#this is pretty appropriate funnily enough

[anthropologistfromentropy]

My swordfighter OC. Her girlfriend is a professor of chemistry and a socialist revolutionary, making bombs to fight the Black Hundreds (who were anti-Ukraine as well as antisemitic and anti-communist)

Women with swords. You agree. Reblog.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

  The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

  You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision. 

  All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

  “Hiding from everyone?”

  A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

  No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

  Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

  "Are you?"

  One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

  You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

  Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

  “Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

  He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

  It’s wishful thinking.

  “What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

  Or is it?

  “It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral. 

  You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

  “Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

  It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

  “Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

  Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

  A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

  You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him. 

  “I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

  Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

  You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

  Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

  You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

  The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass. 

  It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

  As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

  However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

  The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil—become friends.

  And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

  But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

  “What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

  The damned dress.

  And his damned loose tie.

  You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

  “So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

  “Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

  You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

  “And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

  “I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

  The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

  Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

  Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

  "I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

  You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

  Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

  "There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

  “Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

  Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

  “Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

  “For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

  Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

  He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

  You know. You just love lying to yourself.

  “What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

  The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

  You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

  You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

  “It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit. 

  The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

  Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

  Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

  “Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

  "Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

  Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

  "We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

  Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

  You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

  “Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

  “You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

  “Say it out loud, then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

  Oh.

  Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

  Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

  A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours. 

  “Exactly.”

  Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

  Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

  You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

  You kissed him back.

  You fucking kissed Spencer back.

  The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

  Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

  His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

  Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

  Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

  Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

  Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

  He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

  Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying. 

  Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

  You wanted him to take it off of you.

  You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

  The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

  You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

  His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

  “We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

  You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

  Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

  “You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

  A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

  It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

  The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat. 

  Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

  “Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

  The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

  “Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

  The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

  He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory. 

  “So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

  Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

  A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

  He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

  Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

  Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

  The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

  Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

  Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

  “Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

  With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess. 

  Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

  Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

  Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

  You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

  Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

  The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

  “Spence…”

  Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

  You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

  Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

  Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

  A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

  “I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

  His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

  Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

  Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses. 

  “What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

  Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

  Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

  You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

  "Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

  "No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

  He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

  You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

  "Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

  "Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

  He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

  You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

  "So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

  "So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

  "Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

  The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

  Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs. 

  No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

  Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

 Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

  Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away. 

  And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

  “So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows. 

  “What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

  JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

  Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

  “Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

  You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

  Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

  “Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

  They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

  The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

  From one end to another, the same words echo.

  “I’ll have another drink.”

  The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

  “Take it off?”

  “Take it off.”

  And you went separate ways.

  JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

  Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

  “A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

  Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[pirateprincessblog]

in vino veritas

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: hongjoong loves art, wine, and pretty girls. how convenient that on the opening night of his art gallery, as he sips his red wine, his eyes land on you. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: dilf!hongjoong, bratty!reader, artist!hongjoong 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, oral (m receiving), toys, gagging, hint of ddlg

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: divorced parent child, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i always write the reader as inexperienced or innocent, this time i'm trying a different approach hehe hopefully it works!

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔,

𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊�� 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔. 𝒏𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒓.

𝒌𝒊𝒎 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈.

it is a challenge to find an outfit appropriate for the evening. you do not wish to go, not since your mother has made it clear she is going only for mr kim. your father, as his best friend since childhood, would be there, and your mother couldn't pass the opportunity to continue her game of jealousy since their separation.

"bold of you to assume that mr kim will even lay his eyes on you." you comment, passing by her room and glancing at her outfit choice. a red dress shorter than her knees with a low neckline. a classic. funnily enough, she used the very same dress to separate your father's then girlfriend from him and took him for herself. she is your mother, but you don't close your eyes at her mistakes. "besides, you're not twenty anymore. that dress doesn't look flattering at all. it's not age appropriate."

"god, just like your father. insults, insults-"

"oh, so when i kiss your ass i am like you, but when i disagree with you, i am like my father? how lovely."

"go to your room and get dressed."

"why do i have to go? you're the one who's trying to get dicked down toni-"

"go to your room!"

defeated, you groan and slam your door shut, then throw yourself on the bed. even with your head buried under your pillows, you still hear her obnoxious voice.

"and don't talk back to me! you've become very rude, and i will not have you embarrass me in front of our friends there! especially not in front of hongjoong."

you don't remember mr kim. you only know that he had a wife, that she also cheated, much like your mother, and since then he only travels and creates art wherever he goes. ever since you got the invitation, you've been trying to find out how he looks now. but all he posts on his social media is the destinations he's visiting, food and sneak peeks of his art. not even a glimpse of him in any picture. come to think of it, your mother's standards are pretty high. your father had your school friends coming over to your house just for him, you can only imagine what mr kim looks like.

deciding on a simple short sweater dress and knee high boots, you put your coat on and head into the autumn evening. your mother trails behind, having difficulties with walking in such high heels. you don't wait, still angry about her plan involving your poor father and an innocent man.

it is only seven in the evening, and something tells you that you'll be here for a very long time. at least midnight. on the bright side, you'll finally see your father. and meet the mystery man behind all the artwork you've been admiring. he doesn't post much of it, but what you've seen, it's pretty damn amazing.

"dad!" you spot him as soon as you enter the crowded space, your father with his recognizable thomas shelby outfit and a glass of whiskey in his hand. you hug him, tight as always, and subconsciously smell him. tobacco, whiskey, and vanilla. home.

"hey, kid." he returns the hug, a little less tight than yours as to not hurt you. "oh you smell great! that the new perfume i got you?"

"oh, i absolutely love it. i bathe in it every day."

"i'm so glad you like it." he gently ruffles your hair, enough to show affection but to not mess it up completely. "now, where's ursula?"

"very mature, calling your ex wife a cartoon villain. what, i put on a few pounds, so what?"

"it's not about the pounds, and you know it."

you turn your head away from your mother, hiding the laugh that is threatening to escape. but she catches the way your father winks your way, and claps her hands, causing a few heads to turn.

"a father and daughter teaming up on her mother. lovely. if you love him more than me, why don't you go live with him?"

you finally look at her, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "you threatened to hurt yourself if you saw me exit the house with a suitcase. you guilt tripped me, called yourself an awful mother and whatnot. what are you on about?"

defeated, she tries to push the glass of whiskey out of your father's hand, and when failing to do so, she groans and stomps down the gallery hall. and yet she calls you two mature sarcastically.

"i truly hope she finds someone crazy enough to handle her, just so you can finally move out and have a life of your own. is she giving you a hard time?"

"i can handle her. usual guilt tripping and nagging, nothing new. how was your trip?"

your father happily tells you all about his recent trip to spain and france, which was mr kim hongjoong's gift to him for birthday. he went on and on about all the food he tried, all the buildings and art he saw, and how fun and informed about everything mr kim was.

"he knew so much that i was ashamed to be walking with him sometimes. i didn't know the difference between baroque and rococo. hell, i didn't know what rococo even was. i'm definitely taking you to see la sagrada familia on my next week off."

"sounds great, dad."

"listen, i'm gonna go find the restroom, too much whiskey," he whispers, "you feel free to walk around and watch. if you see something you like, i'll ask hongjoong for the price and i'll get it for you."

you look at him with a scoff, but when you see that he is dead serious, you raise your eyebrows. "what? you'd buy an art piece worth thousands of pounds?"

"family discount," he winks at you once again, then disappears into the crowd.

"a drink, madam?" someone says next to you.

your eyes land on the tray with glasses of red and sparkling wine, the person holding it dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black slacks, hair slicked back and white gloves on his hands.

"no thanks, i don't drink."

he nods understandingly, then continues his journey towards the arriving guests. you were never one to buy art. well, you weren't exactly one to be really into it. you see a picture, a sculpture or something similar, you think it's neat. do you go out of your way to find out the artist, or search for more? not quite. but walking down the waxed floor under the rich chandeliers and looking at the massive paintings, you might get into it. finally, something that is not minimalism or some picasso-wannabe shit. stunning golden frames, detailed paintings, and harmony of colours on canvas. all of it put together so perfectly, as if it was brought back from the times of renaissance and not painted in an atelier just outside of town earlier this year.

"drink?"

"i said no already, thanks." you reply, not bothering to look at the person.

"just a sip? to loosen up. you look rather stiff."

you turn your head towards the voice, confused as to why the waiter is persistent. but next to you stands a well dressed man, two glasses of red wine in his hands. he wears black slacks, a tight black turtleneck, and a long black coat. his eyes are pools of honey under the yellow chandeliers, and his hair shiny streaks of gold. he looks breath taking, and you almost thank your mother for dragging you here.

he holds the wine glass for you to take, and you do so. he raises his own towards you, then takes a sip of it, not once breaking eye contact with you. you bring yours to your lips, and the alcohol barely touches them before you move it away. you were never a fan of alcoholic drinks. they tasted awful, and brought out the worst in you. you don't want to embarrass your father tonight. or yourself in front of this gorgeous looking man.

"you've spent quite some time looking at this. admiring the work or surprised at the nudity?"

you scoff, looking at the painting again. gradually going down the hall, the art becomes less art and more erotica. how disappointing. "not admiring, that's for sure."

"oh? how so?" he asks, intrigued.

"well, for starters, very unrealistic. such big breasts and such a tiny waist? has that hongjoong ever seen a woman in his life?"

he laughs along with you, taking another sip of his wine. "i heard he paints with live models, so i'm guessing that this woman really exists somewhere."

