#as though that isn't a powerful and profound thing to be

[my-deer-friend]

We've shifted so far culturally from the 18th century that we see queerness in every declaration of love and don't see queerness in deep declarations of friendship.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 @asobeeee

[bedobabe]

⸻ ᛝ 𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗛𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨 !!

⸻ Characters included : Albedo, Wanderer, Xiao & Diluc

⸻ Non specific / gender neutral reader ⠀

⸻ Part 2 | Girls ver ♥︎

𝗔𝗟𝗕𝗘𝗗𝗢 tells himself he doesn't yearn for things like regular humans do - yet, he finds himself missing your kisses. The thought sends a warm shiver down his spine, even as he stands in the cold, stark laboratory, surrounded by his gleaming creations. So whenever you come up to see him or open the door to his office, his heart skips a beat, and the world seems to pause in anticipation. It's been a week since you've last visited, and the emptiness in the lab feels colder than usual.

The sterile air is filled with a silence so profound it seems to echo off the metal surfaces. Albedo would wrap his arms around you, his unkempt hair brushing against your cheek as you both leaned into the warm embrace. He always kisses your head or nose first before leaning into peck your lips.

𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗥 always expects you to make the first move. Which is funny considering his 'confident' attitude - but gets incredibly flustered whenever you ask for a kiss or hug. It doesn't matter, though. If it's for you he'll do anything.

He'll cup your face in his puppet-like hands, and roughly pull you in for a kiss, as if you're the only thing in the world that matters. It's in those moments that you can see his true feelings, raw and unfiltered. His eyes, usually a calm sea of blue, flicker with something fiercer - a storm of passion and need. Then after he's finished spoiling your face with his lips he'll be all moody and brooding again...

𝗫𝗜𝗔𝗢 is far too shy to beg for your affections like he wishes he could. Every morning, he watches from the corner of his eye as you get ready for the day and hope you'll show him some attention. The way your laughter fills the room is like music to his ears, and when you pass by, he tries to catch a whiff of your perfume. The boy is smitten. Xiao would never let any harm come to you. Not a cchance Xiao is worried he'll hurt you if he even attempts to touch you. It's your job to show him it's okay. He'll ask over and over again if this is what you really want.

You're the only one who can make him understand that love isn't something to be feared, but embraced. He'll kiss you like he'd hold a butterfly, afraid that his touch would crush the fragile beauty you hold. The warmth of his breath on your skin sends shivers down your spine, and his tentative touch feels like a gentle whisper. You've seen his fear, his trepidation, in the way his eyes dart away when you get too close, in the stumbling of his words when you ask about his feelings.

𝗗𝗜𝗟𝗨𝗖 is a gentleman, obviously. He will always lift your hand softly to kiss your knuckles a few times then pull you into a full embrace of love and promised protection.His rough hands come around to hold your waist firmly as he pulls you closer, the warmth of his touch sending a comforting shiver down your spine. His eyes, a fiery shade of red, lock onto yours with a gaze that's as intense as the flames he wields.

Diluc whispers his love for you like a declaration of war against any who might dare to harm you. His voice is low, a gentle rumble that resonates through your body, a stark contrast to the fiery blaze of his eyes. You feel safe, secure in the arms of this powerful man who has dedicated his life to protecting the innocent.

His kiss is passionate - but never enough to overwhelm you. He knows exactly how much to give and when to pull away, leaving you craving more of his warmth. His grip tightens for a brief moment, as if he's afraid to let you go, but then he does, taking a step back to look at you with a gentle smile.

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 627

A/N: This is going to be a multi-chapter story so let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Prologue

As you ventured deeper into the old castle’s darkened heart, the wooden floors creaked under your weight. Moonlight spilled through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, casting eerie patterns on the walls. Your footsteps echoed in the vast, empty halls - a reminder of the life that once filled these rooms. In its prime, the castle must have been a sight of power and strength but now only its ruins stood with the remains of what it once was.

In a forgotten corner, behind a luxurious, albeit faded, tapestry was a small, concealed door. Intrigued, you pushed it open, revealing a hidden study. Dust motes danced in the beam of your phone’s lantern as you surveyed the room. Your eyes fell upon an ancient and elegant desk, covered in a thick layer of dust. Something gleamed faintly beneath the grime.

Clearing the dust with gentle, careful strokes, you noticed an old, ornate inkwell and an unfinished letter. But it was the sealed envelope that captured your attention. You picked it up, the paper fragile and yellowed with age. You broke the seal with trembling hands and unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the elegant, flowing script.

As your eyes scanned the words, you could scarcely believe your vision. The letter was addressed to you, bearing an unknown name that sent shivers down your spine. It was a letter from Aemond Targaryen, written over a century ago.

"My Dearest, 

Though you may never read these words, I write them with an ardent heart, compelled by a love that defies the boundaries of time. From the moment I first beheld you, my soul recognized its counterpart. In the fleeting, stolen moments we shared, I found a joy that I had never known, a peace that I had never sought.

But fate, it seems, is a cruel mistress, and the duties of our blood have kept us apart. Yet, even as I fulfill these obligations, my thoughts are ever with you, my heart yearning for the day we may be reunited, even if only in another life.

If you find this letter, know that my love for you was eternal and unyielding. The gods themselves could not tear my heart from yours. You are, and will always be, my greatest love.

Yours forever,

Aemond Targaryen.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the heartfelt words sank in. A part of me felt somehow a profound connection to the man who wrote them as if his spirit had been waiting patiently across the centuries for you to find him. To find this letter. It was as if you could feel Aemond’s presence, a gentle whisper in the air, a caress just out of reach. The hairs in your body stand on end.

Memories that were not your own flickered in the periphery of your mind - glimpses of a life filled with passion and tumult, of a love that burned brightly against the backdrop of a world in turmoil. Aemond’s face, stern yet tender, flashed before your eyes, a visage that seemed to bridge the gap between past and present.

At that moment, the abandoned castle felt alive with the echoes of the past. You clutched the letter to your chest, your heart beating faster against your ribcage. How could such a thing be possible?

In the quiet of the night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, you whispered your own words to the wind. Hoping that somehow they’d meet that man just like his had met yours. Sleep didn’t catch you that night. Your thoughts too consumed with that letter and the whirlwind in your chest to fall into a slumber. The fact that you should start planning the restoration of the castle is just as lost.

[a-s-fischer]

One of the things I hear a lot from Gentile witches and neo-pagans who want to work with Lilith or claim to work with Lilith, is that she is actually a Mesopotamian goddess, usually either Ishtar/Inanna or Erishkigal, and that it was the Jews, with their horrible patriarchy juice, who slandered her and cast her down, and so the Jews do not deserve to say what happens to her and it isn't antisemitism to work with her, or to completely ignore what the Jews say about what she is in a Jewish context.

Lilith is not Ishtar or Erishkigal. However, there is a Mesopotamian figure that is pretty stinking analogous to Lilith, and is probably her folkloric ancestor, by which I mean the idea of Lilith probably comes from this Mesopotamian figure. In fact, Lilith almost certainly is either a Jewish version of this figure, or, they are both descended from the same Near Eastern and Mediterranean basin folkloric figure. That figure is Lamashtu.

Lamashtu is, much like Lilith, the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, a figure of power and terror, who functions as a way to embody and cope with the profound dangers that are pregnancy, childbirth, and infancy without effective medical care. the Mesopotamians never worshiped Lamashtu, but they did seek to appease her, including making symbolic gifts to her, to keep her from visiting them, and killing them or their children.

An interesting side note is that there is also a Mesopotamian figure who specifically opposes Lamashtu and functions as the protector of pregnant women and infants, and that figure is Pazuzu, a wind spirit, who ruled over other wind spirits, including ones called the Iilu in the Akkadian language. Akkadian is a Semitic language, related to Hebrew, and this word is probably a cognate of Lilith, but the Iilu probably have no relationship to the figure of Lilith except her name. You might know Pazuzu as the demon featured in the movie, The Exorcist, and ironic fate for a mythological protector of women and children.

Anyway, if you'll remember, I implied above that the Lamashtu/Lilith figure, was present in various guises throughout the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, so there are of course figures analogous to both of them throughout the region, such as Lamia of Greece, and the Strix of Rome.

