#and then turn around and say it’s a fucking choice and our mental illnesses are fake like which is kt

[myrabbitistrying2killme]

“Bla bla bla bla xyz is only done by MENTALLY ILL people and therefore INVALID” well maybe if you fucking saw us as people-

[sant-riley]

[Ghost with OFC!Reader who has a toxic family] [p1 of ?]

A/N: straight up this is self indulgent/me projecting (like all my work is) bc it's comforting for me to imagine that I have someone to protect me from life bc wow this shit sucks. Not tagging anyone due to this potentially being triggering.

CW: toxic family dynamics, swearing, mental illness, simping, age gaps, definitely not professional, Ghost punches someone (let me know if there's anything else)

~

Now I don't even have to say that Simon is extremely sensitive when it comes to family, especially since he himself grew up in a toxic environment. He knows the signs because they're the signs he saw in his day to day life.

He knew something was up when you never want to go home when breaks come, any young Rookie is usually bouncing off the walls to go see their loved ones but you? You almost look depressed at the thought. Ghost may tell people he has a cold heart, but not when it comes to you. You wormed your way into his chest next to that said cold heart and now he can't help but worry. You're too young to have probably been in a place on your own, so no choice but to go back to the family home. He was in your shoes once, he too had joined the military to find a way out.

Ghost doesn't speak to people off duty, never has but things have changed. You, Soap, Gaz, Price? You all are the closest thing he will ever have to a family again, so against his better and usual judgment, he asks you if you'd like to stay with him at one of his safe houses.

"Runt, do you....for fucks sake, do you want to come back with me? Stay with me until our next mission."

"Oh! No, I'm fine Ghost, I'm alright to go home."

A smile on your lips but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels his own turn down into a grimace.

"Teds, stop the shit for a second, yeah? I see that look on your face, you don't want to go back there."

He rests a skeleton glove covered hand on your shoulder, caressing the skin there with a thumb graze.

"I don't want to be a bother.'"

"You're never a bother sweetheart, c'mon then."

~

Staying with Ghost is, different to say the least. He takes you to his home in Manchester and goddamn the place is barely lived in, the only place that look used is his kitchen. He really lets you have free reign of the place, the only room not allowed is his bedroom. Not because he doesn't trust you rather it's just a personal thing.

Overtime the place filled with little traces of you, your hair ties liter the counters and tables, your laughter in the other room while you scroll on your phone. Hearing your footsteps run to area of the house so you can show him said video, the groceries you buy once you learn Ghost solely lives off of take out.

"Are you serious?"

"I work out to balance it."

"Ghost-"

It warms his chest to see you show so much concern over him, a man 6'4 who could easily snap your neck. He rustles your hair with a deep chuckle.

You try and not encroach on his space but he finds that he likes it. He likes seeing your shoes next to his at the doorway, he likes seeing you cook in his kitchen, he likes seeing you wake up groggy with crust in your eyes. He loves it all. Though he'd never admit it.

You make his house, now his home feel so much warmer and brighter. You insist on catching him up to the newest movies and shows, forcing him to sit down next to you to watch the newest Marvel movie while he pretends he hates it. He makes jokes in between that he could do better than that and that if he were there, he'd just put a bullet between the enemies eyes.

Seeing you fall asleep on his shoulder brings a peace to him, his arm around your shoulders as you nuzzle in closer. He doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve you. But he's gonna pretend he does, just for a little while longer.

~

Imagine his surprise when he meets your family for the first time. You had wanted to go home and get some things to bring back to his place so he came with you on a flight since he knows you don't care for air travel by yourself.

Ghost was used to his presence scaring people and warding people off. He knows how to keep people in line, its been his job for as long as he could care to remember. So he wasn't expecting them to treat you so horribly in front of him. Really, what'd they expect to happen. First mistake.

It's such a stark contrast you are in this place, from base, the field, to the woman in front of him. You curl into yourself, hands cracking in your hoodie pockets as you sit there and just take it, waiting for a break so you can speak. You're not looking at him or even making an attempt to talk back.

Ghost knows you're grown, he knows it's not his place but he feels his blood pressure get higher and higher as they scream and belittle you for things out of your control, your looks, your weight, telling to come back home, to leave the military, anything and everything under the sun. Second mistake. He can feel his knuckles turn a stark white under his gloves and it isn't until your sibling gets up in your face with a hand raised that he springs into action. Third mistake. Ghost is a big man, but he moves fast and unexpectedly.

Before he registered it, your sibling is on the floor clutching their stomach after being gut punched. He hears them heaving while trying to curse him out, looking up with him with hatred. Simon wants to take his heavy steel toed boot and kick the fuckers face. Hell, he wants to beat the ever living shit out of every single person in this fucking house. To think they can treat you like this? Over his dead body.

He hears your parents screaming about how dare he and that he's fucking insane but when he turns to look around at you, he sees you staring up at him with tear filled eyes and a whisper of thank you. In that moment he knows, he knows he'd do just about anything for you. He shoots a withering glare at your parents

"We're taking her shit and leaving." He barks out, his eyes burning a hole in their heads while they shakily nod and avoid looking at either of you.

Ghost grabs your hand and leads you towards your bedroom where he grabs anything he can bag and helps you stuff all your belongings into it, making sure you have everything until the room is completely cleared out.

Shuffling the bags on his arms, he holds your hand again and intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you out the house and towards the rental truck. Not taking one glance at the so called family watching you two.

"You're staying with me from now on, got it runt?"

The smile on your face is so bright when you say "Of course, L.T."

-

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

[darlingdarkly]

Fates Worse Than Death part 4

Deimos x f!reader Noncon Enemies to Lovers

6k words

CW: noncon!elements, dubcon!elements, unprotected pnv climactic intercourse, outdoor sex, chase kink

Part: 1, 3, 5

You expect to be locked up. Caged, enclosed, tied down and forget about the key, it no longer exists. But when you wake up that next morning from a deep restful sleep, courtesy of your extremely comfortable new mattress, and he carefully undoes your restraints you realize that won’t be the case. He walks away from you, already showered, dressed and ready for the day.

When he turns and realizes you haven’t followed him towards the bathroom for your shower he speaks. “Are you going to get up or lay in bed all day?” He asks like you have a choice. “For what? To take a shower just so I can come back and get re-tied down? Or are you just coaxing me into getting up so you can move me to a proper cell?”

“You’re only a prisoner in your mind. Now come on or our breakfast is gonna get cold.” Yeah fucking right, you think. He turns away once more and you exclaim your retort to his back. “The restraints I sleep in beg to differ!”

He doesn’t turn back in your direction, just calls back at you from over his shoulder. “Those restraints keep you from slitting my throat in the middle of the night. Something I’m sure you’ve fantasized about more than once.” He’s not wrong. “When you can show me you can be trusted, maybe I’ll give you a little more free will.”

“You know the last time I checked, people who are living of their own free will get to come and go as they please. I try to take one little walk in the woods and I wake up tied to a table. Is that all in my mind too?”

“We both know ‘a little walk in the woods’ isn’t all you had in mind and besides, for someone who considers themselves a prisoner you sure do a lot of complaining about your freedoms. Tell me, have they started furnishing the cells back at Rainbow with queen sized beds these days?” He counters.

“No, but at least we believe in taking prisoners instead of just cutting down every adversary we come across with no discretion, that’s more than you can say.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” He challenges.

“Yeah, and why is that, Deimos?” You challenge back arms crossed over your chest.

He finally turns back to you. “Because it’s about time Rainbow learned a lesson about meddling in things that are none of its business. Because you came out here to me, sought me out with ill intent and you couldn’t finish the job, none of you could. You were out-maneuvered, unprepared and arrogant and you had no idea what you were dealing with.” He takes a step forward before continuing, bridging the distance between you.

“I left you still breathing for information, to find out what you knew and to try and get a handle on who I’ve let get too close.” There’s a pause as he closes the last of the gap, standing before you and encompassing all of your attention as you stare up at him raptly.

“And I kept you because I like you.” He leans down close. Calm, cool and collected, showing you even unrestrained he harbors no fear for you and you can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “And because I can.”

You don’t have a response for that and are ultimately left staring after him as he stands back up straight and tall and walks away once again, knowing he’s won the little mental battle of wills.

When you’re too stunned to move, still processing the information he grows impatient. “The hose is always an option, sugar cane. The choice is yours.” You scowl but get up off the bed and push past him towards the bathroom.

You undress and he’s way more attentive than he was the first time, eyes running over you with a scrutiny that’s not purely for security purposes. He reaches out with a glove as you spin around to head for the shower and it brushes against the exposed skin of your ribs, making you pull away and sneer like a cat being rubbed on its belly by unfamiliar fingers.

“Easy. I just wanna see how you’re mending.”

“Yeah? Well you can look with your eyeballs, not your hands.” You say this but don’t pull away any further. He doesn’t press it and removes his hand, apparently satisfied with the progress of the healing process.

Showered and ready for the day, redressed in the jumpsuit that had been your downfall you follow him towards the mess hall but instead of carrying right on through the huge double doors he heads in the direction of his office, something that puzzles you. When you get there your breakfast is already set up, one for each of you on his desk.

“Working through breakfast? Did you really have that much pile up while you were gone?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“No, you made sure of that, sweetheart. But I didn’t think your breakfast would go down so well while being glared down by a few hundred sets of angry eyes. You're not exactly popular at the moment.”

Your mouth opened for a retort but you thought better of it and just nodded in understanding before sitting down across from him. You both dig in unceremoniously and you watch from across the desk while he checks his emails while he eats, stealing little glances up at him between bites.

You hadn’t really thought much of it the first time, you’d been more occupied on your escape at that point to care about much else. But the desk setting is a bit more intimate than you’d been the first time around, closer than you’d originally been to him and with nothing else to distract you it was impossible not to stare.

He must notice you noticing him. “Something wrong?”

He asks after pulling the mask away from his face just enough to get the food to his mouth but not enough for you to catch a glimpse of him underneath.

“Why do you do that?” He swallows and then answers your question with another question. “Do what?”

You motion to him with your fork. “Eat like that? Why not take the mask off?” You ask the question innocently but there’s depths to your inquisitions, an unmistakable curiosity to know just what lies behind the hard shell.

“Don’t want to.” He leaves it at that but you pursue at your own peril.

“But why?” He cocks his head to the side. Like examining a particularly interesting bug that’s crawled over his foot, you have his full attention now.

“Why do you wanna know, sugar cane? Are you curious about what I look like?” And you can feel his eyes boring into you, he’s stopped looking over at his computer and he’s stopped eating and now so have you as you feel like somehow the tables have turned without you even really noticing and your face is heating.

“I- I don’t know. No.. it’s just.. weird is all.” And that’s all you can muster up in response. Too uncomfortable with the insinuations of the reasons behind your question and he knows but lets you drop it. You both finish your breakfast and it humors him to see you’ve stopped sneaking little looks at him, content just to eat almost with your head down, lost in thought and a bit embarrassed at being seen through so easily.

You go to gather up the trash and trays when he stops you. “Leave it, I’ve got something I want to show you.”

He gets up and you follow after him. He was right for having you eat in his office, every single person you pass in the halls as you make your way to wherever he’s taking you looks at you with loathing. It’s hard to believe short and stocky could have any fans with how much of an asshole he was to you but he must have some kind of winning charm amongst the troops because they all look ready to jump you if not for your all mighty keeper.

You stick close to him and even after you pass through the big double doors exiting the building and pushing out into the open air it still reeks of hate. But he seems not to notice, you’re sure he does notice but he doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. You’re his and they’ll do well to remember that, no matter what attorcites you commit.

“Do you like dogs?” He asks and you are blindsided by the question and all its simplicity, so much so you ask him to repeat himself. “Dogs?”

“Yeah, dogs.” You’re still confused but you answer it, it’s an easy enough question. “Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve been around dogs all my life. My daddy raised hunting dogs, bred ‘em, raised ‘em. Trained ‘em up from young pups, made them into disciplined hunting machines. Blue ticks mostly, but some hounds and setters as well. They’re called man’s best friend for a reason. A well trained dog can sometimes make a better companion than some men. Fiercely driven, highly motivated, loyal to a fault.”

He’s taking you over to the east side of the compound, you’d never been out this way but you’re less concerned with your surroundings than him opening up to you for once. You wonder why he is.

“He instilled his love for canines into me. So much so I took a lot of their characteristics into consideration to help develop my ability. I studied them closely, used their natural born instincts to help advance my own skills. They give to me just as much as I give to them.”

He speaks like he owns them, but you’ve never heard so much as a bark. You can’t imagine being here for all this time and having yet to see or even hear one. It’s when he stops in front of a huge building and opens up the heavy metal doors that you find out why. The noise leaps out at you as soon as the door is cracked.

It’s more than barks, it’s whines and whimpers and even a few bays but they’re not hurt or upset, in fact quite the opposite. You step past him into the building, unlike outside it’s cool and comfortable and he closes the doors behind you before continuing on through the facility.

There are pins set up down either side of the walkway and each pin is a ten by ten foot fenced-in square that houses a single dog. Each pin has a wooden dog house standing in the far corner but none of them are in use, instead each dog is pressed up against the front of the chain link cage as close as they can get, their tails a flurry of wags.

He stops at each cage, stooping down and talking to each in turn while they lap at his gloves through the links in the chain and the others further down the line wait in almost indignant anticipation.

There must be a dozen in all, dogs of a few different breeds and in a whole array of different coats waiting, albeit a bit impatiently for master to come around, it’s clear they’d missed him.

“They’re good dogs. Impossible to keep them quiet though, so I had the place sound proofed. It’s not ideal to keep them here now that we’ve been discovered but they’re like my children and I can’t part with them. It’d end me if anything happened to them.”

