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aliteralsemicolon · 17 days

Text

3 days, 4 hours and 55 minutes

When Spencer doesn’t call at midnight on your birthday like he usually does, you believe he truly wants nothing to do with you because of your fight a few days prior. Until there are two FBI agents knocking on your door, neither of which are your apparently missing boyfriend.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but mentions strong themes. It is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Mentions of kidnapping, injuries & vague description of panic attack. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 8.6K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

11:57 PM

Eyes trained on the long red hand, you watch as the minutes spin around the clock hanging on the otherwise-empty wall. A century could’ve passed between the last minute and now. It sure as hell feels like it.

11:58 PM

The movie meant to keep your mind from replaying the events from a few days ago failed its purpose before you even turned on the T.V. If the time between every minute was a century, then the last time you heard from him must have been an eternity ago. When was the last time you heard from him anyway?

“I don’t want to see you anymore. I can’t even bear to look at your face right now.”

In all your time together, Spencer had never once raised his voice at you. The fact remained even during your worst fight yet. God, how you wished he had yelled at you. Maybe then he would’ve needed less time away from you.

“Yeah? I don’t want to be near you anyway. Not when you’re being like this!”

He was unfair. So were you. Surely neither of you truly meant what was said. You wanted to be near him so, so badly. Did he really not want to see you anymore? He must not, or Spencer would have returned at least one of the twenty four calls he ignored.

11:59 PM

It was well-intentioned on your part. The migraines were most likely psychosomatic. Otherwise the MRI scans would’ve picked up on the issue.

“You think I’m crazy? I am not crazy!”

“Spencer, I’m not implying that you are! I’m saying that it’s probably stress induced-”

“No! No. That’s not what you really think, is it? Go on, say what you really mean.”

“GOD SPENCER! You think that just because your mother is a paranoid schizophrenic, I think you must be one too? You’re completely reaching! You just don’t want to deal with the reality that maybe it is all just in your head!”

12:00 AM

Perhaps he did mean what he said. He’d still call though, right? If not to return one of your voicemails then to wish you a happy birthday? After everything the two of you shared together he should at least call today.

“Leave. Please.”

“Spencer..”

“Stop. Please. Leave.”

“Wait Spence-”

Unsure of how much longer you could hold out, you uncurl from your fetal position on the sofa and reach over for your phone. Vision peeling from the wall-clock and redirecting to the photo on your lockscreen. How beautiful he looked adorned on your screen. Then again, he always looked beautiful.

12:31 AM

‘Twelve thirty one’ read the time on your screen. The first thirty one minutes of your birthday were spent replaying exactly what you wanted to avoid. He must’ve fallen asleep. He would never intentionally miss his tradition of wishing you a happy birthday, 12AM, on the dot. “That was before you ruined everything”, your mind began. “You ruined everything”, it repeats over and over in a mantra.

“He hates me. He would’ve called if he didn’t.” a whisper only for yourself to hear. Minutes passing you by once more as you begin your spiral into doubt and self-hatred. Tears completely stain your skin, clothes, the blanket hugging your legs. Your vision is too blurred to notice it. What you do notice is that you can not breathe. Shit. You can not breathe.

“Five things” You can almost hear his voice whisper into your mind. “Five things”, you repeat aloud.

“Five things you can see.” As his voice begins to guide, your eyes frantically wander. “The blanket on my lap. My hands curled on top of it. The coffee table in front of me. The T.V playing across from me. The wall-clock hanging just above on the wall behind.”

“Four things you can touch” Not waiting a second before answering to the thought of his voice: “The cushion next to me. The couch beneath me. The sweatshirt I’m wearing. The rings on my fingers.”

“Three things you can hear” Tuning your focus on the sounds around you continue, “The T.V playing. The cars passing by outside. That stupid wall-clock ticking.”

“Two things you can smell” This one was always your least favourite because you had to think the hardest. You could hardly breathe a minute ago and your nose is clogged. How can you smell anything? “I can’t smell anything. I can never smell anything.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay. Just tell me one thing you can taste” . His voice was engraved in your brain. You probably couldn’t forget it if you tried. “Salt.”

Shoulders slumping into your body, you wipe the tears clouding your line of sight and dare to look up at the clock once again. If it could speak it would probably taunt you for your pathetic state.

12:56 AM

You barely make out the time as your eyes begin to cloud again. At least you can breathe normally now. Except your head is throbbing, your eyes are sore and you’re so tired. Sinking back into your previous fetal position, you feel your body give out. As you drift off, you make one final plea for your sanity: “He probably just fell asleep. He’ll call when he wakes up.”

The pounding headache was bad enough, but the rapid pounding against your door made you want to shout violently. As if your body was now on auto-pilot, you attempt to jump up from your position on the sofa - only to not so gracefully trip over your blanket and almost face plant into the coffee table. “Fuck-AH-bitch”, you grumble just as you manage to catch yourself. “I’m coming in just a minute!” Yelling for the very impatient recipient at the other side of your door. You quickly give the clock a glance before making your way to the hallway mirror.

2:07 PM

You aren’t vain, you’re just a decent enough human to save the person outside your apartment a jumpscare from your post-ugly-crying state. When you stood in front of the mirror and actually saw yourself for the first time today, you didn’t believe there was anything you could do to save that person. That person could be Spencer. So you gave it an attempt, regardless, quickly brushing your hair out with your fingers and wiping the dried tears from your face. Finally shuffling to the door, you take a deep breath as you unlock it. He probably just showed up instead of calling. At least that’s what you wanted to believe.

“Oh. Derek? JJ?”, instead you find two of his friends and FBI profilers, who definitely caught the disappointment in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Pretty Girl. Any chance Pretty Boy is somewhere behind you?” Morgan asks, slightly concerned by your poorly concealed state.

“Hi, sorry, no, he’s not here.” You blurt out as you make eye contact with your nosy neighbour passing by. You consider inviting the agents inside for privacy, but remember that your living room shares the same messy look as you and abort that thought.

“Can we come inside?” JJ asks for you, also noticing the unwanted eavesdropper.

“Um, sure”, you hesitate, clearly embarrassed. “Excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.” The agents share a look that you miss and follow behind as you quickly begin to tidy up a little.

“Hey, are you okay?” JJ follows up.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Why are you looking for Spencer here?” You were deflecting. She definitely knew that you were deflecting, but didn’t push further and for that you were grateful.

“He’s not at work and he’s not picking up his cell. So we thought he might be with you.” Morgan answers you, taking a quick glance around.

“When did you last talk to him?” JJ cuts in.

“Uh, two days ago I think?” Your breath hitches at your first reminder of the fight you had.

“Two days?” JJ’s brows furrow in a questioning manner towards Morgan, who looks just as confused. “Are you sure?” He chimes in, not waiting for your reply before he dials a number on his phone and rushes off towards your kitchen.

“Yes, I’m sure…” your eyes follow him as he disappears and quickly snap your attention back towards the blonde woman in front of you. “JJ what’s going on?”

“Exactly what time did you last see him?” She ignores your question. The slight panic in her voice is contagious and begins to shift into you. “Well I don’t know the exact time, but I’d guess some time just before midnight? When did you last see him?”

Before she can answer, Morgan calls your name as he walks back in. “Get dressed. You’re gonna need to come back to The Bureau with us.”

“The Bureau? Okay, seriously guys, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. JJ and I are gonna wait here while you get dressed okay?” His tone was assertive.

“No, you’re going to explain right now actually, what the fuck is going on?” But you were too worried to care about his tone.

He took a deep breath, clearly frustrated. “Spencer’s been missing for two days. ” Realisation spreads across JJ’s face as she puts the pieces together, “ And I think you might’ve been the last person to see him.”

3:42 PM.

You were currently sitting alone in one of the interview rooms at the FBI Headquarters, phone in hand, repeatedly checking the time. Morgan and JJ gave you time to clean up and get dressed before leaving your apartment. None of you uttered a single word on your way here and JJ led you into this room, telling you to get comfortable and to let her know if you needed anything.

Somebody was supposed to come in and interview you, but you had been waiting for at least twenty minutes now. The room itself was mostly empty, except for two muted couches in the middle facing each other, separated by a small table. An old rug laid under the setting and a couple of stock pictures were hung on the walls. You had taken JJ’s invitation and claimed a spot in the corner seat of one of the couches, facing the door, but sitting as far away from it as you could.

The air conditioner was set at room temperature but everything felt cold. Spencer was missing and you were definitely the last person to see him. You felt like the worst person in the world right now. The man that you loved more than anything in the world was missing and the last thing you ever said to him was that you didn’t want to be around him.

What did missing even mean in this situation? Did he just decide to up and disappear? That would be believable if he was anybody else, but this was Spencer. He would still say goodbye to his friends before leaving. Friends who were also his coworkers. Coworkers at his extremely dangerous job. If Spencer was missing then it wasn’t because he chose to be. Which means that there’s a strong possibility that he’s really hurt, or dead.

Your mind was filled with so many concerns and had you not heard the door handle click, you probably would’ve driven yourself into another panic attack. A raven-haired woman walks into the room and takes a seat opposite to you on the couch across yours.

“Emily!”

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

“Have you found Spencer? Is he okay-” The questions begin piling out of you.

“Woah, take a deep breath okay.” She cuts off your worrisome ramble before it begins.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” You cry out in frustration before catching your tone. You take a short, deep breath and continue, “I’m sorry. I’m just really worried okay. I’ve been here for god knows how long and nobody will tell me anything and I just really need to know if Spencer’s okay.”

Emily slightly tilts her head as she looks at you, slightly narrowing her eyes in sympathy. “It’s okay, I understand. You feel really isolated right now because you don’t know what’s going on,” she leans in a little “but the truth is, we don’t entirely know what’s going on either. All we know is that Spencer hasn’t been to work in two days and you were the last person to see him.”

You stare back at her with an apologetic look and the two of you share a brief silence of understanding. As worried as you were right now, you had to remember that Emily and everybody else in the BAU were also extremely worried. You nodded, not saying anything.

“I need you to tell me about the last time you saw him." She’s the first to break the silence.

Instead of simply responding, you stare at her blankly. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound would come out. It was like you physically couldn’t respond. You couldn’t even let yourself think about the last time you saw him. The guilt was overbearing, it was pushing tears to well in your eyes. Sighing, you take a gulp and try to get yourself together. Eyes wandering everywhere except towards Emily.

“You okay?” She questions for the second time, giving you the same narrow-eyed look as before, but this time there’s concern behind her eyes.

You try to respond but all you can do is bite the inside of your cheek. Emily’s presence was a welcome distraction from the current situation, until it wasn’t a distraction anymore. She’d unknowingly pushed you back into the headspace you desperately needed to stay out of to keep composed. It wasn’t her fault, you knew she was just doing her job. However, right now you desperately needed her to go away or you were going to completely break down.

Then for the first time in days the universe took pity on you. It leaned into the room in the form of one colourful Penelope Garica, giving you a rushed greeting and ushering Emily out of the room.

“Hey Em, sorry to interrupt, but we need you in the conference room. By that I mean like yesterday.” Garcia turned towards you and squeaked a sad “Good to see you again, I wish it was under different circumstances.” before disappearing. Emily drops a quick “Excuse me” as she gets up and disappears after her.

You knew she would be back. For now, you had time to calm down and you were extremely grateful for that. Taking deep breaths, you check your phone again. There on your screen was Spencer, smiling back at you brightly. You glance at the time again.

4:03 PM

Your eyes instantly land back on his face. They must have stayed staring for a while; before you knew it Emily had re-entered the room. “What’re you doing there?” The sudden interruption from her voice pulled you out of your trance. “Huh? Oh-Sorry, I was just checking the time.” A half-lie. “It’s 4:17.”

No verbal response. Her only response was a look you couldn’t entirely make out as she took a seat in her previous place. “Emily, is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“I need to tell you something and you need to listen to the full thing, okay? Spencer’s been kidnapped.” She nervously bit her lip as she broke the news to you. “Garcia pulled a recording from a surveillance camera on the street outside your apartment building.”

“What..” You interrupted, unintentionally. “What do you mean kidnapped? Outside my apartment?”

“Look. I won’t lie to you, this is bad. You were the last person to see Spencer and then he’s taken from outside your apartment-”

“Wait a minute, are you telling me that I’m a suspect?” The second time you cut her off, she leans forward and takes your hand in hers. “Listen to me. The whole thing okay? No interruptions.” Her patient tone gives you some comfort. You nod, giving her the go ahead to continue.

“Now, in normal cases, those closest to the victim would be looked at as initial suspects. But this is not a normal case. You aren’t a suspect but you might be the key in finding him. I’m going to play the recording for you in just a minute and I need you to tell me if you recognise anything. Before I play anything though, we’re going to have to run a cognitive interview and recall your last day with Spencer. I understand that it may be hard, but if you want to help find Spencer, you’re going to have to.”

As your mind processes her words, your hand attempts to close into a fist and squeezes hers. “Emily, I can’t” are the only words you can bring yourself to say.

“Why?” She’s quick to ask in surprise.

“Because it’s horrible, Emily. The last thing we did was fight. The last thing I told him was that I didn’t want to be around him.” You spit out before you can stop yourself.

The woman sighs as she mumbles your name, “You can’t possibly blame yourself for this. All couples fight. You couldn’t have known this would happen. I promise you, no matter how bad you think it is, it really cannot be worse than not finding Spencer.”

Her words are blunt, but her voice is empathetic. It’s just what you needed to hear to break out of your ego. “Okay, what do you need?”

“I need you to close your eyes okay. Just listen to the sound of my voice as I guide you.” The brunette instructs. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. “Think back to that day. What were you doing when you first saw Spencer?”

“We met at our favourite café after he got home from work. He had missed our date the night before and wanted to make it up to me. I was checking the time when I heard him call out my name from behind me.” You begin to recall.

“Okay, you turn around to see him. What’s happening around you? Is it busy?”

“No, it’s actually really quiet compared to usual. There’s maybe four or five other people here besides us.”

“What was Spencer like? His behaviour, was he acting like he normally does when you’re together?”

“He was pretty normal at first. He just looked tired, more than he usually does. But it wasn’t until we started talking that I noticed that something was off.”

“What was off?”

“He just wasn’t present like he usually was. I could tell that he wasn’t feeling great, so I insisted we go back to his place. It was closer than mine.”