"alright, i'll let you have that one. what about this? very inaccurate." you walk over to the next painting, pointing out all the things you were dissatisfied with.

"even an art critic isn't this harsh. it's just art, at the end of the day. an artist's way of escaping and creating his own world to get lost in. nothing wrong with that, right? writers and readers have books, gamers have games, chefs have cooking and baking, and artists have art."

"well, if the artist is an old pervert and all his inspiration comes from naked women, then sure. nothing wrong with that."

after a few moments of silence, you look over at him. he stares at the painting, puzzled. you clear your throat, sensing the awkward air enveloping you both. "i would love to continue this conversation, but if i stay i will only become meaner and accidentally insult you, and i certainly wouldn't want that. i'm passionate when it comes to me being right and proving others wrong."

you give him the glass of wine back with a sour grin, and he returns a scoff of disbelief. "charming."

"wasn't trying to be."

and with that, you leave him standing with two glasses of wine again, just like he approached you. you visit the restroom too, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. all the women are gorgeous tonight, wearing classy dresses and heels, and suddenly you feel underdressed.

"oh my god, your boots are so cool!" as if she heard your overthinking, the girl behind you exclaims. "where did you get them?"

"uh, i think it was a sale at zara. very uncomfortable though, i don't recommend." you reply with a laugh.

"that's okay, they look so pretty it's worth it. anyways, love your makeup." then, she exits the restroom.

you look at your boots, plain black with a chunky heel and over the knees. nothing special about them. still, you appreciate the compliment.

it doesn't take long for you to find your father again, this time in front of a sculpture of, again, a half naked woman. how odd.

"there you are! found anything?"

"no," you reply dryly, and refrain yourself from nasty comments because of his friends.

"well, that's a shame. hongjoong, this is my daughter i've been telling you about."

your heart drops when you hear his name, and then drops a little lower when your eyes lock with the familiar brown ones you just abandoned further down the hall.

"oh, i've had the pleasure," he responds, not looking surprised like you. "an informed young woman, for sure."

so much for embarrassing yourself. if he is offended, he doesn't show it. he only extends his hand as a formal greeting, and when you offer him yours to shake, he turns it over and kisses the top of it. you are baffled, unable to do or say anything. you look over at your father, who doesn't blink an eye to the unusual situation you've found yourself in. mr kim releases your hand, but not before holding eye contact with you just a few seconds longer.

"ah, right, hongjoong is a gentleman. also, if you didn't already notice, he loves women. not like that, of course. they're just-"

"they are my biggest muse. this world's biggest and prettiest treasure."

"charming," you repeat his word from earlier.

he smirks, teasingly. you want to slap the smirk off his face. he adjusts the sleeves of his turtleneck, rolling them up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. it is only then that you notice he isn't wearing the coat anymore, and you have the freedom of shamelessly staring at his body. his forearms are big, painted with bulging veins. the turtleneck hugs his waist and chest perfectly, to the point of slightly showing the outline of his abs. he isn't bulky, but built like a greek statue. he holds himself so elegantly, not bothered what anyone has to say about his work. it's a shame, because you still have a lot to say, regardless of how hot and bothered you are for him at the moment.

"ah, let me just clarify something. in case someone thinks that i'm just an old pervert..." he discreetly glances at you, making your jaw drop slightly, "...all these women have come to me and asked to be painted or sculpted. i have never once asked a woman to undress for me, nor did i sexualize her when she did so herself. i see art, not porn material."

your father seems offended that someone could have made such an assumption. little did he know that the culprit was the young woman right next to him, hiding behind his glass of wine.

"say, hongjoong, how does that work? do i have to send you an e-mail? or just show up at your door?"

if you thought that the situation couldn't get more awkward, your mother decided to prove you wrong.

"mom!" you scold, pink spreading on your cheeks as you look at the people surrounding you.

"what? why wouldn't i want to be painted by such a handsome-"

"unfortunately, at the moment i do not take any commissions. the gallery is my priority."

and just like that, mr kim shuts her down. he spares her no glance, in respect towards your father, or simply because he is disgusted by such an idea and behaviour. he is not stupid, that you notice. he seems to know the difference when someone genuinely wants to be painted, and when someone tries to take advantage of the situation and expects something from him.

as the night goes, you notice that kim hongjoong isn't old like you called him. he is your father's age, sure, but he aged like fine wine. it takes a lot of staring and concentration to notice a few gray strands of hair cleverly hidden among the golden brown ones. you notice that he doesn't talk much. he lets the people around him talk, and only engages when they have a question about a work of his.

you also notice his hands. his fingers, specifically. you can't help but imagine his fingers dipped in clay, shaping it the way his mind intended, his focused gaze and messy hair. you wish to see him at work, at least once in your life. just to satisfy your imagination. because to make a move with a man of that age is just absurd, and disrespectful towards your father. and himself. he just said that he doesn't do it for sexual purposes, and you were almost offering him the same thing as your mother.

awful.

you glance at him one more time, and when you find him already staring at you with an intense gaze, you take it as your cue to leave. a look of hatred, curiosity or lust, you didn't know. you only knew that you felt nervous under his stare, sweat emerging on your skin and stomach turning from fear that he read your mind and caught you thinking about him inappropriately.

"it's a bit late, i'll excuse myself."

"oh, already?" your father asks, planting a kiss on your temple. "i suppose it is quite late. do you need me to walk you back home?"

"no, that's fine. you guys have fun though. oh, mr kim."

mr kim looks at you, surprised that you're addressing him after all night of avoiding his gaze. "yes?"

"wonderful works, truly. thank you for the invite." it's the least you can do after shamelessly shitting on his work in front of him.

"why, thank you. i appreciate it, especially coming from my best friend's daughter. let me walk you to the door."

and you don't get a say in it. your father practically pushes you into his best friend, who skillfully grabs your waist and restores your balance. your breathing seems to stop the few seconds he holds you, grip secure and manly on your body. when he releases you, it feels empty. you wish to be held again, manhandled, thrown around, anything by him.

"listen, i'm sorry for what i said." you say, walking towards the door and keeping up with him.

"mhm," he hums, as if it's not a big deal.

"no, really, i just..."

"it's fine." he says, holding your coat in the air for you.

"i sometimes speak before i think," you put one arm in the sleeve, "and i end up hurting someone or embarrassing myself."

"it's really fine." he says, tone calm and low. he helps your other arm in the sleeve, then, as if he knew your newfound weak spot, he places his hands on your waist and turns you towards him. only now, you are so determined to apologize to him that you don't even notice what he is doing.

"in this case, i did both. mr kim, please, accept my apology." he adjusts the collar of the coat, then buttons it up.

"i told you, it's fine." he is persistent.

you are a babbling mess, trying to correct the image of yourself he has created in his head, which couldn't possibly be good. after all, mr kim hongjoong is way too hot to have a bad opinion about you. you continue speaking, and he continues adjusting your clothes. it is not until he firmly grabs your jaw in his big warm hand that you shut your mouth. you look at him, almost startled, and gulp.

"i appreciate honest opinion. you are the only one who didn't kiss my ass tonight, and i appreciate it more than all the compliments i've gotten. so trust me when i say that it is fine. don't ever apologize for your opinions, you're not that kind of girl."

"what kind of girl do you think i am?"

he smirks, then rubs your cheek with his thumb as he brings your face closer to his. "not a good one, that's for sure."

the words shoot arrows to your core, and you suddenly feel hotter than the hottest summer day. you exhale shakily, not knowing what to do with yourself. he looks satisfied with the reaction you gave him, and decides to finally stop teasing.

"watch the road when crossing." he sends you a playful wink, then opens the door for you.

"thank you," you manage to say, and only nod his way before making your way down the street into the chilly autumn night.

the more time you spend with your father, the more you keep hearing about the artist who won't leave your mind anyway. from his stories, mr kim has been spoiling him rotten. no wonder he isn't home anymore. sitting on your father's porch on his swinging chair and taking in the last rays of sunshine before the harsh winter, you can't help but ask about the mystery man.

"how come he's your childhood best friend but i've only met him that evening?"

"well, you were young. you didn't pay any attention to things that aren't crushes, school and gossip."

"wow."

"it's true. you were just a kid, then a teen. and hongjoong wasn't around much during the day. then, he met ramona and moved with her to a different town. and then, while he was trying to save money and start a family, she was jumping on someone else on the bed that he bought with the last savings. they separated, and hongjoong started travelling just so he could be away from the town. he said everything reminds him of the night he found them. and i accompany him, which is really hard for me as you can see."

"oh, you're living a very hard life at the moment, dad. jokes aside, that sucks for him. do i know her?"

your father scrunches his eyebrows, as if he doesn't want to remember the woman. "she's still around. she was at the gallery, that whore."

it surprises you to hear him say such harsh words. he is usually semi-polite with his speech. mr kim must've really gone through something when even your father reacts like this.

"really? why would she come? did she have the invitation?"

"no, of course not. this isn't a big town, words spread faster than anything. she came with her boytoy to make fun of him, but got shat on when she saw how successful he has gotten. she just looked at me, tried to push the statue like a fucking idiot, then left angrily. i don't know what goes on in that woman's mind."

you scoff, then feel relieved that there was a bigger fool than you there. "how did he become an artist?"

"you can ask him that yourself. he doesn't bite, you know."

you take a sip of the peach tea, then set it aside quickly. still scorching. "why would you say that? i'm not scared of him or anything."

"you were running away from him yesterday. i didn't want to ask because i didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but it was a little disrespectful towards him. he was hurt."