You drop down on a knee in front of a cage and the dog inside, what appears to be a blue tick coon hound with a white and brindle coat eases up to the front of the cage, all nose as it sniffs out your scent and must approve of what it smells as it cautiously but hopefully pushes against the cage as you reach out to stroke its fur.

“That’s Clover. Sweet girl, very driven that one but somewhat lacking in discipline and attention span.” She pushes against the cage broadside, rubbing her whole body against it as you give her pettings. “Well hi, hi, hi Clover girl! What a sweet baby!” She rolls over against the chain, dropping onto her back and exposing her belly, which you try your best to reach through the chain with your fingers.

“She likes you.” You smile as your fingers brush over her soft undercoat. “The feelings mutual.” He can’t help but feel that ache gnawing at his heart watching you play with the dogs, he’d expected a positive response but he didn’t expect it to affect him so much seeing you play with them. He tries to recompose himself and continue on.

“Dogs can be a useful asset or they can be a detriment, it’s all about how you work with them. They’re wild in nature, they need release and freedom, a chance to stretch their legs and quell the urges of their instincts. People can be the same way.”

And you don’t like the look he’s giving you, the way his gaze lingers on you from your peripheral. “Where are you going with this, Deimos?” You ask but don’t stop your loving administrations. “I want you to help me with my ability.”

You stop petting Clover and pull your hand away from the fence, prompting her to roll back over and cock her head. “And why would I do that?”

“As an opportunity to stretch your legs. Run wild, not feel so much like a prisoner.” It takes you less than two seconds to shoot him down. “No.”

“Are you sure? Think about it.” He prods. “I don’t need to. No.”

“Come outside with me. It’s too loud in here for a conversation.” You don’t necessarily want to continue this talk, you certainly don’t want to help him train in any way shape or form. He’s a terrorist, the literal direct enemy. But you can’t exactly refuse so you stand and follow him out of the kennel and into the afternoon light. He closes the door behind you and turns to you, clearly avid about making this happen somehow.

“Look, I’ll make a deal with you. All I want you to do is run for the hills, if you can escape me then you’ve earned your freedom, I won’t pursue you any longer.” And he leaves it hanging out in the open just like that.

“And get shocked again? No, not with this thing on my neck. I’ll pass.” He slips a hand into the pocket of his tac pants and pulls out a slim remote, with the singular press of a button the collar of your jumpsuit beeps. It’s hard to believe it’s really that simple. “Just like that?”

“Just like that, sweetheart.” You’re still not exactly comfortable with his little nicknames for you and you’re still wary of the whole thing.

“You want me to run away? Like to try to get away again?” He nods.

“I don’t think I really need to remind you where that got me last time, do I?”

“That was different.” Your brows furrow. “How?”

“You’re supervised this time.”

“Oh really? And what makes you think I’ll believe anything you say? I could get away and you’d probably still catch up to me and bring me back anyway. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

He leans back against the outer wall of the building, another one of the many moments he’s glad for the mask, because there’s a smug smirk resting on his lips as he knows he’s got you, he knows all you need now is a little push to your ego.

“Just to be clear you won’t escape, trust me on that but you can sure as hell try. Besides, have I ever gone back on my word before? I promised if you took that punishment like a good girl I’d find opportunities for you to stretch your legs. This is it, now do you want it or not?”

You consider your options for a moment, there aren’t many and you really don’t want to go back inside and sit on your ass for the rest of the day. “Just run?”

His smirk widens and you can hear it in his voice this time around. “Just run, sugar cane. I’ll give you a thirty second head start. You’ll need it.”

You take one last look over your shoulder towards the wood line before turning back to him. “When do we start?”

His answer is the count. “1.. 2.. 3..”

You can hardly believe what you’re doing as you do it but you take off for the woods, nary a look back over your shoulder once you do, you don’t really know where you’re going, the town was north and this is east but if you can just get away apparently it won’t really matter. You’re hesitant, you heard the beep in the collar of your jumpsuit but your nervous system still remembers the shock it suffered not all too long ago and isn't exactly eager for a second dose.

You drop off the other side of a big hill, zigzagging through brush and around the base of huge pines, your feet slipping through the pine duff at a hurried speed as the breeze pushes through your hair. It does feel good, you have to admit. It’s been a minute since you’ve felt freedom quite like this, the escape felt different somehow. Scared, rushed. Now you just feel a bit exalted.

You hear it and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck prick up to points. The whooshing sound of displaced air, this time far easier to spot in the daytime than in the dead of night. His deathMARK. You want to bolt but your feet hold you back, you can only imagine you’re nearing that line. It’s then that he crests the hill behind you and instead of evading him you skid to a stop and so does he. You both stand opposite of each other, catching your breath.

“You’re not trying.” You can’t stand how he just seems to see everything so plainly. “Yes I am.” You lie.

“No. You’re not. Why?” It’s really no use, lying to him, he just sees right through it. “I wasn’t meaning not to. It’s just.. the line.” He’s impressed that after only encountering it once you could possibly know for certain where the line was buried. “I told you your collar is off. You had my word.”

You don’t drop his gaze, your eyes burning into the black panes of his mask, he sighs. “Come here.” He walks up to the line buried in the ground and steps past it before turning around and extending his hand to you. “It’s off, you have my word.” He says it again and the conviction in his voice is hard to not believe.

You walk up to the edge, the point of no return and after a moment's hesitation, you cross it. Your body prepares for the debilitating shock but it never comes and you look up at him, a meek expression on your face, one he’d never seen. “You can trust me.” He doesn’t justify it with an explanation or embellish it, just states it and leaves it at that.

“Now go again, and try to give me a run for my money this time.” You smile, it’s transient, there and then gone. You can’t help it and you hoped he hadn’t caught it, but he did and it’s all he thinks about for the whole thirty seconds of your head start.

Free of all inhibitions you dash through the woods, taking off in a straight line as quickly as you can. It takes longer before you hear the whoosh of the drone this time around. You push yourself faster, arms pumping as you try to out run it. You jump over a fallen log and skirt a huge rock before you come upon fairly flat ground and chance a look over your shoulder. He’s there, trailing you about forty feet back and you feel a dagger of panic shoot through your heart.

You take off again, head down, eyes narrowed as you try to out run him but you can hear his footfalls against the forest floor and he’s gaining. You redirect, shifting directions quickly in an attempt to outmaneuver him.

You bolt around an ancient oak and weave your way between a cluster of young pines but just when you think you’ve got him you feel his arms encircle your waist as he brings you to the ground like a lion pouncing on a gazelle. You instinctively bring your arms up beneath you to cushion the fall as he lands on top of you, his body covering your legs.

You both lie there panting, he can feel your heartbeat through the palms of his gloves at the small of your back and this whole thing might’ve been a mistake because he can feel himself growing half hard just chasing you down.

“Fuck me, how are you so fast?” He just laughs, a hearty genuine sound that rumbles through you and makes a heat flare in your cheeks that’s got nothing to do with running. “Secrets, sugar cane. Gonna try again?”

“You bet your ass I’m trying again.” His response is to smack yours, savoring the little squeal of protest it produces from you as you scramble to get out from underneath him. He pushes up off of you, sitting back with his arms behind him as he looks up at you rise up from the dirt.

You turn and run and he watches after you as he begins the count anew. You have a plan this time, it’s clear there’s no outrunning him, he’s too quick but maybe you can hide. You keep count in your head, if he lets the drone loose before you found your spot then there was no point in hiding at all he’d just catch you again. About twenty seconds into the count in your head—and you hoped to god he kept his count by the Mississippi rule, you found what you were looking for.

A massive oak tree uprooted many, many, years ago, and taking a pit mound with it, had left a divot in the earth and some animal, a lone fox perhaps, had dug it out for a den. There was no time for debate, you expected to hear the whir of the drone at any moment so quickly you crawled into the dugout space and pressed yourself against the exposed roots of the tree.

If the drone had thermal capabilities the spot was useless but if not it’d more than likely fly right by without spotting you. The latter turned out to be true as moments later you heard it whiz by, its flight undisturbed as it scanned the forest further out, it wasn’t much later you began to hear him, following close behind.

This was your opportunity. You waited for him to pass and when you couldn’t hear him any longer you climbed out of the earth and headed north. You made great time, full on sprinting as you tore through the forest. There was no use in trying to sneak, he’d realize soon enough that something was up and change directions.

But soon you heard the distant whir of the blades again, faint but nearing. You had a decision to make, hide again or try and out run it. The forest before you was bare, the brush light and the trees still standing to your dismay. You thought about turning back for the compound, it’d be the last place he’d expect you to head for but before you could you heard the drone overhead. It had found you and without much choice you took off north once again.

You knew it was your last chance for freedom so you barreled forth on legs already tired and worn. You had just made it into a small clearing when he pounced on you, totally sideswiping your body and you tumbled into the circle of pine straw and fallen oak shed rolling over top of each other until you came to a stop straddling him.

You lay there, a mass of panting limbs and it’s not until he’s relatively caught his breath that he realizes you're above him. He’s wary, it’s the unfamiliar cat feeling all over again, except this time the feline has climbed into his lap and he’s not sure whether you’ll simply claw his eyes out or sit and make biscuits. He gets his answer when your hips roll down over him, just an innocent shift of position as you try to readjust that turns into an inadvertent grind against the firm plane of his abdomen. You let out a groan you can’t contain in sinful bliss at the movement and it makes his lips press thin behind his mask, a groan of his own just barely stifled in his throat.

The sensation is exquisite, having been left so abruptly wanting after your recapture and the subsequent consequences you can’t help yourself. But you stop when your brain catches up to your nerve endings and you realize what you’re doing. You go to rise up off of him, embarrassed and a bit appalled at yourself when his hands snap to your hips and you both freeze.

You’re at a standstill, unsure what comes next and he makes the first move, pulling you back by your hips until you’ve moved off of his stomach and yanked you down over his hips, the prominent bulge in his tac pants unmistakable as you slide over it, both of your breaths hitching at the delicious friction.

What comes next is an exchange, a silent pivotal moment communicated solely through subtle touches fueled by mutual desire. It’s hesitant but quick, meaningful but rushed and what it comes to is you rising up off of him to pry at your clothes. It takes him no time to free himself from his confines and when he looks up and you’re still struggling with the god forsaken jumpsuit he motions you back to him. “Let me help.”

You stoop down but as he pulls a wicked looking blade from its sheath on his belt you instinctively pull away only for him to hold you fast. “Stay still and trust.”

He waits as you calm and still for him before he expertly slices a slit in the crotch of your suit. You give him an exasperated look and it makes him chuckle. “It was taking too long, I’ll have them make you a new one.” With the deed done there’s no use in arguing with him so instead you mount him again, grinding against him once more. Your fingers find purchase against him as fists, one balling up in the fabric of his cape, the other looping around the strap of his vest as the skin to skin contact has you keening against him.

He’s had enough teasing and rifles the length of him through the slick lips of your sex, collecting your wetness on the tip and lining himself up before you can change your mind. You have no such second guesses as you drop down onto his length in fact there isn’t much thought going on at all, just primal need. You keep your grip on him as you begin to fuck yourself.

He lets you use him, it’s the first contact of any kind you’ve initiated and he’ll let it run its course, reaping the benefits. His hands never leave your hips as his head drops back, trading the view of where you’re joined for one concentrated on your face and all your varying expressions. Watching your mouth part slightly as you take what was so cruelly denied. You pick up speed, eyes squeezing shut as your vision blurs around the edges, your head tipping back skyward as you ride him for all he’s worth.

His hands explore you, reaching up to cup a supple breast and he wishes to god he’d either had the patience to let you strip or had just cut the whole damn thing off you because you’re still wearing too many god damn clothes for his liking. He wants nothing more than to plant his boots in the dirt and lift you up by the hips, drive into you from below until your eyes roll back but he knows you need this. If you’re to let go of your hesitancy it’s best to be done on your terms. That doesn't mean once you’ve had your fill it’d be over, but he’s a patient man.

The sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees is joined in harmony by your soft pleasured sighs and he’s never heard a more beautiful song. Your eyes open and you know what you’re doing is wrong. You glance down, the mere sight of him beneath you makes the alarm bells ring in your head but it also makes you that much wetter, knowing it’s him you’re keening for. It’s wrong but that doesn’t ease the ecstasy of it from coursing through your veins, collecting in a pit of pleasure that pools deep in your belly.

The last of your resolve makes your hips momentarily falter. “Uh uh. Don’t you dare stop.” You go to turn your head from him when one gloved hand releases the grip on your hip to lift up and grab your chin so you’re unable. “Look at me, sweetheart.” Your cheeks heat but you obey, your eyes flitting to the dark lenses of his mask. “‘Atta girl. That’s it, just like that.” As the honeyed poison he speaks begins to ferment you, the simple instinct driven part of your brain takes over, melting at the praise of a proven superior.

You moan at his words and he feels their effects as you tighten around him. “Does it feel good, sugar cane? Hmm?” You’re beyond words, knowing if you tried to speak all the would come out would be unintelligible babbles so you just nod your head frantically, it’s the best you can do.

He keeps a grip on your chin, keeping you trained on him as his other hand palms the swell of your hip, guiding you back into a steady rhythm, one that has you squeezing down around him and a low moan bubbling up in your chest and it’s clear you’re not going to last very long. Your fists tighten into white knuckled grips as your hips cant against his, speeding up as your climax draws near. He can feel you getting closer, his own hips bucking up to greet yours as you slam down onto him with each thrust.

“Come on sugar cane. Let me feel you come for me. Take what you need.” Your pleasure reaches a head, your walls spasming around him as you cry out your pleasure to the canopies above. Your face at this moment is a portrait of desire and he burns the image of it into his mind's eye, committing it to memory as you ride it out above him.