So if you really really want to work with a figure who functions as the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, Lamashtu, Lamia, or the strix would all be excellent options that don't come from an extant closed religious practice. All the baby killing, none of the antisemitism and cultural appropriation.

While all three figures are almost certainly descended from the same folkloric root, they're all subtly different, because as stories and characters travel, they change. as such, they all have particular good points about them as figures of veneration.

Lanashtu is the OG bad bitch, who commanded fear, respect, and offerings, like a mythological mafiosa, collecting protection money.

Lamia has attached to her the story that she was one of Zeus's dubiously willing lovers, who was screwed over first by Zeus, the embodiment of patriarchical rule, then by a jealous Hera, the embodiment of patriarchal marriage, so if what attracted you to Lilith was the story from the Alphabet of Ben Sira, about a victim of the patriarchy getting her own back through violent vengeance, Lamia might be the girl for you. With her however, the emphasis is less on her murder of children, then on her seducing and eating men, though she does also get strongly associated with killing children, especially boys.

And the strix is particularly interesting, because the word comes down to us in the modern Italian word for witch, striga. Indeed, one of the theories as to where the witch figure came from in Early Medieval, and then Early Modern Christianity, was as the strix demon made human. This might explain the close association between Early Modern Witchcraft and infant mortality, including Italian stories of witches causing infants to die seemingly natural deaths, so that they could dig them up and eat them after their funerals, something that ties these human supposed witches very closely to demonic folkloric antecedents. If you are looking for a figure of unfairly maligned female power, the strix and her close association with later human witches, might be the one for you.

All three of these figures, much like Lilith herself, are reflections, both of the power women wielded even within patriarchal societies, over the process of pregnancy, birth, and childrearing, and also the powers of death and loss that everyone was subject to. There is something powerful, transgressive, and even healthy in acknowledging the fears and dangers presented by this death and loss,and for some people, that might take the form in venerating the underlying powers. If this is something that would be spiritually meaning for you, and you wish to work with such a figure, and you are not Jewish, please respect the fact that Lilith is part of a closed religious practice, and remember that Lilith has sisters, in other parts of the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, who are not from extant closed cultures, and who might serve your needs better anyway.

[quietmonologues]

I think the reason why I don't care for reading an Azriel book, is because he feels like a "settled" character. To me, he isn't positioned to gain anything profound or substantial (other than love) because he already has things that characters normally gain when they go on their character journeys.

I'll use ACOSF as an example. Maybe unpopular opinion but I see that book as Nesta's story instead of Nesta and Cassian's story because I didn't learn anything new about Cassian or see further character development. Instead, his focus throughout the story is on Nesta and the impeding threats surrounding Prythian. I don't see him recovering from a traumatic event because the story doesn't show us an event he's traumatized from. If he is traumatized, it's from the past and off screen. I honestly don't know if it has bearing on his present (correct me if I'm wrong, i don't remember much). He doesn't need to learn about his powers, he already knows what they are. He's honed his combat skills over the centuries. He knows his history, his purpose, his role, his sense of self. He has established dynamics with his found family, he doesn't need to search for a new one. He has a home and a sense of freedom. He had all of these things when we met him. Is there anything else to see from Cassian as his own character? I'm sure there is, but I don't think we got that far yet. It's similar with Azriel. He has his issues with Mor, his thing with Gwyn, dealing with feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. But what else of him? He has some growing to do yes, but he seems tethered and grounded in so many other ways.

I personally want to read about someone who is untethered in a plethora of ways. Someone who isn't settled, who isn't "rooted" in place yet. The Archeron sisters are a given. Their stories involve learning about their new bodies and powers, understanding their sense of self and purpose, dealing with their recent and past trauma, finding a home and a family in Prythian, and so forth. And then...I think about Lucien Vanserra who is practically the poster boy for "untethered". He has so many unfinished stories left in him. He lost his home in Autumn and Spring, he sort of has one in Night but then he's also living in the human lands, so where is his true home? Beron wants to take over Prythian, will he be sucked back into the court that caused him pain and suffering? The man he thought was his father isn't, how will he deal with that? Does he need to learn more about his Day Court powers? What will he do to help Vassa and her curse? Will he ever reconcile with his brothers and mother? Will he ever reconcile with Tamlin? What's his dynamic with the Band of Exiles like? They're a pretty new friendship group after all. And this isn't even touching on his bond with Elain or his past with Jesminda!

This isn't about hitting rock bottom or who's better than who. To me Azriel doesn't have the meat to carry a story or journey I would enjoy reading about (emphasis on "I" because it might work for others though). So yes, I'm rooting for Elucien to get the next book as I think that book will be really dynamic.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Any error x nightmare fluff? Preferably cannon personalitys 🩷

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

I'll hate you as you hold me by Casual_Spectatee (Mature, Incomplete)

Nightmare has always had an interest in Error. From the moment he saw the Destroyer in action, he wanted that kind of power on his side. He imagined the terror he could bring if forced the Destroyer himself into submission and to assist him. Error does not give two fucks about Nightmare's dreams, he isn't fucking going to help that prick until God himself walks down and threatens him with eternal hell, and even then, he'd still prefer hell for the rest of his existence than to spend a single minute with Nightmare. Unfortunately for Error, Nightmare is set on getting the Destroyer to work with him one way or another. If that means helping Error for nothing in return, so be it. Error just wishes that it wasn't all such a common thing to wake up in the beds of his two worst enemies, because they all have shitty fucking blankets and he's getting sick of it.

To Trust A Nightmare by Otletes (Mature, Incomplete)

Error has been alone longer than he cares to think about. He's been insane longer than he likes to think about as well, but now he's come back from that insanity. He knows that he has to continue destroying, for the sake of the multiverse, so he's accepted that he will always be alone, in his cold white space. One day though he finds himself watching Nightmare and his gang, it becomes his new favorite pass time. He can't remember much of the dark skeleton, but watching him now, he can't help, but wonder… could this be a group that he'd be accepted in? A place where he could have a family? … Find love? Or will he fall back into insanity and remain alone?

Working through issues with a shunned diety by Hellian_Eden, Jesus_fox (General Audiences, Incomplete)

The Multiverse is vast and nigh infinite, possibilities, concepts, the very function of a world's reality only limited by sheer creativity. Within this realm, Dreamtale exists as an enigma, plucked from another Multiverse entirely. The tragedy of it's Story forced to continue beyond it's Endings, for it forced the concept of Balance into the Multiverse's rules. Now open-ended, the only two Characters wanders throughout the Multiverse as one of it's Outcodes. Dream broke out of stone to one colorful and curious Inkblot, so much to comprehend for someone so small. But alive nonetheless. Nightmare woke up freshly dead. Au: Get it? Cuzhe died lmao

Your memory has faded [BEING REWRITTEN] by unalivedcow (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Nightmare doesn’t remember anything after his transformation, leaving Error devastated. [BEING REWRITTEN] ! spoilers below ! (By the way this is based off a real life scenario of a man with Alzheimer’s forgetting he was married and falling back in love with his wife but I just tweaked it a bit)

Eclipsed by You by BadOmen (Mature, Incomplete)

A gentle breeze drapes the landscape like a soft blanket, with a lone figure standing atop a grassy hill. Feeling disconnected from the world and neglected by his busy brother, he’s on the brink of losing himself. His hopelessness drives him to the edge of fleeing from his own despair. But a planned encounter in the snowy expanse of a fading universe brings an unexpected twist. There, amidst the winter wonderland, he meets a warm and friendly face who gradually draws him out of his shell. Caught between the desire to retreat from this newfound kindness and the urge to let his walls crumble, he faces a profound choice. The story follows Geno and Night, two monsters from separate AUs—Who eventually turn to Error and Nightmare. Geno, struggling with his own emotional barriers, meets Nightmare in his gentler form. Together, they recognize their shared scars—both physical and emotional. Nightmare, self-conscious about his shattered eye socket, finds solace in Geno, whose own eye is also damaged. Through companionship, they agree to keep each other at arms length, perhaps sharing more than just laughter.

Here's a few more fics that are similar to what you're asking for!

[yumigguk]

HERETIC| jjk & kth (teaser)

pairing: jeon jungguk x reader; kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, mature themes

warnings: vulgar language

category: teaser

summary: 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯��𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.