"did he tell you that?" you raise an eyebrow.

"no...?"

"he'll live." you simply say, then grab your phone.

you type his name in the social app again, hoping to see a new post. and there it is, a brand new post, just twenty seconds ago. simple pictures from that night, the group posing in front of the museum, then in front of various photos. then, random shots of food, drinks, and finally, you.

you, staring at the photo that you loved the most in the hall, taken from the profile. it looks like something that jumped out of pinterest, and not something that he secretly snapped before approaching you. the photo is so good that you might even post it yourself.

art admiring art, the caption says. you're surely reading too much into it. he doesn't mean it about you. there's multiple people in the photos, for god's sake. but no, your delusional self loves to make an appearance, and thus the filthy thoughts of kim hongjoong resurface again. you've been trying to push it down, especially in front of your father, but one night of insomnia, a fresh image of kim hongjoong in a tight turtle neck grabbing your face, and a hand down your sleepwear, you've fallen into the void.

now, you can't escape it. you fantasize about him, day and night, stalk his accounts, even take the longer route to work just to pass by the museum in hopes of catching a glance of him. but all you've gotten is sore feet and more sexual frustration. nothing helps anymore, not a single toy that you have once neatly packed under the bed and were collecting dust up until recently. so when your father asks you to drop some things over at the atelier, you are happy to do it.

when you hear the word atelier, you expect a cozy little room in an old building with wooden furniture and with the smell of paint. but you forget that kim hongjoong is filthy rich. the address your father has given you takes you to a whole wooden cabin just outside of town, surrounded by a light forest. you gulp, realizing what situation you are in.

you are about to be alone with the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life. you are about to walk into his personal space. and you have to keep your thoughts collected, just in case he is a good people reader. and you somehow feel like he is. you are wet just standing outside, holding the bag of items your father has sent him and shamelessly thinking about all possible ways he would fu-

"oh, hi. i thought i saw someone standing there. please, do come in." mr kim calls from the door, wiping his hands with a cloth. you see stains of paint all over them, and paired with his bulging veins, you realize that you aren't the strongest soldier today and that you have to run home to a certain device as soon as possible.

"good evening, sir. i actually just came to drop this off, per my father's request." you hold out the bag for him to take.

he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, still standing at the door. "you can approach, the cabin doesn't bite."

you exhale, trying to calm your heart beat. it feels like it's going to jump out and plunge straight into his face. you finally make your way towards him, trying to avoid his gaze. you don't know if he does it on purpose, but it is so intense that it feels like even your hair is sweating. he is looking you up and down as you approach, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. he takes the bag from your hand, seeing that you don't plan on speaking yet.

"and i don't bite either." he smirks, then goes back inside the cabin.

"i wish you did," you mumble, then follow after him.

the place smells like paint, just how you imagined. and it is much cozier than it looks outside. you finally get a good look at him, now that his attention is on the contents of the bag. he wears a halfway unbuttoned white dress shirt, almost see through, black slacks, and has messy hair. as if he read your thoughts, he runs his fingers through it, taming the golden strands and showing off his finely aged face.

"a drink?" he asks, hand reaching for the wine bottle that sits on the table among the brushes. "ah, right. i forgot."

he pours himself a glass instead. you bite the inside of your cheek. you hate it, you really do. but for him? no, you're not like that. not with your father's friend, god no.

"this one is actually very sweet. it doesn't have that much alcohol in it. want a sip?"

he holds his own glass for you to try. under the warm yellow lights, you see the outline of his lips on the edge of the glass. you feel ashamed that you do take the glass, and press the lips on the same outline. it takes every ounce in you not to jump into his arms and make out with him like there's no tomorrow. but you manage, only taking a sip of the dark liquid before returning the glass to him. you keep the liquid inside your mouth, afraid to let it pour down your throat. you are not ready for the stinging and bitter aftertaste. but the longer you hold it, the more you look like a squirrel with puffy cheeks and your eyes tear up.

mr kim notices, and chuckles. not mockingly, but maybe a bit fondly. he approaches you, taking your jaw into his hand again. you notice the dried paint on his fingers, and his rolled up sleeves again. his eyes look into yours, and if he wasn't holding your head up so you can look at him, you would surely turn around and leave. it is too much, yet you don't have many options at the moment. to look away, or to maintain the eye contact. he seems to be into it, and so you give it to him. you are starting to be into it too.

his thumb rubs your cheek, much like that night. his eyes roam your face, as if he is memorizing every single detail on it. he licks his lips, and his gaze softens. "swallow for me."

in the dead silence, you can almost hear your sanity shatter. you do as he tells you, with no thoughts in your brain. the liquid stings your throat, but the growing lust inside of you overshadows it. you subconsciously lick your lips, mimicking him. he smiles to himself, noticing it.

"good girl."

what you didn't expect is for him to turn around and sit on the wooden stool, rolling his sleeves further up and getting back to his painting. you stand in the middle of the room, red faced, warm and with drenched panties, shocked at his behaviour. does he do this with his models too? gets flirty, then continues his work like nothing happened? is that how he gets such erotic paintings?

"you can sit on the couch if you want, i'll be done soon. i can drive you back."

you sit on the couch, immediately sinking into it. "how did you know i didn't drive here?"

"you always walk," he simply replies, his back still turned towards you and his hands working on the canvas, "i see you every day when you pass by the museum."

oh.

"what do you say? think you can manage with me for half an hour in here? i heard you don't like me much."

your cheeks are redder than ever, lust combined with embarrassment bringing out the worst in you. "i apologized."

you hear him chuckle. "i know. no harm in a little teasing."

minutes feel like hours as you sit upside down on the comfy green couch, legs resting over the backrest and head hanging from the couch above the carpet. he doesn't pay you much attention, but all of your attention is on him. you watch as his back muscles move when he reaches for a certain paint or brush on the high shelves, as his fingers run through his hair to get it out of his face, as his hand rubs the paint into the canvas. you feel a sensation on your clit, seeing his finger rub the paint in such an erotic way that you think it's not a coincidence.

you breathe out, trying to calm yourself again. you could leave, yes. but you don't want to. you're fine. you'll live. you distract yourself with snooping around his drawers next to the couch. you find a clean set of brushes, unused paint, and packages of clay. you play with the brushes, tapping them like drumsticks, then acting out spells from harry potter, and whatnot. until you decide to dim that little spark of dignity you had left.

you glance at hongjoong again, who still sits on the stool and has made progress on the painting. you flip your skirt over, and move your panties aside. using the soft part of the brush, you glide it over your clit, and shudder at the feeling. he stops for a moment, and you hurriedly put the skirt back in place. he doesn't spare you a glance, but simply takes a sip of wine. when he returns to his work, you also return to yours.

your hand reaches for one of the pillows, and gets trapped under your teeth as your other hand continues teasing you with the soft brush. you bite into the poor pillow, tug it and arch your back, all while pleasuring yourself with kim hongjoong's brushes, on his couch, right behind his back. you go painfully slow, as to not make too much noise. you're driving yourself crazy, and you can't help but imagine what wonders he could do to you if he just turned around.

so close to reaching the release, you close your eyes, and throw your head back further, still in the upside down position. the brush works faster, the soft bristles gently but fast brushing against your swollen clit, caressing your nerves just right. so damn close, just a tad bit more, and-

"put that down."

like frost, his voice makes all the heat and lust disappear from your body. you sit still, eyes still closed, hoping that he will just disappear if you do so. that you will get yourself out of the awkward situation.

"i said..." you hear footsteps, and before you can actually listen to him, he grabs you by your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, "...put. that. down."

his eyes are stone cold, eyebrows furrowed. you gulp, feeling so small and miserable under his gaze.

"now."

your hand drops the brush on the couch, then fixes the skirt. you try to sit up straight, but hongjoong's grip on your face is strong. you stay still, waiting for the scolding to begin. you're terrified, you want to disappear. you want to drown in that bucket of paint that sits next to his stool, and never resurface again.

"what the hell do i do with you? first you hate me, then you like me, then you avoid me. now, you ride my painting brushes? how am i supposed to approach this?"

you don't try to speak. you don't trust yourself with words. you can only sound pathetic, begging for forgiveness again. so you decide to keep your mouth shut and let him be disappointed in you. he breaks eye-contact with you, only to have a sip of his wine which he brought over to the couch. he keeps it in his hand, eyes locked on you again. his thumb caresses your bottom lip, while his eyes roam the state of your body. your chest still rises and falls quickly, coming down from an orgasm denial. flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead with hair sticking to it, almost drool covered pillow with bite marks, and your arousal on his brushes and couch.

hongjoong breathes out his nose, a glint visible in his eyes.

"open up." he says, voice raspy and eyes softened.

you do as he says, opening your mouth until his thumb can comfortably sit in it. he massages your tongue, circling it and playing with it. he takes another sip of the dark liquid, then looks at you with that glint again. he removes his thumb, only to bring his head closer and pour the liquid from his mouth into yours. you swallow it without hesitation, too mesmerized and aroused by the situation. never in your life did you think that drinking from someone else's mouth was going to make you almost orgasm.

"good girl," he praises, voice barely a whisper in the silent cabin.

he downs the rest of it, then throws it on the floor aside. the glass cracking makes you twitch, but he is quick to hush you and caress your cheek.

"s-sir-" you finally speak, not even sure what you want to say.

"yes?" the man replies.

