#unless you were the exact same age somehow

[kedreeva]

At some point in your life, there will be a moment where exactly - or near exactly - half the people in the world are younger than you, and half the people are older.

And I think that moment should be the one your soulmate Mark appears at, not at birth or puberty or something. Both because at birth is kind of boring but it's also very you-centric and soulmates are about the thing outside of you being a part of you, and I think it would be nice to include The World.

But also I think it would have fascinating implications for scientific and social studies. Longevity trends tracked by the average age soul marks appear. Tragedies causing a rash of recent marks to disappear (because the people are no longer the middle). Marks appearing early during baby booms.

[eenochian]

“headcanoning farah as wlw is disrespectful because she’s muslim”

my. my guy. queer people exist in every group. queer muslims very much exist.

“ok but it’s a sin in islam”

WHY ARE WE SUDDENLY JUSTIFYING HOMOPHOBIA WITH RELIGION⁉️⁉️ it’s wrong for a christian to use religion to justify their bigotry, so WHY is it okay to use islam or any other religion to do the same?? i know that i’m comparing the world’s most oppressive religion (christianity) to a religion that’s oppressed, but like… allowing one group to essentially “get a pass” opens the door for EVERY group to get one.

what was even weirder is that the person who made the post about it wasn’t even muslim 😭 they said they looked it up which i believe, but then they had an actual wlw muslim in their comments telling them it wasn’t a big deal— and THEY LITERALLY TOLD THE COMMENTER THAT IT WAS STILL DISRESPECTFUL?? AND OTHER NON-MUSLIMS WERE GOING “grr but it’s a sin >:(” LIKE?? HELLO?? WHY are people not even included in the group talking over ACTUAL MEMBERS OF THE GROUP???

i care very deeply about respecting people’s beliefs and faiths. but once that belief starts to harm others, my respect is withdrawn. the golden rule is that your rights end where another person’s begin. i remember seeing posts from years ago about queer muslims. they’ve always reminded me of queer christians – the vast majority of their faiths hate them, but they do still exist. and it’s possible to be progressive while also being devoted to your faith. i’ve met so many religious folks that are allies and supportive of queer people, so seeing posts like this crop up and gain popularity is just… disheartening. it feels like we’re going backwards after finally making some progress.

[felassan]

Shinobi602 comments on ResetEra:

"If Anthem was a runaway success, you'd be seeing a very different BioWare right now who'd be all in on the live service model. They're running uphill because they've got goodwill they need to earn back after the fact, but its failure (plus Fallen Order's success) is what allowed them to pivot right back to what they're good at: single player character driven RPGs. Silver lining but still." [source]

User: "I don't think its unreasonable to have hoped that a Dragon Age game would have similar gameplay to previous Dragon Age games." Shinobi: "Veilguard does have similar gameplay though, just not the exact same gameplay." [source]

"Open world doesn't automatically mean better. Inquisition's open world zones were basically Bioware's response to Skyrim and anticipating that's what players wanted. The big zones were cool but they were also bloated and full of uninteresting quests. Andromeda also took Mass Effect to huge open world zones and they had the same result. It was ass and the game benefited nothing from it. It's better for Bioware to stick to what they do best which is tighter, more structured play spaces." [source]

"they'll do what they think they're good at. Inquisition was highly rated, but the big open areas were also flawed. If they felt that's not what they'll excel at, that's fine. There ARE larger open areas in Veilguard though. If that's your very strict definition on what will make the game good apparently." [source]

"If you're sole definition of a Dragon Age game is that you can take direct control of companions and a tac-cam, it's understandable. But I think it's completely false that this is somehow unrecognizable as a Dragon Age game. There are tons of different aspects that define the series outside of that." [source]

"It's been evolving and changing for over a decade." [source]

"They did say there are some "killer cameos" they're keeping secret. My mind's going to several different possibilities..." [source]

User: "Yeah, they need to wrap up this story in this game. I'm already a little annoyed that we are getting another "the veil is torn and demons are wrecking havoc" story. They cannot stretch that to a third game." Shinobi: "It's a lot more than that. It's not a repeat of Inquisition or anything." [source]

"This might genuinely be the most in depth CC in a mainstream RPG that I've seen." [source]

"Yeah this is more like Inquisition, though you could still change out companion helmets in that one." [source]

"They did confirm tavern songs are back so that's good news, and The Swan (Minrathous tavern) has a bunch." [source]

"Yeah there's a good amount of veterans working on Veilguard. Though I always find that to be such a weird qualifier, and it seemingly always comes up with Bioware in particular. As if there aren't tons of talented non-Bioware devs from across the industry who could join the team and still write and design a great game. Like nah, it can't be a good game unless it's got people who've been there for 20 years! 😄" [source]

"There are also rune items you can equip that provide different effects and act as their own abilities basically, plus ultimate attacks for each class specialization (so 9 total), plus finisher moves and things like elemental combo detonations for extra damage." [source]

"there are definitely 'open areas' you can explore around in. It's not more linear than ME2." [source]

User: "Is my reading of "mission-based" it being like ME2/3 correct?" Shinobi: "Yeah, in that regard, it's more structured like Mass Effect, which I think is to its benefit. DAI just suffered way too much from open world bloat. I think the tighter, handcrafted structure works a lot better." [source]

User: "How big are the areas? Like the first game where you open the map and pick a location?" Shinobi: "Don't know exactly. But that's what I was told. There are several open ended areas that are explorable in the story. Plus a hub area." [source]

"I think if fans have been yearning for a quality Bioware game like they were used to before, this is that. Tight design, great character models, environments, animations have gone next level, combat fluidity, etc...it's all here. I compare it to the jump from ME1->ME2. [re: the jump in quality/fidelity/presentation.] This isn't a spoiler, as Game Informer said, it's a full on action RPG, and you can still pause and issue commands. But this is not DAO. Preferences put aside, Bioware's moved on from that ages ago. This isn't BG3 at all. But they've put a huge emphasis on making combat feel good to play. As in engaging the player, more real-time, more Mass Effect. It's a meaty, single player RPG with lots of systems going on inside. Also, like they said, this is the prologue, the beginning of the game. Keep that in mind if you don't see everyone's powers unlocked or intense pause and play. If you keep all that in mind, I think you'll really like this." [source]

"But it's a big jump for Bioware. [re: animations]" [source]

"[rogues are] flashy, jump around a lot, etc." [source]

"Party members can definitely get knocked out in battle" [source]

"It's important to note that what was shown was completely level 1 combat, and likely on easy mode for demo purposes. There is way more to it in more advanced battles. When it opens up with way more abilities, unique momentum attacks, ultimates, and other...things they haven't shared yet, on higher difficulties, it will look and feel way different." [source]

"It'll be rated M. It's got its share of nudity lol." [source]

User: "should we expect a comparable level of dialogue role playing as we had in Inquisition? I don't mind the changes to combat but there seemed to be more auto dialogue here than I remember from Inquisition or Tresspasser." Shinobi: "Yeah. That was just the intro. They just like to keep the pace going for a big start to the game." [source]

"This isn't accurate at all though, and it keeps getting perpetuated. Yes, there's been departures like Casey Hudson, Aaryn Flynn, Mike Laidlaw, etc, but I could easily list dozens of people at Bioware right now that have been there for 10-20+ years, some even longer. Do they just...not count for some reason? The entire core team building Mass Effect right now were OG leads on ME1-3, been there for over 20 years. And even outside of that, like, does this really matter? Do you know one of the game's premier VFX/lighting designers worked for ILM? Or one of the cinematic leads is an alum from Blizzard? Or one of the creature animators was a senior creature animator on Horizon Forbidden West? Talent is talent. And if we look at the industry through that lens too, sure, tons of studios are just "X, Y, Z studio in name", in many ways. There's no studio in the industry that holds on to their entire team for 30-40 years." [source]

"They do have that data. And I think even this thread would be shocked at how tiny of a % of players took direct control of other companions. Or went into tac-cam. Not just Inquisition but the whole series." [source]

[cinnamonest]

Can we talk about boobs? 👀 like im wondering if the boys are crazy over em or not since it's like... both intimate and perverted at the same time or one or either

Like it can also be super embarrassing for the reader when she's getting the life sucked out of her tits for like... minutes on end?? Just trying to pry these virgin boys off. It's also not "pleasurable" for either party in the sense that it gets you to climax (unless perhaps we're talking about Albedo who is insane), but if you're a horny yan boy you might not care

The Albedo slander I can't— but you're right he can and will get you to cum from nothing but sucking on your tits, no matter how many tries and experimentation with various substances it takes. Which you find laughable, mockingly tell him that he as an academic should know women don't work like that… until he makes it happen and you eat your words, somehow. It's equally humiliating for you as it is amusing for him… the sly you were saying? as you lay there shivering and panting makes you all flustered, turning your face away to bury into the pillow.

But hear me out — the animal boy club, most of them at least, have a predisposition to titty affinity.

Gorou and Tighnari experience this the most strongly. Stronger primal mammalian instincts mean he has a much stronger drive than a normal human man to very specifically be drawn to indicators of fertility and suitableness for reproduction and healthy offspring. Regardless of size, your breasts automatically send off all the right signals when he lays eyes on them — milk for the offspring, a good breedable mate… it's torturous that they're right there yet human social conventions demand he can't do anything.

Animals don't really have a sense of shame in that regard, so there's less natural inhibition holding him back, he has to make an active effort to remind himself that he can't just walk right up to you and sniff at you, press his face into your chest… the thought of how embarrassing it would be in hindsight is all that's holding him back.

Once things develop, though, and he has you behind closed doors and available, he can't keep his mouth off of them. It feels natural, instinctive, popping your nipple into his mouth and suckling like that for ages — he could keep going forever if you didn't stop him eventually.

The downside of this is that you have to remind them to be careful… it turns out they both have some rather pointy teeth. Dogs have more rounded teeth, but still a powerful biting force that you have to watch out for, whereas fox teeth are much sharper. He's being careful, promise! It's just very easy to get lost in the bliss of the moment and maybe start to nibble a bit too hard, making you jolt and squeal… except the high-pitched sound and the feeling of struggling against him mimics a little prey animal fighting back, and that triggers a whole new set of instincts, now you have much worse problems as you're getting bitten everywhere else, jaw locking down to hold you still as he ruts into you.

Razor has the exact inverse going on. Sure, he's technically not any more naturally inclined towards it than an average human, but his upbringing has long since wired the proclivity into his head. Thing is, with she-wolves, theirs swell outward from the body only once they're pregnant, so for him, seeing human breasts, which are constantly in a state of being pronounced from the rest of the body, might as well be a perpetual onslaught of blatantly provocative imagery.

Unlike the other two, though, he has the exact opposite degree of inhibition. He got the whole “personal space” talk already once or twice, he just… forgets.