You continued recalling the events of the night. When you turned on the light as you entered his apartment, he hissed slightly. That’s when you realised what was going on. He admitted that his migraines were back after some pushing. You asked him if he’d gone to the doctors and he told you how they’d found nothing again. You sat him down on the couch, got him some painkillers and brewed some tea for him. He began ranting about how there had to be something wrong. That’s when you suggested that the migraines could be stress induced. The two of you began arguing not long after that.

“Spence, have you, maybe, considered that the migraines are psychosomatic? Probably from all the stress you face at work?”

“What does my job have to do with this? What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that you have a stressful job. It can take a pretty heavy toll. Stress is a common factor for migraines.”

“No, not like this. I just need to find another doctor. One that can actually help.”

“How many doctors will you see before you finally understand that it’s in your head?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, I should have worded that better.”

“You think I’m crazy? I am not crazy!”

“Spencer, I’m not implying that you are! I’m saying that it’s probably stress induced-”

“No! No. That’s not what you really think, is it? Go on, say what you really mean.”

“What? No. That’s not at all what I’m saying.”

“But it’s what you’re thinking”

“No, it’s what you’re thinking, Spencer.”

“Don’t hold back now, just come out and say it.”

“Leave. Please.”

“Spencer..”

“Stop. Please. Leave.”

“Wait Spence-”

“I don’t want to see you anymore. I can’t even bear to look at your face right now.”

“Yeah? I don’t want to be near you anyway. Not when you’re being like this!”

Emily’s hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your head, “Hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.” And so you do, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Once she’s sure you're calm, she leans back in her seat and continues, “You’re doing great. I need you to go back to the café. Was there anything or any one out of place?”

You think back. You and Spencer were sitting just by the entrance. There was another couple ordering at the counter. You could smell flowers. Not the nice, light, floral kind of scent. It was the loud, head-ache inducing, overpowering roses kind. It was coming from your left, where there were two old ladies sitting not too far from your table, lost in their own conversation. Behind them, in the far left corner, there was a man sat glaring at Spencer. You couldn’t really see the man that well but, nothing felt out of place.

“No.” You mumble in disappointment, unable to remember anything out of the ordinary. Wait. The man in the corner. “Yes, yes there’s some guy. He’s barely in my vision, but he was glaring at Spencer. I made eye contact with him once as I entered but I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I need you to really think hard,” Emily urges, “What can you remember about this man? Any distinct details?”

“Um, he was dressed in dark clothing and wearing a beanie. There isn’t really anything that stands out. I’m sorry Emily.”

“No, it’s okay you did great. You can open your eyes now.” You do so, greeted by the sight of Emily across from you fidgeting with the tablet in her lap. “I’m going to show you the recording and I need you to tell me if you recognise anything from it.”

She passes the tablet over and you click play. It’s a little blurry but you can see Spencer walking on the street outside your apartment building. It looks like he’s making his way over to your place. A man shows up out of, seemingly, nowhere and bumps into him. Spencer appears to become drowsy, unable to coordinate his movement at all. Thirty seconds later, a black van pulls up and that same man from before yanks your boyfriend into the van before it drives off.

Your stomach drops. “Fuck, Emily! He was right there. He was right outside my apartment. They took him…I should’ve…oh my god..” If you thought you were gonna have a panic attack before, you were in for a heart attack now.

Emily tries to call your attention using your name as she grabs hold of your hands, “You need to take some more deep breaths okay, panicking now is not going to help.” She’s right. Spencer has already been kidnapped, panicking isn’t going to bring him back. The video replays in your head, you recognise something.

“Wait Emily..the man - that man from the café. That’s the same man. The one who bumped into Spencer. He’s wearing the same clothes and everything. Oh my god, was he following us the whole time?” The realisation seeps through your body and shivers run down your spine. Spencer was being watched the entire time you were together. “Why did they wait? Why didn’t they just take me out and then kidnap Spencer?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, but you’ve helped a lot. Now I’m going to go and tell the rest of the team what you’ve told me, okay? But you need to stay here.”

“Why? I can’t just wait here forever, how is that gonna help?” you question. You couldn’t just sit here alone with your thoughts, you needed to get out.

“Those men that took Spencer, they clearly know about you. This puts you in danger and we don’t know what their plan is. Here is the safest place for you to be. I’m going to send an agent to sit outside that door,” She points at the brown door that serves as the only entry and exit to the room you’re currently in, “His name is Agent Anderson. You tell him if you need anything at all, but you need to stay here. Please.”

You watch her stand up hurriedly and head for the door. You know she’s right. They can’t search for Spencer if they also have to worry about your safety. Getting Spencer back was the most important thing. “Okay.” You agree. “But Emily,” she turns back to look at you from the doorway, “Please bring him back, okay?”

“We will.” She Promises. It may be an empty promise. There’s no guarantee that he’s even alive, but it's enough to keep you hoping for now. Spencer has to be okay.

Spencer’s POV

It’s not very often a person finds themselves escaping death’s grasp. The chances of the same person escaping death twice is even less likely. Yet here I am, in the back of an ambulance, on my way to the hospital, having escaped death for the second time in my life. Hopefully, it won't cost me an addiction this time. “Rossi this is ridiculous, I’m fine!” I insisted to the older man next to me, looking over me like a watchdog. I was already aware that my injuries were serious enough to warrant a hospital visit, but I hoped that the EMT’s would ignore that regardless. I need to get back to her, I just want to hold her as soon as possible. “Sir, you need to lie back down” I hear a voice instruct from my right. Then I hear Dave from my left.

“Kid, you are not fine. The sooner we get you to the hospital the sooner you can leave. Now lie back down and let the medics do their job.” How am I supposed to stress the seriousness of the situation in my drugged up state? My girlfriend is in danger! “No Rossi, I need to see that she’s alright, you don’t understand. They got me from right outside her apartment, they know about her!” Why doesn’t he understand? “Reid, relax. She’s been at headquarters since yesterday afternoon. She’s fine. She’ll meet you there, Anderson’s driving her there as we speak.” I have to count on this reassurance for the time being, because I was clearly not getting my way anytime soon.

Wait yesterday? “No Rossi, that's not right. What day is it? What time?” Guilt surged my veins, did I really miss the most important day of the year? “It’s Friday. Wait no, Saturday now, about uhhh,” he paused “1:43 AM.” No, no, no. “Saturday? She spent her birthday at headquarters? That wasn’t the plan!” I desperately needed to explain something to Rossi, but I couldn’t find the right words. I couldn’t even fully remember what I needed to explain. “Okay, Sir, I’m going to have to inject you with a light dose of tranquillisers if you don’t calm you down.” I hear the voice on my right say.

“No, don’t touch me! Get away from me! Rossi-” My objections are interrupted by Rossi on the left again “Kid, you’re heavily drugged right now and you’re not making sense. You need to calm down. Just do as the nice lady says.” I’m entirely perplexed. What lady? And where am I right now? I try to make sense of my situation but my senses are suddenly taken over by a strong sense of drowsiness. I feel at peace, but something has to be wrong because I can hear rapid beeping behind me. “Sir, you need to keep your eyes open, do not fall asleep!”

Your POV

Somebody’s hand hesitantly shaking your shoulder wakes you up. You slowly open your eyes to see Agent Anderson crouching in front of you. Before he can get a word in edgewise, you start throwing out questions at the poor man and rush to sit up-right. “Agent? What happened? Did they find him? Is he okay?” The rapid fire of questions knocks your own breath out of your lungs and forces you to pause for a deep breath, allowing Anderson to cut in. “They found him! I’m not entirely sure of his condition, but he’s on his way to the hospital and so is the team. I can drive you so you can meet them there.” He stands up and walks towards the door, holding it open for you.

“Yes! Please! Let’s go!” You don’t even hesitate as you respond, jumping up from your seat and practically running towards the door. The journey from the building, to the car, then to the hospital is another blur. Spencer fills your mind, as usual, while your eyes are fixated on the time displayed on the dashboard. You watch the minutes pass the whole ride. ‘2:13 AM, 2:14 AM, 2:15 AM, 2:16 AM’ and finally as you arrive at the hospital:

2:17 AM

“You head on in, I’m going to park and follow behind you.” Anderson breaks the streak of silence. The car barely comes to a stop before you jump out and make a bee-line for the doors. You probably look like a maniac running up to the reception desk. “Hi Ma’am, how can I help you?” The receptionist asks unfazed, probably used to seeing maniacs like you. “Spencer Reid. That’s the patient's name. Where is Spencer Reid?” You pester urgently. “Just a moment please.” The receptionist smiles as she begins to type on her keyboard. She turns back to you after a few seconds, instructing you on where to go. “Thank you!” You don’t even blink after she’s done speaking and immediately head towards where you're guided.

As you enter the waiting room, you’re greeted with the faces of his team from the BAU. “Hi! There you are!” Garcia is the first to notice you, coming in for a hug. “Hey, how is he?” you ask hugging back, no time for proper pleasantries. The rest of the team start making their way up to you one by one for a quick greeting too. “We don’t know yet, the doctor should be out soon to let us know.” Derek, the last one to hug you hello, answers. That’s never good to hear, nervousness covering your face. “Don’t lose hope, he’s going to be just fine!” Rossi interjects your train of thought before it can even begin. Damn profilers. Anderson, true to his word, shows up too.

Feeling slightly ashamed for your rushed behaviour you apologise and thank him for his patience. He assures you that there’s no need and he understands, before Hotch sends Anderson home for the weekend. It seems like everybody in that room takes turns sitting and pacing around. Everyone except you. Your eyes are glued to the clock at the entrance, occasionally making small talk with the others. It’s officially been three excruciating days since you’ve last seen Spencer and even now, as he’s just a few metres away, you’re unable to see him. “Happy belated birthday.” Rossi whispers, taking a seat next to you. You turn to face him, slightly stunned. “Sorry?”

“I said happy belated birthday.” He repeats. You can only return a puzzled look, unable to muster the common ‘thank you’. “Spencer. He told me, in the ambulance.” He answers your unasked question. A single tear manages to escape your eye before you sniffle and re-adjust to compose yourself.

“How bad is it?” Your boyfriend's condition is your immediate concern.

“You know it’s funny,” the old man ignores your question, knowing it’s better to not worry you further, “the whole ride here the kid would not stop going on about needing to be there for you. It’s like he was unable to comprehend anything in regards to himself. And now here I am, talking to you, and it’s like you’re unable to comprehend anything that doesn’t concern him.” He takes an almost dramatic pause so he can look you in the eyes, like he’s trying to pass on an unspoken message. Whatever that message was, you didn’t understand it.

He knew you didn’t, because he continued, “even in extreme situations like this one, you think about each other before you think of yourselves. You truly love each other. So, whatever happened before this, let it go. Feeling guilty about it won’t help.” With that he got up from his seat and headed towards the vending machine. Damn profilers. You don’t have a chance to linger on his advice for too long before the doctor shows up. “Spencer Reid?”

Everybody gathers almost immediately around the doctor, waiting to be updated. “He’s got a broken rib, minor concussion, a few deep bruises, specifically around the abdomen, and other minor cuts and bruises. Other than that he’s been heavily sedated, but he’s going to be fine. He’ll be knocked out for a couple of hours, but he’ll be just fine. You’re welcome to see him now, but only two at a time please.” Almost immediately as the doctor leaves, the group turns to look at you and JJ pipes up first. “Would you like to go in first?”

You couldn’t wait to see him before, but now the nerves were getting to you. “No. You guys go in first.”

“Are you sure?” Emily asks.

“We’re allowed two at a time, you know.” Derek reminds you.

“Yeah! The rest of us can take turns while you sit with him!” Garcia pipes up, softly.

“No, come on guys. He’s just as important to you as he is me. Besides I’ll be here for a while, the rest of you need to get home. I can see him after.” You reason.

“Okay. If you insist. But if you change your mind, let us know.” Emily nods, as she begins to head towards Spencer’s room.

You were sitting in the waiting room once more, while the team had taken turns going in and out of Spencer’s room. Eyes trained on the clock, again.

4:31 AM

Most of the team had headed home by now. You were honestly surprised they stayed as long as they did, knowing how late it was and how exhausted most of them were. The only people left besides you were Derek and Hotch. Jack was away at a sleepover so Hotch decided to stay longer, feeling responsible for Spencer. “What’s going on in that mind, Pretty Girl?” Derek now sat across from you.

“Derek!” you jumped slightly, not expecting him. “Nothings going on. Why? Is Spencer okay?”

“You know you keep doing that. Deflecting.” He doesn’t let you get away with it this time.

“I’m not.” You persist.

“You are. Look, Spencer’s one of my closest friends and by extension you’re also my friend. I’m not going to force you to talk about it if you don’t want to, but just know that I am here to listen.” He persists harder.

“Derek, I just…I don’t know what to say. Not just to you, but to him. The last time I saw him, we fought. He said he didn’t want to see me anymore. I know it’s all in my head, but I can’t stop thinking about if he meant it. What if he truly doesn’t want to see me?”

“Woah, woah! Pretty Girl, c’mon. He’s crazy about you, you know that. You’re practically all he ever talks about. I can promise you that no matter how bad you think that fight was, he won’t let it ruin what you have.” The reaffirmations from Emily, Rossi and now Derek were honestly unnecessary. You were a rational person, you already knew everything they’d said to you. The emotions just overpower your rationality at times but hearing those closest to Spencer confirm was how you knew for sure that it’s true. “Thank you, Derek” You responded with a small, but confident smile.

“He’s awake.” Hotch alerts the two of you. FBI training must be heavy on sneak attacks because these fucking profilers had unbelievably light steps. You turn to face the usually monotone man and instead, catch him sporting a relieved smile. He meets your eyes directly as he speaks, “He’s asking for you.” A hopeful huff leaves you as you stand up. “Go get 'em beautiful!” Derek encourages. You thank both him and Hotch, making your way to Spencer's room. You take a deep breath as you approach the door, but before you enter, you make a final note of the time.

4:55 AM

“Hi Angel.” Spencer’s voice weakly acknowledges your arrival in an instant. Your heart feels a mix of hurt and relief at the sight in front of you. His figure’s confined to the gurney and linked with tubes to an IV drip. With every step bringing you closer to him you’re able to make out more of his injuries. Bruises on almost every part of his visible skin, an especially large one covering the surface around his cheekbone, eye and temple. Cuts on his nose, lips, arms - you bite your lip trying to hold back the tears welling you eyes again. “Please say something.” He begs, matching the same pained look as you.