"i- i should-" you stutter, trying to come up with anything that will get you out of there, "i should go."

hongjoong raises an eyebrow, believing your words as much as you believe them. his hands fumble with the zipper of his slacks. then, he takes the pillow you had just used and gently puts it under your head.

"comfy?"

"yes...?" you say, confused.

"good."

through the opening of his pants, he pulls himself out, wasting no time in giving it a few slow strokes. your mouth waters at the sight, even if it is upside down. his hard, thick cock leaks above your head, ready to be licked clean.

"open up for me, princess."

you shudder at the nickname, and at the way he gently holds your head so that it is aligned with his cock. you open your mouth once again, slightly sticking your tongue out for him. the man presses the tip against your lips, coating them in pre-cum before pushing past them. he grunts, placing both of his hands on your cheeks to hold your head still. the warm muscle glides against your tongue, kissing the back of your neck. you can't help but imagine how it would glide inside of you, slowly, or fast, gently, or hard. you'll take anything he gives you.

"relax your throat, baby." his voice is raspy and quiet in your ears.

you do as told, trying your best to relax it. as soon as you do, hongjoong seems to lose himself a bit. he slams his hips forwards, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat and making you gag around him. tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you don't let them. his hand then reaches over to your skirt, flipping it over and exposing your drenched panties still pulled aside.

his fingers find your entrance without teasing, and he dips his finger in so easily. your walls squelch around him, arousal flooding and coating his digits. due to the position you're in, his rough fingers rub your spongy wall exactly how you need it. you squirm under his touch, feeling overstimulated even though you haven't orgasmed yet. he adds two more fingers, stuffing you almost to the brim. you're full of him, in both holes, and a whiny and squirming mess.

he abuses your mouth, admiring the outline of his cock on your neck.

"rub your pretty clit for me, princess."

hesitantly, your fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing it in circles and guiding yourself closer to an orgasm. hongjoong's fingers are restless in your hole, pumping in and out, making you moan and whine around his cock. the vibrations must feel good for him, because he throws his head back and groans. entirely lost in the pleasure of your tight mouth against him, he can't help but slam his hips harder and faster, and his fingers start matching the rythym.

you try to beg, but all the words are muffled by his equally abused cock.

"what was that, pretty girl?" he looks down at you, pure ecstasy on his face.

"please-" you somehow manage to say it.

"please? do you know what you're begging for?"

you shake your head. you don't, truly. begging for him to speed up? to slow down? to make you orgasm? or not? you have no idea. you just beg him, to give you everything he has to offer.

the moment is shattered when your phone rings, the word dad on the screen making your stomach turn. hongjoong stops, giving you a moment to collect yourself before handing you the phone. he helps you sit up straight, putting a pillow under you so that you are comfortable. you take a deep breath, who knows which one in the row that day. hongjoong caresses your cheek, as if he wasn't deep inside you both ways just seconds ago. charming, he'd say.

"hello?" you answer the phone.

"hey, kid. did you deliver those things to hongjoong?"

"yes, dad."

"great! i was thinking about inviting him for dinner tomorrow. wanna come and help me?"

"sure thing."

"i was thinking steak, with that whiskey sauce you make..."

you are no longer paying attention, because hongjoong is on his knees in front of the couch. he gently spreads your legs, and looks at you with a mischievous look. you shake your head silently, asking him to not do anything. but all falls in water when hongjoong licks a stripe up your slit and you shake under his touch. your legs close reflexively, but the older man is quick to hold your thighs in place as he devours you on his couch. he makes out with your folds, as if he is kissing your real lips. his tongue teases the tip of your clit, spinning it in circles. he sucks it, tugs it and rubs it, all the things that have your fingers grasping his hair and pulling mercilessly.

his fingers find their way inside you again, curling up so that you get maximum pleasure. a whine escapes your lips, and hongjoong stops everything he is doing. you beg him with your eyes not to stop. you can't go home empty handed. but the man only puts his hand over your mouth, and ever so slowly, slides inside of you. you swallow him so easily, arousal leaking all over him and his couch.

"dad, i really have to-" you gasp, feeling his cock brushing against your sweet spot, "i have to go."

"oh? alright then. so, tomorrow?"

hongjoong grabs your waist, not moving his own hips, but instead slamming your body on his cock and bruising your skin with his strong grip. his hair falls over his eyes, loose strands perfectly decorating his face painted with pure pleasure.

"huh? yes, yes! tomorrow. okay, see you!"

you've never ended a call so fast, and you've never thrown your phone so far away.

"don't hold back, darling. let me hear you."

and that's when you let go. you grip his shoulders, moan into his ear, whine, squirm, whatnot. you certainly don't make it easy for him.

"for an old pervert, you sure are having the time of your life." he teases.

you try glaring at him, but you can barely keep your head up. "just fuck me, please."

"you finally know what you're begging for. only you're not asking properly."

"pretty please?"

"no, you can do better."

you think hard, defocusing from the orgasm chasing for a moment. then, it clicks.

"please, daddy."

hongjoong chuckles happily, and snaps his hips harder into you. "that's a good girl."

something about having sex with clothes on drove you crazy, especially since hongjoong was in his natural habitat and clothing. it pushes you over the edge, seeing him brush his hair back and looking at you with such lust. you're shaking harder than ever, clear liquid squirting out of you and all over him and his furniture. you're in shock, trying to reach your breath, while hongjoong still sloppily fucks his cum into you.

he grunts and hums against your lips, not yet kissing you. which you suddenly find very frustrating.

"you should shit on my art more often, eh?"

with a laugh, you try to cover yourself with the blanket. but hongjoong takes it from your hand, then uses it to wipe the liquid off your body. he tosses it aside, then reaches for his own coat to give it to you. hesitantly, you take it. as you put it on, hongjoong examines your face for any traces of regret. when he sees none, he smiles fondly at you, pressing his lips on top of your hand, just like that night.

"you're a very pretty young woman, you know that?"

"thanks," you say awkwardly.

"you wanted to kiss me, i know. but..."

you roll your eyes, acting unphased.

"...i don't think i'm ready yet."

"you just rearranged my guts, and a kiss is a problem for you?"

he laughs, but not because it's funny, but because you are right. he helps you lay down on the couch, then covers you with the spare blanket. "we'll get there, pretty. right now, i want you to take a power nap before i take you home. got it?"

"got it, sir."

"good girl."

[gilverrwrites]

Have we discussed Roman’s separated wife hooking up with Bruce Wayne? You and Bruce have always been cordial, so when Roman doxxes you, Bruce lets you stay at the Manor and cry on his shoulder until the wine bottle is empty. He’s so nice and his hand is so warm on your cheek and oh Lord, it’s bigger than your face and you can’t remember the last time you felt safe while a man was touching you. You try to make a move, but Bruce knows he’s overindulged you (partially to get info about Roman but he’ll feel guilty about it later), so he stops you…but promises he’ll be more than ready and willing when you’re in your right mind and decide you still want this. You wait anxiously the entirety of the next day, until Bruce shows up at your door in the sluttiest t-shirt and sweatpants you’ve ever seen, his ginormous hand finding its place on your face again while the other one is slipping under the hem of your shirt.

Slutty top? You've hit a nerve anon, cause now all I'm thinking about is Brucie in a slutty little crop top, like sir put that washboard away before I bite it! Honestly, feral for anyone of any shape and size in a crop top, just show me your belly, please. Yeah, that would work on me.

But to answer your question, no we have not discussed this but we certainly can!!!!

Like, I can say earnestly, when he invited you to stay with him, sleeping with you did not cross his mind; he was purely thinking about;

Helping you get out of a bad situation

Good for the Brucie Wayne image (so long as the press don't get wind of it until you've found somewhere permanent to move too)

(as mentioned) Chance to get info on Black Mask

But the moment you flash that perfectly poised smile, even though you’re clearly on the brink of tears, he's thinking ‘Uh oh. I'm in trouble.’

He never thought much of you while you were with Roman, if maybe a little bit sorry for you. The extent of your relationship was occasional networking with Bruce at events, and Batman peeking through your windows at night to check on you when Roman was at his worst or imprisoned.

It helps that he thought you were pretty.

But now, as he's getting to know you on a personal level, seeing that you're stronger than he'd thought, and smarter. You're letting down walls and actually relaxing, and in his domain at that! It stirs something within him.

And for you, like Roman and Bruce are the same age, from similar backgrounds, similar personas for the public (charming and rich) but it's crazy to see how different they really are.

When you talk, Bruce isn't just waiting for his turn to speak, he listens.

There's no coercion when you set a boundary, he just respects it. Which funnily enough makes you more willing to share. He's just so easy to trust.

When you ask about interesting pieces around his house, he doesn't brag about where it's from and what it costs. Instead, he tells you stories about his parents or his kids interacting with it.

He's funny, and respectful, not at all what you'd expected.

And did you mention handsome? Oh, he's very handsome. That dark hair and those blue eyes. The chiselled jaw and the dimples and he smells good too, you find that out after you bury your nose into his chest while he's carrying you to bed that first night. You're tipsy, and his house is a maze, he's just trying to help and not at all showing off his strength.

The same way he's just dressed so casually the following day when he comes to find you, this is what he always lounges around. He's totally not subtly flexing his glamour muscles as you open the door.

Now, Roman is by no means bad in bed. He's just, shall we say, selfish? He has a set way in life and sex that he expects you to live up to.

Bruce though? He's a giver. He can take, when appropriate, but right now, he knows what you need.

