#it's the only thing that makes sense to me (at least for now)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

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this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

[ellecdc]

thank you, McLaggen

inspired by the TikTok audio of Phil Dunphy saying "if you ever say anything disrespectful about my wife again, I'll kill you. Sorry, I don't know why that sounded like a joke; I will actually kill you."

James Potter x fem!reader who was apparently 'too much' for McLaggen

CW: they're at a party, readers last relationship left her feeling small, but she loves James and is all good now

It took a bit of unlearning when you found yourself in a relationship with James Potter. 

He sensed your hangups immediately; as if you were a duffle bag containing paraphernalia and he was a well-trained drug dog.

He noticed the way you seemed to fold in on yourself when you were excited, the way you cut yourself off when you began rambling, and the way you seemed to make yourself smaller as if that was what was required for the people around you to feel comfortable.

“Why do you keep snuffing out your own light, lovie? I miss your spark.” He’d said to you one night.

In all honesty, you hadn’t been aware you were even doing such a thing.

But you certainly knew why. 

Though your mother always told you to never look back on life with regrets, you’d spent about a year in what you now consider to be a rather unfortunate relationship with Tiberius McLaggen. 

And though you hadn’t noticed he’d been doing it; by the time your relationship ended, you realised you were perhaps a mere shadow of the person you used to be.

He’d ended the relationship after suggesting you were ‘too much’.

The irony of it was you were the smallest you’d ever been at that point; the ‘least’ you that you could possibly be. How could you be ‘too much’ and diminished at the same time?

You spent a lot of time reflecting after that, but it seemed that when you and James started your relationship, those old habits and qualities made their way back into your subconscious and it took James pointing it out for you to even notice.

You were glad he had, though. He was lovely, and he was caring, and he loved you. He loved your energy, he loved your passion, he loved your excitement, and better yet, he loved sharing those qualities with you.

All of the traits that your ex had deemed unseemly or unflattering were the traits you loved most about James, and in turn what he most loved about you.

And why would you deny such a lovely person of anything they wanted?

You just couldn’t.

So the two of you had been dating for nearly five months already, and you felt more comfortable in yourself than you ever had before.

You thought perhaps that this was just the effect James had on people; you found it almost impossible for any of his friends to be anything but their best selves when they were in his presence. 

You loved him immensely for it. 

You were getting a first hand look at exactly that from your spot on the arm of the sofa as you watched Peter throw his head back in boisterous laughter not usually seen from the typically soft spoken marauder. James didn’t even spend any time being smug about eliciting such a laugh from the cushion below you before he was complimenting Remus on his jumper, knowing very well that Sirius was the who picked it out for him - and also knowing Sirius would absolutely take full responsibility for the compliment - only to coo about how sweet they were together and leaving both boys blushing messes. 

You had almost forgotten you were sitting in the middle of a Gryffindor party when someone sidled up beside you.

“Lookin’ good, Y/N.” McLaggen commented as he looked you up and down.

You fought the urge to grimace as you narrowed your eyes at him. “Tiberius.” 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here; not really your scene, is it?” He commented with an air of casualty you knew was entirely for show. “I’m here with my new bird; she’s in Gryffindor.” He carried on without waiting for you to respond.

You hummed in acknowledgement as you looked around the room. “It doesn’t look like you’re here with anyone, McLaggen, seeing as you’re standing here talking to me.” 

“Come now, can’t old friends catch up?” He said salaciously. 

“We’re not friends, Tiberius.” You retorted forcefully.

He held his hands up in mock surrender as he chuckled at you. “Down girl, no need to get all jumpy now. You always were a bit of a handful, weren’t you?” 

You didn’t even have a chance to tell McLaggen where to shove it before James was standing up from his place hidden behind you as McLaggen’s face fell. 

“Ah, if it isn’t Tiberius McLaggen; kicked off the Ravenclaw quidditch team, failing Astronomy, received a mere acceptable in Herbology last term, and totally shit the bed with the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. I’ve heard so much about you!” James recounted with faux cheer as he stuck his hand out to McLaggen, forcing the bloke to give him an awkward handshake as James stared at him hard.

James Potter was still flashing his (what should be award winning) smile, but it never met his eyes which were no longer their warm hazel. 

“Sounds like you’re the one I have to thank.” James carried on as he dropped McLaggen’s hand, wiped his own hand off on his trousers and threw his other arm protectively, possessively, affectionately over your shoulder. “Turns out if you hadn’t been such an absolute fucking tosser and fumbled the best thing to have ever happened to you, I wouldn’t have my sweet, gorgeous girl here. Congrats on losing the most lovely little thing to have ever looked your way; now sod off before I decide to do something that might just be worth making her frown over.”

You were unsuccessful in hiding your snort of amusement as you hid your face in James’ shoulder and listened to McLaggen scoff and stalk away. 

“Merlin’s tits, Prongsie! Did anyone else know James could be mean!?” Sirius cackled as the two of you turned back towards the group. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen James end a conversation without at least wishing someone a good day.” Peter carried on.

“Did you actually threaten the sod?” Marlene continued.

“No, I didn’t threaten him.” James muttered somewhat petulantly. “I promised him pain if he ever spoke to my girl like that again.”

The group cheered as you felt a shy yet pleased heat spread across your face and you shoved your face back into James’ shoulder.

James, for his part, accepted you eagerly and rubbed his hand up and down your arm as he pressed a kiss into your hair. 

“I’ll never let anyone make you feel small ever again.” He promised quietly; whether he was promising himself, or you, or McLaggen, you weren’t entirely sure.

What you were entirely sure of was that it was a promise he intended to keep.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #james potter #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #ellecdc fics

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION ABOUT THE WEIRD DROW

Replying to a couple of shorter questions! Sorry that I can't get to all of you lest this blog just turns into a stream of constant asks, but I read all of your messages and to be honest there are several that I'm saving to draw something for 😭 alas there are only so many hours in a day.

Thank you for all the support and interactivity as always!

He takes fairly good care of things he considers important or useful - otherwise he's pretty messy or at least indifferent to mess. Definitely a "leaves the wet towel on the bed" guy LOL

Okay so I was bad and not used to DnD mechanics or spells the first time I played the game, so I RARELY ever cast Speak With Animals and had very little sense of their personality during his campaign - BUT THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME WHEN I DID.

THERE WAS ONE TIME WHERE I REMEMBERED.

AND IT WAS PERFECT.

He adores and most of all respects this intense little guy with his whole heart.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Serious answer: he respects wild animals far too much to try and make one into a pet.

Non-serious but still true answer: He would never do that and have to deal with Astarion's incessant Drizzt Do'urden joke comparisons for the rest of his existence. That's that man's personal hell.

He's fairly adaptable! But as far as dynamics go, he does lean bottom regardless of who he's with in bed, but this doesn't necessarily translate into always being on the receptive end of things.

If he were to be with a cisgender woman who doesn't wear a strap like its a second pair of briefs, he would be more than happy to be the pitcher the majority of the time. I think the only scenario where he would be dissatisfied is a restrictive one - he couldn't be with someone who doesn't want to enjoy his whole body in earnest, or who can't flip the roles every once in a while. Also, you have to be a little gross. He has probably caught Astarion off-guard with the things he did on a whim/suggested they do more than once. All in all, as long as whoever he's with is versatile and not a prude, they could probably make it work.

He killed Minthara in her lair and all he got was a bear out of it. Good thing killing her was it's own reward!

MAN... Could just be that his story is far too concrete in my brain already, but it's hard for me to see that working. They are both far too out of touch with their emotions and quiet in their demeanor for me to envision a durable romance sparking. Also, DU drow (who has no clue how old he is himself) thinks of Shadowheart as being far too young for him.

There is a mutual understanding between them that there is a barrier that neither of them is willing to let the other get past - and because that is something they both share, they won't, and they might never try. They work so well as friends because of their similarities, but in a relationship I think that would be to their detriment.

Also, I think silver-haired Shadowheart's wants and needs for her future far diverge from DU drow's chaotic lifestyle, ultimately It's probably best for them to make their own paths.

HAHAHAHA LISTEN.... YOU'RE TALKING AS IF THOSE TWO THINGS DON'T GO TOGETHER PERFECTLY WELL BUT IN MY MIND THEY ARE ONE AND THE SAME.

The thing about DU drow is that he might be a bottom, but he's a very... Uh, engaged bottom. He can be as dominant with a dick in his ass as he can be submissive depending on how it jives with his partner- and he's gonna spew some nonsense either way LOL

Either way... I feel ya brother 😔🍑

He did it himself during a dinner Gortash invited him to. At the table. With a meat knife. He was trying to prove a really stupid point/put Gortash off of him.

I have a script for this and I still need to draw it someday! 🤦‍♂️

He doesn't think anything of it now - it's so far in the past and DU drow obviously isn't the judgemental type when it comes to sordid individuals LOL

As a person, however, Astarion likely wasn't the kind of guy that he would have gotten along with, and vice-versa. Sounds to me like he was pretty poshy and did all his misdeeds under the table - DU drow wouldn't have strong feelings about it from an ethical standpoint, but he wouldn't respect it either. Also, DU drow's is practically anarchistic in his political views - soooooo not much room there to be in love with politicians. I'm sure pre-vampirism Astarion would have less than favorable opinions about him as well so the feeling would have been mutual LOL.