In the hushed atmosphere, '80s Italian music provides a soundtrack. Your hands carry the faint scent of a condom, the night of “love” imprinted in memory. A night full of tears, moans, and Jungkook's blind promises.

On your lips, there's a taste of early memories about him and you and conversations too profound for this passionate domain. The game feels too taboo. Alongside the Italian music, the violent voices of your friends resonate. You try to focus on what your friends are saying, but your mind jumps to him. You breathe heavily, struggling to remind yourself of him. It’s a monotonous time. It's cold. And you can't understand how the world around you isn't suffocating. He’s not in front of you, but you feel the tension between you two.

Jungkook is a fallen angel. Proud. Unsharing. But wanting to be shared. He's cruel. Merciless. He shatters you completely, and in the end, he smiles. He disrespects you. And you, pathetic, take everything eagerly. He's the god on a pedestal. Only his pleasure matters. You sell yourself until he no longer wants you. Jungkook or the Antichrist.

You light a cigarette and remember the late August night spent together. Undressed. Nude. A glass of wine in his hand. The thick smoke stuck to the ceiling. The rain had started. Strong. Even though it rained, it was suffocatingly hot. The ash fell nonchalantly on the floor, what if the rented Airbnb were to burn?. Or maybe he didn't even realize. A typical apartment furnished for the type of woman you were: a mistress. Are mistresses allowed to fall in love?

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" One of his selfish questions.

"No, it's too hot," you reply shortly and harshly, knowing you're lying. Jungkook wanted to know any weakness.

You and Jungkook started everything as a game. You felt from the first moment that the tender gestures would be fatal to you. That they were part of his fucked-up game to collect yet another soul to destroy. Who are you to deny it? Jungkook was fierce, merciless, and aware of the power he had over you. He fooled you with sweet words and beautiful promises, maybe even unforgettable moments. Which meant nothing to him.

The relationship between you and him was vague. It never had coordinates. Lovers? Nothing to him? All you know is that he stole something from you. Consciousness. You don't realize time and space, but one thing is certain: he's married.

"Y/N?" your friend Bora calls out desperately for your approval. You sense she wants to leave home because she's already packing up.

The rain dissolves you, merging with the streets of Seoul, as if nothing animates you anymore. Would you wish for nostalgia to dissipate with a cigarette, merging seamlessly with the revived state? Yes. That’s how he deals with this. He smokes and doesn't let himself be animated by your feelings or anyone else's. He wants you. Tacitly. Without ever telling you. He wants you ruthlessly, mercilessly, as if his marriage meant nothing. Maybe it doesn't mean anything when you're together.

Arriving home, you reach for the phone and dial. Once again, you plunge into the void. You made a pact with the Antichrist, a decision impelled by your own fragrance that suffocated you, reminding you of him. You find yourself in decline: A notorious film, bitter passions of love.

"Hey–"

"I'm coming over," that's what he says and hangs up.

Droplets of repetitive water. The ticking of the clock. You hear the entrance door, and your breath catches. Wet. Hungry. Desiring. Fire. It sets your body ablaze. Thirsty glances. You relish his nocturnal version, the one whispering for you to stop, both knowing he wants you more. You capture his lips gently; his tongue sharing the taste of tobacco. Impatiently, a little time passed, and he confesses that you've induced an erection (a noteworthy detail). You can't deny the chemistry. Boiling with anticipation, today his twisted pleasures give you a hard time.

"I'm sorry I fucked her." You break from the deadly kiss and lose yourself in emptiness. You don't want to look at him for fear that the passions of love would kill you.

You swallow hard. Heart as small as a flea. Short and chaotic breaths. Why is he apologizing? Your nose tickles, and your eyes try not to let tears escape. Suddenly, you understand nothing.

You've never understood anything. You've never understood who he truly is. Maybe he doesn't even know. Amnesias and confusions. The nullity of your own words.

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" You laugh bitterly.

[welcometothejianghu]

Top 10 of 2024

All right! It's time to count down my favorite Asian media things I watched in 2024 -- and sure, most of them came out way earlier than 2024, but whatever, I'm slow. Longer rec posts linked where applicable. If you wind up watching one of these on my say-so, let me know! I'm always happy to know I've been an Influencer (ha ha).

Honorable Mention: Heaven and Hell: Soul Exchange

This was originally going to be on the actual list, but a last-minute contender hopped in and bumped it off. Still, I loved this weird genderfucky body-swap murder mystery romp enough that I couldn't leave it out entirely. This baby sits right at the Hump of Compelling Mediocrity, where when it's good, it's good, and when it's bad, you can't stop thinking about how you'd fix it. I want an American remake of this so Bryan Fuller can rub his butt all over it. [full rec post here]

10. Hotel Del Luna

Did we watch this for Yeo Jingoo? You know it. And yet, we wound up falling for all the characters in this show about a bunch of dead (and one living!) people sending other dead people off to their afterlives. Meandering at times, it falls into a lot of K-drama tropes, but it still manages to pull of something special and occasionally profound.

9. 3 Will Be Free

Ah, here's the last-minute spoiler from Thailand! We showed up expecting something dumb, fun, and horny. What we got was something way smarter than it has any right to be -- but still fun and horny! A bisexual trio of incredibly sexy people (and some fascinating side characters) fall in love while semi-haplessly on the run from a whole bunch of people with guns.

8. Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko!

This goofy tale of dumb lesbians was wacky and fun from start to finish. How long can you keep up a gag about two co-workers each convinced that the other one isn't into her? Exactly the length of this tiny, funny comedy. And as a bonus, there's the manga, which is equally short and sweet. [full rec post here]

7. Story of Yanxi Palace

At 70 episodes, this (rather speculative) historical drama is not for those with short attention spans. Even so, it's a treat for anyone who likes period pieces, lavish costuming, and high-quality acting. Watch as a completely insane young woman leverages her insanity to become the most powerful pretty pretty princess in the Qing Dynasty! [full rec post here]

6. The Rebel

And speaking of well-acted period pieces! At the risk of quoting myself: Do you feel like watching a beautiful man have a terrible day for 43 episodes straight? Then this Republican-Era spy drama is for you. Zhu Yilong bounces off some gorgeous costars in a gripping tale of brave Communist misery. [full rec post here]

5. Legend of Fei

A great example of how a boilerplate YA story about a bunch of teens who save the world from eeeeevil adults can be elevated by leaning in to its inherent sweet, melodramatic goofiness. I wouldn't call it a comedy, but it's a very funny drama held up by delightful characters and charming romances. I have no idea what the plot was, nor do I care. I was too busy watching Yibo smile. [full rec post here]

4 Otoko Meshi

This show is silly. It has a completely preposterous setup: an injured yakuza boss moves in with an unemployed twentysomething, cooks him dinner, and teaches him life lessons. It has all the subtlety of a piano dropped from a great height. All the acting is completely over the top. And yet, it manages to be sincerely heartwarming? This ten-episode food-based comedy is entirely worth the effort you may have to go through to find a way to watch it. [full rec post here]

3. The Spirealm

Yeah, this one grabbed my ass good enough that I've made a whole meta-and-shitpost sideblog (@thirteenthdoor) for it. I will say, though, that the show wouldn't have done it alone -- my love for it is compounded by how I fell even harder for the book it was adapted from. Both of them together tell a gay-ass horror story about love and loss through several terrifying, deadly worlds. [full rec post for the show here; full rec post for the book here]

2. The On1y One

Just ... damn, man. What a piece of art. I was not expecting much out of a Taiwanese BL about two high-school boys falling in love, much less a beautiful, well-written, amazingly affecting tale of complicated family dynamics and gay feelings. It had better get a second season that concludes the story, is all I'm saying. [full rec post here]

1. Kinou Nani Tabeta?

I have now watched significant portions of this ... four times? Because I keep showing it to other people, because it keeps being that good. The slow, cozy, food-centric tale of the daily lives of two aging Japanese gay men makes you feel happy -- but when it rips your heart out, it rips it right out. I get that it's a little Too Real for a lot of people, but oh, it was just what I needed. [full rec post here]

What will 2025 bring? Who can say! I hope it's gay, though.

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Another pick a card...but make it cunt 😆 im lowkey cringing with myself, but I don't care, I loved this idea and this aesthetic. I've always been a cherry cola kind of gal.

