#Less escalation allowed

[wetbloodworm]

ez called me a coward and told me to add the poison (raphael) to the soup (TRverse) which, for starters, such a funny way to put it lmao, and i started to say i refuse unless i get to kill him off before he can really get up to anything but. the problem is that triggered an idea for a plot point that i'm now turning around and i'm. considering. i'm considering it.

[solxamber]

Want You Back with: Housewardens

Where they're still in love with you.

Riddle Rosehearts

After the breakup, Riddle acted like he'd read somewhere that repressing emotion was a perfectly valid coping mechanism. Which, to be fair, he probably had. And so he embarked on what could only be described as a grief management routine so structured and detail-oriented that you almost had to respect it.

First came the part where he behaved like nothing had happened.

He went about his day with all the usual pomp—collaring students, citing arcane dorm rules, and drinking his tea as usual.

If anyone brought you up (on purpose or by accident), he would simply blink, nod, and go back to arranging sugar cubes in a perfect geometric formation. "We are no longer together," he would say, as if it were an administrative change and not, say, a soul-crushing emotional catastrophe.

Then came the coincidences.

He began showing up in places he absolutely did not frequent before. The café you liked? Suddenly, he was a regular. The library on Thursday evenings? There. The very hallway outside your class despite Heartslabyul being on the opposite side of campus? Oh yes. There too. And every time you spotted him lurking (because that was the only word for it), he would give a startled little blink, like you were the surprise.

"Oh. I didn't see you there," he said, the fourth time in a week.

You stared at him from behind your drink. "I've been sitting here for thirty minutes."

"Well," he muttered, "public seating is for everyone."

By week two, he began inventing reasons to talk to you. Weird ones.

He approached you one day, armed with a rulebook and what looked like three sticky notes marking battle locations.

"According to Queen of Hearts rule 42," he said, clearly having practiced this in front of a mirror, "ex-partners must return borrowed items within twelve days."

You blinked. "You lent me a pencil."

"It was part of a set," he snapped, scandalized.

You told him you'll give it back and he looked like someone slapped him.

You thought that might be the end of it. But then, course, it escalated.

He showed up at your door one evening with a paper in his hand. A list. A physical list. Titled, in absolutely unnecessary cursive, "A Non-Exhaustive Record of My Missteps."

"It's not meant to change anything," he said stiffly, not quite looking at you. "Only to… acknowledge."

There were bullet points. Short, awkward, and occasionally baffling.

Should not have critiqued your sock choice in front of your friends.

I apologize for saying 'emotional outbursts are not strategic.' That was, in hindsight, a poor choice of words.

You are allowed to eat dessert before dinner. Even if it is cherry pie.

I realize now that asking if we could schedule arguments during free periods was not romantic.

I should have asked you to stay.

You didn't know what to do with it—him. He was so Riddle about everything. Polite. Procedural. Very slightly insane. But under all the awkward attempts at regulation and paperwork, it was clear he missed you. Badly.

And the truth was, you still hadn't returned the matching pencil.

You kept it. Not because you believed in fate or romance or even well-meaning tyrants who quoted rulebooks like love poems—but because part of you thought, maybe, if he was willing to be just a little more flexible, there might be a version of this that could work.

And you hoped it could.

Leona Kingscholar

After the breakup, Leona made it his personal mission to convince the entire world—Ruggie, his dorm, the mirror in his room, the literal wildlife outside—that he did not care.

He went around saying things like, "Tch. Good riddance," and "Like I got time to babysit someone who cries over movies," even though no one had brought you up. He slept more. Talked less. Got moodier, which no one thought was possible until he started growling at actual potted plants for existing near his nap spots.

Whenever Ruggie so much as hinted at your name—usually while dancing around some scheduling conflict or trying to explain why Leona's mood had tanked again—he'd get cut off mid-word.

"I wasn't even talking about them!" Ruggie would complain.

"Then stop thinking about them so loud," Leona snapped, face buried in the crook of his arm like the concept of you physically hurt his eyes.

But of course, the moment your name stopped being brought up, that became a problem too.

He started acting restless. Less asleep all the time and more awake and clearly trying to look like he's not looking around for someone. He'd frown when someone laughed in the hallway, then look annoyed when it wasn't you. He started showing up to classes he normally skipped, sitting in the back with his legs stretched out and arms crossed like he was doing the entire school a favor just by existing in the room.

And then the things started appearing.

First, it was his jacket—left casually across the back of your desk chair, like maybe gravity had just pulled it there on accident. Then his spellbook, shoved between your textbooks in a way that definitely required premeditated effort. Then a sandwich. An entire sandwich, wrapped up and labeled "Not Yours."

He denied all of it, obviously.

"Must've been Ruggie," he said, regarding the jacket that literally smelled like him.

When confronted about the book: "I don't even read, what're you talking about."

As for the sandwich? "You're imagining things. I didn't make that for you."

By that point, no one believed him—not even himself.

The final blow came in the form of a confrontation you hadn't expected. Late evening, when you were walking back to your dorm from the library. You were alone, or you thought you were, until you turned the corner and found him there—half in shadow, arms crossed, gaze trained somewhere just over your shoulder.

He didn't say hello.

Didn't say anything actually.

Just let the silence stretch until it started fraying at the edges, and then muttered, voice low and rough:

"You still want this, don't you?"

You stared at him. He didn't flinch, but you could tell he wanted to. He held himself like someone who didn't expect the answer to be yes, but still desperately needed to hear it before he gave up entirely.

And you realized somewhere between the jacket, the sandwich, and the way his voice cracked at the end of the sentence—that for all his snarling and attitude, he never stopped loving you.

He just didn't know how to ask you to stay without sounding like he might actually need you.

Which, of course, he did. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.

Not yet, anyway.

But the next time he leaves something behind, you think you might return it in person. Maybe even stay awhile.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul handled the breakup the only way he knew how: with spreadsheets, surveillance footage, and a truly unhealthy amount of denial.

He claimed to be fine, of course. Said it with a straight face while color-coding inventory spreadsheets and inputting customer satisfaction data at four in the morning like a man unburdened by heartbreak. But when the tweels found the Lounge security footage paused—again—on a scene of you laughing near the bar, they stopped asking.

He'd memorized the timestamp.

And no, he didn't want to talk about it.

Azul had always been prone to spiraling in a unique way. After the breakup, that tendency mutated into something truly concerning. He didn't cry. He didn't wallow. Instead, he opened a blank document and began calculating. How many hours you'd spent together. How often you laughed in his presence. What the average rate of eye contact was in happy couples versus yours. There were charts. Graphs. Some kind of weighted affection index.

Unfortunately, Jade opened the file looking for the March sales report and instead found a document titled:

"Projected Probability of Them Still Loving Me (v6)."

He would not let him live it down.

"Idea," Floyd said. "You wanna run those numbers again but include the variable where you're super pathetic lately?"

Even Jade raised an eyebrow. "The correlation between desperation and appeal might not be as linear as you'd hope."

Azul tried to brush them off. He even lied (very badly) about what the spreadsheet was for ("Just… tax optimization. Personal hobby. Totally normal."), but the damage was done. The eels were smug. He was mortified. And worst of all, he still couldn't stop thinking about you.

So he pivoted.

If direct emotional vulnerability had failed him, perhaps passive-aggressive marketing would do the trick.

You started receiving coupons. Neatly folded, hand-delivered, no return address—but you recognized the ink. And the handwriting. And the aggressively formal tone that somehow still managed to sound like begging.

"One (1) free drink of your choice at the Mostro Lounge. Offer valid for exes statistically proven to be an optimal match."

Another read:

"Your preferred drink has been discontinued. Kidding. Please come back."

And your personal favorite:

"A reminder that our pairing was 94.3% ideal. Come back. For research."

You didn't respond. He didn't expect you to. But every week, a new coupon showed up—some increasingly ridiculous, some borderline romantic, all of them signed with that same flourish he used when pretending he wasn't panicking.

You weren't sure if it was pathetic or endearing. Probably both. The coupons had piled up in a drawer now, next to a coaster you never returned and a little napkin with a sketch he once made of you during a slow night.

You told yourself it was nostalgia. Curiosity. Scientific inquiry, if anything.

And one slow afternoon, you found yourself digging through the drawer, smoothing out the least crumpled coupon, and thinking—just for a moment—that you might stop by.

For research. Obviously.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim took the breakup as well as someone who had never actually took a negative emotion in his life to heart could. Which was to say: terribly.

He cried. A lot. At first, it was appropriate—private tears, sniffles in the dorm room, a distant gaze over his drink. But then it started happening at other times. Like during an ad for laundry detergent where the happy couple folded towels together. Or during a weather report where the forecast mentioned rain, which, apparently, you once said made you sleepy. Or during absolutely nothing at all, except that the sun was setting "a little too much like that one day you held his hand, remember?"

He insisted he was fine.

"Totally fine!" he chirped, voice three octaves higher than normal, eyes red-rimmed and suspiciously glossy. "Breakups happen all the time, right? We're both growing and learning! It's healthy!"

No one believed him.

Jamil looked like he was considering reporting you to the disciplinary committee just to end Kalim's reign of emotionally unhinged sunshine. Even Grim asked if someone should "turn him off and back on again."

But Kalim doubled down. If he couldn't be fine naturally, he'd brute-force his way into happiness. Which, in his mind, meant: throwing parties. So many parties. For no reason. His calendar suddenly became a horror show of "themed celebration nights" and "spontaneous joy hours," all of which were weirdly tailored around your favorite things.

"Here!" he said brightly, handing out goodie bags. "Everyone gets this specific brand of chocolates and stickers! Because those are just objectively fun! Not because anyone used to love them or anything!"

It was transparent. Alarmingly so.

Even when he gave someone a little clay charm that looked exactly like the one you wore on your bag, Kalim waved it off with a too-wide smile. "Just spreading the joy! It's important to stay positive, right?"

Everyone knew it was a cry for help. The kind that sounded like party poppers and glitter and repressed sobbing in the school gardens.

The turning point came on a quiet afternoon when he showed up at your door holding a tiny cupcake. It had a frosting heart on it. His hands shook slightly.

"I know this is weird," he said, already teary. "I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. I just—"

He swallowed, voice cracking like something inside him was giving up the act for good.

"Even if you don't love me again," he said, "can we still be something?"

You looked at him—his earnest eyes, his trembling lower lip—and you felt something soft and painfully familiar unfurl in your chest.

Because Kalim didn't know how to lie to the people he loved. Not well. Not really. He was all impulse and heart, the kind of boy who loved too loud and too fast and never quite knew how to stop once he started.

And maybe you weren't ready to be what you were. Not yet.

But looking at him, at the little cupcake with the slightly smudged heart and the the way he was holding it like he might shatter if you didn't take it—

How could you say no?

You took the cupcake. And maybe his hand, too. Just for a moment. Just to see if something could still bloom.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil did not mourn the breakup. Mourning was for people who couldn't maintain composure under pressure. For people who let emotion smudge their mascara. He was not one of those people.

At least, not publicly.

He was flawless. Unbothered. The exact picture of someone thriving post-relationship, thank you very much. His interviews were polished. His smiles were poised. His posture was impeccable. If anyone noticed that his usual acerbic wit had gone curiously blunt, no one said anything.

They wouldn't dare.

Privately, though, when the cameras were off and the spotlight blinked out, Vil cracked in very small ways.

He started using your favorite perfume. A subtle layer, never enough to be obvious, but just enough to make him feel like you were still somewhere in the room. Like maybe if he breathed in deep enough, he could hold onto something.

He flipped through magazines during lunch breaks, claiming it was for "market research." But every time he lingered on a movie review or a lifestyle spread, it was with the faint, ridiculous hope that you'd read it too. That your fingers might have touched the same paper. That your eyes caught the same line he was rereading for the fifth time.

He knew it was foolish. But Vil had always been prone to beautiful illusions. It was sort of his thing.

The unraveling came, ironically, in the most public of places: a toothpaste commercial.

He was halfway through filming, mid-speech about the importance of a radiant smile, when something in the script triggered a memory—something you once said about how his laugh.

He kept talking.

Kept improvising.

Went off-script entirely.

The crew let him go for a minute—Vil was known for his "emotional depth," after all—but when he hit the line "even the most polished smile can still ache when it remembers someone who made it feel real," the director had to call cut.

"Vil," they said gently. "It's a toothpaste commercial."

He didn't speak for the rest of the shoot. Just touched up his own makeup in silence, eyes a little glassy.

It took him another week to knock on your door.

He showed up in a soft sweater, smelling faintly of something familiar, holding his own hands like he didn't know what else to do with them.

He didn't ask for much. Didn't ask for forever. Just quietly, cautiously:

"Would you like to try again?"

And you thought—looking at him, at the person who once swore he'd never show up like this for anyone, at the vulnerability hiding under all that polish—

Maybe this time, you could make it work.

Idia Shroud

Idia handled the breakup the way he handled most things in life: with a complete and total digital meltdown, buried under forty layers of denial and an emotionally scorched Discord server.

He didn't text. Didn't call. Didn't even leave passive-aggressive emoji reactions on your old posts like a normal ex with unresolved feelings. He simply… disappeared.

Vanished like a ghost into his room, into his code, into the vast and uncaring expanse of the internet, where feelings didn't exist unless they were typed in all caps or conveyed through a crying anime girl gif.

And for a while, it was total radio silence.

Until you logged into that game.

The shared one. The one you used to play together after class, where the two of you ran a little shop in a pixelated fantasy village and spent an embarrassing amount of time farming digital potatoes.

Your shop was still there.

But now there was… a shrine.

Your character's pixel art face, recreated painstakingly in custom tiles and surrounded by in-game flowers, torches, and glowing pink mood crystals that did not exist in the vanilla version of the game.

He'd modded it.

There was a sign in the middle that just said:

"Here Lies Happiness (RIP)"

You stared at it for a long time. Then, just to confirm the ridiculous suspicion building in your chest, you checked the nearby player list.

Sure enough, his username had changed too:

"SadBoy420"

Online. Loitering.

You didn't message him immediately. Mostly because you weren't sure what to say to someone who had quite literally built a shrine to your relationship in a farming sim. But still—you lingered. Logged in more often. Left offerings of rare items near the shrine like it was some strange, silent conversation.

Idia never spoke to you directly, but you noticed the shrine changed a little every day. One day it had a sign that said "I'm Fine." The next, it was replaced with a drawing of your characters fishing together. One morning it was just a massive, pixel-art rendition of the word "SORRY" in bold letters with a sad face emoji.

Outside the game, his silence continued.

But Ortho?

Ortho was not subtle.

"Did you know my brother has been listening to the voicemails you left him on loop for the past 72 hours?" he chirped once in the cafeteria. "Not that he's, like, sad or anything! Just nostalgic. Definitely not crying."

Later: "He made your favorite NPC in our custom server the town mayor! Isn't that cute? I mean, objectively, not emotionally, haha."

Eventually, you got the call.

Your phone lit up with his name and you answered before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Uh—hey," Idia said, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't, like, mean to call. Or—I did, but. Crap. Okay. Hi."

You waited.

He took a breath.

"I was just wondering," he said, "if you maybe wanted to talk again. Or, y'know. Game. No pressure or anything. It's fine if you're, like, over it and I'm just like a pathetic ghost haunting your social life, haha, classic tragic NPC vibes—"

"Yes," you said, before he could spiral into apologizing for existing.

He paused. Long enough that you thought the call had dropped. Then, quietly—hopeful, almost disbelieving:

"Wait. Really?"

You smiled, even if he couldn't see it.

"Yeah," you said. "Log in."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus did not understand how something so radiant could simply… end.

He didn't throw a dramatic tantrum after the breakup. He didn't disappear in a swirl of thunderclouds or curse the moon or anything out of a tragic love story.

He didn't so much as frown in public, because the full gravity of the breakup hadn't quite hit him yet. Instead, it settled in stranger places—quiet things, strange habits.

Like how he started speaking to the plush bat you gave him on his last birthday as though it were you. Not in a creepy way, more like someone who didn't know what to do with the empty space you left behind.