Rossi’s words were starting to make sense. While you looked at your lover in guilt over his marred state, he looked back at you with guilt for worrying you. “You look like hell.” Maybe not the most sensible thing to say right now, but you didn’t want to cry and worry Spencer further. The poor attempt to lighten the mood showed some success because you earned a light chuckle from your boyfriend. The atmosphere didn’t stay light for long though, the two of you almost instantly falling silent as you stared into his beautiful brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The words fall out from both of you simultaneously. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Angel. You were right and I was being unfair.” Spencer intertwines his fingers with yours, immediately rejecting your apology. “You were,” you agree “but I was also unfair. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He tries to sit up, wincing from the unanticipated sharp sting. This earns him a soft reprimand from you, reminding him of his broken rib and you instead use the remote to shift the gurney into a position comfortable for him to lean against. “You need to be more careful!” You whine.

“I know, I know. I just, I want to hold you.” He whines back, staring at you with his dangerously powerful puppy eyes. Those eyes were actually dangerous, you had to internally fight yourself to not give in. You opted to meet him half-way and lightly wrapped your arms around his head for a quick hug. “Don’t look at me like that. There will be no holding unless the doctor clears it.” You whispered against his hair before pulling away, not wanting to accidentally hurt him more. “Technically I’m a doctor-” He tries to protest, but you beat him to it. “A medical doctor, Spencer.”

You pull the chair from behind so you can sit as close to him as possible and take his free hand into yours, holding it tightly. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” You look at him in disbelief as the words leave his mouth. “Spencer, forget the stupid birthday please! Actually, can we just stop with the apologies? I’m just glad that you’re okay- sort of.” Your eyes scan over his injuries again as you say the last sentence. “Stop. Don’t do that. I’m okay, I promise.” It’s more of a request than anything else. He doesn’t like being ‘babied’ or pitied. “Angel look here.” his fingers guide your face to meet his eyes.

“I’m okay. These will heal, but please don’t give me that look. I know you want to talk about it and we will, later. Right now I just want to talk to you about anything else.”

“I know you do, it’s just hard Spencer. There’s so much to say and I was so worried. I spent three days thinking you hated me. Well, technically, I actually spent two days thinking you hated me and the third losing my mind about-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cups your face gently to cut off your ramble and keeps his same soft, whispery tone, “I know. I too spent the last 3 days, 4 hours and 55 minutes regretting the last thing I might have ever said to you was something I never should have said because I was being an ass.”

“Don’t say that!” You immediately interject, unable to even think about the meaning behind his words. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “Shhhh, just listen.”

“There’s just so much more I have to say. So much more we need to talk about. And right now I just want to talk to you about anything else, even the little things that don’t matter. Especially the things that don’t matter. So please, just tell me about all the pointless things.” His voice cracks slightly at his plea, his gaze connecting so deeply with yours, tears glazing his lashes.

Stupid puppy eyes. There was no fighting against them this time, you gave in. The two of you talked until the medication knocked him out. It was easy like that with Spencer, you never ran out of topics. Nurses went in and out of the room, hours passed by, but you stayed right there next to him. The next few days were spent in the hospital, you only left to get refreshed if somebody from the team was there with Spencer while you were gone. Spencer was asleep most of the time due to the medication. Everybody from the BAU took turns visiting, Garcia always bringing fresh food with her.

Before Spencer was discharged, the two of you agreed that it would be best for you to stay with him while he recovered. You wanted to be there for him in case he needed anything and he’d take any excuse to have you near him. It was a smart decision overall, because the broken rib rendered Spencer unable to do almost anything on his own. Which is why you were currently watching him bathe, perched on the edge of his bathroom counter, making sure your boyfriend didn’t accidentally hurt himself further.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I’ll be fine.” Spencer insists. “He says, after almost breaking another bone trying to undress by himself earlier.” You snark.

“I think you’re enjoying this a bit too much.” Amusement surfaces in his voice and it causes you to blush.

“Careful, handsome, you’re going to work yourself up and end up disappointed.” You successfully fluster him back. The doctor deemed Spencer unfit for any physical activity, much to his dismay.

“Ughhh,” he groans, dramatically, rolling his head back. “This is so unfai-Ah!” His complaint is cut off by his own shriek while trying to reach the loofah around his back.

“Shit Spencer!” You panic, hopping off the counter and rushing to his side, grabbing the loofah out of his grasp. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I just can’t reach my back, I guess.”

“That’s literally what I’m here for, dummy. Let me get it.” You shuffle behind him from outside the tub and gently push him forward so you can access his back.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to do this.” There’s a slight hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Spencer, love, stop. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Plus, I like taking care of you.” It was true. Doing small things to make his life convenient made you happy.

“It’s not just because it’s embarrassing. You shouldn’t have to go out of your way for me like this, you have better things to spend your time on.” The insecurity in his words makes your heart ache. Reaching your hand around his jaw, you turn his head back towards you as you lean in to meet his eyes.

“How can I get it through your thick, beautiful, skull that I want to be here? I want to do this. I want to spend my time with you.” You state matter of factly. He searches your face for any hint of insincerity. Unable to find any, he whispers, “Thank you” and leans in to give you a gentle kiss.

“And plus, you did promise we’d make up for the lost 3 days, 4 hours and 55 minutes when you got discharged.” You jokingly remind him of his words to you in a conversation you shared at the hospital. He chuckled and kissed you once more.

“I will.” A re-affirmation of his promise. “But this doesn’t count.”

“How so?” You question. “We’re here together aren’t we?”

“Yes, but you deserve more than this.” He declared. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Spencer, you don’t have to make anything up to me. We have to make up for lost time.”

“Let me make it up to you anyway?” He flashes those damn eyes at you again.

“Just get better first okay, then we’ll talk. Plus you owe me a conversation before anything else.” Normally Spencer was the one who’d have to remind you of things, but today it was the other way around.

“I guess I do.” He sighs in defeat, “Before we do that I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Rossi offered to throw you a party for your birthday and I kind of, maybe, said yes? It was less of an offer and more of a statement if I’m honest, but I thought you’d like it because you’re a huge fan of his books and always wanted to see his mansion. There’s tons of space for your family and friends too and-”

You cut off his speech with a kiss. “That’s wonderful Spencer, thank you. Tell Rossi I said thank you as well.”

“You’re not disappointed? I know you prefer smaller celebrations and originally I had something else planned but given my current state it’s a bit hard to go through with those plans.”

“Of course I’m not disappointed. I’d be happy with anything as long as you’re there.” You flash him a grateful, genuine smile. He kisses you briefly. Then again. And again.

“As much as I love kissing you, we need to get you to bed. Come on.” The two of you share kisses, giggles and loving looks, as you help him out of the tub, dry him off and get him dressed. Making your way over to the bed, you first help him settle in before getting into your side. It’s clear that Spencer doesn’t know where to start.

“Let’s start with that night.” You take the lead. He takes a deep breath as he begins to recount the events.

“I felt terrible after you left. I never meant any of it and I just, I am so sorry.”

“I know. I am too.” You reassured your lover, not wanting him to bear guilt over it any longer.

“I was on your way to your apartment to apologise when I bumped into the unsub. The next thing I knew I couldn’t feel my legs and was being thrown into the back of the van.” He couldn’t offer you more than the basic details, due to the classified nature of his job. The unsub wanted revenge because Spencer was the reason they were caught in the first place. “I’m sorry” is how Spencer finished his re-telling.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry, that’s not your fault.” A light, confused chuckle escapes your throat as you speak.

“Because, I put you in danger. Because this job puts me in danger, which always puts you in danger by extension. You deserv-”

“Stop. Spencer, stop.” You cut him off, afraid of what he was insinuating. “Stop telling me what I deserve. I knew what your job was when I entered this relationship. Don’t.” Tears threatening to spill from you, your fingers digging into your own flesh to try and stop them. Spencer noticed, gently coaxing your fingers away from your palm as he massaged your hand lightly.

“Angel look at me.” He almost commands. You begrudgingly meet his eyes, holding your breath as you mentally prepare for the ‘it’s not you, it’s me speech’ you’d heard before from others. “What’s wrong?” He questions, not entirely sure as to why you were crying. For a genius he could be really unaware of his wording sometimes.

“Why do you keep saying that?” You’re unable to hold your tears.

“Because I want you to know that I’m going to do better from now. To give you the ‘better’ you deserve.” He wipes your tears, still holding on to your hand.

“Then why does it sound like you’re trying to break up with me right now?” You sniffle, squeezing his hand slightly.

“I must really suck at communicating, because that’s the exact opposite of what I’m trying to do.” He uses his hand to gently coax your head towards him so he can kiss you. “I want to move in together. With you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. If there’s anything I’ve realised over the past few days, it’s that I really hate being away from you. I hate not being able to see you, hear your voice, feel your touch.” He gives you another kiss. “I am not going anywhere. And I really hope you don’t either. Move in with me?”

You give him a peck. “Yes.” Another peck. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll move in with you.” A deep, longing kiss. You share a few more kisses and then nestle against him. Both of you laughing.

The next few hours pass with both of you just enjoying being in each other's arms. Gently stroking the others hair, small kisses here and there, ‘I love you’s’ bouncing off from one another. The 3 days, 4 hours and 55 minutes spent worrying you won’t see each other again seem so silly now that you’ve got everyday to look forward to.

“Angel?” Spencer’s voice lulls you out from your semi-conscious state. “Hm?”

“Thank you.” On the surface it was just a simple sentence, but his intention was deeper than that. It was a show of gratitude for you choosing him. For staying with him through the hard times.

“Always.” Your promise that you’d do it again.

“Spencer?” You say after a second.

“Yes my love?” Spencer replies.

“Thank you too.”

“Always.”

Both of you fall asleep cuddling not long after. There were still a few things that needed to be worked out, but one thing was for sure, you were going to wake up next to the love of your life the next morning and then every morning after that. You’d truly found your forever person in each other.

Spoilers: Hurt, Angst, Fluff, Comfort, Established Relationship.

AN - First fic I’ve ever written. It’s been in my drafts for so long, I’ve edited it so many times. I hope you didn’t feel too edged because 80% of this is without Spencer scenes (I did and I wrote it).

Feel free to drop helpful criticism, I’m always looking to improve. Remember to stay real and respectful :)

Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #ssa spencer reid #fem!reader #bau team #spencer reid fic

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cryptid-crawly · 1 year

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Advice for Writing Fanfic

Assume your readers know what’s up. People read fanfic because they are, well, fans. Write with the assumption that your readers know the basics of the source material.

Don’t rewrite canon scenes unless you’ve significantly changed them. Whether it’s and AU or canon divergence, reading a play-by-play of the exact same scene as in canon (or one nearly identical with few or cosmetic changes) gets really old really fast. If there’s an important minor change, reference it in an original scene. If nothing changed and it’s canon divergence, your readers will assume it’s the same as canon. Want to rewrite an iconic canon scene in some vastly different AU? Change it up. Identify what elements of the scene are the most important and make something new that keeps the essence of those things.

Do not change your tags after the fact. To elaborate: this *specifically* means that you shouldn’t tag your fic with something only to go “ah-ha! It was a red herring!” and delete the tag later. Don’t do that. (A very dramatic example is tagging the fic as Everyone Lives/No One Dies and then deleting that later so you can have a surprise character death). Yeah, you might change your mind. In that case, let your readers know in the Author’s notes. But don’t do this on purpose.

Don’t worry about spoiling your plot. Have the greatest plot ever? Awesome! But people aren’t reading fanfic for new and original ideas (it’s transformative work for a reason). It’s great to write a complex and compelling story, but remember that first and foremost, people read fanfic to have a comfortable and familiar experience. It really really sucks to read 50k of something only to have a new tag/element thrown in as a surprise twist, when you intentionally try to filter that stuff out.

Write your summary to reflect what tropes/ships/setting your fic will have. This is part of not worrying about spoilers. Again, you may have a fantastic idea, but if you’re too afraid of spoiling it you may leave out too many details in the summary and people won’t be interested. Let your readers know what this story is about! Don’t be afraid to spoil some of the plot—I guarantee you it will make some people excited to “get to that point” in the fic. (For example, if character A secretly being a werewolf is an early plot twist, maybe don’t worry so much about revealing that in the summary?)

Don’t say you suck at summaries in the summary. Just trust me on this one. Write a summary like you’re convincing yourself to read the fic. Slap it on and go.

Stop using greenette, [color]-ette etc. That’s not done in published fiction.

Read published fiction. I don’t care what you read but read some of it occasionally. Otherwise you get used to the way that other fanfic writers write and ily all and am blown away by the creativity people put out into the world but many writers are new and learning and you’ll pick up bad habits. I personally recommend reading literary classics because 8 times out of 10 the writing is legit good. Not always, but it’s easier to guarantee good quality then just picking a random book.

Write for yourself. Yeah, whatever, this is lame advice. But it’s also true. Write what you want to read, otherwise you probably won’t have any fun. Eventually you’ll get to a point where you’re confident in your writing and you can go back and read your stuff and go “I am the funniest motherfucker in the room” and you’ll be right. (Replace “funniest” with whatever genre term applies to you. Like “angstiest”. Ignore that that isn’t a word.)

Comment on other people’s fics with questions. So technically this goes with the read published works one but it applies to both. The point is to develop literary analysis skills. When you read anything, think about it. Vague and unhelpful advice? Hell yeah that is. So if you want some concrete starting places: when you’re reading fic, ask yourself if you agree with how the author characterized your fav. Why did they act that way? Would you have written it that way? And engage with the author! This doesn’t mean point-blank saying “well I would’ve written it like this…” but if you notice a character decision you agree/disagree on or is interesting, simply ask “hey [xyz] scene/moment was interesting, why did you decide [blorbo] would do that?” Understand why authors made the choices they did in their writing. Learn. Grow. Flourish. Take over the world.

Occasionally revisit the source material. Reread or watch it or whatever applies. Dump fanon out of your head and think about the source. Please. I love you all, but please. Thank you.

To anyone who writes fanfic: I love you and thank you for sharing with the world. Hope this helps.

#thanks for coming to my Ted talk #writing advice #fanfic writing advice #fanfic writing #fanfic advice #idk wtf to tag this #read it and internalize it thank you #i have fallen into some of these pitfalls before #we are all susceptible #not the red herring tag thing tho but I have seen that #don’t do that #as someone who consumes a lot of fic the rewriting of canon scenes is my hill to die on #like it’s not a fanfic writing sin but by god #i suffer #AND AGAIN #i too have fallen astray #and done that

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lil-oreo-crumbles · 2 months

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Care to discuss Zarina?

