly uncomfortable with the silence, but it seemed like it was going to work, so you kept going with it. “Well, Kurt…I could give you something way better than views.”

He shakes his head. “There isn't really a-anything better.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Fine, I'll….I don't know, give you a way to get views if you untie me.” He seems more interested after you say that. He gets closer, reaching behind you and untying the rope, and you rub your wrists because of the pain of the rope digging into you. You glance back up at Kurt, and pull him into your lap. He looks surprised, for some reason even though you were pretty obvious with your intentions.

One of your hands grabs hold of his waist while the other slides down, taking your phone out of his hand. You can feel and see his growing erection, his face flushed as he stares down at you.

“You want to be famous, right?” You ask. He nods, looking pretty pathetic, which makes a feeling of warmth shoot down to your dick. You open your streaming app and go live, pointing the camera towards Kurt’s face. It makes his clothed cock twitch, and you gently nudge him to get off of you. He does, and he gets on his knees as you shove your pants down. Nestled in between your legs, face resting on your thigh, you continue to record as the viewers slowly trickle in, the chat confused about what's happening or commenting on the man in front of you.

Kurt slowly lifts a hand, pulling your semi-hard cock out of your boxers, visibly drooling when he sees it. He looks up at you and the camera as if asking for permission, and you give him a little nod, burying your free hand in his hair. He starts to move his hand slowly, watching it twitch and grow harder before hesitantly pressing his lips to the tip.

“Look at the camera, Kurt.” You say, and his eyes lock on the phone as he licks and sucks at the head of your cock.

You start to push his head down, and he enthusiastically takes more of you into his mouth, even when he starts to gag. You pull his head back up and then push him back down, and he lets you, completely giving up control of the situation almost immediately. His eyes never leave the phone, and you take a glance at the amount of viewers.

“200 people here so far.” You tell Kurt. He lets out a muffled moan, his eyes starting to tear up as he continues to let you manipulate his movements, bobbing his head up and down. You start to get rougher, making him take you down to the base before pulling him back up for air, and then shoving him back down, drool dripping down his chin.

He gags almost every time you shove him back down, but that only turns you one more, your cock slick with his spit. You pull his head up again, watching the tears run down his cheeks.

“Tell ‘em your channel, Kurt.” You urge him as he gasps for breath.

“K- Kurtsworld- Kurtsworld96 on e-everything.” He responds shakily, still staring at the camera. You push him back down without any warning, thrusting in and out of his throat.

“If you guys wanna see more of this cockslut, go follow him.” You say teasingly as the sounds of him choking and gagging on your cock fill the background. He whines around you, and you can tell even the thought of him getting more followers because of this was turning him on even more.

You force his head back up, saliva connecting the tip of your cock and his lips as he looks ruined, spit and tears running down his face. You slap your dick against his face a few times and he moans softly, staring up at you and your phone, the amount of viewers climbing higher and higher as you make sure you give them a good view of his face. His phone goes off a few times across the room, and he whines again as you push him back a little bit and stand up. You move the chair and gesture for him to lay down on the floor, which he does instantly. You kneel between his legs, roughly getting his pants and underwear off, his cock throbbing as it's exposed to the cold air.

You press yours against his, wrapping your free hand around both of them as you make sure you're still filming. You jerk the both of you off, making Kurt squirm and moan, his cock practically leaking. The size difference between you and Kurt makes the pool of heat in your stomach even warmer. You take your hand away, gesturing for Kurt to turn over. It takes him a second to register, but he does, and you use your free hand to lift his hips, getting him into the position you want. His ass presses against your hips, your cock against his hole.

You realize you don't have any lube on hand, so you move back a little bit and spit down onto his hole, making him whimper. You do the same for your hand, wrapping it around your cock and pumping it a few times, using that and your precum to make yourself slick enough.

You move the phone so that you're holding it directly in front of you, letting them watch as you rub the tip of your cock against Kurt’s tight hole, thrusting against it a few times and hearing his soft moans. He wiggles his hips a little bit, trying to get you to speed up, so you start to push yourself into him. He gasps, moaning as you get a little less than half way in. His hands are desperately trying to grab onto something, and you groan as his walls squeeze tight around you.

His hole greedily sucks you in, and once you're fully in, you roll your hips a little bit, making him whine. You start to thrust in and out of him, gripping his waist tightly. He pushes his hips back, fucking himself back onto you the best he could, letting out loud moans and whimpers. You were a little surprised he was that vocal, but you weren't complaining at all. His legs shake, his forehead pressed against the floor. The people in the chat are saying all kinds of things about Kurt as the view count gets higher.

You reach forward, slipping two of your fingers into his mouth. He starts sucking immediately, moaning around them as his tongue laps at them hungrily. You pull them back out, swiping the saliva you collected against his hole to keep it slick enough to keep going. His cock throbs again, rubbing against the floor, which can't be comfortable, but he seems to not mind, clenching tightly around you. You groan again, squeezing his ass and pulling him back into you at a quicker pace.

His moans and whines get louder, more high pitched and you can feel he's getting closer. You bury your hand in his hair, pulling his head up and holding the phone in front of him, turning the camera around so he can see himself and the amount of people currently watching. He moans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he cums. He shoots his load against the floor underneath him, clamping down tight around you. It makes you feel your own release approaching, and you bury yourself deep inside of him, causing him to whimper from the oversensitivity as you dump your seed into him, thoroughly stuffing the man who had kidnapped you.

He falls fully onto the ground, panting heavily as you pull out and end the stream, Kurt laying there shaking, and you, completely satisfied.

BONUS

You wipe sweat from your forehead as you catch your own breath, and after a little bit, Kurt turns and sits up, his used hole leaking your cum. Your demeanor changes and you gently run a hand down his arm.

“Did I do good?” He asks, exhausted.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You did. Just don't tie the rope as tight next time, that really hurt.” You say, putting your phone down, rubbing at the soreness in your wrist as Kurt nods, getting comfortable against your chest.

[bluedeedeedoop]

Alright! My Andor thoughts and a bit of a wild take of mine.

but to be honest, it shouldn't be considered a wild take.

(kind of spoilers under the cut?)

The people who say that Andor is boring, dull, too wordy, uninteresting, etc. are essentially outing themself for having 0 media literacy and comprehension skills.

You can not like the show, i'm not saying you can't, it can genuinely not be your thing and that's okay; but to outright say it's bad with zero genuine reasoning as to why you think that and then take the time to complain about it anyway, you're just setting yourself up at this point.

Along that note:

You can have your own opinions about whatever you want, but at the same time I feel as if we need to factor in some media literacy with this guys.. I thought it was common sense that a franchise practically about fighting fascists and fascism as a whole was going to include the good, the bad, AND the ugly. Meaning: darker themes were and are a major possibility. Andor itself was never shy about bringing up the intensity and crushing devastations that was brought along with the empire!

I recently saw a post but it was soon deleted, but I got the gist of it so i will quote what I recall.

Andor season 1 had horrific torture scenes, prison labor death camps, lynching, stalking, murder, bombings, you fucking name it. but the moment that there's a scene that depicts sexual violence, that being something that women ESPECIALLY undocumented women are at risk of, it's suddenly too dark?

I think it's important to address these types of issues in media in order to bring awareness to the severity of it! Not to mention it's quite literally happening as we speak!! Andor season 2 is ON THE DOT to bringing up real issues that are happening today, planet destruction, immigration abuse, immigrant violence, cmon guys! Do we just not like getting told what's happening right in front of us? And as for a supposed line being crossed with the Star wars franchise since sexual violence was brought up, when and where did we even draw that supposed line? was it with the child murder and child abduction? the genocide? the discriminatory violence? slavery? war crimes? murder? Honestly, that statement is so ironic on such an astronomical level that it's insane.

Yes, it is extremely distressing, and I think it's fair to assume everyone watching the scene with Bix and the officer felt absolutely sick to their stomach and that reaction is completely valid and non-negotiable.

However, that doesn't give us a reason to dismiss it. Could it have used a warning? Probably, but like I said before, Andor has never been shy about discussing intense issues in a series about political war and violence, so I feel like it's important to go into it already expecting dark topics. They have made it very clear that they aren't holding back. Do people think we enjoyed watching that extremely distressing scene? That we're happy that it was included? What, that everyone is cheering because someone said the word rape? If that's your take away from seeing everyone's reactions to it, that is quite literally, again, a media literacy issue.

And in my opinion, I think it's powerful to bring awareness to it in Andor since so many people can easily dismiss this type of thing in every day news, but not when it's in their fictional media. Now it's uncomfortable; now it's present.

Yes, Star Wars is an escapism for MANY but let me say this; Escapism does not equal ignorance.

Be as mad about the reality shown in Andor as much as you want, but don't go saying that Star wars "took it too far" because as I stated before, how far is too far?

And before people go throwing fits, AGAIN; i'm not saying you're not allowed to dislike Andor! Literally like and dislike whatever you want; I am simply stating and pointing out the irony and hypocrisy of many statements and arguments i've seen online so far.

[cough-droplet]

People have been discussing what Shirakura said in the "Toei's Secret-Spilling Special!" that came out yesterday on TTFC but I've seen a lot of confusion based on partial translations so I recruited my usual co-conspirators michaelele and Flame to translate the full thing. The text of the interview follows. The video will probably be up on my wordpress at some point today.

Please introduce yourself.

Shirakura: My name is [Shin'ichiro] Shirakura. I'm a poor old man who TTFC has abducted and forced to talk to you all. Glad to be here.

We have a load of questions for you. Are you prepared?

Shirakura: I heard we received hundreds of questions, which I'm really grateful for, because that means Toei's secrets are as dark and alluring as the ocean depths. Keeping their secrets is usually my trade, but today I get to do the opposite. I'm a bit nervous and hope this doesn't upset anyone.

What does the Character Strategy Department do?

Shirakura: Character-based IP have been at the center of Toei's business for over 50 years at this point, so it seemed like high time to make it more official. The Character Strategy Department creates business strategies for our various character-based IP, or plans for them at least.

Looking back to 2024, what do you think of the hype surrounding Royal Sentai King-Ohger's final act?