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Pile One

You serve cunt in a classy way. Elegance is your niche, beauty and brains IS your motif. There's magic behind your allure that's very old fashioned, an era that's been mimicked by so many, but only truly reincarnated by fewer individuals. It's so nostalgic, and reminds me of this longing that's present in each generation. "I miss the 90s", "There's hardly any superstars in Hollywood anymore", "Where's the talent?", "Video Vixens of today are lacking sex appeal". Aesthetics and "vibes" are easy to wear as a costume, but will always fall short as if something is missing. You have something that isn't ephemeral and can't be cloned because it isn't studied by the naked eye, but is definitely hard to not notice. It's derived from your authenticity, and is most adored by when you're in your element. I'm getting that one of your talents involve visuals, if you're the model when it comes to art, people love your sense of style and the way that you walk, if you're the creator, whether it's digital or concrete, the people love how your creations are like air, it isn't try hard, it doesn't demand to be seen, it's a force to be reckoned naturally. Maybe you guys are enthusiasts, and are the audience that admires the art, but just because of your passion, you generate a following that's interested in how you see things and what you have to say. This could definitely be a pile for cinephiles, anime cosplayers, or even beauty influencers. Continue using your voice, serving cunt is when speak your mind. You're able to strike a nerve in people without being vulgar. Both your stance on things and tone are profound. People are intimidated by your intellect, eloquence, self-efficacy, and mental independence. I'm seeing archivists in this pile, people that are very protective over cultural traditions, history, but also protective over themselves. Even if you're still learning how to set boundaries in a healthy way with others, you demonstrate a lot of vigor by making the first step, which is knowing what's beneath your worth. Your physical attraction is lethal because you create your own category of appeal, what's preventing you from weilding it to its full potential is seeing it for yourself, without needing another person or social construct to point it out for you. Maybe some of you are trying to get out of the grass is greener on the other side mindset when it comes attracting what you want. If it's love in all aspects, recognition, self-worth, manifestation, or just confidence to interact with others as who you are, this relates to your femininity, a misconception that your feminine energy has to be soft, dark, hyper, or even concealed. For some of you, you could have had a rough upbringing, where although you unfortunatelt had to withstand pressure, it turned you into a diamond. Especially if you're ethnic, and resonate with being a historian, scrutiny over your physical and cultural differences, could have taught you to really value yourself, not feel guilty for defending yourself, and recognize how special you really are.

Pile Two

You're approaching a special glow up and it's definitely going to be something "cunty" that'll have some people upset. I don't even see this as a villain era, but more so something very personal. I feel like this pile has dealt with a lot of situations with people cornering you into making you doubt yourself or just outright trying to sabotage your spirit that could convince you out of opportunities that are divinely meant for you. Even though it says a lot about what you're capable of, if people have to kick you down when you're low or can't take you down by themselves, it takes a powerful person to stand up for themselves ten toes down against intimidation. You're going to achieve a milestone that's going to be very important to you but also a big deal to others as well, especially your haters. People that underestimated your might, are going to have to witness these rewards that you've worked so hard for, and it isn't even the peak of blessings that your endurance will reap. You serve cunt, by getting stuff done, accessorizing initiative with your charm, having a lot of endurance and scorching optimism amongst being met with cold situations like betrayal, failure, and people that aren't kind. You serve cunt with your quirks, creativity, and self-awareness, you're like this fountain that doesn't stop pouring when it comes to your capacity to grow and hone your gifts. You serve cunt with the way you keep fighting for your wishes and your stability. Even if it's not on some woo-woo abracadabra shit, you serve cunt in a "witchy" way. You guys are alchemizers, you make peace with your darkness by letting it transform you for the better. You're not afraid to show your scars, your sensitivities, your imperfections, or your mistakes, or your shadow. You wear them like a Picasso painting, abstract, thought-provoking, inspiring, mesmerizing. The way that you serve cunt is only a weapon to those who feel inadequate compared to your range. You could attract a lot of envy, people who feel personally feel like what you're blessed with should be given to them, but this is petty energy, hence why it never prevails against you. It could sting, but it never keeps you down. You could have a strong spiritual team that's protective over you, but part of your protection also comes from understanding that you DO have teasurable qualities that'll bring you success one day. You serve cunt, by the way you empower yourself instead of blaming others for hiccups in your life, you take control by knowing that no amount of evil eye, tower moments, or swords in your back can ruin or take away your abundance, that energy can't be destroyed, it can only be blocked by you, continue to keep your motivation high and always recognize when you're getting in your own way. The magic just doesn't stop, it starts with you and how you create your life by how you apply your actions in your present reality. Keep chasing after what you want, because it's out there, seeking for you too.

Pile Three

"I don't chase—I attract" but make it cunt. The burst of energy in this pile is both chaotic but ironically contained at the same time? It's like how a cat always lands on its feet. The universe LOVES you, and you know it, I'm getting major princess treatment vibes in this pile, but it's not something that you take for granted nor is your life just completely sunshine and rainbows. The struggles that weigh on your shoulders, you carry them well, and you always manage to give others a smile or just the things that you say will make their day or change their way of thinking about life. People admire your confidence, they love your humor, some people just want to BE you entirely because of how other individuals and opportunities just seem to gravitate towards you. People in general just deem you as someone's who is lucky. Words are spells, and people liken yours to the Midas touch. You're great at giving yourself and others, affirmations, and a part of what expands your abundance is how you show gratitude. Even if it's not much, the way that you speak of things, will make others believe that what you have is golden. I'm getting a  hypothetical scenario where you're in a financial bind, that's inevitable and out of your control, but instead of mentally just shutting down or letting this problem consume your day, you order an iced coffee, but do you know what you're gonna do with that iced coffee? You're gonna romanticize the hell out of that coffee! This also applies to how you look as well, doing a baddie on a budget haul at Marshall's? Best believe you're gonna still be serving CUNT in that outfit, name-brand or not. You know that each person's expiration date on life is unknown until it happens, so you really serve cunt by living each day like the world is your oyster. I notice that you're also very clear with your intent which is why the universe meets you half way. When you take a leap, you can fall, you know you're not invincible, but most of the time, you fly, and soar away into the next adventure. When you lose things or people that are not for you, don't resonate with anymore, or take you for granted, you could find yourself immediately seeing your losses being replaced with something better. You treat life like a celebration, and that's why people enjoy your company, others may feel that it's always going to be a fun, pleasant, and memory making moment when hanging out with you. You're wild in a way that may be scary for others, but also induce an adrenaline rush in others because your aura just feels so carefree and like they're being liberated.

[transchesters]

inspired by this post. couldn’t stop thinking about it so i had to write this <3 ends abruptly but i could be persuaded into writing more 🫢

sam winchester was cursed to be an abomination before he was even born. the fates, or perhaps god himself, decided long ago that the youngest winchester brother would be lucifer's perfect vessel. sure, it was mary who made the deal with azazel — her youngest for john's life — but azazel would have wound up in little sammy's nursery, dripping his rancid blood into the baby's mouth.

somewhere down the line, sam accepted this about himself. he was an abomination, only a slight step away from the demons he hunted. when he drank from ruby, he believed it was worth it, that it was the right thing to do. he was saving lives here! but then, ruby was dead, and lilith was dead, and lucifer rose from hell. all because of *him*. he had let himself grow blind enough to be manipulated by the lowest of the low, all because she told him it would make him powerful. and if he was powerful, then he could do anything, save anyone.

how stupid he had been. he had let everyone down. dean, bobby... castiel. castiel, who should have killed him the moment they met. who forgave him each time he fell. who picked him back up, rescued him from the cage, and took on the burden of his memories. like sam was something worth saving, or protecting.

it's well past midnight when sam wanders into the main room of the bunker, rubbing at his dark-circled eyes, unaware of the angel sitting at the table who is leafing through old men of letter's records.

"sam. you look unwell."

sam blinks, though he isn't startled by castiel's presence. if anything, he is grateful for it. grateful and undeserving.

"shouldn't you be sleeping?" comes castiel's voice again, his brow furrowed as it usually is. his blue eyes are sharp and curious as sam walks his way, soon sitting down in the chair across from his.

"probably. doesn't mean i can," sam replies, peeking over to see what castiel is reading, but the angel closes the book before he gets a chance to. when sam looks up with a raised brow, the expression on castiel's face is unreadable. "what?"