HELL YEAH she’s my GIRLLL 👑

Princess Zarina Kardona of Septarsis, second hatched child of the former (now passed) Rulers of Septarsis, and unofficial second in charge of Septarsis after her older brother, the legendary Seth of Septarsis.

Gonna try and keep this brief-ish (this is not brief omfg I’m sorry this is so long)

Zarina spent all of her early childhood in Septarsis. She never travelled outside of it. Septarsis was all she ever knew.

Just like her brother, she’s seen the extent of the horrors of Mewmankind. She too was stolen from Septarsis and taken to the same place Seth was where they were both put under the worst circumstances for 89 years. (I’m intentionally being vague on the details of this)

Seth feels personally responsible to take care of his sister since he was 15 years older than her. Around the time they were taken there was a notable mental age difference (Zarina was 35 and Seth was 50, making them in Septarian aging the equivalent to 8 and 12 respectively), and even if the gap has been closed and they’re both basically the same mental age, he still carries with him that responsibility, even if she can take care of herself now.

^^^“Just don’t leave me alone wondering where you are” “I am stronger than you give me credit for”

Zarina in her current form had no chance to actually blossom until after those 89 years. She realized her identity and gave herself a new name in the middle of those 89 years, but due to their situation she was hard pressed to do anything about her physical appearance :(

Seth is endlessly supportive of his sister’s new name and her transition. He loves her to death.

She and Seth worked as a team (with the help of the other captured monster kids) to get out of their situation and eventually made it back to Septarsis, and she sobbed at the sight of her homeland in its dark age.

Because of the atrocities they both were subjected to, both Seth and Zarina have a close, almost unbreakable bond. Yes, they quarrel all the damn time and get on each other’s nerves, but they rarely keep anything from each other. If one of them did, let’s say the other would be crushed.

In situations where the siblings work together for a cause, Seth is the outspoken one who inspires crowds of people and gets everyone hyped. He can command an audience and be charismatic and win people over. Zarina, however, is a lot more introverted. She cares a lot more about interpersonal relationships. She’s the type to privately talk to people, ease their fears, and inspire hope individually. Seth will speak to the crowd, Zarina will speak to the person.

In those same situations they both work together on strategy, both offering their own unique perspectives but ultimately finding compromises.

Zarina was the one to give the final blow that killed the man who not only took over Septarsis and put their civilization into its dark age, but also orchestrated the murder of their parents. It was liberating.

Despite her calm, reserved, formal, and polite exterior, if you dare get on her bad side/make her angry she can get so much more threatening and violent than her brother. You do not want to piss this woman off.

Zarina is, to put it bluntly, sheltered as all hell to anything outside Septarsis and those 89 years. This makes her incredibly socially awkward. She carries with her a sense of grace and formality as the Princess of Septarsis, but that’s mainly because she doesn’t speak in front of people too much. If she’s confronted about anything she’ll freeze up and mutter something if she doesn’t know or otherwise. (This is why Seth was the chosen leader lol). Plus she’s also very introverted so she just prefers being alone or with a few close people in general.

Zarina is also, notoriously, a horrible liar. She may be able to keep a secret but finds it difficult to lie when confronted. This ties back to her social awkwardness. She could not lie to save her life, it’d be written all over her face.

She was the first person to actually hear Mylanie out about her peace ideology. She asked Mylanie privately to discuss her ideas. She put aside her own biases and experiences to listen deeply and intently to what Mylanie was trying to do, being one of the first people to realize how honest and earnest she really was about this whole thing. Zarina convinced Seth to hear her out too, sparking the friendship and bond between the three of them.

Zarina, despite her past, gains a nuanced opinion about the Mewman situation. This is when she withdrawals from firmly siding with her brother to something in the middle between him and Mylanie.

Zarina finds herself as the awkward middleman between her extroverted pessimistic brother and their extroverted optimistic friend, Mylanie, as the introverted realist who calms them down when things gets too heated. She’s kind of like the referee which I think is hilarious

Mylanie was the one to finally coax Zarina out of her shell, opening her mind to the various cultures amoungst the different Monsters and even Mewmans. Seth was a lot more well travelled as the Supreme Lord, so Mylanie got to be her personal guide to the outside world.

Being around Seth and Mylanie for so long finally influenced her to be more outspoken and develop her skills in leadership and delegation. They inspire her.

She hates the whole courting thing because she knows it disrespects Mylanie’s boundaries. She always angrily tells Seth to quit it.

Like Seth, Zarina similarly loves Torrence (aka Toffee) very much. She isn’t as outwardly affectionate because of how reserved she is, but shows her appreciation in little ways that mean a lot (she basically allows him free access to the Septarian library, for example)

When Mylanie passed away, just like Seth and Toffee, she was devastated. Seth avoided confronting his grief by piling himself into the war effort and Toffee had Eclipsa to lift his spirits, but Zarina had basically no one. She was alone in her grief and fell back into the cycle of isolation.

The first time she stepped outside after Mylanie’s passing was when she confronted Eclipsa and lost her arm. Rasticore created a prototype robotic arm (that was later improved by an actual engineer…) for her to use as a prosthetic that she greatly appreciates. And because of this Seth doesn’t let her go anywhere without a soldier by her side.

Zarina and her nephew are very close.

Zarina, unlike Seth, really values people’s boundaries. With that being said, she doesn’t put any extra pressure on Toffee after she and Seth take him in and leaves him be for the most part, but is always there with open arms if he needs her. She never refers to Toffee in any familial way— she knows how he responds to that *cough*Seth calling him son*cough*— even if he’s the closest thing to a son she’s ever had. She loves him with everything she has, but he’d never guess it since she rarely feels like she can express it.

Toffee’s bad boy phase gave her grey hairs she lost her temper with his attitude and cockiness so much.

Zarina offered to go as the representative for Septarsis when Comet sent out the banquet invitation before Toffee offered.

After the Comet situation and Toffee and Seth’s fight, Zarina tried to talk to him one on one. However, Toffee was far too angry that the two of them ended up having their own quarrel before he left.

I’ve alluded to this, but Zarina and Seth were both devastated when news of Toffee’s death finally reached them. Zarina uncharacteristically acted impulsively and wanted to send out the army to give Moon and Star a taste of real Septarian aggression for murdering one of their most prominent figures. Seth, on the other hand, despite being just as furious, had to seriously talk her down and explain that it’s not smart to rush into things and waste Septarsis’s resources. It took everything in her power to not take action against the Butterflies, but did back down.

I feel like there may be this underlying inferred inferiority complex, because of how well known Seth is and all of his accomplishments, but I wanna make it known that Zarina holds no animosity towards him. Sure, she’s a bit disappointed that no one really knows who she is, but also simultaneously relieved. Again, she’s not the outspoken type, so it works in her favor if she can chill in the shadows.

Sometimes though people do mistake her for Seth’s wife which… makes both of them fly off the handle with vocal disgust for fairly obvious reasons. That’s the hard part about not being known, but she manages.

WOWOWOW I loved talking about my girl Zarina she’s so fun I love her.

#svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #septarsis dragonfly au #svtfoe oc #zarina kardona of septarsis #seth kardona of septarsis #Zarina is my girlie #I’ve been wanting to slightly redesign her #I might post a picture of her if I find motivation to draw her #Zarina is one of my favorite characters #THERES SO MUCH MORE I WANT TO SHARE #BUT I CANTTTTTTTTT #ARGHHHHHH #Evermore from Beauty and The Beast Female Cover vibes

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nogoodverybadexorcism · 2 years

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Hey everyone, this is a bit of a weird one but here we go anyway. I'm gonna try and word this as best I can but please forgive any missteps.

So I think a lot of us in the Raimi fanbase have seen quite a lot of posts where people have met Ted and have had what they felt to be a very positive experience- which is great! But I'm seeing a lot of very profusely enthusiastic responses to some behaviours which I think are actually potentially dangerous. Things like gift giving from celebrities, a lot of physical contact, some potentially suspicious remarks and especially maintaining contact are all thing which can definitely just be put down to empathetic/kind behaviour but can be very real red flags, especially put together.

And it's fine, people are adults I'm not saying they can't do any of these things but I think as fan communities its important we look after one another and when we glorify people who have contact with a celeb to such an extreme level it can compound situations and normalise, encourage and even make it difficult to back out of actions that put them at risk. Think with recent issues with people like Win Butler, Jason Sispek, hell even John Darnielle a few years back we need to just be more aware of this stuff. Darnielle had correspondence with a fan that was based in a desire to be friends but ended up with both of them getting hurt and the fan accusing him of shit because of his feelings of rejection when John backed out - it gets messy quick, and we should be alert to when these things are a risk.

And at the end of the day, we don't know celebrities. It comes up time and time again that the idolisation of other people can lead to red flags being missed or at least people being accidentally hurt. Not to mention tumblr is a place where nuance goes to die and people we do not really know are talked about like they're totally perfect and therefore everything they do is perfect, all because we like their public persona.

And just because they seem nice or hang out with people who vouch for them doesn't mean things don't happen whether intentionally or not. In all fanbases based on individuals we need to take a concerted effort in just keeping things in check, ensure boundaries and just be aware of what impact our communities have on people just in case. People still make their own decisions when all is said and done but we can still support environments that respects creators and fans even if that means toning elements down a bit... or even a lot if necessary.

(And fuck knows I've contributed to it too)

I'm keeping this relatively vague which is why this reads so weird. I don't want people to interpret this as trying to start anything, nor am I having a go at specific people. But let's look after each other, yeah? Personas aren't the real person. I'm gonna lurk for a bit as the whole thing is messing with me and I just need to figure it out. I'm still available on messages in the meantime.

Talk soon, all the best everyone x

#dont really expect anyone to read this but its playing on my mind #ted raimi #screw it tagging because its important

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histrionic-dragon · 10 months

Text

Good Omens Season 2 Reaction

Spoilers, obviously, so under the cut.

I accidentally saw enough of a gif here on Tumblr that I knew there would be a kiss. I accidentally saw a post here on Tumblr about "watching David Tennant unable to be with the blond he's in love with hits as hard at 26 as it did at 16" so I suspected something sad would happen.

I was not expecting THAT.

I didn't expect the kiss to be angry, and even when Crowley suddenly moved across the room and I thought "here it comes" I didn't expect it to be...devastated. He doesn't think that's going to make a difference. He doesn't think it's going to change things, not really. He just needs to do it, needs to make damn sure that Aziraphale gets it and he's done everything he can, but it's a parting shot, not a real argument.

And he's right. It doesn't change anything.

The narrative doesn't go the easy route of "Oh, what--wait--well that changes everything." Aziraphale's reaction is the worst. I wanted to smack him, and I generally like Aziraphale. I see myself in Aziraphale. I'm bookish and compulsively honest and want to see the best in people. But YE GODS, that is--NO!

It's better. It's more messy, how people really are. But it's so much worse to witness than a neat, fun, happy ending.

Maybe if he had more time, Aziraphale would process and fuss and dither and make up his mind and do something, but Metatron hustled him along (intentionally? is there a plot? don't really care right now) and he went. Even when he saw Crowley waiting by the car--"Yes, yes, I stormed out, but I haven't stormed out, I'm right here, I haven't abandoned you"--he goes.

At this point I actually put my head in my hands.

I thought maybe there would be some kind of plea deal with Heaven and Hell to avert the war where they both have to never see each other again. I didn't expect that they'd be separated because of someone's choice.

Again: it's a better, more human story. It's a worse, more human situation.

Aziraphale still doesn't fundamentally get something about Crowley.

The "I can change things if I'm in charge" argument, yeah, I can see that being a very strong, pardon the word, temptation. But that wasn't even what he was most excited about: he wanted him and Crowley to be angels and happy together. He's missing the point for Crowley because of what he wants. Crowley isn't a violent creep like most of the demons, sure, but he's still a demon. He doesn't like Hell, but he doesn't like Heaven either. He doesn't want to go back. He might have "sauntered vaguely downwards," but he was kicked out of Heaven for asking questions and he doesn't like that way of running things. Heaven sends angels to kill kids. Heaven was perfectly ready to destroy Aziraphale. He's not OK with that.

Azariphale wants to be with the good guys, wants to see the good in everyone, and wants to reconcile that good in everyone with the stricter, decontextualized good that Heaven has in mind. Crowley doesn't define "good" or "bad" as "in line with Heaven/Hell" much anymore, I don't think, and I don't think Aziraphale really understands that, even after millennia.

Also: David Tennant is a remarkably good actor. I enjoyed him a lot in Doctor Who, but the Tenth Doctor is on a continuum between goofy and all-powerful angsty adolescent most of the time. Crowley, whatever else he may be (and he's a lot of other things), is a grown-up. He's more nuanced. That comes through so well even in wordless scenes where he's wearing big dark sunglasses. Wow.

Unrelated also: I so appreciate the line "Can we throw books at them? Not the fiction, obviously, but the encyclopedias? It's all online anyway these days." I am deeply gratified that, in a life-or-death situation, someone had the initial reaction of "naturally we can't damage the books, especially the stories."

#Good Omens Season 2 #Good Omens Spoilers #Welp that broke my heart #But I loved it #Very real #Augh

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sapphire-weapon · 9 months

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Oh my god so I know I'm really stupid, especially for someone who's been into pop culture fandoms for YEARS. Hell, they were my teenage safe space, lmao. But I saw some vague references to some lingo on your blog that I just... still don't really understand!? I'm talking about "self shipping" and "kinning". I don't understand what they're supposed to mean or why they're objectively bad.

Self shipping = My understanding is that someone finds a fictional character attractive and fuckable/dateable. Which I guess is fine, because most are pretty much designed to be attractive to the audience. So what's the difference between "hell yeah! If I got the chance! Some fanfiction could be fun too" and self shipping? I don't get it? Is it just... more intense or?

Kinning = .... I do not understand. Like, everybody finds characters relatable. They're written that way intentionally. What's the difference between "yeah, I resonate, maybe sometimes some headcanons about our shared issues provides comfort" and kinning? I've seen the term float around for YEARS and to this day, I haven't a notion on what it actually means and entails!?

(Also: I know you're an RE blog and it's absolutely not your responsibility to educate me lmao. So I apologise for the intrusion, if it's too off topic/not interesting to you feel free to ignore!!)

It's all good; I'm not an RE blog. I'm just blogging about RE right now. That's why my url is from FF7 and not RE. I just cycle to wherever my hyperfixations take me.

Self-shipping = I primarily read Canon Character x Reader fic and don't want this character to be shipped with another canon character, because I'd rather have the fantasy of them being my boyfriend/girlfriend. Maybe I'll even create a self-insert OC in order to write my own stories and turn myself into an actual character as opposed to just a generic/nebulous reader.