He asked it questions. Told it how his day went. Laughed, sometimes, as if it had told him a joke—low and fond, the kind of laugh only you had ever coaxed out of him. And when he sat beneath the stars, plush cradled carefully in his lap, he whispered to it with a gentleness reserved only for the lost.

The gargoyles? They weren't even sentient, but even they seemed exhausted. Every night he stood in front of them, musing out loud about the way you smiled or how you always called him weird little nicknames. One of them lost a nose—maybe unrelated.

Lilia, bless him, said nothing for a long while. He simply watched as Malleus wilted, quietly and beautifully, like a flower sealed in ice. But one evening, after Malleus asked in the softest voice, "Do humans ever come back when they leave?", Lilia did not answer. He only wrapped his arms around his ward and held him close.

At some point, he started writing letters. Not to send, just… to say things. Things he didn't know how to tell you, or hadn't said enough when he could. Some were serious. Some were barely legible thoughts written in the middle of the night. But he kept them all, folded neatly in a box that lived under his bed.

And then, of course, Silver found the box.

Silver, ever helpful and half-asleep, assumed it was mail Malleus meant to send and delivered the whole thing to your dorm like it was completely normal to get a hand-bound novel of unsent love letters dropped off on a random day.

You read them all.

You didn't say anything at first. You weren't sure what you were supposed to say. But that night, you left your window open—just a little.

And sure enough, just past midnight, Malleus appeared outside your dorm. Just… standing there. Looking up.

He didn't ask to come in. He didn't even call your name. He just waited. Like maybe you'd hear the quiet, and somehow understand.

And when you finally stepped outside, he looked at you like he'd been waiting centuries.

"May I court you again?" he asked softly. "From the beginning."

And really… how could you say no?

Masterlist

[tobiasdrake]

Where do you fall on the "killing vs. not killing bad guys" argument? I know the debate is complicated and there's a lot of various factors for and against either side, so I wanna hear your take on things.

An intensely complicated subject that tends to get oversimplified on both sides of the equation. I generally don't like to take a "side" on this because I feel like the idea of there being "sides" on killing misses the point.

Unless you're talking about cold-blooded execution of a subdued foe, killing generally isn't a choice you get to make. It's a consequence of the choice you already made to use violence.

While arguments about killing villains exist beyond superhero comics, this is a particular way that they tend to happen in superhero media. Superhero stories depict their heroes as, effectively, SWAT teams. The Green Goblin is about to blow up Newark, so Spider-Man breaks in and smashes his face against a brick wall until he passes out.

Part of the fantasy is the idea that nonlethal violence is easy and reliable. After Spider-Man reduces the Green Goblin's HP to 0, a Windows menu pops up and says "Would you like to finish him?" Spider-Man boldly clicks "No" after every fight like the hero he is.

It allows fans to enjoy brutal takedowns of bad guys without having to reckon with the reality that when Batman brought an entire floor down on top of that guy's head, he probably didn't wake up in a hospital bed. Batman can throw a guy off a third story balcony and watch his knees crack as he hits the ground and the story assures you that he's fine. He'll just need a little stay in the hospital.

But realistically speaking, all of these guys would have body counts. Not because they were aggressively trying to murder, but because you don't really get the choice. It is extremely easy to kill someone and surprisingly difficult to nonlethally incapacitate them. The line between how much blunt-force cranial trauma will knock someone unconscious versus how much will kill them is extremely blurry and it moves.

There are less lethal ways of incapacitating someone than others. Obviously, tasing someone has a lower mortality rate than shooting them with bullets. But the only surefire way to uphold a Code of No-Killing is to not use violence as your problem-solving tool in the first place. And there's not a lot of de-escalation training going around the Avengers Mansion.

So it always just feels kind of self-delusional when superheroes brag about not killing people but their primary mode of problem-solving is to shoot a guy in the face with an exploding arrow or something. You're gonna kill people if you're Batmanning. Sorry, that's just the reality of violence. When you throw a guy off a roof, you don't get to choose what physics is going to do to that sack of meat and bone as it hits the ground.

Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, should superheroes kill people on purpose? Uh. No. I don't want cops extrajudicially murdering whoever they don't like, and I don't want Batman to do it either. Due process exists for a reason.

Superheroes should not try to kill people. But they are going to kill people sometimes, because their hammer is violence and their stories are just excuses to pit them against nails.

"But the Joker always breaks out of prison." Yeah, but he also always comes back to life. If you can nitpick about genre conventions then I can too. Hell, often times you can't even redeem a villain without the next writer unwriting it and making them a bad guy again. At a metafictional level, there is rarely any way to truly do away with a popular villain.

But. Y'know. Let's talk about heroes who aren't fucking copaganda. In the broader fictional sense, should stories end with the hero killing the villain or shouldn't they?

This, again, has no simple Yes or No answer. It depends heavily on the themes being explored and what the villain is meant to represent.

We need to talk about the "demise" of the villain, which can be a literal death or it can be many other things. The primary function of the villain is to be wrong about something. To oppose the hero, who is right about something.

The villain holds bad ideas, bad beliefs, bad ideology. The hero may start out holding good ideas, or they may be something that the hero comes to over the course of the story. But by the time these two meet in the third act climax, they are meant to embody the two faces of the story's central thesis. Regarding whatever this story is trying to talk about, the hero is right and the villain is wrong.

Whatever form it takes, whether literal death or not, the demise of the villain is the final statement on their incorrect or even toxic beliefs. Which often does take the form of literal death because it's easy to write a comeuppance that way.

Luke Skywalker believes that there is love in his father's heart for him, and Emperor Palpatine is confident that Anakin is truly lost. But Luke's love for his family wins out and destroys Palpatine.

Scar is selfish, cowardly, and disloyal. Simba returns out of a sense of responsibility and loyalty to his people, coming clean to them and accepting his place among them. Scar tries to sell out the hyenas to save his own skin, as well as stabbing Simba in the back. For his treachery, the hyenas rip him to pieces; He is devoured by the very loyalties that he selfishly betrayed.

Obadiah Stane, the embodiment of war profiteering and the military-industrial complex, is literally consumed by the clean energy project that Tony wants to move the company towards instead.

Sauron underestimates the power of the small and meager folk, and believes wholeheartedly in Great Men of History. And so when Great Man Aragorn marches to his gates, he allows himself to become convinced that this is his true nemesis, his true rival, the threat he must face. This is the glorious battle that will decide the fate of Middle-Earth. And so he turns his eye away from the common folk that will be his undoing.

The villain's flaws, their toxic ideology, the things that make them the villain, are what their demise is supposed to be about. They can be consumed by their failings or undone by the hero's virtues, but either way, in a well-executed demise, a closing statement on the story's thesis is made.

But a well-executed demise doesn't necessarily have to be fatal, either. Like I've said, it can be things other than a literal demise. Sometimes it absolutely should.

In Civil War, Zemo is driven by an obsession for revenge. His homicidal retaliatory bloodthirst is a toxin that he infects both T'Challa and Tony with over the course of the story. Tony succumbs and has to be defeated with force, though Steve still demonstrates his strength of character by sparing Tony's life in the end even when the madness of the battle threatens to grip him too.

But it's T'Challa who delivers Zemo's demise. Not by killing him, but by making the choice to rise above vengeance. T'Challa breaks the shackles of Zemo's infectious vengeance and chooses mercy. And it's in this moment that Zemo's feelings, his cruelty, are opposed and vanquished by T'Challa's heroic virtue.

Firelord Ozai believes in the Social Darwinist ideology of Might Makes Right. He leads a culture where disputes are settled with deathmatches and believes it is his right to blanket the world in fire because he has the power to do so, and no one can stop him. Aang, by contrast, is a pacifist at heart because those are the values he was raised in; Values of a culture that Ozai exterminated, whose very last vestiges exist only in Aang's heart.

Ozai would kill Ozai and Azula, who often gets left out of this conversation. Because theirs is a culture where righteousness stands hand-in-hand with brute strength. Where who is right is decided by who is left standing when the dust settles, and who is a pile of ash. Aang defeats Ozai; By Ozai's belief system, Aang is stronger thus Aang is righteous and it is his Conqueror's Right to execute Ozai where he stands.

But Aang doesn't just beat Ozai; He rejects Ozai's way of life. He renounces the belief system of the imperialist colonizer and holds true to the belief system of a people they destroyed. While a simultaneous outcome plays out between Katara and Azula, as Katara similarly chooses mercy once she's obtained a position of power and control over Azula.

Special note also to Zuko who demonstrates that he actually cares more about protecting people than about winning his Glorious Deathmatch of Imperialist Honor. Which also serves as a rejection of Azula's beliefs that relationships are founded on fear and control. Zuko, too, rejects the belief systems of Ozai and Azula and warrants recognition. Ozai would never have taken a hit like that for Azula. Azula would never take a hit like that for Ty Lee.

It's this mercy that breaks the Hundred-Year War, destroying not the perpetrators of it but the very principles on which it is founded. This philosophical annihilation of Azula and Ozai's very understanding of strength and power is their villainous "demise", and weighs far more than just cutting their heads off and calling it a day ever could.

There is no correct answer to whether or not heroes should kill. What matters most is how the demise the writer chooses for the villain reflects upon the story's central ideas and thesis.

[ms-demeanor]

I don't know how to say it so that people will listen, but if you work at a business you should just accept that *unless your literal job is being the only one who handles wire transfers and you are professionally engaged ONLY in verifying that money is being transferred correctly* any request to wire someone money is a scam.

Our client is working with a company called (anonymized for internet example purposes) "Anaheim Sales" and have been communicating with them at their email, which is, deeply unfortunately, anaheimsales@aim.com

Client has been told by Anaheim Sales to send a check in the mail. They put the check in the mail, then get an email from anahiemsales@aol.com requesting a wire transfer instead. They cancel the check and they wire the money.

Now. A huge part of this is Anaheim Sales' fault. Buy a domain, dipshits. Your business email shouldn't be going to a gmail aim yahoo outlook whatever ass address, it should be going to YOURNAME@YOURDOMAIN.COM because it's a lot harder to scam your clients when you have to purchase YOURDOMIAN.COM than it is to scam them by setting up YOURNAAME@aol.com.

But also. They never should have wired the money. Even if it HAD been from bobsmith@anaheimsales.com, Bob's email could have been compromised. Even if it's in an industry where wiring money isn't something that happens only once in a blue moon.

If you are working at a business and you get a request for a wire transfer, you NEED to make sure that you speak to someone from the requesting business who you either know personally or who you reached by calling a known number for that business (KNOWN NUMBER from your vendor/client records; not from an email signature, and not from their website). If I were allowed to make all the rules, you wouldn't be allowed to make a wire transfer without a notarized request from the accounts payable department of the vendor.

This will slow down the transfer. It will make things take longer. But nobody doing legitimate business with you is going to be pissed if you take a couple extra hours to verify that they are actually making that request before you send them tens of thousands of dollars. If someone is yelling at you that you need to send the money NOW, that is actually when you need to stop and back away and escalate to your boss or get someone else from the requesting company on the phone.

"They said the contact I knew was out sick" cool don't send the money, if your known contact is not available you require a notarized request from one of the company's officers.

"They said they'd cancel the contract if we didn't get it out by this afternoon" then let them cancel you can re-sign a contract, even with a penalty, but you can't get that money back.

"They said that THEIR business was tied up and they couldn't do anything because they didn't have the payment and the check would take days to clear" sounds like a them problem; unless you get a signed, notarized request for a wire transfer you will not be sending a wire transfer.

And if you are a business owner you need to give your employees unlimited permission to say "yeah this sounds like bullshit I need to verify before I move forward" to anything that is even slightly suspicious. Your employees should NEVER be worried that they'll get fired if they say no to wiring money. You should give them a fucking bonus if they cause a delay in getting a *legitimate* wire payment transferred because they needed to get confirmation.

Wire transfers need to be a last resort, and you need to have policies in place that make them extremely cumbersome to use. The fact that wire transfers are immediate, efficient, convenient, and irreversible is WHY they're such a common way to scam people.

Also ffs please please please just set up a real website for your business there are cheap and easy ways to do it that will mean your clients are less easily targeted by scammers because they know that your email address isn't at *AOL INSTANT MESSENGER DOT COM*

[beloveds-embrace]

(More of designationless reader based on this idea)

You had always been less.

Less noticeable, less intrusive, less of a presence that mattered, and you learned early on that your family didn’t want you too close. Their scents were for each other, their touches were reserved for those who belonged. You were something other, something they tolerated rather than accepted.

It started small- your mother shifting away when you tried to curl up beside her, your father keeping his voice clipped, distant, like warmth was something you hadn’t earned. Then it became something more. You weren’t allowed in the nest, weren’t allowed to linger where they laid together in a comforting tangle of limbs and scents. You could watch from the doorway, but never enter. Could exist near, but never within.

And so, your body adapted to your family- and now it it was adapting to your pack.

Once more, it started with small things.

The way Ghost would stand a little closer than usual, his hulking body looming just within reach. The way Gaz would brush his fingers over your wrist whenever he passed by, lingering like he was trying to confirm something, brows furrowed. The way Soap had developed the sudden habit of hooking his chin over your shoulder, inhaling deeply before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.

You thought nothing of it at first. They were tactile- it wasn’t unusual for them to be close, to press up against you like you had a scent they could bury themselves in. You had never complained about it before, so you assumed it was just… normal.

But then Price had done it.

He wasn’t the type to be overly affectionate- comforting, yes, steady and there,, but not one for unnecessary touches even if sometimes he’d hold you tight and close. And yet, when you had handed him a cup of coffee that morning, he had taken it and your wrist, holding you still for just a moment too long. His fingers had tightened, just slightly, like he was resisting the urge to pull you closer. His nose flared subtly, lips parting before he let you go with a slow exhale.

You frowned at him, but he only took a sip of his coffee and looked away like nothing had happened.

It started escalating after that- after you joined their nest and arms regularly of your own will.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was standing behind you, his chin nearly brushing the crown of your head as if debating whether to bury his nose there. Soap had stopped using pillows entirely, opting instead to just tuck himself against your side, his face pressed somewhere against your shoulder, your throat, your hair. Gaz had taken to curling around you when you were sitting together, nuzzling shamelessly, inhaling against the skin of your neck like he was trying to memorize something.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

There had always been something missing, something hollow where others had instincts- some part of you that had never quite woken up. You had learned to live without it, learned to ignore the way packs moved around you instead of with you, the way scent markers never quite stuck no matter how much time you spent pressed into someone’s arms. You had long since accepted that whatever part of you was supposed to respond to this kind of attention had simply been burned out of you long ago.

But now-

Now there was something stirring, something faint and new and wrong.

A deep itch beneath your skin, something that made your stomach curl and your head swim every time one of them leaned in close. Something that made the back of your throat tickle whenever you rested with them, calm and content.

It wasn’t a scent, not really- more like the promise of one, something so faint and elusive that even you couldn’t quite catch it.

But they could, because they had noticed before you did.

That much became painfully clear when Ghost backed you into the corner of the common room one evening, pressing close, his head tilting as he breathed deep, slow, deliberate.

“…The hell are you doing?” Your voice came out unsteady, but he didn’t move, only leaned in closer, eyes dark and fixated like he was trying to map something beneath your skin.

“You smell different.” He murmured.

Your heart lurched.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have any smell.”

Ghost just huffed, a sound that was almost a growl, but not quite. Behind him, Soap shifted where he sat, his nose scrunching, his brow furrowed like something was bothering him.

“I noticed it too,” Gaz muttered. “It’s… new. But it’s there.”

Price had been silent up until that point, but when he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“…It’s not strong.” His gaze pinned you, assessing, like he was searching for something just out of reach. “But it’s there, love.”

Your stomach twisted.

You had lived your whole life thinking you were empty, thinking you had simply been born wrong. And now-

Now they were telling you it had been there the whole time?