"why is it that you still torture yourself, sam?" castiel questions suddenly, leaning forward as he rests his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together in front of him. when the only response he gets is a confused look from sam, he tilts his head and continues. "you have such a low opinion of yourself. even after all the good you have done, all the lives you have saved, you still think of yourself as the boy with the demon blood."

sam's face falls flat, and he stiffens in his chair. why did castiel have to be so perceptive, and so straightforward? "i dunno, man. we don't need to get into that right now," he mumbles eventually, averting his eyes from the blue ones that see right through him. he runs a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the last time his insomnia kept him up for so long.

"yes, we do. if it will ease your troubles and allow you to heal, then yes. we do."

sam thinks about that response for several seconds before he finally looks at castiel again, heaving a sigh. "why do you even care, cas? you said it yourself, the day we met. i'm the boy with the demon blood. that's what i am, above being a hunter, above being dean's brother, above everything." something about castiel's eyes urge him to spill his guts, and he suddenly can't stop talking. "i'm unclean. unholy. even after all this time, i still feel it in me. every time i kill a demon, i think about how good it would feel to drink it's blood, and then i hate myself a little more. i'm a monster, cas. i'm no better than them."

their eye contact is unwavering, and as sam falls silent, they are both still. castiel, who has become as precious to sam as dean, stares at him with a profound sadness in his eyes. sam deserves none of it.

"you could fix me," sam says suddenly, the idea hardly formed in his mind before he's latching on to it, leaning forward suddenly so he's closer to castiel. "you, you're the opposite of me. you're pure and just and perfect."

castiel blinks owlishly, his head cocked to the side in a way that makes sam want to weep. how can an angel sit before him like this and not feel anything but revulsion?

"sam, if i could heal you, i would. but there is nothing to heal. there is nothing wrong with you." castiel frowns as sam scoffs at his words, almost pouting. "there isn't. the demon blood within you is just a part of you. there is nothing to be done about it. you can fight your urges, and you can do the right thing. that's all that matters, in the end."

perhaps he means to sound reassuring, but sam just feels sick. he's shaking his head before castiel even finishes his sentence. "you're wrong. i’m wrong, on a molecular level. but you can help me!" without thinking, sam reaches out, grapsing castiel's hand in his own. he's surprised to find that castiel's skin is much cooler than that of a normal human. he's also surprised that castiel doesn't recoil from the touch. instead, their hands twine together like they have done this before. like their hands belong together.

"i want to help you," castiel says in a quiet tone, briefly looking down at their hands, feeling an unusual flutter in his chest. "what can i do for you, sam? i will do anything in my power." devotion is clear in his tone, but sam doesn't notice. he's too far gone into hating himself and trying to fix himself.

"it's angel blood. it's your blood — don't you see? you're the only one who can save me and make me right. because, despite everything, you're still here. you let me hold your hand and you heal me after hunts, even though i'm... me. but if you let me have your blood... it would cleanse me." sam isn't sure, really, where the idea came from. if he's been thinking about it for awhile, or if it all just clicked rather suddenly. but he is without a doubt that it will work. that castiel can save him.

castiel looks up from their joined hands and meets sam's eyes again. he takes in the human before him, tainted but lovely, cursed yet trying his hardest. perhaps he is right. demon blood is what ruined sam in the first place, so why shouldn't angel blood be the antidote? and even though castiel tries to rationalize it in his mind, he knows there is no point. because either way, he would say yes.

"of course, sam," he agrees quietly, an angel blade suddenly appearing in his hand.

"wait — not here. i don't want dean to..." sam trails off, because the thought of his brother walking in on this is simply too terrible to speak.

with a ruffle of invisible feathers, they are suddenly seated on sam's bed, in his simple room, devoid of personal touches that would make it truly his. castiel casts his eyes around, noting the differences between this room and dean's, who filled his with memories and mementos the moment they claimed this as their home. he returns his gaze to sam, sitting beside him so their shoulders brush. "it'll be okay, sam," he promises as he begins rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and then his white shirt, exposing his pale forearm.

sam stares at the soft flesh — unmarked unlike his own which is covered with scars — with a strange feeling in his stomach. he watches with apt interest as castiel drags the silver blade across his skin, a red line of blood following. the angel and the boy with the demon blood lock eyes again for a lingering glance, before sam takes castiel's arm in his hands and pulls it up to his lips.

[youremyheaven]

Uttara Bhadrapada & Revati: Psychic Insight, Time Travel & Dreams

In my last post about Punarvasu & Swati, I had briefly gone into their association with time travel but in my research since I have found that Pisces rashi (0-3 degress Purvabhadrapada, Uttarabhadrapada & Revati) is also connected to time travel, as well as with psychic powers and using these abilities to solve crimes, prevent disasters or save others. This is an important distinction because not everybody uses their paranormal/supernatural powers to do good necessarily.

The word spirituality has been so over used in the last decade or so that it has now kind of lost all meaning as most people don't understand it in its true sense of transcending the material but instead as a way to play around with crystals or tarot or astrology, engaging with these tools in the most shallow way possible and using it as a balm to remain in the loop of earthly attachment.

Some people are born with an inherent understanding of what it means to be connected to the spirit. Due to the way religion & belief are often structured, not all of these people will identify their own beliefs as spiritual ones but you've got to admit that some people are just naturally intuitive and capable of understanding things in a way that goes beyond education or any taught knowledge. What is intuition though? Is it just a profound inner knowing? Usually, it is a combination of several things, including observational skills, the ability to be perceptive and understand what lies beyond the surface, deduction etc. Intuition isn't always knowledge from the beyond but it can also refer to the ability to read a room or a person and be emotionally intelligent enough to behave accordingly.

I am by no means suggesting that all Pisces natives are this way. They are not. But I have noticed several Pisces natives possessing a heightened sense of perception & intuition. This is just water sign culture tbh and as you'll see in the post, also extends to other rashis/nakshatras.

Derren Brown, the British magician & mentalist is a UBP Moon. He's a skeptic himself and has repeatedly said he does not possess any psychic powers but he's never really gone into his methods either. You could say that he has astute observational skills that makes his performances truly one of a kind but its pretty incredible to train yourself to do what he does; you can only build on the natural acumen you possess.

The Sixth Sense is a pretty iconic film in the "child has visions" genre and it stars Haley Joel Osment, Revati sun & mercury as well as Bruce Willis who is UBP Sun

Bruce also starred in a movie (also directed by M Night Shyamalan) called Unbreakable where his character has psychometric powers.

Psych is detective comedy drama series (very underrated imo) that features a guy who possesses eidetic memory and great observation skills and uses it to convince the police department he is a psychic.

James Roday Rodriguez who plays this character has Revati sun & mercury, Venus in Pisces (2 degree Purvabhadrapada )

Patricia Arquette stars as a psychic medium in the show Medium (honestly the police department x psychic consultant is one of my fav tropes of 2000s television). She has a Revati stellium (sun, saturn & rahu) and UBP mercury and venus.

Salma Hayek, UBP Moon, plays a psychic medium in House of Gucci (based on a true story)

Devon Sawa who played the main character on Final Destination (he has premonitions and tries to help others avoid death) has Ketu in UBP

Joan of Arc, UBP Moon went to King Charles at the age of 17 as she was guided by visions from the archangel Michael, Saint Margaret, and Saint Catherine to help him save France from English domination. Convinced of her devotion and purity, Charles sent Joan, to the siege of Orléans as part of a relief army. After several military defeats in which Joan played a role, she was put on trial by Bishop Pierre Cauchon on accusations of heresy, which included blaspheming by wearing men's clothes, acting upon demonic visions, and refusing to submit her words and deeds to the judgment of the church. She was declared guilty and burned at the stake on 30 May 1431, aged about nineteen.

Baffled is a movie about a race car driver who has psychic visions. He is played by Leonard Nimoy who has UBP Sun, Mercury in Revati (amatyakaraka) & Rahu and Swati Rising (Swati is a nakshatra that is associated with ESP but more on that later).