ABSOLUTELY NOT HE NEEDS BOTH EYES TO CUT THROUGH FOES he will gladly put Gale on the slab to see what happens though LMAO

#ask compilation

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

When TXT is making you feel comfortable: habits, routines and rituals that occur when they prioritize your comfort

5 short scenarios per member listed

wc (in total): 1943

no warnings

When Yeonjun is making you comfortable...

... he has his apartment stocked with products that make you feel at home. He has your favorite snacks. He bought your favorite clothes as substitutes that he keeps in his closet for when you stay over. He has some copies of your favorite books and gets some magazines you enjoy. If you're a person who menstruates, he of course has all possible period products ready. If your hobby is painting, he has all utensils at his place. If you are currently into lifting weights and working out, he creates a little sport corner for you. 

'Top drawer on the right', he yells after you when you leave is room to go to the kitchen, because you feel like having a snack.

'Look at the bag in my closet', he instructs when you spilled on your favorite shirt, while he gets the detergent ready to wash your shirt right away.

... he is with you when you decide to face your fears. If he can and it makes sense, he is with you in person, but otherwise, he offers you to be on a call with him or text him. One or the other way,  he will be with you.

'Three, two, one and you go inside, okay? I'll stay on the call and you can return right to my voice if you want to, yeah? Now, my brave baby, three, two, and one'.

... he is his crazy self around you and is the happiest when you slowly allow yourself to let your guard down and become more unhinged yourself. 

'That doesn't sound like a chicken. My donkey impression totally beats yours. Try again'. 

... he directly protects you from other's. Whether it's strangers or friends, encountering you with inappropriate intentions or ignorant jokes, he shields you. 

'Keep walking', he spits at a man who is eyeing you up and down when you are outside. Yeonjun pushes himself between you and the crowd immediately and takes your hand to pull you behind him, not letting go of you until he feels like it's rather safe again. 

... he lets you sleep. Regardless if you fall asleep on his bed, taking up all the space or of you fall asleep directly on him, he lets you. The only time he moves you is when your position looks rather uncomfortable and possibly damaging if you remain lying  like that for too long. 

'Oh? Am I that comfy?', he whispers as he looks down on your sleeping figure on his chest, smiling to himself.

When Soobin is making you comfortable...

... he subtly bends his knees or leans against an accessible surface when he's talking to you, to not tower over you as much.

'Oh, why I'm leaning against the wall like this? I'm just a bit tired, that's all'.

... he carries all your bags at a shopping trip and cheers you on in every outfit you are trying out.

'This looks beautiful on you. Wait? Feels a bit too tight? Give me a second. I'll bring it in a different size', he says and rushes into the isles with bags already dangling from his shoulders. He always has capacity to carry just one more thing if it's for you.

... he never, NEVER, distances himself first when you hug. He always waits for you to be ready to let go, because he doesn't even want to give you one nuanced opportunity to doubt him wanting to be with you.

'I'm not letting go before you're ready', he whispers when you were already in his embrace for ten minutes, standing in the middle of the room. It doesn't matter if you are happy, sad, scared, worried. He is constantly ready to be your safe space. 

... he gives you the biggest side-eye. As much as he admires you, he doesn't put you on a pedestal. When your jokes aren't funny or you say something particularly dumb, he will silently let you know and expects to be treated the same. 

'What do you mean unicorns weren't real at least for one period of time on this earth? I literally saw a documentary about it!', he argues and has to contain himself to not burst into a laughter, seeing you shaking your head in disbelief with a big frown on your face. Those situations are so funny and carefree to him. 

... he has your back regarding everything. Regardless of how unrealistic or silly something may seem, he is always there, encouraging you to at least give it a shot. As uncertain a situation, a project, a try may be, he remains your certain stability. 

'So what if it's stupid? You're curious of it. It excites you, so go and see if it could be working for you', he says and adds that regardless of what happens, in the end of the day you can just return to him as always. 

When Beomgyu is making you comfortable...

... he waves at you when he sees you walking towards him, but is surprised to see you turning around to look at the other people who are walking down the street in an attempt to figure out if he might be meeting someone else.

'I was waving at you, you know', he says after greeting you when you are finally standing in front of him.

... he is puzzled to find you wearing long pajama pants as it is a warm summer night during which he is staying over at your apartment. He toys with the fabric when you sit down next to him and experimentally pulls the fabric up your leg a bit. 

'Isn't it way too warm in those?', he questions and listens to you negating in an obvious lie. 

'Just wear shorts. I won't do or think anything inappropriately only because I see your skin', he assures and when you leave to your bedroom to get changed, he adds, 'And don't you dare forcing yourself into that bra any longer'. 

... he observes you lingering a bit closer around him than usually when you feel particularly down. 

'Want to hug?', he simply asks and opens his arms when you shyly nod, inviting you into his embrace at your own pace. 

... he slides on the bench to sit right next to you when you are particularly anxious in a cafe, and he opens his hand as he watches you trying to hide your own trembling one. 

'I'll hold you', he offers and waits for you to place your palm on his. Then he gently encloses his fingers around your hand and makes you shift your focus by asking you to count every brown item you could see in the room. 

... he lets you wear his clothes, either when you're freezing and need extra layers or when it's warm outside but you don't want to wear too revealing clothes. 

'I have a whole closet, just try my clothes'. 

When Taehyun is making you comfortable...

... he doesn't interrupt you. When you are speaking, regardless of how loud and enthusiastic or how quiet and hesitant you are when talking, he listens patiently. 

'No, keep talking. I wanna hear', he encourages when you insecurely stop yourself from sharing. 

... he challenges you. If you want to do something, but doubt yourself, he makes it into playful game to lift the pressure off your shoulders, stepping away from the burden of actively existing. 

'One hour? Okay, one hour and then we'll see who manages to write more applications. Winner gets, hmm, one wish. Anything? Yeah? Let's go', he cheers and starts typing right away.

... he coexists with you in silence. Grocery shopping, cleaning, reading, whatever it is, he doesn't force conversations. Eye contact, gentle smiles, pointing at items, that's already such richness of mundanity. 

'They have your ice cream on sale', he informs and watches you hurrying down the isle to grab some packages, happily smiling at him. 

... he directly teaches and explains things. He doesn't leave room for any condescension. If you don't know something or make a mistake and he knows then he just explains. If you want to learn something he already knows how to do, he offers to teach you if you want. 

'I know this choreo. Want me to play dance teacher?', he asks in a laugh, happy at the thought of spending time with you while you explore your interest. 

... he simply assures and compliments you. 

'You're doing great today', he beams when you tick off another point on your to-do-list and later on doodles a little smiley face on the bottom of your paper. 

When Kai makes you comfortable...

... he takes interest in your interests to genuinely connect with you when you share pieces of your realms of curiosity. 

'Omg, the new episode of your favorite show is online', he informs you in excitement and watches you grabbing your phone to check it yourself. To the question if it would be fine if you watch it now, he just nods and asks if he can join you. 

... he reserves spots for you. In restaurants and cafes he always makes sure you have a place to arrive to when he is there earlier or you are definitely running late. At home he has one plushie that is assigned to you, so it can occupy a chair or one side of the bed, keeping others away from your destined space. 

'Over here', he says loudly when he sees you entering the cafe. He towers over the present people and waves you over to his table, where an empty chair and a cookie or fruit bowl or whatever snack you like, is waiting for you. 

... he laughs with you. He genuinely enjoys your humor and he will not leave you hanging whenever you are telling a joke and make a sassy remark. When you are being clumsy, he laughs it off with you. There is no second of insecure embarrassment when he is around. 

'Yo! I tripped over that exact edge yesterday, too!', he squeals as he holds you by your arm to prevent you from falling and bursts into laughter simultaneously with you when your eyes meet. 

... he lets you be shy. You talk too quietly for people to understand what you're saying? He translates calmly and with a sense of protection over you, his expression telling the listener not to dare making an unnecessary comment regarding your behavior. He lets you hide behind him when you are too shy to face someone or something. 

'Come here', he whispers when he notices your shyness and opens his jacket for you to step closer to him where he can hide you between the fabric and his body, telling people who look confused, that he's freezing a bit.

... he always responds to you. Any question you could possibly ask will get a useful answer and even if it's just him informing over his state of uncertainty regarding a topic or a repeated answer to a repeated question. He doesn't waste time engaging in the reality in the form that  it matters to you.

'Yes, of course I'd love you if you were a worm'; 'My first thought is that I don't mind either, but I feel like I tend to prefer pizza over burger today'; I said it minimum hundred times already, but here is another reminder: You look great and I am going to cuddle you to sleep in every state of your body'. 

#kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt scenarios #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenarios #choi soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios #huening kai scenarios #huening kai imagines #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #huening kai x reader #fluff #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #choi soobin fluff #beomgyu fluff #taehyun fluff #huening kai fluff #not proofread #sry

[asherheed]

no thoughts just suguru being that toxic ex that leaves you wanting more.

he's warm when he presses you against your mattress at 3am after ghosting you for weeks. he comes knocking at your door when the world goes quiet and the only thing he can hear is the sound of his name coming out of your mouth in breathy moans and whimpers. he worships your body like it's the only thing that's keeping him from tethering further from whatever morality he has left. he kisses you like he's gonna run out of air, looks at you as if each time is gonna be the last.