Kinning = I believe a fictional character in question is Actually Literally A Real Person who just exists on a different plane of reality but is actually Real and therefore I can be in a Real romantic relationship with them and/or I believe that I am the fictional character in question in the sense that we share the same soul across realities (hence why we originally called them "Soulbonders") and/or I was this fictional character in a past life

Self-shippers know that they're just making up stories and playing pretend. Kinnies do not.

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grokebaby · 2 years

Text

Vision vs finished product

Hell's high judgements

(this is just me rambling about my initial ideas and process for their character designs)

Tw for a(n image of a) sort of veiny eyeball creature (okhula from fran bow)

Delilah - I think pretty early on, like almost from the start I decided to have her be Deirdre's sister so i already had some footing and reference to go off of for her design. Tho it's possible that at some point in the hazy beginning I hadn't thought of that yet but nonetheless my image of her was some kind of large horned demon. I may have pictured the character as more masculine, or at least not a woman initially but I think that changed really quickly bc like I said she became Deirdre's sister pretty much upon conception. Her initial idea wasn't very different from what we ended up with, my first vision was just a vague, tall, intimidating looking demon who had like their head mysteriously in the shadow and the only way you could tell where the face is was thanks to her glowing horns. Her first vision was more of an aesthetic and a vibe bc being one of twins, she was very easy to design from then on. I also pretty much immediately knew I wanted her to be heavily scarred, particularly on the face, but it took me a bit to figure out how, specifically. I think at first I thought of her missing even more eyes than she is now. Her designing had a clumsy first few steps but it wasn't difficult to settle on. What ended up being difficult was redrawing her at all lmao, I still feel like i do her disservice every other time I draw her ;-; Idk why she's so hard for me to make look decent bc she's not intended to look off-putting or anything like some of my designs intentionally are. Aside from struggling to learn to draw her, it was pretty straightforward. I would say I'm pleased w the final product if I was confident in how I draw her but as of rn I feel like the problem is more me than the design lol :')

Hart - My idea was an indistinguishable mass of eldritchean tentacles, sprinkle in some eyes and whatever extra freaky stuff and yeah. The final product ended up having alot more distinguishing features bc originally I had them be like, an actual black blob. Void with eyes. Like those black cats you only see when they open their eyes. My idea did develop a little from there and I thought of adding onto the "What is this" factor by having them sort of resemble having a legit body structure but twisted and twirled into such knots that it'd be impossible to tell where everything was actually meant to be. Like just, the most tangled uncanny mess. It had this kind of theme, an idea of being folded into itself and having multiple parts that could open and be straightened out and it'd be like this interesting thing w Hart looking a bit different when they're actually completely unfolded. Sort of like how hedgehogs are just spike balls when in defense mode, but w a Lovecraftian horror who is maddeningly dizzying to interpret. Just a weird, uncanny, what am I looking at creature, of resembling body parts that actually aren't those body parts but just placed and knotted to look like them. I'm not sure if I achieved that vibe, tbh the final product looks more like just a generic Tentacle monster with a flavor of Toothless from how to train your dragon but hey. It looks charming and expressive and I'm fine w that :]

Xerxes - He's probably the most visually different from the first idea. I actually actively challenged myself w him, particularly to diverge from the very first idea somehow and do something a little different. Only thing that stayed constant, and the thing I knew I wanted for him from the start, was One Eye. And look at that, he still only has one eye. Technically. My very first visual was this sort of weird.. This. I wasn't sure how else to describe it

Like, that, but just very muscular lol. This sort of. Muscle eyeball demon. Kinda grotesque looking now that I think about it but it felt fitting for a hell demon or Wrath. Just a massive eye. My idea evolved slightly into like an orc or a cyclops after that but this is where I diverged to challenge myself and I thought maybe it could be some beastly looking animal, closer to a minotaur or some animal warrior you'd find in an mmorpg, stuff like that. Initially I had Xerxes be quadrupedal tho, like a feral animal, but still be sentient and demonic somehow. I wanted him to look really fierce and I designed armor and really heavy chains around his neck. I did really like the chains aesthetic but I decided instantly that I WILL NOT be drawing chains that often no sir! When I made him more centaur in body structure I still kept him like, a cyclops for a little while until I decided he could just have battle scars and just lost the other eye. I actually had him resemble a boar at first, I'm not sure when he shifted to being a bull. I could be remembering this part wrong too but I just remember trying to practice drawing a very fierce looking (herbivore) animal. I specifically wanted him to not be a predator animal ykno. I felt like a lion or something would've been too generic or predictable and I wanted some practice, and hey, I've since become pretty attached to bulls specifically. Apparently. Which is neat I think, not sure why I'm so fond of them but I sure am now. Thanks Xerxes. From then on he's mostly evolved to just look more, uh, Idk, better represented as the animal he is? I just know I was poor at drawing bovines and similar animals way back then but have since gotten notably better so I think Xerxes looks amazing these days. I didn't struggle learning to draw him nearly as much as Delilah, he was actually fairly easy bc I proceeded to draw him a fair amount once I really learned him. But like I said I've gotten practice and improved in things like drawing buff people since then so, the final product is great, even though I draw his armor way, way less lol. I'm not that great w armor and besides, I don't draw him in battle all that often..

#my thoughts #my ocs #Character notes #Character design #Delilah #Xerxes #Hart #Design process #Demon oc #I've thought of doing rambles like these for a while now #I may do more on other characters

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condomglitter · 1 year

Note

Where'd you disappear to?

hell.

But no, seriously, lmfao. I don't think we have the time, word-count, or space to go over all of it -- so maybe, like, key points? Below the read-more?

TL;DR, though, my life collapsed and I followed it. I'm back, though. Woo.

TRIGGER WARNING: stalking, assault, mental illness, divorce, eating disorder, abortion, sexual assault, abuse, uhhh... trauma.

in no specific order, but like... vaguely chronological, I guess

Got medicated for anxiety & depression

Left my abusive husband.

Moved in with friends

Phone got hacked. Pictures were taken. Pictures were uploaded online. Strangers have indeed seen my butthole. Lots.

Got some stalkers bc of said pictures. Discovered the hacker put a tracking virus in my phone! Started getting people taking pictures of me while I was minding my fucking business in public & posting them on a super fun forum where they TRACKED ME AROUND THE CITY.

Cops didn't help bc ACAB & of course they fucking wouldn't. Sorry. "Can't". Useless.

Got an abortion bc I'd rather die than have my abuser's baby lmao

Started trying to officially divorce previously mentioned abusive husband. Dealing with a lawyer & everything that comes with it as he does his very best to be the biggest asshole on the planet about it.

Relapsed in & out of my ED over the course of the past two/three years. Doing much better now thanks to a strong support network though <3

Lost my jobs bc of pandemic closures. Got more jobs. Quit them bc I no longer tolerate being treated like replaceable garbage. Got fired from one, definitely not for requesting accommodations they swear.

Apartment flooded. Damage is, two years later, still not fixed. I am, as you can imagine, jazzed about this every day (sarcastic)

Got MORE medicated for anxiety & depression

Developed mysterious and chronic pains! Doctors still don't know what's wrong.

Stopped doing much drawing or writing bc I couldn't figure out how to do any of it without suffering lasting consequences due to said pains afterward.

Got professionally diagnosed with an alphabet's worth of disorders

Had several mental breakdowns, clawing rifts in my personal relationships & friendships that I may never repair as a result!

Ended up with 7 cats, somehow.

Also got two bunnies. Ill advised. Regrets are minimal.

Got even more meds for even more problems lmao I feel like the lady in grandma's boy having pills & syrup for breakfast

Got a really good job with our city that I love

Started playing D&D to scratch the rp itch

Crumbled & returned to tungle dot hell to see if I can scrape two years of dust off this shit & get back to business (chaos)

And that??? might be it?? I am so certain I'm missing things, not to mention I intentionally left out some more private details (IMAGINE WHAT THEY ARE IF THIS IS THE PUBLIC LIST. LMAO) but, yeah, that's the gist of it!

#; ooc #; asks #; anonymous #it's been a rough fucking three years let me tell YOU lmfao

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gingeredmink · 2 months

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here i am with the second ask like i said. name of the .flow fansong is OUT OF SORTS by OrgansDotOrg on youtube (.) com /watch?v=FFMt_ACOUdM

short but sweet! seeing people in the comments talking about .flow filled me with life, ngl. and i will admit this might be my own bias but it kinda feels like a spiritual successor to ghost and pals's oxidation and dream monsters? definitely not intentionally one, but something about the rhythm, and the way the lyrics use imagery to try and get things about .flow across... idk food for thought.

AYE NICE! [Clickable link for those that don't wanna copy pasta]

This is really cool! God feel you there, seeing yn/fg content and other fans out in the wild is such a joyous experience. Think it's cause it's such a niche it's always a surprise to find out someone else has heard of it. That sorta, "YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS? I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE! I'M SO HAPPY THERE ARE OTHERS" thing. Especially considering a lot of these games haven't seen any new material for years and probably never will, it's nice knowing there's others that were affected as much as you and still care for it. seeing how many people get excited for lolrust's anniversary streams is like that too heh

Hmmm, can see why you'd say that. Know nothing of either artist but it wouldn't be surprising if Ghost was an inspiration for Organs. Will throw out there, this sorta theater/carnival vibe seems to be fairly common in English Vocaloid songs [though i have next to no knowledge so it could just be me happening to get these songs a lot or something]. Plus writing lyrics that reference things in a way that isn't too literal or vague while fitting to a rhyme/rhythm is difficult, and you only have so much to work with in a game like .flow [esp since it has such a strong central theme, if that's the right wording for it]

I'm no lyricist by any means but have messed around with writing some and tho it'd be an entirely different genre [its me, if I ever make a .flow fansong song it's gonna sound like MIW] I could see how trying to get them to reference the game would result in it sounding similar-ish. Ex:

Hell is my home, my own room will be my tomb Chained to machinery meant to save me, yet all it does is keep the nightmare going. - Cut off my limbs and let this rotten blood stain the concrete The white hospital walls are just an illusion [can't you see the flowers cover graves?] The demon I fought down so long takes its grip and starts to seethe I'm no longer a person, just a fucking disease

As said, tis hard to make references without being too literal while still making sure you have enough there for people to be able to figure out what you're talking about heh.

buuuut yeah, really cool song and could absolutely see it at least being an indirect/accidental spiritual successor to Oxidation. Also huge thank you for sharing both song and album!! There's so much incredible fanwork out there that slips under the radar I am more than happy to try to get stuff more attention, plus I honestly love hearing other people talk about or sharing things they like ◠⸜⸝◠

#rayns asks #added this song to list as well #thank you for sharing! I really loved them #sorry if i went off on a ramble again here heh

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romanapologist · 3 years

Text

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’#roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

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fanimesenseiwrites · 3 years

Text

Asmo's Faux Pas

This story was inspired by a daily chat with Asmo. The chat, for those of you who haven't seen it, is just Asmo desperately apologizing for something. So it got me thinking, what could Asmo have done that would have the MC so pissed? This story also features my genderfluid MC.

What happens when Asmo tries to get the MC to do something they really don't wanna do?

Hoshiko threw the front door to the House of Lamentation open and then slammed it closed behind them.

"Why are we slamming doors?" Lucifer asked them, his tone vaguely admonishing. He was walking down the stairs as he did so.

Hoshiko stopped briefly to look and point at him. "Fuck you." They immediately turned and headed towards their room.

Lucifer was so taken aback that he couldn't immediately respond; but before he could follow after Hoshiko, Asmo ran into the house, also slamming the door open.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him. "Again, with the door slamming?"

Asmo looked up at him, looking panicked. "Sorry, sorry! Did you see which way Hoshiko went?"

"I believe they were going to their room."

"Okay!" He ran off in that direction.

"Hey!" Lucifer called after him and followed him quickly. "What did you do?"

Asmo chuckled nervously. "What makes you think I did anything?"

"Asmodeus," Lucifer's tone was icy, similar to when he was scolding Mammon.

Asmo shivered. "Okay, I upset Hoshiko but I'm trying to apologize, I swear!"

"You better fix this, if they run around pissed all week, I will be pissed."

"Yeah, yeah I get it!"

They ran into Hoshiko and Mammon talking in the hallway right in front of Hoshiko's room.

Hoshiko glanced at them when they walked up.

"Hey Mammon, do you wanna take a bath with me?" Hoshiko asked him loudly.

Mammon blushed. "Oh... uh..."

Asmo pouted. "Don't do that, you're just trying to make me jealous."

Hoshiko snapped their head towards Asmo. "You know what they say about assuming things, Asmodeus," their tone was cold as they said his full name.

Asmo shivered and pouted. "Please don't be like this," he pleaded as he walked over to them.

"Like what? Righteously furious at your audacity?! Your insensitivity?! Your crass and crude behavior?!"

Asmo gasped. "I am never crude!"

Then Beelzebub walked in from the kitchen with a bag of chips. "Why are we yelling?" He asked in between mouthfuls of chips.

"Because Asmo tried to get me to have an orgy in the club!" Hoshiko revealed, still staring Asmo down.

Beel choked briefly on the chips he was eating.

Mammon's jaw dropped and his head snapped to Asmo.

"Asmodeus," Lucifer's tone was deadly.

Asmo blushed, now embarrassed. "Come on, it was just a misunderstanding..."

"No! A misunderstanding is ordering me the wrong drink, not intentionally luring other demons to our private room with the promise of sex with the Avatar of Lust and a human sorcerer... and Solomon wasn't there!"

"But you said-"

Hoshiko interrupted him. "Whatever I said, it wasn't "I want to engage in an orgy with you!" Much less in a public place!"

"We had a private room!"

"You're missing the point!"

Hoshiko had let themself get so worked up that an magical aura was oozing from their body and it could be felt throughout the whole house.

The other three brothers had come downstairs to investigate.

Mammon nudged Hoshiko when he noticed his other brothers.

"What?" They snapped at him.

Mammon flinched but then nodded towards his other brothers at the end of the hall. "Don't you think you're kinda worked up?"

Hoshiko looked at everyone and then took stock of themself. "Oh," they took a deep breath and the aura disappeared. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize..."

Asmo stepped towards Hoshiko but they stepped back.

Asmo frowned.

"Asmodeus," Hoshiko's voice was cold and commanding. "Go to your room and think about what you've done."

Asmo whimpered but did as he was told, not as though he had a choice.