However, unfortunately, by the time you meet him, no one has given him the “inappropriate staring” talk yet, so the moment you're introduced by the knights, you see his eyes widen, his head tilts slightly downward, his gaze fixates, and… stays there. No shame, no attempt to conceal what he's looking at, mouth slightly ajar in a dumbstruck stupor. You pause in confusion when he slowly reaches his hand up and out, fingers stretched out as if to grab something, only to be stopped at the last second by one of the knights who spotted the incoming social disaster just in time, grabbing him by the wrist and trying to change the subject with an awkward laugh.

Once he has you to himself, though, he develops a fixation with them. He will come up to you and just sort of… plant his face in the middle, like recharging energy, nuzzling and, to your dismay, sometimes trying to chomp down on them, which you have to actively discourage. During your naps in the sun, you often find yourself waking up to the sudden sucking sensation — and he’s relentless about it too, latching on firmly and refusing to let go. He’s a bit disappointed to learn that no milk comes out, though, at least not yet.

Xiao is the exception to this natural affinity — avians don’t nurse, so it’s a bit of a foreign concept… but the human form is still drawn to it. Except he’s more fond of them for softness, so once he’s more comfortable with touch (which does take a while), he tends to use them as a pillow, opting to rest his head on them for long periods of time. It’s comforting in a way that he can’t really articulate, it just makes him feel at ease.

And then there’s the staring — he’s more accustomed to human norms and social etiquette than Razor, he just sort of… gets distracted for a moment. You just bend forward in just the right way, or perhaps take a bouncing step or come down a flight of stairs, and it just grabs his attention to such an extent that there’s a solid few seconds where he’s left dumbstruck and completely captivated, trailing off anything he was saying, just staring downward in a slack-jawed daze… until you wave your hand in front of his face and he snaps out of it, going fully red in the face. You say you don’t mind, but that only serves to make him more embarrassed…

[141wh0re]

Chapter 1: Echoes of The Past

Summary: You've been hard at work, managing a run down pub, trying to get things back in order. It just so happens that one of your favourite regulars is also your long-lost brother. He'd been careful, enough. He only paid with cash, used his alias, and never let your gaze linger long enough to risk being recognised by you. He couldn't risk it. Yet. Older brother Simon x younger sister reader CW: Dark themes, swearing, minor angst, alcohol usage, smoking, mentions of child abuse & neglect.

3.6k words

AN: This is a forbidden, taboo romance. Spoiler alert - incest to come.

He knew it was you. He’d know those eyes anywhere, no matter how long it had been since he’d last seen you. Twenty years, ten months, and six days to be exact. And somehow, you still held most of the same characteristics you had as a little girl. 

Simon stood at the bus stop with his eyes zeroed in on your frame across the street. You were on break from your shift at the pub, smoking a cigarette. It hurt him to see you so grown up, so different, yet so familiar all the same. He noticed the difference between you, and the little girl you were when he left. 

You were taller now. No longer underweight from the years of abuse and neglect, no, you’d filled out now. Curvy hips, ample chest, and a round ass. And your features were still very much your own, though with a mix of your mother’s. 

It was as equally haunting as it was alluring. He couldn’t believe you were here, working one of his usual haunts outside of base. He thought it was too good to be true when he laid his eyes on you, standing behind the bar, looking so familiar, yet so different from how he left you. It was a decision that would haunt him until his last days, but he had to do it for you. To make sure you got out safely. 

But you were none the wiser to who he was. He could see the absence of recognition in your eyes, and he was an idiot to feel angry that you didn’t recognize him. How could you recognize him? The last time you saw him, he was an eighteen-year-old boy, scrawny, underweight, without a single scar on his face. 

She still should’ve been able to recognize my eyes.

If you couldn’t recognize him as your long-lost-older brother, you’d at least recognize him as a regular patron of the pub.

He rolled out his shoulders before crossing the damp road. His skull balaclava was secured over his features, ensuring only his eyes were visible. Rough, calloused hands were shoved into the front of his hoodie pocket, keeping a brisk gait to his steps. 

“Yes, mum. I’m fine. No, we don’t need any more food. I do know how to cook, y’know.” Simon kept his head bowed as he eavesdropped on your conversation over the phone. Mum?  But she’s- His face fell behind his mask as realization set in. You weren’t talking to your biological mother, because she’s dead. It would be impossible for you to have a phone call with a dead woman, unless you were crazy, but Simon was sure you had most of your sanity intact. Mostly. 

His fists clenched in his pockets, and he felt his jaw set in irritation. She’s not your real mother.

“I gotta go. I love you too- bye!” You quickly hung up the phone as Simon reached the doors of the bar. 

“Hey, Ghost. Fancy seeing you here,” You greeted in a chipper tone, flashing a dazzling smile in his direction.

Simon paused the moment you said his alias. His shoulders relaxed upon seeing the dazzling smile on your lips.

“‘Ey, luv. Alright tonight?” He responded in a gruff tone, trying to swallow down every emotion rapidly rushing to the surface just from seeing you again.

You nodded while drawing a final hit from your cigarette, snuffing it out against the aged, brick wall behind you. “Yeah, yeah. How are you doin’?” 

“Same shit, different day.” He shrugged, then held the door open for you, allowing you to enter the pub ahead of him. 

It was particularly dead tonight. Just the way Simon liked it, absent of rowdy patrons. A crew of men in their fifties sat around a booth, watching an MMA fight on one of the overhead TVs, nursing their pints and greasy food. 

Simon sat atop his usual barstool at the far end of the bar. It was the only spot that allowed him to keep his eyes on all exit and entry points, without feeling the constant need to look over his shoulder. 

“Double shot of Kentucky bourbon, neat? Right?” You asked, drawing his attention back to you. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips under his balaclava, and he gave a gentle nod. “Tha’s righ’,” He responded, attempting to keep his tone indifferent. 

He watched with rapt attention as you poured his drink. His brow quirked with mild impressment when he noticed you pour without measuring, but by counting alone. Only seasoned bartenders could do such a thing without under-pouring, and upsetting their patrons, or over-pouring and upsetting management. It was obvious you knew what you were doing. 

Seeing you like this was a stark contrast from the toddler that used to spill the juice jug all over the kitchen counter, only successfully managing to pour a third of it into your Winnie The Pooh cup, and the rest on the floor and counter. 

He wonders if you remember that.. If you remember any of the good moments of your shared childhood. 

Simon murmured a quiet, ‘Thanks’ as you set the glass on the coaster in front of him. “Kitchen closes in an hour, if you want anything.” You informed him while leaning against the bar. “Mm. I’ll take some mozzarella sticks.” 

His heart ached in his chest when he saw you flash that dazzling smile at him again. 

“Comin’ right up.” 

Simon couldn’t tear his gaze away from you while you input his order into the POS system. Everything you did now, you did with such grace and fluidity. You were an entirely different person now, no longer a shy, clumsy little girl. No. You were a full-grown woman now. 

He’d missed so much. Due to his actions, he missed out on the better part of your life. He missed your rebellious teenage years, early adulthood, and watching you become the young woman you are now. But he had to remind himself that it was for your safety. 

Everything Simon did for you was to protect you. If he had let you stay, who knows how fucked up you would’ve turned out. Had your father had his way with you, and your mother never changed her compulsive need to remain ignorant to any wrongdoings done by her husband, there’s no telling how much worse off you’d be. How much worse your trauma would’ve been, had he not called the proper authorities to have you placed in a girl’s home. 

At least you weren’t violated by the man who created you. Simon made damn sure of that. 

Simon’s thoughts were interrupted when you returned with a diner basket of mozzarella sticks. The delicious smells of garlic and Italian seasonings wafted towards his nose, making his mouth water at the sight of the fried cheese. A feeling of nostalgia tugged at his heartstrings as a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind, a memory he’d long since forgotten, until now that is. 

The distinct smells of carnival foods flooded his senses. A small hand gripped onto his larger hand, so small and so soft. Bright lights from various carnival rides and food trucks took up residence in the once vacant lot, providing fun and entertainment for couples, and families alike. Carnival music played over the speakers of the rides, accompanied by the delighted shrieks of adrenaline-addled kids. 

Your eyes were as wide as saucers as you took in the sight of all the sweets and fun that awaited you. The tear streaks that previously marred your cheeks now dried, once your big brother came to your rescue. He did what any rebellious teen would do, and disobeyed their father. The same man who made you cry by refusing to take you to the carnival to celebrate your sixth birthday, the only thing you’d asked to do, and yet it was shot down without a second thought. Simon had to take matters into his own hands to give you the birthday you deserved, a birthday worth remembering. 

“And what’s first on Bug’s Birthday Agenda?” Simon asked, lifting up your small form to sit atop his shoulders. 

You had felt as if you were on top of the world. Sitting up so high on your big brother’s shoulders, you felt as if you could touch the sky. And he encouraged you to, wanting nothing more than for you to feel the freedom of a day as a normal child, without all the fear and anxiety you were burdened to live with. The burden of being the spawn of  Bruce Riley. 

“Cheese sticks!”  You exclaimed enthusiastically. 

Simon couldn’t wipe the grin from his lips if he tried. “Mozzarella sticks, Bug. Mozzarella.” He corrected, chuckling softly. 

“How are they?” You asked, bringing him back to the present. 

“Good. Uh, yeah. Good.” He answered, clearing his throat. He felt a warmth creep up the back of his neck, feeling as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Mm.. and that’s why you haven’t touched them?” You remarked, raising an inquisitive brow while narrowing your gaze on him with a playful suspicion. 

Simon swallowed the lump in his throat. You’d completely thrown him off balance with your remark, catching him in the act. But he wasn’t about to key you in on the little secret he was harboring, at least not yet, anyway. He at least owed you somewhat of an explanation, to quell the curiosity swirling in your mind. 

“Someone… I was rather close with, she loved mozzarella sticks… she was practically convinced they were a food group in and of ‘emselves.” He admitted after a moment. 

A grin split your soft lips, and he watched as you leaned against the bar, propping your elbow on the bar, and resting your chin in your hand. “Sounds like she had good taste.” 

“Impeccable.” Simon agreed, unable to resist giving an amused chuff. 

His amber eyes flitted up to meet yours. How desperately he wanted to reminisce with you, and remind you of all your adventures with him. Simon may have been ten years older, but you were his little beacon, in the rotten pit of hell called ‘home’, you were his bright light. He never got to thank you for that, for being his light. 

“How long you been a bartender?” Simon asked just before he lifted the edge of his mask to sit just above his lips, revealing a pale, jagged scar that slanted across the top left lip, and ran until it reached the edge of his clean-shaven chin, taking a bite of a mozzarella stick. 

He didn’t miss the way your gaze flitted down to the scar. Your eyes flickered with lingering curiosity, wanting to ask the questions burning at the forefront of your mind. But you were too polite for that, having been taught proper manners from your adoptive mother. 

“Too long,” you joked, flashing him your familiar grin.

He hummed thoughtfully, amused by your response.

Simon was familiar with your work history. He’d been watching you for years, keeping track of your whereabouts. After you were adopted from the girl’s home, he hired an investigator to do some digging on your adoptive family, and ensure they were upstanding citizens who’d give you nothing but the best. The wife was a grade school teacher, and the husband was an aviation mechanic for the regional airport. And they only had one other child, a daughter a few years younger than yourself.