"you're so fucking good to me, always so good to me." he mumbles against your shoulder, kissing the sweat off your skin as the sight of you arching your back even more to take him deeper makes him lose all of his senses.

"pretty pussy always takes me in like she's made for me." he says, flipping you onto your back. he smirks, watching you roll your eyes when he fills you up in one punishing thrust. "isn't that right, baby? you're made for me, aren't you?"

you think you nod, but then suguru's grabbing your chin, looking at you intensely. "speak up, would you?"

"yes, yes, sugu! only yours. only yours," you cry out as he pinches your nipple.

"good girl," he whispers, giving your nipple a long, filthy lick as he fucks you through the noises in his head.

you wish he'd stay in the morning. when he does, it's all quiet whispers of i love you's that you know doesn't matter when he leaves your bed. you wish the stinging in your chest would stop when he makes you feel like you're the only sanctuary he knows from the path he'd forged himself in.

it doesn't, but you've come to terms that you'll always hurt for him anyway.

"you just don't get it," suguru grits out, eyes bloodshot, looking almost desperate. "i can make it possible, you just have to believe in me."

he's cold in places you can't be in; always just a word away from reaching him. you imagine if you join him, the freezing cold would inject itself into your veins, the chill settling in your bones until there won't be any warmth for you to give.

then what?

he'll leave.

you pull him closer, his body tense and close to breaking in your arms. "i know you want me to," you whisper, almost remorseful. you think of the kids at jujustu high, the sound of satoru's lighthearted laughter when he's with you, all the negative emotions that have built you up and the rest of humanity who had no choice but to be alive, and you slowly push him away. "but i don't want everyone dead, suguru."

it's an endless cycle. the same conversation, a variation of the last until he disappears once more. you think you'd be sick of it by now, filling your time with other aspects of your life. maybe find someone to settle down with as you smile at satoru's approaching figure with your favorite snacks, finding joy and safety in his presence.

but then it's 3am and the rain is pouring like it's never going to end. you hear a knock on the door, and before you know it you're opening your mouth as suguru slides his tongue inside you, pushing himself inside your cunt. he's whispering i love you's as if he really does and you think that you at least get to have this part of him.

you believe him.

#ashe.writing #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #suguru geto #suguru x reader #suguru #suguru x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #geto suguru angst #angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #writing #jjk fic #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto suguru x y/n

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 26: "You Smell Nice"

After a long day, Aurora comes home to find Swiss in her bed looking for cuddles.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together and to @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers <3

Aurora steps into her room, baring all of her fangs as she yawns. It's been a long day, and she can't wait to sink into her nest and curl up into a deep sleep.

The lights are off, but Aurora doesn't need them to sense that she's not alone right now. The hair on the back of her neck stands up straight, and a growl builds behind her teeth, tail lashing violently behind her. But as soon as the threat slips past her lips, it dies on the air.

Within the piles of pillows and plushies on her bed, gifts from her packmates and soft things that caught her eye, two golden glowing eyes blink sluggishly open.

"Swiss?" Aurora says, flicking on the lamp on her nightstand. The room is awash in soft yellow light. There's a loud, indignant grumbling, and sure enough, there's her fellow multi-ghoul, half buried in her bed, curled up on his side. He covers his eyes with a thick forearm.

"Hey, princess," he mumbles, voice sticky with sleep. "I ever tell you you've got nice digs?"

Aurora chuckles, leaning in closer to trail a purple-painted claw up his forearm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. "You come in for cuddles?"

Swiss pulls his arm from his face, smiling coyly up at her. "I mean, if you're offering, I won't say no, Rory."

She rolls her eyes playfully, arms crossed over her chest. The hand that had teased over his arm moves up until she cups his cheek, feeling the sharpness of the stubble there. "I was planning on taking a shower, but then I'll come give you some cuddles, you needy, needy ghoul."

Swiss must be exhausted, because he only blinks up at her, enraptured by the little ghoulette towering over him.

"I mean," Aurora continues, "You're more than welcome to join me, but I don't think you're gettin' up any time soon, huh?"

He groans, shifting slowly, the spade of his tail padding against the mattress. "Yeah, you're right," he smiles. "Too comfy."

Aurora leans back on her heels. "Alright, you big lug, I'll be back in like ten minutes for some multi cuddles."

He flashes her a honey-slow grin. "I'll hold you to it."

The last thing Aurora hears as she slips into her bathroom is Swiss laughing at his own joke. The door shuts and latches behind her, and Aurora sighs in relief as she turns on the shower.

Her gills flutter as she steps under the spray, warm water erasing the tension from her shoulders. As much as her affinity to water makes her want to drag the shower out, she really doesn't want to drag it out, knowing that there's cuddles waiting for her.

Aurora reaches for the black bottle of her shampoo, lathering up quickly. Her blunt claws scratch at her scalp, and she groans in satisfaction. A quick, thorough rinse, and she grabs the matching conditioner. She had bought the set on an off day on tour, from a little store in some mall where the air had been intensely fragrant with a thousand different scents that even humans would find it overwhelming.

She finishes washing up, rinsing the conditioner she's let sit while she washed her body. She steps out of the shower, shutting the water off and wrapping herself in an incredibly soft, fluffy towel. It's all for show though, a little material comfort.

Aurora calls on her air, a magickal breeze circling her small form, evaporating the moisture from her body. She shivers, the air cold on her damp skin, before reaching up, running her fingers through the wet strands of pink hair plastered to her scalp. It dries quickly, and she sighs in relief knowing that her bedhead in the morning will at least be managable.

She dresses in one of Cirrus's shirts, hanging down almost to her knees, before she shuts off the bathroom lights and steps back into her bedroom.

Swiss hasn't moved, still curled up and comfortable. His breathing is slow, and Aurora could almost believe that he's fallen back asleep if it weren't for those gold-coin eyes slowly blinking open. His fingers twitch where they're laid out on the mattress as his eyes focus on her, as if he was sleepily reaching for her.

"Just a second, pretty boy," she hums, reaching over to shut the nightstand lamp off, casting the room into darkness before she climbs into her bed. Aurora grabs a soft blanket from the foot of the bed, crawling up to lay against Swiss, picking up his arm to tuck herself into his big spoon. She throws the blanket over the both of them.

Swiss rumbles, instinctively pulling the little ghoulette against his chest, burying his face into the nape of her neck.

"Mmmmmm, you smell nice," he murmurs, and Aurora shivers as she feels the press of his fangs against her skin. He drags the points slowly, not biting or marking, just mouthing at the back of her neck. "Like fuckin' candy, could just eat you up, princess."

She reaches up, grabbing the hand holding her to him, holding his wrist with both hands as she relaxes into her pillows and his touch. "Think it's the shampoo," she giggles, even as goosebumps spring up on her nape.

Swiss chuffs, burying his nose in her pink hair; she can feel his inhale. "What's it, strawberry vanilla?"

"Mmhmm," she purrs, her tail wrapping around his calf as she feels her eyes growing heavy. "And lavender, too."

"Smells good. You always smell good," he babbles. His purr rattles through his body, strong enough for her to feel it. Swiss kisses the back of her neck, purring before rubbing his cheek against it. "Bed time, princess?" He asks, thumb smoothing back and forth in an arc right over her heart.

"I think so," she yawns, pulling his arm closer as she presses as close as she can get to his chest. "I like this, I like you having me."

Swiss laughs, no more than a huff of an exhale. "I like having you. I've got you, princess, go to sleep."

And as much as Aurora loves bossing him around on stage, she listens to Swiss, letting sleep take her.

#i went digging through the lush website for something that smells the way i wanted it to for rory #it's based off of the american cream conditioner (there isn't a matching shampoo but idc lmao) #i love lush sm even if you're just hit with /smells/ when you step inside lmao #if i had a bigger bathtub i'd go ham on their bubble bars #dot's writing #aurora ghoulette #swiss ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #swissrora #mushy may 2024

[sgiandubh]

From barf bag to pity party

The whole 'Kick in the hornets' nest' involuntary series was started by this Anon, received by the de facto leader of the Disgruntled Tumblrettes yesterday evening (in Europe):

The next morning, another Anon chimed in, on the same page, with what prompted the First Kick: S has a child with 'a woman', but God forbid, not with C 🤣🤣🤣.

And then, one of their group felt the need (then the clearly irritated urge) to come back and comment on the above Anon. No less than 5 (five!) long and plethoric comments were written, prompting my Second and Third Kicks - as you all know, the woman practically begged for them.

I feel it's time to show some mercy and draw the line here.

This blog is read (and trusted) by many. Comments were received. Very interesting, matter-of-fact submissions, to say the least. You know: FACTS (🤣🤣🤣). People who have rich and full and loving lives, people who travel. People who don't even agree on many things, yet spontaneously concurred on what things very probably looked like, on that Palm Sunday morning.