Just as you stop shaking, not even giving you time to recover he pulls out and deftly flips you, pushing you down on your stomach and pushing your knees up beneath you. With your ass raised up high and the length of your right forearm the only thing keeping your cheek from pressing into the dirt he resheaths himself inside you. You howl at the intensity of it, barely sliding off from the hill of your orgasm before he begins the hurried ascent to the next one.

“Deimos!” He growls above you, the sound of his name on your lips only spurring him on. He pulls your hips back into his, relishing his gain of control and chasing the pull of his own release. Your hands clench and unclench against the earth, scratching through the duff and leaves until the rich topsoil cakes under your nails. It’s the last thing on your mind as he fucks you senseless in the midst of the forest.

He knows he’s close, can feel his balls beginning to tighten as they slap against your clit with each thrust. He can tell you’re faring about as well as you push back into him, mewls reaching a heightened pitch as you barrel towards your second release and your lips begin to loosen as you careen towards the edge.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Please!” You begging him for release is all it takes, his last few thrusts quick and sloppy as he feels you clench around him for a second time as he empties himself inside of you. His hips jut up against yours, pushing in as far as he can go and stilling against you there. Both of you breathing in heavy tandem.

After several moments he pulls out of you unceremoniously and puts himself away before standing. You look up to see him, hand outstretched to help you up off the ground. You take it, and now that the heated pleasure has subsided the wake of regret rises to take its place and you find it hard to look him in the face. He must have trouble finding the right words to say, keenly aware that you’re a bit fragile at the moment and worried that the wrong words could have destructive results so the walk back towards base is a quiet one.

He leads you back to the compound and shuttles you into the kennel while he goes and finds you a change of clothes. Before he leaves he finds it in him to speak. “While I’m gone will you do me a favor?” It wasn’t exactly what you were expecting him to say but it felt like a better option than discussing things between you. “Sure, what is it?”

“Can you feed them for me? There’s a bin at the back with their food and a scoop, the bowls are on a little table next to it. Two scoops for each.” You look towards the back and spot the bin before turning back to him.

“Yeah, sure.” He nods and leaves and you make your way through the aisle and toward the back of the building. Everything is as he said and after separating the bowls out and dishing two scoops of food into each you start at the back and work towards the front. The dogs are well trained and back away from the door while you enter. Sitting patiently as their tails give away their true excitement, thumping against the green AstroTurf floor in an unmeasured staccato.

You set the bowls down and step away before each dog rises and goes to eat. Careful to latch each door shut behind you, you make quick work of it and soon enough you’re setting the last bowl down in Clover’s pin. Unlike the other dogs she noses around your legs while you place her bowl on the floor and goes right to eating as soon as it’s lowered enough for her snout to reach. You can’t help but rub her sides while she digs in and you don’t even notice his return until he clears his throat outside her door.

“All done.” You say as you step through and latch it tight behind you. He hands you your clothes, another old set of fatigues instead of a new jumpsuit and points you in the direction of the bathroom so you can change. You can’t shake the feeling there’s been some kind of shift between you and this is only proven further as you head for the bathroom and he doesn’t follow after you. You shut the door and turn on the tap, splashing water up on your face and staring up at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t know what this means, afraid to think about what kind of line you’ve crossed without even really knowing it but something is different.

When you’d washed up and changed you found him again and you both left the kennel, completely different people than when you’d entered.

[t4transsexual]

have you ever dated cis women? when did you decide to be t4t?

i have dated a couple of cis women, one for a little while and we didnt get on because she was one of those fems who doesnt want their butch/masc/transmasc partner to have feelings and needs and also didnt want me to say no to sex and we didnt last long because i was deeply unhappy with her

as for when i decided to be t4t, i guess its probably about time i open up about the specific instance(s) that lead to me deciding to be exclusively t4t, because i havent actually talked about what pushed me to make the shift into exclusively dating trans people. i was trying to run a more positive page and frankly i wasnt really ready to talk about this so publicly, especially with the terf/transphobe interaction i get almost all the time on this account, but i figure i can now and ill probably turn off replies if i can figure out how

tw for graphic description of sexual assault and transphobia under the cut

when i started medically transitioning, i decided to try dating guys again. keep in mind i had a lot of comphet before deciding i was t4t; i basically only really beat that around 2022 when i turned 20. and i matched with a cis guy on tinder, who looked like he had a lot of personality judging by his photos i was 18, almost 19 at the time

literally the first thing this man says to me, after i tell him im trans, is "oh, cool, i love femboys." red flag #1. i said, "im not a femboy, i present masculinely, dont call me that." he apologized, and we moved on

at some point, we're talking about sex. he says hes very subby and a size queen. all fine, i told him i was a stone top/dom, i didnt really like experiencing penetration and it was painful for me due to a condition i had at the time. he says thats fine, everythings good. this will be important later

later, he tells me he told his parents i was trans. i asked him why, given that he both didnt ask me first and said his parents were transphobic. he says "my mom asked, was i just supposed to lie?" i say, yes. he apologizes, i /really/ want to call the whole thing off at this point but he seemed nice enough that maybe he just didnt know trans dating as well as i did

the entire relationship, he just says transphobic shit. he told me that he "understood why people didnt want to date trans people, because its a lot of baggage." he was an active alcoholic by the way. and also dating a trans person. he would neg me for being trans and then turn around and say that i was such a hot guy. he even misgendered me one time, and got upset at me for getting pissed about it, and made me believe i was overreacting. he made me believe that he was doing me a favor by ever dating me

at some point, we're at my parents house, and he tells me he wants to fuck me with his penis. i tell him no, that i dont want to, that i dont know about it, that im scared, pretty much anything i can say to get him to reconsider, but he argued and said itd be good for me and that i can choose which hole but it became very clear to me that i had no choice. so i said he could fuck my pussy

it was excruciating. it hurt so bad, but i knew i couldnt say no. he couldnt stay hard unless he was degrading me and i didnt want him to, so he kept making me jerk him off so he could keep raping me

eventually he stopped, and i wasnt even really aware i had been raped at first. ive been sexually abused by several people in my life and generally it has taken me a while to accept when ive been sexually abused by a person. so we kept dating like normal, long distance btw, but my mental health was deteriorating. i was suicidal for the first time in a while. i was self harming again. i couldnt stop thinking about killing myself.

eventually, he breaks up with me for being suicidal. he says im guilt tripping him or something, i dont remember. and that was december of 2021

we go no contact. i still dont realize he raped me. but i knew that there was something deeply wrong in the way our relationship was

right after him, i dated a trans woman who we went to the same high school. just the difference in how i was treated by her than by him, with her she treated me like i was an actual equal in the relationship. with him, he felt he was superior to me; like he "owned" me, or something

we broke up, we werent really compatible, but when i got with her, she taught me what being t4t was, and the implicit understanding and the comfort and safety i felt. after we broke up was when i decided i didnt like men, and still remained t4t after

i realized what he did to me was rape nearly a year later. he correctively raped me for being a stone top, more specifically, and i dont think he wouldve been "empowered" to rape me if i was a cis man, or even a cis woman. i understand that the "off" feeling i felt throughout that relationship was because he, as a cis person, felt superior over me as a trans person, and felt that if he wanted to fuck me, i shouldnt get a say. he talked about doing other actions to me that i didnt want done at the time, certainly not by him, and if we werent long distance, he probably wouldve raped me several more times

being with my current girlfriend, we click in a way that i havent felt with any cis person, the women included. she definitely isnt going to rape me for being trans. ive undergone physical therapy so that if i ever got raped again, it wouldnt hurt as bad, and it worked and ive actually enjoyed bottoming (consensually) with my girlfriend. she makes me feel very safe, and we understand each other and each others needs as trans people very well, and being with her has helped me process the time i was raped, and the several other times ive been sexually abused by other people

now that ive had time to process these things, i would say that i dont feel the same way around trans people (including me) dating cis people anymore. when i first started this account, i wouldve never admitted this then btw, i fully did not think trans people should date cis people, because i had fostered such a deep distrust of cis people as a result of that whole relationship and assault. i believed cis people would always be bad partners to trans people, but i dont believe that anymore. in the very unlikely circumstance i find myself single again, i may even consider dating a cis woman again. but probably not, because ive grown to really like the implicit understanding that we as trans people get with other trans people

thats why im t4t, and when i became t4t was around the beginning of 2022

[spnexploration]

Pack chapter 22

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Chapter summary: The morning after your night alone.

Chapter warnings: reader self-conscious including about her body, but nothing particularly detailed

Word count: 2.6k (long one!)

A/N: I forgot to add the last chapter to the masterlist when I posted it, which I have now done. Sorry about that! Make sure you read it first.

This fulfils the nesting square of my 2023 SPN AU bingo.

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 21 <- -> Part 23

“Good morning Y/N, how’d you sleep?” Sam asked as I trudged into the kitchen.

I just groaned in response.

He chuckled, “You really are perfect for Dean. There's fresh coffee if you'd like some.” I nodded and he fetched me a cup.

I was halfway through before I thought of sharing my news. “Dean messaged me when he got to Claire, at like 3am.”

“Yeah, he messaged me too. He said he's going to work the case with her today, then decide if they stay for tomorrow. I think he realises she'll rebel even more if he dismisses her work.”

I nodded, focused back on my coffee.

“So what are we doing today?” I asked when I was feeling more awake.

“That’s up to you. We can do some more lore if you'd like, you can spend the day reading or watching TV, or you can put yourself in Madison's hands and let her go crazy keeping you entertained.”

I laughed. “Maybe we can do some lore and then I'll see if I'm up for Madi entertainment.”

“Good choice. Grab some breakfast and then meet me in the library. I'll fill Mads in when she's out of the shower.”

---

Sam had me try reading some lore myself and try to make sense of it, all related to the topics we'd covered yesterday. I didn't realise how complicated killing monsters was!

After a while I was feeling tired and run down, so I headed off to Dean's room for a nap. It was probably just the poor sleep I’d had last night without Dean around. I snuggled into his pillow and fell asleep instantly.

---

I woke later. I was not feeling better. I felt so cold, but I was drenched in sweat. My joints ached, it was hard to move them at all.

It took a lot of effort, but I made it to the door finally. I was going to call out for Sam and Madi, hope that they had medication for whatever illness must've struck me down.

I opened the door but felt out of breath with the effort of crossing the room. I had to get my breath back before I could call out.

Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps.

“Y/N?” Sam called, sounding worried. “We're coming.”

How did he know I needed him?

He rounded the corner a few seconds later, Madison hot on his heels.

“I think I'm sick,” I wheezed out.

“Omega, you're in heat,” he said gently. “I smelt it as soon as you opened the door.”

“But this feels- I've never felt like I was dying before!” I started to fall as I used up all my energy complaining. Sam quickly caught me and carried me back to Dean's bed. Now that he said it, I could feel slick gathering between my legs, but given how much sweat I was covered in, I hadn't really noticed before.

His phone started ringing. It said 'Claire Novak’ on the caller ID.

He answered and put it on speaker, “Hey Claire.”

“Sam! Dean just went into a rut and he is fucking mental! What the hell do I do?!”

I thanked my lucky stars that my body had settled on Dean, that our cycles had aligned. But now I just had to get to him, to be claimed. I shivered. What if my heat finished before I got to him?

“First, tell him Y/N is in heat,” Sam said to Claire. “It will reassure him some.”

“Sam says Y/N is in heat,” she said slightly muffled, like she'd turned the phone away. “He's growling, hang on.”

There were some strange noises and then Dean’s voice, much lower than normal, “Omega?”

“I'm here Alpha,” I managed.

“You... ok?” he sounded like speaking was hard for him.

“Yeah, I'll be ok.” I didn't want to tell him how unwell I felt.

Sam gave me a knowing look and said, “Alpha, can you put Claire back on? I'm going to work with her to get you two together.” Dean growled slightly throughout, but the sounds of the phone passing happened again.

“Sam?” Claire asked. “He didn't say anything, he just gave me the phone back.”

“Ok,” Sam continued, “The next thing you do is that you submit to him. If you start challenging him when he is in an unfilled rut, away from the Omega he is yet to claim, he is going to go feral. I recommend calling him 'Alpha’ and barring your neck if he gets antsy.”

“Great,” she deadpanned. The teenage sass was practically dripping.

“And then you get him back here, as fast as you can.”

“What about the case?” she asked petulantly.

“Claire, I promise, we will help you on this case. But this is literally the second time he has gone into a rut after finding his mate, their mating has already been threatened by factors outside their control. They cannot miss this opportunity. Plus I’ve got an Omega here who’s about to go through the worst heat of her life, she needs him.”

I gulped at Sam’s words.

“Ok, I get it. Sorry. I’ll get him back.”

“Thanks Claire.”

“Bye.”

Sam hung up and turned to me. “It's gonna be a while before they can get here, so we need to get you comfortable.”

“What- what if he doesn’t?”

“That's not going to happen. You've only just gone into heat, and even your normal heat probably lasts longer than one day?” I nodded. “This one is likely to be longer, and worse. Dean got to Claire in about half a day. There is plenty of time, Omega.”

I sniffled and he stroked my hair gently.

“How about we get you some painkillers and a cool bath or shower to try and drop this fever a bit, and then Madi can stay with you. I don't think you're going to want to be around another Alpha too much, but I'll help with the cooling down because I don't think you can hold yourself up right now. Does that sound ok?”

I nodded, too tired and achey to reply.

“I'm going to take off some of your clothes, ok?” I half-heartedly nodded. “Omega, I need your words. I'm not going to do anything you don't consent to.”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Ok, thank you.” He started to pull Dean's flannel off me and I whined. “I know, I know, we’ll get back to Dean’s scent as soon as we can. Now, bath or shower?”