You- you couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe it, refused to accept it after everything, but-

That night, you barely got a moment to yourself.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was practically wrapped around you, his face pressed against your throat, his breath hot and deep as he inhaled in his sleep, mouthing at your neck. Soap was sprawled over your stomach, arms locked around your waist, while Gaz had curled up at your side, face tucked into your shoulder. Even John, John, who had never been one for unnecessary indulgence, had you caged, his body curled around the entire mess of you, nose buried in your hair, lips pressed against your temple.

It was suffocating. It was overwhelming.

It was the safest you had ever felt in your life.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[carn4g3]

Ooh okay, so I thought of an idea! I guess you could call this your first request on this account, but any possessive headcannons about the li's from the night shift?

(I assumed they'd be possessive from what you mentioned at least)

Creepypasta Relationship HCs

Characters - Jeff the Killer, Homicidal Liu (& Sully), Ticci Toby, & Eyeless Jack x GN Reader

Summary - How they are in a relationship (w/ a "healthy" dose of possessive tendencies)

TWs - Descriptions of yandere behavior, cheating (and otherwise unhealthy polyamory), abusive or toxic relationships, manipulation, possessive and jealous behaviors, mentions of murder and other violence, & very brief mentions of sex.

Word Count - 3.4k (500-700 each)

A/N: Part 2 is now up folks :)

Part 2 | 3

Jeff the Killer

Almost definitely has a thing with control. As an unwilling pawn to a creature he can't defeat, he tends to approach all things in life less than civilly.

You would likely have to be under Slender's control as well. While he could possibly tolerate someone who has been with Slender for longer than himself, Jeff prefers a more rookie member. Especially if you're being trained as a proxy, he feels a sort of satisfaction knowing his own influence is somehow intermixed with Slender's closest pawns.

Getting into a relationship with him takes time, and, even then, the term relationship is used very loosely. Jeff has interests for short periods of time before moving on to something else that catches his attention. Assuming this is a more long lasting type of relationship, that manifests as him basically disappearing for anywhere from days to months at a time.

He doesn't quite ignore you. If you pass him by chance, he'll acknowledge you with a smidge more endearment than just anyone else. Even if you seek him out, he might agree, albeit on his terms and free time. However, it certainly rivals the near infatuation he exhibits when he's most interested.

That being said, monogamy is not to be expected. If you wanted to discuss it, you probably wouldn't get a straightforward conversation even if you beat it out of him. Jeff doesn't answer to anyone in his mind. He gets to do whatever he wants, when he wants to. If someone else catches his interest, you're the last thing on his mind.

On the other hand, you do have to answer to him. Being stuck in Slender's woods as well, there's only so many people around you, and Jeff feuds with them constantly. If you were to be seeing one of them, that's something they could hold against him, and, to Jeff, that's worse than sin. For that reason, he absolutely policies your other relationships, and, if anything escalates, you're the sole one at fault. Though, Jeff, behind all his boasting, is not the smartest and it is very easy to lie to him if you're even somewhat decent at it.

Jeff is also not the most affectionate in traditional senses. While he understands the general norms of a relationship, he tends to perceive gestures of affection as begrudging requirements rather than something he enjoys doing.

His main aim in a relationship would be sex, any other things falling as secondary or lower.

Non-sexual physical affection is generally stiff or completely non-existent. Depending on his temperament, he can be a little bit sweeter. If you were to ask for a hug, he would (given you two aren't in any sort of public setting) allow you to give him one. He, on the other hand, would stand there like a reluctantly breathing mannequin.

Words of affection are also few and far between. He absolutely won't say he loves you, and it would be like pulling teeth to get him to call you any endearing nickname. But, Jeff does speak to you a bit softer than he does others. His compliments aren't outright but rather a less critical version of his usual vindictive comments. Not to mention, if he's feeling especially placid, he might refer to you by your actual name over whatever bastardization he normally uses.

His most likely form of affection would be in gift giving. Jeff is kind of a kleptomaniac, deriving a weird sort of joy in taking "souvenirs" from those he's killed. If he just so happens to notice something that you've offhandedly mentioned before or (god forbid) even something that makes him think of you, he'll pass it on. Usually, that means finding it on your doorstep (like he's a cat giving you a dead mouse) or having it tossed off to you under the guise of it being "junk."

I will add one concession which is that it's not entirely impossible to get some complacency out of Jeff. One thing that he tends to forget is that you're not completely weak and docile. After all, you interested Slenderman in some way beyond being prey. The most effective would be straight-up physical violence. Jeff doesn't understand emotional cues, and he hardly respects verbal boundaries. A fist to the gut, though? He understands that well. It'll make him think twice.

Overall, things would need to be toxic on toxic.

Homicidal Liu

Hardly as volatile as his brother, Liu is probably the closest you'll get to a "normal" relationship

While he holds a lot of insecurities about his appearance, he has much more room to interact with others in the real world than some of his companions do. He doesn't have a particular preference for who or what you are. If you're under Slender's control, that makes things easier. But, he's just as willing (if only a little hesitant) to form relationships with people outside of the creature's sphere

In my characterization of Liu, he has a bit of a destructive need to be close to Jeff. Some of it stems from his desire to return to a normal life while other parts of it is because he feels a need to be treated poorly somehow. Either way, his agreement to Slender is purely out of a need to be closer to Jeff. For that reason, he doesn't really view the creature in as negative of a light as others. Liu might even encourage you to submit to Slender if you haven't already, though who knows how that might actually go for you.

A complete wannabe romantic. If he sets his eyes on you, he'll go about the motions in the hopes you'll like him back. On the good side, you'll get a couple of nice dates and a bouquet of your favorite flowers for any sort of special event. In the case you don't reciprocate the romantic feelings, however, that does nothing to deter him. He just needs to try harder and eventually he'll wear you down.

Liu doesn't see himself with anyone but you, and he hopes you feel the same. However, he's a bit more flexible if you aren't interested in being exclusive. He fears that denying you fully might turn your interests away from him, so, instead, he'll try to convince you that he's better than whoever else you set your eyes on.

Compared to others, Liu isn't particularly the strongest. He's killed, but he doesn't feel any great pleasure or disgust towards it. It's something he has to do to be near Jeff, that's all. So, he's not one to go straight to physically harming anyone who gets close to you-- that might upset you too. But, he is one hell of a gossip. Any possible dirt he has on the person in question, he'll tell you all about it, maybe even twist it to seem like they hurt him personally. At the end of the day, you love him, don't you? You wouldn't want him to get hurt again, right?

On the more fluffy side, he’s the most consistently affectionate compared to others. Physical affection and words of affection are the main ways he would show his love in a relationship.

He's most physically affectionate when taking you on a date. Holding your hand and kissing your cheek, he does everything the sweet, picture-perfect boyfriend might. Liu's also very willing to indulge whatever requests you have of him. Whatever you want, his arms are open-- literally. In public settings, he gets a bit shyer, a pink flush taking over his features as he reaches for your hand or hastily presses his lips to your own.

When it comes to words of affection, he's quite the poet, like an actual love poet. Is his poetry good? That's subjective. If you indulge him, he might slip a love note or two your way. Although, he was far from a straight-A student. You're pretty sure some of the big words he uses don't quite mean what he thinks, but the thought is generally there. Even if you don't indulge his poetry, he'll still let the words "I love you" fall in your direction alongside a slew of other compliments.

Sully

I don't imagine Sully fronts very much, but, when he does, it's usually for a decently long period of time. Because of this, Liu keeps a diary of sorts so that the other can be a little less disoriented when coming to the front. Sully begrudgingly respects the diary. He doesn't keep up with it like Liu and writes far less, but he keeps the important details in mind.

If you're Liu's partner, he's not too interested in you. Inevitably, he'll be curious at first upon reading about you, but, if you don't catch his interest, he'll move on just as quickly. In that case, you probably won't see him until he fronts again.

In the off chance that he does see you as more than some side character, that doesn't really change much. Just because you're Liu's partner and somehow attracted to their host body (even though Sully is doubtful to believe that), he doesn't just get free range on you. He'll hang around you a bit longer, maybe indulge in a conversation or two. If Sully's relationship with you does develop into something less passive, it would likely be purely sexual in nature.

In general, Sully is unlikely to pursue a romantic partner of his own-- especially if Liu already has a partner. For Sully, Liu's needs matter more than his own, so he gets the final say on romantic relationships. But, he's not incapable of experiencing romantic attraction for another person.

Unlike Liu, you'd have to be under Slender's control for Sully to even consider you. He admires powerful people, so, if you were a more experienced member, that would only be a bonus.

If he did let an actual relationship form between the two of you, it would probably be pretty loosely defined. He wouldn't call himself your boyfriend, but he would scoff if you didn't see him that way. With that, Sully wouldn't entirely mind you were with someone else-- as long as he found them worthy.

(I'm not decided on writing NSFW on this account yet, but there's something there... remind me)

That doesn't dissolve the possessiveness entirely. Sully would still feel like he has some say in your other partners if it's someone he doesn't like. Rather than take that disapproval out on you, he'll go right to the source, and he is not opposed to violence.

In terms of affection in a relationship, Sully is a lot like Jeff in most ways. He's not a fan of initiating softer forms of affection. You would have to be dying in his arms to get him to hug you and most kisses would need to be initiated by you (it's not like he minds, though).

Sully's most valuable asset is his time. When he's fronting, he gets no more than one or two months to get everything done. So, if he chooses to spend his time with you, you better appreciate it. Even if you don't, that might not stop him if he's in deep enough.

Liu would probably be similarly indifferent to Sully's partner whenever he fronts again. He takes a bit more time to get to know you, Sully writing much less about you than Liu would, but he certainly wouldn't grow more fond of you than that.

Ticci Toby

Truly a rollercoaster of a man.

Toby is damn near infatuated with Slender, seeing it as something of a savior to him. Whether you feel entirely the same is irrelevant, you would have to be another proxy. Toby is often trapped in his own mind, not really too observant of things he doesn't need to be. So, you would need to be someone who's a bit more relevant in his life than just an occasional mission-buddy.

Surprise, surprise, Toby struggles with authority. He hates when people have power over him and he knows it (*cough* Tim *cough*). He'll fight any order quite fervently whether that be by outright defying it or just doing something his own way instead. At the same time, he feels the innate urge to be validated for his efforts and garner respect from the very same authority figure. Shockingly, he finds himself gravitated to someone who's been around a bit longer than himself.

You would have to be the one to establish any clear boundaries or definitions in a relationship. Once Toby thinks something, that tends to become his version of fact. He thinks you two are partners? You are. No need to inform you of that, you must already know.

Toby is incredibly insecure in himself. As a result, everyone is a threat to his relationship with you. Anyone could swipe you away if he's not watching carefully enough, so he's on high alert around others-- whether you want him to be or not. At the best of times, he can keep his mouth shut. But, at his worst, he sics himself on others like an untrained guard dog. The offense in question? Causing you to smile in a conversation.

This sort of variety tends to describe most of your relationship. Sometimes, he fails to see any of your flaws, pining any issues he has on either himself or others. Other times, everything is your fault to the point he almost despises you. Those times don't equate to necessarily him distancing himself. Rather, he takes increasingly more frustrating means to get you to change for him. You love him, don't you?

Toby doesn't know much about relationships apart from the stereotypical and heteronormative examples he saw as a child. Regardless of your gender, he tends to think of himself as the "dominating man" of the relationship. Despite that, he tends to be weak to you. It's not the hardest to knock him down a peg or two, depending on his mental state.

His most likely forms of affection are in gifts and acts of service. He's not exactly an artist, but he likes to think he is as he combines various rocks, sticks, and acorns together into some atrocity for you. Almost like a courting bird, he most prefers giving you the pretty or shiny objects he can find throughout the woods. As for his acts of service, those go back to his desire for you to be proud of him. Doing things for you is a natural way for him to achieve that, no matter how ridiculous or damaging your request might be. This aspect of his is almost too easy to exploit.

Toby is very awkward with physical affection. Being around you heightens his nerves and, in turn, his tics. He worries that he'll jab you too hard with his elbow or accidentally smack you with an involuntary hand flick. So, he stays close but never too close: hovering is the best way to describe it. Toby exists near you like a presence, just a few feet away and fiddling with his hands as he waits for you.

Words of affection are also difficult for him for similar reasons. He despises the way his voice comes out cut and stuttered and saying such big things like "I love you" takes a lot of effort out of him. On that note, he can be quite the talker once you two get closer. When he's comfortable around people, he likes to tell them about his interests in long, rambling ways with a little glimmer in his eyes. It's almost comical how easily you can initiate such word vomit from him.

Eyeless Jack

EJ has been a personal fav of mine for many years now.

While I'm an absolute sucker for the beauty and the beast trope with this guy, I think a relationship with someone else under Slender's control is most likely. Despite that, he would definitely be more likely to fall in love with a more human member than another supernatural one. Jack craves nothing more than the nostalgia and familiarity of humanity, so, if a human partner is the closest he can get, then so be it.

A relationship with Jack is beyond a slowburn. He wouldn't admit feelings for you even if it killed him. Jack despises who he is and thinks that every nice thing around him should feel the same. For that reason, it would take you to be the catalyst for the relationship. Good luck doing that though when Jack starts avoiding you like the plague, a pretty common occurrence. Even if you do voice the thoughts for him, he might still hide in the hopes you'll forget them.

Once in a relationship, he's the most likely to make it clear that he wants you two to be exclusive. While I tend to hesitate on making his more demonic traits too animalistic, I think it's reasonable to suggest that he has quite the strong nose. You have a scent, perhaps even one beyond whatever hygiene products you wear, and so does everyone else. If you don't smell like, well, you, it unsettles him in a certain way. That's his reasoning, at least.

In reality, he's more possessive than he lets on. To an extent, it's not a complete ruse on his part. He does truly believe the things that he asks of you are because his demonic nature makes the alternative impossible. It would be a lie to say there isn't some almost inexplicable mental gymnastics to get to that point, however. He can handle you having platonic relationships with others, no matter how much he feels his hands twitch unpleasantly at the thought. Jack struggles to fully commit to making you "all his" given that he doesn't think he deserves anything.

Expanding on his self-hatred a bit further, Jack is most vocal about these feelings with you. The sheer amount of time it took for the two of you to get together allowed for the establishment of more than enough trust on his part. He'll rarely dump it all at once. Instead, he makes comments here and there about hating certain features of his, or, if that's too much, he'll look so obviously sad about it. The reassurances feel cute, almost more domestic than you expected... at first.

Jack doesn't actively seek praise or compliments from others. If anything, he tries to practically disappear in most social settings. So, to have someone reaffirm him so readily, it's almost intoxicating. It would be a lie to say he doesn't fish for compliments on occasion, highlighting some insecurity of his to an unnecessary degree in the hopes you'll dote on him over him. Honestly, you might have swayed his worries on the issue entirely, but he'll be damned if he doesn't hear you say it again and again and again.

Acts of service and quality time are his go to forms of affection. Jack is guilty of hovering even more so than Toby is. If you're doing something, he's willing to help with whatever it is (there's very little he can't do) or at least linger around you if you don't want the help. When you're not busy, he still likes to linger near even if you two are doing separate things. Another heightened sense of his is hearing, so he basks in the quiet. As his partner, hearing you is a big comfort to him, even if it's just your soft breaths.

As is customary now, Jack doesn't think he's deserving of physical affection even though he craves it. He's shockingly strong willed and won't initiate anything unless you specifically instruct him to. He's most partial to being held by you, but is willing and happy to act as your personal pillow if need be. Sometimes, he can be a bit too cautious with his expressions of physical affection. Between his claws, his strength, and the inhuman black substance that drips from his eye sockets, he's a big fan of hover hands.

For words of affection, Jack is not a talker whatsoever. Despite his transparency on his insecurities, it flusters him greatly to share how he truly feels about you. He can only bring himself to say he loves you when he's sure you're deep asleep. Regardless, he'll manage to throw around an occasional compliment or two. Usually, it's uttered painstakingly quiet and you'd be lucky if he ever actually repeated it for you to hear better.