Exhibit 1: Mom and Traveler #1 (a mom I am not - but I was a child, unbelievable as it might sound, and I absolutely confirm every single bit of it)

I am not yet ridden with dementia, and I remember very well waking everyone up at ungodly hours and refusing my mandatory afternoon siesta (a very bad habit we have in Southern Europe). I wish I would still have that same insane energy now. I also wish I would have kept my 3 year old fashion model food quirks - but that is another story.

However, I am a dog slave (not owner) and as such, I am taking Baby out for his short (but excruciating) morning routine at 7:30 AM. Come rain or shine. Beg him to finish his business with grace and dignity. He never listens. Labs are a charming, addictive handful and my Greek boy is no exception:

Exhibit 2: Mom and Traveler #2. Who happened to be in GLA on Palm Sunday, March 24, 2024 (for the thick people at the back!):

All that trip was abundantly documented on her own page. I am reasonably sure she might be reblogging this with her own pics from that day.

And now, for the real questions at stake:

Why make such an unbelievable fuss over an Anon with no pic, that I was reluctant to publish myself?

Why have a cosmic meltdown, in public nonetheless, if you do think this is such a pile of unbelievable nonsense crap? (*imagine the freakout in DMs, if this made the headlines!)

How many times has/have S (or C, or SC) been seen by Antis in GLA in similar postures, without a word being uttered in public?

Why would such an occurrence be An Event, outside of this (help me, I have no words) fandom?

Why insist with your crappy arguments, when it is plain to see you have got all your facts dreadfully wrong?

Why mention 'central Glasgow', when it is public lore (and included in Waypoints!) that S does not live there anymore? (* I blacked out the exact reference, which makes total sense - the least thing I would like to see happening is freaks like you stalking them)

One last time, you insist - comments 6 and 7 (wow, girl!):

First comment is a lie and if you read my Anon (and you know you all did and discussed it to oblivion) you'll have also read this:

Which part of 'he didn't approach' you don't get, in plain English, madam? I am lousy at drawing, but hey - for the cause (open in separate page, questionable humor included):

Second comment, I won't even get into it. God only knows what the hell you meant. I am Romanian and we tend to be a very sarcastic bunch - especially the Southerners.

You posted those at about 2:45 AM, local time (if you are, indeed, a Scot). That's 4:45 AM my time.

I am a lifelong sufferer of insomnia. You, madam, you are mad wae it, as they say in Glasgow.

Don't drink and post, seriously. It makes for a very #sorry hangover show.

And with this, I am done with you. All of you, in that corner. You showed me more than enough. You know there is substance to that Anon, despite the lack of a picture - hence the collective freakout.

From barf bag to pity party. Who knew?

[Later edit:] re-reading the sixth comment, I think she wants to imply it was the 'other child' - I was literally blind with sleep when I first saw it. Well, there is no evidence of whatever she is trying to explain (has she contacted The Climber? between midnight and 2 AM, local time?). Also, a 5 year old child is not a toddler anymore: kids are considered toddlers up to 3, only. That boy, as we all know (and I am sorry we do), has dark hair - where is the resemblance Anon noticed?

Desperate, grasping at straws, lying through her teeth and mad wae it, all the way.

@pamalissou, thanks for bringing us a third mom's POV in your reblog.

#fandom #shitshow

[littlerosetrove]

I'm sleepy as I type this out, but with one episode to go, um. I'm truly at a loss for what the point of Marisol was. I'm so serious.

There's one episode left and the only thing that should and can happen is Eddie breaking up with Marisol. Doesn't really matter if it's mutual, or if Marisol beats Eddie to it and breaks up with him first. It doesn't matter. Because the only "purpose" Marisol has served this entire season is to, apparently, be a babysitter to Chris offscreen, set off some kind of catholic guilt storyline for Eddie, which? Has that even been touched on again? Right now Eddie is just reckoning with unresolved trauma about Shannon. And the third thing Marisol has done is to I'd say passively be cheated on (like, Marisol is passive in all this if that makes sense). There's zero weight to her being cheated on because she's not a character, and we the audience do not care about Eddie and Marisol as a couple.

Like?????????????

Idk y'all. I mean I've seen some small bits of meta that both Marisol and Kim are examples of how they never held weight to/for Eddie. Like that's The Point. It was handled weirdly and not well, but it was to show how Eddie is 1) comparing these women to an idealized and fantastical version of Shannon, and thus they'll never match up, but still he persisted to try to recapture his and Shannon's "magic." And 2) Eddie was, honestly, trying to fit these women into roles, mold them almost into this skewed idea he has of what a relationship between a man and woman should look like.

And sure there's some merit to that, but idk. If the show wanted to showcase that Eddie is still stuck on Shannon, that he's stuck on an idealized version of Shannon and their relationship that didn't exist, then they could have gone a different route. Because as is, right now, we're still left with Marisol who, frankly, served no purpose. Not really. And we have soap opera levels of nonsense with doppelgängers that doesn't feel grounded in the reality that 911 often has (at least when it comes to the core 118 and their human stories).

And sure, all this stuff with Marisol and Kim is in my eyes further proof that Eddie is a very repressed gay man, but again. Find a different way to tell these important things.

I don't even care about Marisol (certainly not the actress), but this all goes into my dislike of how this season has overall handled Eddie as a character and his stories. To me, right now, a lot of it just comes across disrespectful to Eddie. They had a good start in episode one (though the focus was mostly on Chris...), but it quickly went downhill in my eyes.

#911 spoilers #9-1-1 #Eddie Diaz #Marisol nolastname #I'm tired and in a Mood #my thoughts

[ihave-atummyache]

i was never there

bang chan one shot/imagine

SFW but some allusions to NSFW activities.

toxic relationship! toxic!chan toxic!reader

summary: to everyone’s disapproval, you and chan just cant seem to leave one another alone.

1.2k words

Chan knows that the two of you breaking up was for the best. Your relationship was unstable and toxic, borderline obsessive. You both had become distant from important things in your life because all you cared about was each other.

If he knows that then why is he feeling so guilty about having someone else in his bed? Why does he feel guilty that it isn’t you in some foreign country with him instead of some girl he met at a bar? Why has he only been able to write the worst heart broken lyrics that he has ever thought of?

Despite his better judgement, after his hookup leaves, he sits up and grabs his phone. He unlocks it and instantly opens social media, hoping that you had posted something, posted anything, just so he could see your face.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He checks your social media at least 10 times a day. He doesn’t care if he’s the first view, he just needs to see you. He opens your profile and sees you posted a story and of course he opens it.

13 s ago

He chews his bottom lip as he analyzes the photo you had posted. It looked like you were having brunch and mimosas but that isn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that there was somebody sitting at the seat across from you.

There was another plate and another glass but the chair was empty, something you had purposely done to try to maintain your privacy, he assumes.

Maybe it’s the drinks he had earlier in the night or the post nut high but something makes him open his texts and message you, despite every fiber in his brain telling him not to.

Who are you with?

Why would he say that? Now he probably looks insane. But your response is almost instant, not even a minute later.

it’s almost 5 am over there. why are u up?

He chuckles at his phone. You’re right, it’s 4:47am where he is but he can’t help his stomach doing a flip at the thought that you know exactly where in the world that he is. It makes him feel slightly less crazy that you seem to have been watching him just as much as he has been watching you.

Keeping tabs on me now? He types the message and sends it before he thinks too much about it. This is the first time the two of you have talked in almost a month and he feels like he’s getting an adrenaline high.

Chan stands from the bed and heads to his bathroom before turning the shower on and staring at his phone as he waits for the water to heat up.

ik YOU aren’t talking about keeping tabs on anyone. somehow you see everything i post within a minute of it being posted. care to explain? He can sense your sassy attitude through the screen and smirks down at his phone.

I can’t miss you?

Risky. Risky reply and he knows it but its all or nothing at this point.

He sends the message before he can think too hard about it. He sees you’re typing then the bubble disappears. This happens a few times before he finally decides to get into the shower.

A few countries away, you’re staring down at your phone, debating how you should reply.

“I fucked up,” you glance up at your coworker, a new friend that you had made. She had listened to you rant and rant about your ex boyfriend and it had actually brought the two of you pretty close.

“What happened?” She raises an eyebrow at you as she takes another sip of mimosa. you let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair before sliding your phone across the table to her. She reads the messages quickly before shaking her head in disbelief.

“He is fucking insane. Are you going to reply?” her words linger in the air for a minute before you grab your phone and read over the messages again.

“Should I even reply? This is so toxic. I’m feeding into him. Fuck!” You drag your hand down your face, frustrated and the waitress returns to your table at the perfect time.

“Can we get another bottle of champagne?” You ask with a polite smile and she nods before walking away.

“Y/n, it’s 11 in the morning,” your new friend eyes you from across the table and you shrug.

“I’ve officially been driven to drinking. I just need to get drunk and then I’ll go home and fall asleep then I’ll wake up and text him back,” you nod at her and she chuckles but lets you continue drinking anyways. Your phone vibrates again on the table and you flip it over, Chan had texted you again.

“What did he say?” Your friend already knows who it is without you having to say a word. You lean forward and unlock your phone and your heart drops at the message.

Baby, I need you. I miss you. Come to the show in Seoul.