I shrugged. He kept gently removing my clothes until I was in just my underwear. I wished he was Dean. Partway through Madi had brought me painkillers and water, but I didn't feel any better yet. Everything ached and every so often I shivered, although Sam assured me I was actually hot.

“I'm going to carry you to the bathroom, ok?” I nodded and he lifted me up bridal style. I leant my head on his shoulder and, whilst he smelled reassuringly like Pack, I just wanted Dean. I started to cry.

“I know, I know,” he murmured reassuringly. “We’re gonna get Dean back as fast as we can, ok? And you're gonna feel a bit better soon. You're gonna be ok.”

He made it to the bathroom where Madi was standing next to the full bath. “Ready?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

He went to his knees and lowered me into the water. It felt strange at first and I clung to Sam's neck, but after a few moments it felt better and I let go of him.

“Now, ordinarily we'd leave you alone, but I don't think you're well enough for that right now.”

I nodded. I felt too weak to do much more, which was probably Sam's point.

Madi wet a face washer and put it on my forehead. I lay back and closed my eyes. I was starting to feel a little bit better. My joints weren't aching quite as much.

I relaxed.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, tapping my face. I didn't know how much time had passed. “No falling asleep in the bath.” I blearily opened my eyes and tried to glare at him. He chuckled, “I'm not about to let you drown in our own house.”

I started to get uncomfortable, trying to find a way to position myself. And the water was starting to feel cold. Sam must've noticed my fidgeting as he said, “How about we get you out?” I nodded. “You wanna try standing up?” I nodded again and he reached in, lifting me out and gently placing me on my feet on the mat. Madi wrapped me in a towel.

I was still too sore to do much other than whimper as Madi dried me off. It was like having the worst case of flu ever.

Slick flooded out of me into my wet undies and down my legs. I saw Sam's nostrils flare as he smelled it, and he swallowed thickly.

“Are- are you ok?” I asked him, suddenly worried that he might be unable to control his reactions.

“Yes, sorry I scared you. I'm not going to hurt you. The scent of Omega in heat is just a bit, uh, overwhelming to Alpha senses. But it's fine,” he said with a reassuring smile.

I felt like I knew what he meant. His Alpha smell was starting to get overpowering. I scrunched my nose up a little as I smelled him and he chuckled.

“I think you're entering the horny phase of heat,” Madi observed wryly. “Let's get you back to your room and we can kick Sam out before you start scratching him for getting too close to you.” Sam laughed.

“Huh?”

“I might have clawed Dean when he came into the kitchen and surprised me when I was in heat one time,” she said with a smirk. “He was literally just walking past but I, uh, reacted with claws before my brain engaged. Anyway, enough about me, I think you're dry enough.”

“Are you ok if I pick you up again?” Sam asked me.

I was still feeling weak and shaky, so I nodded. He lifted me into his arms and my skin started to crawl. I didn't like Sam touching me, he was wrong, wrong!

“It's ok, I'm going to put you down and leave in just a sec,” he murmured. I was holding myself tense, probably having my facial expressions tell the story of my discomfort.

I suddenly realised I was starting to growl.

I couldn't stop.

He placed me on Dean's bed and hastily backed away. I grabbed Dean's flannel and rubbed it over my face, utterly enthralled with its scent.

“Message me if you need anything,” he said to Madi. “I'll keep you in the loop if I hear anything from Claire or Dean.”

He left. I stopped growling.

“Alright, let's get you out of those wet things,” Madi said.

I tried to reach behind me to unclasp my bra, but my arms were too weak to undo it. I started to cry, scared and annoyed about what was happening to me.

Madi sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my back. “I promise, it'll get better. I think you're feeling rubbish right now partly because of your massive fever, and partly because you're away from your mate. When Dean gets here, I promise it will get better.”

“Omega biology sucks.”

“Oh, so much! Ruts look way easier to get through than the shit we have to put up with.”

“Was it like this for you? I didn't expect to feel this much like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“No, I had Sam with me. So whilst I felt bad when it started, we pretty quickly got to dealing with it. And it sucks you don't have Dean, but he is on his way. You just gotta hang in there for a bit longer.”

I sniffled. More slick flooded out of me, for no apparent reason, and I felt weirdly like my skin was missing something. I started to fidget, trying to work out what I was feeling.

“Ok, ok, before you get all antsy, let's get you in fresh clothes.” I’d almost forgotten my bra and undies were wet from the bath, so distracted by the various painful and strange sensations from my body. I let Madi help me out of them and into a pair of summer pyjamas.

I grabbed Dean's flannel again, rubbing it over me. Then I smelled his pillow, bringing that to me too. I tried to wrap them around me, whining when it wouldn't work.

“You ever built a nest before, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“I think you’re trying to nest. Hang on,” she pulled out her phone and tapped away at it.

 I couldn't focus on what she was doing, I was too busy trying to work out what to do with Dean's things. I'd positioned myself over his side of the bed, throwing back the covers so I could smell it better. I kept moving his pillow and his flannel around, but it just wouldn't do what I wanted. I was starting to shiver again, and Madison held her hand to my forehead.

“Fuck,” she muttered, “you're burning up again.”

A few moments later there was a knock at the door and Sam pushed a laundry basket of clothes in. I growled at him. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't help it. He quickly shut the door.

I finally smelt the clothes, now that Sam's wrongness had gone. Dean!! I reached out weakly to the basket and Madi picked it up and brought it to me.

“I asked Sam to get all of the clothes out of the hamper that were yours or Dean's and smelled like Dean. I thought you might like to use them in your nest.”

I purred at her and set about arranging the clothes. I don't think I've ever purred in my life.

I had to admit, now that I was putting things where they felt most right, I was clearly making a nest on the bed. I was surrounding myself in Dean's scent, picking up each item and carefully deciding where exactly to put it.

Once it was done, I tried to position myself in it. It wasn't big enough. It wasn't quite right. I wanted Dean!! I whined.

My skin was feeling strange again. I tried to scratch it to make myself feel better. But it wasn't quite itchy? It was something else. I rubbed it. Yes, that was better. But it still wasn't right.

I moved my hands around on my body. It felt a bit better. But not enough. Now I was getting frustrated that it wasn't feeling better enough.

I whined again.

“Where are your toys?” Madi asked me.

“What toys?”

“Sex toys. Can't you tell you’re getting super horny?”

Oh. Maybe that's why my skin felt weird. And why it didn't feel like the right touching. It didn't feel like normal arousal, and I’d been so distracted by everything else, I hadn't even recognised it.

I moved my hands lower. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my shorts and approached my clit. Fuck it was sensitive right now!

I tried to get Dean's scent. I tried to find the best way to be in my nest. I tried to rub myself, but it felt like trying to tickle yourself. I wasn’t getting anywhere. My skin was crawling again and my joints were aching. I was so annoyed!

Madi appeared in front of me. I had forgotten all about her. She held out her hand.

“Try this,” she said as she handed me a vibrator. “Trust me.”

.

.

.

Taglist:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

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@globetrotter28

@deans-spinster-witch

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@the-family-business67

@babygirl-one-and-only

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@supernatural--whore

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

[pixeljade]

i just feel like there's no way Biden wins in the fall. and frankly as much as i hate him and i understand why folks wont vote for him after all this, it has me so utterly terrified! because if Biden loses Trump wins. and if Trump wins, project 2025 is on our doorstep, and...im gonna have to detransition or move to another country. i dont have it in me anymore to fight. i used to. and sure sometimes i have the glimmer of that, but im ultimately much more disabled than i once was! i dont have it in me to be like Aaron Bushnell and die proudly for another person. i mean, fuck, i spent the first 30 years of my life wanting to die! ive only gotten six years of wanting to live!!! and now i have to face death for this cause, without seemingly any choice???? and i feel like the most selfish horrible worthless cowardly piece of shit for even saying that i want to continue living instead of doing an Aaron Bushnell, but i just cant. i just cant! yet it does truly seem to be the consensus amongst everyone that it is awful and horrible and selfish of me to want a world where Trump doesnt win. apparently all the privilege of being born in a country that hates me is enough to condemn me. not only that but if Trump wins i dont see how we dont end up with civil war and/or world war 3, and thats so fucking terrifying in and of itself...it has me seriously thinking about suicide every single fucking night lately. all i can do is block it all out and hope to god that Biden turns his shit around!

and i know everyones going to ignore this. the most friendly will just give it a like because they dont know what to say. the least friendly will tell me i am selfish and i should kms (eventually ill reach that tipping point dont worry). but most of you will ignore me. most of you will see this post, scroll past it without reading to the end, and youre contributing as much to my suicidal mentality as the ones telling me i should die. maybe i just will end it tonight

[cult-of-artemis-and-athena]

Did feminism unintentionally create married single moms??

Feminism isn't one thing. There are many flavors of feminism, some that completely contradict others on points. If your flavor of feminism doesn't promote what I'm charging "feminism" with, then I'm not talking about you, but what I'm about to describe is a rather prominent line of thought across many types of feminism.

Feminism may have painted itself into a corner with respect to family and childrearing.

Some of the strains around the second wave were not concerned or actively hostile toward these things. This was either, at best, because they were intended for a politically or earnestly Sapphic audience, or at worst, because they were reactionary and/or anti-natalist and misandrist. There was some controversy in the second wave as to whether a SAHM could even be a feminist, for example.

In my last post, I said the push for women to enter the workforce wasn't accompanied by a complementary movement to bring men into the home.

We go forward two waves to The Current Year, and while there are some feminists who view (voluntary, non-Blood-And-Soil, non-theocratic) tradwifery as a valid choice for women and not "taking women back 100 years", if we're being perfectly honest, I think a lot of feminists recoil at the idea of being a SAHM or view it as a choice for some-women-but-not-me. Secretly they have some contempt for those women. It's framed often as "It's valid and feminism is about choice but personally, I would be so bored. I don't want to waste my potential," (or similar statements) which unintentionally frames being a SAHM as something good for boring women without a lot of aspirations or things going for themselves, but not smart and interesting women with potential.

In the manosphere, I've seen being a SAHM framed as perfect for women because it's intellectually undemanding, and that women are low-intelligence and never mentally develop beyond adolescence, by nature, so they can do tedious tasks and spend all their time around children without wanting to blow their brains out like an Alpha Male would want to because he's too smart and has better, more important things to do.

Sometimes tradcons couch this a bit more gently, that "Why would women rather submit to their boss who doesn't care about them, but not submit to their husband who loves them?" It's still acknowledging that they view this as a one-way power dynamic where one person is important and the other person is not, and the full-time parent is the one that is the lesser. "Women wouldn't be so mentally ill and stressed if they just stayed home and had kids," which is still framing stay-at-home parenting as something for mentally fragile, neurotic people who can't cut it in the "real world".

The same logic is used by those men to shit on men who do chores and childcare in a significant capacity, or those who are or aspire to be SAHDs -- that those men are wasting their potential, lazy, weak, incompetent, pushovers bullied by their wives, etc.

(What an odd thing for them to say...)

Feminists generally perpetuate the same beliefs, albeit couched in different language.

If we're the type of woman to grrr at the idea of being a SAHM, we need to examine what part of that we're grrr-ing at.

Is it because it was de-facto compulsory in the past and we've adopted a sort of inter-generational trauma, so we say "Never again!" and are reflexively avoiding anything that looks like it could turn into a slippery slope?

Is it because we associate it with necessarily being shackled to a domineering and insensitive patriarchal figure who barely treats us like a real person?

Is it because we dislike the lame-ass, square, hokey-dokey, pastel-colored, squishy, cow-eyed - or maybe even cheugy - aesthetics of marriage and/or motherhood we inherited from the Victorians and see reinforced by Mormon and Evangelical influencers?

Is it because some of our childhoods were actually kind of fucked up and something adjacent to motherhood is severely triggering, or we're afraid of becoming our shitty parents?

Is it because we - be honest - think it's a lower-status position, a waste of talent of some form, suitable for someone inferior in some way, etc.?

I think the latter one - between traditionalist and redpill men, reactionary feminists, and antifeminist pick-me's - is how society views SAHMs at an aggregate level. Society doesn't give a lot of prestige for stay-at-home parents -- the less educated, less intelligent of the two parents, they gave up their job because it wasn't worth much in the first place, and if you talk to them, all they're going to talk about is their kids.

If humanity is to continue, people need to have kids, and someone needs to raise them. I think outsourcing this to corporations and the state is fucking inviting trouble, but literally who is going to raise the kids if neither parent wants to do it because everyone from the right to the left has shit on the concept of childrearing for 70 years or more?

I think that was the problem from the beginning of the women's liberation movement. It's created a situation where men entering the home without being seen as lesser is the logical response to women entering the workforce without being seen as lesser, but it's turned into a very hard sell because it comes off as "Come do this thing we don't want to do because it fucking sucks and it's for dumb people."

[jadedvaevic]

If someone were to ever ask what radicalized me, I'm honestly unsure what I would say at this point.

Was it the moment my best friend of several years, who'd been by my side through /everything/, cut me off for my voting choice in 2016?

... Was it the moment I realized people were actively pushing sexuality onto children and into their education systems out of pure intellectual laziness and selfishness?

... Was it the moment I was deemed evil for my skin color?

... was it the moment I watched people around me use the LGB banner, which I was finally growing to accept in myself, to endorse mental illness and children's fantasy and to warp the laws of the world to that illness?

Was it the moment I realized they're mutilating our children and spinning them into mutilating themselves?

...or was it the moment I was labeled a domestic terrorist for standing against these things?

Was it the moment I watched my government turn and kill its civilians in real time rather than in a documentary or history book?