Shirakura: I'm truly grateful to all the King-Ohger fans, because it wouldn't be possible without them. TTFC was already working with Producer [Takahito] Omori on cutting together the final three episodes into a special edition for release on TTFC. So the plan was always there, and, in fact, I considered giving that cut a straight-up theatrical release. It did get a limited theatrical showing in the end, albeit as a one-day-only deal for members. We would like to do something similar again at some point, but it's really all because of our fans.

What are your thoughts on its successor, Cranked-Up Sentai Boonboomger?

Shirakura: When I first heard the title, "Cranked-Up Sentai Boonboomger," I thought it was weird, but... it kind of rolls off the tongue nicely. Despite its strangeness, it has a certain aura. Then, upon closer inspection, I knew only Producer [Yoshito] Kuji could have come up with it.

Whenever you'd ask Kuji to describe what the show's about, he'll be like... [stone-faced] "It's a cranked-up show." He'd say it just like that, cold as ice. He's really passionate, but he keeps it under the surface, so on the surface he's this mild-mannered, gentle kind of guy. So then I heard the red ranger go, "THAT'S CRANKED UP!" and I shouted "That's where that came from!"

I don't know if "secure" is quite the right word, but I think it's a show that's made with a lot of care.

So the production schedules have seen a shift?

Shirakura: Boonboomger is still following King-Ohger's production cycle, but the series after it will have a two-month head start. The idea of that is… Well, earlier I joked about the Character Strategy Department, but the point isn't just to expand our business dealings with regards to character-based IP such as the Super Sentai and Kamen Rider franchises, but to actively improve the shows in every way possible. Looking at it from the business end of things, Kamen Rider Gavv is actually the first show made in this adjusted production cycle.

The first reason for this is to reduce overseas piracy. The problem with our shows being pirated… The people who pirate our programs are huge fans who love the shows, there's no doubt about that, but in a way, they're also fanatics. What I mean by that is... When these people form their opinions on the shows before the official release has a chance to come out, they're in a position to color the opinions of the fans who watch the official releases. So, for instance, when the official release comes out, the streaming platforms will be flooded with comments like, "If the toys were like so-and-so instead I would buy them," "If they did this then the show would be good."

The head start from pirating lets fanatics drown out all other conversation about a show, even though fanatics judge things differently. So one of our goals was to reduce that.

Another reason was just to revamp our working environment. For years, it's been a mad rush to get each episode to air, giving ourselves barely any time. Obviously, it's very demanding, and it's very easy to go over budget in that situation. But this recent shift in our production schedule should give our budget management, as well as working conditions for cast and crew, a big refresh, so to speak.

We've decided to set this new schedule with Gavv and stick to it over the following years, with all our upcoming projects planned around this. We've been running these franchises for 50 years, but this is totally new for us—Even though I feel like we should have made the change years ago.

What are your thoughts on Kamen Rider Gotchard?

Shirakura: Well, Producer [Yousuke] Minato was under me when we worked on [Avataro Sentai] Donbrothers, so this was his first time being Chief Producer. Obviously, it's got a bit of a school setting, as well as a very young cast, so I think it's a show that's got a youthful energy to it.

The title of the show, Gotchard, was something Minato really pushed for. There were a lot of objections to it. When it came to deciding the all-important title, though, he wasn't forceful about it, but he made it clear he felt really strongly about "Gotchard". [laughs] He said that, along with Decade and Ex-Aid, it can be a sub-series of shows that end in ド (-do). So he pushed the objections aside… In a way, I see that as a sign of how reliable he could be.

How has the shift in the production schedule affected Kamen Rider Gavv?

Shirakura: One of the reasons for Gavv's production shift is China's censorship system. That's where the piracy problem is biggest, and it takes quite a while to pass the censorship process, so we thought we'd give ourselves a three-month lead. We weren't able to pass censorship by September, but finally, as of October 13th, the show has been simulcast day-and-date in Japan and China. This means, for the first time, the official release could make it out before the pirated versions, which I'm really glad we managed to do.

But beating piracy is really just one part of it. As the producer, [Naomi] Takebe tells me, it's had a great overall effect. One major example is the cast. The rushed schedule we had before meant episodes had an extremely fast turnaround. By giving ourselves more lead time, filming Gavv before anyone else knew about it, it gave everyone several months to focus solely on Gavv. Of course, when it aired, all the comments would come, and the interviews and press tours… A sudden influx of noise, for lack of a better term. But, until then, that's three extra months the cast has to focus on their work, their characters. That's the best thing about it.

It also helps with the promotional materials. Take the videos we make to announce the show: We had a lot more material to work with this time, and the CGI was even finalized in time for those trailers. The same goes for the previews at the end of each episode. Even Takebe wondered why didn't do this ages ago. "Why have we been rushing ourselves like this? Why were we so stuck in our ways?" It's really a dark side of Toei no one can understand.

This is the big one. Talk to us about the winter movie.

Shirakura: This year, we're releasing the Fuuto PI movie, and in the new year, there's the Gotchard V-Cinext. As for the so-called "winter movies" we've done each year since 2009, there won't be one. Nor next year, most likely. We're reorganizing the structure, which is getting into Character Strategy again.

So, there's the summer movies, winter movies, and we used to have spring movies as well. Now we have V-Cinexts, which are usually epilogues at the end of a show's run, or movies we make for anniversaries. But there's also stuff like Fuuto PI, or Shin Kamen Rider, which are in their own categories. There's a need to put a structure to all of that. This question is about Kamen Rider, but we're applying this mindset elsewhere, too, of course.

When we talk about Rider movies, though, including V-Cinexts, the question is, what's the demographic? Who are we targeting? Who'll enjoy this? These are questions we've struggled with 'till last year. We need to be more clear about our audience and make things for different demographics to enjoy. We're just starting to do that now, and there's still a lot I can't say, but we have multiple projects in the works right now which we'll start announcing in 2025. Please look forward to those.

Can you give us any specifics?

Shirakura: To be more specific… Well, I can't be that specific, but we'll have something based on the series on TV, a so-called "anniversary" project based on a prior TV series, and something that isn't based on any show at all. So those three projects are all being worked on.

This is because we realized that only the people who follow the TV shows understand our movies. So we're reflecting on that. The core fans will obviously show up for our spring, summer, and winter movies, but with the number of Riders increasing, some people, even us, will forget about certain Riders, and their forms, etc… That's not a big problem for the super dedicated fans, but the average viewer will be completely lost. Lately, it's been feeling more like we've been alienating part of the audience.

That's why, and this is just my way of putting it… We should make things that old people like me can enjoy, too. I honestly think it's important that someone who's not watching the show could catch the trailer and think, "Wow! That movie looks interesting!"

The things that triggered this line of thought are probably [Kamen Rider] Black Sun and Shin Kamen Rider. We've had some experience now — and I'm not saying we'll make stuff like those again — but we're making movies that anyone can enjoy, movies that can stand on their own. We've got a few of those lined up, so I hope everyone can look forward to them.

Tell us about Super Sentai's future as we come into its 50th anniversary.

Shirakura: Next year, 2025, will be the first Super Sentai series' 50th anniversary year.

Super Sentai up 'till now— Let's use [Kikai Sentai] Zenkaiger and its "#45 Bang!" as an example— We've celebrated anniversaries based on the number of series, but I'd like to start celebrating based on the actual years. The reason being… Also, [Pirate Sentai] Gokaiger was heavily pushed for being the 35th series, which begs the question, "why all the emphasis on the numbers that end in 5, like 35 and 45?" It's because we wanted to match with Kamen Rider.

I forget whose idea it was, probably Suzuki Takeyuki, I think, but we've been doing these "double anniversaries". We say it's to celebrate both Rider and Sentai, but we just don't want Rider taking all the spotlight. So that's what we've been doing, but I think it's best if we stopped coupling Rider and Sentai together so much. Rider and Sentai should each have their own space. That's why we're revamping the way we count these.

[laughs] Besides, if we're honest, we're not even sure how many Sentai there are anymore. It's all LuPat's fault, really, [referring to Thief Sentai Lupinranger VS Police Sentai Patranger] because now the amount of years, the amount of shows, and the amount of Sentai all no longer match each other!

It's not really a total reset or anything, but we're ignoring the number of series and number of teams and just celebrating the actual anniversaries from now on. Though, I guess it works out, because considering LuPat, next up is the 50th Sentai and the 50th anniversary year, and this isn't a chance we'll ever get again.

What can you tell us about the Super Sentai series airing in 2025?

Shirakura: In 2025, after Boonboomger finishes its run, it'll be followed by a new show starring a new Sentai.

A while ago, I was outside Toei when I ran into this guy Ricardo, from Brazil. I was like, "I haven't seen you in six years!", and he told me "Shirakura! I heard about the new Sentai!"

Oh? Looks like someone's here...

(The second part of this interview will release on TTFC on December 29th)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hiii, i am writing my first book/novel. its highlighting d***th, romance, mystery, politics, pretty questionable characters w revenge, thriller and lots of women n power play. its my first book and im not that educated about such themes. but this rough plot i have in my mind is so beautiful that underperforming this excellent trope would be a shame....ive never written before so could you please what to do to actually write this kinda theme to my heart's satisfaction. I've never written a freaking chap before and now im really lost

Writing Ideas: Revenge Tropes

some tropes related to revenge, thriller, women, and power play

Afterlife Avenger: This trope involves the circumstance where a character explicitly still chooses to pursue conflicts against whatever's left of their hated target long after they've passed.

Best Served Cold: Named for the French (or Sicilian, or Klingon, or drow, depending on who you ask) proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold." At least in the case of drow, it also means one can have well-planned revenge and drive them mad with fear as a bonus.

Crusading Widow: The death or murder of their significant other motivates the character to seek revenge.

Defeat as Backstory: A protagonist (or some other character's backstory) in a story begins by having been defeated either before the story began, or early on in the story (often in a prologue).

Dying Curse: With his dying breath, a character wishes ill fortune upon his killers, or some other personal enemy.

Pay Evil unto Evil: In real life, the sort of thinking behind this trope is called "retributive justice".

Revenge Through Corruption: Instead of inflicting physical harm, the villain attacks the mind and soul.

Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy: When someone goes after not only a crime's perpetrator, but those who supplied the perpetrator or were otherwise marginally connected to it, whether or not the people involved had anything to do with the actual crime.

Woman Scorned: A woman who's been dumped, cheated on, or otherwise done wrong by her significant other (or, in some cases, merely thinks she's been).