You choke on air and start coughing before sliding your phone to your friend so she can read the messages. Her jaw drops and just as she hands your phone back, a notification pops up at the top of your screen; an incoming call from ‘Christopher Bahng’.

Without thinking you answer the call, excusing yourself from the table and stepping onto the patio, right next to your table so your friend can still see you.

“Chris…” you breathe his name out, it feels like a stab to your chest when you hear him let out a breath on the other side.

“I’ve missed hearing you say my name. I miss you so much, baby. Did you see my message?” His voice is slightly slurred over the phone and you recognize the influence that alcohol probably has over this entire interaction but honestly, you don’t even care.

“I saw it. Chris I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not. I just need to see you. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t get to hold you soon,” his voice is desperate and you can hear how overcome with emotions he is.

“We aren’t together anymore. This is exactly why. We aren’t healthy for each other, baby. You know that,” the nickname slips from your mouth like a habit and you immediately gulp when you realize what you said.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything if you aren’t at my side,” his confession just further nails it into your head that the two of you aren’t good for each other. You chew on your lip, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself.

“Fine.” Before you realize it, you have agreed to see him, just one more time. This will be the final time, your final goodbye.

Or the cycle will start over and you’ll be back in the endless toxicity that you two have been in for a long time.

“God, I love you so much, y/n,” his voice is raspy and you can tell he’s getting tired.

“I know, Chris. Send me two tickets so I can bring my friend since you ruined our brunch,” you chuckle and you hear him laugh on the other end.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and you feel your phone vibrate, probably the notification that he just sent you the tickets.

#skz #skz changbin #skz fanfic #skz felix #skz fluff #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #skz jeongin #skz minho #skz scenarios #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #christopher bang #bang chan #chris bang #christopher bahng #bahng chan #chan bang #stray kids minho #stray kids seungmin #stray kids hyunjin #jisung smut #han smut #seungminnie #skz channie #channie #stray kids headcanons #stray kids one shot #stray kids han

[letters-from-dekarios]

sunkissed hearts

chapter one: sandy and danny

summary: you’re starting a new college in europe in the fall and are taking all the time in the summer while in america to live your life to the fullest. while out at a bar one night, you meet a rather handsome man who gives you the best summer of your life. when you start college, your new english professor looks rather… familiar.

or: you spend a summer with gale, only for him to become your professor

word count: 3.8k

tags: college!au, professor!gale x f!reader, brief NSFW, MDNI, charas >20, mild language, themes of alcohol usage, theater kid!jen, artist!astarion, eventually other people will be there i promise

author’s note: i wasn’t intending for this to be a multi-part series, but it got so long & I didn’t want to rush the story, so this is going to be split into a few parts! i’d like to also note I don’t necessarily condone teacher/student relationships in most circumstances but… this fic fits the ones where you can go “okay that’s fair”. enjoy!

“Come on, one more bar!” You encouraged your friends. It was a Saturday night, the city was bustling with life. You were infused with the confidence of seven strippers on a Friday night and six shots of vodka— nothing was stopping you now.

The disapproving, tired looks from your friends begging you to give the night up and return home did nothing to deter you from pushing forward. But, alas, you were always the persistent type. Your whining droned on as you kept trying to persuade them.

“Just let me find a guy to go home with, okay? Then you guys can leave!” You urged them, and they begrudgingly agreed. Well, Jenevelle annoyedly agreed, Astarion was more than happy to keep going for the rest of the night, except he was sleep-deprived and just being a little jerk about it.

“Fine! But if you don’t find someone within the first hour, we’re leaving!” Jen yelled back as you practically skipped into the next bar you had on your list.

You had this idea in your head that the moment you left for college, you’d never be back to this town again. So, with that concept in mind, you aimed to complete your list of top things to do before you moved. This was one of your bucket list items- visit every bar in the city at least once and get a drink. You were making your way through the list pretty fast!

After entering, your friends separated from you, leaving you to walk up to the bar top and order your drink on your own. You started with something simple, a nice wine to get your evening going… even though you were halfway through it.

It wasn’t long before someone else was at your side, a good-looking man, no doubt. The conversation was idle and only lasted a few minutes before you were bored with him. He caught on to your exhaustion and gave up after a while, stumbling away into the rest of the crowd. Frustration brewed within you as you sat in silence conversations flitting around you and not with you. And then this smokey, woody scent stirred around you. You couldn’t tell if it was in your head or reality until you were greeted by a new man who sat beside you.

“Well you look awfully lonely, don't you?” The man joked, smiling at you as he ordered himself a whiskey- neat. You observed him, his features, and you contemplated if this was going to be your ride home tonight.

When he actually turned to you, and you looked at his face fully, you were certain he was the one. He had those eyes that just invited you into a warm hug, one you’d never want to let go of. His expressions were soft and comforting, bringing you a sense of calmness amidst the chaos around you. Even if only for a one-night stand, he would stay in your mind forever. You hadn't even been properly introduced yet, but the aura surrounding him gave way to opinions of him you would soon find as fact.

And he looked like he gave incredible head.

“Hello! The name’s Gale, might I ask yours?” He introduced, extending a hand towards you as he took a sip from his glass.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking his hand. What kind of a man introduces himself at a bar and shakes your hand? Only a gentleman, you concluded. Okay, it was mostly the alcohol in your system talking, taking over your intuitions and ability to see any red flags, but gods did you want him.

And gods did you have him.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Fuck-”How late was it? You couldn’t tell anymore. Your concept of time had long since faded.

He was so goddamn good you just didn’t want it to stop. You kept begging for more, your body completely succumbing to his will. You moved in response to him and him alone, the noises of satisfaction leaving you fueling his desires. Your head tilted back into the silk sheets, your fingers clawing into his shoulders.

“Gods…” you heard him breathe out as he littered kisses down your bare chest. His hands roamed all along your curves, gently grabbing at you here and there, pulling your hips up to him, arching your back, sliding down your thighs… He knew his way around your body like he’d been with you for years.

You could feel the love and the care he put into it, which was an odd thing to think with a guy’s dick that you met mere hours ago in you.

Regardless, the feeling was true. You knew that he wasn’t one of those assholes who would toss you out right after he was done. No, he’d encourage you to stay- maybe even make you breakfast the next morning. He’d let you wear his shirt, even “accidentally” let you take it home. He’d leave his mark on you, and he’d do it with grace and respect. You had never had this with someone before.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

A little while later you were curled up at his side, your head against his bicep as you laid in bed with him. Your hand rested on his chest, tracing the tattoo he had there. You admired him, and he, you. You would let yourself indulge in this… for now. For as long as you could before you’d move away.

“Tell me…” Gale’s sweet, honey-like voice broke the quiet barrier between you two. “You’re much too kind and much too beautiful to be on your own. Are you sure you don’t have anyone special waiting for you back home?” He asked, and though you’d already answered “no” once, this time the question felt different. His thumb rubbed against your shoulder, his arm pulled you in, and you felt safe there, with him. Like you could tell him all your darkest secrets, and he’d listen to them all with no judgement.

“I’m sure,” you answered, looking up at him. You were still so mesmerized by him.

“How long are you here for?”

“Three more months, then I move away.”

“Hm.”

A hush fell between you as his eyes flitted to the ceiling, pondering over your response. You had no idea what he was to say next, but you’d answer wholeheartedly to whatever it was.

“Perhaps you’d like to spend some of that time with me?” He suggested, bringing his eyes back down to you.

This piqued your interest. What could that mean? You had seen from his lavish apartment that he was on the more comfortable side of life, was he willing to share that with you? Was he willing to make your summer memorable?

“Depends on what you mean by that..” you raised an eyebrow, shifting so you sat up. You moved on top of him, straddling his waist as he replied to you.

“You talked about making the most of this summer. You have a bucket list, right?” You nodded your head. “I’d like to help with that if you’d let me,” he offered, placing his hands at your sides.

“Oh? And what do you get in exchange for helping me fuel my crazy plans?” You asked, leaning down towards his face.

“Good company every once in a while. I’d like to hear about your adventures- maybe even partake in a few…” he trailed off, letting your mind wander to what he meant.

“So… you’d be my sugar daddy?”

He laughed, a deep laugh from the abdomen. His eyes squinted, his nose scrunched up, he shook his head… he was so pretty when he laughed.

“In a manner of speaking, you could call it that. I’d rather not, however.”

“You are technically older than me,” you pointed out. Though it was only by, what, ten years? Barely even that.

“Don’t say that! That makes it sound bad!”

“Ooooh… look at you, going after younger women…” you gasped, holding a hand to your chest dramatically. You fanned yourself, shaking your head and tsking disapprovingly at him. He broke your dramatics by flipping you into your back, hovering over you with a faux-stern look in his eye. Giggles broke from you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you.

“Maybe I’ll take back my offer, then,” he threatened jokingly, returning your tsks.

“No, don’t do that…” you pouted, he couldn’t help but kiss you. You returned it, obviously, running a hand through his hair and tugging him closer. You had him already and yet you wanted more.

“I’ll take this as a yes, then?” He mumbled against your lips, trailing them down your jawline and to your neck.

“Yes.” You could barely breathe it out as he distracted your mind with his kisses, his soft hum against your skin an acknowledgment of your response. The night slowly faded away after that, his affection becoming a blur until you finally drifted off to sleep.