You need those big hands on your waist as he chases you into the bed with his mouth. You need them soothing your tired body, massaging all the stress out of your aching body. You need his thumb to rub circles into your inner thighs while he kisses, and sucks, and laps at your hot, wet sex. You need his long hard fingers pumping into that sweet little hole, again and again until you cum all over them.

And that is just the start.

But you know one other really important thing you need? Some goddamn aftercare.

He knows it straight away, shouldn’t have been surprised. But when your body immediately falls limp after he rolls off of you, when you look at him confused as he asks if you need anything he knows your life has been lacking kindness for so long that you barely even recognise when it's extended to you.

He's not good at the emotional stuff, at comforting words but he reasons that you probably don't need to hear it right now. Don't need to be reminded of your mistakes, of your past.

Instead, he pulls you into him, wrapping his warmth around you like a giant weighted blanket. Holding you until you accept his affection and melt into his arms.

Meanwhile, the False Facers can't breach Bruces security, can't get a good look into the Manor. Which means they don't know what you're doing there. But they know you're there, and that means Roman knows you're there.

And Romans not stupid, you sneaky, no good, selfish whore.

He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him? You nasty little bitch. And with Bruce Wayne of all people?

Don't get comfy, because the moment you step outside those gates, the second you let your walls down, he's going to rock your shit. You're going to pay for all the crap you've put him through, tenfold.

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[hanzajesthanza]

jarosław musiał fantastyka july 1992 okruch lodu/a shard of ice illustrations again with the most accurate official visual representations of geralt to date

Worldbuilding tip for aspiring fantasy authors! Give that swordsman a bigger ass

[yandere-kokeshi]

heyyyy, i saw your werewolf TF 141 posts, and i have some ideas brewing >:) just imagine trying to go to the bathroom in peace or worse trying to leave for work or something else, and if you do escape, if you come home smelling like another person (especially another man 👀) i feel like there would be a lot of chaotic moments happening that household :p

Warnings: yandere behavior, possessiveness, and smut shit, minors DNI!

No, because you’re right. They’re the definition of, ‘If you leave me, we will kill you (softly) >:(!’

They’re always on you the minute you get home, regardless of where or who you went with. The wildest men, Soap and Gaz, are immediately surrounding you at the door, gently nipping your hand to guide you to their nest; before growling out as the disgusting smell of another person waves in like flies.

All of them hate outsiders. The smell of humans — the scent of someone else on you? Yeah, that’s one way to make them lose their goddamn mind. They growl at your skin, furiously licking it away and dragging you back to the den, so they can replace it with theirs. 

Funnily enough, Kyle jokingly brought up a small thought a few weeks ago: what if they pretend to be a service dog? You laughed then, taking it as a joke. However, It’s a thought they hadn’t stopped thinking about since. And it’d be perfect, really. 

They’ll act nice, they’d promise. Taking turns every day. Nudging your legs, pretending to be alerting you, but in reality, annoyed that customers are continually chatting you up at the grocery store; but they won’t blame them. You are pretty. 

Whenever they want attention in public, they’d force you on the ground — laying on top of you, pretending to be doing DPT. And of course, narrowing their eyes at anyone who wants to touch them. 

Though, ignore the top half, once coming home from work, they’re always on you the minute you step through the front door, regardless of where or who you went with. Price is immediately surrounding you at the door, gently nipping your hand to guide you to the nest; before growling out as the disgusting smell of another person waves in like flies.

Next you know, you’ve fallen to the floor, vigorously dragged by your ankle, whom by Johnny — only growls when you resist. Yelling at them only excites them more to show you who you belong too. 

Once you finally get out of the cuddle ball, which you were immediately forced into once you got home from work, one of them will follow you and whine at the door. High chance it’s Johnny, who will scratch at the door, barking at you to come out (and maybe chewing at the fuckin’ door, it ain’t the first time you’ve had to replace the damn thing!). He starts to jump around you when you come out, his tail wagging excitedly. 

In the mornings, they loathe seeing you get ready for work. The changing to appropriate clothes makes them growl, and you leaving the bedroom to grab your keys makes them whine. Johnny likes to purposely play games, especially grabbing your keys and running around the house, which leads to you chasing him and being late.

Most of the time, you’re chewed out by your boss — you being late so many times is a heavy toll on your shoulders. And when you come home, you’re obviously irritated. They can tell and smell it from you. 

They try to make you feel better. They really do! But why can’t you see you only need them? All of them surround you, making you irritable, laugh when they lick you. But only whine, when you tell them to move or get out of the way; ears flat down when you slam the bedroom door to be left alone. 

Either way, if you dare to get ready for work, after purposely ignoring them the night before, they can easily overpower you. Biting at the back of your knees, causing you to quite literally fall face-first and then quickly sitting on top of your back; making you learn that you require them and need to stay home. They need to protect you, so why can’t you understand that?

Punishments are rare. But if you keep pushing their limits, especially when you come back from a friend’s night quite late, they get on all fours. Turning in their full forms and fuck you senseless until you promise you won’t leave without their permission.  

But, once in a while, they’ll let you go without any trouble. They give you a bunch of kisses, growling in promises that you’ll be back before 8pm. And if you decide to push it, even by 10 minutes? They’re angry, and pent-up with annoyance yet again. 

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, it helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[dysthoepiadaily]

how are you gonna casually mention the symbolism behind dan's branding and not drop the entire essay, wth op... 😔

Mostly because if I write it, it'll take a lot of effort, and I think I'll be writing for an audience of one, LOL, given that I tend to get slightly technical with vedic astrology, and my whole thesis is based on vedic astrology, LMAO. And, bc this is already in my mind, I didn't really think to elaborate on it, given how much vedic astrology exposition I would have to do. But, I am itching at the seams to talk about it, so prepare for a long ass essay under the cut, ig

DISCLAIMER: I am not trying to say that any of this is REAL, I am simply pointing out coincidences and patterns that are interesting to me. While I believe in astrology, I don't expect others to, and I'm uninterested in arguing about the causes, effects, and underlying meaning of any of this. I just find it interesting

Basic thing is that Dan has Ketu (South Node) in the first house, and that is interesting, because Ketu is quite an invisible planet. Like, what it rules is authenticity, purity, soul purpose, divine inspiration, isolation. When you think of a planet like this, it's almost impossible for it to get famous, if that makes any sense. Fame would ruin the purity of a planet like this. The ideal expression of this planet is as a saint or a monk, away from the world.

Fortunately, this planet is always expressed to the masses through its opposite, Rahu (North Node). Rahu is a planet that rules glamour, the material world, fame, the occult. Rahu and Ketu are two halves of a whole, often symbolized by an immortal beheaded serpent. Ketu is considered to be the body of the serpent (lacking senses, but has the ability to move using muscle memory), and Rahu, the head of the serpent (ability to speak, think, see, focus, but unable to act). Having Ketu in first house means that Dan's Rahu is in the seventh house, the house of the partner.

Because Ketu is associated with purity, it's also associated with loss, fire, and doom. Kind of like, it burns down whatever is in its way, and what remains is the purest form of the object (According to hindu mythology, the material world is not real, and ashes, then, show the inherent nothingness of the world. brand appropriate for Dan). This is where we get into Dan's first symbolic brand, which is "danisnotonfire". With this branding, Dan sort of erases the effect of the firey nature of Ketu, and increase his Rahu. Funnily enough, according to the Vimshottari Dasha system, his Rahu dasha (activation period for Rahu) began in April 2009. I couldn't begin to make this shit up, because Dan started his twitter account in May 2009, a month after his rahu dasha started. This dasha will end in April 2027, btw.

With Rahu being in the house of the spouse, this name is also what attracted his partner to him (Phil has pretty significant Rahu in his chart, as well, which is why he is indicated by Rahu in Dan's chart, but Dan's Rahu is stronger, just harder for him to access, since it is not HIM). This partner also brought him fame and material gain.

Because Rahu is associated with glamour, it's also associated with inauthenticity, hoarding (material resources are simply not real), anxiety and, also... fun. Ketu is all about purity, doom and gloom, and meditation, but Rahu is about stimulation. If you get too into it, and base your life on it, it becomes anxiety inducing, but if you treat it as a video game you can log out of anytime, it starts to become fun and enjoyable. Unfortunately, this is very difficult for most people to do, because Rahu is the material reality that tries to trick you into thinking it is the most important thing in the world.

Rahu and Ketu require for there to be a balance, basically, for their ideal expressions, because excess of Ketu brings depression and inertia, while excess of Rahu brings anxiety and overstimulation. They are natural cures for one another. Rahu and Ketu are also not real planets, and they are mathematical points that are meant to show the timings for... eclipses. Yes, a classic Dan Branding!!!!

The best way to deal with Rahu and Ketu is by enjoying Rahu, and then burning down the Rahu with Ketu whenever it gets too anxiety inducing. So, when Dan got tired of the inauthenticity of Rahu, he basically burned down the danisnotonfire brand, to be more authentic to himself. And, during this time as Daniel Howell (his true self, in a way), he posted less, and he came out as gay to be true to himself (Ketu authenticity).

Because he actively tried to strengthen his Ketu during this time, he also lost a lot of projects he meant to do (ketu rules loss, if you guys remember), and had a bit of a difficult time. Ketu isn't an easy planet to deal with, AT ALL. Strong Ketu means dealing with constant failures, dislike from other people, and being forcibly isolated in many ways. That said, Ketu is still a force to be reckoned with, and if something is successful even when Ketu is strong, it's considered extremely important, materially as well as spiritually, because it is divinely guided, and Dan executed some of his absolute best work during this time, as well, as is natural for ketu.