Examples

Alexandre Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo, probably the greatest revenge story of all time.

In the original version of Beauty and the Beast, the Prince's widowed mother goes off to fight a war and leaves a wicked fairy to help him rule. When the Prince comes of age, she tries to seduce him and turns him into a Beast when he refuses her advances.

In Moby-Dick, Captain Ahab makes it clear throughout the book that he'll pursue Moby Dick to, into, through, and out of Hell, and even then he still won't be satisfied until the whale suffers forever for its slight against him.

Crime and Punishment: One of the antagonists of the novel, Porfiry, works as a police officer and interrogator, which usually would qualify as a good-aligned job. As you further witness this officer's tactics in catching criminals, you see him commit to bribery, thievery, death-threats, and psychological torture to force an admission. Furthermore, he seems to actually enjoy it, toying with amateur criminals like a cat torturing a wounded mouse. The justification, of course, being that the victim of this was a murderer, and therefore deserves it.

George R. R. Martin's Fire & Blood: After the war, Lady Joanna Lannister has a beef to pick with the Greyjoys, who've taken up raiding the coast, including killing a few Lannisters. She decides the best course of action is go to the Iron Islands and kill every man, woman and child she can find. She just settles for burning a lot of things and abducting one Greyjoy, gelding him and turning him into her fool.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen receives a Dying Curse in Dune. After killing a combat slave in the arena, his opponent's final words are "One day one of us will get you." Given that this fighter is not just a slave, but one of the soldiers from the army of the Harkonnen's blood enemies, the Atreides, this may be prophetic.

In A Song of Ice and Fire, Arya Stark's conflation of justice and personal vengeance leads her to Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy. While many of people on her death list certainly deserve to be brought to justice, such as the Tickler for torture and Weese for abuse, others were merely acting on orders, such as the Hound, doing their jobs or are just guilty by association. Cersei Lannister is on her death list for being involved in the execution of Ned Stark, but Cersei wasn't complicit in that activity, and even spoke out against it. Same with Ilyn Payne, who was just doing his job as the royal executioner. The real mastermind of Ned's death, Littlefinger, is not on the list. Meryn Trant is on the list for killing Syrio Forel, but there isn't any evidence to confirm the crime. Polliver and Dunsen are on the list for flimsy reasons, like stealing. She has Chiswyck murdered for the crime of not being as funny as he thinks he is (granted, Chiswyck was joking about a gang rape, but that isn't the reason Arya cites as his crime). The conflation of justice and vengeance, and how that conflation leads to this trope, is one of the key themes of the entire story.

Queen Dido in The Aeneid, who prophesies that her and Aeneas's people will meet again in war (the Punic Wars — her future, Virgil's past). Particularly tragic in that it's made fairly obvious that he'd have stayed with her if he'd had the choice.

Sidney Sheldon's The Best Laid Plans: Leslie Stewart plots to ruin the career of Oliver Russell when he leaves her at the altar to marry a woman whose father promises to further his political career.

The Hunger Games: The Pay Evil Unto Evil trope is discussed all the way through Mockingjay, and reaches its culmination when President Coin suggests either executing all Capitol citizens or forcing their children into the Games.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some tropes I found related to the themes you described. You can find more in the source linked above. Study how it is portrayed in different types of media, and in your favourite films/books, to gain inspiration for your own story. You can take the rough idea/plot you already have, and try to incorporate techniques and tropes used by other authors, but then deviate from borrowing those ideas when your story starts to flow naturally. All the best with your writing!

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I've got to say, I'm very pleased that this au won the latest poll! Gwaine's one of my favorite characters, but I don't give him enough love in my writing. So, I decided to really let his character shine in this au alongside some other characters who I feel like didn't get enough attention in the show. Enjoy! :D

Also, I saw that Merlin was trending again today, so I decided to jump in while that was happening lol! I love that this fandom will just wake up on a random day and decide to take over tumblr!

This au is set in the years between season 4 and season 5 (but Lancelot is still alive because I say so), and the story starts with Gwaine's getting a little worried about his friend. Merlin's getting more and more stressed as the weeks go by, and he doesn't smile very often anymore despite Gwaine's best efforts, which usually involve roping Merlin into whatever mischief he's stirred up recently for a little bit of fun.

Gwaine feels pretty guilty about Merlin's worsening mental state, because Gwaine is thriving for the first time in his life, finding a community and purpose among the knights of Camelot. And he owes it all, everything he now has, to Merlin, who is suffering under a burden that no one can seem to help him with.

So, Gwaine tries all that he can to cheer up his friend and pull him out of whatever terrible place his mind is stuck in, but no matter what Gwaine does, he can't seem to lighten Merlin's mood any. Sure, Merlin will plaster on a smile for Gwaine's sake and tell him that nothing's wrong, but Gwaine can see the dullness in Merlin's eyes, he saw it every time his saw his reflection for years before Merlin barreled into his life and showed him that there was more to life than taverns and wandering.

Before he knew it, a year had passed, and Gwaine hadn't made any progress in pulling Merlin out of his darkening mental state. Gwaine felt so frustrated and useless whenever he saw Merlin's smile the drop the second he thought that no one was watching. This was his chance to finally repay Merlin for turning his life around for the better, for giving him a home, a family, a purpose, but nothing he did was helping!

But Gwaine couldn't give up on helping Merlin. There must be a way to help him, to support him through whatever was burdening him, some way to bring that bright spark back to his eyes. Gwaine just had to find out how.

From the on, Gwaine kept an even closer eye on Merlin, determined to figure out what was weighing down his friend and how to ease his burdens. It was because Gwaine was watching Merlin so closely that he noticed them.

Gwaine will give them credit, whoever they were, they were good at stealth, far beyond anyone Gwaine had met before. The cloaked figure was almost always out of sight, right in the corners of his vision. At first, he thought that this nearly imperceivable figure was after him, but it didn't take him long to figure out that the mysterious figure was following Merlin.

As soon as Gwaine realized this, all of the alarm bells in his mind went off. Was this an assassin sent to kill Merlin? A spy trying to infiltrate Camelot? A bandit planning to abduct Merlin for ransom?

Or, Gwaine realized, this might be connected to Merlin's worsening moods. This mysterious figure was clearly well trained, but they had been following Merlin for over a week and still hadn't attacked, so they probably weren't an assassin or bandit. Was Merlin being threatened by this figure into doing their bidding?!

Finally, after tailing Merlin's stalker for weeks, Gwaine manages to get some answers after following Merlin on a late-night rendezvous outside of the castle. When Gwaine had spotted Merlin sneaking away under the cover of night, Gwaine of course had to follow him! Merlin could be in danger!

Gwaine followed Merlin as the other man made his way into the woods with a surprising amount of stealth. After a long hike through the woods, Merlin arrived at his destination, which, to Gwaine's shock, looked strikingly like a druid camp. There were painted tents, campfires, and even magical symbols carved into the tree, and all signs pointed to sorcerers living there.

Gwaine's anxiety skyrocketed at the sight. Why would Merlin risk coming to this secret druid camp, which Arthur definitely did not know about? Was Merlin being threatened and followed by sorcerers?!

Gwaine crept around the outskirts of the camp, sticking to the darkness. He saw Merlin approach a rather intimidating bald man, who, if the way the others in the camp made way for him as he walked, was the leader of this group of sorcerers.

Gwaine kept his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and run to the defense of his friend at a moment's notice. As he kept watching though, he strangely couldn't see any sign of a threat towards Merlin. While Gwaine couldn't hear much of their conversation, the intimidating leader guy acted almost friendly towards Merlin, and Merlin was relaxed, not showing any signs of fear at all.

As Merlin and his maybe-friend began making their way out of the camp, Gwaine could finally hear some of what they were saying.

"Thank you again, Alator. I'm not sure what I would've done without your help!"

"It is no burden to me or my men, I assure you. It is an honor to assist a man as great as you, Emrys. Morgana's forces are a threat to us all and an affront to all that is good in this world. We will fight at your side as always and ensure that Morgana's spies never infiltrate Camelot again."

Alright, there was... a lot for Gwaine to unpack there.

First of all, the scary bald man's name was apparently Alator, so that was good to know. He claimed to be allied with Merlin against Morgana, which gave Gwaine some relief.

However, as Gwaine's mind put the pieces together, he wanted to scream with frustration. Merlin was consorting with dangerous sorcerers behind Arthur's back in order to protect Camelot! It was a move so selfless yet foolish that only Merlin could pull it off.

Still, these sorcerers didn't seem hostile towards Merlin at all, so Gwaine could work with that. He just needed a little bit more information on them, some way to confirm that they really were on Merlin's side on not double crossing his friend.

So, Gwaine crept closer into the camp, trying to see what they were up to now that Merlin was gone. He didn't see anything incriminating just yet, but that didn't mean that they were free of any nefarious plans.

Gwaine inched closer and closer into the camp, his eyes trained on the men who were probably sorcerers going about their evening chores in the camp. Gwaine so focused on his targets, in fact, that he didn't register that there was someone behind him until he felt blow to the back of his head and fell unconscious.

As Gwaine woke up, his first thought was that the pounding in his head was just a hangover, which was not by any means an unusual occurrence for Gwaine. That idea was quickly disproven as, when Gwaine tried to raise his hands to his head to try and alleviate his massive headache, he realized that his hands were bound. Once again, this wasn't necessarily an unusual situation for Gwaine, but it did cause him to freeze up with alarm as he remembered where he was and what he was doing before everything went black.

When Gwaine was finally able to peel his eyes open, he was greeted with the sight of several angry-looking men, including their intimidating leader whom Merlin had spoken to. What was his name... ah yes, Alator!

Putting on his friendliest and most innocent smile, Gwaine immediately tried to talk his way out of the situation. It had worked for him in similar situations, so why not give it a shot?

"Well, hello there gentlemen! I was just here looking for my buddy Merlin, have you seen him? Lanky fellow, dark hair, always wearing a neckerchief? A great guy, really, you'd know if you had met him!"

Gwaine scrutinized each of his captors' reactions to Merlin's name. Maybe this way he could find out what their intentions with Merlin. However, all of their expressions remained stubbornly neutral, except for Alator, who simply blinked at the mention of Merlin.