I fear there is some favoritism between these characters and I need to write more asshole EJ hcs.

[mercy-burning]

Of Bases & Supernovas

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: You’re a bartender whose hookups keep ending up dead, and he’s an FBI agent who goes undercover as your newest fling to catch the culprit. Category: MATURE (18+) Content: Strong language, violence, kissing, groping, allusions to sex. The smut here is not extremely explicit, but still depicted through heavy space metaphors. Word Count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: If there was ever a man who was sooooo pussy-whipped and stupid around a beautiful woman that he completely risked his job just to Get It On, it would be Doctor Spencer Reid. I wholeheartedly believe that 😂 Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover Writing Challenge ❤️

---------

As your fingers thoroughly comb through his hair, weaving and tugging and eliciting the most pathetic sounds from his mouth, Spencer Reid briefly reflects on how he got himself in this situation.

Two murders in the last two months, and then a third. Escalation. Bruised, bloody faces and shattered glass lodged into the throats of three single men, all of whom no other obvious connections could be found. Until one finally walked into the station...

Until you.

It was clear soon into your questioning that you didn't kill these men—at least not physically. Somebody seemed to be killing them either on your behalf, or merely for the fact that following the pretty bartender back to her house, and then following her suitors back to their homes, was a simple means to an end. Regardless, the BAU was determined to get to the bottom of it.

And so, the plan had taken shape.

Your teeth take a gentle tug at Spencer's bottom lip, pulling him back into the moment as a powerful surge of lightning courses through his veins. Heat pools in his belly and his pants suddenly feel tighter. He's hard and aching for you.

His hand rests firmly at your chest, groping you through your shirt. You're hard, too, he notices, even through layers of fabric.

He revels in the feel of your firm breasts weighted in his palm and remembers something you said only mere minutes ago in vivid detail. The recent memory allows this—your attraction and desperation for him, lethal to the bone—to feel more real and less like a dream.

"We're in the house now. Everything is secure," he says into his tie. The wire.

"Copy that," Morgan says in his ear.

"So... What now?"

Spencer looks over at you and offers a sympathetic smile. "Now we wait."

You can sense the pent-up, nervous tension in his voice, he just knows it; With the way you arch your eyebrow and take a step closer to him, the way you tilt your head...

"And... What do you suppose we do while we wait?"

Derek snickers in Spencer's ear, already having been highly amused at the situation thus far and definitely planning to tease him for it later.

He stands his ground, though, holding his chin high and channeling his authority and professionalism. "You should get some rest."

"Come on," you press, now standing toe-to-toe. His heart is beating wildly, something tugging at his insides when your hand reaches for his. "You wouldn't be a very good undercover agent if you didn't cover all your bases, now, would you?"

The plan... for Spencer to show up at your bar and for you to take him home. To lure out the unsub. You were assured that it would be safe, and to your credit, you went through the whole plan with ease.

Spencer found it mesmerizing watching you work, to say the least.

You made drinks and talked to strangers and friends alike, moving with a grace that put even the most nimble dancers to shame. If it wasn't for the fact that he was supposed to be looking out for you, you were exactly the type of woman he'd avoid at all costs for fear of making himself look stupid.

But alas. To do his job, there was supposed to be something charming enough about Spencer to make you want to go home with him. At least that's how he thought of it. But really, you were putting in all the work anyway, between refilling his soda and sliding it over with a wink, calling him pet names, and giving him plenty more than a fair share of appreciative once-overs with your glittering, curious eyes...

He convinced himself that your attention was all part of the plan, trying desperately to ignore the overwhelming plague of desire that clung to his beating heart and spread through his bloodstream like wildfire, but ultimately failing.

And then, when you stood before him, in the safety of your own home where the act could end, you only fed the fire and shattered every argument he could have conjured with a singular sentence.

"You wouldn't be a very good undercover agent if you didn't cover all your bases, now, would you?"

Spencer releases a giant breath, resisting the urge to damn it all to hell and kiss you right then and there. Still, you didn't actually, in clear enough words, tell him what you wanted. So he would stall until you did or until you dropped the act and went to bed alone.

"So, you know what bases I need to cover, do you?" he muses, keeping his tone even despite the rapid beating of his heart.

"Damn it," Derek huffs behind the scenes, and then directly to Spencer, "Down, Pretty Boy. Focus, please."

Meanwhile, you're smiling, pulling him in by the wired tie, and telling him, "I know what bases I want you to cover..."

And now, ever the giver he is, he's in the midst of fulfilling that want, the wire and ear peace discarded somewhere in the entryway of your home as the bright echoes of your sultry voice call to him more vividly with each second that follows.

Though, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't being a bit selfish in this pursuit; It'd been so long since the opportunity to sleep with someone had fallen so deliciously into his lap. And despite being on the job and the fact that sex isn't necessarily important enough for him to pursue on a regular basis, you were distracting in just about every perfect, possible way. The burning he had for you was rare. All-consuming.

It was not a smart move by any means, and he'll definitely get shit for it later, but now that he's had a taste of you, he knows he won't stop until he's tasted all of you.

The thought alone pulls the most obscene sound from his lips, which draws you impossibly closer to him as you tilt your head and kiss him deeper. His palm tightens around your breast, and your fingers grip at the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. In an instant, you're shifting yourself to straddle his thigh, moaning into his mouth the second he hikes his knee up just a bit higher to give you more friction to work with.

The warm weight of you grinding on his leg is a sensation that has him feeling way more powerful than he'd like to admit. It's usually rare for him to take a more dominant approach in bed, more than happy to let his partner take the wheel, but the desperation that emanates from your every move and every sigh is feeding something deep within himself... something that aches for your submission.

Spencer revels in that feeling for what feels like hours, drinking up every lazy lap of your cherry-coated tongue, soaking in every press of your body into his own, and committing every sound you make to memory. Soon enough it feels like he's drowning in you and refusing to come up for air as your sweetness fills his lungs.

You break away first, resting your forehead to his and catching your breath as his hands come around to dip into the back pockets of your jeans.

"What do you want, baby?" he sighs roughly into your mouth, the words surprising himself as you shiver into his body, rolling your hips again. The way you're reacting to him is agitating that hunger deep inside, pulling out a seductiveness he hadn't really realized he possessed until you existed in his orbit.

Is this what it feels like, he wonders, to be so lust-drunk on somebody that you'd be willing to embrace the parts of yourself that scare you just to get a taste of them?

"I like the way you make me feel," you confess. You brush your nose over his and swallow, shivering as his hands roam back up the length of your body. "I want you to make me feel like this forever, even after you're long gone and you've forgotten all about me..."

Spencer laughs, unable to help it, his lips quirked up into a delicious smirk. "I have an eidetic memory... I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to."

You laugh back, leaning in to kiss him once more. "Mmm, so not the point, G-Man."

As you smile against his lips and let your hands roam down the expanse of his chest, he has a hard time remembering what he's truly here for. Every moment spent in your presence, so inherently and potently beautiful, chips away at his ability to think logically. Gone is the task at large, the looming anxiety of being bait for a vicious murderer, and in its place is the overwhelming simmering of you—deep in the marrow of his bones, threatening to swallow him whole, and he'd gladly allow it.

"And the point is..." he urges, longing for you to beg him— to hear those fatally salacious words tumble from your equally fatal lips.

You grant his wish, a small shaky sigh of desperation exhaling from you before you whisper hotly against his mouth, "I want you to fuck me."

Spencer doesn't waste any more time with pleasantries, lifting you off his lap and flipping you over on the couch. Your wish is to feel him long after he's gone, and in this moment, with your hungry pleading eyes and your wrists pinned above your head at his mercy, he vows it to be so.

His mouth comes down over yours, hovering, teasing you with a grin and a low hum of amusement before he slurs, "'Atta girl..."

He swallows your whimper as soon as it leaves your throat, finally closing the gap and kissing you once more. Your hands become desperate immediately, tugging at his clothes as you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his heart stutter.

Despite the gentle dominance he's physically displaying with you—even now as he takes to pinning your wrists again, this time at your side—you will never truly know the power you're holding over him inside. Every kiss, every touch, every sigh, is slowly transforming him. Everything about you is altering the chemistry in his very being. And because you're a stranger, because you will soon be only a vivid memory and nothing tangible, he cannot tell you that feeling with words.

But, he can make you feel it.

And so, he fulfills your wishes, base by base.

He takes his time. His hands meticulously undress you, lingering on certain sensitive expanses of skin until you're covered in goosebumps from head-to-toe. He handles you limb by limb, peppering you with kisses and caresses, and after you're finally exposed to him in all your angelic glory, he sits up and admires you as he undresses himself.

He watches as your bare chest rises and falls, your curves and valleys calling to him like a longing wind.

Your eyes are watching him, too, following his hands as he slowly but surely exposes himself to the same air, the same universe, as yourself. It's not that Spencer doesn't particularly think he doesn't belong in the same universe as you, just that it doesn't feel real. You simply don't feel real.

That is, at least, until your bodies finally meet in the middle.

Bare and thrumming with life and fire and starlight, the two of you are inevitable. Bright. Hot.

His arms are strong as they hold you, his hips even stronger as they collide with yours. Spencer's name falls like comets from your lips, a spectacle that grounds him and reminds him of his place in the universe. He works his hips expertly to draw it out of you, touches you like you're the sole reason for everything good and pure and beautiful, and then he's burning.

And you're burning right with him.

Your time together is coming to a close, but not before the grand finale; Your bodies are a supernova, the brightest expression of a dying star. Everything is fire. It's sharp thrusts and taut limbs. You're holding onto each other, knowing the end is near but trying to prolong it.

Even long after the explosion has subsided, your lust settles, remnants twinkling in the air like stardust. It lulls you to sleep, your consciousness floating along a river of stars until all that remains is Spencer's head on your chest, your heartbeat thrumming under his ear.

He tries to relax. He focuses on the rhythm of your heart, letting it clear his mind until he knows what he has to do.

It pains him to leave. His clothes go back on, his hand shakes as it searches for his phone, and his chest heaves in disappointment as he reads the texts of concern that flood his screen.

Still, as he quietly covers your bare body and scrawls you a short, hurried apology on the back of a paper towel, it's like you're begging him to stay longer.

As such, mere visions of you aren't the only thing staking their claim. The sound of your voice rings out, carried by the wind as he steps outside. He knows there is possible danger coming for him now that he's left the safety of your home, but he can't bring himself to be alert. And how could he, really, when you've left him so wrecked—so altered by your perfection?

God, I am in so much trouble, he thinks to himself, sighing and turning a corner.

As if the thought had permeated his brain and tempted the universe, suddenly a sharp pain blasts out of nowhere and knocks Spencer to the ground.

All he knows for a split second is panic and the deep sting of glass, the sound almost as loud as the blood rushing to his head. Warmth—blood—pools at his eyebrow and trails down the side of his face, where your kisses had once lived.

The thought of you, of your predicament and the danger at hand, wipes the panic clean from his nervous system and replaces it with preservation. He tries the best he can to toss the pain aside and deflect another blow, but there's a swift kick to his gut that renders him breathless, and it's becoming harder each second to get the upper hand.

Spencer forces his eyes open, to look at his attacker head-on and gather any information that he can.

All he sees is a blur, a rage-filled man with a shattered bottle in his hand as he comes down for a final blow.

And then, the shot fires.

The unsub falls, and Spencer guides him to the side, unwilling to be blanketed by him. He's still alive, squirming and yelling, and looking everywhere for the glass that had fallen and shattered in the echoing aftermath of the gunshot. The pain in Spencer's head is so strong he barely even registers the cuts that mar his palms and knees as he apprehends the man.

Not even a second later, hands are pulling him away and checking him for injuries, Derek's voice cutting through the chaos as he cuffs the unsub.

"Hope she was worth it..." It comes out as a tight, irritated huff, though when he gets the unsub up off the ground and hands him over to someone else—one of the officers from town—he and Spencer lock eyes, and there's a brief pause before Derek breaks out into a small laugh.

"How much trouble am I in?" Spencer asks, and he can hear Emily snicker beside him as she looks at his cut-up hand.

"I think we'll leave that answer up to Boss Man over there," she says, nodding towards Hotch.

Spencer looks at him, his stomach dropping when he sees how pissed he looks.

Still, your phantom touch lingers, calming him through the rest of the evening, through the berating and lecturing and the empty threats of suspension, through the snickers and teasing pats on the shoulder from his friends, and even through his restless attempt of sleep in the motel.

The only thing that puts his mind at ease is you. Your memory offers comfort, especially knowing he will be able to say goodbye to you and follow-up with the end of the case tomorrow morning. And though it pains him to think of leaving you behind, it would pain him more to have left in the middle of the night like he did without seeing you one final time and issuing a proper goodbye.

As pathetic as it sounds, he falls asleep imagining what your goodbye will look like—what it will feel like. He remembers the smell of you, the planes of your body shivering gloriously under his hands, and your arms as they curl over him, drawing him closer and keeping him there.

Before his final breath into slumber, he thinks to himself, Yes, she was entirely worth it. All of it. Every last second.

[idiotmf]

omg please write a piece about reader getting fucked by a ghost i neeeeed it

Hey, anon! Fear not, I shall deliver. I wasn't sure whether you wanted afab or amab, so I went with the usual afab. I'm happy to rewrite it into amab, if anyone wants it!（＾ω＾）

Edit: Here is the amab version!

Feel free to send me asks and requests or little imagines, I'm always happy to expand upon it, it gets the creative juices flowing a little. ^-^

NSFW, Minors DNI, I can see you.

TW: dub-con

Anyway, enough talk. Here's Reader getting not-so-respectfully railed by a ghost:

When your grandma left you a house after she passed, you assumed your troubles would finally be over, and for a while, they were. When you moved in, things were amazing. You didn't have to worry about rent anymore, and the utilities were surprisingly cheap. It's like you hit the jackpot, finally able to live with a few less worries.

Obviously, when you weren't working or hanging out with the odd friend that came over, you spent your time at home, keeping yourself occupied, mostly by either watching something, playing something, or masturbating out of boredom.

Things continued like that for a while, until you found a rather cryptic note from your late grandma that explained in unnecessary detail how there was a ghost living in the house. She strictly referred to the ghost as "him" and mentioned he was fairly friendly, unless provoked, and even then he would only play pranks on you.

Being the rational person that you are, you chalked it up to grandma being senile and that she was just keeping herself entertained since she lived in the house all alone. It would have been fine if that's where it stopped.

One night, your old friend came over, and you did your usual routine of watching something, and then halfway through, you ended up fucking. That's where it really all began.

The next morning, things were on the ground, not like someone had ransacked the place, but it was noticeable enough, though of course you thought it must've been just your old friend who had knocked some stuff over while leaving in a hurry. When you went to bend over to pick some things up, you could feel something grabbing your ass, and without hesitation, you turned around, only to be faced with nothing. Maybe you were going crazy, you thought; it wasn't an awfully strong grip, so maybe it was something your body did.

This excuse became increasingly less effective as time went on. You felt hands everywhere and at the worst times. Caressing your arms and legs, tracing your stomach and back. Eventually it got to the point where you could feel a hand slipping into your pants, playing with your clit. Of course, you were scared at first. Something was clearly there, and it reminded you of the letter your grandma left you.

You began shouting at the ghost. Telling it to stop fucking around and leave you alone. However, the ghost didn't really care; you broke his one rule that he had agreed on with your grandma, and even if you didn't know, he was going to punish you. How dare you bring another man into his house and have the audacity to fuck him?

His touching escalated the more you allowed him. Eventually you noticed a mouth and a wet tongue licking your neck, tracing down to your breasts. It seemed strange, considering you were usually clothed when this happened, yet it felt like it was touching your skin directly. The licking felt nothing like what your old friend would do, although in truth the sex with him wasn't all that good and really just a way to get fucked every once in a while.