Was it the moment I watched my government turn its back on this nation's people, the moment I realized the economy has been manipulated into a death system?

The moment I watched my government and neighbors condemn everyone with a dissenting voice against forced injection with a substance they have ADMITTED was never a cure or treatment?

... Was it the moment I watched police officers arrest my brother and tell me they knew he didn't commit the crime, but that they'd gotten their confession anyway?

Was it the moment I watched a nation-wide outcry over pedophilia and sex trafficking be forgotten overnight?

The moment I watched the government call a fraud my president while they openly admitted to fraud and surrounded him with soldiers?

... Was it the moment I learned of all the crimes of the past, from MK-Ultra to fucking Waco and more?

The moment I watched the world make my husband the butt of its every joke and the target of its hatred, all for his sex?

The moment they pushed their narrative into every form of media until it became so obvious that I could no longer consume entertainment media enjoyably?

Was it the moment they destroyed my livelihood, my friendships, my prospects?

Or was it the moment they began flooding my nation with people who have begun to rampantly do just that to all of my neighbors?

Was it the moment I realized they intend to control all of our transactions and currency, or the moment I learned they monitor us in our own homes?

Was it the moment I realized they're restricting and sabotaging our food supply?

... When was I radicalized?

...I never was.

The rest of the world was radicalized against people like me.

...I am not the villain.

Still... I wonder whether that ever mattered, or ever will again.

[dailyoyo]

Non Exhaustive list of claims me and pseud havemade about yoyo. do we even believe all of these things in our headcanons? Good quaestion

yoyo once ran a "cringe art" blog very briefly but all he put on it was his own childhood art, without specifying it was his?

yoyo has a bucket list which includes things like "convince a straight person they're actually closeted gay" and "commit perjury"

yoyo likes to follow tutorials its enriching for him

yoyo has his own pirate radio station that roboy helps him run under the moniker of "Undergraduate C". he plays nothing but meme shit and stuff that is straight up unlistenable

yoyo thinks he is a hollow shell of a person with masks upon masks where an identity should be

yoyo, if asked if he thinks people can be born evil, will answer "lol yeah, because i was!" it's hard to say if he's being ironic or not

yoyo would die if he went to the house on ash tree lane because he would do goofy tricks in the hallway and grind down the spiral staircase only to fall off and careen into the abyss

paradox!yoyo is shorter than yoyo's official canon height because it's disturbing for yoyo to only be an inch smaller than me

yoyo just gets real scared when he smokes weed. but this doesnt stop him?

yoyo is a prolific trollfic author with unreadable writings under dozens of pseudonyms for dozens of fandoms

yoyo had a brief stint as a member of poison jam under a different name and identity but he got booted out for consistently ruining movie night with his intentionally frustrating mockbuster choices

yoyo has attempted to join every single gang in tokyo-to and the ggs were his last pick

yoyo eventually picks up it/its pronouns in a mental illness kind of way

yoyo is worse at video games than pots is

yoyo would be really good at among us except everyone just automatically votes him imposter by default so he cant even play properly

yoyo regrets nothing

paradox!yoyo, if confronted with an alternate universe version of himself, would immediately tell them to kill themself

yoyo would honestly probably be a lot less fucked in the head once he's PAST THE DIRE AGE OF SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

yoyo has like one of those bootleg-ass 52-in-one fake game consoles. bastion of his childhood

yoyo often gets mistaken for being younger than he is and this is something he actively weaponizes

yoyo makes up a new backstory every time you ask where he's from

yoyo accepted at the tender age of 12 that he does not have a future and so he should just fuck around as much as possible since hes like doomed anyway

yoyo's hoodie is actually embroidered, which he did himself by hand

yoyo has a lot of really strong feelings about art in all its myriad of forms but good luck getting him to talk about it genuinely instead of saying some dumb bullshit

yoyo made a lot of jokes about himself being super suspicious and Totally Not A Rival Gang Spy Who's Gonna Betray The GGs when he joined because he thought it was funny. the only reason he was allowed to be in the gang at all despite this is because he made such a poor showing trying to prove himself to corn gum and roboy that they were internally like "if we turn him away i think he's going to straight up die out there."

[ciaossu-imagines]

heyy girl, welcome back!! can i ask for the ‘give me six characters meme’ with our fave abc boys?? -shoheiakagi

Thank you so much for the welcome back! That and your reblogs and tags sure made me smile and yes!! Yes you sure can! I love doing these, they really are quick and easy and fun.

The character I would push off a cliff

It's not that I hate him, because I genuinely don't. Sometimes he makes me laugh and I enjoy him in theory but given that I've just gotten royally screwed by a man who turned out to be the biggest narcissistic, philandering fuckboi (but don't worry, my lovelies, he assured me he was only forced to cheat with six other women and to treat me like shit while doing so because I made him do it, I forced his hand, so I've learned I have the superpower of making men's penises go into other people and I plan to use this power for pure chaotic evil, as is the right choice)...so yeah, current biases against men say I'm pushing Chitose off that cliff at a fucking barreling run because he reminds me A LOT of my ex.

The character I would kiss

I think I've mentioned this in prior headcanons but Shouhei's a good kisser. Making out and just enjoying that is something he loves - I mean, he's definitely all in if it leads to other things but he's even pretty content with a good old-fashioned hot and heavy make-out session so my answer is definitely going to be kissing Shouhei!

The character I would marry

Honestly, this is going to surprise, if not shock every single one of my K readers because none of ya'll expecting this one. I know myself enough to know that the best answer for me for marriage with one of the beautiful alphabet boys is actually Fujishima. He'd let me have all the pets I wanted, he's laid back and empathic enough to deal with my trauma, my mood swings, and my mental illnesses, without them driving him to a breaking point like they realistically would some of my other favourites, and he's steady and stable and relatively unchangeable enough to make me feel safe and secure and valued. Plus, like all the alphabet boys, man is damn fine.

The character I would set on fire

I'm going to say Dewa but only because I think he's the only one of these fuckers to remember the stop, drop and roll rule. He can keep a calm head and is the smartest out of them, all things considered.

The character I would wrap a blanket around

ERIC. Eric all the way, 1000% percent because everything about him makes me want to take care of him in every single way I can and to make sure he's eating well, that he's taking care of himself, and that he's happy.

The character I would be roommates with

Okay, but while I think me and Bandou would occasionally fight as roommates, I also think I'd like being his roommate. You'd have good wifi for sure because that matters to him, he can help me whenever my computer fucks up, he'd be cool and wouldn't make fun of all my fandom love and nerdy interests, and I think he'd actually appreciate my contributions as a roommate, like cleaning and cooking and keeping things nice so he'd forgive some of my worse habits, like late night insomnia pacing.

[omegawizardposting]

It's wild to me that there are cis gay men out there who base their entire identities on not wanting to fuck trans men.

Like, we also do not want to fuck you. Most trans folk are T4T anyway, but even those of us who aren't don't want to fuck you.

Would you want to fuck a homophobe? Would you want to fuck someone who views your very existence as degenerate? Would you want to fuck someone who has zero respect for your identity or lived experiences? Would you want to fuck someone who chats shit behind your back about how you aren't a real man or how you're actually just mentally ill?

No?

Then why do you think we want to fuck you? You've made it very clear that you despise us. You've explicitly sided with people who not only want to strip us of our rights as human beings, but who regularly partner up with conservatives to do so. You are the least sexy people imaginable to us.

No one, I mean no one, is forcing you to fuck trans men. You can say no. You can turn us down if we ask. You can go and find another guy to talk to at the gay bar, and we'll go and find another guy too. Believe it or not, there are men in this world who do want to be with us, and we'd much rather talk to them than to you.

Our lives do not revolve around you. You are not the end all be all. You are just some guy. We aren't going to bed at night gnashing our teeth because you turned us down. We might if you call us a slur and tell us we aren't men, but if you simply decline and move on with your life, you will be forgotten in an hour tops. You are a complete stranger. You mean nothing to us, and that's how it should be. That's normal.

There are plenty of cis gay men out there for you to fuck, so go fuck them and leave us and our partners alone. We are also just some guys. Us living our lives only bothers you if you want it to. You've made the choice to obsess over strangers' genitals. You can very easily unmake that choice.

[hellisfineactually]

10/17/22

My brain hurts from overthinking so much. I've been looking back into my old entries and trying to make sense of things. I'm glad I didn't document much from college, honestly I don't want to remember my undergrad. I want to fully distance myself from it. The more I see them celebrate the pain that marginalized peoples feel, the more guilt I get about going there in the first place. I wish I could take it back, honestly. If I could go back and transfer after freshman year, I might. Part of me feels like I should be thankful because I turned out better on the other side. But I don't know if it was worth it. I spent so much time manipulated that everyone was like this and this was the best it got. Now that I'm out, I can firmly say it. The way that Jesus College treats marginalized students is NOT NORMAL. It's not normal to tell your students who are suffering from a physical disability that they will fail grad school if they don't magically heal. It is not normal to tell your queer students that they can't be upset about Matt Walsh visiting campus, because "other people have different opinions than you and they deserve respect just like you." ITS NOT NORMAL! And on that note, I will do no such thing. I will not respect anyone who can look me in the eyes and tell me that I deserve eternal torture because I don't believe, to a T, the same thing that they believe. I won't lie to myself like that. I don't respect it. I'd be a hypocrite if I stated that racism is a mental illness because they have this idea that they are somehow above another person who is below them, but religion does the exact same thing. If you don't belong to our group and believe the thing we do, just the same way we do, you deserve eternal torture. How fucked up is that? 

I'm tired of blowing out prayer after prayer and getting crickets in response. I've heard people say that God told them x y or z, but I've never heard a thing. Apparently they don't hear anything at all. It's not a booming voice. They just see something that makes them make a decision for themselves. Whether God is up there or not, I can't be part of religion anymore. It's too painful. I can't. As for high school. Did I ever have a choice, really? Growing up with my super Christian mom, how could I ever come out as non religious? Did I really feel moved by the Spirit or was I just having a panic attack? Was God ever telling me to do anything, or was it my conscience? Did I love leading worship or did I just love live music?

I know I believed in God and Jesus for most of my life. I can absolutely say that without any conviction. But, a few weeks ago, when there was a shooting threat at my store and we went into a state of emergency, I never thought about Jesus. I never said a little mental prayer, let us be okay. Nothing. When I realized that later, I surprised myself. It was... freeing. Like I had taken the control back. I can keep us safe. I can run us through the safety stuff. I had the power to do those things. I could comfort my teenage coworkers. I could keep my manager from panicking and was ready to fight if shit hit the fan. I know I'll probably go to Super Hell if I admit this, but it was freeing to not need a deity to do the things I was fully capable of doing myself. 

Is that a sin? Really? Is it a sin to be glad you were capable in a time of danger and emergency? I don't think so. I'm still trying to unlearn things, and I have a long way to go, but I feel like I've made progress. Even though I'm no longer in the cage, sometimes I feel like its bars are still around me, too faint to see but nevertheless locking me in forever.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering (Part Six)

previous chapter

Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past.

A/N: Hey... how y’all doin? Long time no see, huh? Sorry about that - hopefully this extra long update will make up for my absence. This has definitely been my favorite part thus far, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. You guys know the drill by now: SPOILERS for season 12. Also, shoutout to @zhuzhubii​ for posting the absolute best set of gifs right in time for this update - you’re the coolest.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of mental illness, kidnapping, choking

Word Count: 10.3k

           With every clack of my heels on the concrete floors, the nervous feeling in my gut grows into full blown nausea. It’s been nearly two months since I last walked these halls, but somehow it feels like a lifetime has passed. Considering everything that transpired in the last forty-eight hours, it makes sense that I feel that way.

           I hadn’t been on the team when Lindsey Vaughn first came into the picture ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t familiar. At the time, I thought nothing of the kind neighbor that I sometimes passed in the stairwell on my way to Spencer’s apartment. I mean, why would I? I had no reason to be suspicious. Our interactions never went beyond the usual pleasantries – polite smiles and the occasional greeting – and I never gave her a second thought.

           Maybe if I had, Cassie wouldn’t be dead, and Spencer’s mother wouldn’t be missing.

           I shake my head at the thought. Now isn’t the time to ruminate on what ifs. I would have plenty of time to blame myself when all of this is over. Instead of torturing myself, I focus on trying to steady my breathing as I come to a stop just before I reach the interview room of the Milburn Correctional Facility.

           I know what lies beyond that door, and I’m equal parts excited and worried. Excited, because I’d finally be able to see Spencer after two long months of daydreaming about when I’d finally hold him in my arms again. Of course, it was very possible that Spencer wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I promised to keep his mother safe, and instead of doing that, I let myself get swept up in moving in to my apartment, and now Diana was God knows where.

           I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to see me that I’d initially suggested that Emily be the one to go to the prison and get him. My idea was met with a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder.

           “I think that if it was anyone but you standing there when they open that door, it’d break his heart.”

           Her reassurances did little to assuage my nerves. I spent the entire ride here running over every possible scenario that I could imagine, scrambling to form some kind of game plan. But now that I was here, any semblance of preparedness left me the second the guard reached for the door handle.

           “You ready, ma’am?”

           Yes.

           No.

           I don’t trust my voice, so I settle on nodding my head. The door opens with a groan, rusty hinges creaking in protest, and with shaky legs and a heart that threatens to beat out of my chest, I step into the doorway.

           It’s like the world stops turning on its axis when his eyes meet mine. Those familiar pools of caramel stare back at me with such an intensity that I force myself to look away, petrified at the prospect of seeing disappointment in them. 

           I trail my eyes over his frame, drinking in every inch of him - every bruise and every scrape feeling like a dagger to my heart. My eyes linger on the bandage adorning his left arm, before trailing down to the one on his leg. Emily had warned me about happened, about Spencer injuring himself in order to secure his safety. It was smart of him - that I knew - but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t horrified. 