You were right, you found out, he was the type to make you breakfast the morning after. Though he didn’t stay, he left a sweet note for you apologizing for not being able to enjoy the morning with you. He even left you cash. Oh, hell yeah, you were doing this.

After enjoying your breakfast, you took down the phone number he had left you, sent him a sweet message, got yourself ready with all the things he had in his apartment (because who wouldn’t?) and went back to your home.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“You will never guess who I met,” you started as you entered through the doorway, dropping your shoes down.

“Henry the eighth?” Jen replied, not bothering to look up from the book she was currently invested in. Theater kids- you despised them at times.

“Gods no, I’d lose my head in two seconds flat,” you snorted, jumping over the couch and landing next to her.

“I don’t know then, who?” She asked, placing a finger in her book and shutting it.

“You remember that guy I went home with last night?”

“The librarian looking dude?”

Astarion came out from his room quickly, running out to join in the conversation. “Is she talking about the one who looked like that Hozier song’s lyrics?”

Jen nodded at him, and you rolled your eyes before continuing. “He was hot! You guys are just mean. Anyways- he took me home, best sex of my life by the way, and guess who has…” you paused dramatically, digging into your bra for the cash he had left you, holding up the wad with a grin on your face, “their very own sugar daddy! Just like I’d always dreamed of,” you sighed wistfully and then broke out in laughter as Jen and Astarion stared at you blankly.

“How old was this guy again?” Jen asked, raising an eyebrow while you swatted away Astarion’s greedy hands.

“Thirty-four— but he was so nice! He said he wanted to aid me in my summer bucket list. He made me breakfast,” You frowned slightly, and they got the hint that you really liked this guy.

“So, basically, you were a prostitute, and now he’s going to hire you for the whole summer?” Astarion asked, making a cheeky face at you.

You grabbed a nearby pillow and threw it at him, groaning out. “It’s not like that! You guys are so judgemental!”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Jen raised her hands defensively, but the look she shared with Astarion said more than it needed to.

“No, but you’re thinking it! That’s just as bad!” You threw a pillow at her, and then a fully-fledged pillow fight began in the small living room space. You were laughing then, sure, but a teenie part of you wondered really why he was doing this for you. Did he like you that much? Or was he just using you for your body— were you seriously becoming a prostitute? Gods, you hoped not.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The next few weeks were normal, you’d tell Gale what you were up to, he’d send you some spending money, and you’d catch up with him later. Sometimes it’d be sex, sometimes he just wanted to hear about your day. You got the sense that, despite being so nice, he didn’t have many friends. At least, not any friends nearby, so you elected to keep him company whenever he needed. It became less and less of a business deal the more you got to know him.

A month into your little… transaction, he sent you an image of two tickets to Venice and the dates. You could’ve screamed right there, enthusiastically telling your companions about your upcoming trip. It was a short weekend, sure, but it was the most fun you’ve ever had.

He took you to a little restaurant, your table overlooking the water, one night. A single rose and a candle were placed between you two. It was fancy. You weren’t used to fancy, mostly because you never had the money for it. The only reason why you were moving was to take advantage of the international students program- that was pretty much a paid college ride.

Your parents weren’t exactly rich either, barely scraping by and living paycheck to paycheck when you were younger. The finer things in life consisted of a rare dinner out, usually pizza or Applebee’s, and the occasional gift or two that had a practical use for you. New shoes or a pencil case for school with your favorite character on it— you weren’t the spoiled type, all of this was new to you.

“Get whatever you’d like,” Gale told you, and your eyes hungrily scanned the menu. The prices caught your eye, and you bit the inside of your cheek. You knew he was generous, but some part of you felt awkward taking from him so bluntly like this.

“I think I’ll just get a salad or something…” you said warily, apprehensive about it all. Funny how you were hesitant now, and not when he bought you tickets to Venice. Ironic.

“Oh, please. Humor me, darling. Make my wallet hurt,” he grinned at you from across the table, and you laughed at the comment. Well, now that you had his permission…

“How much can I hurt it?” You asked curiously, eyeing a rather expensive meal on the menu.

“Hm… are you willing to make up the difference later if it’s more than expected?” He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes still trained on the menu.

“When in… Venice,” you chimed back, adjusting the phrase to suit your location.

It was, in fact, more than he expected. But you were sure he’d say that regardless of what you ordered, and you didn’t mind the view of the sunset over Italy as he hit it from behind.

You laughed internally, both out of humor and pity for yourself. You had no idea how you were going to survive once the summer was over and you moved away, not once this whole thing broke off. But, hey, you could, and most definitely would, enjoy it while it lasted.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The rest of the summer was spent similarly, going out and doing adventurous things with your friends, paid for by Gale. Sometimes he’d join you, or take you away on another short vacation and spoil you absolutely rotten with everything he could. You couldn’t be happier, and it felt good for him to use the money he had to help someone live their dreams before they had no free time left.

The end came faster than you did after your first night with him. Less crude analogy? How about, the summer ended faster than the bullet train you took in Tokyo where you’d spent a whole week with him.

You had told him in advance that it was your last week in the city, and he took the opportunity to pamper you more than ever. He got you a new laptop, headphones, brand new tablet… he wanted to make sure you were all set for your move. You half wondered if he was trying to get you to be his girlfriend- but that was a subject you two didn’t talk much about.

You realized in that final week that, actually, you didn’t know much about him at all. You knew he was an English Professor, he didn’t share where, though. You knew that he was young to be an English Professor… and that he had a cat, named Tara. Besides that, he was a phantom on the terrace threatening to leave you with the wounds of a lover when you finally moved on.

Despite your wanting to cling to him regardless of the time or day, you knew that it would have to end eventually. Even if you stayed in touch now and then, part of you wanted to leave all your dreams behind for him. You knew he wouldn’t let you do that.

The last night, before you moved out, was spent with him. He took you to dinner, indulged you, like usual, and then the rest of the night was… well, passionate to say the least. You savored every moment with him, and he, you. He took his time, caressing and kissing every inch of you. He memorized the way your body felt under his own, the way his hands fit perfectly at your bare waist, the way you moved in accordance with everything he did. You wished the fun would never end.

“Promise you won’t forget me…” you begged him, sticking to his side as you tried to make the night last longer.

“My love, with you I forget myself. I would never dream of letting these memories slip away from me. You are the object of all my intuitions, and you will forever be branded on my heart,” God, he was so poetic. You loved it. You loved him, but wouldn’t say it. This was a transaction, right? Now that it had been processed, you had to move on. Besides, you still barely knew anything about him. What was there to love other than the poet’s romantic words and the money in his pocket?

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered to him, burying your face into his chest.

“Try not to.”

But you couldn’t try to not miss him. You couldn’t stop thinking about your summer with him, how adored he made you feel. You thought you’d never see him again.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“If I had a nickel for every time you spent mourning over your summer with Gale, I’d be able to buy and sustain a cottage in the middle of nowhere,” Jenevelle remarked one day in your new apartment. You finally had things together and littered your space with pictures you’d taken of your time with him. Astarion had to stop you from crowding his space with those pictures, too.

“I’m not mourning anything. I just miss it,” you huffed, setting a photo down as you went back to packing your bag. “The sex was awesome.”

“I doubt he even remembers what you look like. It’s been months,” Astarion cackled.

It had been so long since you last saw him. When you left for college, you were supposed to start in the fall, but now it was practically winter. Between the stress of moving, and life being life, your start date was pushed out a few months longer than it was supposed to be. It didn’t help that your school lost your transfer papers, either, or that your student visa was delayed by a few weeks. Overall, your move was a mess, and you blamed it on leaving the handsome English professor in America. Maybe if you’d stayed…

“Don’t say that!” You whined, whacking him in the back of the head with some of your papers. “He remembers me. He still talks to me.”

“Yeah, he sends you money. That’s about it,” Jen pursed her lips together, shrugging at you. Okay, maybe she was a little bit right. But you were not about to admit that.

“Shut… shut up.”

“Exactly.”

You finished packing for the day and started to make yourself breakfast. You had calculated the route perfectly, you had plenty of time to get ready and enjoy some you-time before your morning class.

You didn’t estimate the giant accident on the way there, though. You practically had a mini heart attack trying to rush through traffic to get there, just barely making it on time. Lucky for you, the professor wasn’t there yet, either.

You squeezed into a seat near the back that was open, apologizing to your seatmates for being late. You pulled out your tablet and set up your notes as neatly as you could. By the end of the lecture you were sure they’d be all over the place, but you could at least try. Your peers beside you introduced themselves as Lae’zel and Wyll and you thanked them both for allowing you to sit between them.

You were nose-deep in your screen, perfecting the layout of your notes, that you didn’t even notice the professor walk in, the room becoming oddly silent.

“This guy is also on the board of directors, and he’s the head of the English department,” Wyll whispered to you. You looked up from your tablet, only seeing the professor’s back as he faced the board. At least your seatmates were kind enough to let you in on all the missing details. How useful that would be in the long run, you’d find out, but it was beneficial to know who you were dealing with.