Before you knew it, multiple hands were all over you, joined by at least three tongues licking you. This made no sense; you wondered if there were multiple ghosts. It became increasingly difficult to even find the logic in this when you were constantly being groped and licked. One tongue had found its permanent place on your sensitive nub, flicking and sucking it with every move you made; one was carelessly sucking on one of your nipples, alternating with one hand that usually played with the other one. The third mouth seemed to like making out with you, its tongue constantly shoved in your mouth, wrestling yours.

Despite feeling all these ministrations as if they were real, when you looked at your reflection, there was nothing there. Your mouth was gaping, but nothing was in it; your panties were soaked beyond belief most of the time, yet nothing seemed to be there. But truly, the worst part about it all was that it wouldn't let you finish. Whenever you were just about to cum, the mouth disappeared before continuing its torture. It took about two days before you couldn't take it anymore, pleading with the ghost to let you cum. It didn't listen, though it did use more hands to restrict you when you went to touch yourself before shoving something inside of you.

It wasn't much of a sensation, and you felt it curl, so you naturally assumed it was the finger of another hand. “Please,” you began whimpering every other minute, your tone getting more needy with every ruined orgasm that he put you through as minutes began to feel like hours.

“I'll do anything,” you finally managed to choke out through tears as he played with your sodden pussy for what you could only register as an eternity again, bent over the kitchen counter, legs held apart, wrists gripped tightly by the ghost. For a moment, there was nothing but stillness; all the mouths stopped what they were doing, and most of the hands disappeared too, except the ones keeping you in place.

“Anything?” A shiver ran down your spine as you heard the noise that you assumed to be the ghost's voice. It sounded distant and more like the wind howling than a human voice, yet you knew immediately who it was. You nodded, the tears running down your face falling onto the kitchen counter, your twitching cunt trying to feel any sort of stimulation now that the mouths and hands were gone.

“Yes, anything.” The words came out before you could even attempt to stop them, accompanied by a howling sound, which made you wonder whether it was meant to be a laugh or not.

Another few moments passed before a loud noise forced itself out of your mouth at the sensation of something stretching you open. It was long and thick, covered in strange bumps, providing nothing but the most torturous pleasure as it thrust into your hungry cunt at a punishing pace.

Despite your mind still questioning whether this was okay and logical, your body was writhing against the kitchen counter, hands still held still by him, your legs forced apart as he fucked you from behind. No matter how much you attempted to stop it from happening, desperate, high-pitched mewling sounds escaped your lips at a rapid rate as you felt another orgasm approach, hoping this would be the one to finally let you cum after two days of torture.

“What a willing little slut,” the ghost taunted with his howling voice, making him sound distant yet all around you at once. The insults made you mewl louder; something about being used like this by a ghost made your pussy clench harder.

In a small moment of defiance, you glanced back at what might be behind you, but just as expected, there was nothing. Despite your pussy being stretched to an almost painful level, gaping around air, no figure was there to account for it.

Just as your orgasm threatened to spill over, something was shoved into your mouth, making your jaw hurt, before it found its way down your throat, drowning out your mewls and desperate groans.

“Be quiet, whore. I'm not done with you yet.” With those words, your eyes fluttered closed as you let this torture continue for another minute or two, pussy and throat both stuffed full with invisible cocks, bigger than any human's you've ever had. The thought alone was enough to trigger your orgasm, finally sending you over that sweet edge with a loud groan that only came out as a hum. Your body went limp from the impact, and you saw stars in front of your eyes, the ghost holding you up by your wrists as if it were nothing.

Without a word or even a moment to spare, he kept slamming into you, the bumps rubbing against your insides, making you feel like you were stuck in a never-ending orgasm for a moment before it did finally subside, though you could feel the cocks twitch, their movements becoming more erratic and aggressive. You tried to say something, but your throat was simply too stuffed to make any worthwhile noise.

Suddenly, you felt a hot sensation in both of your holes, almost making you gag and cry in pain, as the sheer amount of ectoplasmic seed forced its way into your womb and down your throat, spilling back into your mouth, even running down your chin. Before you could fully register what happened, you were dropped, the ghost probably leaving you to deal with the aftermath. As you lay there, the sheer amount of cum almost formed a small puddle on the ground, your fucked-out pussy leaking more as you desperately tried to swallow the remnants in your mouth.

[alternate-real-ities]

Hey, something's happening in my office... my coworkers are disappearing, or I guess, maybe the office is shifting? It seems like there's less office guys around and more and more guys from the warehouse division showing up, although why'd they show up to the office park is beyond me. Just more huge, asian dudes keep coming. I was asked to direct them over to shipping department, they all seemed nice enough but man, they stunk. Think my clothes need a wash now, I can still smell them on me.

I feel like I'm one of the last guys around in button down and a tie. If you can help explain what's going on, just look for me, I'll be the only short, lean, clean cut, Mexican American guy trying to keep this office above water.

Investigation Report: Office Outbreak

To the distressed individual who reached out for help - We are truly sorry, but by the time our team arrived at the scene, it was already too late for you. Your family has been notified and dully made to forget about this incident. We are now working on containing this outbreak and preventing it from spreading further. May you be at peace in your current state.

Overview

An investigative unit was dispatched to assess the circumstances unfolding at the corporate office of [REDACTED], now Subject C. Unfortunately, Subject C was not found at the office when the team arrived, but substantial evidence was gathered from the scene. Camera footage from the building's security system allowed the team to piece together a timeline of events leading up to Subject C's current state.

The following report thus details the team's findings and a possible timeline of events that led to the current situation. For physical reference, we include an old photo of Subject C, which was found in their office.

Timeline of Events

[48 Hours Prior]

The video footage of 2 days prior shows Subject C entering the office with a noticeable change in demeanour. He appeared to be bothered by something, constantly looking over his shoulder and fidgeting with his clothing. The office was relatively quiet at this time, with only a few employees present.

Our team's observations suggest that Subject C was already experiencing the effects of the Asian Flu at this point, though the symptoms were not yet severe. This is deduced from his contact message, where he mentioned his encounter with a new group of employees from the warehouse division. It is likely that Subject C was exposed to the virus during this encounter.

Video footage from this time period also shows Subject C seemingly struggling to focus on his work, sweating profusely, and exhibiting signs of confusion. These are common early symptoms of the Asian Flu, which can cause disorientation and cognitive impairment in its early stages to distract the host from the virus' effects on the host's body.

As the day progressed, surveillance footage shows Subject C subtly changing in appearance. His clothes seemed to fit a bit tighter than usual, hinting at a slight increase in muscle mass and overall body size. However, these changes were not drastic; he simply appeared more filled out and energetic compared to his typical demeanour. Subject C also exhibited increased activity levels, frequently getting up from his desk to pace around the office or stretch, as if excess energy was coursing through his body.

The rest of the workday passed without incident, and Subject C left the office at the usual time. However, the changes in his physical appearance and behaviour were becoming more pronounced. Video surveillance shows Subject C leaving the office filling his shirt more than usual, while sweating heavily.

[24 Hours Prior]

The video footage from the day before Subject C's current state shows a significant escalation in his symptoms. Upon entering the office, Subject C was visibly larger and more muscular than the day before. The increased height and bulk are evident in the footage, as previous recordings can be compared to his current state. He came in with his sleeves rolled up, revealing his newly developed biceps and forearms. He had also forgotten to wear his tie, which was unusual for him. The office remained mostly empty like the day before, with only a few employees present.

Our team's analysis of the footage suggests that Subject C's transformation was accelerating rapidly. Footage from the rest of the day shows Subject C exhibiting increasingly aggressive behaviour against his computer, which he seemed to be struggling to operate. He was also seen pacing around the office, but his remaining colleagues appeared to be avoiding him. This may have been due to his probable newly acquired scent, which was likely becoming more potent as his transformation progressed, as some people are seen holding their noses or coughing when he passed by.

Our team also caught an interesting moment in the footage where Subject C seemed exhausted and sat down at his chair, his shirt now straining to contain his growing muscles. He was sweating profusely, and his breathing was heavy. He appeared to be in pain, clutching his chest and grimacing. His facial features appeared to be changing as well, with his hair physiology changing, becoming more curly and darkening, and his face becoming more masculine and asian-like.

We believe that Subject C was nearing the final stages of his transformation at this point, as his symptoms were becoming more severe and his behaviour unpredictable. The office was completely empty by the time Subject C left. He was seen exiting the building, his pectorals straining against his shirt, as his shirt's top button had popped off. He was still sweating heavily, however, his breathing had become more controlled. Our team also captured moments where Subject C seemed to be sniffing the air, as if he was tracking something, however, he was most probably smelling himself. This behaviour is consistent with the heightened sense of smell that is a common symptom of the Asian Flu.

[Present Day]

Our team arrived at the office the day after the last recorded footage of Subject C. The office was in a state of disarray, with furniture overturned and papers scattered everywhere. No employees were present, and the building was eerily quiet. We discovered Subject C's discarded clothing in front of the warehouse entrance, which was open and unguarded upon our arrival. A strong, musky scent lingered in the air, which is consistent with our knowledge of the Asian Flu's effects.

Upon further investigation, our team noticed a glistening trail leading from the discarded clothing towards the open warehouse door. The viscous substance was unmistakably semen, suggesting that Subject C, in his transformed state, had left a trail as he moved about. Following the trail inside, we were greeted by a scene that defied belief. The once orderly warehouse was now filled with muscular Asian men, all visibly transformed by the Asian Flu.

And there, standing amidst this chaos, was Subject C. But he was barely recognizable in his new form. Gone was the scrawny, unassuming man from the office photos. In his place stood a colossus of rippling muscle and tanned, glistening skin; he was easily 6'5" with a physique that could only be described as grotesquely exaggerated. His pecs were each the size of watermelons, glistening and flexing independently under his sweat-slicked skin. Ropes of muscle rippled down his eight-pack abs to his V-cut hips, disappearing into a waistband straining to contain an impressive bulge.

His bronzed skin seemed to emit an almost supernatural glow, beaded with exertion under the harsh warehouse lights. High cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes hinted at his East Asian heritage, now exaggerated by the virus's influence into a face of rugged, masculine beauty. A light dusting of dark hair across his chiselled jawline framed full, sensuous lips curved in a predatory smile. The scent emanating from him was overwhelming - pure, concentrated pheromones that would have made our team swoon if not for our protective gear. Subject C's transformation had not only enhanced his physical form but also amplified his masculine allure to dizzying heights.

Behind Subject C, the rest of the warehouse was a sea of similar forms - the other office people he had once worked alongside, now transformed into muscular, sweaty Asian bros like himself. They lounged against pallets stacked high with boxes bearing cryptic markings in languages we didn't recognize. Others stood in loose groups, engaged in low conversations that were punctuated by "bro speak" and the occasional burst of laughter.

They hefted pallets and machinery with ease, their bodies built for hard labour rather than office work. The air hummed with a symphony of grunts, groans, and the clanking of metal. It was clear that in this new form, Subject C and his crew were thriving. Their minds may have been dulled, but their bodies were powerful tools, perfectly adapted for manual labour. In this world of grunts and muscles, critical thinking was obsolete. They only needed each other now, their minds unaware of the world they had left behind.

Conclusion

The evidence gathered by our team suggests that Subject C was exposed to the Asian Flu virus during an encounter with a group of warehouse employees. Incubation time took approximately 48 hours this time, during which Subject C exhibited common symptoms of the virus, such as hyperhidrosis, cerebral cellular decay, and a heightened sense of smell. His transformation accelerated in the final 24 hours, culminating in his current state as a muscular, Asian bro (as he calls himself).

A containment squad has been dispatched to the warehouse to secure the area and prevent further spread of the virus. The sweaty beasts within will be quarantined and studied to better understand the virus's effects and potential treatments. The investigation team will continue to monitor the situation and provide updates as necessary. The situation is dire but not hopeless. We recommend a thorough decontamination of the office space and a review of existing safety protocols to prevent future outbreaks. This concludes the investigation team's report on this recent outbreak of the Asian Flu virus.

Please refer any further inquiries to the investigation team's lead, Dr. Ming.

[End Report]

[grudgecollector]

hii queen! i saw that your requests are open, could you write something with daryl and a reader in the earlier seasons who are dating in secret? (they dont want no one to know because daryl is new to relationships and i believe he would be more reserved a little in the beggining), however the group ended up noticing how soft he is to her and how he always keep an eye on her😩 and also i just wanted to say that i read some of yours writtings and they are amazing💕💕

Gimme Shelter | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Tags: Swearing, twd typical violence, kind of slow burn, fluff, lightish angst, half proof-read

Words: 4.4k

A/N: Fank you so much nonny 💖😭 I've been really enjoying writing for Daryl, he was one of my biggest obsessions as a teenager, and that obsession will continue to prevail.

And this is such a cute request, I love secret relationship tropes so much. I decided to do Prison era!Daryl if that's okay, I assume you probably meant for like season 1 or 2, but I felt like it would be cute in the prison.

I know that a slow burn wasn't requested BUT the thoughts just kept coming the more I wrote. Also sorry this took so long to post.

Growing up people would always say you will find the one when you least expect it. Whether it’s in a grocery store, at the park, in a museum. That one person you’re bound to spend the rest of your life with will be there. As if they were waiting for you, and you for them. It was a fairytale dream, one that you lost faith in long ago. 

There were moments you had thought that maybe you finally found that person. Until disappointment would strike time and time again. Your experience with relationships had been less than ideal, never lasting longer than a year. Cheaters, liars, and worst of all abusers. Those types of men had always been the most drawn to you. Making you feel as if you were cursed somehow, unlucky. 

After a while and a slew of pity attempts, you gave up on dating for your own benefit. Deciding it would be best to focus more on yourself. Not allowing yourself to succumb to the societal pressure of getting married by twenty and popping kids out by twenty one. 

That was the dream of a delusional small town teenager, too young to think for themselves let alone plan a future family, and that had been your dream once upon a time. Maybe you read too many stories about young girls finding their prince charming and living happily ever after.

You started to value your alone time. Enjoying the feeling of not having to walk on eggshells in order to keep the other party happy. Things were smooth sailing for about two years. You changed your life around, got a new job, a new car, and a new apartment all within a few months. 

A newfound happiness was settling inside of you, you were beginning to find yourself again. You became more confident in who you were as a person, allowing yourself to actually live your life instead of just simply being alive. 

But life had a twisted sense of humor. 

Things started with frantic breaking news segments on the news. Reporters talking about the horrifying developments coming out of France. In the beginning you had hoped that things wouldn’t escalate past that, hoped that this would be an isolated incident. But things just got worse the more you watched. An unknown virus wreaking havoc across the entirety of Europe, spreading like wildfire across each country. 

After the first case of the virus was reported in Ohio, you started to worry. Things were getting too close for your liking, and with the details they were releasing it wasn’t going to get any better. With each new segment that aired your mother would call, urgently telling you to come back to live with them until this sickness blows over. You knew that it would be your best bet. 

Once the local grocery stores started getting raided, you found yourself being thankful that your family was full of survivalist nuts. Growing up hearing them praise people like Jim Baker, and other televangelist hackjobs like him that weaponized fear mongering for profit. 

Your parents home was stocked full of all the essentials thanks to your aunt Jess. First aid kits, canned food, water to last just a little over a month. It was everything you needed and more. 

“Y’always gotta be prepared, honey.” Your wine-drunk aunt had told you after a week, the both of you lounging on the sofa as you watched the news. “You don’t know how long this crap’s gonna last.” 

It all went by so quickly. The news stations eventually stopped airing not long after the first report hit Georgia, they were urging everyone to evacuate to Atlanta, leaving the streets a mess of honking and dead-stop traffic right outside of your parent’s home. 

And for a short while you had settled into this false hope that you were safe there with them. 

That was until you came back from a short trip to a ransacked Dollar General just down the street. 

The house was oddly quiet when you walked inside. The TV was muted on a flickering static screen, your dad’s recliner was empty, a blanket on the floor. The backdoor that led to the porch was ajar, the sun shining through the crack onto the wood flooring. You remembered that feeling in your stomach as you walked closer, fingers slowly curling around the doorknob. 