           His hair has gotten longer, and his curls hang limply around his face. The usually clean-shaven Spencer I once knew was a thing of the past - replaced now by a more disheveled, scruffier version.

           Clean-shaven or not, he still looks just as breathtaking as always. 

           I hesitantly raise my eyes up to his again. He’s staring at me still, mouth parted in shock. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that fills me with a tiny sliver of hope.

           “Hi, Spence,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. It’s not until I speak that I realize I’m crying, and I hastily wipe at my cheeks with my shirtsleeve.

           The dazed look in Spencer’s eyes washes away when he hears my voice and he blinks hard.

           “What… H-How are you…?” he trails off, eyes moving up and down my body.

           It feels so fucking good to hear his voice again, and I find myself unable to hold back a sob.

           “M’ here to take you home,” I choke out.

           It’s like all the tension in Spencer’s body is expelled at once and his shoulders slump in relief. I open my mouth to elaborate, to explain how Emily had managed to pull this off, but I’m stunned into silence when Spencer’s body collides with mine. I hadn’t even had time to process that he was moving before his arms snake around me, tugging me forward until there’s no space in between our bodies. Spencer’s hands collect fistfuls of my shirt, clinging desperately to the fabric as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.

           Once I get over the initial shock, I’m hugging him back, arms locked around his torso in a vicelike grip. He doesn’t smell the same – the usual fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla is long gone, replaced with that of some generic detergent – but the way his broad shoulders feel underneath my palms is something so familiar that I can’t help but smile against his chest.

           This is still my Spencer.

           Spencer lets out a shaky breath against my skin and I let out an involuntary shudder at the feeling.

           “Missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. Thought I was imagining it.” Spencer takes a shaky breath in, nuzzling further into my neck. His next words are muffled from the way his lips press against my skin, but I’m still able to make out the quiet ‘I’m sorry’.

           “You’re sorry?” I hiccup, eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief. I attempt to pull away so that I can look at him, but Spencer only tightens his grip on me. Something about it makes my chest feel incredibly warm, but I push that feeling aside for now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I should’ve done more – I should’ve visited more often. I let myself get busy, and if I’d just been more careful, then your m-mom… she wouldn’t be-”

           “Stop that,” Spencer interrupts, and this time he’s the one that pulls away. He holds me at arm’s length and those beautiful brown eyes lock with mine. “This is absolutely not your fault.”

           Spencer’s hands come up to cup either side of my face and his thumbs wipe away at the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve done so much for me – for her. I’m sorry that I took you off the list. Things were getting so bad here, and if something would have happened to you…” Spencer pauses, closing his eyes and leaning down until his forehead rests against mine. “It was never because I didn’t want to see you, I promise. And… And your letter - I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped. I’m sorry that I couldn’t write back. I didn’t know what to say. Especially not after…”

           He doesn’t elaborate, but I’m able to fill in the blanks myself. I bring my hand up and rest it on top of his.

           “S’okay, Spence. I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand.”

           Spencer hums and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

           “Time to get you out of here, Doc.” I remove his hand from my face and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go get your mom back.”

           Spencer opens his eyes and for the first time in two months I’m on the receiving end of my favorite smile in the whole world.

           I lead him from the room, never once removing my hand from his. Now that I have him back, I don’t ever want to let go.

--

           For the second time today, the clacking of my heels against the concrete floor is the only sound that can be heard. Spencer moves silently beside me, his face pulled into a somber expression as we stalk down the long corridor. His hand brushes against mine, and I long to reach out and intertwine our fingers like I had only hours before. I suppress the urge, stealing one last, poorly concealed glance at him before I settle my gaze on the door at the end of the hall.

           In the last several hours, the entire case had been flipped upside down. We’d been wrong all along – Scratch wasn’t to blame for the shit show that had transpired over the last three months. It’d been an easy enough mistake to make. After the incident with Tara’s brother, Scratch was the obvious choice. Pair that with the fact that Spencer had been drugged and we had no reason to suspect anyone else.

           Cat Adams was the last thing on everyone’s mind when Mexico happened. It’d been over a year since Spencer outsmarted her in that restaurant, and she was very much out of sight and out of mind. She was in a maximum-security prison, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have rendered her unable to carry out a scheme this convoluted.

           But apparently that meant nothing, because Cat had somehow managed to be the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, perfectly orchestrating the entire thing from her cell in solitary confinement – using Lindsey Vaugh as her metaphorical puppet on a string. We’d sorely underestimated Cat, and our arrogance had come back to bite us all in the ass.

           A guard that stands at the end of the hall opens the door for us, and I feel an intense rush of foreboding as we step into the room. The sound of the guard closing the door behind us brings a sense of finality to the situation; there is no turning back now. Either we walk out of here knowing Diana’s whereabouts, or we miss the mark completely and loose Diana in the process.

           I cast a worried look at Spencer, whose eyes are trained on the double-sided glass. The tension has returned to his shoulders, and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. There’s a sort of fiery determination in his eyes – a sort of menacing resolve that I’d never seen in him before.

           Spencer looks intimidating, and nothing like the Spencer that was led from the courtroom three months ago. I pull my eyes away in favor of looking through the glass.

           Reid had been able to see through Cat’s mind games the first time, but the Cat that sat on the other side of that door is a far cry from the one he encountered a year ago. If she’d looked cold and calculating before, she looks downright deranged now.

           “Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” I ask after a moment. “I could-”

           “No,” Spencer cuts me off. His tone is hard and definite, warning me not to argue. “I can’t ask you to do that. Emily shouldn’t have made you come in the first place.”

           “Emily told me to come with you because she knew that there was nothing she could do to make me stay.” I pause long enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Hope you enjoyed your three-month break from me, because I’m going to practically glued to your side from now on. You’ll be dying to get rid of me in a month’s time.”

           Spencer’s lips twitch, threatening to turn up into a smile.

           “I sincerely doubt that.”

           “We’ll see,” I breeze. “But I’m serious, Spence. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the whole time – I’m not letting you go in there alone, and I’m not going to leave you.”

           “Promise?” Spencer asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the window in favor of looking at me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that I worry I might buckle under it.

           I reach for his hand and hook my pinky finger around his, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level.

           “I promise.”

           Spencer’s pinky finger squeezes mine and he closes his eyes.

           “I don’t deserve you.”

           “You deserve the world, Spence.”

           For a moment I think he’s going to say something else, but then Spencer’s lips press into a tight line and he only nods in response. He releases my hand and I let it fall limply at my side. Spencer rolls his shoulders back, and that stony expression returns to his face. He reaches out and pulls open the door, and I follow closely behind him at he steps over the threshold.

           It’s as if I’m invisible; Cat doesn’t even spare me a glance when I enter the room. Her eyes, narrowed and sparkling with amusement, hone in on Spencer immediately.

           “Spencie,” she greets, smiling deviously up at him.

           “Where’s my mother?” Spencer asks, completely devoid of emotion.

           “I missed you.”

           “What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you-”

           Cat raises a hand, effectively cutting him off. She points a finger at him, and the smile that she previously wore is replaced by a grimace.

           “Now, stop. You don’t get to walk in here and hiss at me like I’m the criminal. No – we’re going to do this my way.” Cat kicks the chair that sits on the opposite side of the table and Spencer reaches out to grab it. “Have a seat.”

           Spencer complies and Cat’s smile returns.

           “How was prison? Did you like it?”

           “No.”

           Cat hums.

           “It’s not fun, is it?”

           “Unlike you, I didn’t deserve to be there,” Spencer retorts.

           Cat leans forward, crossing her arms before resting them on the metal table.

           “How did you stay sane? A brain like yours needs stimulation in such a gray place.”

           “I worked in the laundry room and I played chess.”

           “That’s three, maybe four hours, tops. What about the other twenty?”

           “I read.”

           Cat shakes her head. “That’s still not enough. You have to… go someplace.” She taps the side of her head. “Up here. Or else you go crazy. Do you want to see where I go? I’ll show you.” Cat crooks a finger at Spencer, and I tense at the gesture. The idea of that psychotic bitch getting any closer to him makes my skin crawl. I clench my fists together and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms is enough to ground me.

           Spencer leans forward, mimicking Cat’s relaxed position. She reaches a hand out towards him, and before I can think better of it, I speak up.

           “Hands off,” I warn.

           Cat halts her movements and fixes me with an irritated expression, looking me up and down distastefully before turning her attention back to Spencer.

           “Close your eyes,” she instructs him. Spencer complies. “Good. Now keep them closed. Sit back and relax. When you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months.”

           I clench my jaw at that. Something stirs in my chest – something foreign and possessive that has me bristling. I tense, watching closely as Spencer opens his eyes and smiles that beautiful smile at Cat. My stomach turns painfully at the sight.

           “Hello, Cat,” Spencer greets her, and all the contempt his tone previously held is gone – replaced with a neutrality that bordered on happiness.

           Cat lets out a pleased laugh.

           “You’re here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms out as she gestures about the room. “You’re really here.”

           “There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Spencer replies, sounding startlingly genuine.

           This is all an act, I remind myself. Spencer’s just playing a part. None of this is real.

           Cat crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

           “You’re good at this. You’re so good at this that I almost believe that you don’t want to kill me.”

           “I don’t want to kill you,” Spencer says with a shake of his head.

           “No?”

           “No.”

           Cat narrows her eyes at him.

           “What if I let your mother die?” she inquires. “Then would you kill me? Or would you just…” Cat trails of as she leans forward. “… Hurt me? Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don’t go away?”

           I swallow hard against the bile that threatens to crawl its way up my throat. Spencer might not want to kill her, but I do.

           “Is that what you want?”

           Cat shrugs her shoulders.

           “I guess I just want to know if you would – if you could.”

           Spencer gives a small shake of his head.

           “No.”

           “No?” Cat taunts, cocking her head to the side.

           “It’s not the kind of man I am.”

           Cat’s face drops and her eyes narrow into slits.

           “Do me a favor and tell your little chaperone over there to step aside, because we’re going to play another game. And this time, we’re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

           Spencer’s eyes flit to me and he nods towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes has me clamping it shut. It’s okay, his eyes seem to tell me. I know you promised, but I’ll be fine.

Cat waves at me as I reluctantly move towards the door. When the door clicks shut behind me, Spencer takes it as his invitation to continue.

           “Let’s play,” his voice sounds through the speaker to my left.

           “Let’s!” Cat exclaims before resting her head in her hand.

           “So, is it the same game as last time?” Spencer inquires. “I answer every question you ask honestly?”

           “No,” Cat sighs out. “This time you get to ask the questions.”

           Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “About what?”

           “Well, I know a secret about you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. If you guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your dear mother unharmed. If you don’t…” Cat trails off, before mimicking bringing a gun up to her mouth and firing.

           Crazy fucking bitch.

           “Is there a clock?”

           “There’s always a clock.” Cat holds out her hand, eyes flicking down to Spencer’s watch. “Give it to me.”

           I cringe when Spencer hesitates – I know what he must be thinking. That’s Gideon’s watch. The only thing he has left of him. I’d never seen Spencer without it in the two years I’ve known him.

           Spencer reluctantly slips the watch off of his wrist and hands it over.

           Cat smirks and slides the watch onto her arm.

           “Now, you’ll have four hours.”

           “Do you want to give me a hint before we start?”

           Cat chuckles. “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?”            “Actually, you do.”

           Cat takes pause, looking Spencer up and down before speaking.

           “Okay, how about this; it’s a secret you’ll never admit to.”

--

           “I know what the secret is.”

           Cat quirks an eyebrow up at Spencer.

           “You do?”

           He nods. “Why else would you put me through all this?”

           “Ooh, phrasing it in the form of a question that way it doesn’t count as a guess. Very smart, Doctor.”

           “I’m gonna walk you through a scenario, and your face is going to tell me how close I am,” Spencer murmurs, an amused smile on his lips. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was going to Mexico, you took it. You and Lindsey framed me for murder so I’d be put in a prison and treated like a criminal, and then you kidnapped my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated, because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”

           Cat feigns a yawn in response.

           “Mm. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”

           “Psychopaths tend to get bored easily.”

           “You’re right. Let’s speed this up,” Cat sighs with a roll of her eyes. She pushes away from the table, standing up and walking over to Spencer’s side of the table. I fight the urge to barge in when I see her take a seat on his lap. Cat runs a hand down Spencer’s chest before she continues. “Shall we? What do you think about all the pain you’ve suffered in your life? What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it… the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”

           I can see the way Spencer’s jaw clenches and it makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.

           “No, because we caught the man who killed him.”

           “What about Agent Morgan and your guilt over not visiting his little boy?” Cat whispers in his ear as her hands fiddle with the collar of his suit.

           “I was in prison.”

           “Yeah, but you had time before that. Why didn’t you go?” she presses as she grazes her nails down the length of his throat. I see red when her hand loosely circles around his neck. Spencer absolutely loathes being touched by anyone other than those closest to him, and I’ve no doubt that he’s horribly uncomfortable.

           “Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn’t have time. Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So, there’s absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”

           “I agree. That’s why that’s not the secret,” Cat divulges, brushing her nose against the side of his face before pulling away and standing up. I let out the breath that I’d apparently been holding and allow myself a moment to run a shaky hand through my hair. If I was getting this frazzled from being a bystander to this conversation, I can only imagine how Spencer must be feeling.

           When I look back up at the mirror, Spencer’s looking over his shoulder at me through the glass. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help but feel guilty for losing my cool.

           “Good job, Spence,” I murmur to myself as I pull out my phone. After a few rings, Rossie answers.