“Welcome to Honors English 122. For all those new and old, we’re going to be covering a variety of subjects this semester…” his voice trailed off in your mind— you recognized it from somewhere. But where? It was hard to place, especially since he was so far away from you. You needed to see his face- that would solidify where you knew him from.

“I’m Professor Dakarios and I’ll be your guide through the wonderful world of the English language and its impact on our society,” You tried to place the last name, but failed. You were convinced you absolutely knew him, but had not a clue as to how. Oh well.

“Does he start every class like this?” You whispered to Wyll, who nodded solemnly. Was it an ego trip or excitement to have a class to himself? You’d uncover that, too, you supposed.

The professor clasped his hands behind his back, satisfied with the way his name had been written on the board, and turned to face the class. He beamed at the students in front of him, stepping around his desk and leaning against the edge of it. Your eyes narrowed, trying to see him clearly. Considering how large the lecture room was and how far away you were, it was a bit hard.

“It seems we’ve had a handful of new additions to the class this week. I’d like to take a small break from the usual lecture and get some introductions in,” he smiled again, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ll start— my first name is Gale, I’ve been teaching for about six years now, and I have a little feline at home named Tara- who, no, I cannot bring in to show you all.”

Holy. Shit.

“Who would like to go next?”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #for you #for you page #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale fanfic #baldurs gate gale #baldur’s gate fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #gale x reader #x reader #f!reader #modern au #gale romance #gale x female reader #female reader #baldurs gate fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate wyll #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 lae'zel #lae'zel #wyll ravengard

[levmada]

this is gonna bother me if i don't address it so

i am the exact type of person who has always said - about the aot fandom - not to believe every 'fact' you read bc misinfo and (sometimes intentionally) wrong translation is strangely common in this fandom. it pops up all the time, which is exactly why i made a conclusive post about facts specifically about levi. it's important to me. i'm really passionate about levi and i love his character. that's the only agenda i had when making that post.

no one will ever know how much time and effort i poured into that post. not to claim i'm flawless of course, but i combed through isayama's blog, multiple translations of magazines in which levi content appeared, and other side-media. chinese, english, and japanese. some sources weren't fluent in japanese, and some were. it took me weeks because i wanted to *try* to be flawless at least.

i was honestly leaning toward keeping any facts about characters besides him OUT of the post because of the exact reason i'm talking about this. i was worried about not being taken seriously or being accused of picking and choosing translations because of some shipping agenda. the number of disclaimers i even added was to emphasize that i'm not perfect, but i am as informational and unbiased as possible.

it's annoying. it would make sense that it would be unbiased if i was a levi stan which... jesus this would go on forever if i made a testimony about that. i've been here for years. funnily enough the moment i become passionate about a ship with levi in it, i start to receive weird messages.

so it's super fucking disappointing not to be taken seriously and to be accused of the same thing i rant about often on this blog. i've gotten requests about other 'facts' and trivia, but i don't even *want* to now, and that's so annoying.

#kants #aot #levi ackerman #aot levi

[bbbuckaroo]

You’re absolutely right that we should focus on the positivity. I realized that a chunk of the extreme BoBs are more enthralled with Ryan/Eddie than ppl that love Buck. That’s why the small early possibility of Tommy/Eddie is always brought up. They say the outlandish take that Buck & Tommy are into Eddie but settles for each other. They do personal digs on why ppl find Lou attractive cause it’s all connected to their love of Ryan/Eddie. Because Buck is the character with the deepest connection to him to channel a romantic interest in, Eddie must be queer.

Once I realized that, it was easier to focus on the positivity. It’s like trying to talk to a brick wall so you simply don’t.

I’ve started to realize that too and I’m admittedly biased because I have always been a Buck baby. I think Ryan does an awesome job playing a very multi-dimensional character but I honestly don’t see why there’s so much more focus on Eddie. Is it because he’s a dad? Or a veteran? Or just angsty? I mean Buck had been marketed as a sexual person but never a sex symbol while Eddie always appeared to be the opposite. We saw Buck shirtless getting into the shower thinking it was Abby (it was NOT) but have we since? While Eddie we’ve seen multiple times, especially during his fighting era. I mean do we all remember Eddie’s intro song? Buck was introduced saving a baby and Eddie was introduced putting on a shirt.

Wow, I’m realizing a lot right now and it’s making so much sense. Bravo anon. And OMG I am so sick of hearing about the Eddie/Tommy idea and that’s only because they originally were going to have Lucy come back for Buck (love Lucy but she’s legit Buck’s twin) and they obviously wanted to bring Tommy back. That is one of my big automatic blocks, seeing that shit.

Seriously this is all some amazing insight and is really starting to help me understand (but not forgive) at least some of the psychosis. Thank you! You’re right in seeing that it’s more of an Eddie/Ryan thing than a Buck/Oliver thing and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. This the kind of discussion that should be happening and it definitely fuels me to push even more positivity and this is coming from one hell of a cynic IRL.

#anon ask #evan buckley #tommy kinard #eddie diaz #oliver stark #lou ferrigno jr #ryan guzman #bucktommy #buddie #i’m not anti buddie #i’m anti bullying and bullshit

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

Hour 15 and I am so tired and sore. Fucking pray for me dudes.

Time Loop au - Over the Edge And Over Again

Narinder can hardly believe what his former vessel turned usurper is saying yet…

It makes too much sense.

The way their battles against the Bishops were like child’s play to them. A dance they had performed and perfected over the course of countless cycles.

The way they knew avoid giving him the same thing over and over.

The way they barely glanced at the options he provided them and selected the most complimentary ones to best make the cult not only survive but thrive.

He’d thought it was talent rather than a cultivated skill.

He still fumed at the fact his crown had been stolen, but seeing his vessel near hysterics was such a violent upheaval in the way he viewed them along with the way he could still feel the vibrant devotion still pouring off them.

Honestly, even after he slit their throat and watched them resurrect with little issue, he still wanted his crown back but…

And yet…

…Thoughts for another time as he glared down at his vessel turned god.

“Get up. No matter the circumstance, you have taken my place as the God of Death. You have a cult to attend to rather than focus your attention upon one… follower.” He spat the last word out even as his former servant snapped their head up.

“I didn’t want this! Please! You have to believe me, my Div-“

Narinder cut them off. No god would survive calling and still worshipping another, let alone a mortal. “Silence! Go do your duty. Leave me to think about the revelation you have told me.”

Awkwardly, they got to their feet, dark eyes watery and pleading. They had only ever looked at him like that once, in the visit before the battle. Had they planned it for that long? How many cycles had they tried to usurper him for?

He turned away from them and he could almost feel the devastation radiate from them. The fool.

“There are robes in the chest for you. I hope the fit but they can be altered if needs be. The hut has running water and a private bathing area. I can bring you food later if you’d like or you can eat with the flock later. I’ll make sure you have your privacy for now.” They said quietly and left with a quiet thud of the door.

Narinder hadn’t expected plumbing. Nor clothing specifically for him.

He stalked over to the chest and flung it open. Thick white robes with beautifully dyed streak of red down the middle met him. Embroidered around the edges were symbols of loyalty, devotion and worship from the Old Faith. It thrummed with magicks of protection, warmth and comfort. It must’ve taken months at least to do the intricate embroidery and the material…

It was wool. Wool taken and carefully spun into such a soft yarn, it was likely no other ever had or would ever have something like this again.

Just what was the Lamb thinking? Why would they do such a thing and yet take his crown?

He ignored the idea that they had exhausted every other option. Because that would mean they had bowed to him every time and still been unable to break the cycle.

That only way out had been to take the Red Crown and yet they had still tried to find another way first.

Because devotion like that… was unparalleled.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl Narinder #cotl lamb #narilamb #time loop au #Over The Edge And Over Again au #still chucking and seeing what sticks #Narinder is having trouble comprehending that Lamb really is THAT devoted to him #I am so tired #I got like spats of like 20 min naps over the course of 7 hours #might do some of the other characters later #the Bishops would be interesting or Aym and Baal

[mediocretosubpar-soup]

it doesn't really fit into this idea but sect leader jiang cheng disappears and coreless!jiang cheng is discovered in lotus pier.

yunmeng jiang reluctantly calls on wei wuxian because jiang cheng doesn't know any of them, he doesn't even know jin ling.

they don't tell wei wuxian the reason why they're calling, their sect leader turned into a traumatized, decored teenager that's not something jiang 'safety first' cheng's yunmeng jiang is going to advertise. so wei wuxian turns up and his clothes are clearly not yunmeng jiang. jiang cheng has been updated by the disciples, he's read sect leader jiang's secret diaries, and it still takes wei wuxian sliding zidian off his finger for him to truly believe that this stranger is wei wuxian.

meanwhile wei wuxian is panicking because where is sect leader jiang, jiang cheng is staring at his robes without blinking, it's only a matter of time before he wants answers and wei wuxian doesn't have anything to say that won't hurt him. it's one thing to emotionally gut jiang cheng for his own good when he's cold, vicious and unforgiving it's another when he's still babyfaced and shocked speechless by the evidence of wei wuxian's (betrayal)leaving.