Anyway, Dan's new return to youtube is marked by... DanandPhilGames, the channel where he is with Phil, who represents his Rahu. With Phil, he can gain a lot of success, because Rahu allows you to do the fun and silly projects that Ketu will never let you do.

I think that's maybe all of it? If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask, LMAO

TL;DR

Rahu is inauthentic material life and also fun, ketu is authentic spirituality and also depression, Dan's Ketu is him by himself, and his Rahu is Phil. Dan's eclipse shirt brings balance to his Rahu and Ketu, his danisnotonfire brand reduced the impact of Ketu into his life, and also got his partner into his life, and the DanandPhilGames brand does a similar thing as danisnotonfire did.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Sapphic vampire fiction mini reviews, ranked from least favorite to most:

House of Hunger: Bland characters, a story that barely scratches the surface of the implications of its premise, and a central relationship with nothing underpinning it make for an aimless story with a climax that hits like a limp noodle. If the dynamic between a vampire and her indentured maid appeals to you, try The Wicked and the Willing instead.

An Education in Malice: For a Carmilla retelling, the titular character really lacks bite. Laura at least has some interesting contradictions in her, and De Lafontaine could be quite compelling if we saw things through her eyes, but the central relationship isn't built on a lot, and Carmilla herself is really disappointingly bland. The prose comes off as overwrought and melodramatic in the first act, and the constant leaning on poetry feels gratuitous, but it picks up steam and becomes appropriately gripping by the one-third mark, and it carries the book enough that I had an enjoyable but rather shallow experience. I struggle to think of a reason to recommend this over In the Roses of Pieria, which plays with similar thematic and aesthetic elements much more adeptly. Also, it's a pet peeve of mine when a story makes a point to establish a specific historical era for its setting but has characters that feel utterly modern.

The Deathless Girls: This book does a much better job with its sense of time and place, and the characters and their motivations are quite strong. I only rate this one low on this list because the main characters don't actually deal with vampirism as a condition until the very end of the book. On its surface, the premise might seem quite similar to A Dowry of Blood, but there's actually very little thematic or narrative overlap.

Ex-Wives of Dracula: An excellent exploration of the queer teenage experience in conservative small town ~2015 USA along with some pretty novel twists on vampire and horror movie tropes. Strong, vibrant characters with a rich, messy, and compelling relationship carry a solid mystery plot and some pretty pointed critiques of its setting, but the actual climax and resolution don't quite hold up to the quality of the rest. Also I simply must warn anyone who didn't grow up in the time and place this book explores about the profound and casual bigotry and nastiness of that setting, which this book replicates to a T.

The Wicked and the Willing: A thrilling and compelling dark romantic drama centered on a British vampire in 1920s Singapore, her newly hired and desperate to escape poverty personal maid, and her majordomo who is struggling to keep her conscience under control after years of aiding and abetting her mistress's dark appetites. Extremely strong character writing pairs with deft exploration of themes of colonialism, entitlement, class divisions, sexism, and the ways in which certain types of status can and cannot afford one leeway to be nonconforming in other ways. Intermixes diagetic and non-diagetic BDSM very organically also, if that's your thing.

In the Roses of Pieria: Rich prose dripping with atmosphere follows an obscure academic as she digs into a series of ancient correspondences and discovers a millenia spanning love story between two vampires. The character writing is solid, if not quite as impressive as some other entries on this list, but the quality of the prose more than elevates it. The text makes elegant and powerful references to Sappho throughout, and the whole experience is heady and compelling in ways that I struggle to describe in greater detail. Funnily enough, the vampires are the least interesting part of the world building. This one has a sequel coming, and I can't wait.

A Dowry of Blood: A darkly enchanting epistolary novel that takes the form of letters written by the first of Dracula's wives to him as she attempts to make peace with killing him. She unpicks a delicious and horrifying knot of feeling and history as she revisits their millenia together, recounting and reckoning with the manipulations and abuses that defined the good times and the bad. The characters are evocative and rich, the narrative voice by turns sparse, longing, furious, contemplative, and mournful, and the story simply springs to life. It accomplishes an incredible amount in approximately 200 pages, and I absolutely cannot recommend this one enough.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I think Meghan’s style sense is related to her incredibly low self-esteem (a root cause of malignant narcissism). She thinks that if she employs muted colours in luxury fabrics with designer labels, in both fashion and homewares, no one can possibly criticise her. She’s the human equivalent of a chain hotel - everything bland, boring and inoffensive with no personality or quirkiness. Her fashion faux pas stem from her laziness, grift and delusion - nothing fits properly, either because it will be sent back or because she’s not dressing for her real height and body shape- or her narcissism. The latter means that she wears stuff - ball gown skirts, capes, off the shoulders etc. - inappropriate to the occasion so she can stand out.

Real style means dressing how you want and not caring what others might think. It means choosing pieces which are appropriate to the occasion, fit impeccably but still have interest and personality that reflects you as a person. Of the Royal ladies currently, Zara and, funnily enough Beatrice since her marriage, do this best. They do have the occasional miss but more often than not look amazing.

Old ask from June 6th

I can see this but personally, I think Meghan dresses in muted neutrals because she believes it’s representative of wealth and luxury. It’s nothing more than dressing the part to have the part - if she looks wealthy and looks like luxury, then everyone will think she is wealthy and luxury, but it always fails because Meghan can’t be bothered to pay attention to the little details; undergarments, tags, hemlines,

As for why she might believe that the rich and famous wear muted neutrals? Yes, there’s the “quiet luxury” trend of Winter/Spring 2023 that morphed into the “mafia wife” trend of Fall 2023, which morphed into the “old money” trend of Spring/Summer 2024.

But it’s also Pretty Woman: Julia’s character wears muted, neutral colors (during the day) or long strapless/sleeveless gowns (for evening events) once she gets Richard’s money.

Don’t believe me? Take a scroll through this gallery and see how many outfits Vivian/Julia wears that Meghan has also worn/adapted.

[moonspirit]

Hello moonie!!!! First of all happy international holiday (armins birthday duh) hope you’ll pass an amazing day of celebrations with fireworks and banquets🙀💫

Second, I just saw your post about kald inspo pics, do you have some also for the ambassadors’ house? Like outside and inside? I kind of have a hard time imagining what it looks like and how the rooms are disposed (not your fault ofc, i am the slow one XD)

I saw how Anna brought to life Annie’s and Armin’s rooms tho, they were so cute!!! Amazing work!!!

Heeelllo Gaia! I'm very sorry for getting around to this late (2 weeks, honestly 🥲...). I hope you had a good International Armin day too T_Tb

Anyway, thank you so much for asking (and I hope you still wanna know ahaha xD)! Imagining the house Armin & Co live in is one of my favourite things because a lot of VBEOW honestly started with the living spaces. At the same time, weirdly enough, I don't have solid inspiration pictures that I can point to and say "aha, this is what the living room looks like!" xD Much of the visual development lives in my head.

Still, I managed to find some similar ones to help you!

To start with, Anna's beautiful depiction of Aruani's rooms continue to make me want to crawl into the screen to live there, and I'm glad you like it too T^T She deserves all the love and praise for it!

Secondly, I once used Kimi no Nawa stills as a kind of promo thing because a particular shot of the Miyamizu house reminded me very strongly of the Ambassador's house in VBEOW and, well, I can't seem to find the original post but here they are:

Moving on to the interiors though, I always try to describe them to the best of my abilities (sometimes I also hold back because I'm scared of saying "cozy staircase" 3 times in a chapter 🥲 writing woes), but here are some photos I found that might help you imagine them better.

I guess the foyer could look something like this. Though these photos are very modern, so you should just take them and mentally translate them into constructions that are more 1930s appropriate xD Oh and there should be a shoe cabinet somewhere to the right.

The corridors on the boys' and girls' floors would be something like these:

Now, funnily enough, I have several photos of pretty kitchens saved on my phone and I think it's because I just really love kitchens? xD None of these are time-appropriate(?), but they have very Kald-appropriate beautiful views, so you can imagine them being vintage:

(very important author's note: how the kitchen looks is very critical to any story because the kitchen is where they nasty fu-- *gets shot*)

Some other photos I found that could be the living room with the fireplace, the dining room (it has a big window so that's important), and a random bedroom?

Keep in mind tho - it's all wood!

The house is quite *big* because as we learn, it was originally a mansion put to use as a guest-house for government officials. However it remains empty for a long, long time until Aruani & Co arrive from Fort Salta and are given it as a sort of "boarding house" to live in.

VBEOW is a story of how they make it a home, along with the land of Kald :3

Anyway thank you for the interest Gaia, I hope this helped you a bit!

[ficfinder-general]

I'm new to Codywan. Doyou have a list of Must Reads or Fandom Classics or anything like that? (Bonus points for longfic!)

Funnily enough, I'm not sure I'm an expert on Fandom Classics, but I do think that the long Clone Wars rewrites/fix-its are a perfect way to start! (And then you can move on to shorter fics and crazy AUs haha) So these are all longer, and can be fit into TCW continuity, even if they diverge at some point because the writers can't help themselves and will fix canon (as they should).