Hoshiko waited until he was out of sight before grabbing onto Mammon's arm.

He looked at them.

"I'm gonna collapse..." They told him shakily.

"What?" He was barely able to register what they said before their legs gave out from under them.

Beel swiftly scooped up Hoshiko before they had a chance to touch the ground.

The brothers all rushed to Hoshiko's side.

"What was all that?" Satan asked Hoshiko.

Hoshiko sighed and shook their head. "I got out of control... I was just so angry..."

Satan chuckled softly. "I understand that."

Hoshiko started to cry.

"Hey, don't cry. Asmo, totally deserved you yellin' at him," Mammon told them.

"But I yelled at him in the club too, in front of all those other people... he may be an idiot but he's still one of the seven rulers of hell, what if I ruined his reputation? He's supposed to be really powerful and me, some little nobody human brought him to his knees... I might've ruined him..." Hoshiko sniffled and wiped away their tears, though they kept coming.

"You're not nobody..." Mammon told them as he gripped their hand.

"You're too good," Beel told them as he squeezed them comfortingly.

Lucifer walked over to Hoshiko and wiped their tears with a handkerchief that he pulled from his breast pocket. "I appreciate your concern for Asmodeus, for my brother, but I assure you that he will be fine."

Hoshiko nodded and sniffed.

"I think it's best if you just rest and calm down for now."

"Yeah... can I have ice cream first?"

Lucifer chuckled. "Of course."

"Can I also have ice cream?" Beel asked.

Lucifer sighed. "Yes."

"Me too?" Mammon asked.

"Yes, everyone can have ice cream! Don't ask me again."

Hoshiko laughed.

They all headed into the kitchen to get some ice cream.

Beel set Hoshiko down on a stool when they got in there.

"You didn't have to carry me all the way in here, " Hoshiko told him.

Beel shrugged. "I was already holding you."

Lucifer got the ice cream out of the freezer, but he seemed to pull out way more than could fit in the freezer.

"... is there a pocket dimension the freezer?" Hoshiko asked jokingly.

"Yes, " Lucifer replied seriously.

"Oh..."

"Only I can open it, so someone doesn't eat all the ice cream."

Hoshiko looked at Beel but he was already digging into a carton of cookie dough ice cream.

Hoshiko chuckled and shook their head.

"Everyone has their own ice cream, so this also prevents anyone from eating anyone else's."

"Oh, well I don't-"

Lucifer handed them a carton of rocky road. "You don't what?"

Hoshiko grinned as they took it. "I love you."

Lucifer smirked. "I know."

Satan handed them a spoon.

"Thank you." They took it and started eating. "... I appreciate y'all. I hope you know that."

The brothers all looked at Hoshiko.

"We appreciate you too. You've done a lot for this family," Lucifer told them.

"You are family," Belphie corrected him.

Lucifer nodded. "That's right."

Hoshiko smiled at them and put the lid back on their ice cream. "I think I'm gonna go take a shower, I feel gross."

Lucifer took the ice cream from them and put it away. "Go relax, let us know if you need anything."

Hoshiko nodded and went to their room and showered. They were laying on their bed trying to relax when they got a text message from Asmo.

- Hoshiko! There's no need to ignore me is there?-

Hoshiko sighed and just stared at their phone.

-I really do regret what I did. I swear, you can take me at my word.-

Hoshiko scoffed and thought about how they should respond.

Asmo texted them again before they could reply.

- Please, I can't stand being neglected.-

- You haven't blocked me have you???-

- Because I'd cry my own eyes out if you did that. Drown in my own tears.-

Hoshiko was trying to respond to him but couldn't do it faster than he was texting them.

- but not before storming into your room to... have a chat of course.-

- my door is locked- Hoshiko finally got a chance to respond.

- That's nothing that Beel can't handle for me-

-I don't think he'll help you right now.-

- Either way, it's a load off my mind that you hadn't blocked me! It's as if color has come flooding back into my once drab and sullen world!-

- I'm hungry now, would you like to go get something to eat with me?-

- I'm not hungry- Hoshiko replied.

-I know that's not true because we didn't eat dinner.-

Hoshiko scowled at their stomach when it growled, betraying how they really felt.

Hoshiko was surprised when they didn't get another text message from Asmo. They started to text him first until there was knock at their door.

"Hoshiko?" Asmo's voice came from the other side of the door.

Hoshiko got up from the bed and walked over to the door, but didn't respond.

"I really am sorry. I took advantage of your kindness and didn't take your feelings into account before making a decision. I really realized that once you blew up on me. I just want you to know that from the bottom of my heart, I apologize... is there any way you can forgive me? I don't think I could handle butting heads with you for the rest of my life... why, it'd be a fate worse than death!" He chuckled but he still sounded sad.

Hoshiko started to cry quietly.

"So what do ya say? Can I take you out to eat to apologize? I want to go back to the way things were..."

"Asmo..." Hoshiko sobbed.

"Can I have one more chance? Please? I swear, I only need one."

Hoshiko opened the door to look at him, tears in their eyes.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you in the club."

Asmo chuckled and wiped the tears from his own eyes. "You're sorry? I'm the one at fault here."

"I felt bad about yelling at you in front of people and all your brothers said I was too nice," Hoshiko laughed but was still crying.

Asmo moved to wipe Hoshiko's tears. "Are you hiding a halo and wings somewhere? Because you're an angel."

Hoshiko hugged him. "I forgive you."

Asmo hugged back and squeezed them. "I'm truly glad that you've decided to give me another chance."

"... my life would be dull without you in it as well," Hoshiko told him.

"Oh you're so sweet, I could just eat you up!" Asmo kissed their forehead.

Hoshiko chuckled. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Hoshiko," Asmo told them as he stroked their cheek.

"... you really wanna treat me to dinner?" Hoshiko asked.

"Yes. Whatever it takes to get back on your good side," Asmo told them.

"I just wanna go to Hell's Kitchen, is that cool?"

Asmo nodded. "Sounds perfect."

Hoshiko grinned and kissed his chin.

Asmo smiled and kissed Hoshiko.

They kissed back as they gripped Asmo's blouse.

"I think you were only mad at me for a couple hours but I would've thought it was a lifetime..." Asmo told Hoshiko.

Hoshiko chuckled. "It's all water under the bridge now."

Asmo nodded with a radiant smile. "Come on, let's go eat."

Hoshiko nodded and held his hand.

Asmo kissed their hand before leading them out of the house.

#I don't get a lot of inspiration for Asmo so I really like this one actually #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fanfic #my work #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me mc #my obey me mc #Hoshiko Higure #asmo and mc #asmo x mc

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

8. mystery

Mysteries at their very core are questions we have and are not answered. Questions that relentlessly itch at the back of one’s mind that cannot be scratched no matter how hard we search for them. While Inkwell ‘Inky’ or ‘the Ink Demon’ Drew never thought twice about his prophet’s oddities when he was his servant, he sure as hell was bothered by them when the masked maestro became his foe. (Set in FIFE au, timeline intentionally kept vague for spoiler reasons.)

“AAAAURRRRGHH!!”

The Ink demon screamed his head off out of frustration, ripping up false leads and throwing the confetti-fied papers into the air, bathing himself in a shower of failures and frustration. He then slammed a small, ink stained toy Bendy meant to represent Sammy down on a map of the united states, a long with an inkwell with a custom topper (shaped like his own face and body, as it was meant to represent him), A mud-stained Alice Angel doll with the halo ripped off (Allison’s rep), and a one-armed Boris toy (Tom).

He then slammed his fists over the map and plush toys over and over again instead of working on making strategies, not that anyone could blame him knowing that the former prophet had grown skilled in the arts of bullshitting his way out of situations by bullshitting himself into other situation.

“HOW IS HE- err... HOW IS IT DOING THIS?!” He buried his face in his now perfectly matched cartoon hands. “Sure, it had the lead at first, that was a given because nobody even knew it was gone until it was too late, But now?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW IS THAT STUPID EX-PROPHET OF MINE EVADING AND OUTSMARTING US AT EVERY TWIST AND TURN POSSIBLE?! HOW IS HE RUNNING CIRCLES AROUND US AND EVEN TAKING THE TIME TO TAUNT US?! IT’S A MENTALLY UNSTABLE MASKED MUSICIAN WHO’S OBSESSED WITH SHEEP FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY!”

Henry, clearly woken up by the Ink Demon’s very loud shit talking his ex and wallowing in despair, wandered into the kitchen that Inky temporarily turned into his base of operation. The animator, still not awake enough to deal with this, fixed himself and the Ink demon up some midnight snacks (well, closer to 2 am snacks, but who would stop them, night snack cops?)

As the man sat down at the table, the demon leaned against him.

“Heeeeeeeeenrrrrrryyyyyyy... You’re a smart cookie and you’ve probably befriended it in several timelines. How do I get it baaaaaaaaack..?”

“The ink machine? I don’t know, guess it’s up to keeping your eyes on the news peeled and getting lucky. Sammy? Well, I don’t think you can, Inky.” Henry stated as he bit into a bologna and spray cheese sandwich. “One of the less fun parts of redemption is having to accept that not everyone can or will forgive you, especially when you’ve hurt them deeply enough and the wound’s still fresh on their end. I don’t think that Sammy’s ever going to want to see you again, unless it’s to beat you to a pulp.”

“PffftHAHAHHA! Do... do you think I cry myself to sleep over Sammy leaving me or something? That I actually MISS him?”

Henry stared at the demon blankly and raised an eyebrow of disbelief while the ink Demon’s jack-o-lantern like smile wavered.

“...Do you really think I do that?”

“Well, for someone who’s ‘completely over it and never liked it in the first place.’, you’re the most invested out of any of us in bringing him back here. And this isn’t the first time you’ve woken me up over Sammy, it’s just the first time you haven’t been woken the house up by flooding the house with the sheer force of your eyes alone.”

The Ink demon made an embarrassed face and cleared his throat, trying to brush it off.

“Well no, I’m not looking for reconciliation between us or anything, I mean, how do I bring it back here so that it doesn’t either accidentally or intentionally use its weird abilities to &%#@ the world over?”

“I... still don’t know that pal.” Henry took another bite. “Sammy might not think like a normal person does, but it’s actually pretty smart and fast on its feet, and As the prophet, it seems to be great at finding abstract solutions to problems. I’d hate to sound like a defeatist, but it seems like the best thing to do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

“BUT HE NEVER WAS THIS COMPETENT BACK IN THE LOOPS!”

“We aren’t in the loops anymore, Inkwell.” Henry sighed. “None of us are bound to scripts written by someone who hated our guts.”

“Okay fine. But how does this explain the teleporting?”

“...The what?”

“Teleporting! I brushed it off back in the loops but he’s doing it more and more and I’m getting really annoyed. I gave it SOME perks that only come with being my prophet, but not TELEPORTING, I’m not an idiot. And I’m like, 58-93 percent sure Joey didn’t do it either..? On one hand: he’d TOTALLY give Sammy teleporting powers JUST to peeve me off. On the other hand: WHY WOULD HE HAND GIFT SAMMY THE ABILITY TO FREELY WALK OUT OF THE LOOP WHENEVER IT %&#@ING WANTED?!”

The Ink Demon snatched a sandwich off the pile and angrily bit into it. Meanwhile behind the both of them, a dark robed figure wearing a featureless white mask wandered into the kitchen.

“I want to stay mad, but this is a really good sandwich.”

“Thank you.”

The figure looked through the pantry before pulling out a package of cookies with a sticky note written in Welsh on it.

“Good evening freed bellwether, and decent enough evening to you, false shepherd.”

“Good Evening Sleep Paralysis demon that whispers of singing the song that rebirths the universe at the foot of my bed.” Henry deadpanned.

“G’Evening masked stranger who somehow teleported into our house and has a voice and mannerisms that are suspiciously identical to my missing ex-prophet.”

The cloaked figure sat down at the table with them and passed its sleeve over the cookie package while whispering something neither of them could make out, this apparently broke a magic seal on the cookies that neither of them knew about.

The Ink demon wordlessly offered a sandwich to the figure, who hesitantly accepted it and gave a few cream and cookie sandwiches in return.

For a handful of minutes, the trio ate their food in silence until the dots in the Ink Demon’s brain connected.

“Hey wait a *$@#ing minute... SAMMY LAWRENCE?!”

“...Oh Shit.”

“Inky...” Henry grabbed onto the Ink Demon’s elbow. “Before you do anything ask yourself if

The figure froze for several tense seconds, slowly closed up the cookie package, hid it in its robes, raised the sandwich to his face as if taking a bite out of it when the mask covered its entire face and had no hole in it for it to eat out of, and it BOLTED with the sandwich stuck on where its mouth would be.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME?!” The Ink demon shouted after as he gave chase. “WHY IS YOUR SKIN BROWN?! WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE SKIN?! WHERE’D YOU STICK THE INK MACHINE?! HOW DO YOU COME BACK WHEN YOU’RE SUPPOSEDLY LIVING IT UP IN EUROPE?! WHY DO OTHER PEOPLE KNOW YOU WHEN THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDIO?! HOW DO YOU EAT WHILE WEARING A FULL FACE MASK WITH NO HOLES IN IT?!”

Not answering any of those questions, the masked figure ran like mad with the full force of the inky typhoon at its heels, the latter tearing through everything behind it and the demon conducting it still shouted questions as he chased his prey.

“HOW THE %*#@ DO YOUR ABILITIES WORK?! WHAT’S WITH ALL THE PLANT $#*! YOU’VE BEEN DOING?! AND WHAT’S WITH ALL THE GREEK AND BIBLICAL MYTHS IN YOUR BASES?! DOES MUSIC EFFECT YOUR MAGICAL ABILITIES OR NOT?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE MAGIC OR ARE YOU JUST REALLY $(@*ING GOOD AT SLIGHT OF HAND STUFF NOW?!”

The pair briefly paused to open the window without breaking it, climbed through, the figure reminded the Ink Demon to close it on the other side, and the pair continued to LEG IT and the Demon continued to shout questions.

“WHY DO YOU EVEN COME BACK WHEN YOU ALWAYS LEAVE WITHOUT EXPLANATION?!”

He shouted to the empty air, completely losing the figure to the outside wilderness and being answered by nothing but the echo of his own question.

“W-why...” The demon slunk down to the grassy floor. “Why does my chest hurt so much when I think about us and how we used to be?”

“I’m pretty sure that feeling is guilt.” Henry offered as he threw a blanket over the disheartened demon’s shoulders.

“YEah..” The demon’s voice cracked with emotion. “ThAT’s probably it...” he sniffled.