The Dead Zone is about a man who wakes up from a 5yr coma and learns he has psychic abilities. Christopher Walken who plays this man has Revati sun & UBP mercury (being in a coma/waking up from sleep is also a very Pisces theme a la Sleeping Beauty)

In Doctor Sleep, a sequel to The Shining, Ewan McGregor plays Danny Torrance (who has psychic abilities). He has UBP Sun

Harry's ability to see things is kinda overlooked (in Goblet of Fire for instance when he makes those predictions in Trelawney's class). We know that he sees a lot of stuff due to his connection with the Dark Lord but still. Harry's intuition has saved his ass on more than one occasion. Daniel Radcliffe has UBP Moon.

The Initiation of Sarah is a movie about a nice girl who is bullied by her sorority sisters and then unleashes her psychic powers to get even. Kay Lenz who plays her has Mars in Revati atmakaraka, UBP mercury (swati moon & rising)

Nostradamus who had prophetic visions of the future (many of which have come true) had Rahu & Rising in UBP

This brings me to Pisces' connection to time travel because if you think about it having premonitions and making prophecies is tied to an ability to see into the future; you are mentally time travelling.

I have noticed that in several instances Pisces natives are cast in time-travel movies.

Nathan Fillion who was in Firefly & Serenity (time travel series & movie) had UBP sun, Revati moon atmakaraka

Bliss (2021) a movie about alternate realities accessed through drug induced hallucinations??? (i dont know for sure the plot is kinda dense) stars Salma Hayek, UBP Moon and Owen Wilson, Swati Moon with Saturn in Revati atmakaraka

Predestination is a time travel movie starring Sarah Snook who has Revati moon & jupiter

Joseph Gordon Levitt, UBP rising stars in the time-travel movie Looper as a hitman from the future who has to kill himself.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is a movie about a girl who can travel through time, its directed by Mamoru Hosoda who has UBP Moon and Saturn

La Jetee is an experimental French short film about a man who travels through time to understand the past/present/future of WW3. Its directed by Chris Marker who has Ketu in Revati

Pisces is kind of obviously connected to the story of Sleeping Beauty (I'll explore this more in a separate post) but I think Pisces and dreaming (not sleeping but dreaming) are also connected.

Joseph Gordon Levitt, UBP Rising stars in Inception a movie about dream thieves essentially

Werner Krauss, Ketu in Revati starred in The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari (1920) as a hypnotist who uses a somnambulist to commit murders.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Science of Sleep etc was made my Michel Gondry who has Venus in Revati amatyakaraka (he is also Punarvasu Rising but I'll discuss more in my post about Surrealism)

Dreams (1990) is a movie by Akira Kurosawa and is based on 8 dreams he had. He is UBP Sun & Punarvasu Rising

Dreams That Money Can Buy is a surrealist film about a guy who sells his dreams to others. Its directed by Hans Richter who has Revati Sun

All of Miyazaki's movies have a dream-like quality and one is literally a dream (won't spoil by saying which one hehe). He is UBP Moon.

I have noticed many Shatabhisha natives be drawn to similar themes and tropes in their work.

Dreamscape is a movie about a psychic who works for the President of America. Its directed by Joseph Ruben who is Shatabhisha Sun & Jupiter (he also has Venus in UBP) and stars Dennis Quaid (Punarvasu Moon) as the psychic.

Firestarter is a movie about a child with psychic powers and stars Drew Barrymore who is Shatabhisha Sun & Punarvasu Moon

Jennifer Love Hewitt, Shatabhisha Moon starred in The Ghost Whisperer as a person who can communicate with ghosts.

Sissy Spacek starred in Carrie about a girl who has supernatural powers. She has Shatabhisha Moon

Scott Bakula who starred in Quantum Leap, a TV series about a scientist stuck in time, has Shatabhisha Moon

I hope this post was interesting and informative, pls lmk if you have any other examples!!

[hwnglx]

felix's real personality behind the scenes

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

+ so the central theme for the first part of the reading, was the word “healing”. this is sweet actually, since i do think a lot of his public image is also tied to that, and it does appear to be a genuine part of his personality.

felix is a person who can have a profound impact on people, in a way where he just soothes them quite naturally. his presence alone can have that calming effect. there's a lot of gentleness to his energy. he's someone people would want to seek out when there's chaos and stress in their life, and they need a source of comfort and positivity. he enjoys giving that to people, and being that type of existence for them. it fulfills him, and can make him feel better about himself.

the stray kids member is the type of person who, instead of being relentlessly competitive and drama-prone, chooses to connect to people in a close manner. he's someone who truly doesn't enjoy drama and conflict.

felix wants to put himself into other people's shoes, genuinely empathize with them, make them feel validated and understood. he usually isn't a person who feels the need to selfishly put himself above anyone in order to lift himself up, or sees people as competition somehow. he just isn't the type who'll consciously choose to fight you, if he can befriend you instead. definitely an “everybody's darling” type of energy.

however, what's definitely worthy to note.. his softness does not equal weakness. on the contrary; felix is someone who's much more masculine and bold than some people might think. he isn't an easy target or pushover, and is in possession of his strong opinions he won't budge away from. if he feels strongly about something, he will not be the type to surrender that easily. in fact, he's very passionate in his autonomy.

i kept getting this feeling, that he's just amazing at wisely picking his battles, and acting with clear intention. although i do see him having his explosive moments, that definitely might catch some people off guard sometimes, considering the duality that's present here.. i don't really see him being a person who allows himself to let loose at the wrong time. i don't see him being someone so overly impulsive that he steps on people's toes, or crosses lines he shouldn't cross.

he's still got a tight enough grip on his emotions, that he's capable of staying conscious of when to let them bubble to the surface. if it's justified and he clearly feels like he's in the right though; you're likely to see a different side to felix, that's much more opinionated and dominant than you think.

this man just has amazing tact, and knows when to let out different sides of himself. he knows who to be more submissive towards, and who he can be more commanding with. he knows how to behave according to what benefits him the most, and which behavior will be to his biggest advantage. some people could look at this as selfish, and see it as more of a yellow flag. the lines are a little blurred here.

felix will be the sweetest and most generous person in the world, if he feels like you can help him out in some manner.

if there's someone who knows how to network in this business, it's him. i wouldn't be surprised if a good amount of his deals are a result of people just genuinely liking him as a person, and almost feeling this desire to return his kindness. (i'm not downplaying his talents! but he just gives the industry's darling too, which i saw in my jyp reading as well)

i can see him doing things like giving gifts, and being of service, or just extra nice to some people in power, who can give him the opportunities or attention/clout he wishes for.

he definitely can have his materialistic and opportunistic tendencies, which again, is likely to be more blurred in terms of “green and red flags”

he's just very clever and strategic, as well as more calculated than what meets the eye. he knows exactly what he's doing when sweetly smiling at you; he knows what effect he has on you. he's someone who charms people like it's the easiest thing in the world, and knows how to make use of his appeal.

- so, emphasizing this again; felix isn't stupid, he's very smart. he isn't a fool, he isn't the naive and innocent angel that he might portray himself as at times.

he's good at detaching himself from people.. the type that makes you feel like you're close to him, when you probably only know like 15% of who he actually is.

he's great at hiding away several parts of himself, especially the more “negative” ones. meaning, he usually disguises e.g. his negative opinions on people behind an agreeable smile, holds grudges deep down he probably won't tell you about, if he feels like it'd ruin the image you have of him. if felix openly and straight up tells you he doesn't like you, it's probably because he doesn't really see any use in being nice to you.

in addition, i can see him weaponizing his kindness at times. going back to the insights for the green flags, he is someone who's genuinely sweet towards many people.. however, some of that does come from him wanting to earn something and benefit from those acts of service.

if you end up in an argument with him, it's likely for felix to throw those acts of kindness into your face, and guilt-trip you for being so ungrateful. he's amazing at making you feel like an awful person. he was being so nice to you, and you're doing him wrong like that? felix is definitely someone who's great at manipulating narratives to his own advantage, and making himself look like the good guy in most scenarios.

he's for sure another idol, who i'd add to the list of “i suggest not fighting him” unless you wanna see a completely different side to him.

it's highly likely for a colder and less considerate side to come out, once you manage to rile felix up, and he feels done wrong by you. he can get very defensive, and quite ruthless and harsh, especially verbally. more cut-throat than he usually is.