After an awkwardly long silence, Gwaine again tried to get some sort of reaction out of these mysterious men.

"I could have sworn I saw him heading this way, and I got worried about him, ya know? What kind of friend would I be if I let him wander around the forest at night all by himself! He's the kindest person I know, but he can somehow find himself in trouble at any time."

Again, much to Gwaine's rising frustration, Alator simply blinked. After another awkward pause, Alator finally responded.

"You are a knight of Camelot, correct? And you hold Emrys is high regard?"

Gwaine frowned at the seemingly random questions, but he figured it couldn't hurt to keep the conversation rolling, especially if it can get him some answers. Admitting to being a knight of Camelot in front of a bunch of potentially dangerous sorcerer might not be the best move, but they were willingly working with King Arthur's personal manservant, so these guys must not have that much of an issue with Camelot, right?

"Why yes, I am a knight of Camelot! Sir Gwaine, at your service! Based on your question, I assume that Emrys is some nickname you have for Merlin?"

In response to his question, Alator merely gave a single, solemn nod. Man, this group really needed to work on their communication skills.

"In that case, I do hold Emrys in very high regard! In fact, I'd say he's the best person I've ever met!"

Finally, that comment got a reaction out of them! As soon as Gwaine told them about how much he values Merlin, the men in front of him started nodding and murmuring amongst themselves. Gwaine hoped that they were happy about having a common friend and not plotting ways to kill him.

After reaching some consensus, the men all turned towards Gwaine simultaneously, which sent a shiver down Gwaine's back. What were they planning?

Alator then waved his hand, and his eyes flashed gold, confirming Gwaine's suspicions that he was dealing with sorcerers. Gwaine flinched back and braced himself for whatever spell had just been sent his way...

Only to feel the chains binding him fall to the ground, leaving him free and unharmed. Gwaine glanced down to check that he was, in fact, still in one piece before staring at Alator in shock.

"I can sense the honesty in your heart as you speak Emrys's praises. Know that any friend of Emrys is a friend to us. We apologize for our previous behavior, as we did not know that you were also an ally of Emrys. Please, join us for a cup of tea so we can discuss this further."

Gwaine, reeling from his host's sudden change in attitude, let them maneuver him outside and give him a seat at their campfire, with Alator and his men sitting with him around the fire.

Gwaine looked around at his hosts, who sat silently around the fire, not even talking amongst themselves. The silence made Gwaine's nerves stand on end, so he decided to fill that silence himself. He might as well get to know his gracious hosts and fellow friends of Merlin, right?

"So, who are you guys? How did you meet Merlin? Hey, maybe we can compare stories of him! Let me tell you, I've got some crazy stories to share about adventures he's dragged me on!"

The men sitting around him shared a silent look at each other before Alator answered.

"We are the Catha, masters of combat and one of the last surviving sects of priests of the Old Religion. I am Alator, the leader of the Catha. I first met Emrys when I betrayed Morgana to follow a better, more peaceful path. Emrys showed us that Morgana's hatred lies opposed to the will of the gods, and we chose to place our loyalty in him instead. What stories do you have concerning Emrys?"

Gwaine nodded, feeling a strange sort of relatability to these intimidating magic-wielding warrior priests. They, like him, were on a path of meaningless destruction and found a better life by meeting Merlin.

"Ah, I can remember meeting Merlin like it was yesterday! There I was, drowning my sorrows in a tavern, when in walks a skinny looking guy and his pompous friend! They got into trouble pretty quickly, and I couldn't miss out on all that fun! I jumped into the tavern brawl to help them, but I got pretty banged up in the process. But, it turned out that it was my lucky day, because wouldn't you know it, I had accidentally saved the life of the prince of Camelot himself!

I didn't think much of prince Arthur at the time, but his manservant sure made a great impression! He brought me back to Camelot on his own horse, took me to the royal physician, gave up his own bed to me for the night so I could recover, and then covered for me after I got drunk off my ass in the tavern, again.

But then some jackasses posing as knights tried to hurt Merlin, and I stepped in to defend him and wound up getting banished by Uther, but then Arthur welcomed me back and even made me a knight when he became prince regent! And I've been lucky enough to have Merlin at my side ever since!"

Gwaine watched as many of the men's eyes widened at his story, unsure of what exactly they were so shocked by.

"You mean to say that you stood up to Uther Pendragon, the mad butcher king, for Emrys's sake? And came back to his side as soon as you could despite the threat of death hanging over your head?"

"Well, I did manage to see Merlin on one other occasion while I was banished, but he sought me out for that one. Apparently Arthur was having some trouble on his big quest to the Perilous Lands, so Merlin called me in as backup."

The Catha started whispering amongst themselves at that, with even Alator leaning forward in interest.

"Emrys specifically sought out your skills on such a monumental quest? You understand the significance of such an honor?"

Gwaine nodded, his expression shifting from a wistful one to a much more serious one.

"Of course I understand. Merlin's such an amazing person, and it shocks me every time that he thinks I'm someone worth relying on. Still, that only motivates me to not let him down. He saw something in me that no one else did, not even me, and he found a way to bring it to the surface. He changed my life, gave me a purpose, and I will never underestimate how much he's done for me."

This time, all of the Catha were nodding their heads in approval of Gwaine's appreciation for Merlin.

"You truly do see the significance of Emrys, Sir Gwaine. I can see your loyalty towards him clearly. For that, I would like to make you an offer.

Emrys's enemies are our enemies, and there are many of them. Morgana's forces grow stronger by the day, and we can only do so much with how few of us are left. Emrys himself faces many dangers, and we cannot always protect him as much as we'd like, seeing as how we cannot enter the city of Camelot. You, however, are at Emrys's side every day.

In working towards our shared goals, will you work alongside us to protect Emrys and keep Morgana's forces at bay? We can provide you with training that will put you far ahead of any of your peers and weapons that shall make you a formidable opponent to even the most powerful sorcerers. Will you accept our offer?"

"Ah, I see now. It was you lot who have been following Merlin around recently! Well, that certainly gives me quite a bit of relief, knowing that he isn't being followed around by someone who'd want to hurt him. I'd be happy to join in on your mission to protect Merlin!"

The Catha started murmuring approvingly amongst themselves at Gwaine's acceptance, until Alator spoke again.

"That is wonderful. It is an honor to be able to work alongside a warrior held in such high esteem by Emrys himself."

As Gwaine shook Alator's hand, accepting his offer, he got the feeling that this was the start of an amazing alliance.

And it sure was. Over the next months, Gwaine trained alongside the warrior priests whenever he could, becoming accustomed to their stoic natures and silent demeanors. They taught him fighting styles that he had never even heard of before and gave him information on people who were trying to hurt Merlin, allowing him to keep an eye on and eliminate threats to his friend before they had the chance to strike.

The Catha figured out pretty early on that Gwaine was rubbish at learning anything about magic itself, but when they placed enchanted weapons in his hands, he could wield them effortlessly and adapt his combat style to whatever the effects of the enchantment were. He even got a sword that could burst into flames!

As Gwaine's abilities to wield stronger enchanted weapons improved, the Catha started letting him fight the powerful sorcerers that Morgana sent into Camelot. Soon enough, he was equipped with indestructible armor armor that could repel spells and curses, weapons with some of the most formidable enchantments that the Catha could muster, and even a growing reputation throughout the land!

Luckily, the helmet that the Catha provided him with obscured his identity, so no reports of a rogue and enchantment-wielding Sir Gwaine made their way back to Arthur, as funny as that would be. Still, reports of the "indominable magic knight" that had defeated some of Morgana's most powerful sorcerers made their way across the land, even into Camelot's court. Some council members wished to capture the unknown knight and kill him before he became a threat, while others saw an opportunity to make a powerful ally against Morgana, and Arthur was constantly on the fence between those two arguments while Gwaine sat at the round table, quietly smug.

Meanwhile, Merlin, checking in with the Catha: What's this I hear about a warrior using powerful magic weapons to fight Morganas men?

Alator: Don't worry, Emrys. He's one of ours, fighting against Morgana in your name. He's one of your most devout followers in fact.

Merlin, not wanting to meet another Emrys fanboy who looks at him like he's a god: Uh, just tell him to keep up the good work and to let me know if he needs anything.

Soon after reports of the magic knight made their way to a very conflicted court of Camelot, Morgana sought out the magic knight, ready to either kill him for being such a nuisance or make an ally out of him. After all, surely a knight wielding such powerful magic would never be on the side of Camelot?

However, when Morgana managed to trap the magical knight and surround him with an army of a hundred sorcerers, the knight managed to defeat her and her entire army before escaping. He rained down fire and lightning upon them, the very elements fighting alongside him, as he cut down her army and left her defeated and humiliated.

Of course, reports of Morgana's defeat travelled to Camelot, where the court was even more incensed over the topic of the magical knight. He was capable of beating Morgana, surely he would be a great ally and could ensure Camelot's protection! But he was also now a magic-wielding threat even more powerful than Morgana! Sure he was now the foremost threat to Camelot!

In the end, Arthur and some of his most trusted knights decided to go on a quest to seek out this magical knight. Gwaine wasn't particularly worried, because how could they possibly find him if he was already travelling with them?

During the journey though, they receive word of a magical beast terrorizing nearby villages. The knights all try to fight the beast, but to little success, and it even managed to injure Merlin's leg before escaping!

Merlin's injury turned out to be not life-threatening, but he couldn't stand on his leg for very long. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Merlin entrusted Lancelot with slaying the beast after his injury, enchanting Lancelot's sword so that it could kill a creature of magic and his chainmail so that he wouldn't be hurt by its claws.

Gwaine, meanwhile, was furious with the creature and, that night, summoned his enchanted armor and weapons to go slay the beast and maybe give its head to Merlin as an apology for being unable to stop it from hurting him. Or maybe he would just treat Merlin to a night at the tavern when they got back.

So, Lancelot and Gwaine both tracked down the beast that knight. When they both arrived at the beast's lair with visibly enchanted weapons, they take each other by surprise. Lancelot is on guard, unsure if he wants to trust the now-infamous magic knight, but Gwaine just laughs and removes his helmet, and Lancelot is shocked.

Lancelot and Gwaine seeing each other with enchanted gear: spiderman pointing meme

Gwaine asks Lancelot where he got that enchanted sword, but Lancelot is tight-lipped about it, just saying he got it because he needed to protect Merlin. Gwaine chuckled and said that he understood.