           “Go ahead, Y/N. You’re on speaker.”

           “Cat has an extremely deep background on Spencer. She knows about everything – Gideon’s death, Derek leaving the team, his mom’s condition,” I inform them, tapping my foot nervously against the concrete.

           “She’s throwing him off-balance.”

           “Yes, but Spencer also purposefully gave the wrong name of Derek’s son and she didn’t correct him,” I point out.

           “She must’ve gotten her hands on Reid’s confidential FBI file,” Emily chimes in. “It would mention pertinent team information but it wouldn’t name Morgan’s son for confidentiality reasons.”

           “We were thinking she’s been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that,” Rossi sighs.

           “Call us if she says anything else of any importance,” Emily signs off. I mumble a quick goodbye before pocketing my phone and turning my attention back to the window.

           “Working deductively, the secret wouldn’t be any of the topics you’ve already volunteered, because you wouldn’t want to make it easy on me,” Spencer reasons. He clasps his hands together and sits back in his seat before raising an eyebrow in challenge.

           “Genius, truly,” Cat taunts sarcastically as she twirls the watch around her finger.

           “So, what is left that I wouldn’t want to admit?” Spencer muses, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. Cat shrugs her shoulders at him and another moment of tense silence passes.

           “Love,” Spencer utters, and Cat’s incessant twirling of the watch comes to an abrupt halt.

           Got her.

           “Is that what this is all about – love? For my mother?” Spencer whispers, and when Cat fails to respond, he shakes his head. “No, not for her. For you. You want me to admit that I’m actually in love with you.”

           Cat purses her lips together.

           “Don’t get me wrong – I love my fairy tales as much as the next girl – but I’m not delusional,” Cat says as she crosses her arms.

           “Are you sure about that?”

           “Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in that little scrapbook in your apartment.”

           I scrunch my face up at that. The clue in question had been a message inscribed on the back of an old photograph;xx-xy. We’d originally deduced that the message, the female and male chromosomes, was to confirm that Lindsey was working with Scratch. But now? Now I didn’t have a clue what Cat was talking about.

           “I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is…” Cat pauses for dramatic effect, a sly smile on her lips. “… until I tested positive.” Cat punctuates her words by placing both hands on her stomach, and the action makes me raise a hand up to my mouth in shock.

           No. There’s no fucking way.

           “What, you’re pregnant?” Spencer asks, confused.

           “No, we’re pregnant.”

           I feel my knees buckle upon hearing the admission and I blindly reach for the chair to my left.

           This cannot be happening.

           “No,” Spencer says, shaking his head adamantly.

           “Oh, yes,” Cat replies. “Mazel tov.”

--

           “Here you are, ma’am.”

           I reach for the file, my movements stilted and awkward.

           “Thank you,” I mumble to the guard, who gives me a peculiar look before leaving the room. I waste no time in flipping through the file, heart pounding wildly in my chest as my eyes skim over the page until –

           Positive.

           I slam the file down on the table.

           “Fuck!” I yell out in frustration. I’m thankful then for the thick, concrete walls, because neither Spencer nor Cat show any sign of having heard my little outburst. I place both palms down on the cool metal of the table, my breaths coming out in haggard puffs as I try to rationalize it all.

           “- not possible,” Spencer’s voice coming through the speaker snaps me out of my thoughts. I cut my eyes to the window to find Spencer pacing the room. “Even if you are pregnant, the baby’s not mine.” Spencer comes to a stop behind his chair and shoves his hands in his pockets.

           “Except for the part where it is.”

           “That’s completely preposterous. You’ve been in prison,” Spencer points out as he once again takes a seat across from her.

           “So have you.”

           “And we’ve never-”

           “I know. We’ve never…” Cat trails off with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes, but he indulges her nonetheless.

           “How did you do it?”

           “I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instruction on how to get you in the mood,” Cat admits.

           “What?” Spencer snorts cynically. “Did she pretend to be you?”

           “Why, would that have worked?”

           Spencer leans forward and shoots Cat a cruel kind of smile.

           “No.”

           For a split second Cat’s face falls, but only for a moment and then she goes right back to smiling that wretched grin.

           “Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list,” Cat sighs. “So, ask me again.”

           “How did you do it?”

           “I told her to pretend to be Y/N.”

           For a second I think that I misheard her – the blood rushing in my ears almost overpowered her admission – but the way Spencer’s entire body tenses before he looks back at the window tells me that I didn’t.

           Why me?

           Spencer gulps hard before he turns back around. I find my way to the chair nearest me and collapse into it.

           “How do you know about her?”

            Cat gives him an unimpressed look.

           “It wasn’t hard, seeing as she’s your very best friend in the whole wide world,” Cat teases as her eyes wander from Spencer to the glass behind him. She waves at me, endlessly amused, before turning her attention back to Spencer. “But that isn’t all that she is to you – is it Spencie? At least, Lindsey didn’t think so. At first, she thought the two of you were tangled up in some kind of sexy little tryst. But then I had Lindsey do a little digging, and, well, that’s when we found out about the boyfriend.”

           “Stop.”

           “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” Cat trills gleefully. “Shall we call her in here to join us? I know she’s just on the other side of that glass. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about how pathetic little Spencer Reid pines after her like a school boy with a crush.” She pouts her bottom lip out in mock sadness. “There’s just something about unrequited love that really tugs at my heart strings.”

           Oh.

           For the second time since arriving here, my hand comes up to cover my mouth as I struggle to process Cat’s words. She can’t be right, can she? Spencer had never done anything that eluded to him seeing me as any more than a best friend. Perhaps she got it wrong. Lindsey saw me come and go and she just assumed it was something that it wasn’t. There was no way that Spencer -

           “I said stop.”

           The underlying plea in his voice is enough to make tears well in my eyes. If what Cat is saying is true, that means that Lindsey . . . 

           “All it took was Lindsey saying she was Y/N for you to crumble like a house of cards. You really made it too easy.”

           “You’re lying.”

           Cat chuckles. “Listen to you, you’re not even trying to deny it.”

           “It didn’t happen,” Spencer argues, voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.

           “Hey, I was thinking, if it’s a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Jr.”

           Spencer pushes back from the table so abruptly that both Cat and I flinch, and he’s almost out the door when Cat delivers one final dig.

           “-But if it’s a girl, I think we should call her Y/N. I mean after all; she played such a huge role in in her own conception!”

           The sound of the door slamming behind him as he trudges into the room is enough to make me bolt up from my seat. Spencer comes to a stop at the center of the room, eyes wide and full of remorse as he looks over at me.

           “I-I… I’m…”

           I try my best to muster up a smile but I worry that it comes out more as a grimace.

           “Later,” I murmur, and Spencer winces before nodding his head in defeat. I walk over to the table and open up the file. “She’s not lying about being pregnant.”

           Spencer joins me at the table, eyes skimming over the document.

           “She’s three months, and the timeline matches, but that doesn’t mean-”

           Spencer yanks the file off the table and hurls it at the window, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

           I take a step back and Spencer curses under his breath.

           “I’m sorry. It’s not you,” he sighs. “I just… need a minute.”

           I press my lips together and nod.

           “Take all the time you need. M’gonna go call Emily,” I murmur.

           Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head hang low.

           “Yeah, okay,” he whispers dejectedly, and the despair in his voice is enough to stop me in my tracks.

           “Spence?” I call out. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, more than a little bit timid and scared. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

            I open the door and step out of the room, but it doesn’t close before I hear the quiet ‘thank you’ drift from within.  

--

           Spencer waits until the door clicks shut behind her to push away from the table and head back into the interrogation room. He couldn’t bear the thought of her overhearing any more than she already had. As far as Spencer was concerned, Cat had just singlehandedly ruined the one good thing he had going for him, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose.

           “Let’s pretend you’re telling the truth,” Spencer starts. “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don’t want to admit to? It’s my child?”

           Cat looks up at him with bored eyes and Spencer feels his unease begin to give way to rage.

           “Is that your guess?” Cat asks. “You only get one, remember?”

           Spencer takes pause, before shaking his head.

           “No. It’s too easy,” he decides.

           “Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy,” Cat mutters, and Spencer’s lips press into a tight line. The implication of it is enough to make his skin crawl. He feels violated and absolutely disgusted, but still he tries to school his impression into one of indifference. Spencer thinks about his mom, scared and confused, and that’s enough incentive to make him focus on the task at hand.

           “You misunderstand. It’s too easy emotionally,” Spencer explains in a clipped tone as he sits down. “Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”

           “That’s rude,” Cat seethes as she slowly lifts her head from off of the table.

           “It’s true. You can’t be a mother, Cat. I’m not trying to insult you – it’s your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You’d lose interest in your own baby the way a six-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster. This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here and playing your game, guessing like a fool and assuming something that I never should have assumed in the first place.”

           “And what would that be?”

           “My mother’s already dead,” Spencer says, and the words taste positively foul in his mouth. “She was dead before I walked in here”

           Cat’s lips pull into a frown.

           “She’s not dead-”

           “Yes, she is,” Spencer reiterates as he rises from his chair.

           “No, because that would be cheating and I don’t cheat. You cheat!” Cat panics, voice growing louder the closer Spencer gets to the door.

           “I’m done playing,” Spencer says as he turns away, reaching for the door knob.

           “Get back here!”

           Spencer pulls the door open. “Goodbye, Cat.”

           He has one foot out the door when;

           “I’ll let you talk to her!” Cat yells out as she slams her fist down on the table.

           Spencer lifts his eyes up from their spot on the floor, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that his eyes meet Y/N’s. It feels to him like it always does when he sees her – like some great relief that floods through his entire body in an instant. He feels guilty for it, now that she knows, but that doesn’t stop him from basking in it. The feeling grows when a triumphant smile graces her lips, one that says you’ve got her, Spence. You’ve got her right where you want her.

           Spencer is positively rejuvenated by that smile.

           He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from her and focuses back on Cat. He’s come too far now to fuck it all up.

           Spencer pulls his phone from the depths of his suit pocket and hands it to Cat. He watches on as she dials the number, and his heart beats so fast that he wonders if she can hear it. The sound of the dial tone ringing fills the room, and Spencer can only hope that the call will be long enough for Penelope to trace.

           “You’re early,” a voice that’s unmistakably Lindsey’s calls out. Spencer lets out a shaky breath of relief.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           “Did he guess?”

           “No, not yet,” Cat sighs. “We need proof of life.”

           “All right, hold on,” Lindsey says, exasperated, and her words are followed by several seconds of muffled rustling and what Spencer deems as some sort of liquid being poured.

           “Spencer!”

           His heart practically bursts out of his chest as he lunges forward, yanking the phone out of Cat’s hand and bringing it up to his ear.

           “Mom - mom, are you okay?”

           “I don’t… know-”

           Spencer opens his mouth to reply when the gut-wrenching sound of an explosion rips through the tiny phone speakers, distorted and so loud that it makes Spencer’s ears ring.

           “Mom!” Spencer desperately yells into the phone, but all he gets in reply is a ‘gotta go’ from Lindsey before the line goes dead. Spencer growls out a string of swears, throwing his phone down on the table before leaning over the table.

           “What the hell was that?” he yells, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but he can’t focus on anything other than his own rising panic.

           “I don’t know,” Cat replies, opening her mouth to continue but Spencer cuts her off.

           “Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?” he bellows.

           “Spence, come on,” Y/N tries to interject. Spencer feels her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off before bringing his fist down on the table.

           “Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?!” Spencer snarls, eyes wide and teeth barred. He feels positively feral, images of his mother in all sorts of terrible states of distress flashing through his mind like some grotesque picture show. “Tell me the truth!”

           “No! I am!” Cat shouts back.

           “Tell me the truth!”

           “I am!” Cat spits out, eyes flashing angrily. “You wanna know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer’s-ridden moron who’s getting dumber by the day and if she’s dead, it’s your fault!”

           Something comes over Spencer then, and in an instant, he’s shoving the table out of the way and pushing Cat against the wall. His hands find purchase on her throat, not dissimilar to how hers had on his hours before, but instead of dragging his fingers against her neck, Spencer’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, taking great pleasure in the way she gasps for air as his hands tighten. Everything around him fades away until all that he can focus on is that way that her pulse feels under his hands – the way it starts off strong, before tapering, slower and slower until he can barely even palpate it anymore.

           “I’m going to kill you,” Spencer hears himself whisper as he presses down hard on her windpipe. “M’gonna fucking kill you.”

           Cat’s eyes are fluttering closed now, and Spencer shouldn’t enjoy the way the light in her eyes starts to dim. He shouldn’t but he does – in fact, it prompts him to press harder and harder and –

           A harsh yank pulls Spencer away from Cat, and as soon as his hands begin to loosen Cat splutters in an attempt to catch her breath.

           “Spencer, she is pregnant,” Y/N yells in his ear, and just like that his tunnel vison fades away and Spencer feels the adrenaline leave his body. He only realizes that his hands are still on Cat’s throat when Y/N yanks at his arms again. “Fucking let her go, Spencer!”

           His entire body goes limp and he allows himself to be drug away from Cat and out of the room. Spencer’s heart still pounds and his blood is still roaring in his ears, but the satisfaction has given away to shame. He steals a glance at cat as he’s being pulled from the room, and despite her ruffled appearance, she’s grinning at him – smiling as if to say see? I told you that you were just like me.

           Spencer stumbles into the other room, steadying himself on the wall to keep from faceplanting onto the cold hard floor. Now that the adrenaline has expelled itself from his body, he’s left shaky and panting and ashamed.

           The feeling of Y/N’s eyes on him as he braces himself on the wall only exacerbates his mortification. What will she think of me now? Will she think me to be some kind of monster? Spencer wouldn’t blame her - he’s held that same opinion of himself for months now.