They’d moved around a bit to follow the money. Which was good, it meant you were being properly cared for. There were no signs of abuse within the household, and you seemed to still be close with them, if the earlier phone call was any indication. Simon was happy for you, but still felt a bitter ache from having to remove you from his life. 

But he wouldn’t do that anymore. He was happy to learn you were promoted from a shift lead to Assistant General Manager for the pub chain, and when he found out you would be transferring to the city just outside of 141’s HQ? He couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t have you just within arms reach, only to let you go again.

He’d selfishly insert himself back into your life before he ever let that happen again. 

“Not that I’m judging, but I have to ask…” You started, narrowing your eyes as you studied his balaclava. “What’s with the mask?” 

Simon’s lip twitched beneath the material. His sharp, honey eyes locked onto your gaze. Weren’t you a curious one? Though, you’d made it several weeks before asking, which is more than anyone else normally had made it.

“Hide my face.” He shrugged noncommittally, knowing the answer was likely frustrating to you in an underwhelming way. 

“Hmm..” You hummed, letting your gaze linger on the enigma of the man before you. 

“You settlin’ in alright in the city?” Simon wondered, remembering that you’d moved here only just under a month ago to start your new life.

Your bright smile tugged at his heartstrings. Your smile could light up the world around you, it always had. He was happy to see that smile hadn’t changed one bit, it was still just as bright, just as full of life as it had been when you were little. But Simon could vividly remember the days where a few of your teeth were missing at a time, having lost your two front baby teeth within a few weeks of each other. That toothless, toothy grin would forever be ingrained in his memory. 

But he noticed your adult teeth were much straighter. Perfectly straight, even. He guessed you had braces sometime in your teenage years, knowing firsthand the lack of routine maintenance due to your father’s neglect, and your mother’s inability to convince him his three children needed dental care. He wouldn’t dare pay for anything, if it cut into the cost of his booze. 

Simon needed braces himself. And that’s exactly what he did the moment he had enlisted, finding the first dentist that would take him. He had his wisdom teeth pulled, and braces put on, which finally alleviated the constant aches he had suffered through, even if it was short-lived from having a few teeth knocked out. At least he no longer had the horrid, crooked bottom teeth. 

No one has to know a few of his teeth are fake. 

“It’s going really well. My neighbours are all pleasant, and a bit older, so I won’t have to deal with any rowdiness. My younger sister and I went to IKEA, and bought a bunch of furniture to set up a cosy, little study nook for her.” 

Simon listened intently as you gushed about your new flat. It amused him, finding it endearing how such domesticity made you so happy. 

“How’s she likin’ uni?” He inquired.

“She seems happy. Said her professors are helpful, and they seem to care about their students actually being successful in their classes. Though, her economics professor seems like a prick.” 

A gruff chuckle rolled from the back of his throat. He couldn’t help but to be amused by your brash words, coming from such a sweet thing as yourself. 

Part of him couldn’t help to wonder why you’d done it. Why had you transferred to this bar? Was it for your career? Was it to help keep your sister safe?  Or did you do it in hopes to lessen the homesickness your sister would eventually feel, after the excitement of being in a new area began to wane, being so far from home for an extended period of time?  

He had so much he would have to learn about you. While you still looked very much like his little sister, you were an entirely new person. You’d lived several lifetimes without him, and he was eager to learn about the current one you were living, hoping there was still some semblance of his Bug locked in the back of your mind. Simon would pay for every one of his sins, as long as it meant he could have a fracture of the light you exuded back in his life. He’d move heaven and hell to quell the homesickness he’d felt for all these years apart, but it wasn’t homesickness for the hell he’d grown up in, it was homesickness for a person. For you. 

His Bug. 

It was busier tonight than when Simon was last here. But the night would soon be coming to a close, so he wasn’t entirely concerned about it. Most of the patrons typically left the pub just before eleven, and especially with the storm due to hit soon, people would be scrambling to get back to their homes to avoid being caught in a torrential downpour. Simon didn’t mind the rain, he’d take it over the recent dust storm he’d been caught in on his latest deployment. 

Two girls worked behind the bar this evening. He glanced around in search of you, hoping you were working tonight. And to his relief, one of the girls had retrieved you from the back office, informing you that her shift had ended. He sank down on his usual bar stool, silently observing the interaction, patiently waiting for the right moment to get your attention. It wasn’t long, because you’d spotted him before he even had to say anything. 

“Hey. The usual, I presume?”  You asked, already retrieving a scotch glass from the shelf. 

“‘Course,” he answered in a rough voice.

His throat still felt raw and scratchy from the yelling that ensued on his most recent op. The dust storms his team were exposed to didn’t help either. It left his nose and throat irritated, despite wearing his mask, and a keffiyeh. He was content to be back in a damper climate, like England. 

Somewhere that didn’t dry out his nasal cavity, and cause nosebleeds in his sleep. 

Simon took in your appearance. His sharp eyes picked up on the slight bags of your under eyes, and the way your shoulders were slightly slumped.

“Long day, luv?” He asked with a curious eye following your movements. 

You sucked in a drawn out breath, releasing it as a sigh. “You could say that.”  You answered as you set his drink on the coaster. 

“Kitchen is closed, unfortunately.” 

“Good thing ‘m only ‘ere f’r the whisky then.” He retorted, pulling a gentle laugh from you.

Simon decided not to bother you too much with the pub being busier than the nights he was normally in. The night slowly began winding down, and patrons filed out one by one. Simon’s gaze was trained on the window, watching the storm clouds open up, dumping water into the streets. Thunder rumbled just beyond the walls of the pub, and he didn’t miss the way you startled at the booming sound.

She’s still afraid of thunderstorms… 

Simon had to bite back a smirk beneath his balaclava. Even in your youth, you startled easily from thunderstorms. He had countless memories of being woken in the middle of the night to your small form scrambling into his bed, desperately seeking refuge from the anxiety-inducing thunder, and blinding flashes of lightning. 

He could never refuse you then. It was his duty to keep you safe, and soothe your fears. 

“Not a fan of thunder?” He couldn’t resist the urge to tease you. 

You shook your head with a wry smile on your lips. The register clicked closed, having finished your nightly counts. “Not in the slightest,” you answered with a soft chuckle, “It’s been that way since I was little.” 

Simon hummed thoughtfully. He glanced down at his finished glass of whisky, tongue poking his cheek beneath his mask. He knew he should get going, so you could finish closing up the pub. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to come off his stool, and especially after hearing your confession. 

“You know it can’t hurt you while indoors, right?” He tried to soothe, still keeping a humorous lilt in his smooth tone. 

“You couldn’t have convinced me of that as a child. I always feared lightning would come right through the window, and grab me.” 

He gave an amused huff, shaking his head. Simon was well aware of how difficult it was to convince you that the lightning couldn’t harm you. He’d gone as far as teaching you to count the seconds between each crackle of lightning, hoping it would ease you if you knew the distance of where the lightning was striking. It was a useful trick he picked up from an American student, in his youth, and was happy to pass that knowledge off to his baby sister. 

Lightning struck close by. Simon watched your head snap towards the window, and heard the sharp intake of breath. Thunder rumbled the pub once more, and with it, went the lights. Your hands gripped the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white when a haunted look flashed behind your eyes, and Simon could just barely make it out, but he saw it. There was no hiding the fear and anxiety rapidly rearing its ugly head. 

Shit. 

He knew that look all too well. The way your eyes glazed over, the rigidness of your spine. He’d seen it plenty of times within his career, close to two decades witnessing that look. Physically, you were here— but mentally, he had no idea where you were. But if he had to guess… it was somewhere you’d both rather not think about.

“Hey.. hey.” Simon gently started, pulling your attention back to him. “Where’d ya go, luv?”

“S-sorry. Sorry.” you chuckled nervously, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. 

The panic pulsing through you was tangible. Simon knew he had to calm you down, had to get you back to the present. In a last ditch effort, before he could even think about it, he uttered the words he hadn’t spoken in years. 

“Count ‘em, bug.” 

[swp2023]

SWP Account

TW: transphobia, transmisogyny, SA, gaslighting/manipulation, general trotskyist bullshit

I first joined the SWP as a minor during the Honor Oak demos. When I attended one of the protests for the first time in May 2023, I knew fairly little about the British left and its intricacies. I joined at a time when I was incredibly vulnerable - I was an isolated trans teenager with a poor home and school life and few friends. I initially joined SUTR but was soon syphoned into the SWP and became a formal member around 1.5 months in. After four months I was lucky enough to meet people outside of the party, find my own systems of support, and start drifting away from them. At the beginning of October I formally left the party and rescinded my membership. I essentially speedran the process. I know that I am not the first to come forward about their experiences in the SWP, and that my account won’t be as horrific or traumatic as others’. But the more I sit with the memories of spending time in the SWP, the more frustrated and angry I become with how poorly I was treated, especially as a trans teenager. A while ago, I compiled a list of everything I could recall about being in the party and its impact on me, and I’m hoping sharing it will draw more awareness to the extent that the Socialist Workers Party hasn’t changed and actively poses a threat to young activists. 

Structural/Functional Problems

Most people are aware of the SWP’s overt focus on recruitment, but within the party it’s even worse than it looks from the outside. Recruitment processes target those new to activism, especially young women and queer people. On multiple occasions, SWP leaflets were purposefully plastered outside my secondary school and other schools in the area. Once you’re involved with the party in any capacity, there’s a lot of pressure to ensure you formally join - if you’re not a member, within a month you’ll have membership papers being shoved in your face constantly. The worst instance of this was when I attended Marxism over the summer while I was in quite a bad place. I ended up having a breakdown in a corner of SOAS, and someone walked up to me when I was visibly upset and somehow tried to use it as a recruitment opportunity. Although far from the worst of their faults, the recruitment means the party is incredibly stagnant and frankly, boring. The same meetings repeat over and over, the same discussions are held, conferences are repetitive and demos are attended only for the purposes of recruiting or selling papers. 

The general attitude towards other, non-SWP activists is extremely condescending and patronising, especially in both formal and informal discussions of anarchism and grassroots organising. I consistently heard anarchists being reduced to a violent, ineffective group of rag tag young un’s who don’t know what they’re doing. I think it must have been in their handbook to describe anarchism as “grabbing 15 of your mates and beating up fascists”, because I heard that exact phrasing used at least twice. The belief that the SWP’s unwritten values and structures are the only correct ones runs deeply, and since I was a teenager my age was often used to dismiss my actions as immature or naive. I was told I was being pretentious for wearing a mask at demos - I’d been doxxed before and was looking out for my safety but apparently this made me appear “hostile and unwelcoming”. 

I can’t emphasise enough how much everyone in the SWP is treated as disposable unless you work for them. They don’t care about arrestee support, accountability, or building safe environments. I was a trans teenager so I looked good for their party, but ultimately they couldn’t care less what I had to say and I was often shut down or told my ideas weren’t appropriate. The SWP consistently seizes the politics of individuals’ marginalised identities to create a more appealing facade, while also discarding the same individuals as soon as they are no longer politically convenient. 