i do think a lot of this comes from “i will hurt you before you can hurt me.” deep down, felix seems to have some unhealed wounds, especially in terms of his self worth.. this can lead to him becoming extra defensive if he feels like you could potentially rip off the bandaid, since he's still trying to heal.

note; this is lowkey making me sad, since.. many of his green flags were about healing and helping others, making them feel validated. it's almost like, he wants to heal others, because he can struggle healing himself.

i have to add, i do believe he cares more than he'd like to admit to himself, especially about people's opinion on him. again, i just don't think he wants to, since it can consume him a lot.

felix is someone who needs validation, and wants to feel like he's some sort of use to people in order for him to feel worthy.

the stray kids member is the type to overcompensate because he can quickly feel inadequate for people; especially when it comes to his work. i can see him being obsessive about his craft, his public image, his reputation. he seems to struggle finding real satisfaction, and can often pour way too much of himself into his work out of this fear that he isn't enough.

he's the type of person who's better at recognizing the things he lacks, rather than acknowledging his abilities, or the high place he's at. it's like.. something's always lacking, it's never truly enough. he can get very thirsty in terms of his career.

i do think a large part of this, comes from a lack of genuine and substantial self-love, without all the glamour and fame. he sees himself at his most lovable in work- and idol-mode, and can quickly feel like he's of much less value outside of that.

i can also sense him easily feeling like he doesn't have much to offer, outside of his more superficial qualities. like people wouldn't like him the way they do, if he wasn't in possession of his good looks, his money, his status. this can result in him getting pretty obsessive over keeping those things in check.

this is something i've seen in a few idols now. it's almost like fame can turn into this.. type of drug almost, that gives you this high, which you always end up chasing. a lot of idols realize, especially later on in their careers, that so much of that is just empty. it's a shallow type of “fulfillment” that looks nicer on the outside than it actually is. but once you're there, it can quickly turn into something you still can't get enough of.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I've been rereading your "Gabriel redemption/corruption/canon mess of ideas post", and I remembered an old idea of mine: Gabriel driven insane by the Butterfly miraculous.

This is an artifact that allows you to sense the negative emotions of All of Paris. And then mentally connect to the person in whom the negative emotions are currently strongest.

It's less about "can this power drive anyone insane" it's more about "is there a chance this power wouldn't drive anyone insane?"

Worse, Gabriel uses this power constantly. Gabriel uses this power for shady purposes. Gabriel uses this power when already in an unstable state after losing his wife.

From a storytelling point, this neatly explains:

1) why Gabriel could go worse and worse as time progresses

2) why Gabriel's behaviour may be inconsistent (consistent behaviour doesn't combine well with sensory-overload magical madness and he is saner when untransformed)

3) why Butterfly Miraculous is so powerful (because this power is balanced with the great risk of using it)

At the same time, it is a trope known well enough to work well even in children's shows. In fact, I thought this idea may be canon, but then season 5 happened.

What do you think of this idea?

P. S. As always, thank you for your analysis, you are a treasure for the fandom!

Thank you for the lovely words! I'm flattered that you enjoy the blog so much!

I'm on the record as saying that evil Kwamis are about the only way to fix canon, so of course I love you idea! That post was about fixing canon post season five, though, so let's focus more on the butterfly itself.

Canon doesn't really explain how the heck the butterfly works. We get moments like this one from Sandboy:

Hawk Moth: I feel an emotion of great intensity. So pure… (turns a butterfly into an akuma) Fly away my little akuma and evilize him!

But why this happens is confusing. The butterfly isn't the miraculous of Emotion. That's the peacock. The butterfly is Transformation. Which is silly, so we're ignoring that. The butterfly is absolutely written to be Emotion in terms of almost everything about how it functions, so as far as I'm concerned, it's Emotion. Gabriel senses emotions with it and is even implied to have to pick what powers he gives based on the person's emotions as we see in Risk:

Shadow Moth: I need a villain who will force Ladybug to take risks, and without even realizing it, (corrupts a butterfly into a Megakuma) she'll make a mistake! (Shadow Moth closes his eyes to search for any strong negative emotions.) Extra 1: Great, of course my keys disappear from my bag just when I have to go out. Xavier: Now even benches have empty pigeon spikes on them? Oh, my poor friends... Froggy's Dad: Froggy, come back! It's too dangerous! Froggy: Why are you always scared of everything? I want to ride my bike without a helmet, without training wheels! Shadow Moth: (Open his eyes.) Perfect! Fly away, my Megakuma, and plague that deceived heart!

You could absolutely take this setup and use it to craft a narrative where Gabriel's actions are at least partially driven by the effects of feeling everyone else's emotions weighing down on him. This is extra true when you remember that Gabriel is supposed to be grief stricken. We are rarely at our best when we are mourning profound loss and the show really failed to lean into that fact even though the writers clearly wanted Gabriel to be sympathetic.

In my own rewrite, I heavily rely on these elements to shape Gabriel and Nathalie's characters. She may not use the butterfly, but she's also supposed to be mourning Emilie (or, at least, she is as of season five. I'm pretty sure that's a retcon, but it's something I changed to make her character work, so I'm cool with it.) That is a much stronger basis for Nathalie supporting Gabriel than the tired old trope of women doing stupid things because of men. (Don't get me wrong, we do, I just find it boring in most situations. It would only work in canon if the love square was supposed to be positive romantic love and Nathalie was supposed to be toxic romantic love, but the love square is toxic as hell and even "ends the world" so bleh )

I will peel back the curtain a little bit and give you one of my favorite ideas for making something like this work: if you have Emilie in a coma and not dead, then her brain would still be active. She'd still be experiencing emotions. Doesn't it make perfect sense for Gabriel to stay transformed 24/7 so that he can sense what is left of his wife, assuring himself that she's still there? And if the magic needs to stay secret, then of course that would mean that he never comes out of his home office because that's the only safe place to transform. And if you add in Gabriel being weak to the emotions of others, well, I think that has potential for something interesting, don't you?

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 1.121

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Forgotten Past

The old castle stood quiet and forgotten on the outskirts of King’s Landing, its once-glorious exterior now a ghostly relic of the past. Long vines of ivy climbed its weathered walls, making it appear almost as if nature had attempted to reclaim the abandoned structure. Shutters banged against cracked windows, held only by rusty, old hinges, while the wind whistled mournfully through the broken panes. Even the birds seemed to shun the place, their songs the only absence in an otherwise haunted landscape.

It was this eerie, magnetic pull that had drawn you here—a sense of familiarity combined with an insatiable curiosity for between all the projects the company allowed you to choose, this was the one that stood out for you. As you walked through the creaky front doors into the sprawling foyer, you were struck by the imposing architecture, which still held a sliver of its former grandeur. Your footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as you moved through the house, your fingers lightly grazing the banister of the grand staircase.

A sense of déjà vu washed over you. You paused, trying to pinpoint the origin of this haunting familiarity. Why did every corridor, every room, seem like it held a secret, a memory just out of reach? It was as if you had been here before in another life, another time. But that was impossible—or was it?

As night fell, the castle’s eerie charm only deepened. You made your way back to the trailer with the delivery you had ordered. The moonlight casts silver shadows through the window. Exhaustion soon claimed you after dinner, and you drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

In your dream, the world was different—brighter, more vibrant. Standing on the verdant grounds of the palace, it was no longer an abandoned relic. It was alive, bustling with people, laughter, and the roar of dragons. The skies above were filled with the majestic creatures, their wings casting shadows on the cobblestone pathways below.

You looked down at yourself, your attire reflecting a time long past. Rich fabrics and intricate embroidery adorned your gown, and your hair seemed to be styled in the fashion of nobility. Heart swelled with emotions you couldn’t explain as you walked through the manicured gardens of the castle, the very same one that looked like a dried jungle just moments ago. Everything feels uncannily familiar.

Suddenly, you felt a pang in your heart. A strange vibration in your chest. And then saw him. Your breath caught as you took in the sight of him. His tall, statuesque form was cloaked in regal hues, the fabric of his attire moving subtly with each of his graceful movements. He reached out to touch a blossom, his long fingers brushing the petals with unexpected tenderness, and in that moment, you felt as though she was witnessing a secret part of his soul.