When you walked outside it felt as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head. The horrifying sight of your mother’s body being gutted by your own father and uncle, fresh blood dripped down the side of the RV next to your aunt’s already mangled corpse. Your hands were trembling fiercely, a nauseating coppery smell filling your nose. 

All you could remember was running. Packing whatever you could get your hands on before taking your mother’s minivan.  

Not long after the death of your family, you were taken in by a small group of five. They were unstable, barely hanging on by a thread, with almost nightly arguments tilting them further over the edge. 

It made things harder for you. The tension starting to make you too nervous to sleep without a knife tucked securely under your pillow. 

The self appointed leader demanded too much, wanting more than half of the rations to himself. He was a cruel hearted individual, mind diluted by the atrocities you were all forced to witness. A dangerous man who was quick tempered, and ruthless to anything or anybody you came across. 

After a month of running with them you made a mistake. You hid a portion of your findings from him. Food that he would have taken the majority of. But you were starving, at the point of hardly caring about your survival if it meant you could eat just a little bit more.

Other members had found out though, outing you quickly. As a punishment he tied you up, stole everything from you. Photo albums, your weapons, your food, bandages, it didn’t matter what it was. After beating you he left you in the supply closet of a convenient store you were temporarily camping out in. 

Part of you half expected them to come back, but you knew better than to think positively now, that could get you killed nowadays. 

The minutes blended into hours into what felt like days. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles dug harshly into your skin, biting into the raw bleeding flesh as you struggled to free yourself. Eventually it got to the point where you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your body exhausted and dehydrated. You were sure you would die there. 

But, much to your surprise, your luck hadn’t run dry just yet. 

In your haze you could hear the sound of once shuffling corpses hit against the door with a heavy thud. Hushed voices barely graced your ears through the door, two men talking to each other. 

Your voice was hoarse as you pathetically attempted to call out. Your throat was dry from the lack of water, forcing your words to come out as a croaking squeak.  

The door had been opened cautiously, the beam of a flashlight assaulting your eyes. You attempted to focus on the man crouching down above you, his blurred features obscured by the baseball hat he wore. 

“Rick!” The man called over his shoulder, another figure coming into view. He was wearing what seemed to be a police officer’s uniform. Whether it was stolen or actually his, you didn’t care, you just wanted out of this damn closet. 

Both men were quick to cut your binds and hauled you to your feet. The quick motion was all it took for you to finally pass out. A thick blanket of exhaustion pressed into you, forcing your eyes to flutter closed and your body to go completely limp. Unable to cling onto consciousness any longer

In those last moments you almost thought that they would just leave you there. Not wanting to bother helping a now passed out stranger, and you wouldn’t have blamed them if they did abandon you. 

Instead when you woke up you were laying on a couch, an older man with short white hair standing over you. 

At first you had almost believed you dreamed it all, the outbreak, the group. That you were in some sort of comatose state and the world was not overrun by flesh eating monsters. But the stinging pain deep within your wrists proved otherwise, the gashes covered by white gauze and medical tape. 

The white haired man, Hershel, ran you through your current state. Malnourishment, dehydration, feverish temperatures. It was evidently clear that you had been through the wringer, and if Glenn and Rick had not found you when they did, you would have died within the day. In fact he had said it was a miracle that Hershel himself could have saved you. 

You figured you had always been stubborn, though, you never gave up easily. 

Hershel had been kind enough to allow you to stay in his house until you got better. Providing you with enough water and food to get you back on your feet. 

The family allowed you to use their shower. When you looked at yourself in the mirror you understood why they were so insistent. A thick layer of grime and blood coated your skin, your hair was matted, your clothes ripped beyond repair. 

You couldn’t help but cry, realizing just how quickly you lost yourself out there. Your humanity has faded so much in such a short amount of time, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. You looked like a stranger to yourself.

Over the next week Rick’s group urged you to stay. They knew you had nowhere else to go, no family to run back to. 

You were hesitant, though. You didn’t want to continue to be a burden, you were a stranger infiltrating an already close knit group. The closeness they had made you feel even more lonely than you did in your previous group, because at least when it came to them, you didn’t crave that companionship. 

Gone were the days of blind trust, knowing that everything always came with a price these days. So your knife stayed tucked beneath your pillow, fingers clutching onto the handle as you kept an eye on the zipped up entrance of the tent. 

On many sleepless nights, which were frequent, you would sit yourself in front of the dwindling fire outside of your tent. Mind wandering to everything that’s happened to you in the past three months, the things you’ve done to stay alive, the permanent scars you would carry with you for life. 

You stewed in your bitterness. Chewing ruthlessly on the skin around your fingernails. 

Your tent was further away from the rest of the group’s, tucked away in your own area. You found yourself watching the rest of them at first. Thoughts of running away while everyone slept crossed your mind more times than you could count. 

Until one night you heard a twig snap behind you, your knife quickly unsheathed and pointing towards what you thought to be a threat, 

“Geez. You’re almost as bad as Daryl.” One of the older men from Rick’s group, Dale, chuckled as he walked closer to your secluded camp, his hands up in surrender. “But I can go if you want.” He smiled softly. 

“Sorry… Bad habit.” You said quietly, setting your knife back down next to your thigh. 

He shook his head, taking a seat in front of the fire, “No need to be sorry. I can’t blame you for still being a little paranoid.” 

Dale quickly became a source of comfort for you, sporting an almost fatherly personality when talking to you. He was kind, and realistic which was exactly what you needed after everything you’ve been through. Over the course of a few nightly visits he was able to get you to open up a little, telling him about your former group, he was sympathetic and understanding. 

“The world has truly gone to hell.” He grimaced, taking his bucket hat off of his head. “But, we have good people here. Believe it or not.” His smile was reassuring. 

After a few days you started to come around more. Helping the women with laundry, listening to the stories they told about their lives before, anecdotes to keep themselves sane. 

It wasn’t hard to understand why they were so close. The tragedy of their former camp just outside of Atlanta, the C.D.C, Lori’s son getting shot, the people they’ve lost along the way. 

Slowly you felt more like yourself again.

Every so often they would mention that same name Dale did, Daryl. The only member of the group you had yet to meet personally. 

You had seen him walking around the camp, or tucked away in his own tent, further away from the group much like yours was. He was gruff looking, intimidating to the eye, and his occasional temper didn’t help much. But with how insistent he was on finding Carol’s missing daughter, you could tell there was warmth beneath his rigid exterior. 

The first time you talked to him was less than ideal. You were attempting to set up a snare trap in the woods, wanting to try and contribute a little bit more. The frustration quickly turned to embarrassment when he snuck up on you. Your feet got caught in your own trap and caused you to trip and fall. 

“Looks like y’caught somethin’.” Daryl attempted to joke, walking past you and deeper into the woods with his crossbow pointed towards the trees. 

You cut yourself free of the poorly made snare and ran to catch up with him. Choosing your words carefully. 

“Daryl, right?” All you got was a grumble in response, “Listen I know you don’t know me or anythin’... But could you teach me how to hunt?” 

“Teach yourself. I ain’t got time for babysittin’.” His response stung a little, harsher than you had hoped it would be. 

You figured you should have expected that, though, the conversation him and Shane had this morning was heated. An argument almost leading to a full on fight. The tension was growing higher and higher as the days dragged on with no signs of Sophia. 

Then the group found out about what was inside the barn.

One day when Rick was out helping Hershel, Shane took it upon himself to break the chains on the barn door. Walker after walker spilled out, being shot down ruthlessly by some members of Rick’s group, while the Greene family cried out for them to stop. Their worst nightmare coming true, as well as Carol’s. 

A little girl limped out, skin grey and beginning to rot. Her hair was matted with leaves, eyes a milky grey color, and a rasping snarl emitting from her. There was a large gash on her shoulder, a bite. It was devastating to see a child fall victim to such a death. But even more so for Carol, coming to realize that each day they restlessly searched, she had already been dead.. 

The safety that the farm provided didn’t last long after that. 

Shane was quickly losing his grip, Dale was killed by a lone walker, and eventually the fields were overrun by walkers. A massive hoard stumbling onto the property, drawn in by the frequent gunfire. 

You had lost quite a few on that night, good people that had helped you come out of your shell, people that didn’t deserve what they got. In all honesty you didn’t think you would have made it out either if it wasn’t for Andrea and Daryl. 

After the fall of the farm, you were all lost. Hershel and his family had lost their home, and the entire group was left to search. 

But you had to bury your sadness for the time being, winter was quickly approaching. The leaves were changing into a crisp orange color, and the wind had a bite to it in the mornings, leaving you shivering as you huddled closer to the fire. Daryl had been kind enough to let you borrow his poncho some nights, insisting you probably needed it more than him. 

Daryl seemed to warm up to you after a while too. He would subtly make sure you ate by leaving a half eaten can of vegetables next to you, or would occasionally sharpen your knife for you after doing his own. It was a kind gesture, letting you know that he was starting to trust you. 

Eventually it got to the point where your group finally ran out of canned food. There were no stores around, and everyone was too cold or tired to go anywhere. So Daryl decided to take you out to the woods, finally going out of his way to teach you how to hunt. 

“Y’know what you’re trackin’?” He asked one day, slowly walking beside you, following a small winding trail in the woods. 

You were quiet for a second, thinking as you analyzed the tracks next to your feet, “Could be a deer, whatever it is, it’s got hooves.” 

“Obviously.” He huffed, resisting the urge to smile when you glared at him. 

“Shut the hell up, man.” A small sigh came from you, “Could be a hog.” You crouched down and moved the leaves out of the way to get a better look, “The prints are close together, if it were a deer they’d be further apart, right?” 

Daryl just shrugged, “You tell me.” 

That’s how your hunts would usually go, Daryl providing frustrating nonanswers as you attempted to close in on your prey. He wasn’t going to babysit you, as he had originally said when you first asked, you had to figure it out yourself. You knew that was the only way you’d be able to learn, even if it was mildly annoying. 

The winter finally started to melt into spring, temperatures rising and falling occasionally until settling into an in between. And soon enough your restless searching came to an end, the high chain link fences surrounding a prison with walkers meandering the expansive field calling your names. A soon to be shelter for your group and many others. 

The fight against Woodbury had been a painful ordeal, with Maggie and Glenn getting taken hostage, and Daryl leaving with his brother. The group was briefly left in shambles, hanging on by a thread as Rick slowly faded away, losing his way after Lori’s untimely death and the birth of her daughter. 

When Daryl left it broke your heart a little. The two of you had bonded over the course of the harsh winter, often seeking each other out as a heat source. Whispering stories of your families filling the silence as the biting wind wrapped itself around you. But you could never blame him for leaving, knowing you would do the same thing if you could. 

The first attack from the Governor was when Daryl finally returned, his mouthy brother in tow. They had rescued Rick on the outskirts of the fence, luckily finding him just in time before he was overpowered. 

It made you happy to see your friend again, a hand squeezing his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It had been a lot less awkward than you expected, his arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing softly, reassuring you that he was okay. 

“Well, ain’t that just cute.” Merle had teased, pinching his little brother on the cheek. 

But the tragedies were never ending, your group seemed to constantly be one step away from death’s doorstep. 

The Governor decided to make his way back to the prison, armed gunmen following behind him. 

They wanted to execute every last one of you no matter what it took. Your group had laid out traps, pretending to have left as requested, lulling them in with a false hope that you were gone. Until the shrill sound of the prison sirens started, smoke grenades being thrown down at their feet in the darkened hallways. 

The armed militia of men, mothers, and teenagers the Governor recruited had run away in fear, knowing that their fates would be sealed if they stayed any longer. 

As the weeks continued after the attack, things started to look up. That once forgotten positivity slowly makes its way back into your heart, along with a smile as you allow yourself to get to know the former residence of Woodbury. Your community was slowly forming, a home being made out of the prison. 

It was easy to become comfortable. 

And as your fondness grew for Daryl, you remembered what your mother used to tell you. 

“You will find the one when you least expect it.” 

Who knew that the world had to end in order for you to find him. With every soft touch, lingering whisper, and a quick stolen kiss in the shadows of your cell, it grew increasingly more obvious that your mother may have been right. 

Daryl was the only person you felt safe enough to be vulnerable around. His gentleness towards you breaking down the walls around your heart, settling himself deep within it. And you gladly let him. You both decided to keep your relationship a secret. Enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, while also avoiding any teasing remarks that would come from your group. 

You knew that this was Daryl’s first serious relationship, so you wanted to allow him the grace of warming up to the idea. You wanted him to become more comfortable with himself, taking his time with you, soothing any anxious wandering thought he may have. 

But you knew that the group would notice eventually. Hell, they already were. The small teasing remarks being thrown your way would make Daryl stiffen. He would pick at the strings on his denim jacket as he huffed and grumbled something in response. 

“You want me to slip her a note or somethin’?” Carol teased him, nudging her elbow into his side, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She laughed quietly when he rolled his eyes, “Come on Daryl-” 

She was cut off by someone running up to him, Glenn’s frantic eyes meeting Daryl and Carol’s before quickly sputtering out your name, “I don’t know what happened but-” 

The poor boy could barely get the words out before Daryl ran off towards the cell block. 

You were laying in your cell, blood covering your shirt as your side bled profusely. Hershel was quick to try and stop the bleeding, urging everyone to give him room to work. 

“If you want her to live, get out, now!” 

The blood drained from Daryl’s face as he looked at you. Bruises were beginning to bloom on your face and arms, your nose was bleeding and there was a slash on your cheek. Your boyfriend directed his anger towards one of the new members you had taken on a run, pinning him roughly against the concrete wall with his forearm. 

“The hell happened out there?! Huh?!” Daryl shouted in the scared man’s face, shrinking in on himself as Rick and Maggie tried to pull Daryl off. “Talk!” 

“We-” The man gulped, “We got attacked by a small group…” There were tears in his eyes as he tried to explain, his swollen lip trembling. He didn’t look much better than you did honestly, his eye was almost swollen shut, and there was blood coating his hairline, “She said- said she knew them, some group she was with. I thought they were gonna k-kill us.” He swallowed harshly, “They shot her…”

Daryl swore he could see red. His shoulders heaving as he started to pace, fingers running through his hair as he tried to process what the man had said. His face was hot, body pulsing with anger as he glanced back into your cell to see you lying there motionless. 

He stalked back up towards the man, his gaze hard and threatening as he spoke in a gruff voice, “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.” He pressed his finger hard into the man’s chest, pushing him harshly back into the concrete wall before stalking towards the exit of the prison. 

It took the entire council to talk Daryl out of hunting this group down himself. Carol telling him it was a suicide mission, and he would die if he left like this. Going into a situation blinded by rage was never good for anyone, especially now, with you lying unconscious in your cell. 

Luckily for you the bullet went straight through, and all they had to do was wait for you to wake up. 

Daryl didn’t dare leave your side, a rag gently dabbing across your forehead as he whispered softly to you. Unspoken words that he had wished he had told you sooner, words that only you were allowed to hear him say, something he had never dared utter to another person. Not even his own family. 

“I love you.” 

The time seemed to drag on slowly as he waited, his watchful not leaving you for more than a few seconds. His gentle fingers traced patterns on your skin, ignoring the occasional staring that would come from someone passing by your cell. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the secrecy, not now. 

“That fuckin’ tickles.” He suddenly heard you rasp, your eyes fluttering open and glancing down at his fingers on your forearm. 

Relief washed over Daryl like cool rain on a hot summer's day. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help but lean his head down to rest on your arm, a long sigh being released from his lungs. 

“Daryl…” You whispered, making him look at you, “It was my old group.” 

The look on your face was similar to the one you sported when they first found you, terrified, lost, confused. You didn’t know what to do with yourself knowing that not only were they still alive, but a lot closer than you would have liked. 

“I know.” He replied, his hand holding onto yours, “You don’t have t’worry about that right now.” 

Even though you were able to find happiness in the apocalypse, tragedy never ceased to sneak up from behind every corner. And you guessed that it had become easy to forget that life had a cruel sense of humor. 

It always would.