{recs under the cut, please mind the tags listed on ao3}

in our hearts some ancient song by whimsicalimages (@keensers)- Fives discovers the chips, he's on the run and gambles his life on the assumption that there's something going on between Cody and his general, so they would help him. Some amazing lore in this fic. 40k words

Golden Shield of Brightness by NerJetii (@nerjetii)- Soulmate AU, your soulmates' (romantic and platonic) names are written on your wrists. "Only" 15k, but I would recommend it even if you're not a fan of soulmate AUs (=they don't fall into each other's arms just because they're soulmates). Focuses on Obi-Wan, mostly, but we also learn a bit about how the Kaminoans treated the clones.

I am teaching myself how to be free by tattooedgreenhouse (@gershwyndl) - this might be THE Clone Wars rewrite for me because the author has taken upon themselves to literally retell the whole series from Cody's AND Obi-Wan's POV. It's ambitious, I'm pretty sure it's technically canon compliant, but we do get our happy ending. Appropriately, it's 113k long.

i'll orbit your flickering star by sunskippa (@sunskippa) - Also a Clone Wars rewrite (by this I mean that it goes through the events of the series from Cody's POV), also canon compliant, 78k words. Might be my favourite ending in the genre, beautiful. I don't even know how to sell this, but it's a must-read imo

|to failure sweet victor| by littlekaracan (@cillyscribbles)- 20k words. In case you've read all those rewrites and you just want to skip to the part where Cody leaves the Empire and they find each other again on Tatooine *with a twist*

you read my mind, I'll read yours series by sospes - This is very much canon divergent. Starts off as a mission fic, Cody and Obi-Wan discover an artefact that creates a Force-bond between them. Misunderstandings ensue. Look at the tags/ratings, some of the works later on are spicier/angstier. But you could also read the first one and call it a day if those aren't your jam. (The whole thing is 166k long at the moment.)

will you be an anarchist with me? by a_alene (@birdiedoessw) - an outsider POV (Rex's) on Cody's and Obi-Wan's relationship. With the extra twist that they can't stand each other at the beginning of the war. This is something I would've loved to read when I was getting into codywan, it's a great way to start. (25k words)

shoulder the sky series by Night Fury (@shootingstarpilot) - Last but not least, an ongoing series (all but two works are finished, more than 200k words atm). You'll have to "get through" the first work to read the more codywan-focused fics (and I don't mean this in a bad way because the story is a m a z i n g. Just so you know.) To be honest, I think it might be a bit confusing to read at the moment because as far as I can see a work was removed from the series, but it's still up? I'm not sure what happened there, but I suppose you could simply read all the author's works in chronological order :D This series is pretty much Obi-Wan AND clone troopers focused and relies a lot on the Jedi Apprentice series (which isn't canon anymore) but you're gonna be fine if you haven't read it.

(If anyone reads this, please feel free to add your own suggestions!)

[sophieinwonderland]

The word "tulpa" is used first by Alexandra-David Néel (Belgian-French buddhist anarchist) and phoneticized from "sprul-pa" (also rendered as "trulpa"). You can also trace the term back to sanskrit as "Nirmita".

The concept of an apparition is Buddhism can be attributed to aṣṭamāyopamā (sanskrit) or the 8 similes of illusion, which are basically metaphors for explaining how something can be perceived without it actually existing in the physical world. Apparitions (Nirmita) is the 8th simile.

She visited Lhasa in Tibet, a place which was inaccessible to foreigners at the time, and wrote the books "My Journey to Lhasa" and "Magic and Mystery in Tibet", where she explains what she learned in het journey. She then coined the term "tulpa", which spread to westerners of New Age practices as a type of thought-form.

Thought-forms in mysticism are attested by the book "Thought-Forms: A Record of Clairvoyant Investigation", which explains how many theosophists believe that thoughts are not simply a subjective thing that is confined in the human mind, but that they are "things" which have intrinsic properties. These thought-forms have principles (colour, form and clearness are determined by the type of thought) and classes (thought-forms can have certain forms which express the thought's inherent properties).

Tulpamancy today is not related to thought-forms.

Tulpamancy as it is today started, funnily enough, on 4chan - specifically in the paranormal board /x/ and subsequently the My Little Pony board /mlp/. Before that, the process of creating a tulpa was not known to people, and it generally involved ritualistic or metaphysical practices.

In /x/, some people began (in my opinion kind of haphazardly) making tulpas, and they reported their success. They then began writing guides which were freely shared in the community.

The real "explosion" in popularity started in the /mlp/ board, where topics of tulpamancy started popping up, which interested a lot of users. This snowballed into the creation of a forum ane a subreddit for the community (which were founded only after a Tulpamancy IRC was created, mostly made up of /x/ board users).

The approach to tulpamancy at this time was mostly psychological, instead of the previously metaphysical view of the practice.

The practice of tulpamancy and the practice of creating emanations are very different from each other, with the only similarity being the name (with "tulpa" only being a phoneticization of the tibetan term).

With the argument of cultural appropriation in the tulpamancy community, we need to first define what cultural appropriation is in the context of word usage.

Cultural appropriation in the context of word usage refers to the adoption or use of words from another culture without understanding or respecting their cultural significance, often resulting in the trivialization, misrepresentation, or exploitation of the originating culture.

Is the usage of the word "tulpa" mocking the original practice? Not really I don't think. The word "tulpa", while it was coined by a buddhist is generally not used when referring to emanations. (What I am about to say is personal experience, keep that in mind) Most buddhists I have spoken to at most will have a fear of non-buddhist practices and ideas being wrongfully thought of as being buddhist, which may have been a problem in the past when tulpamancy was indeed though of as a buddhist practice, but now the community fully separates itself from any religion or spiritual practice.

Here's a link to a post on /r/Tulpas on reddit from a Tibetan Buddhist with an emanation:

https://www.reddit.com/r/Tulpas/comments/unt6h7/i_am_a_tibetan_buddhist_with_an_emanation_tulpa/

---

What do you think about this, Sophie? I found it as a kind of copypasta to explain how tulpamancy is not cultural appropriation.

It's a pretty good overview! 😁

Appropriation topics are always tricky, but to me this conversation comes down to two question. The first is if the original tulpa from Alexandra David-Neel was appropriative. In my opinion, while it may have veered away from the Tibetan sprul-pa in some ways, it was created by a Buddhist convert with the aid of Tibetan translators like Lama Kazi Dawa Samdup. For this reason, the original ADN tulpa is generally considered more a result of cultural exchange.

I do think treating the ADN tulpa as an authentic Buddhist practice might be harmful, but it would be unfair to say it was made without regard to the original culture. (I would also say that it's hard to judge how much of this was indeed an authentic Tibetan Buddhist practice or not. Most people who have said it isn't are looking at current Buddhist practices 100 years later after an invasion by China destroyed many religious texts and records and heavily suppressed the religion.)

The second question is if modern versions of the tulpa are appropriative. And I don't consider this to be the case. Modern tulpamancy, while born from ADN tulpa, mostly just uses the words and general concept. As you say, the big problem within Buddhist circles is certain practices being falsely presented as Buddhist, muddying the waters. Over the last decade, the tulpamancy community has made a strong effort in distancing themselves from Tibetan Buddhism and tulpa's etymology.

...

Here's the direct link to the Reddit post from the Tibetan Buddhist with the emanation:

[marinersubmariner]

AU looks for Rey and Ben

Commentary under the cut

I initially conceived of this as being solely about the hairstyles, but then I couldn’t just make them wear one outfit because different outfits go with different looks, so it increasingly became a very high effort video game character customizer. It’s just too much fun to play dress-up, and what better time to indulge my love of space fashion than with a custom template of my favs!!

I actually do have a longtime dream of making a paper doll set because I love outfits, I love canonverse AUs, and the lack of significant variety in their looks throughout the sequel trilogy has obviously driven me to madness, but. drawing clothing on entire head-to-toe figures is a whole thing. These busts alone took so much time I don’t know if I’d ever finish something more extensive.

Miscellaneous notes and thought processes from staring at this for way too long:

Short-haired Rey/long-haired Ben 4ever

Rey wearing green and Ben wearing blue is my ideal configuration so it’s what I will always default to. They are simply the correct colors, sorry I DO make the rules

Of course this whole thing came about mostly because I wanted to give Ben a Leia hairstyle. OF COURSE. And the outfit is stolen from Bail—I previously made a photomanip of this but didn’t quite complete it (yet?? ehh. why bother at this point). Funnily enough in that manip I had turned Bail’s grey ROTS cloak blue for Ben, and then in the Obi-Wan show they did that same color swap and gave Bail an actual blue cloak. Curse my gift of prophecy

I played with giving Rey Ben’s exact same scar—which also looks rad—but because I overthink everything it seemed more fitting to make it a mirror image instead. Dyad things

The EU did already have a guy with Jason Todd hair, but setting that aside I’m still pretty attached to Kylo Red Hood parallels. And a while ago as I was thinking about the white streak again I realized it would make sense to extend it from where his scar is, symbolic of how death and resurrection would be experiences that stemmed from that initial injury. I’m not a huge fan of his scar being completely healed in canon because I’d rather things have permanent reminders instead of erasing them (which is generally a whole problem with TROS!!!), so I like the idea that it would change rather than disappear. Anyway the cost of resurrection is: looking extra cool 😔

Sci-fi women with shaved heads are very special to me, but specifically in the history of Star Wars I have a deep fondness for Natalie Portman’s buzz cut during the ROTS press. She looked so good, RIP bald Padme

Rey’s black cowl is modeled on Kylo’s TFA cowl, but I also imagined it as the good boy sweater. Either way, she’s wearing his clothes

I know Ben in the standard white shirt is pretty boring, but I needed a low collar to showcase his hair (ostensibly the point of this entire exercise!) and I liked pairing a white outfit for him with a black outfit for Rey, because reversals are the best part of their whole deal. Also: casual space Gandalf the White. Also also: I think I just ended up making him the transformed Beast from Beauty and the Beast. APPROPRIATE. It was kind of tough for me to settle on a look to go with the long hair because it was the Ben hairstyle that I thought worked best with every outfit.