After they finish slaying the beast together, Lancelot asks Gwaine if Merlin knows that he's the magic knight. Gwaine shrugs and says that he suspects that Merlin doesn't know, but wouldn't mind it if Merlin did know.

Lancelot, as soon as they get back to Camelot: So, did you know that Gwaine is actually the magic knight?

Merlin, spitting out his tea and having flashbacks to his conversation with Alator: HE'S WHAT NOW?!

Things get cleared up between Lancelot, Merlin, and Gwaine pretty quickly from there. Gwaine takes the magic reveal very well, excited at the prospect of going on magical adventures with Merlin and glad that his friend can actually defend himself, because he's rubbish with any type of weapon.

From there though, a sort of friendly competition sprung up between Gwaine and Lancelot, as both of them consider themself to be Merlin's best friend. Soon enough, there's two magical knights running around foiling Morgana's plans, and Arthur's ready to tear his hair out over it.

From there, more knights figure out about Merlin's magic and, if they're accepting of it, they also train with the Catha and receive enchanted weapons. It almost becomes its own secret society within the knights, all united with the sole purpose of protecting Merlin. They eventually have Elyan, Percival, and number one Emrys fanboy Mordred join their ranks.

Arthur eventually finds out approximately where the magical knights are hidden (their meeting spot when they need to meet outside of Camelot), and he sends Leon in disguise to infiltrate them, not knowing that they are knights from Camelot. Being the knights of the round table, they of course recognize Leon immediately and give him the full story, and Leon joins them and just tells Arthur that he "couldn't find the magical knights."

Gwaine laughs his ass off at every round table meeting where Arthur becomes more and more frustrated at not being able to catch the magical knights, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin having a good laugh over it too.

And I'll cut it off there for now! I had lots of fun writing this, I feel like I should write about Gwaine more often!

Let me know if you would like me to write a continuation for this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

I still maintain that if there isn't a reconciliation for Buck and Tommy or at least a hint that they're on their way to one in the next episode, the writers are just being cruel to Buck.

Like, I get it, 911 is a drama, and they gotta keep putting their characters through it, but I feel like this season, they have been particularly shitty with Buck. Now I'm not saying he's been miserable the entire season - he is the 118's resident golden retriever after all, and he has certainly had his light moments. But let's look at all the story lines that have affected Buck this season.

He was targeted by Gerrard at the beginning of the season (and feared he had seriously injured him to which no one seemed overly concerned with).

While Masks was probably one of the few fully light-hearted eps Buck has had this season, where we got to see him comfortable (and bratty) with his boyfriend, he not only dislocated his shoulder but spent most of the ep covered in boils.

He then broke up with Tommy and has been mourning the loss of that relationship ever since ("everything started going wrong after Tommy dumped him").

He adopts a dog only to have to give it up.

His sister gets abducted and nearly killed.

His best friend moves to another state.

He has a brief moment of happiness with Tommy ("best night in this place") and thinks there might be a chance of getting back together with Tommy only for that to implode.

And now his brother-in-law is in danger of dying, and then surprise! His father figure dies instead (I'm still holding out hope there's a twist somehow).

Like, come on. And the thing is, yes, everyone in the 118 is going to be devastated with Bobby. But everyone else has partners or children to lean on/share their grief with. Who the hell does Buck have? Sure, we see Eddie has come back for the funeral, but he has a life in Texas and is presumably going back, so any comfort there would be short term - Eddie still has Chris. Again, Buck has no one.

So yes, the next episode is probably too action-packed for a full reconciliation between Buck and Tommy. They need time to talk over their issues (which, let's face it, the show will probably be lazy and do that off-screen). I've always felt with the way the story was going that they would get back together this season, and especially with the spoilers we've been seeing with behind the scenes stuff, I'm feeling pretty confident they do get back together at some point before this season wraps up. I just believe it should at least start in the next ep, so that Buck has someone there for him (and only him). Because if Buck and Tommy are racing around in a helicopter together, in an hour long episode surely they can spare FIVE MINUTES for them to have a small conversation that at least leads it open for them to get back together? That gives Buck someone to lean on when tragedy strikes and everyone else is leaning on their own families for support?

Because if they don't? Like I said, CRUEL.

[bwat5-blog]

No Matter How The World Tries To Break You: Revisiting Vi's Loss

** Spoilers for all of Arcane**

"Vi is such a crap sister"

"Vi let Jinx die"

"All she had to do was move, she refused to listen to Jinx even after everything she did!""

"Jinx is gone because Vi couldn't let Vander go"

**This is sort of a return to one I've already done but with some updated thoughts and more of a complete picture, so if you read my stuff you have probably heard most of this**

In the weeks since the show ended everyone has been sharing their reactions, fan-art and fiction, trading theories and asking questions. It has been truly wonderful to be a part of. And my understanding and appreciation of these characters and their story has only grown thanks to this community.

However, certain things have also persisted. Things that I simply cannot wrap my head around. One of which, is the amount of people suggesting that in that last moment between the sisters and what used to be their father Vi failed. She faltered, "letting her trademark refusal to let go of the past cost her sister her life" (hypothetically)....

They dismiss or disdain her heart and refuse to consider it in their judgement. But to dismiss Vi's heart is, first of all to dismiss a massive part of her story, but it also to dismiss her humanity. And it is the humanity of Arcane that makes this story what it is. And so as I have in bits and pieces across other posts, we are going to take another very quick look at what she has been through, and keeping that in mind, discuss that tragic moment between the former family and why she can't move off of that platform.

A Barebones List of Vi's Suffering: No discussion of blame or right or wrong just what happened.

Age 9-

Witnesses the death of her birth parents and several of their people at the hands of Enforcers

Age 15-

Has spent years living in harsh and dangerous Undercity (think back to the fight with Deckard if you need reminding.. "wanna see how that ends")

Witnesses violent deaths of Mylo, Claggor, and Vander. All after coming so close to saving them and fighting off armed thugs all on her own.

Parted from Powder in way that leaves massive amount of guilt and fear for her little sister's well being

Kidnapped and thrown into prison with out cause

Age 15 to Age 22-

Seven years in Stillwater prison. Abused, assaulted, completely deprived of love and kindness and hope.

Age 22-

Stabbed and beaten by Sevika after being told her sister was Silcos daughter

Narrowly escapes Silco's ambush in her old child hood home, having to bring it down to get away

Reunited with sister to find she is unstable and dangerous, taken from her after barely any time together when Vi is knocked out

Almost killed by sister on same bridge where their parents died. Surrounded by victims of her sisters bombs

See's Zaunite boy killed during she and Jayce's raid on shimmer plant

Almost killed by Sevika again during fight, knocked out and abducted by Jinx after she wins

Her long lost beloved sister who has clearly become someone very different, offers to be who Vi wants her to be if Vi will just murder the innocent woman she has come to have feelings for. Vi stops Caitlyn from shooting at Jinx trying desperately to keep them both safe, sees Caitlyn violently knocked out, is then almost killed by Silco before Jinx saves her, but kills Caitlyn's mother.

She is willing to hunt Jinx down, but Caitlyn asks her to wear the uniform of the people who killed her parents

Survives the memorial attack in which Caitlyn was almost killed as well.

Agrees to become an Enforcer: Compromises her principles, doing violence in the streets of her home. Readies herself to kill her sister.

Realizes after giving up on and almost killing her sister that she IS still in there.

The woman she loves, who she put on the uniform for, tells her she is no different than her sister, hits her, and leaves her.

Age 23-

Spends several months totally alone in self-destructive spiral in which she has given up

Gets Vander back but he is in mutated form

Loses Vander in extremely violent fashion only a short time later

Loses Isha violently

Almost killed by explosion saving Jinx's life

Left behind by Jinx after going to free her

Fights in terrible battle in which for just one example of the death she saw Lorris riddled with arrows

Okay. that brings us back to the incident in question. Now, I don't know about all of you. But I read that list, and then look at the twenty-three year old woman trying to hard to protect the people she loves, and my heart breaks for her. That amount of trauma and loss is staggering. So when Violet stands over the prone body of what was once her father, she doesn't respond to jinx calling about the platform failing. She doesn't speak... she doesn't respond.... her whole world is centered around Vander's prone form, and when she falls to her knees we see what she is seeing.

Her father, the man who raised them when Felicia and Connal were killed. She sees the night he died in her arms the first time. When she was only fifteen... It has come be my belief, that Vi was experiencing what is sometimes called a "Dissociative Flashback" related to PTSD born of the horrific life she has lived.

** DISCLAIMER: I AM IN NO WAY A MEDICAL HEALTH PROFFESIONAL. THESE ARE THE OBSERVATIONS OF A FAN BASED ON RESEARCH AND BELIEF ONLY***

At the very basic layman's level, (because that's all I understand anyway) all of this trauma has culminated in a flashback where Vi is not able to process what's going around her, because her mind is locked in that terrible night all those years ago where she lost her entire family. She can't see the platform crumbling, she can't hear her sisters desperate calls. And it's not until what used to be her father tries to kill her, that her mind is ripped back into the present moment. And it's not the Vi we know... it's the Vi we knew. She blocks his first hit, but then.. she doesn't fight. She crawls back confused and afraid, and when she calls his name she sounds for all the world like a young girl who doesn't understand why her father is hurting her. This is a terrible, tragic moment in which we are seeing this incredibly resilient young woman just finally have enough. It's heartbreaking, and it is in that moment when she is more vulnerable than she has ever been, that the little sister she found her way back to saves her life.

As I said it my discussion on Caitlyn earlier tonight, this is not about favorite characters. This is not about liking or disliking Vi's arc either. This is about empathy and understanding. It is about seeing the humanity in this twenty-three year old woman who has been so strong for others her whole life, laid low and needing someone to stand for her. And so to those of you who feel targeted by this post, I am not questioning you for not liking Vi. That is your right. But perhaps if you cannot see the heartbreaking humanity in this moment, you should begin to ask yourself some questions.

Keep standing up for the stories that matter, because that my friends, is how they endure. Thank you for reading, see you all next time.