Lack of Accountability

From the beginning, it was clear that there were zero helpful routes for complaints or conflict resolution. I asked multiple times at meetings what their explicit process was for dealing with internal issues, and at best I got an off-hand mention to the central committee. Mostly I was shut down right away and told it wasn’t the right time to ask - a better time never became apparent. There is zero transparency and it didn’t take me too long to realise that I had no faith in anyone in the party to protect me or listen to me if something went south. You’ll hear them talk about their “disputes committee”, which was established as a response to the Comrade Delta coverup, but despite all the time I spent in the party I still have no idea who’s in this committee, how to access it, or whether it’s ever successfully resolved a dispute. 

No one talks about the coverup. This isn’t too surprising but every time I tried to ask about it, I was met with the same awkward dismissal. It’s creepy how everyone who’s been in the party for a while feeds you the same “that was a long time ago and we’ve changed and learned from it” schtick. Even a month in the party would be enough to show you that this isn’t true. The process of covering up the reputational damage from Comrade Delta is very much still active and the more time you spend around them, the more subtly intrinsic it becomes to everything you do. I was walking with a paid member of the SWP and watched him slap an SWP “trans rights now” sticker over one that read “the SWP protects rapists in their party”. No organisation that’s suitably addressed its failures should feel so threatened by the reminder of them. 

More widely, there are never any internal criticisms of the party. When I was in, I was in deep. I went to their weekly meetings, their organising meetings, their conferences - I went to fucking marxism. Not once did I hear a natural critique arise, there’s a complete lack of self awareness. It isn’t an environment where you’d feel comfortable expressing criticisms, and this has led to an echo chamber of sorts in which many members are incapable of conceiving themselves or the party as imperfect. It’s a dangerous amount of self-assuredness and this attitude allows for a culture of racism and bigotry to underlie the party’s supposedly anti-racist fronts - microaggressions don’t get called out, racism gets excused especially in the predominantly white spaces. There aren’t any attempts to actually foster anti-racist mindsets or incorporate it into how they organise, it’s largely just for external presentation and again, recruitment. 

Any issues that do get brought up are met with absurd amounts of gaslighting and guilt tripping. The party runs on guilt and censorship. If you ask too many questions people start acting cold or frame your comment as needlessly confrontational. Even now, I still struggle to process a lot of what happened because I was constantly told it was normal, that I was overreacting, that because I was relatively new to activism I didn’t know what I was talking about. 

Transphobia and Transmisogyny

As I’ve mentioned, my main involvement in the party was based around my identity as a trans youth, but there was very little regard for my safety as it pertained to this. For instance, without any warning a parcel was sent to my house with my chosen name on it. This put me in a bad situation because my parents hated the thought of me going by another name, I had to lie and endure my home life temporarily getting much worse. When I brought it up with someone I trusted in the SWP, it was dismissed without so much as an apology for putting me in a dangerous situation. I spoke to another trans ex-member about this and they told me about going through the exact same thing a few years back - the SWP doesn’t learn or change. 

There is consistent, blatant transphobia in the party. There were too many occurrences to list out here, but it’s so profoundly endemic to the party that I spent a considerable amount of time feeling uncomfortable and objectified. I had someone tell me they wouldn’t use they/them pronouns because “it’s too hard”. I was constantly misgendered, and although it was sometimes a careless mistake it was often very clearly intentionally weaponised. Almost every time it happened there was someone in the room who knew me well enough to know what my pronouns were and correct the mistake, but that never happened. No one stood up for me. 

There’s explicit transmisogyny. In addition to being generally misgendered and sexualised, trans women are often referred to with they/them pronouns and as a “person”. There was a trans woman quite deeply involved with the party who I spoke with a few times, she often got dismissed when she contributed at conferences and one time, a cis dude fully stood up and started talking over her while the chair of the meeting allowed it to happen. 

Contrary to what the SWP would have you believe, there just aren’t many trans people in the party. Certainly not a proportionate amount when compared to the wider left, which isn’t surprising once you’ve experienced being trans in there - there aren’t any attempts to make you feel any less isolated, ostracised, or used. There are, however, plenty of cis people who think that just because they’ve attended a trans demo or two they know more about the experiences of trans people than we do. 

I want to note that all the transphobia I experienced and witnessed took place while London branches of the SWP were spending their time at HO trans rights demos, handing out their placards, using it for recruitment, and taking credit for the work that was mainly being done by grassroots activists. Transphobia is just one example of how hollow their ideals are. 

Non-Existent Consent Culture

When I was sitting in a conference at SOAS, a man I didn’t know sat next to me and ran his hand down my back while we were talking, and then repeatedly tried to scoot closer to me when I moved away. 

A different time, someone tried to get me to sit close enough to them so that our legs were touching. 

Both of these incidents were extremely creepy and uncomfortable, and just to be clear: I was visibly/openly a minor during both. 

In general, physical contact is heavily normalised and sort of expected. There was always an expectation that you’d hug people, that you were okay with being patted on the back or having an arm around your shoulders or whatever. I always felt uncomfortable with this and although some people were fine with it and people’s intentions weren’t always harmful, there’s just generally zero consent culture and most times I wouldn’t have felt comfortable saying no. 

When I was in a transition phase of technically still being in the SWP but trying to spend as little time around them as possible, one of them came up to me at a demo (where, for the record, I’d just been through quite a traumatic incident - not that it should have to matter) and tried to pull me in for a hug without asking. When I flinched away without saying anything other than “hi”, she later commented to a comrade that I was being rude. The persistent entitlement to my body and my consent was disgusting. 

Exit Process

When I started spending less time with the SWP and more time with anarchists and antifascists, they were semi-aware of it so I got lots of calls and messages purporting to be “checking in”, but the undertone was very much “why aren’t you standing with us at demos anymore”. No one ever checked in on me when I was properly in the party. One of the calls was particularly lengthy and pretty much summed up to “we feel like you’re drifting away, we really miss you and you’re our comrade” - more guilt tripping. The feeling that I was trapped because I was constantly being contacted and approached at demos was bad enough to make me actively suicidal. 

The final breaking point for me was a conversation that happened in the South London SWP group chat that had reached an intolerable level of censorship. Someone, very politely, complained about how the branch had made a commitment to doing hybrid meetings but consistently struggled to actually have working tech/mics/etc. They also suggested a possible solution. They got shut down with a curt “our main focus has to be in the room rather than on our phones”, a comment that rightfully got called out as being explicitly ableist, especially since the following messages implied that attending online was insufficient or lazy. This conversation was concerning enough, but the original person then got told they “sounded harsh” (they didn’t - I’ve seen more lively conversations in my extended family’s whatsapp group), and was explicitly told to delete their message. I finally had a good answer to what happens when you criticise anything the SWP does, and this was a fairly mild criticism too. 

Then, a comrade I know very gently expressed their support for the original person - literally just said that they agreed with them and didn’t think they were being harsh. This comrade (also a teen) got two separate DMs telling them that they “misunderstood” what was happening and to delete their message as well. The hierarchies and power structures within the SWP are so obviously corrupt, and this whole incident just made that much more clear to me. 

I sent a final message on this chat, calling out the patterns of behaviour I’d noticed and advising people to do what I had - take a step back and look at who actually gets listened to in the party, at the corruption that’s so deeply rooted in it. Then I left that chat. The next day I was removed from every SWP-related chat I was in - fine by me, I was done. I did get sent one DM telling me that I had misread the situation, was overreacting, etc. It was incredibly infantilizing and blamed the fact that I’d been associating with other people as the reason I’d formed these opinions - clearly the SWP was reliant on my isolation. 

I was out of the chats but I did get the aforementioned comrade to update me on the aftermath, which was mostly damage control. The upcoming conference got plugged, people talked shit about me for being immature and overreacting. I’ve got screenshots of this incident in particular but I honestly don’t think they’re too worth sharing. I firmly believe that painting the bigger picture of the party and how and why it operates like this is much more important. 

I’d say I made it very clear that I wanted nothing more to do with the SWP and its members, but to this day I still have issues with them at demos. I’ve had people come up to me and try to touch me in various ways - hugs, back pats, etc - that I’ve expressed I’m uncomfortable with. There’s someone who winks at me. The general attitude towards me seems to be either glaring me down when I walk by (I don’t mind this honestly), or being overly nice as if I hadn’t been groomed into their cult (this is considerably worse).

I think this summarises it pretty well. It’s not everything - some stuff is hard to talk about, some would involve revealing info about me that I need to be private, and honestly my brain has defensively blocked out a lot of the time I spent around the SWP, so I’m still remembering stuff out of the blue. But please listen to me, listen to everyone else who’s been through their pipeline and made it out the other end. They aren’t just an annoyance with boring placards, they hurt people. They prey on young queers and women and don’t actually give a shit about anyone. Kick them out of your demos, kick them out of your circles, and also - try to get people out! I owe my life to the anarchists who were like “hey, we see you’re in there and you probably don’t want to be - you can hang out with us”. Most of the people the SWP recruits are sucked in before they have a chance to form other networks, and it’s hard as fuck to leave a party when all your activism takes place within it and you’ve got nowhere else to go. The Socialist Workers Party is broken beyond repair and needs to be dissolved, and I would encourage its current membership to resign. Thanks for reading. 

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

King of My Heart | Spencer Reid

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (I think it's pretty GN, lemme know if it's not!)

Warnings: Curse words, fluff!

Author's note: Remember the 'untitled Spencer fic' in my ideas poll? This is the one! If you have 20/20 vision (fy, honestly), you probably won't relate to this, but indulge me, please? Thank you. Sincerely, a glasses/contact lenses-wearing gal.

Words: 2K

Nursing my cup of coffee in the break room, I read through the case file JJ had given us. We had been working on it for three days straight and were still so far from a solution. It had been hard to think without any sleep for thirty-six hours. And the humid San Francisco air didn’t help me much either. 

My eyes were as dry as a desert, making wearing contact lenses hurt like a bitch. 

I harshly squeezed my eyes as I looked at the file, in hopes to get them some moisture. Of course I had forgotten to pack my glasses. Most of the time, I don’t even need them. Without them, I could just see about enough to stumble from the bathroom to any bed. But I couldn’t take them out while working. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice of Spencer Reid captured my attention. 

Spencer and I had hit it off quite quickly when I joined the BAU one and a half years after he had. Mostly because we were the closest in age and our similar interests had drawn us together as well as the fact I had spilt coffee over him the first time we met. Now, one year later, the two of us were pretty much inseparable. Even our supervisor, Aaron Hotchner, barely dared to split us up. Put the two of us together and we’d come up with the best theory for the case we were working on. 

“Oh, hi, pretty boy,” I greeted back, smiling up at him with narrowed eyes. 

He offered me one of the pastries he and JJ went to get before they came into the precinct. “Here. You need some sugar,” he told me and I gladly accepted the sugary good. Spencer took a seat opposite of me, delving into his own pastry. 