"you left me." jiang cheng states so calmly that wei wuxian's panic is subsumed by deeper sense of foreboding. jiang cheng steps away from him and wei wuxian grabs onto his sleeve, jerking him back. jiang cheng goes for wei wuxian's eyes. only lan zhan's quick reaction saves wei wuxian from blindness, he shoves jiang cheng backwards. but jiang cheng doesn't catch himself which he should lan zhan hardly used any strength but jiang cheng stumbles backwards and crashes to the floor.

three things happen at the same time, yunmeng jiang's spiders form a protective circle around jiang cheng, yunmeng jiang's disciples draw their swords on them and wei wuxian nearly skewers himself trying to get to jiang cheng, who should have been able to weather such a blow with ease, unless...

"stand down." jiang cheng picks himself of the floor. he grimaces, hand on his chest where the fabric is slowly soaking with red. he sways but remains upright. the spiders have their hands on their swords. jiang cheng's mouth opens, wei wuxian cuts him off, can't allow to speak.

"i know how to fix your core." lan zhan makes a noise of protest but wei wuxian needs to convince jiang cheng not to kick him out, needs jiang cheng to allow him close. this is the only thing that will convince him now. wei wuxian spares a moment of frustration at yunmeng jiang for not clarifying. he could have had his shidi, even if it was for a few days, he could have had jiang cheng. now, jiang cheng looks at him like sect leader jiang only he's face still carries that shocked note of disbelief like he can't believe wei wuxian would really to this. it's a thousand times worse. and wei wuxian needs to work out how to get him back, so he can have his golden core fixed. fuck.

"oh?" jiang cheng says. yunmeng jiang has perked up as well. at least something is working right, now if only lan zhan could quit it with the disaproving frown.

-

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #ideas i like to rotate in my head #possibly chengxian #does it make sense?

[dalesramblingsblog]

In honour of an episode that seems consciously about the construction of narratives around fundamentally meaningless aspects of the universe, a Twitter conversation with one of my last remaining mutuals to survive the Muskening, lightly repurposed to serve as a singular, narrativised Tumblr post in a way it was never designed for.

Who says art is dead?

73 Yards was strange and haunting and not entirely comprehensible in a way that Doctor Who seldom manages.

I suspect it's one where personal tolerance for that sort of thing will make or break the episode, but I certainly think that, knowing this was Gibson's first filmed episode, she did a phenomenal job.

It was also, for me at least, a more generally successful invocation of the kind of eldritch horror implied by the Toymaker or the Maestro, largely by virtue of it giving itself room to be ambiguous.

I've seen the complaints about stuff like the PM being a blank slate, but I do rather feel like that might be the point. It's an episode all about perception and projection and narrativisation of a universe that can be cold and hostile and incomprehensible.

(And frankly, I'm starting to suspect that the whole of RTD2 might be about that on some level. "We see something incomprehensible and invent the rules to make it work" and all that. It's audacious and bold in a way that Doctor Who hasn't been in half a decade.)

And as someone for whom those themes really hit home a lot of the time, yeah, I loved it. I know I probably sound like a broken record but I am genuinely just having a blast with this latest series.

The worst thing Doctor Who can ever feel like for me is an obligation that I only keep up with out of a need to stay relatively current in writing about it, and that was what the Chibnall Era often boiled down to for me.

Part of the reason, in hindsight, I poured so much of myself into my book reviews was that the show itself was simply failing to excite me with the level of regularity necessary to keep me engaged.

Knowing that I can put on Doctor Who on a Saturday night and be reasonably well-entertained and intrigued is, frankly, enough for me, but I do think there are enough aspects of genuine quality that I'm not just blindly worshipping at the altar of a false idol or w/e.

I dunno, I think at the end of the day I'm just a big sucker for TV that makes sense to me on an emotional rather than logical level. It's why I'm a big fan of Twin Peaks, or the second season of Millennium, or hell even Masks over on TNG.

The episode had the general feel of one that will be quite important to the overall themes of the season, so I can't imagine it will linger in *complete* ambiguity forever (though honestly if it did I would kind of love that).

Like I wouldn't be surprised if we're building up to a similar time loop reveal wrt Ruby's general existence. The fact that we've now got at least three instances of her timeline being haunted by mysterious old women cannot possibly be coincidence.

(Well, it can be, but that way lies goblins, as we know.)

IDK, there's a strangeness to Davies' acknowledgments of mediality here that goes even beyond Moffat's usual tricks. Casting a recurring actress by the name of Susan Twist while conspicuously mentioning Susan for the first time in forever feels so on the nose that while I initially suspected we might be building to the return of Susan, I now feel like we're instead headed for something much weirder.

There is so much going on and so much to unpack and frankly I don't have any idea how it could possibly tie together but I'm fascinated.

And again, the fact that this episode was almost explicitly about the process of fans theorising as to what the hell is going on with the season makes me further suspect a rebuttal of theory-focused cult fandom is in the offing.

When I first watched Once, Upon Time in 2021, I commented that it felt like Chris Chibnall's attempt to do a big, bold, incomprehensible piece of television, something almost in the vein of Twin Peaks: The Return, Part 8 but for Doctor Who.

But it's revealing that the only thing he could really think to do was dump a bunch of Doctor Who lore and simply edit things out. He's a mystery writer in the most tediously literal sense of the phrase, creating gaps that feel like they were made with a hacksaw rather than feeling like any sort of deliberate lacuna.

And I'm sorry Chibnall fans, there are some Thirteen episodes that I do like, but when I look at an episode like 73 Yards... whatever its faults may be, and I'm pretty confident I don't actually believe it to be perfect, it is bolder and weirder than anything Chibnall ever wrote. This is the kind of television I want to watch, and I make no apologies for that.

It's a rare piece of Doctor Who which comes close to capturing that sheer, terrible splendour I felt watching a slow zoom into an atom bomb explosion while being serenaded by the Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima. And sure, it's still very far out from being quite that strange, but it retains a curious power nevertheless.

What a show.

#doctor who #dale's ramblings #s40e4: 73 yards #ruby sunday #millie gibson

[thegracefulknight]

O!Ciel, Lizzy, and Sterling Silver Roses

One of my favorite extra chapters in Kuro is the Book of Murder side story, where each of the characters turn into characters from fairy tales. My most favorite part there is obviously Ciel and Lizzy's, which represented The Snow Queen (also my favorite fairy tale). It just fits them so much!

So I was rereading this chapter and noticed the panels below:

In the first one, we see Ciel seemingly giving someone a rose. At the present, we haven't seen any scene similar to this between O!Ciel and Lizzy, but since this is Lizzy's POV and she is talking about the protagonist, I'm assuming this is indeed a memory shared between them (or at least parallel of actual events that happened in their past).

O!Ciel's favorite flower, is coincidentally, sterling silver roses, as mentioned by Sebastian in Ch. 1.

Sterling silver roses are these lovely lavender or lilac-silver roses that represent nobility, elegance, and regality. Since I wanted to see if there would be any relation I could make between this flower and my favorite ship (the way I overthink about these two, really 😭 lol), I tried to look more into what these types of roses represent in a romantic sense.

And well— lavender-colored roses like the sterling silver rose represent love at first sight. They also "signify enchantment, adoration, wonder, and fascination. If you have a secret love, lavender roses can maintain a sense of mystery. The tone is also ideal for the first time you give your love interest flowers."

Giving lilac roses to your special someone, on the other hand, symbolizes your "subtle intentions for them in the future."

Going along with these concepts, and since we were never told of the reason yet why this type of rose was our earl's favorite, my assumption is that the silver sterling rose probably holds a special memory for him in the past. And as the only time we see him with a rose in the manga so far would be that panel from the special chapter (correct me if I'm wrong though), it could be assumed that this memory is something he shares with Lizzy from when they were little—O!Ciel giving her a sterling silver rose. It could be a hint that O!Ciel has liked our sweet Lizzy from the start, and possibly, has wished before that it was he would be betrothed to her instead of R!Ciel (who doesn't really seem that interested in her anyway, he's just happy and relieved she at least is cute and 'not scary'). He doesn't act on it however, as he knows she is never meant to be his.

One thing to note is that, while we have seen from his actions many times that he cares a lot about Lizzy, we are still yet to see O!Ciel actually talk about his true feelings for her. And I believe it's about time l we see just how he thinks of her, from his own POV. I expect that this is something we will finally get to see soon in this arc as one of the layers it touches are the conflicts between O!Ciel and Lizzy, and their relationship.

It's been shown at an earlier part of this arc that O!Ciel distances himself from people he cares about to protect them, and that he is afraid to accept the idea that he deserves love and happiness. I think bringing up this memory with her, and his sterling silver roses would be an emotional way for him to finally face these feelings, and give it a name. To acknowledge that Lizzy is someone that he loves, ever since, and someone he doesn't want to lose.

All of this for now are just my assumptions on what we may see once we finally get the focus back to O!Ciel and Lizzy, but it would be truly interesting to see it unfold, and also a beautiful way to see them acknowledge their feelings for each other when the time comes.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #elizabeth midford #cielizzy #o!ciel #ciel x elizabeth #ciel x lizzy #lizzy x ciel #this also had me thinking of writing a fanfic about them involving sterling silver roses but when will i even have the time aaa #so yes i tried to write something lol #our!ciel #black butler lizzy #lizzy midford #black butler ciel