[cookiescribble]

Show Me How To Be Whole Again

A/N: hi everyone! This is the fic I've been working on for eight months 😮‍💨. I hope it came out as well as I hoped it would 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer is abducted, you rush to the team to make sure you're there when they find him. After you get home, Spencer's behavior starts to get more and more concerning, and you're desperate for answers. (based on 2x15 and the aftermath of that episode)

Word Count: 7.1k

CW: Mentions of abduction, violence, drug addiction, withdrawal, arguing. some angst in the middle but i am incapable of writing something without a happy ending.

~~~~~

The call came early in the morning. They said they called you as soon as they could. 

If you were thinking rationally, or if you could stand being alone for 5 minutes after hearing the news, maybe you would’ve stayed home. But you couldn’t stay put knowing Spencer was in trouble. 

You quickly threw a few days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag and took the first flight out of the nearest airport. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and not break down crying on a crowded airplane, but the thoughts just kept rushing in your head. You were so worried about him. 

When you landed, you called the team and told them you were going to the police station and you were going to stay there until they found him. You wouldn’t let anyone argue with you. You wouldn’t be able to calm down until they found him anyway, so being anywhere else didn’t make sense. 

You didn’t really think of what you’d do when you got there. You’d just been on autopilot since you got the call. You were hoping someone would meet you there. 

When you frantically burst through the doors of the police station, JJ was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag and hugged her tight. 

“It was my fault,” she choked out, sobbing. “We were together and… we split up… I shouldn’t have split up…”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not the one who abducted him. It’s not your fault.” You were also sobbing now. You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but all you could think about was what could possibly be happening to Spencer right now. 

You calmed down enough to ask, “Where is everybody else?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath herself. “We set up at the unsub’s house. He took Spence to a secondary location, and Garcia set up there to get to his computers.” She looked down. “I really should be getting back there.”

You nodded while she talked. “I’m coming with you,” you announced. 

She looked at you, concerned. “We can’t risk you-“

You cut her off. “I am coming with you. I’m staying with you until we find him,” you stated forcefully. 

She didn’t argue further. She could see the desperation in your eyes, you’re sure. Even someone who didn’t analyze behavior for a living could see that. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

You arrived at the house. You couldn’t tell how long the car ride took; every second felt like an hour. 

When everybody saw you, they took turns giving you a hug. You could tell they were concerned that you were here, but they could see how devastated you were. You think they understood. 

You hung around while they all did their jobs and tried to find Spencer. You sat next to Penelope and watched as she tried to do whatever she could to help find him. 

Time passed. The team was coming in and out of the room as they needed to. Derek was probably in here the most, giving his moral support to Penelope. 

Suddenly, the monitors in front of you lit up. 

“What‘s happening?” Derek asked. 

“I… don’t know,” Penelope answered. 

Your heart dropped as an image popped up on the screen. 

It was Spencer. He was sitting in a chair, his hands tied together. He was wearing the clothes you watched him pack on the morning you last saw him. 

He looked so scared. 

“Guys! Get in here!” you heard Derek yell. 

You couldn’t look away from the screen. 

The rest of the team rushed in, faces dropping as they saw what was happening. 

Someone was talking in the background of the stream. You couldn’t hear them. Your heart was thumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. Spencer was replying to whatever they were saying. Through your loud heartbeat, you could hear his trembling voice. Your eyes started to water. 

After a few moments, you heard someone near you say something and suddenly you were being pulled away from the screen and into another room. 

When you realized what was happening, you looked up to see Hotch holding your shoulders, pushing you away from the horrific scene unfolding on the monitors. 

You started sobbing. “I have to see him,” you tried to say, but your voice was cracking. 

“No. You saw that he’s alive. That’s all you need to see.” he said firmly. He was protecting you from seeing something that would truly break you. 

You couldn’t argue. What you saw shook you to your very core; you couldn’t go back in there. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “You’re going to find him and bring him back safe.” It wasn’t a question. You knew they’d find him. They had to. 

You took a step back, telling Hotch he could go back to the team in the other room, and that you were okay out here.

You sat at a table, laying your head down and covering it with your arms. You had started crying, and you couldn’t stop. How could they do this to him? He’s never done anything to hurt anybody. All he does is help people. How could someone look at him and feel anything other than warmth, comfort, and love?

You heard footsteps come into the room. The girls came in and sat around you. You picked your head up to look at them, your eyes already swollen from crying so much. 

“What happened?” you asked frantically. Your heart was racing again. 

“He’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “He’s alive. The unsub… made him choose a victim to keep alive, but there’s going to be more victims… and then the camera cut off.” She took a deep breath. “It looked like making that decision let him live.”

You buried your face in your hands. This was so cruel. you knew he dealt with bad people every day, but… this was so heartbreaking. How could someone feel so little remorse for other human beings that they force an innocent person to decide someone’s fate?

You took deep breaths to try not to cry again. “I can tell he’s in so much pain right now… He’s going to blame himself for all those people’s deaths. The guilt is going to eat him up inside. He’ll feel horrible even if he does make it out of this.”

Everyone took turns patting your back to reassure you. “He is going to make it out of this. He’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to believe it. You had to believe it. If you didn’t believe it… you would break down more than you ever have before. 

…

You stayed in that room for what felt like an eternity. The team took turns keeping you company when they weren’t busy. They gave you vague updates to let you know that Spencer was still alive. They didn’t tell you details of what they saw. You didn’t ask. Seeing the somber looks on their faces told you all you needed to know.

Eventually, everyone came rushing out of the room, putting on their coats and practically running out the door. Penelope came to sit with you, her eyes wide and full of hope. “They found where he is. They’re going to him now.” She hugged you tightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes again. This time they were happy tears. The immense rush of relief you felt was enough to render you speechless for a while, until you finally choked out, “They’re going to call us when he’s safe?” She nodded eagerly and you let out a huge sigh of relief. 

The wait felt like forever. You were still nervous. What if they don’t get to him in time? What if they’re just barely too late?

Finally, finally Penelope’s phone rang. She answered quickly, nodding at what she was hearing. Eventually she hung up and looked at you, smiling. “He’s with them now. The unsub is dead. They’re rushing an ambulance but his injuries seem minor considering… what’s been happening.”

You closed your eyes and took another big sigh of relief. “I’m going to meet the ambulance there,” you declared.

Penelope looked at you quizzically. “I don’t know if-“

“You said the unsub is dead,” you cut her off. “There’s no more danger. I’m going to him.” You saw keys to one of the FBI vehicles that was left over since they had multiple people to a van. You picked them up and tossed them to Penelope. “You know their coordinates. You drive.”

She caught the keys and nodded at you, unable to argue with your logic. You both rushed out to the van and sped over to the location. 

You saw the ambulance as you arrived there. You barely waited for Penelope to put the car in park before you were running out the door to where the ambulance had parked. 

You saw Spencer sitting at the edge of the back of the ambulance with a first aid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beaten up, but he was still conscious and alert. You were relieved his injuries weren’t worse. 

“Spencer!” you shouted as you ran towards him. He looked your way, his eyes widening as he saw you. 

You threw your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. His shock quickly turned to something softer as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You nestled your face into his neck for a few moments, unable to stop your sobs of joy. “Oh, sweetie…” you cooed into his ear. 

He moved so his forehead was touching yours. Tears were streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…” he started. 

You shook your head vigorously. “No apologies. You’re okay now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently and threaded your fingers in his hair “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and tightened his grip on you, kissing you firmly. He kissed you for a long time before finally pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled warmly, whispering back to him. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before everyone started pushing Spencer to get in the ambulance so he could go to the hospital. You rode with him, of course. You held his hand the whole way there. 

He wasn’t in the hospital for too long. They were able to treat his wounds relatively easily. The team waited in the waiting room while you followed him into the examination room. 

When you came back to the waiting room, hand in hand, everyone rushed to greet you before you all headed to the jet. 

You sat in the corner of the couch to the side of the other seats, motioning for Spencer to lay his head in your lap. He followed eagerly, curling up on his side and nestling his head in your lap. 

You ran your fingers through his curls as he began to fall asleep. He must’ve been exhausted. You couldn’t imagine him sleeping during any of that. 

You stayed like that the whole ride home, him asleep and you petting his hair softly. 

You gently woke him up when you landed. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. You kissed his cheek before standing up, taking his hand as you went to the parking lot. He obviously wasn’t in any condition to drive, so he handed you the keys to his car and let you drive home. You insisted on stopping and getting some food on the way back. He said he didn’t feel hungry, but once he started eating, it seemed like he’d never stop. He must’ve been starving.

When you walked into your apartment, he grabbed you and hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relaxing into him. 

“I missed you so much.” He was crying again, sniffling softly. “I thought about you every waking moment. I knew I had to make it through because you were waiting for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the moment. 

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes with a soft expression. “I knew you were going to make it back.” You hugged him tight again. “I didn’t see everything. The team… made sure I didn’t see anything that was going to hurt me.”

He nodded, leaning down to stroke your cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see me like that.” He touched his forehead to yours. “What matters now is that I’m here with you.” He kissed you slowly, pushing your hair out of your face. 

You kissed for a long time, slowly making your way to your bedroom. You smiled up at him after a while. “As much as I would love to continue this…” You gestured to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

As if to prove your point, he let out a quiet yawn. You smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his pajamas from the drawer and helped him get changed and settled into bed. 

He lay his head on your chest and you stroked his hair gently, just like you did the whole way home. “Go to sleep, baby,” you whispered as his eyes closed. After a moment you heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head before relaxing to fall asleep yourself.   

…

After that night, things got… bad. 

Spencer wasn’t acting like himself anymore. He was… distant. Cold. He had never acted this way towards you before. Or anyone, for that matter. 

You had never had a problem with intimacy before, but suddenly he refused to touch you. Any time you would reach for his hand, or try to put your arm around him, he’d just shrug you off of him and move away from you. It always ended in you mumbling an apology and putting some space between you. 

He never explained why he didn’t want you to touch him. In fact, he didn’t talk a whole lot anymore. You often sat in silence, completely apart from each other. You always used to be able to count on him to fill these silences, but now he just stayed quiet. 

When he did talk, he was a lot more cold to you than he used to be. You had never fought before, but now it felt like any time he talked it was to argue with you about something. It felt like he was always angry lately. 

He didn’t even like to sleep in the same bed as you anymore. Most nights, if not every night, he slept on the couch. You started begging him, telling him that you would never cross over your side of the bed, but he shrugged you off saying he just needed to be alone.