“Oh, King of my heart,” I grumbled, enjoying the food a little too much. 

“Did you find anything in that code yet?” he asked instead, ignoring my food-orgasm. 

Shaking my head, I broke off a piece of the pastry and popped it into my mouth. “I thought it was the Caesar Shift first, but I can’t figure out what the shift would be…” I mumbled, furiously pressing my knuckle underneath my right eye. 

When Spencer didn’t react to my mumblings, I looked up to find him rummaging through his satchel. I furrowed my brows as he procured a rectangle-shaped box and out came his glasses. Confusion rose within me as he offered them to me, which I believed was apparent on my face as he explained himself. 

“Take out your contacts and put my glasses on,” he ordered in that honey-sweet voice he only ever used on me. “You’ve been squinting and blinking for about half an hour while going through that file and your eyes are bright red. So, unless you want to tell me you’re on drugs right now, take out your contacts and put these on.” 

Hesitantly, I reached for the frames. “Spence, do we even have the same prescription?” 

“You’re a -2 on both eyes, aren’t you?”

It surprised me a little that he knew that. More than it surprised me that he knew I was struggling. He was a profiler after all. 

“That’s what I thought,” Spencer said and took another bite of the pastry in his hand, watching me to make sure I’d put the glasses on. 

My eyes skidded from the glasses to Spencer and back. “I don’t have my little contact case with me here. It’s in the hotel.”

I shouldn’t be surprised when Spencer fished out a bottle of lens care solution and an exact replica of my contacts case, but somehow, I was. This guy kept on surprising me, no matter how well I thought I knew him. 

“Now, take out your contacts and put my glasses on.” 

Sometimes, Spencer would do these things, these tiny gestures that had my stomach fluttering in a way that a friend shouldn’t make you. It was often just him getting my coffee in the mornings or handing me a sweater when I shivered. He got me food before I even realized I was hungry or a glass of water before I realized I hadn’t even drank anything that day. 

He was simply marvelous and it was merely impossible not to fall for him. 

Once I had Spencer’s glasses on and looked at the code again, I finally deciphered it. Excitedly, I ran into the briefing room where Derek, Elle, Spencer and Hotch were gathered. I was too focused on explaining them the theory behind the code, that I had missed the exchange of glances between Derek and Elle until they voiced their thoughts.

“Are you wearing Reid’s glasses?” Morgan asked, a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Yes, my contacts were hurting me, but that’s not the point–” I said before lapsing back into my explanation. There was no time to stand still to explain to them why I was wearing Spencer’s glasses nor did we have time for them to tease me about it. 

 Though it wasn’t until two days after the case that Elle eventually spoke to me about it. The team had decided to go for drinks at O’Keefe’s and Spencer had handed me the back-up sweater he kept in his satchel for me. 

“So,” Elle started when she joined me at the bar to grab another drink. “When are you gonna admit you’re in love with him?” 

Though my cheeks felt hot, I scoffed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re wearing his sweater,” she pointed out, bemused that I would even try and lie to her. 

I shook my head. “No, this is my sweater… Which he evidently keeps in his bag for me because he knows I always forget it and I… just… like… how it smells –” I groaned, rolling my eyes while Elle let out a loud cackle. “Fine! Fine. Okay?” I sneered. 

“Admit it.” 

“I admit it, okay? I am… in love with Spencer – But how could I not?” I hissed at her before turning my head to look over at our table where Spencer, Hotch and Derek were laughing at something Penelope had said. “He keeps doing these… gestures… Like, the other day, I was struggling because my eyes were hurting so much and he just handed me his glasses. He remembered my prescription and knew I was struggling before I could even tell him.” 

A smile landed on Elle’s lips as she nodded her head. “And he always brings you your coffee in the mornings.” 

“You noticed that too?” Elle nodded her head in response. “See, I couldn’t not fall in love with him. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose,” I said between gritted teeth as though I was actually mad at Spencer for making me fall for him. 

My coworker scoffed. “Almost like he’s in love with you, or something.” The sarcasm was dripping off her words, but I shook my head at her. 

“No, he’s not. He’s just… nice like that.” 

Glaring at me, Elle conveyed her message of, “Are you kidding me?” before the words actually left her mouth. 

Her words haunted me for a good week before I finally dared to ask Spencer about it. Though it was more snapping at him rather than actually asking him. During one particular case, I was getting frustrated by the way he was treating me and the way it was making me feel, I let those feelings take the better of me. 

For an entire day, I had been crabby and snapping at everyone who even dared to insinuate I was on my period. Of course, I was, inconveniently, on my period, but no man needed to tell me to calm down. Spencer must’ve noticed, because that night, he knocked on my hotel room door. 

“Hi,” he greeted with a soft smile. 

“Are you here to tell me I shouldn’t have been so snappy towards that captain? Because I know,” I told him immediately, not even giving him a ‘hi’ back. 

He shook his head and held up a tub of ice cream and a hot water bottle. “I got these from the reception.” 

Eyeing up the items in his hands, my insides went all mushy. But before I could allow myself to melt into putty, I groaned and turned on my heel, marching into the room and leaving the door open for Spencer to walk in. Confused, he followed behind me and closed the door behind him. 

“Are you okay, y/n?” 

“No! No, I’m not okay, Spencer.” 

He looked at me and seemed so lost. There was no reason for me to snap at him, but I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle this ball of feelings sitting in my chest. It was bound to explode at some point and that point was now. All it took was for him to knock on my door with ice cream and a hot water bottle. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What’d I do?” 

After rubbing my hands across my face, I tangled them into my hair, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. “How do you expect me not to fall in love with you when you keep doing shit like this?!” 

Spencer flinched slightly at the volume of my voice and the harshness of my words. Once it registered in that magnificent brain of his, he let out a chuckle. It surprised me a little that he found this so amusing. My anguish was amusing to him. 

“Do you think it was easy for me to try and not fall in love with you when you spilt coffee on me the first time we met and you were dabbing my chest with napkins?” 

The memory of meeting him in the coffee shop before either of us even knew we were going to be colleagues, flooded into my mind. I was nervous for my first day at the BAU when I smashed into him, coffee flying everywhere. He’d tried to calm me down, spewing facts about coffee and people wanting to outlaw it. 

“Do you think it was easy for me not to fall in love with you when you asked me to go and watch that French film about the choir without subtitles? Or when you call me ‘pretty boy’? Or when you get all clingy when you’re drunk?” he scoffed, his eyes trained on me whilst my insides turned to mush. 

“I’ve been trying to push these feelings away since we met at that coffee shop, y/n, but I realized that I couldn’t turn them off. I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you because you are quite literally the person of my dreams and I wanna continue to take care of you and make sure you feel loved because that’s what you deserve.” 

My eyes watered at his words, my brain registering that everything happening at that time was real and not a dream. As Spencer let out a relieved sigh, I knew that the waterfall of words coming out of him had been building up inside him until the dam finally broke. 

He stood there, a few feet away from me, staring at me with those puppy-dog eyes that I could never really resist. His lips looked so kissable. An urge I had been able to keep at bay for a while, though it became harder and harder the longer I didn’t give in. 

But right then and there, in a hotel room somewhere in Delaware, I had to give in. 

Within three big strides, I was in front of him and grabbed his face, bringing his lips down to mine. The kiss surprised him a little, but he quickly melted into it and melted into me the same way I melted into him. 

“The ice cream is melting,” Spencer mumbled against my lips and pecked a few short kisses to my mouth before grabbing my hand and guiding me towards the bed. 

As he opened the tub of ice cream, I let out a groan. He had picked out my favorite; cookie dough. Though that didn’t surprise me anymore. “Ugh, King of my heart,” I scoffed with a delighted roll of my eyes before digging in with him. 

And all at once, he was the once I had been waiting for. 

King of my heart, body and soul. 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: @boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer 

[orphetoon]

Ooh ur Dunmeshi/FMA AU has got my gears turning. (And the idea of the height genes being at war like that is so funny to me) Do you have many plot-related thoughts so far?

I could imagine they wanted to bring Trisha back but revival magic doesn’t really do anything outside the dungeon, so they go there to study how it works. I’d assume ancient/forbidden magic comes into play at some point? Does Al still get cursed somehow? How would a place where bringing back the dead seems so simple affect the boys stance on killing people?

(You don’t actually have to answer any of these. I’m just having fun playing in your little sandbox lol)

hello welcome to my sandbox hope u enjoy ur stay

gonna put everything under a read more cause i might spoil the later parts of dunmesh! warning unless you've finished the manga

okay so, in this au, due to differences in how the races age, even tho ed and al were still young when she died, trisha would've been fairly old for a halffoot. can't remember the exact age she had her kids in canon, but she was like. super young. even if we carry that over to fullmeal trisha and make her 14-15 at the time, bc children of two diff races grow slower, she would've been like. half foot middle aged at the time she died (not giving exact ages for all the elrics cause i don't wanna do math rn)

mostly, the brothers are in the dungeon the same way marcille is: to learn how to expand the life expectancy of the shorter lived races. cause even if they did bring their mom back, she would only have a decade or two left of natural life. bringing trisha back is sort of an unconscious wish (that the demon in this au def plays on :) )

i'm really on the fence abt turning al into a chimera in this au, cause at what point does it stop being an au where these characters are in a new world and starts being fullmetal alchemist but underground. if i do decide to do it, al's gettin chimera'd

i feel like they would still have issues with killing people. not monsters, and probably not humanoid monsters, but they're not killing people unless they really have to. they both know the spells to resurrect people, anyway, so if they really wanted to they could kill somebody and immediately bring them back to life

[noblechaton]

my father's gone. tw for uh. death, I guess

I say my father but like. he was my dad, for sure. a complex simple person, I'd say. he was blunt to a fault, kinda....constantly aloof, but he wore it well. he was a people person, light of the room, always the funny guy. I feel I get a lot of my humor from him, and I've always been quite proud of that. maybe he didn't know how to be personable all that well, said the wrong thing at the wrong time here and there, maybe he was bad at keeping secrets - one time he told the school I'd texted home when we weren't meant to even have phones lmao - and maybe he wasn't the best at showing how he cared

but he did care. I know he cared, my family knows it. there were rough patches, bickering and fights, and he had this indominable surface to him, never showed any sort of pain or fear or frustration unless it truly got to him. even with this latest incident, he'd insisted he was fine despite how obvious it was that he. wasn't. I find myself wishing I'd pressed more, been more convincing, as if somehow I could have gotten the stubborn old mule to relent sooner than he did, if maybe that'd made a difference

but I can't change what's happened, despite my own rage

and really, I feel I'm kinda....lucky, I guess, that I can't say much bad about him. he was so far from some horrible person. did he have his failings? sure. we all do. but he supported me no matter what, never put up any restrictions or stopped me from at least trying to pursue what I wanted to do, always encouraging no matter how gently. he was there for me when I needed strength or a laugh, was this independent rock that I - and everyone he knew - could lean on as they needed.