Rey’s green wrap/robe is the most improvised clothing here, just aiming for something nice and green without getting overly fancy. I sort of vaguely pulled from the Chandrilan formalwear we saw on Andor, but I mean, the kimono wrap is a pretty standard Star Wars wardrobe staple regardless. The white mock neck undershirt is definitely inspired by Mon. So you can maybe say she’s dressed in Chandrilan clothes because it’s Ben’s homeworld, and he helped her with the braid because yes I subscribe to Ben hair braiding fanons, I’m so sorry, I’m in too deep!!!!!!!

Puffy jacket! Even more colorful!! To be honest I have throw pillows with these colors and I love them, but I was also thinking to give Ben a yellow accent as a nod to Rey’s lightsaber color. This is where it gets to a point that I could spend days switching out color combos, a dangerous game

This was way more time-consuming than I expected it to be, but that seems to be true of all art projects for me as I get older. Now I gotta try to sustain some productivity and move on to the next one of my billion WIPs. Being obsessed with a dead ship and character for which there is vanishingly little hope of ever getting new canon material is so much work

[roxykisser]

my twitter account got locked so tumblr gets my insanity full force. i’ve been thinking about dirkjake.

it’s mostly been vague spinning of concept ala food in the microwave BUT i’ve wanted to talk about them and colour association for a while now and what better time to do just that than this one?

dirk’s primary colour association is orange, specifically a sort of creamsicle shade. i find this to be one of if not the most interesting colour choices, as dirk’s chosen colour, at a surface level, seems to represent a concept that is near antithetical to himself. according to most search engines, it is associated with warmth, excitement, joy, the sun… all things that aren’t necessarily characteristics of his. there is the association with creativity, which most definitely fits, but other than that…?

it seems an ill fit choice, until you look at orange in how it’s used. it is an incredibly hard colour to match and counter, especially in fashion, and isn’t commonly used for that reason. it doesn’t carry the sweet calmness of yellow but also not the ferocity and unmitigated energy of red. it is commonly thought to produce a feeling of hunger. seems to make more sense, doesn’t it?

then we have his other primary association: pink. not sweet baby pink or millenial pink or bubblegum pink but something that i’d describe as almost magenta. pink is one of the primary colours in the cmyk colour profile (the stuff used in printers), and it’s associated with kindness and compassion, love, sometimes. while those aren’t traits we might assign to dirk at the beginning of his arc, as act 6 goes on we learn he has a uniquely large heart. pink is all the things he believes himself not to be, add the association with femininity and you get a solid metaphor for his coming into himself as a gay man.

then there’s jake. his primary colour is dark green, which also happens to be a primary in the rgb colour profile. this colour fit is an odd case. by popular lore it is heavily associated with nature, life, growth, inner balance, which might fit jake to a point, but generally assumes themes and traits better suited to other characters. funnily enough though, the negative traits associated with green fit him pretty universally, envy not so much, but jealousy is a large part of his arc, and he proves to be quite materialistic in his life as jake harley.

the colour green in practice proves to be interesting again, as it is kind of an everything colour. i can’t think of a scenario where a shade of green wouldn’t be downright inappropriate to use, and that just about sums up how i feel about jake english early in his arc. he tries so hard to stay away from conflict and keep his friends happy he becomes a sort of social chameleon, mirroring whoever it is he’s talking to, even if it doesn’t make him happy. jake doesn’t know who he is, at this point in life. he knows what he *wants* to be and what he’s *expected* to be but reaching inside himself yields no result. by being appropriate in every scenario you lose an amount of character that others with more specialised uses will always hold over you.

the light yellow of the hope aspect is a fun one. yellow is generally associated with happiness and optimism, traits that jake shows in equal measures, though how genuine they are at any given moment is hard to parse, unless you of course are dirk strider. it’s supposed to produce enthusiasm and confidence, things that we see once again in jake harley. on the flip side… yellow is heavily associated with cowardice. and it’s very true. jake is a coward, and it’s something he spends a good chunk of act 6 maybe not… coming to terms with but finding out about himself. not that there’s anything bad about being a coward, in the case of homestuck especially, he would have been stupid if he wasn’t scared. speaking of; another association: naïveté. something jake heavily projects into his image in order to absolve himself of the consequences of his actions. he’s a bit of an asshole in that way, but not maliciously so.

now, let’s look at their colours together. orange and green make brown, which is not a colour very common in these sorts of analysis, but it nontheless proves fitting for their relationship, at least pregame. it is the colour of stability, reliability, but also dullness and timidity. jake and dirk were clearly very comfortable with each other and knew each other well: enough that jake was able to tell hal apart from dirk based on speech patterns alone. but their relationship as it was wasn’t completely fulfilling for both of them, at least dirk seemed to want to take things further for a long time before the game but was unable to due to his own fears and partially jake’s immaturity.

yellow and pink on the other hand? orange, again. this time it seems fitting to look at orange’s negative associations: immaturity, impulsivity, impatience. dominance, in a negative sense. this i think mirrors jake and dirk’s time as boyfriends during the game, before their breakup following trickster mode. their inability to communicate became their downfall when forced to communicate face to face. they stopped balancing each other out and closed themselves off in an effort to keep up the charade of a functional relationship. considering their lack of communication even before the game started, this wasn’t a surprising outcome, but a sad one nontheless.

still, they beat the game. and now they are just orange and green again, albeit joint kings of all consorts (the epilogues don’t exist). people often forget but orange and brown are two shades of the same colour. and i believe given time and methods of communication suited to both of them they can build up to brown again. better, stronger this time.

[apidusurper]

Yesterday, in a class for my History degree in uni, we did something a little more interactive. Our professor asked us all to bring photos of us from our time in school. She's been teaching us "Memory and Monumentality" for the last semester, and it was pretty dang appropriate - I have to admit. I don’t have many photos from back then, I was really camera shy for most of my conscious childhood and teenage years. At the time, of course, I didn’t know why that was, and I suppose I never bothered to think much about it - not until yesterday at least.

I brought the only picture I had, something that was stuck to the fridge for soon to be 20 years. After cataloging it with the archive’s system, she asked us to write about the memories it brought when we looked at the picture. That way, we’d be playing both archivist and historian - in writing about it technically and emotionally. And as I stared and wrote, I noticed how much of it was a blur, a miasma of half remembered joys and stinging scorn. The times my parents yelled at me; how far away I felt from people; how the kids I’d call friends wouldn’t care for me - taking advantage of my innocence and desperation for company. Little islands of discomfort, funny how they were the only things I remembered well. That’s negativity bias for ya!

Funnily enough, that wasn’t what got me the most emotional. It was me noticing why I felt the way I did. Part of it could have been gender stuff, probably - but stronger than anything was the - at the time - undiagnosed autism. I saw and understood the world not like anyone else in my class, couldn’t understand the jokes they made, or the lies they spun. I felt like an alien, a stranger. Which only got worse after I started highschool and had to change where I was being educated! Fuck, I was such an angsty kid then lol.

Not sure why, but it made me want to tear up - had to wait until I got home to do that tho. I guess it was sympathy for little me, wanting to hold them and help them. Even if realistically, I wouldn’t change their experiences. Afterall, those happenings, good and bad, are what made me… me! And I’m pretty happy with myself.

I don’t like dwelling on the past, but it was nice to try and remember this foggy time. Maybe I’ll do some more of it again later, it puts… So, so, so much of what I did back then into perspective. Autism and - when hormones kicked in - dysphoria making me preeetty confused with everything.

Not sure if this is a vent or what, but it was nice to type out. Probably another thing to do more often! Incoherent journaling rules

[dross-the-fish]

Anything that would make the members of the motley crew laugh? Like a genuine, loud, happy laugh?

Or are we in the strictly serious goose business zone? (I mean, to be fair, it might be a bit hard not to be serious with like, the whole undead rising and the faith of the world being at stake (pun intended))

Watson has a jolly side, he's usually serious and modest in nature but he's not immune to laughing at a funny show or even the antics of the younger crew members, providing it's the appropriate time and place.

Hyde is that guy who laughs at people when they trip, usually over his cane, which he put out just so they'd stumble on it. In general he laughs pretty easily and if his temper is quick so is his delight.

Adam is fairly unrestrained with his emotions when he's comfortable. It takes very little to make him happy and something like a pretty spring day might be enough to move him to expressions of joy.

Quincey and Larry have a lot of inside jokes and though not terribly mischievous they sometimes like a good, harmless, prank.

Erik is not really the laugh out loud type, funnily enough, he tends to express joyfulness by humming or even dancing a little. He might grab Hafiz and give him a twirl if he's standing close by.

Theo is has kind of a sharp, witty sense of humor and it's difficult to get her to do more than chuckle at something.

Selma hasn't laughed out loud in a long time. She thinks maybe she's forgotten how, most of her smiles are a little strained. At first Edward is the only one who's able to bring out her fun side, but then she didn't really let the others get close enough to try.