All of this was really taking a toll on you. You tried not to show it, because you knew he was going through a hard time, so you only let your feelings out in places you could be alone. Which meant you spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom.

This went on for months. You thought that, surely, he had to tell you what was going on eventually. He had never hidden anything from you before, so you didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle this. You didn’t want to push him into talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, but something was very clearly wrong. 

After a particularly bad argument one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go to someone about this. For Spencer’s sake.

The next morning, you set an extra early alarm, quietly getting dressed and tiptoeing past Spencer, who was asleep on the couch, and silently leaving your apartment. 

As you got in your car and started driving, you started arguing with yourself in your head. Part of your brain was trying to say that this wasn’t going to help, and that this was just like being a little kid and tattling to a teacher. But the emotional part of your brain was saying that just telling anyone would be able to help Spencer. And that little shred of hope was all it took to convince you to do this.

You shoved open the doors to the BAU, hoping that Spencer’s stories about his boss barely leaving his office were true. When you looked around, you saw an office with a light on, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

You bound up the stairs, knocking on the office door, a little more forcefully than you had intended. Hopefully it would help get your emotions across.

“Come in,” a familiar voice ordered. 

You took a deep breath before opening the door, seeing Hotch sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork in front of him. You wondered just how much paperwork this job required, and if he was always here hours before everyone else.

He looked surprised to see you. He would probably be surprised to see anyone at this early hour, but considering you don’t even work for him, he probably wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of you coming here. “Is there something I can help you with?” He asked. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn’t really think this far; you just figured that surely someone who works so closely with Spencer had to know something, especially since he was a profiler. 

You thought about everything that had happened in the last few months, trying to find the right words to properly articulate your concerns. But all the thoughts about Spencer pushing you away and refusing your affection, mixed with remembering what your relationship was like before that fateful night of his abduction, overwhelmed your mind so much that you just couldn’t stop your emotions flowing out. Tears welled in your eyes before starting to streak down your face. Here you were, in Hotch’s office, completely unannounced and uninvited, and you were just standing there crying.

After a few moments of crying, and of Hotch looking very concerned at this scene playing out before him, you decided it didn’t matter that you couldn’t form the perfect words. You just needed to say something. 

Through choked sobs, you finally managed to blurt out, “What’s wrong with Spencer?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, too emotional to think about how you shouldn’t be saying all of this to your boyfriend’s boss. The words just started coming out in a rush. “Something’s wrong. We had never had a single argument before, and now the only time he ever talks to me is to pick a fight. He’s never present, he barely speaks, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is very strange behavior for Spencer. He never smiles anymore, he won’t let me touch him anymore, he won’t sleep in our bed anymore, he only sleeps on the couch…” 

You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Finally, after some shaky breaths, you finished by saying, “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you could tell me about this. If you know why he’s acting this way. If there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Hotch hesitated before gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Do you want to take a seat?”

You looked at the chair, and you noticed you were shaking. You nodded, and sat down in the chair, trying to calm down. But you couldn’t help being extremely restless, your leg bouncing rapidly while you sat.

Hotch leaned forward, moving some paperwork out of the way and placing his hands on his desk. His expression was slightly softened. “Working in this field, you go through a lot of traumatic things. Reid’s abduction was one of the worst things an agent can go through.” His voice was low and steady, which was a welcome contrast to how frantic your own words had come out. “Anyone would struggle after that.”

You sighed. “I know, but-”

He raised his hand to cut you off. “That being said, we’ve all been able to tell that Reid has been a little off.” He saw you raise your eyebrow and added, “Okay, a lot off.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have some… theories, but we can’t know for sure what’s happening with him unless he tells us. And since he’s already struggling, we didn’t want to make it worse, especially since he’s technically just a subordinate or coworker. But if he’s not telling you either…” He looked at you sympathetically. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “... Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I came here out of the blue.” You stood up, taking a step forward as if you were going to hug him, but for once your rational thoughts took over and you stayed where you were.

He stood up after you. “You’re welcome. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and talk about this.” He reached out to shake your hand, and when you shook his hand back he put his other hand over yours and spoke softly to you. “I’m going to try to get through to him. I promise.”

His gentle hands and soft-spoken words were enough to reassure you, at least for now. You nodded, thanking him again before leaving his office. You were able to leave with a lot more composure than you came here with.

It was getting late by the time you left Hotch’s office, and there were a lot more people here now. As you came down the stairs, you looked up to see Spencer staring at you. He wasn’t angry, thankfully, but he looked… kind of dumbfounded. Which made sense. You had no reason to be here at all, let alone a reason to be talking to his boss.

As you walked towards him to get to the door to leave, he turned to you. “Hey…” he started, his voice soft.

You didn’t know what to say, his soft voice sounding nothing like what you’ve been hearing these past few months. So you just kind of waved to him awkwardly, pointing to your watch to indicate that you had to get to work, and you left the BAU. 

When you got back in your car, you took a few minutes to process everything that had happened. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay. You believed Hotch when he said he’d help. It felt like Spencer was in capable hands.

…

Later that day, you had been in the bathroom when Spencer came home, and you didn’t hear the door open and close. When you came out, you saw him standing awkwardly in the front of your apartment. It made you jump a little bit. “Hi… I didn’t know you were home,” you muttered awkwardly.

He stood there looking at you, his eyes moving a little as if he was thinking of what to say. After a few moments, instead of saying anything, he walked over to you and hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You just froze for a moment, not sure how to react. But he kept his tight hold on you, as if you were the only thing keeping him up right now, and you finally started to hug him back just as tightly. You both just stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

Finally, he spoke up. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he sounded so fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was starting to cry now, making soft sobbing sounds into your shoulder.

Hearing him cry broke something in you, and shortly you were also in tears. “Oh, Spence…” You squeezed him a little tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay…”

He sniffled and shook his head, pulling back a little so he could look you in the eyes. “My behavior has been abhorrent lately. I’ve been struggling, and I’ve been bottling everything up. I didn’t realize just how much this was hurting you.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep up with his thoughts. “I guess I figured, if I didn’t tell you about my problems, then they couldn’t affect you. But I was wrong. It just made it worse.”

You looked at him sadly, one of your hands moving to gently stroke his hair. “You can always come to me with anything. I’ll always try to help you. You know that.”

Some more tears started falling down his cheeks, and you started to wipe them away with your thumb. “I guess I felt like… I didn’t deserve the help.” He took a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm down. “Like I didn’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

“Spencer…” you started, trying to make your voice sound as soothing as possible. “What’s wrong? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know if I can talk about it yet. But I promise I’ll tell you soon.” He looked at you determinedly. “Until then, I promise I’m going to try to be better to you.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face and captured your lips in a soft kiss, making your heart flutter.

After years of dating, you didn’t think you’d feel that flustered, shy feeling of butterflies in your stomach again. But, after these past few months of having no physical contact, this kiss almost felt like it was your first kiss all over again.

You couldn’t help but hold the back of his head to try to bring his face even closer to yours. You were craving his touch, and you needed his affection. On the off chance that this was a one-time thing, and that he would start to distance himself again after this, you figured you had to make it last.

He showed no signs of letting up, though, moving you both so you were laying on the couch, with him hovering over you. His lips never left yours the whole time, and his hands were moving around your face as if he was trying to remember what it felt like. 

He broke the kiss to look at you, before closing his eyes. His hands trailed from your face down to your neck, moving slightly under your shirt to your shoulders. He wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you. As if feeling your skin would jog his memory of you. His breathing was soft and even as his hands moved down to your hips, his fingers gentle and slow on your waist as he started to lift your shirt up. 

Your breath hitched when you felt cold air suddenly hit your stomach. “Spence…” you spoke quietly, a soft blush on your face. 

He looked at you, his voice quick and reassuring. “I don’t want to do anything like… that. It would be a little too much for me right now.” He quickly flashed you that awkward little smile he had sometimes. “I just want to see you, to feel you.” His voice went a little quieter when he added, “I missed you.”

You looked at him sadly, reaching up to touch his face. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in to kiss him again. “I missed you so much.”

The soft, slow kissing resumed, and Spencer very carefully pulled your shirt over your head, his hands gently gliding over the newly exposed skin. You let out a dreamy sigh. You hadn’t realized just how touch starved you had been over these past few months. This is exactly what you had been needing. 

You just stayed on the couch like that for a while, his lips and hands on you, the gentlest of touches. After a little while longer, you started to unbutton his shirt, because you wanted to do the same to him.

He completely froze, sucking in a breath. You immediately pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, worried that you just ruined any progress that had been made tonight. 

He shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “It’s okay, I just… I don’t want you to see me with my shirt off.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was begging you not to ask about it. 

You hesitated, but instead of asking about it you tried to be a little more lighthearted. “I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, Spencer.” 

He gave you a slight smile before the worried look came back to his face. “I just…” he started, “I can’t right now. Please understand.”

You nodded, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze. “I understand.” You stroked his hand gently with your thumb. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can trust me.”

He squeezed your hand back, giving you another little smile. “I know you won’t. I do trust you.” He let out a little yawn and started to rub his eyes. 

You looked at the clock, not realizing how late it had gotten. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You leaned over to kiss his forehead. “You should get some sleep.”

You worried he would still insist on sleeping on the couch, but he just nodded, his hand still tightly holding yours as you both stood up and walked to your bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change.

You sat on the bed and watched him for a few moments before he closed the door. You started to get dressed yourself, wondering what this problem was about. He had been a little shy around you when you two first started getting intimate, but you thought he had gotten over that. Had these past few months apart made the shyness come back?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer coming back into the room. You stood up so he could get in bed. He looked so tired; you could see just how bad the dark circles under his eyes were.