he wasn't great at expressing his feelings, or helping with the feelings of others, not the most sensual guy around, but he was there. always there with some quick joke or a funny face to lighten the mood, always willing to do whatever it took for anyone he knew, constantly sought out ways of helping others, total strangers, be it giving their cars a jump on the side of the road or simply picking something up for them. he instilled a lot more into me than I think he knew, I credit him a lot for both my sense of humor and my sense of conscience.

he had his issues, nobody's perfect, but he always tried to be as best as he could, and it almost always worked. he was just. a good man, who'd always help someone out when they asked, that was there even if he wasn't fully present, y'know? like, he'd sit with me and watch Power Rangers, or some silly drama show, not because he was invested in Heroes or whatever I'd wanted to watch, but just because I'd asked. and so effortlessly funny and warm hearted, always the brightest smile in any given room, so eager to make someone, anyone laugh. even when the joke was on him, it never felt like it

there's so much I find myself wishing I'd have done or said, both as if I could have changed this outcome and in general. we never really told each other we loved one another all that much, not verbally, but I feel we both knew it all the same. we loved to tease and joke with each other, I loved surprising him with oldies I'd play on the radio he felt I shouldn't know, and the games we'd play over him having me guess what movie he was watching. and when a miracle of a sort came through this past Summer, he accepted a hug for the first time in ages, and I held him as he showed just a glimmer behind his tough exterior, as he cried, just briefly, on my shoulder from joy

so. again. a complex yet simple man, I think that kinda fits him pretty perfectly. the exact kind of person you'd want in your corner, someone who was beside you no matter what. maybe he wasn't the most outward person, but he was very much outgoing, the heart of any given room he entered, so constantly supportive and understanding even when he didn't, couldn't truly understand, so dependable and devoted, so caring in his own ways

he was my friend, and he was my dad, and I think I'll always miss him

[nolonger-ams]

I have heard one too many people say that diagnosing kids with mental disorders isn't important, and I'm going to rant about it.

Tw: vent post (nothing too bad, but probably mentions of eating disorders)

First of all, I spent YEARS convinced something bad was wrong with me because I forget stuff. I spent years listening to older people saying they were forgetting things like walking into a room and forgetting why they were there, and saying they were getting memory loss in their 'old age' and I was SO SCARED because I did the exact same thing. I used to wonder what was wrong with me. And I used to get teased about it as well. I was unorganised and I forgot everything (I used to get teased for having a 'one track mind', my parents would make jokes about how you couldn't ask me to remember more than one thing at once), and I had terrible time management. All textbook symptoms of both dyslexia and adhd. Both of which I have.

And on top of that, having so much energy. Not knowing what stimming was. I recently realised the reason I spent so much time climbing stuff and doing cartwheels and things is because it was a form of stimming. It felt like a layer of energy was trapped under my skin. I used to get told off for fidgeting, and I would get so uncomfortable trying to sit still.

And then there's the sensory issues. I was a picky eater as a child, and it took until several years after my dyslexia diagnosis to realise that the reason were sensory issues. That most people can eat foods they dislike, because they don't feel like they're going to throw up when they do. I spent years knowing I would get an eating disorder, because my relationship with food sucked. I hated eating, would eat as little as possible if it was something I disliked, even if I was hungry. I would refuse to eat things because they made me feel sick, and my parents would tell me there was nothing else to eat, so it was either that or nothing. One time I literally threw up because of how bad my sensory issues were. And I got sent to bed with nothing else to eat, in trouble. I do in fact now have an eating disorder that my parents are somehow still unaware of.

And then there's the sleeping. As true to most adhd kids, my brain doesn't shut up easily. I used to get adhd induced insomnia, and I couldn't sleep for hours. I still can't sleep unless I exhaust myself to the point of burnout, with one exception. When I discovered asmr, and the fact that I could control my sleep schedule, I literally cried in relief. Cried because I didn't have to lie in bed, with a head full of thoughts, wanting to fall asleep but not able to.

A lot of these things could have been prevented or helped if I had been diagnosed when I was younger. Don't pretend it makes your life more easier to not know you're different. You know anyway, but if you have a diagnosis you know that you aren't just weird, that there's a reason for it. There's so much comfort behind your issues being recognised, behind knowing you aren't just weird and wrong.

[successfullyadhd]

My son is ADHD and suffers very badly from second hand embarrassment. He can not even watch a tv show or movie with a character that does something embarrassing. I think it is the reason he is scared to try new things in fear of not being good at it and getting Embarrassed.

Do you have any suggestions for me to help him overcome this?

I’m so sorry that it’s 2024 and I somehow just saw this question from 2021. Whew. Awkward.

Anyway, I’m going to answer as if it’s still helpful because it might be! And if not to you, then maybe another person.

Two parts -

1) second hand embarrassment. I get this ALL the time and cannot watch certain shows because of it. The Office is a great example, where the humor is based on other people not understanding typical social cues. I cannot be in the room while someone is watching The Office. Or pretty much anything with Will Ferrell.

People with ADHD have incredible empathy, to the point where they deeply feel emotions of other people around them. Part of it is a defense mechanism - we get so many more negative reactions from our peers and adults at a young age than is typical that you start intensely studying non-verbal cues to recognize when something is about to go wrong. Watching this play out, even in a non-threatening situation like through a TV show, sparks up our fight-or-flight. The social cues are telling us to run even though it isn’t happening to us. The other reason is that our brains are wired to feel our own emotions more intensely than the average person. When we see other people going through a situation we find relatable or have experienced before (skirt tucked into your undies in public) the emotions we would be feeling in the same situation get brought up, even though it isn’t happening to us. Our brain and nervous system is recognizing a pattern and telling us what it *would* feel like if it were us, which then makes us understand how that person is most likely feeling.

And for this, I have no suggestions 🙃 if I knew how to stop second hand embarrassment, I would share. But I would say it could be a strength, because empathy and shared human experiences help you be a better person, and make lasting friendships. (As long as those friends don’t watch The Office. Or Parks and Rec.)

2) not trying new things - this one is also common among the ADHD crowd. ADHD people have a tendency to be perfectionists - we can see exactly how something should go and as soon as we have an idea, our brain has already sprinted ahead to the finish line and made a diagram of the exact way to get there. But there is a disconnect between our ideas - often ambitious, lofty and enthusiastic - and the experience needed to make it happen. For example, I love embroidery. I daydream about the incredible designs I would love to make - but when I try to do it, I don’t have the skill needed to make it come to life. If I kept at it, tried and practiced and messed it up and tried it again, I would have already been the best embroidery artist the world has seen. But the experience of the perfect imagine in my brain not being translated into what my skill is capable of doing is frustrating, and I quickly become uninterested.

It can be intimidating to try new things and feeling like unless you have innate talent, you aren’t going to be successful and you will look dumb. (And even people with innate talent need practice to hone their skills.)

To encourage trying new things, I would suggest starting small in a space where he is free to fail repeatedly over and over again. When I go to a yoga class and the teacher introduces some complicated move that my body isn’t ready for, I’ll sometimes take a water break or pause in the previous movement and look around with envy at all the other people successfully doing it. I wait it out and then go on with the movements when I’m back in comfortable territory. But when I get home, I’ll practice the move by myself over and over again until I’m ready to do it in front of other people without the humiliation of struggling in front of my peers.

The other thing that helps is low pressure and low stakes situations. I am not athletic by any stretch of the imagination and I can remember so many situations in grade school (or middle school!) gym class where we would need to do some athletic feat in front of 30 other kids. I would try to get out of it and the teacher would pressure me, and the other kids would say “it’s not that hard, just do it.” And I would feel so embarrassed and flustered by the attention I would make an attempt (and utterly fail) to hit the ball and then run to the back of the line as other kids laughed. And you can bet I never, ever tried to do any of those things again because even revisiting the memory of the first attempt made me feel nauseous. But looking back, if I could have had a one-on-one situation where someone patient and kind worked with me, I would have tried so many more things. Pressure would make me double down on refusing, quiet offering would make me feel safe enough to try it.

Also, another idea would be to give him options of things he can try on his own with minimal teaching/interference. Like if someone had introduced cross country skiing, or rock climbing, or some other sport where there wasn’t a whole team relying on me, and I could practice independently to get better, I might have found an athletic side after all. Other things in the category would be: hands on crafts - leather working, bead making, drawing, etc. computer programming/video game building. Writing. Cooking. Growing a plant or a garden. Things that you can fail at over and over without it being a public display. (Whether the scrutiny is real or imagined, it will dampen the mood) And if he wants to throw away his art work without showing you, or won’t let you see his first clay sculpture or whatever - let him. Let him keep it to himself until he’s ready. I remember adults - teachers, coaches, whoever - asking to see my -insert whatever here- and me being embarrassed because I knew it wasn’t good. And then them complimenting me and encouraging me, and me being more embarrassed because I knew that objectively the thing wasn’t good and they were being kind. They were doing all the right things but I just wanted to keep it to myself until I felt confident enough to share my progress.

I hope this helps! Good luck! It’s been three years since you submitted this so I’m sure life looks different for your family today but maybe this is something that still comes up.

[queenoffishingandcookies]

Funniest thought:

- Noctis’ wardrobe must look wild, at least if someone were to look in on his apartment.

- One one hand, you have the Crown Prince of Lucis’ clothing. Tailored suits and shirts and trousers, all of high quality cottons and linens and wools and silks and every other fabric under the sun (and/or skirts and dresses)

- Probably fancy dressing gowns and robes for baths/showers, more traditional robes and ‘older’ clothing choices, too.

- Most would still be at the citadel, but in case he has to dress and run for sudden meetings/emergencies, I can see Ignis (and his father. And the council, they would have to debate because it was a matter of security for the Crown Prince / Crown Princess) insisting he takes a wardrobe befitting of his status with him before trying to blend in (as much as is possible) with the citizenry of Insomnia.

- and then you have Noctis’ personal clothing.

- Fishing jackets, baseball caps, carbuncle onesies, and various pajama sets with cartoon-like wild animals or game related imagery printed on them (courtesy of Prompto).

- sweatpants, all of the sweatpants. Or dresses. Simple ones, not fancy or costly ones, kind of flowy like old clothing. Both are nice to just slide on when you’re having a rough day.

Kind of Sad Headcanon:

- This is more for Nocturne (Fem! Noct) but literally works the exact same for Noctis. There’s a reason her wardrobe is segregated between Crown Princess/Citadel and Nocturne.

- For all that her bedroom, study, are called the Princess’ private rooms at the citadel - they aren’t really that private.

- Whenever she’s at the citadel, maids attend to cleaning her room, rather than Ignis - Ignis, who she trusts implicitly not to spread rumors vs Maids that would, unintentionally or intentionally.