His face, chiseled and strong, held a serene intensity. The angles of his jaw and the line of his nose were softened by the play of light and shadow, creating a portrait that was both striking and ethereal. But it was his eyes that truly made you hold your breath. Piercing violet, it seemed to see right through the world and into the very essence of things. When his gaze shifted and met yours, you felt an electric thrill course through your veins, as if his eyes held the power to unravel your very being.

Slowly, a rare, faint smile touched his lips, transforming his face with a warmth that contrasted beautifully with his otherwise austere demeanor. The sight of that smile, so fleeting yet so profound, made your heart ache with an inexplicable longing.

Something inside you is alarming that the man standing a few meters from you is the very same from the letter whose words haven’t left your mind. Aemond Targaryen.

His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, and his piercing violet eye, filled with a depth of emotion you instantly recognized, locked onto you. He approached with a look of tender resolve, his footsteps confident and deliberate.

“Vaela,” he called you, a name from your past life that felt both foreign and intimate. Familiar. “I was waiting for you. Walk with me.”

You nodded, heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and calm, and took his offered arm. Something inside you told you to stop staring but how could you avert your eyes from his figure when it was making your heart beat so fast? You strolled through the garden, the scent of blooming roses enveloping you, the sound of dragon wings beating in sync with your heartbeat.

“I have something important to ask you,” Aemond began, his voice steady yet soft. He led you to a secluded alcove where the garden’s flowers seemed to bloom more brightly. He turned to face you, taking both your hands in his. “I have loved you from the moment we met. In you, I found my heart’s true desire, a soul that mirrors my own. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the emotions flooding through you from both the past and present. Why was your heart-warming so abruptly at his words? Why did they sound so familiar? How the answer seemed to wish to jump out of your lips so quickly. Aemond was strange after all. Perhaps something is created just in your mind. But it couldn’t be, could it?

“Yes, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy. “I will.”

His smile, rare and sincere, was a sight that imprinted itself deeply into your memory. Wishing you could see it again. He lifted one of your hands to his lips, your knuckles being touched so softly and yet intimately by them as his violet eye seemed to stare deep into yours.

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering in your mind like the last notes of a haunting melody. You could still smell the scent of the flowers. Feel the touch of his lips on your skin. You realized in that moment that your journey here was no accident. The castle, the dreams, Aemond—they were pieces of a puzzle you were destined to uncover. Meant to find.

Clutching the blanket tighter around you, you knew the first light of day would bring with it a new resolve. You would unravel the past, discover the hidden secrets of this place, and understand why destiny had led you here. There ought to be answers somewhere in those walls. It was not just an abandoned relic; it was a bridge to your past, a testament to a love that had defied time itself.

+

taglist: @donut-seam @strangersunghoon @teasweeter @darktrashsoulbear

[sweet-hearts-and-destiny-knots]

Leaf never explores Cerulean Cave since she hides herself away at Mt. Silver before the opportunity arises (which Mizuki would like to remind is all Green's fault-), so Kotone is the one who delves inside and becomes Mewtwo's Chosen.

When Kotone reaches the deepest recesses of the cave where Giovanni's runaway creation resides, she's warned through telepathic communication he cannot be bound to a ball as with most Pokémon - but should she attempt to capture him regardless, then he will respond by battling her at full force.

Kotone replies she has no intention of doing either - she simply came here out of worry he may be lonely!

Mewtwo possesses some of the most powerful psychic abilities among Pokémon; he senses no hidden hostility within her, nor sinister motives. She goes so far as to set down her bag on the cave's floor as a sign of goodwill. Nevertheless, Mewtwo is taken aback by this unprecedented turn of events.

After a lengthy pause, he commands Kotone to depart from this place, and she complies without so much as a protest or complaint despite seeming sincerely saddened by his decision.

However, she only manages to take a few steps before being demanded to stay!

Mewtwo was born for the sole purpose of battle; to become a nigh unstoppable bioweapon brandished by a man who held ambitions of conquering the world - yet Mew's curiosity runs through the Genetic Pokémon's veins. Why? Why is this human concerning herself with his solitude?

And thus begins the two's odd friendship!

Kotone frequently returns to Cerulean Cave, often with offerings of food. Mewtwo more often than not won't accept them, stating that his body requires less sustenance to function properly compared to most species of Pokémon.

He can eat regularly; he simply refuses to.

(Mewtwo does eventually express a liking towards Rage Candy Bars and Mushroom Medley Curry, though-)

For the first few visits, the two sit in relative silence. Kotone doesn't mind this, since at least Mewtwo isn't sitting in silence alone anymore. The long quiet is occasionally broken by a question from either. Kotone never fails to ask if there's anything he would like her to bring the next time they meet.

The answer is always no, but as their time together increases, Mewtwo's tone when responding noticeably softens.

He has several inquiries for the human companion he's suddenly acquired, yet attempts to feign indifference. Each query is followed by another stretch of silence - however, the duration of the quietness gradually decreases. Mewtwo also experiences and is baffled by a profound sense of emptiness the days she isn't present.

And then one fateful day...

Mewtwo: ...Do you know of a man by the name of Giovanni? Kotone: ...Yes, I do. Mewtwo: *flicks tail* ... ... How so? Kotone: He hurt someone I care for. So much. And... I stopped him from hurting anyone else, I hope... Mewtwo: ... ... ... Kotone: *gently takes Mewtwo's hand* Did Giovanni hurt you too?

No one has ever held his three-digited hand before, nor shown him such consideration and gentleness. The gesture paired with her sympathetic gaze melts Mewtwo's heart - something the leader of Team Rocket attempted to convince him didn't exist.

Mewtwo then feels compelled to share with Kotone the story of his creation and confinement: his first memory of being gawked at by a collection of scientists after awakening, the various and often painful experiments they forced him to endure on Giovanni's orders, how he was treated more akin to a thing rather than a living being capable of thought and emotion...

There were two members amongst the team who protested the severity of the procedures. But despite one of them holding the position of Project Mewtwo's head scientist, they were against the majority who bore the belief Pokémon are merely tools for humans. Why should this particular one be an exception?

And Giovanni's demands weren't to be defied, lest there be... consequences.

All of this soon culminated into Mewtwo destroying the mansion that once concealed his tormented existence. And then he chose to hide away from the rest of the world within this cave.

He escaped from one prison, only to lock himself away in another.

Kotone cries for him. Mewtwo finds himself shedding tears as well.

When their teardrops have at last dried and Kotone is preparing to depart from Cerulean Cave, the Genetic Pokémon discovers he doesn't want her to leave.

Mewtwo reaches for her hand, just as she did his before.

Mewtwo: Wherever you may go... let me go too.

He kneels before her, a fragile bodied human woman, and lowers his gaze, awaiting her response. A few seconds pass, Mewtwo hears the rustling from Kotone rummaging through her bag, then feels a gentle tap against his forehead.

He lifts his head. She's smiling at him while holding a Friend Ball. Kotone offers her hand to Mewtwo, which he accepts with a soft smile of his own, then rises to his feet.

The unlikely pair exit Cerulean Cave, hand in hand.

The following day, Kotone excitedly informs Silver she's found his long-lost younger brother! The redhead experiences an internal crisis as he paces around Johto's National Park.

Silver: (The old man has another secret lovechild?! With who?!?! Did he abandon this one on the side of the road too?!?!?! How many others are there running around?!?!?!)

Silver has composed himself to some degree when Kotone finally arrives, only to undergo another internal crisis and one much more intense than the last as soon as he sees her happily holding hands with not a human boy, but Mewtwo.

Kotone: Mewtwo, this is your big brother, Silver! Mewtwo: *narrows eyes and flicks tail*

All words die in Silver's throat. He's already acquainted with Mewtwo. He recalls well the day his old man called him down to the basement of their mansion on Cinnabar Island to peer at the Genetic Pokémon curled up and floating inside a large glass tube, immersed in some sort of strange glowing liquid...

Mewtwo's eyes suddenly snapped open, stared deeply into his soul, then that three-digited hand thumped against the glass.

Silver flinches at the memory.

Silver: ...Kotone, that's not my brother. Kotone: Well not with THAT attitude!

Later in life, she introduces Mewtwo to others as her brother-in-law. But that's a story for another day.

("February 6th. We obtained a new Pokémon from Mew. We have named this new Pokémon 'Mewtwo'." - Cinnabar Mansion Journal Entry

Happy Birthday, Mewtwo.)