He crawled under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. You got in the other side of the bed, gently rubbing his back to soothe him. You didn’t want to push any boundaries, so you pulled away after just a moment.

He turned around, looking at you with those big eyes of his, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, as if soothed by your touch. You smiled softly. He looked more peaceful than you had seen him in a long time. It made it easier to close your eyes and relax.

It was silent for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep. But then, you heard him speak very softly. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes to see him looking back at you. You squeezed his hand gently. “I love you too.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead, making him smile. “Get some sleep. I can tell you need it,” you whispered.

He nodded and closed his eyes again, moving a little closer to you before wrapping his arms around you and nestling his head in your neck. You hesitated for a moment in shock before cradling him in your arms. You kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered to him. Soon, you could hear his breathing soften, and you just listened to the quiet sounds of him sleeping for a few more moments before falling asleep yourself.

…

Things didn’t magically get better after that, but they did improve. 

Spencer went back to sleeping in your bed, though he seemed to have a hard time sleeping nowadays. He was always tossing and turning, and you usually woke up in the middle of the night to either try to soothe him to sleep or to keep him company when he couldn’t sleep. 

There was a lot more talking, and a lot less fighting. You could have more comfortable conversations, and he would politely tell you when he didn’t feel like talking. It was a lot better than him yelling at you to leave him alone. 

There was still some arguing, but usually only when you were trying to get him to eat. He was always saying he wasn’t hungry, and you had to try to push to get him to eat, saying he needed some kind of nutrition. Sometimes he would snap at you, saying he would eat if he was hungry and that he didn’t push you when you didn’t want to eat. He’d always apologize, though, and try his best to explain that he was either feeling nauseous or he just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. It seemed to get a little better after a few days.

He didn’t mind a little more physical contact. He wasn’t always up for it, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much. It was always trial and error, almost like trying to pet a skittish cat. You’d start by putting a gentle hand on his, and he’d tense up for a second, and he’d either pull away and explain he didn’t want to be touched, or he’d take your hand and hold it gently. A big improvement. It was just little touches: holding hands, an arm around his shoulder, a hug… it never went past that.

He didn’t talk about what it was that was bothering him at first, but you trusted that he would tell you when he was ready. After about a week, he was finally ready to talk about it.

…

You both were sitting on the couch, in one of your quiet moments. You were reading a book, like you usually did when Spencer felt like being quiet. The silences were starting to get more comfortable, making it easier to just do quiet activities next to each other.

After a few minutes, Spencer cleared his throat, making you look over at him. You bookmarked the page you were on and turned to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts together, before opening them again to look at you. He spoke very softly.

“When I was…” he started, swallowing and taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing, “... When I was abducted for those few days back in February, a lot happened. The man who took me had dissociative identity disorder, and dealing with all his personalities was difficult. But there was one of his personalities that was… nicer than the others. More helpful than harmful.” He closed his eyes again, and you knew this was really hard for him to talk about. You placed a gentle hand over his, and he let out a breath, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. He continued on, his voice still soft and sad.

“Unfortunately, one of the ways that he helped me was to… give me something to help numb the pain the others were causing.” He closed his eyes again, and he slowly rolled up his sleeves for you to see his arms.

You stared in shock. His arms were covered in needle marks. You covered your mouth. “Oh, Spencer…” You looked back up at his face, but his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to face this. You squeezed his hand to let him know you were here to support him.

“He would come to me saying Dilaudid helped with the pain, and after a few times, it started to feel… good.” He took another deep breath, his eyes still closed. “After he died, I took the bottles he still had. And when things started getting hard to handle… all the flashbacks and memories of what happened to me, I just needed to numb myself. And it worked, for a while. But eventually, I just… couldn’t stop.”

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentle. “You could’ve come to me, I could’ve tried to help you-”

“I didn’t want that,” he cut you off. “I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. That it was just medicine that was helping me. But, obviously, I knew that wasn’t the truth. And I knew that if I told anyone about it, they would say I needed help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted to live in this unrealistic world where everything I was doing was fine.” He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “That’s why I was lashing out. I didn’t want anyone to help me, and I also felt like I didn’t deserve anyone being nice to me.”

He looked at you very seriously. “I thought, if I didn’t tell you any of this, it couldn’t hurt you. I know how sensitive you are to other people’s emotions and problems, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t worry about me. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was a naive way of thinking.” He reached out and gently touched your face. “When I saw you at the BAU, I knew it was because you were worried about me, and I saw that you looked like you had been crying. And it just snapped me out of this false reality I had created for myself. And that’s when I came home and apologized, because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

You listened to him silently while he talked, letting him get out everything he needed to say before responding. “Why didn’t you tell me that day? Or the few days after that? Why did you wait until now?”

He nodded as if he was waiting for this question. “I read that withdrawal symptoms peak within 12-48 hours, and that it usually takes 5-7 days for the symptoms to resolve. So I wanted to wait out those 7 days just to make sure.”

You gave him a sad look. “But if I knew you were having withdrawal symptoms, I could have helped you. I really wish you would have told me.”

He sighed. “I wanted to do it on my own. To prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn’t just going to quit halfway through and relapse.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m really glad you told me now. We can get through this together.” You gave his hand a little pat. “You know this isn’t the end of it, right? It’s not just over when withdrawal symptoms stop. You still need to work out these issues that made you start this in the first place.”

He nodded. “I know. I want to try to get help now. I… I think I’m ready. I want to look into going to therapy, and maybe some support groups if I need them.” He squeezed your hand again. “I know I can make it through this, because I know you’ll be by my side.”

You smiled softly at him. “I’ll always be by your side.” Your hand trailed up his arms, looking back at the needle marks. “Do they… hurt?” you asked softly.

He shrugged. “Only when they first appear. They don’t hurt right now.”

You nodded, and you gently touched the marks on his arm. You looked at him, and you slowly brought his arm up so you could give every little mark a gentle kiss, to let him know that everything was going to get better soon.

He looked at you with big, loving eyes, and he started tearing up a bit. He pulled you in for a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he said with a shaky voice.

You held him tight, rubbing his back to comfort him. “I love you too, Spence. Everything is going to be okay.” Your voice was calm and soothing. “I’m here now.”

…

Things started to get much better after that. Spencer was way more comfortable telling you when things were feeling more difficult than usual. Typically, it would be when he came home from a particularly emotional case. You were always there to hold him and to soothe him. There was no more aversion to your touch or need for extended silences. He felt comfortable in your arms, and he knew he could talk to you when something was bothering him.

He started seeing a therapist, and you always went there with him. Usually, you just sat outside the office for his sessions so he could have the one-on-one help he needed. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly rough week, he would bring you in with him for extra support. And you were always there when he needed you.

It took a bit of time, but you learned how to help with whatever he needed you for. If he needed a distraction, you could always come up with some activity to get his mind off of things. You played a lot of board games, and started learning to bake so you could just pull out a new recipe to try and he could focus on getting everything just right. When he just needed someone to listen to him, or a shoulder to cry on, you didn’t mind being that person for him. And sometimes he just wanted to be held, saying that the physical touch grounded him. You were always happy to hold him. 

Over time, things got easier and easier to deal with. Eventually, things seemed to be fully back to normal. You both knew that this was always going to be a struggle that could come back, but you knew how to handle it now, and you were certain that you could get through any struggle that ever tried to get in your way.

[kerryshifts]

HAVE THE GATES OF HELL BEEN OPENED YET?

what you are about to watch is a nightmare about a girl of eighteen autumns. not of any place. not of any time. before proceeding, i suggest you to not let her beauty distract you from her..… uncommon tendencies. i present you, kerry colt.

AHEM. this is my moment. hi! hello. i’m kerry. short of kerrylyn. but cherry also works. your favourite weird girl. the classic wife-before-dying at the start of a movie. veronica from heathers but sarcastic and with an addiction to coffee (and coca cola). i have five of the main planets in scorpio……derogatory. do with this information what you want.

i like to consider myself the embodiment of cherry waves by deftones but you are looking at me on the other side of the road, a bus passes by, and i am suddenly gone. i am an hamartia type of character. you'll probably see me in an abandoned castle reading an old dusty ancient book (a.k.a shifting) searching for the answers to all of my questions, in a dark red long-medieval-dress, dark black wavy hair, with a black cat next to me (salem. hi salem!!!). currently: blogging from the inside of a scary looking tree in a dark forest, who is actually very cozy and would remind you of the home of a bear in a fairytale for children (just with more purple and burgundy decorations). about decorations…… i like to decorate my room. and my body. and my hair. my parents are sick of me wanting to change the colour of my hair every three weeks.

my heart is a haunted house. i am the abduction of persephone. a jar full of your core memories touched by meloncholy. a witch of the arthurian legend who confesses her sins at the moon. there’s not a single bone in my body that it’s nonchalant. actually…i want to fight the nonchalants. sorry. my moon in scorpio. everything i have, from books to rings, have a piece of my soul in it. i'm an emphat. aaand it’s….. the most loved and hated part of me. and even if i like to contain myself, i am a bit of a perverted. sorry. flirty, horny, no shame in it. sex, feminism and rock n’ roll.

sharp-tongued. or maybe just sarcastic. the biggest extrovert with introverts. a little unpredictable? eh, depends on the week. i am full of passion and you can see this by how i treat my hyper fixations. also, i like to annoy the people around me but in a loving way. bisexual, trilingual. sometimes i can be slow. italian & albanian !!!!!! the most scorpio to scorpio-ying you will ever meet. history lover. i like to say that i like latin, but in reality my teacher traumatised me into hating it. and...i like to read. of course!!!!! frankenstein is my favourite book aaand i love the arthurian legends. and i love to write. i have lots of journals that i've been using since i was a kid…..and you can’t go anywhere in my room without seeing a diary (who has ideas for books that i will write in this immortality journey).

i’m a socialist (thank you, grandpa! we all say in unison). rad feminist. so…..here’s a do not interact list: misogynistic, racist, homophobic, transphobic, terfs, support israel, pro sex work, neonazi and nazist, maga, pedos, mormons, conservatives, an anti-shifter, if you use and support ai, you have escorts/porn drs, if you are mean, and if you spread shifting misinformation. also; if you are serbian and you think what your country did to kosovo was right, please choke.

cinephile? yes. absolutely. i consume films. they consume me. here’s a list of characters that are me. kerry with another face and name.

✶ todd anderson. dead poets society.

✶ cecilia libson. the virgin suicides.

✶ laura palmer. twin peaks / fire walk with me.

✶ ladybird. ladybird.

✶ morgana pendragon. merlin.

✶ sansa stark. a song of ice and fire.

✶ dean winchester. supernatural.

✶ jo & amy march. little women.

✶ pearl. the x triology.

✶ klaus mikaelson. the originals.

✶ sirius & regulus black. harry potter.

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