- depending exactly on how Lucian upper society works, she might even have ladies-in-waiting outside of the retinue (unless of course, that was originally the function of a Lucian Princess’s retinue…)

- Clothing she chose to wear, how clean and neat her room was, it would be scrutinized and spoken about at least once among the staff, and then somehow that would trickle on up to the nobles and the councils, and then that could lead to rumors of how the Crown Prince or Princess was slovenly, was lazy-

- Which in turn could spiral into worse rumors and gossip, lessening support and respect, for the future Queen (or King) among the noble class, and if it was sold to the press-

- When you’re royalty, everything about you is at risk of being tied to politics. A dirty room for a normal teenager would probably merit a scolding. A dirty room for the Crown Princess? Scandal.

- So at the Citadel, Nocturne’s clothing isn’t…it isn’t just hers. She still likes some of the dresses, the blouses and skirts and occasional set of pants - she was given the option of selecting the cut and style of them, after all.

- But there’s pressure on her that comes from picking out the right clothes to wear, the design, the cost - all because of the effect. There’s pressure on her to keep her room neat and clean, so much so that it’s hard to imagine she lives there - though sometimes she does slip (not to the extent she would at her apartment, at her home away from home that felt safer to just- )

- As a young child, it wasn’t so bad. People would often send her cute cartoon print pajamas as gifts, shirts with funny mottos, wildly patterned things that other kids her age seemed to like. There wasn’t much pressure, though she was still expected to be dressed ‘according to her station’.

- as she got older though, she was expected to grow out of it. Clothes she outgrew were often donated, put into the storage, etc. they were replaced with more ‘mature’ dressing gowns, and so on.

- When she moved out of the citadel for high school (fifteen to sixteen), a lot of that pressure was lifted off of her shoulders. Though, it took a few months for her to really just…relax in her own home-away-from-home.

- She didn’t have a lot of clothes, courtesy of every thing stated above. There were her uniforms for school, clearly upper class but trendy “common” clothing - but nothing silly, nothing ‘immature’ as the upper class would put it.

- Until Prompto got her a gift on her birthday, a cat onesies (because you’re always Noct out, having a cat nap). It was silly, and it was soft and warm - and Nocturne could wear it around her apartment without being scrutinized.

- It was nice. Overtime, on top of her more fancy clothes, she picks up…normal ones. As gifts, or going out shopping herself (or as much by herself as could be, she was probably being tailed by the crownsguard anyway).

- Nocturne always defaults to her ‘Princess’ clothes, though. Even in her apartment, before remembering ‘oh, I can wear this. No one will freak out over it’.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Pronouns

The bigots are still coming out of the woodwork about Veilguard, because of course they are. And of course, it's the exact same bitching as happened with Baldur's Gate 3, with added "OMG TOP SURGERY SCARS" for flavour. But the dumbest part is "pronouns". Because ... like, I'mma do an Inigo Montoya here: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means".

Like, "I'm not a fan of pronouns and I won't use them".

You just did. Twice at minimum. Third if you see "them" as a pronoun rather than a determiner in that sentence.

What you mean is, "I'm not a fan of being told what pronouns you want me to use and would prefer to gender you how I see fit".

Fuck's sake, you're so proud of your bigotry, own it. Just say, "I don't give a shit what you want to call yourself; I refuse". If you feel like that makes you the bad guy? Well ... then maybe you should rethink.

And if you really are that stupid as to think that pronouns are in and of themselves evil? Well, you're stuck with using the nouns over and over, and ... how do you refer to yourself without using a pronoun? Like, "I" is a pronoun. "Me" is a pronoun. You can't even use the royal "we" there, because "we" is a pronoun. You're stuck referring to yourself in the third person constantly. Like, "Thess says that Thess is done with bigoted fuckbiscuits" ... and you're suddenly not attached to the sentence anymore. Because in a world without pronouns, you're talking like you aren't you. Because "you" is a pronoun too.

These people aren't really advocating for the removal of an entire chunk of grammatical rule. They can't be, unless they got a shittier grade in English grammar than I did. They just want a shorthand for their bigotry that doesn't actually qualify as an outright admission of their bigotry. They want to skirt around it by making "pronouns" evil, just like they did with "woke" or "DEI". But it doesn't work the same way because "woke" and "DEI" aren't an integral part of the language.

I almost feel sorry for the twerps who hold these gender-essentialist beliefs and speak language with gendered determiners. When your language genders "the", you really can't just say, "I don't agree with determiners", because "the" is kind of ubiquitous.

Look, I literally flunked English grammar in 9th grade. Not my fault - my background for learning grammar was in French, and my 9th grade English teacher hated my guts because among other things, I flagged up that Shakespeare wasn't trying to speak to the ages in his writing but literally just trying to entertain and get butts in seats so he could eat, and he refused to help me with any of my issues with grammar. I could write a grammatically correct sentence no problem, but I struggled with some of the terms for the grammatical rules and how they were used in general, because all the theory I'd learned was for French, where sentences are constructed in a different order than in English about half the time. Anyway, I picked up a little more of the theory by studying it on my own after I got away from asshole 9th grade English teacher, but I'm still the person who flunked 9th grade English grammar and I still know more about sentence structure than these jackasses. That or they're perfectly willing to sacrifice any kind of decent sentence structure and their own intellectual reputation in the cause of being bigots without having to admit that they're bigots.

Also, if you need to think about the contents of someone's pants just to address them in a sentence, you're a creep and a pervert and you need to stay away from me.

(I mean the general 'you', by the way; I know no one who follows me is Like That. But if by some chance you are Like That and found my blog somehow, a message: if you won't address people by their chosen pronouns because you're a bigot and a pervert, I will be addressing you by "fuck / off". Thank you, and have the day you deserve.)

[coockie8]

Wait what? Girl what happened? Do you mind talking about it? We could go to dms if you'd like cause I've never seen Anything on that

It's pretty public, like at least two posts about it will come up if you search my username (unless you already have these people blocked, or vice versa), so we don't have to go to DMs, but this will be long, so I'm gonna put it under a Keep Reading.

About 3-4 years ago on the original variation of my Dark Ace ask blog @red-eyed-raven, a user whose username I can't remember (who will from here on out be referred to as A), and won't share anyway because despite what they did, I don't think they deserve to be harassed, started interacting with Dark Ace, and chatting with me a bit.

We moved over to discord to engage a bit of a more personal relationship (a decision I will rapidly come to regret), they realised that I was coockie8, and briefly gushed about how they'd been a fan of my art for a while. I joined their discord server, I had a (deeply uncomfortable due to my anxiety) voice call with them, and I'd even given them the (real life) name I'd been going by at the time.

On the ask blog, there was also another user (who we'll refer to as B) I'd been kinda low key roleplaying with (who I also moved over to discord with at a point), and the roleplay did get sorta spicy in spots (by "spicy" I mean Dark Ace suggested showering with this person's character at one point). Now, I will admit B had "high school student" written in their bio, but as someone who was in high school until their literal 20's, that didn't actually give me any indication of their age. Given the usually spicy content on the blog, I figured they were 18+. I am fully willing to admit I made a mistake here; I should not have made assumptions.

Anyway, at some point I noticed that I'd been removed from the discord, and when I asked A, who was the server owner, about it, I was told they didn't approve of the dark content I was writing with a friend who was running a Lightning Strike blog at the time, and they'd rather I not be in the server, and I took that in stride, blocked A so they wouldn't be forced to interact with me in any way, and moved on. Prior to this, the Lightning Strike blog in question had received a nasty anon accusing them of romanticizing abuse because of the "stockholm-ish" nature of the way we were portraying Dark Ace and Lightning Strike's relationship.

After a few days of Dark Ace not getting interactions from A, someone asked if something had happened, and I explained A wasn't comfortable with the kind of dark topics I cover (understandable), and that, in retrospect, they might have even been who'd sent that nasty anon to my friend.

This was the catalyst. A wasn't blocked from @red-eyed-raven, so they saw the ask andhad a full blown meltdown over me just suggesting that they might have sent that anon hate.

It was at this point A started hunting me down on other accounts, taking screenshots of any art they found objectionable (including a picture I'd drawn at 14 of Aerrow getting raped by Mr. Moss) and poured all of it into a callout post accusing me of being a pedophile and a groomer, and called me a "backstabber" for hiding this from them (if you've been following me for any amount of time, you know I don't hide this). They posted (poorly censored) art they fully considered to be "child porn" Gods I hate that term publicly for all of their followers to see. But I was, somehow, the only one committing a crime in their mind. I don't know.

I don't need to explain where the "pedophile" part comes from; these people believe a cartoon character assigned the narrative trait of a number below 18 is the exact same thing as a real, living, breathing 14-year-old. As a CSA survivor, this grinds my gears for obvious reasons.

The "groomer" part was over the barely spicy RP with B, as well as the fact I'd admitted to them that the police had seen my "objectionable art" in the past and did nothing (this part is crucial, at least to me, 'cause there's at least 1 user who's been trying to claim I've been convicted. I have not. I have no record. They're lying.), because drawings are not the same thing as hurting a real person, and there's literally nothing wrong with creating dark and taboo art. The act of stating this objective fact (that art is not real life) is, apparently, "grooming", I guess.

A couple more "callout" posts were made, rife with all the same misinformation, and I left the fandom for a year. Upon tentatively returning about a year later, I immediately got attacked by these people, and promptly shut down for a while until I'd established myself in the proship community, and didn't feel so isolated anymore. This is when I fully returned, and it's taken at least 2 years for me to stop drowning in anxiety every time I hyperfixate on this show.

So yeah, that's the gist. I know it's long, sorry.

[yuriko-mukami]

His Possession Ecstasy: Epilogue

Beta reader: @ruki-mukami-dl

Everything around me was crumbling down. I didn’t know what to think. What to feel. Ruki was losing his battle, and so was I. I had meant to save my brother but now it seemed I only managed to put everyone in danger. I had failed completely.

“No! Ruki!” Yuriko cried and meandered. “Yuuto, let me go back!”

“I fuckin’ can’t,” Yuuto grunted. He hauled Yuriko on his shoulder and continued his way to the village. “Listen closely… I just realized somethin’. And stop fuckin’ squirmin’. I’m not gonna hurt you unless I’m told so and if you keep fightin’ someone might make me do it. So, keep still and lemme talk.”

The genuine worry in Yuuto’s voice made Yuriko stop. She panted as tears almost blinded her, but she took hold of the back of her brother’s shirt and tried to keep still. “Okay…”

“Here’s the deal. I just saw somethin’. You noticed that bright thingy in our grandpa’s hand, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s the star pearl. My star pearl to be exact.” Yuuto shifted, moving Yuriko into a better position. She frowned, having no idea what the star pearl even was. “Long story short since Mother seemingly didn’t bother to tell you anythin’. It has part of Kitsune’s soul in it. I thought I couldn’t extract mine but now I see it was extracted for me. When? Dunno… but our grandpa seems to have it.”

“So… what does that mean?”

“That I need to do his biddin’ until we get it back. Now, you’re gonna need to play a good little vixen for him and then steal the pearl and bring it to me. Then we’re off here.” Yuuto sighed. “I’m sorry. But dontcha worry. I’m gonna fix this. I won’t let ‘em keep you here.”