“C’mon.” Henry brought the demon back up to his (feet? foot? tail?) brought the demon off the ground. “Let’s go back inside.”

“...Hey Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can answer the other questions I have for Sammy too?”

“Some of them, maybe.”

As the pair walked back to their house, the masked figure let out a sigh of relief.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #ink demon #on model ink demon #Henry Stein #sammy lawrence #ink demonth #fanfic #batim fife au

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scars-of-the-hart · 3 years

Text

Tempest on the Shore: Shakarian angst on the Citadel

Her legs had finally stopped trembling. Shit. Shepard tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the woozy, tingling, mind-wiping high. But it was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, it slipped away through the cracks no matter how tightly she tried to hold it, leaving emptiness behind. And the emptiness was loud. She let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over shifting to the edge of the bed, remembering exactly where she had dropped her pants and tank top. She hadn’t bothered with underwear for this in ages.

“Um...excuse me?” Demanded the salarian in the bed pressing himself up onto his elbows.

Shepard gave him a puzzled frown.

The salarian (he had a name but she’d intentionally failed to commit it to memory) imperiously raised a scaled brow at her. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you made.”

“What noise?”

“You sighed.”

“Oh...um did I?”

The salarian scowled at her. “Yes, you did. Look honey, I don’t know what your problem is but two hours with me will not result in the most quad-rung overstimulated krogan feeling dissatisfied so you better get that little viscous crack looked at.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and cast a disgusted look between her legs. “Because it is the problem. Not. Me.”

Shepard just stared at him. She was tempted to pay him double because she was close to laughing, which was more of a service than anything he’d done in this bed. But the spark went out as quickly as it had come.

She shook her head as she tucked a hand between her legs. Not too wet. Manageable for the walk back to the Normandy. That was the handy thing about salarians. The females created enough moisture of their own that the blokes were pretty dry in the bed. As she pulled her pants on she gave the salarain a hard look. “I appreciate that you take so much pride in your work, but you're worrying your giant head over nothing. You were great. Thanks.” He still looked pissed as hell. She vaguely tried to care, but just couldn’t. “Keep to working with people's bodies, you’ve got no natural ability with their heads.” She pulled her tank on, bound her tangled mane of red hair in a messy bun on top of her head, crossed to the door and waved her omnitool across the payment console. It registered her transfer of credits and the door clicked as it unlocked and hissed open. She gave the salarian a mocking salute as she left.

“See you in two weeks, freak.” He called after her, his voice full of venom.

She tried to ignore it. She wouldn't be back, she lied to herself as she made her way along the wards. The streets were wet from the rain that had been falling before she started her session with the salarian. The layer of moisture almost made this part of the Citadel beautiful. There was something about the extended blur of the neon lights that made them romantic, instead of just... seedy.

A human who passed her made the mistake of eyeing the motion of her breasts under her tank and she gave him a look that told him exactly what kind of retribution that attention merited. He turned instantly pale and hastily turned down a different street. She should care-about the way he had looked, or his reaction or...or anything. She pushed away that thought as she tried to push away every other, shifting her focus to the way walking made her recently stimulated vagina feel. She shifted her stride, trying to stir any lingering feelings of pleasure, to tease out a last rush of dopamine, but it wasn’t working. Between the bitchy salarian, and the oggloing tool...or maybe it was just her. Just the empty, broken, piece of shit she was. She glanced at the time on her omnitool. She had half an hour before the end of their shore leave. Fuck. She could be fast but that wasn’t going to give her enough time for a session with anything if she wanted to avoid judgmental looks from Miranda and the Cerberus goons for coming back late when she was the one who had threatened to depart without any stragglers.

You know what, fuck it. I didn’t ask to come back from the dead.

She pulled up the booking page that had become the top listing for her “frequently used” extranet sites, and started typing in her preferences. Doesn’t matter if I pay for a full session and only use a few minutes. What am I gonna do with credits when the Reapers get here? Try to pay them off? She filled out the request sheet as she walked: either gender, cunnelingus. There literally wasn’t time to fuck around with penetration. Species. The form asked. Shepard grunted impatiently, didn’t really matter, she just needed something waiting for her when she got to the back rooms of Chora’s Den. She selected turian by accident, and then physically collided with one.

Shepard rubbed her forehead where it had collided with the offending turian’s armor as pain lanced through her head. Ok, any lingering effects of the salarian generated dopamine were definitely gone now. She glowered up at the mandabled idiot she had run into, preparing a curt, ufelt apology, and fell silent as she caught sight of the glow of a blue visor.

SHIT

“Commander…” Garrus’ browplates furrowed as he stared at her in surprise. Shepherd’s mind went completely blank as she just stared at him. His crystalline eyes widened in concern and more than a little shock. A steadying hand went to her arm and his rough tipped fingers round her brow, testing gently. “Are you...I’m sorry I should have-”

Shepherd’s gut clenched and she quickly brushed away his hands. “Been watching where the fuck you were going. Yeah. Work on that.” His head cocked ever so slightly at her harsh tone, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

“I’m sorry, Shepard.” His mandibles flared in irritation. “I was endeavoring to make it back to the Normandy as you-”

“-yeah, well if you're that careless while carrying out an order you're not gonna last two minutes against the Collectors.” She snapped. His eyes narrowed further, every calculating thought clear in those eyes. Fucker. Shepard though. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have the energy or the...anything, for this. “ I’ll have to put what’s left of your cold ass carapace in a box.”

And then she saw his chin set: slightly raised, head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His pissed off defensive posture. She was too tired and empty and furious and stressed and scared and-

Shepard turned on her heel and started stomping towards the nearest tram station that would lead her to the Citadel docks.

“Yeah,” Garrus called after her, “if you can still afford a box and you haven’t spent every last Cerberus credit at Chora’s.”

Ice shot down her spine. She stopped, turned slowly and stared at the turian. “Excuse me, Vakarian?”

His chin was still set. “I’m sorry, is there something inaccurate in my assessment?” He drawled.

She hadn’t ever been followed...not that she cared if she had, you just didn’t survive the shit she did and remain capable of not checking for tails and hostels and whatever. She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. Why would she care if he knew? Especially if it was Garrus. Garrus who had gotten his whole crew killed. Garrus who’s medical chart after taking a rocket to the face had shown just what crap the turian had been pouring into his body (well...Moria wasn’t going to point fingers there..unless certain taloned fingers were already pointing at her), but that wasn’t the point why should she care? Except he shouldn’t know.

She gritted her teeth. “I would say there is as I have no idea what you are talking about.”

His eyes were cold as they narrowed. He casually lifted the hand that had, only minutes ago, brushed tenderly against her forehead, and sniffed it. His nostrils flared. “Salarian. Human sweat, yours, by the way, we’ve spared enough for me to recognize it. “

“Oh, fuck you, Vakarian.” She spat. “I probably smell like you, dipshit, after running into you. Who the fuck do you think you are throwing accuzations at your commanding officer?”

“You do smell like me.” Garrus snarled, “but it's different, and there's also a little krogan, asari and batarian-” she opened her mouth to snarl at him but he spoke over her “-not that those are from today, or you, not quite in the same way as the salarian. My guess is those scents are left over from whoever else was in the room before you.”

Rage washed through ther. “If you want to get back on my ship you’ll shut that pincushion of a mouth right now.”

Garrus’ nostrils flared, and she didn't think it had anything to do with him smelling her this time. “You asked me to come aboard!”

“Yeah,” Shepard snarled, “and I remember someone saying that he couldn’t exactly doubt my judgement.”

“That was before you were fucking everything and anything on the wards.”

It was like the world bottomed out around her. Nothing existed but his eyes and those words. She saw fear flash through them for a second, before being replaced by that same rage as before.

“And what the hell makes you think what I fuck is any of your goddamn business?”

There was some hurt in the rage. “Because I’m your friend Shepard.”

“Yeah. Friend. And crew. Neither of which has anything to do with the personal choices I make.”

“Look,” he said, “taking on the Collectors, everything with the Council, coming back from the dead I get that its a lot to deal with-”

Heat rushed through her cheeks. “And I'm dealing with it so back the hell off.”

“You’re being reckless there’s-”

Why was this happening? Why was she having this conversation? Why did it matter- she shoved the thoughts a way and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about “being reckless” Archangel.”

It was a direct hit. Garrus blinked, a different type of pain in his expression. Shepherd’s gut twisted. It was a low blow. A fucking dirty low blow.

He looked away from her, staring out at the skycars soaring past the walkway, then gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye. “You are reckless in the field. You are tense on the ship. Its behavior I recognize. I was there recently, as you have so kindly reminded me.”

She wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She just held his gaze.

He slowly closed the difference between them, staring down at her. She refused to give ground: she didn’t move her chin an inch, and continued to glare up at him. He tilted his head so that he could meet her gaze and said slowly. “I don’t care who you fuck.” They were inches apart. “I care why you make bad calls when you know there are better ones.” She couldn’t breathe. His long slow breaths tickled her nose. “You asked for my help.” The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. “So I’m going to call you on your bullshit, Shepard.”

He’d been the one to support her after Eden Prime. Someone who had seen through Saren’s lies on his own. The one she wanted on her side on every mission. The only one who hadn’t questioned her using Cerberus…An feelings the salarian had left in her body were gone, the vague numb bliss replaced with the electric currents those eyes sent racing through her. She was rooted to the spot and ready to rush him all at once. She wanted her hands on him, to tear, to push against that immovable impossible weight and solidness of him. That was what she wanted. She wanted something real, something strong, something constant, something she could unleash herself against without fear. Her lips parted as a breath escaped them, crashing against his like a wave.

But something broke the spell between them and Garrus pulled back. “No one on that ship is in their right mind.” He said quietly. “I have a feeling we’re all going to have to grapple with spirits that haunt us if we want a shot at taking the fight to the Collectors and coming back in one piece.” He gave her a last long slow look. “But I think you need to figure out what the hell you're actually fighting for.” And with that he turned away, walking towards the docs without so much of a backwards glance. His crest cast a long shadow on the ground in the slowly dimming lights of the Citadel promenade, and Shepard felt herself fall into darkness as it slipped away.

#shakarian #garrus #Femshep #angst #romance #interspecies sex

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faunusrights · 3 years

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if it’s a gentleman’s sport then why am i, ruby rose, so good at it? - snooker au

i straight up started writing this at like 11:45pm on my phone directly onto tumblr before i passed out for the night. is this garbage. yes. do i care. no. this is a part of the snooker au i’ve joked about before, which is a winter/ruby Sports Anime-Esque adventure into one of my favourite niche sports, up there with professional air hockey and rally. snooker is good! you should check it out! it’s like pool but more confusing, and you have to wear a waistcoat whilst you play it. i don’t make the rules, i merely enforce them.

///

“I never thought I’d say this,” Blake says out of nowhere, and their eyes are going sort of wide with the realisation, catching on the golden lights of the hall and glimmering a soft amber, “but I actually think I’m compelled by this horseshit.”

Weiss sighs so hard that it sounds more like a wheeze, but Ruby’s already overjoyed, turning towards Blake and Weiss with her cue held overhead, readying a cheer. “I knew it! I told you! Snooker is so good, right?”

Weiss had known coming to Patch’s single snooker hall to watch Ruby practise had been a bad idea for myriad reasons, the chief of which was that Ruby is almost certainly on a crash-course with Weiss’s older sister as she climbs the precarious ranks at an almost flippant pace, but the second was that the last thing she needs is for her datemate to find literally anything interesting in a sport about knocking balls together. Tragically, Weiss has always been somewhat adjacent to snooker given its status as the Gentleman’s Sport and its broad appeal in Atlas, and she’d hoped vaguely supporting her sister’s career whilst also strategically moving herself to Vale meant Weiss would never have to interact with it or any of its players again. Alas...

“It’s deceptively simple,” Blake muses aloud, and Yang tuts from where she’s stood at the opposite end of the snooker table, waiting for Ruby to take her turn.

“Yeah, and deceptively slow when your opponent needs to take five minutes to brag about it between shots. Chop chop, Ruby, we’re not hanging around here all day.”

Ruby pouts, making a show of rounding the table to eye up her angles. “But it’s so fun to talk about! It’s, like, ASMR the sport! And what with all the strategy and the thinking ahead, it’s like... it’s like... ball chess!”

Weiss facepalms. “Maidens have mercy.”

“I’m not wrong,” Ruby insists. “It’s exactly like chess. Ball chess.”

“It is a lot like chess,” Yang admits, and Weiss is glad she looks about as glum about it as Weiss feels. Blake, unfortunately, still looks horribly captivated. What a disaster.

“Ball chess,” Weiss repeats, and it hurts her to even say. “My sister would tie your spine in a knot for that one.”

Ruby snorts, but she finally leans over the table, eyeing up the distant black that Yang had missed. It’s a long pot — Yang had tried to get the cue ball to safety and had failed that endeavour, too, managing the distance but not the snooker — but Ruby doesn’t even hesitate before lining herself up, eyes focusing between her target and her goal before striking true, the cue ball sailing smooth down the table... before it catches the angle just so, the black knocked into the corner pocket with such ease she may as well have picked up the damn thing and dropped it in herself. The cue bounces off the foot cushion before rolling to a calculated stop for an angle on the next red, and Ruby nods appreciatively before turning back to Weiss with a grin, Yang quick to replace the black onto its spot at the bottom of the table.

“Yeah, but she’s gonna have to be nice to me. Way I see it, we’ll first meet in the hall during, like, semi-finals or whatever. Gotta have manners, Weiss.”

“She’ll obliterate you,” Weiss fires back, because she might not care for snooker but she’s Winter’s number one fan hell or high water, and that means tossing out the threats. “As soon as you miss, she’ll clear the table and wipe the floor with you.”

Yang makes a wriggly hand gesture at that. “I dunno. Your sister’s pretty fucking methodical, but I’ve yet to see anyone put Ruby in a position she can’t cheese her way out of. I don’t think you can actually, like, snooker her in a way that matters.”

“It’s trajectories,” Ruby cuts in as she lines up her next shot on the red — there’s only two remaining after this, and Yang’s score is lagging dangerously behind with Ruby’s determined focus to keep herself centred on the black. “Even then, you just have to get fancy with your curves. A snooker is just when your shot isn’t a hundred-percent chance, but I can do a lot with ninety.”