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[akisteahouse]

Hiiiiiiii!!!!!! How you dooooiiinnnnn?????

I saw your requests are open, and I've never requested anything before, but I thought I might give it a shot<3

Siren reader with "immune to magic charms" pirate Leona? Thought it would be cool if reader tries to charm him using their voice to eat him and he's just like- "You done?"

Please and thank you <3

-Axolotl Anon

Thinking about siren! Reader and pirate! Leona Kingscholar…

Who had been sailing the seven seas with his crew for quite a long time no, as expected - being immune to magic had certainly been a major help.

Who was the one steering the ship during a particularly turbulent storm, waves crashing into each other, sending a few of ship’s goods into the dark abyss of the sea, before a strange humming sound reached his sharp ears - hm?

Who looked down to see you, a mermaid, with shimmery scales and a sickeningly serene smile, arms outstretched and wide, singing a… lullaby?

Who turned to see each of his crew members seemingly possessed, taking long strides to the edge of the boat, eyes empty and hollow, all ignoring his shouts of protest to cover their ears already, Sevens above - a siren.

Who decided the best course of action for you to shut your trap and to save his men from going overboard was to hurl a chest filled with gold to your head, and it was rather success - if not for the fact that this agitated you so much that the two of you engaged in a verbal fight for the following twenty minutes, with Leona get irritated soon after and chucking another chest at you, causing the argument to escalate further.

Who found himself begrudgingly talking to you more after he found out that it was you causing the stormy waves, though it always ended up with the two of you bickering more than negotiating for you to stop making the weather terrible.

Who, oddly enough, began to become… fond, of your presence, ‘keeping watch of the ship’ late at night, despite the fact that practically the entire crew already knew that their sleazy captain just wanted an excuse to bicker with you <333 (“Shishishi, not slick at all, Cap’an Leona.”)

Who was the one who ordered the crew to lift you up from the sea when you were clearly hurt, in spite of some of the crew’s fervent protests against allowing a siren on board - snarling at them to shut their traps, and to call for the ship’s doctor.

Who sat by your bedside daily, offering you much less venomous arguments and more debates to bid your time stuck in the ship’s infirmary, grinning as he taught you how to play chess, pleasantly surprised when you beat him for the very first time - “Don’t get too cocky now, fishbrain.”

Who sat by the deck for a long time as you swam away, fully healed, and no longer interested in keeping him and his crew captive - huh. Took long enough. (And if any of his crew questioned why he sat there, watching the waves crash into each other for so long, they’d be met with nothing but silence, his eyes never drifting away from the spot you used to sit at.)

Pirate Leona who’d always drifted from one place to another in his voyage, yet simply couldn’t bear to stay away from the part of the sea where he’d met you for too long, always visiting every month or so, waiting for the arrival of that irritating fishbrain to come back - his patience was wearing thin now, so you’d better make that trip back, quick ;)

turned out way longer than I'd originally planned... sorry for the the long wait, axolotl anon </33

[raqi-marr]

so i have a background in therapy irl and i cannot stop laughing every time i imagine what therapy must be like with an affini in the compact. in real life therapists have like eighteen gazillion rules around keeping boundaries with their clients, and there is so much shit they are not allowed to do (a lot of dogshit therapists break these rules anyway, particularly in the US because standards over there are less strict than where i live, but that's tangential) or otherwise they're supposed to get vaporized instantly by their accrediting body

meanwhile, various stories have established that the affini are totally okay with using drugs in therapy, and this has me imagining that like: you go to xenodrug-assisted therapy, get given a shitton of class-H's then probably hypnotised, and sure they fix your trauma at record speed but there's like an at least 40% chance you end up as the therapist's pet by the end of it

also you know that if you've got intimacy issues the therapist is absolutely going to end up playing with you as a form of controlled exposure therapy; probably eventually escalating to them giving you class-A's and cooing at you all "There, there, dear. Doesn't this feel wonderful? It's just as I told you; you really have nothing to worry about. It's perfectly natural to enjoy being touched this way, and it's not something you need to feel guilty for at all." (this has a 100% chance of domestication)

[yandereunsolved]

Thicker than Dragon's Blood - ,, yandere Daemon Targaryen pining over Rhaenyra's friend

"𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦." word count: 3.8k cw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes (slight nsfw), grooming, dubious consent, purity culture, misogny, & stockholm syndrome

✧ It all began the day that both you and Rhaenyra met in the nursery. Without the ability to speak, only to wail and babble, the two of you were instantly the closest of friends. There was no place where she went that you weren't either. You balanced out her reckless and bratty behavior. She wasn't the best friend to you, but you were stuck to her hip. You always took the fall for her so that she could keep her reputation untarnished. In those moments, you forgot your standing as a child of a noble—a Lord or Lady of a house standing strong. You always gifted her little things that you found as reminders of your bond. She paid you back through adventure and gossip. Occasionally, she would gaslight you if you heard something bad about her, but who wouldn't? She couldn't lose her best friend.

✧ In the back of those red-tinted memories was Daemon. Whenever he happened to be at the Red Keep, he always kept a close eye on what transpired between the both of you. At first, he saw an opportunity to stake his future claim as king by marrying Rhaenyra. Although his eyes always wandered to you. There was something about you that was just so innocent and corruptible. As you grew, so did Daemons intrigue with you. It soon ignited into a fiery infatuation, burning brighter than any flame in Old Valyria ever could.  

✧ His interest, a word far too shallow to explain his attraction, was not unnoticed by your father, the head of your house. Daemon had many talks with your father. Your father did your best to sweet talk Daemon, but obviously he was able to see through it. He didn't need any convincing. That's how he became your tutor. He would spend all his free time dragging you away from Rhaenyra, forcing you to learn whatever he felt like teaching you that day. He wanted to cause a rift in your relationship with her. He was also beginning to feel possessive over you. Why has his neice caught your favor and not him? He could not allow this seemingly 'platonic' relationship with Rhaenyra to further escalate.

✧ The content of his teachings would seem less than savory to most. You had just barely risen past the age of a blooming maiden; that makes you fair game, correct? When you were in your younger years, he never taught you anything that could cause rumors to spread. After all, rumors in the Red Keep spread faster than a dragon's fire. He needed to make sure that you were old enough to keep your mouth shut. He needed to make sure that your age wouldn't be a problem. An age gap wouldn't cause rumors, but a child noble engaging in intimate acts like an adult prince? Unthinkable. He wouldn't ruin his reputation because of that.

✧ However, no gap in age or experience could stop him once you were old enough to be considered of age. He began teaching you the finer things in life, like how to please a man and how to please yourself. You were naive. You didn't know more than how a babe was made. You didn't realize everything was so complicated and embarrassing. He always stifles your moans during your private 'tutoring' sessions. He encourages you and tells you how good you are being. He speaks dirty words in your ears in High Valyrian. He gives you an extra reward if he can see you recognize some of the words in his teachings. It's an addiction for him. He can't get enough of your body and your figure. You had grown into yourself. It was a sight no other whore's body could even begin to match. The gods must have gifted you to him after everything he has done for the kingdoms.

✧ He gives you 'homework' and does more than just scold you if you don't complete it to his liking. Most of the time, he just enjoys watching you. Even after all his teachings, you are still so inexperienced. He hasn't taken the final step with you. He wouldn't take your full maidenhood yet, no. He simply couldn't. Not for any moral reasons. He just wanted you to keep your virtue a bit longer. That's one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. He would have immediately taken any other slut, but you weren't that. You are a god(dess) among men. You deserve a romantic night filled with passion. A night where he can put a babe in you, fertile or not.

✧ As you began drifting away from Rhaenyra due to your tutoring sessions with Daemon, you were confronted. She clung onto you with tears in her eyes and asked why you didn't care about her anymore. She silently begged and pleaded for a good reason. Then she became enraged. She slapped you and demanded to know once again why you were drifting from her. 

"Is it because of my uncle? Is your knowledge truly worth more than our lifelong partnership?"

You couldn't tell her the truth. You knew what you were engaging in with Daemon was scandalous. If you told Rhaenyra she may hate you, or even worse, use it to blackmail you so you are always by her side. You made up some flimsy excuse. You just said that you were insecure about always being near her, and Daemon said that she didn't like you anymore. That part about Daemon was partly true. He has been whispering lies to you about your relationship with Rhaenyra for years now. For better or for worse, you both are still as close as you were during your younger years, if not even closer now.

She finally calmed after you made your excuse. She didn't question its validity. She was just happy to finally have you back. She made you promise to stay away from Daemon as much as you possibly could. So, you did. Who were you to disobey the command of a princess, your closest companion?

✧ A sense of shame and dread fills you. You don't need a tutor anymore. After an hour-long argument with your father, he finally relents. He threatens that if their house falls out of the Targaryens good graces because you refused to be tutored by Daemon, he'll sell you out to a pleasure house. He didn't know how hard that hit you. You felt impure. You enjoyed what you did with Daemon. Why is that wrong? You were taught only to find pleasure in your future spouse. You found pleasure in him, and look where it got you. A strained relationship with your best friend that you had to fix, and your father threatening to sell you out to a whore house.

You feel like you are being attacked from all angles. Daemon begins to stalk you to get your attention. That's what you can call it, right? Stalking? You swear he's following you, even when he isn't. You thought you heard the guards speaking about reporting back to him. Something just feels more off about him whenever you get near him. Your mind began to repress all the memories of your intimate moments together. You just felt so confused, so lost, and so paranoid. Nothing felt right. You could barely remember your own name. At least you'll be able to find a suitor soon. You'll be able to put this all behind you. Not if Daemon has anything to do with it.

✧ After a few months, everything seems to be back to normal. There are no more of those weird tutoring sessions; you have rebuilt your relationship with Rhaenyra, and you even have some decent choices for a future spouse. You did have to carry on the bloodline as the eldest, after all. 

Daemon, however, was far from 'normal'. Not that he ever was. Over those few months, people could notice the changes in him. He became more unhinged, erratic, and easily angered at the tiniest of mistakes. Behind closed doors, he was drinking all of the spirits he could get his hands on. He was spending triple the amount of time at brothels that he usually did. He forgot about everything else, except for the problem of the bronze bitch in the back of his mind. You were nothing like her. You were like a precious piece of jewelry made out of the finest gold and precious metals that were melted down by a dragon's breath. All he knew was that he needed to court you. 

Not even commanding the Nights Watch could tame the beast within him. He flew Caraxes to contemplate. He would eye over where, somewhere off in the distance, you were in the castle. You were probably spending time with his neice, or gods forbid, another man, one of his men that he commands. 

He's just never wanted anything more than you. He knows you aren't his kin or his blood. He knows that marrying you would be an impossible task. It would mean decreasing his chances of taking the throne. You had something, though; you had the Targaryen spirit in you. He could feel it every time he touched you. He could feel the heat simmering just beneath the skin. You were worthy of his seed and worthy of carrying his kin. He could always bribe one of his family members to use as a surrogate in case you have male genitalia or are infertile. Your babies would still be pure Targaryens that way. It just disgusts him to have to think of impregnating anyone but you.

✧ You had a tournament in honor of Rhaenyra finally being old enough to be courted. It was one that would end on a much lighter note, as opposed to the last one, which ended in her mother's death. It was partly your tournament as well. Well, that is what Daemon thought of it as. He would fight for you, and you alone. He understands that voicing this would be improper. You do see it in the way he glances at you while fighting in the rounds he is participating in. When he is not, he's staring into your soul. His eyes never leave your figure. You feel queasy; something is even more off about him now. Your ex-tutor didn't have any feelings past merely using you as another one of his flings; you tried to assure yourself. Only when the last round of the tournament was to commence did he ask for your favor instead of Rhaenyra's.

The crowd was shocked; some gasped, while others questioned the meaning of this. Was Daemon choosing you over Rhaenyra due to the infighting over who was to be the true heir of the Iron Throne? Was he simply being contrary, as always? Or did he want your favor because he harbored more than platonic feelings toward you?

It was unheard of, as it was customary for Targaryens to only ask for the favors of their family members.

He did the tournament. His actions made clear the message he intended to send; he did it for you. 

Rhaenyra wasn't pleased. She threatened her uncle behind closed doors to stop hitting on her best friend. He laughed it off. He taunted her.

"As if there is anything you can do about it. They want me. They crave my touch."

✧ You only tried harder from then on to separate yourself from him. You purposefully avoided him, and it only became harder to do so. It was as if he had memorized your schedule by heart. Little notes and gifts began to be left on your bedding. They weren't signed, but you had a suspicion that it was Daemon's doing. You tried to express your concerns to your mother and father, only to be given a dismissive response. You tried to confide in your siblings, but your female one(s) only giggled and swooned over him. Your male one(s) simply huffed and waved you off, half-heartedly saying that they'd offer you some protection against the prince if the time came. 

✧ You try to confront him. He admits that the gifts were from him. He doesn't admit the extent of his infatuation for you yet. You already seemed adamant on avoiding him. Scaring you off wouldn't do him any good because he still doesn't have a strong hold over the council or his brother. He promises to stop gifting you things and back off if you just do one thing with him. You reluctantly agreed without knowing what he was planning. If you knew it was to ride on Caraxes with him, then you would have simply walked off and not given his compromise another thought. 

✧ You were intimidated by dragons; dare you say fearful of them. They always seemed to be able to pierce one's soul with their eyes. You refused to be near Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, for that exact reason. Now you were within ten feet of one, and you were practically trembling. Daemon was positively ecstatic underneath his facade of poised indifference. He would be able to exert control over you because of his title of dragon rider, if nothing else. 

Syrax seemed like an innocent hare in comparison to Caraxes.

However, you surprisingly felt safe as Daemon placed your hand on Caraxes's scales. There was a certain vulnerability in Daemon's eyes that you had not seen before. He seemed to treasure these moments. Caraxes almost seemed to... like you? The dragon could sense his riders affection toward you. In turn, Caraxes felt the same need to protect you and be gentle. The beast even allowed you to scratch under his chin, a purr-like reaction emanating from his long throat. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

☾ The ride was breath-taking, both figuratively and literally. That's the only way you can describe it. It was the first time you felt safe around Daemon. He was in charge of making sure you felt comfortable in the air, his arms possessively at your sides as he controlled the reigns. He could feel your relaxed muscles against his toned chest. His heart swelled even further with an all-encompassing ecstasy that he had never had the pleasure of feeling before. Caraxes responded to both of you with a comforting roar, somewhere in between intimidating and reassuring. You had never felt true freedom in your life. For once, you felt it, even in the arms of someone you could consider an oppressor. 

☾ You were aware of his wife. You knew that these strange feelings Daemon harbored for you had to be temporary. You at least admitted to yourself that he did hold some sort of romantic attraction to you. He admitted the least of it. Still, you fooled yourself into thinking they were temporary. Not just a fling, something more intimate but less binding than a marriage. Even with this knowledge, even after being introduced to Caraxes and riding him with Daemon, your hesitance was still fully rooted within your heart and mind—your soul. He took advantage of you before. You shudder at the thought. You enjoyed learning those things, but were you truly able to consent to them? You were of age. You push it away within your mind. It is the deepest reason for your hesitance, but you didn't want to think on it. Thinking of your tutoring sessions with Daemon only proved to fill you with heat and shame simultaneously.

☾ You chose to do your best to shake all of the invasive thoughts from your mind. You spent as much time as you could with Rhaenyra. She looked at you with such love and cowered behind you whenever things got too tough. From the shadows of the small council, one man in particular envied your relationship: Otto Hightower. He has taken to calling you 'Daemon's whore'. He has been the one since the beginning to spread whispers amongst those in the court about your loyalty to the crown.

Would you choose Daemon over Viserys?

That was a question many asked with their eyes and not their tongues. It was humiliating. You don't even want to associate with Daemon, and yet your time as his student has left your reputation forever scarred. Not to mention how many times you have chosen to state that Rhaenyra's mistakes were your own, for the sake of your friendship. Even with the whispers, it was not enough for Otto. He needed them to be screams. He needed everyone to see you as the whore you were! He has never grown soft towards you because of one simple fact: you threaten his entire plan for his family's ascension to the throne. Alicent has never been able to catch a Targaryen's attention, yet you are the best friend to one and the whore of another.