The forest started to get sparse, and tiny wooden houses appeared between the trees. The streets between them were more like meandering paths and while the ground looked hard, it wasn’t covered with tiles or asphalt. Grass peeked here and there, and many of the houses seemed to have their own gardens.

Yuuto stopped in front of a low building with wooden walls and a tile roof. Terrace and sliding doors made Yuriko think about the traditional houses she had seen back in her old hometown and pictures in the history books, but these settlements were in use, not part of the history but present. The homes of the Yako Kitsune.

While Yuuto stood still, holding Yuriko, the older man roamed closer. Finally, he stepped next to the siblings, looking way too happy and smug to Yuriko’s liking as he gazed at Yuuto.

“Good boy, now carry her in before someone notices…”

Growling, Yuuto did as he was told to. Yuriko hung onto him, swallowing her tears. Was Ruki still alive? Would she ever see him again? She needed to fight her way through all this. She would play time for herself and somehow… somehow, she would get that pearl for Yuuto.

Yuuto tucked Yuriko’s shoes off at the entrance before he scooted her into the living room, putting her down. She still held him by his arm because her legs were trembling, and she was breathing heavily. Their grandfather lurked closer, smiling with the shiny pearl in his hand.

Yuriko swallowed. She couldn’t see the resemblance between this man and Yuuto. While Yuuto had the same hair as Yuriko and a tall, muscular form, this man looked older and weaker. His amber eyes gleamed under the long bangs of dusty yellow; his ponytail seemed to tickle his waist. He had the aura of a man who had seen too much in his life yet refused to give up. Still, his scent didn’t radiate safety but pretty much the opposite, making Yuriko quiver a little.

“Pretty face and nice body. You will do very well.” The man measured Yuriko with his eyes. “Say, you have not shared yourself with a man, have you?”

Yuriko gasped, her face instantly flaring. “That’s… none of your business!”

“As your family’s head, it indeed is…” The man leaned closer, sniffing her. Suddenly, he was grimacing. “You reek. It will take ages for you to purify…”

Saying nothing, Yuriko leaned against Yuuto. Neither her virginity – or the lack of it – nor her bathing habits had anything to do with this man. If she reeked, it was because of the fight and nothing else. Yet she didn’t feel like pointing that out.

Yuriko couldn’t believe that her father had wanted to give her here. How much did Keisuke hate her? This was terrible, and Yuriko would find her way out of this place together with Yuuto… and their mother.

Where was Mother anyway? She hadn’t been near the gate even though Yuuto had clearly waited for Yuriko’s arrival as he had promised. Had he been unable to free their mother?

As if reading Yuriko’s thoughts, their grandfather leaned in and stared at her. “You have similar traits to Hisoka.” He chuckled. “I’m sure we can find you a good husband as soon as this little problem with your scent is solved.” 

Yuuto pulled Yuriko further from the man, hiding her behind his large back. “Haven’t you done enough shit already? You don’t need a girl who has been bitten by a bloodsucker.”

“Hmph, even the bitten ones are more valuable than you, brat. Nothing good ever comes out of you!”

Yuuto growled and their grandfather answered in a similar manner, squeezing the pearl in his hand. “You are to obey me. If I say the girl marries, then she will.”

“FUCK!”

“Shut up and give her to me!” 

Before Yuriko could react, Yuuto had already pushed her toward the man. It was almost scary how he couldn’t resist direct orders.

I need to focus. I need to get the pearl first. Then we can save Mom…

“Umh… are you… my grandfather?” Yuriko tried to play nice at least. She couldn’t stop her heart from jumping. Ruki was in danger; so was Mother. Everything was up to her now. 

“That’s right. Nakamura Ichiro.” The man snorted. “So, what is your name, girl?”

“Tsukino Yuriko.”

Ichiro nodded. “From now on it will be Nakamura Yuriko… until we will find you a husband, that is. You are a long-lost granddaughter of mine who was saved from the cruelty of the Human World. You are grateful and love it here. You can’t imagine anything better than living with your kind. And if you aren’t accepting these terms, I’ll make sure that you will obey, just like your brother.” 

Yuriko didn’t answer. She couldn’t anger this man now but, in her mind, she kept telling him that there would be only one man she was willing to marry and one other last name she would take. No one could change that for she had decided this. And she would never love being here and living with these terrible people who had clearly treated Yuuto badly year after year.

But instead of saying any of that, Yuriko lowered her head and bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ichiro-ojiisan. Mom never talked about you, so I had no idea.”

“Hmph, I can believe that. She was as much a brat as your useless brother…”

Squeezing her hands into fists, Yuriko inhaled deeply. She should keep her mouth shut but it pained her heart to hear this man talking about Yuuto in a very similar manner as Keisuke had always talked about her.

“Where is she now?” Yuriko asked, forcing a smile on her face as she straightened her body.

“Yuuto didn’t have time to tell you? And I thought you two had keeping contact for a longer while since you found your way here…” A twisted smirk rose on Ichiro’s lips. “Hisoka paid for her crimes years ago. With her life.”

Everything stopped.

Yuriko wasn’t sure if she was breathing anymore. Her legs gave up and the room around her disappeared. She was gasping… probably. It was difficult to tell since everything started to go black. Her throat grew so tight that no voice came out.

Mother wasn’t there anymore. She hasn’t been for years.

Mother… had died. I couldn’t believe it.  The news struck me directly in the heart. Suddenly the world was black and lacking meaning. I always thought… …that I could have gotten her back.  Was anything worth believing in?

[marvelmaniac715]

My first gift to Chucky is publishing extracts from his very own guide book on child rearing. It’s his perspective on the kids he’s encountered, including his own. I warn you, it’s not to everyone’s taste, even I winced when I read what he wanted me to publish on this blog, but then he reminded me that it’s Father’s Day and that he simply wanted to share his fatherly wisdom, so… here you go.

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Why hello, my name is Chucky, welcome to my childcare guide book. I have many years of experience being around kids, I even have two of my own. In all of my years, I’ve searched desperately for a book or some sort of video guide that could help me understand the young people in my life, but nothing I found ever related to my exact situation. This is the guide that I wish I’d had back in the 1980s. If you’re somehow seeing this Andy, I blame you for everything that’s gone wrong in my life.

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Modern Teenagers:

The most important thing I can teach you about the youth of today is that you have to relate to them on their level. One thing I like to do when I’m talking to a modern day teenager is reference Instagram. Remember how exciting it was when you were a kid and grownups would reference the Batman comic you’d just read? This is the modern day equivalent. Have I ever used the app? Not really, but I did talk to a teenager (thank you Junior, RIP) who assured me that Insta followers are a very valued commodity for today’s youth.

A lot of teenagers don’t actually like me. Can’t figure out why, I’m very cool. If you experience the same issue, I can recommend that you should not aim to traumatise teenagers unless you have a goal, because some of them have the strength of full grown adults along with raging hormones, it’s like fighting the Hulk. Word of advice - it’s usually frowned upon to try and offer a teenager drugs, and many teens will decline before murdering you in a brutal fashion.

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Young Kids:

Kids under the age of ten make better stooges, but if they have good parents, it’s harder to make them do what you want. Some  manipulation persuasion tactics that I’ve used in the past with young kids include:

Convincing a boy that I was sent by his deceased father to be his companion/playmate (successful for about two days, not recommended for the long term)

Convincing a girl that her mother was not her biological mother in order to fill that maternal role with my ex instead

Convincing another girl that I wanted to play a game called ‘Hide the Soul’ then possessing her body (RIP Alice Pierce)

Little kids are surprisingly easy to convince that your way is for the best, but this gift is to be used sparingly in order to avoid the risk of said kid getting wise to what’s happening and not following your leadership. Another top tip - if the child you are trying to manipulate persuade has protective older relatives that are surprisingly skilled with a variety of weapons and forms of combat, figure out at least five potential exits from the situation or else you will be killed.

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Introducing Your Biological Children To Your Interests:

As previously mentioned, I have two kids of my own. Can I tell you how old they are? …No, I’m not actually sure. I wanna say twenty? No… they were ‘born’ in 2004, so… nineteen at the most.

Anyway, my kids- twins, Glen and Glenda- are quite strange. The older one didn’t see the value of murder, and the younger one seemed kinda psychotic when I met them. But still, I tried to install a love of violence in my eldest child, because that’s how I bond with others.

What I did was I took my older child out hunting late at night when their mother was sleeping (‘recovering from addiction’, don’t ask). I even introduced the kid to a celebrity (before mercilessly killing them… oops, I did it again) as we made our way to the house of a guy I didn’t like. My intention was to have the kid watch, but they were clearly so inspired by the incident in the car that they decided to take matters into their own hands. I’ve never been more proud, and I was even prouder a day or so later when they used what I taught them to kill me.

Now, I’m not saying that this technique will work for everyone, but it was very effective for me. Of course, every child is different. I mean, take my little Glenda for example (not so little anymore really). They were in control for all of five minutes, but they used their limited time in control of the body to murder a woman with a flamethrower and then make an incredible joke about it. That’s the sort of talent that a kid has to be born with, whereas my older child Glen had to coaxed into killing, but when they did, it was absolutely glorious.

So my advice to you, dear reader, is to choose an interest of yours that you’re best at to focus on and pass on to your child. If they pick it up and have a talent for it, great! Your talent will live on. But if they don’t quite get it or like it, it’s still a much needed chance to bond with your child, especially if you don’t see them for years.

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Reaching Out To The Children You Haven’t Seen For Years As An Adult:

I have a lot of experience with this. Andy Barclay, Barbara and Nica Pierce as well as my own kids have all gone many years without seeing me, and when I reentered their lives, I did it in a big way. Murder attempts are a classic way to go, but what if you’re looking for henchmen assistants? Two words for you, my friends: compliments and persuasion. Young kids will believe almost anything you say (see above) and older kids who are starved for affection will do whatever you ask in the hopes of receiving more affection. It’s foolproof.

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Final Words:

Kids are interesting, complex tiny humans who don’t quite understand how the world works. I’m not an expert, but I did consult my childhood therapist whilst writing this, who told me the following:

‘Small children are ridiculously easy to mould and teenagers are ticking time bombs of anxiety. He or she who controls children controls the future.’

Do I think that’s a good takeaway from this guide book? Not quite, even I think that’s a tad too far. I just felt it was necessary to include it, because it’s… certainly a quote.

Before I leave you, I’d like to thank and acknowledge the following people:

Tiffany Valentine - the mother of my children 

Glen and Glenda Ray - the twins who made me a father

Andy Barclay - a person who taught me how irritating children can be

Nica Pierce - an interesting adversary and an even more interesting person to possess

Kyle Simpson - for teaching me to never underestimate a woman, especially a young one

Alice Pierce - a nice girl who went too soon

Junior Wheeler - a valuable source of information on modern teenagers

Jake Wheeler - same as Junior, also a promising artist

Caroline Cross - an interesting kid who shows great promise as a killer

I hope you enjoyed my book, hopefully, with the advice I provided, you can be as great as a parent as I am.