At that, she sinks the red, the cue ball puttering its way back around to give her another straight shot on the black to the opposite corner pocket. Yang’s already losing the will to live, it seems. Weiss can’t blame her. Blake, however, seems more interested than ever. “So, Winter’s methodical and you’re... what, spontaneous?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ruby answers, shaking her head. “It’s more like... since we’re calling this ball chess—“ (“No we’re not,” Weiss interjects to no avail) “—it’s more like Winter’s one of those chess players who knows all the strats, right? Like, uh, Queen’s Gambit or Fool’s Mate or whatever the shit they’re called. So long as every move goes to plan, she’s pretty much unstoppable. Me? I’m like one of those kids who gets a Rubik’s Cube and then completely ignores all the instructions. Like, I totally mess it up before I solve it anyway.”

“Which Ruby has done before,” Yang adds solemnly, and Ruby grins.

“Which I have done before! So, with Winter, as long as she doesn’t miss the pot or fuck up her safety, it’s her game. But I like the unexpected! I like being jammed into a new situation and figuring it out from there. It means I adapt a whole lot better then I fuck up and miss my shot, or the cue doesn’t end up where I planned.”

Blake nods, doing that thing where they sit up straight and cross their arms because they’re getting really quite engaged with the matter, and Weiss hasn’t yet found the inner strength to tell them it makes them look like a carbon copy of their father. “Polar opposites, then?”

“I guess,” Ruby shrugs. “Like, if you give her an inch she’ll take the mile, but if she screws up, she’s gonna have to work hard to put me somewhere I can’t crawl out of again.”

This is why Ruby’s nickname in these halls is The Escape Artist, and it’s the entire reason Weiss absolutely does not, in any capacity, want Ruby and Winter to play against each other. It’ll either be a match that’ll end in as few frames as physically possible, or a match that goes on until Weiss crumbles into fucking dust, and the odds are so 50/50 that she doesn’t like the look of either of them.

It would help if Ruby stopped being so fucking good at snooker, potting the black again with such ease that it’s like breathing at this point. Yang hisses between her teeth, and Ruby raises a brow as she stands up again.

“It’s ungentlemanly conduct to quit a game before you gotta do snookers,” Ruby points out, and Yang scowls.

“Ruby, I have done the maths, and there is not a chance in hell I’m winning now. The day I manage to get points off you missing is the day hell opens up and swallows me whole,” Yang says, though she doesn’t move to quit just yet, still holding onto her cue despite the knowledge it’s no good to her now. “Just clear the table so we can go and get lunch.”

“We could do that,” Ruby agrees. And then, she swings her head around to look at Weiss with an obnoxious grin. “Unless...”

“Ruby Rose,” Weiss snarls, “if you intentionally miss this final red just to keep this game on life support, I will end you.”

#my writing #rwby #ruby rose #snooker au #i have no idea why i was so compelled to write abt it last night but i WAS #anyway this thing literally isnt edited so dont squint too hard at the inevitable spelling errors #11:45pm murphy was a different person idk them

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

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The Daryl and Leah Spoilers - Everybody BREATHE!

Okay, let’s talk about it. We’re gonna have to talk about it. The Crappiest Spoilers of All Time. (We’ll just abbreviate them CSAT, okay?)

Yes, I saw them. Yes, I spent most of the day yesterday talking about them with people. Yes, we went up and down and forward and back and right and left trying to figure out what the hell. Actually, I literally got 68 Asks about this yesterday. 68! Lol. I may have sarcastically told a couple of people it was 400. It wasn’t that high. But even when something big happens, I don’t generally get more than about 20, so this was a lot.

***Below I’ll be talking about all kinds of spoilers for 10x18! If you’re not someone who wants to know, stop reading now. You’ve been warned!***

Okay, let’s start by attacking this head-on.

Does this suck? Yes.

Am I happy about it? Obviously not.

Does it change my opinion about Beth’s return? Not in the slightest.

And in all seriousness, I’m not trying to make light of this. I totally understand how everyone is feeling right now and I feel the same. But if you’re doubting or losing hope, please keep reading. I really think the things I have to say after talking to people in the fandom literally all day yesterday will make you feel better.

So I’m going to talk about some things that are suspicious to me about this, and also about some reasons why, even if it’s exactly what it looks like, we don’t really need to worry. I’m also gonna give you a possible way this could actually be okay, but I’ll warn you that scenario is mostly head canon and not super likely to be the case.

Context

The first thing I’m going to point out is that we really, REALLY do not have the full context for this episode. CSAT are big, but there’s a lot we don’t know about what’s going on here. I have a thousand questions and we can’t really be sure of anything until we know the answers. Which we won’t until we see the episode.

And I don’t mean things that make me doubt CSAT are true. I mean like, what is Leah doing out there? Why did no one else ever meet her? Why did she disappear? Did she go on her own because she’s a jerk, or was she taken? Is the CRM involved? We simply don’t know.

These are just a few, and the answers might profoundly effect the way we view these events. So, I’m just saying there’s a lot we can’t be sure of and we should be taking these with a grain of salt. I’ll come back to these questions in a minute.

The Psychology

So, my first reaction to this was that it’s not entirely unrealistic. Is it out of character? Yes, for sure. They’ve pegged Daryl as a character who wouldn’t do something like this, so it’s definitely out of character for him. I’m totally with ya on that. But I also feel like this isn’t a real relationship for him. What I mean is, it might be something of a rebound or an act of desperation on his part.

Think about what we know about this part of his life. He’s just lost Rick and is devastated. According to these same CSAT, Carol abandons him. AGAIN. I think he’s feeling very depressed and lonely and would reach out to just about anyone at this point. It doesn’t mean he’s in love with her. And yes, I know about the note he wrote to her, but I still think that can be explained by his state of mind. If he’s not feeling like he belongs anywhere else, and Carol has specifically told him she’s not coming back, why wouldn’t he go with someone who’s promising him companionship? I don’t like it, and I know it’s not what everyone wants to hear, but I do understand it.

I promise I’ll move onto happier things. Like this:

Patterns:

We’ve seen this pattern with A LOT of the TWD couples. They put one or both of them together with a small, short-term love interest. And that always happens RIGHT BEFORE they hook up with their soul mate. So, let’s review, shall we?

Carol had Tobin, and right after she left him, she met Ezekiel. Rick kissed Jessi, and only a month after she died, he and Michonne finally got together. Enid was with Ron when we first met her, but it was obvious Carl was meant to be her true love. You could even point to Abraham and Rosita. Their relationship was a bit longer and more established than these others, but the fact is Rosita wasn’t Abe’s soul mate. Sasha was. And now Rosita is with Gabriel, so…

My point is that Leah may be Daryl’s Jessie. Or Tobin. Take your pick. But the pattern is that this will be short term and he should be finding his true soul mate VERY soon after. Just saying.

Is This a Healthy Relationship?

Someone in my group pointed this out. CSAT says she asks him to choose between her and the rest of his life. I didn’t think much about that until one of my FB groupies pointed it out, but it’s really not cool to do that to him. It’s almost passive-aggressive. The way I see it, when you fall in love with someone, you want to get to know their family and participate in every part of their lives. If this was a true, committed relationship, she would WANT to go to Alexandria and meet his friends. She would WANT to help him in his search for Rick’s body. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

So, in terms of how Daryl feels about her, well, loneliness is a different feeling than real love, and I’m not sure this is the healthiest relationship for Daryl to be in.

Scope, or Lack Thereof

The thing that I think most of the fandom is on the same page about is how out of character this is for Daryl. How out of left field this feels.

I’m mean, this is Daryl. Daryl Freaking Dixon. The writers know about the shipping wars. They know that no matter who they pair him up with—Carol, Connie, Beth, Leah, someone else—it’s going to be a huge deal. For them to do it like this just doesn’t make sense.

Now, I don’t think we have a definite timeline on this. We have two possibilities.

1) I’ve seen some people say he’s sleeping with a complete stranger, which is very out of character for him.

2) I’ve also seen posts that claim the two of them meet and develop a relationship over time. That would be less out of character, but it would also mean that the writers developed an entire relationship for Daryl in only one episode…and then took it away.

Does that seem logical to you? I just don’t buy it.

So, at the very least, if this turns out to be what it looks like on the surface—a real romantic relationship for him—I’m gonna say it’s not going to be a big one. It’s not going to be end-all, be-all of Daryl’s love life.

My Praying-This-Headcanon-Is-True-While-Also-Trying-Not-To-Get-My-Hopes-Up-That-It-Is Theory

All right, everyone. I honestly wasn’t sure I should even include this. I don’t want to get people’s hopes up about it. But the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a distinct possibility.

So, @wdway said this first, and I kind of just glazed over it like, “Meh, probably not.” But the more I thought about it, and the more I talked to people and hashed things out, the more sense it made.

Let me go back to some of those questions I asked at the beginning. Why did no one else ever meet Leah when he was in a relationship with her? Yes, because they were out in the woods together, but it talks about him going to see Carol and going to Alexandria and looking for Rick, which is why she asks him to choose in the first place.

But if you have a sustained relationship with someone, why wouldn’t you introduce them to your friends? Why wouldn’t he have taken her to Alexandria with him? It’s really odd to me that this happened at a time when Daryl was completely on his own out in the woods and NO ONE in his life ever saw or met her.

(Once again, I have to point out that with how vague CSAT are, we can’t know for sure that no one else knew about her. Maybe when we watch the episode, it will show that someone did, but this is the vibe I’m getting right now.)

What else do we know about this point in his life? He’s deep in the throes of his grief over Rick, he’s withdrawn to his robotic, survival mode, which he always does when he’s lost someone close to him, Carol has just abandoned him, and he’s lonely. People who spend too much time alone DO tend to go a little crazy.

So, here it is:

Is there any chance this Leah woman…could be a hallucination?

Honestly guys, that makes WAY more sense to me than that she’s real. Because everyone in the fandom who’s saying this is out of character for Daryl is 100% right. Everyone who’s asking why the writers would do this is 100% right to be asking that question.

And let me tell you, it’s not just us asking it. The entire fandom is. Obviously, all the shippers. And while I’m sure there are some in the non-shipping fans who are glad Daryl is getting a love interest, even they think it’s a little weird. Cuz, you know, it is.

But this show regularly does hallucination story arcs, and Daryl himself even has a history of it. I’m just saying.

People have also suggested that it would sort of makes sense given what I said above about the “unhealthiness” of their relationship. Maybe her wanting him to choose was really more about his sanity and leaving the delusion behind. Again, just a thought.

Then there’s the suspicious timing of CSAT.

Suspicious Release of CSAT and Hype

While messaging with @monroelibrarian0626, she said something I hadn’t thought of that made a lot of sense. Does anyone else find it suspicious that they said we wouldn’t be getting screeners for several weeks and then literally two days later all these spoilers about Daryl’s sex life drop?

It’s not rocket science to know that tptb intentionally leaked these to drum up viewership. Everyone is totally going to watch to see what this is all about. But it also seems to me that they may be releasing just enough information to get everyone all hyped up and then it won’t end up being what it seems. Here, I’ll just give you part of my text message with her because she explains this point better than I do.

But yeah, I get that impression that she's not real, and that's really good promotion and hype for the producers to draw in more viewers. Don't miss it! Daryl is gonna have sex! And then, boom! You find out it's a hallucination. I remember with LOST, there was a preview for next week's show, and in it, the Korean guy, Jin, was shown saying, "It's going to be alright." And he didn't speak English then, in season 2, so it was like, OH MY GOD! And here, when the episode aired, Jin speaking English was part of Hurley's hallucination. Could be along the same lines! --@monroelibrarian0626

Doesn’t that just make a certain amount of sense? Especially given how out of character this feels for Daryl? No matter what you think of the writers on this show, they just really don’t betray the way they’ve set up their characters like this.

Now, once again, I’m really not hanging all my hopes on this. I’m preparing myself for the outcome of her being real and this being a real relationship for Daryl. Mostly because I don’t want to get my hopes too high. And I would suggest you all make your peace with that being the case. I’m just throwing this out there as a possibility. Even TD aside, given how out of character this feels, it would make more sense to me than that they’ve actually put him in this relationship.

It could also that once we actually see the entire episode, depending on what the other details of the story line are, it might be really obvious that she’s real and the detail will explain a lot of this away. That’s a real possibility. Once we learn about other parts of the episode, everything I’ve said here could easily go straight down the toilet.

Another outcome is that she could be a hallucination, but we won’t even know it because Daryl doesn’t. If he doesn’t realize she wasn’t real, the viewers might not be told that, either.

Other Things I’m Side-Eyeing

Check out this tweet, specifically the emojis he uses. Don’t you find those suspicious? Fish? A violin? A sunrise? Boat? Hourglass? Now, this guy got a screener. He’s not one of the writers or someone close to the show who would know the overarching grand plan, so I’m not suggesting he has some inside knowledge of Beth’s return.

But why would he use these emojis? There’s no reason for him to tie them to Leah. The only answer there can be is that he saw these things in the episode. He simply added them to the tweet as hints of what we can expect. And if all those symbols are represented in the episode, this is going to be a super heavy Beth-symbolism episode.

Not to mention, have you checked out Leah’s costuming in detail? Her boots are damn close to what Beth’s looked like. And sitting on the porch, the bag on her back looks a LOT like the one Beth carried in Still.

I feel like she’s a Beth stand-in. And I think that will be true whether she’s real or not. Again, if we go with the Tobin/Jessi/Ron pattern, she’ll be a forerunner of Beth, so having Beth symbolism around her isn’t surprising.

But once again, this isn’t something we need to worry about.

And don’t even get me started on the damn cabin motif. I’ve been thinking about this since I did my 5x09/Tyreese post last week. I’m not going to go into details here because I don’t even have it all straight in my head yet, but it has some interesting ramifications for this Daryl/Leah situation.

So, pretty much everything that everyone is saying (including me) is pure conjecture until we actually see the episode. I know that’s probably not very helpful, but it’s the truth.

So, what’s my main point about this? It’s this:

I hope she’s a hallucination, but even if she’s not, it doesn’t bother me overly much. I mean, of course I’m bothered because I don’t like to see him in a relationship with her, but I mean I’m not bothered where Beth is concerned. It doesn’t change the fact that I think she’ll still be back, and this will just be a blip of some kind in Daryl’s story. And if she’s real, and it’s following the Tobin/Jessie/Ron pattern, Beth (his true soulmate) should be surfacing VERY soon thereafter.

So, we basically don’t know anything until we do, and I know the fandom is collectively losing its mind. I know this is going to be hard to get used to. But try to make your peace with it, in all its possible iterations. Try not to let it freak you out. Hold the line, TDers. Hold the line!

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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