☾ It was a mistake for you to align yourself so closely with Rhaenyra. She ranted to you about what her fears were and how terrified she was at the possibility of not being the sole heir. You had to listen while Daemon plotted at Dragonstone. You hadn't seen him since the day you rode Caraxes with him. That was well over half a moon ago by now. You were relieved to finally be rid of his presence. Only you thought so. When the gods rose the moon high into the sky and nestled the sun beneath the cusp of the earth, he returned to you. That very night, after Rhaenyra had left your chambers, Daemon had snuck in. He surprised you and urged you to hush yourself.

You had no choice. He led you to the empty cradle, where the last heir passed after living for less than a day. There was a dragon egg in it. He whispered to you about all the things he wanted to do to you. He made a promise that one day your babe would be in the cradle, with his features and your personality.

It felt like a dream you would have after a fever. You still can't be sure it happened. After he left, the realm of dreams tugged you in once again. You woke up, and no trace of him was there. Daemon was getting bolder in his advances toward you. He still feared scaring you off completely, but he has to take what is rightfully his. He is the heir to the Iron Throne, after all.

☾ Years passed, and you grew older. Daemon was off fighting a war in the Stepstones; Alicent gave the king a male heir with another babe on the way; and Rhaenyra stuck closer to you than any tree sap could. Otto was less of a thorn in your side these days. As this time passed, you were plagued with tragedies every time you tried to take a lover. You were the eldest, and yet you were failing your house dearly. They tried their best to get you courted as well. Your entire family was just perplexed. Every suitor you were supposed to marry showed up dead before your wedding day. Were you cursed by the gods? It couldn't be Daemon, could it? It was so far away. He couldn't simply be orchestrating this while so far away.

It simply left you in tears every single time. Rhaenyra was your only solace. She grew more bratty and defiant of her father. She refused to marry that Lannister fellow. She rejoiced when your newest one came up dead. She couldn't help but smile. She didn't want you to get married and leave her. You both were meant to be companions. You are companions, the closest of them. 

Still, your soul was aching, and your body was deprived of something it yearned for. 

Were you really missing Daemon's odd behavior?

No, never.

Well, maybe.

☾ You didn't realize that perhaps you were even worried about him until he returned to the castle. It felt like a piece that had gone missing had finally returned. The king, his brother, was thankful for his submission and offered him one thing behind closed doors. What was that one thing you ask? Your hand in marriage. When Daemon strolled over to you and told you this, you were flabbergasted, even bamboozled. You couldn't just marry your best friend's uncle. 

☾ You tried every excuse under the sun. You tried to say that you weren't up to the Targaryen standards of beauty; he said that you were created by the gods, so graceful and divine. You brought up the fact that you had no blood tied to Old Valyria; he stated that your soul was that of a dragon, more than worthy of his hand. You tried to reason with him by saying that he had another wife who he already struggled to take care of. That angered him. 

"Don't ever speak about the bitch again, dear. Understand me?"

She died as you would learn later. Some sort of riding incident that led to her demise. You offered your condolences to Daemon. He laughed and said that he'd happily spit upon her rotting corpse. He didn't need to lie to you. He also wasn't compelled to tell the truth when you didn't ask for it. He'll make sure the whispers of him murdering his wife never reach your ears.

☾ Rhaenyra simply shrugged and thought that you marrying her uncle was at least a close match for her. She would still be able to speak with you. You would now be closer to her! She wasn't ecstatic, but pleased—maybe even smug. Whatever negative feelings she had toward her uncle being around you were clearly resolved. It only struck terror in your heart. 

☾ Your family would help, right? No. Such a laughable thing. They were overjoyed. They also told you not to screw it up. Talks of the heirs you two would produce, the tie to the Targaryens bolstering your house's status, and many other reasons you didn't care to listen to.

☾ You were—are trapped. You were to marry a man that you couldn't make up your mind about. It could be worse. Every strange thing must have been because of the gods, right? If only you knew the lengths Daemon went to marry you. The people he threatened, the people he beheaded, the poisons traded in markets that aren't pure of heart but dark and foreboding. He finally felt at peace. So did Caraxes. Your family would be so perfect. He could already see you holding a babe in your arms that he had bred into you. Is this what you truly want? Or is that hesitancy in your soul still strong enough to pull you out of his hold and help you escape him?

[kimsaena88]

It's been a long time since I last posted. I’ve been quiet for too long. I've thought about whether I should post at all, but I need to get this out of my head. Out of my heart.

As a Jimin biased ARMY, the last few years have felt like a nightmare. From the negligence and mismanagement by the company, to the excuses and bitterness from the fandom, the euphoric dream has devolved into something so twisted and ugly.

To say I am disappointed is an understatement. I'm utterly heartbroken and disgusted to finally realize what this fandom has become. I should have seen it coming. I was warned before, but I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.

Since I became an ARMY, I have vehemently and relentlessly defended this fandom. However, even back then, I witnessed the hate towards Jimin come from not just outside the fandom but from within. Jimin biased fans were told to “Report and block. Don’t engage.” Jimin fans did just that, but the hate continued to escalate. It got louder. It spread farther. It has since reached the point where it's clear ARMY does not find any of the malicious or threatening rhetoric alarming, and the majority rather doesn’t care.

Recently as last year, ARMYs turned a blind eye to Jimin’s father becoming a target of hate. His father had to turn off the comments on the Instagram account for his café, and deleted any trace of Jimin, it had gotten so bad. Not even a few days later, ARMYs came out of the woodwork to protect and defend JK’s dog from “Jimin’s vile fans”. I could not believe what I was witnessing. In real time. The hypocrisy was deafening.

ARMY has earned the title of the most toxic fandom, and it is speed running towards self destruction. It has become so fractured and disjointed. ARMY now only cares about it’s collective ego. The AMAs drama is proof of this. The way ARMY as a whole went about it was disgusting, and I will never forget what happened.

Jimin was belittled. Jimin was decided as less deserving. ARMYs decided Jimin’s talent and art paled in comparison to RM's. ARMY teamed up with other BTS member’s solo fandoms who openly hate Jimin. Jimin once again was sidelined by his own fandom.

ARMY decided what makes a “true ARMY”.

“If you vote for RM, you are a true ARMY.

If you vote for Jimin, you are a solo.”

This message was shared across all social platforms. This idea spread across continents and was translated globally. ARMYs made it clear that Jimin and his fans are the bane of this fandom. Any ARMY that did stand up for him was vilified and labeled an anti, a solo.

So, being a Jimin fan makes me a solo?! Having Jimin as a bias makes me a BTS anti?! Thinking Jimin deserved an award that would reflect his achievements in America means I cannot be a “true ARMY”?!

Then, I must be a solo. At this point, I don’t even want to be associated with such a hypocritical and hateful fandom. I've tried to stay positive. I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m overreacting. But after what just happened with the AMAs, I can no longer tolerate the blatant resentment of Jimin and his fans from ARMY. And to make matters worse, now that it’s over, ARMYs have collective amnesia, claiming none of this ever happened.

I’m tired of biting my tongue.

I’m tired of feeling like I have no place in my own fandom.

I’m tired of being let down over and over again.

I’m over it.

I’m done.

I imagine many will unfollow my account. But, honestly, it will only prove my point.

ARMYs don’t care about Jimin. They think little of him.

Unlike the other members, he is not allowed to have his own fans.

Unlike other members, he does not deserve the awards he has.

Unlike other members, he’s not as deserving of recognition and praise.

Unlike other members, he is nothing without BTS.

I have seen all of this. I wish I was making it up.

Since chapter 2 started, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, kept complaining about PJMs this, and PJMs that. Always calling PJMs “the worst”, the “most vile”. Never the other solo fandoms. Just PJMs. No other member of BTS has been subjected to the kind of vitriol I’ve seen against Jimin for having solo fans. No other member of BTS has been directly associated with their solos as much as Jimin has. It’s hypocritical and reeks of animosity.

I have seen this mentality even here. Right here in this community on tumblr. It sickens me.

I once did not understand how any ARMY could become a solo, but now I do. When you have to deal with constant bullshit from your own fandom, with no accountability, it’s only natural to want out.

PJMs may get a bad wrap from ARMY, but I understand why they keep growing. Continuing to be an ARMY with Jimin as your bias is impossible. Anyone that claims Jimin is their bias, but has sided with ARMY, until even now, is no Jimin fan. How any Jimin fan can witness what I have and still feel comfortable in such a toxic environment is beyond me.

ARMY has lost it’s heart. There is no more genuine love between fans. Just hate. Hate has clearly won. You are either a “true ARMY” or a Jimin fan. There’s no in between.

So, I choose Jimin.

I will always love BTS, but ARMY is no longer a safe place for me.

[im-not-a-ghost]

The context of your meeting

This reading can apply to a future BF/GF, a future spouse, any platonic or romantic connection that is significant to your journey. The theme for this reading will be the series Charmed.

Group 1

Back of the deck - overall energy | 6 of cups

The person we are talking about is someone you shared past lives with. They are a soulmate of yours. They could be a person from your past that you reunite with or a new person, the spread will maybe help us find out. This is someone that you will instantly feel connected to and drawn towards. You may share a common passion or come from a similar background. Your meeting with this person may be related to children. Either one or both of you work with children or is a parent.

Spread | 4 of cups, ace of pentacles, Fool rx, 2 of cups, ace of swords, 8 of cups

I would first like to point out that many of these cards represent new beginnings. So with that in mind, there is a high possibility that this person is someone new that will be entering your life. The cards show a period of transition and uncertainty, highlighted by a feeling of being discontent with what the universe is providing you. You may meet this person at a point in your life where you feel like things aren't progressing and not much is happening. You may be feeling bored, at a loss at what to do. Maybe you are in a new environment and don't feel at ease with your surroundings. You may have a hard time adjusting and fully embracing the changes happening around you. In comes this person. They are like a revelation. The right person at the exact right timing. The chemistry is obvious right away. This person helps you, understands you, communicates with you effectively. You feel cared for, seen and appreciated for who you are. They bring you a lot of clarity and knowledge. Maybe this person is more familiar with your new surroundings and they play a major role in you adapting to your new life. This person slowly but surely helps you moving on from your past. However, as things progress, you may be getting a bit wary and scared around them. You could be resisting the attraction you feel for them once you get to know them. I feel like this person will first be your friend and confidant before they become your lover, if that is what's meant for you. One thing is sure, their presence is significant to your journey. The transition we're talking about may concern a relationship or significant partnership that came to an end. The moment you "lose" that person or contract that was so important to you, shortly after comes in a new person that helps you heal from this situation. Which is very similar to Piper's dynamic with Leo, when you think of it. Piper has lost her grandmother and must now live alone in the manor with her sisters. She has newly found powers that she didn't know of and has now to protect the world from demons. Those are a lot of changes that she quickly has to adapt to and it turns out that Leo is the "guardian angel" sent by the Elders to watch upon her and her sisters until they can fulfill their destiny as witches. But the trick is that they fall in love when Leo isn't allowed to because of his angelic nature and duties... So thinking about that, your meeting with this person may have a bit of a "forbidden love" vibe to it.

Group 2

Back of the deck - overall energy | page of wands

Your meeting with this person could involve travelling. What particularly stands out in this meeting is the intense passion and magnetic attraction that you feel. This may start out as a casual, flirty connection and quickly escalate into something more. This person could be younger than you or less experienced when it comes to relationship. You may be meeting this person through common acquaintances or a common passion. You could already know this person and you may meet them again soon. If not, the meeting may be happening sooner than you expect.

Spread | page of cups, 3 of swords, Hanged Man, 4 of wands, 5 of wands, ace of wands

The first impressions are further confirmed by this spread. I mean 3 out of the 6 cards are fire cards. When you meet this person, you are in a difficult situation. For some of you, it could be that you are being attacked/provoked by another person when you are hanging out with friends. For others, it can be that you recently broke up with your boyfriend/girlfriend. I get the feeling of someone being affected to the point of needing to isolate and put their activities on hold. This person that you meet may be someone that has a higher status than yours, maybe a medic, in case you were hurt, or a police officer. At least they are able to provide you with a different point of view from the situation and detach yourself from whatever happened. They may be a therapist. Someone that you feel comfortable with, a person that supports you right away in whatever issue you are struggling with at the moment. This person will quickly take matters into their hands and ensure that you are safe, that justice is made. They could try to do justice themselves. I get a very rash, bold, impulsive energy from this person because of all that fire. The attraction is instant. This person will very quickly express their interest and they may very well propose to you very quickly. They will completely sweep you off your feet. I feel like you won't oppose much resistance to this person. You may be a bit wary at first but your guards will fall down very early on. You will completely trust this person, possibly because of the recent events that have affected you. This relationship could be a karmic connection because of it's intensity and passionate nature. The person may be very possessive of you right off the bat and try to keep you to themselves. They may try to fight anyone that comes in and tries to interfere in your connection. Very early on, they will do everything to please you. You may recognize this person because of how they stand out from a crowd and are completely different from you, from everything or anyone you've ever known. Your friends may introduce you to this person in hopes that they help you forget about whatever issue you faced in the past. Like this could be what people would call a rebound relationship. Again, the energies here are very similar to the dynamic of the characters Phoebe and Cole.

Group 3

Overall energy | The Sun

You may meet this person at a time in your life when you're at your best. Your finances are going well, you have come to a point in your life where you can be proud of all you've accomplished and you may be feeling good about yourself overall. The Sun can be indicating Summer, specifically Leo season. So that would be from mid July to mid August. It could also mean that you meet in an exotic setting or a very popular place. Think of very touristic sites in foreign countries like the pyramids in Egypt, the Eiffel tower and Louvres in Paris, the Colosseum in Rome and so on. I get a hectic vibe from this card so maybe at that time of your life things are very busy, a lot of things are happening around you and in your personal life. It can be both very exciting but also daunting. And even though you're happy about the changes and optimistic about the future, a part of you may still be holding onto the past subconsciously.

Main spread | knight of wands, 6 of pentacles, White Numen, 4 of cups, 10 of wands, High Priestess

With the main spread, that feeling of being busy was reinforced. Your meeting may involve a work setting for one of you, or maybe both. With that 6 of pentacles I thought of humanitarian activities. The combination of the first three cards followed by the 4 of cups made me think that maybe at that time you're keeping yourself busy with work to forget about something painful. It could be a recent break up or just the feeling of being lonely and not having anyone to share your most valuable moments with. A part of you maybe feels bored. Even though you love your life, you love your job, you may still be feeling restless, like you haven't trully fulfilled your mission or there's something more waiting for you and you don't really know which way to go. You also may be feeling quite tired and over burdened with responsibilities and you're just like "I wish there was someone I could share my worries with". And in comes this person. They may be in the same field as you or maybe you have a common hobby, passion that brings you together. I feel like you may be very wary of this person at first and will keep things surface level. You may consider that something's off or this person is too good to be true. This may be related to past love experience that didn't work out. Also I got the message that once you let this person in, you may want to keep things lowkey. You and this person may decide to keep this relationship hidden. Maybe because of your work or your status. Like maybe part of your work place's ethic is to avoid dating with other coworkers for example. Or maybe your career and work image may be impacted if people knew you were dating this person, and vice versa. It could also be because of your family or just that you don't want people to put their nose in your business. Also, you may have a hunch right away that this person is the one for you but for some reason you'll be fighting it and trying to resist falling in love with them. This person is someone very passionate I feel and dedicated to whatever they're doing and so when they figure out their own feelings for you, they may be the one pursuing you and trying to charm you. I feel like they'll work super hard to prove themselves to you and won't give up until you finally see them for who they are. Even if the relationship may be tricky at first and have you two doubting the connection, I feel like it will make both of you stronger individually. Especially, both of your careers may be impacted greatly once you meet. You will learn a lot from each other and may hone certain skills, maybe psychic ones for some of you.