           Spencer stands there, face turned downwards as he catches his breath, and when he can take the weight of her gaze no longer, he darts out of the room and down the corridor.

           Being alone is preferable to being a disappointment, Spencer thinks as he flees the room.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the floor, knees to his chest with his face downturned. Spencer hears her before he sees her, and he prepares himself for the yelling that’s surely to come.

           She surprises him when she slides her back down the wall until she’s sitting beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her. He doesn’t look up – fearful of what he might see when he looks into those beautiful eyes of hers. There had been love there, before all of this happened. Not the kind of love that was reflected in his own, but it was love just the same and Spencer thinks that it might kill him to see that love replaced with disgust. So he doesn’t look. Instead, Spencer just sits there, slumped over and pathetic, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that his hands are shaking.

           “Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim – male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume that your mom’s still alive,” Y/N murmurs. Spencer lets out a shaky breath and his grip on his knees tightens. It’s good news, and he’s grateful, but it does nothing for the overwhelming guilt that’s eating away at him.

           “Hey,” she whispers when he doesn’t reply. “Can you look at me, Spence? Wanna see those pretty brown eyes. Please?”

           Spencer chokes down the sob that threatens to come out. He shakes his head. 

           “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened in there. That… That’s not me. At least, I don’t want it to be,” Spencer whispers. “Emily should’ve sent someone else with me. I never wanted you to see me like that.”

           Her small, incredibly soft hand comes to rest on his own and Spencer closes his eyes at the feeling. Y/N flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers and Spencer can’t help but think that’s she’s showing him way more kindness than he could ever deserve. But he’s selfish, unable to deny himself of the feeling of her hand in his, so he clings onto her hand for dear life.

           “I’m so scared that this is who I am now,” Spencer mumbles, prompting her grip on his hand to tighten.

           “No, Spence. Don’t say that,” she chastises him. “You’re the best guy I know. Everyone has a breaking point – Cat just knows how to bring you to yours, is all.”

           “You… You don’t know…” Spencer trails off, still unwilling to look her in the eye.

           “I do know, Spence. I may not have been able to visit, but I asked about you every day,” she says as she shuffles closer to him. Spencer can smell her perfume now, subtle and sweet and comforting. “I know that two inmates, Frazier and Duerson, killed your friend in front of you. I know that they wanted you to move heroin for them, and I also know that if you didn’t, you would’ve been next. Anyone in your spot would’ve done the same.”

           “You wouldn’t have.”

           “Hell yes, I would have,” Y/N persists, and Spencer can’t help but to look up at her from behind where his unruly curls fall into his face. “I would have, Spence. If someone was threatening my life, you bet your ass I would have done the same thing. It doesn’t make you a bad person – doing whatever it takes to survive does not make you a bad person.”

           She must pick up on the hesitancy that lingers in Spencer’s eyes, because she decides to continue.

           “You know who does think like that? That – that in you doing what you had to do in order to survive somehow makes you a psychopath?” Y/N pauses long enough to point her thumb towards the direction of the interview room. “She does.”

           Spencer watches the realization wash over her face, and for a split second he’s terribly confused. It isn’t until a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips that he catches on, and when he does, he has to stop himself from doing something terribly stupid like kissing her.

           “She does,” Y/N reiterates when she sees that Spencer finally caught on. “Because she knows.”

           “That’s the secret,” Spencer thinks aloud. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to pace down the corridor. “The one that I don’t want to admit about myself.”

           “Hold up, Spence. Let’s talk through this, because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn’t about the two of you being the same.”

           Spencer scratches the back of his next, nodding to himself.

           “Then she’s all about the game. She thinks that I cheated the last time because I lied about her dad, so it’s integral that she beats me by following the rules.”

           “But, Spence, she’s the one that makes the rules. She can change them to ensure that she wins.”

           “-Which means that I’m locked in-”

           “Like she is.”

           “She needs me locked in, playing by her rules, a game I can’t win, so she-” Spencer pauses then, and an actual, honest to God smile creeps its way across his face – the kind of smile that was only reserved for Y/N. “I got it.”

           Spencer doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to. He can tell with one look that she understands, because somehow, she always does. Spencer offers her a hand and hoists her to her feet. 

          Spencer almost laughs as the two of them step back into the room. Of course, she would be the one to figure it out. It seems like she’s always saving him, these days.

--

           “Guess that’s one way to get you to put your hands on me.”

           Spencer feels a twinge of guilt, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he holds a hand out to Cat.

           “Dance with me.”

           Cat lifts an eyebrow at him.

           “Why?”

           “Because I don’t want the people watching to hear what I’m about to say.”

           Cat is still suspicious, but she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet anyways. Spencer puts his arms around her and the two of them begin to sway back and forth. Spencer suppresses the urge to pull away when her hand lowers and intertwines with his own. It’s rough and calloused and cold – a direct contradiction of Y/N’s – and Spencer positively loathes it.

           “You had eyes on me while I was in prison, didn’t you?”

           “Spencie, don’t ruin the moment,” Cat groans.

           “I don’t want to, but I’m on the clock. Answer my question, am I right?”            Cat places her head on Spencer’s chest, her hair smelling of some generic bar of soap, and Spencer wishes more than anything that he was smelling the familiar notes of honeysuckle and vanilla instead.

           “Yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you as they were for me.”

           “That’s how you timed everything so perfectly. Like sending my mom and Lindsey to visit me when I thought I was at my lowest.”

           This piques Cat’s interest and she lifts her head up until her eyes meet Spencer’s.

           “Thought? You’re sure you weren’t?”

           “No, I wasn’t. Because I didn’t feel bad – I felt scared at how much I enjoyed poisoning the other prisoners. I had a hundred ways of getting myself out of that situation, and I picked the one that would cause them the most pain.”

           “Well, look at that,” Cat hums. “You might end up saving your mother’s life after all.”

           A moment of silence passes as Spencer contemplates his next move. Before he can get the words out, Cat breaks the silence.

           “They won’t get there in time. They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but you know me. I always have a contingency plan,” Cat murmurs, hands dipping under Reid’s suit jacket. She rubs her palms across his chest in slow circles and Spencer tries hard not to squirm. “They’re walking into a trap, and the only way out is if you give me your phone and you guess – right now.”

           Cat removes her hands from Spencer’s chest, crossing her arms and fixing him with a pointed look. Spencer reaches down and pulls the phone from his pocket, passing it to Cat who wastes no time in taking a seat at the table once more.

           Spencer’s skin tingles, half from anticipation, half from fear. They’ve come too far for him to misstep. He thinks of his mother – of how the next two minutes will determine her fate, and Spencer clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

           Here comes the moment of truth.

           “When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”

           “Every time I dial a number, you’re getting warmer.”

           “At first, I was furious, because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew I liked hurting those men.” Cat dials another number, prompting Spencer to continue. “Now, I know it’s both things.”

           “So, which is it, Spencie? Come on, don’t fumble it now. You’re at the one-yard line.”

           “You’re not pregnant with my child. You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine – I wish it were mine. Because you and I… we deserve each other. That is the real secret.”

           By the time Spencer finishes speaking, tears are steady falling down Cat’s cheeks. With a shaky hand she presses the call button, and Spencer watches on with bated breath as the phone rings.

           “Kill her.”

          When Cat receives no reply, she pushes out of her seat and begins to pace around the room. “Lindsey, I said kill her.”

           “You bitch,” Lindsey curses, sounding positively heartbroken in the way only a jilted loved could. “You’re pregnant?”

            “Lindsey, sweetheart, it’s complicated, okay?”

           “No, it’s not,” Lindsey whispers, and then the sound of the dial tone is all that’s left.

           Not a second later, Y/N bursts through the door; the figurative light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

           “We’re clear.”

           Spencer snatches his phone from Cat’s hand before turning to face Y/N.

           “Is my mom okay?”

           “Yeah. She’s fine.”

           “We do deserve each other, by the way,” Cat calls out, prompting Spencer to pivot and face her. She slides back into the seat and shrugs her shoulders. “You guessed right.”

           Spencer falters for a moment, but then a voice in his head is reminding him that he deserves the world. And that voice sounds a lot like Y/N.

           “You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”

          “Yeah, I think you really liked hurting those men. Once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back. And you’ll never get her to love you, either. You and I are too fucked up to be loved.”

           Spencer takes two steps forward before he bends down, reaching out and clutching Cat’s forearm in a tight grip. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his watch off her wrist and back on to his own.

           “Watch me,” Spencer whispers, and without so much as a parting glance at the broken women sitting at the table, Spencer walks towards the light.

--

           The elevator ride up to the bullpen is a quiet one, not unlike the jet ride before it. I had about a million questions that I was dying to ask, but I thought it best to let Spencer stew in silence. The poor guy had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours – he didn’t need me hounding him on top of all of that. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start in the first place.

           So, Spence – how was prison?

           I heard you got the shit kicked out of you. How interesting, so did I! Wanna trade war stories?

           I hate to put you on the spot like this, but was that little tidbit about you being hopelessly in love with me true? Just curious.

           As wonderful as all of those conversation starters were, I didn’t really think that now was the time to breech any of the aforementioned subjects. So, instead, Spencer and I communicated in stolen glances and shy smiles, and that more than sufficed for the time being. We had all the time in the world to talk later - there was no need to rush.

           I can practically feel Spencer shaking with anticipation when the elevator ride comes to a close, and the two of us share one last, longing glance before the doors open and Spencer steps out and into the arms of his mother.

           There’s not a dry eye in the house when Spencer and his mother reunite, and it takes Emily ushering us all away to keep us all from devolving into sniveling messes right in front of the elevator. We all scatter about the bullpen, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I meander to Emily’s office.

           “Derek Morgan – you are a sight for sore eyes,” I whistle as I walk into the room, not stopping until I’m pressed up against two-hundred pounds of rock-hard abs.

           “Ah, little bit. I sure have missed you,” Derek laughs as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure? I’d be hard pressed to believe that you just decided to drop in at three o’clock in the morning.”

           Derek lets out a sigh and the smile drops from his face.

           “I wish I was just here to say hello, but we may have bigger problems. I got a text from Penelope saying that Reid was out of prison and that he wanted to see me. And that he was staying in an FBI safehouse where he was putting his mother up for the night.”

           I cast a glance at Emily, who shakes her head.

           “I didn’t approve of that,” she explains, and just like that, a weary feeling settles over everyone in the room.

           “I think we all know what this sounds like,” Derek says.

           “A trap.”

--

           “I know we’re all tired, but we may have a new lead on Scratch.”

           “Somebody did a bang-up job of cloning my cellphone to send Morgan a text luring him to a nonexistent safehouse. And whoever that somebody is has mad skills,” Penelope explains.

           “The kind of skills Scratch has,” Stephen mutters, earning a round of murmured agreeances.

           “Were you able to trace where the hack came from?” Luke inquires, earning an affronted glare from Penelope. She shakes her head at him before turning to Derek, who’s watching on with a shit-eating grin on his face.

           “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

           Derek chuckles and gives Luke a pointed look.

           “Alvez, you’ll always get a location with this one.” Derek reaches forward and rubs Penelope’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to miss the way Luke’s eyes zero in on it.

           “Down boy,” I whisper at him. “Green isn’t your color.”

           “Shut up.”

           I roll my eyes good-naturedly before turning my attention back to Emily.

           “Obviously, Morgan can’t come with us. He’s a civilian now.”

           “We’ll miss you out there,” JJ chimes in.

           “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it out there in the field with you guys. I think about it every day. But between my old friends and my new friends, you guys are gonna go out there, you’re gonna handle your business, you’re gonna make people feel safe, and then you’re gonna go home. And that’s all that matters.”

           “Civilian life has turned you into a sap,” I tease.

           “Is it just me, or has this one gotten mouthier since I left?”

           Penelope pats him on the arm.

           “Someone had to fill the silence.”

           After everyone has the opportunity to tell Derek their goodbyes, it’s a mad dash to get everything we need to roll out. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shuck off my blazer, only to replace it with my Kevlar. I’m in the middle of securing the last strap as I hurry down the hall when I come in harsh contact with the front of someone’s chest.

           But it’s not just someone – it’s Spencer.

           “I thought you left already?”

           Spencer lets out a strained chuckle.

           “Uh, yeah. I was on the way out when Penelope texted and said Derek was here. Mom’s sitting with Anderson while I go talk to him.”

           I nod in understanding.

           “Good ole Anderson,” I manage to say, trying hard not to cringe at my awkward choice of words.

           “Yeah,” Spencer mutters, shuffling his feet as he looks anywhere other than my face. “There’s a case, I’m assuming?” he says, gesturing to my vest.

           “We think we have a lead on Scratch, actually.”

           Now, that gets Spencer’s attention. His eyes finally settle on me, and his brows furrow.

           “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I need to go with you-” Spencer makes a move to brush past me, put I stop him with a hand on his chest.

           “Back it up, Spence. There’s absolutely no way Prentiss will sign off on that, and even if she did, I’m still saying no.”

           “And I’m supposed to listen to you?” Spencer tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch as he fights back a smile.

           “Mm. What I say goes, and I say that you need to go home and not even think about work for at least a month. You certainly could use the break.”

           “A whole month, huh?”

           I nod, looking up at him with a faux serious expression.

           “I better not see you around here for at least that long, or there will be repercussions.”

           Spencer finally does smile at that, and I can practically see the way he’s mulling over his next move in his head.

           “Does… Does that prohibition extend only to the work place?”

           I tilt my head to the side.

           “I’m lost.”

           Spencer scrunches his nose up and his eyes dart across the hall before eventually settling back on me.

           “It’s just that, well, I don’t really know where this leaves us. Will I still see you outside of work, or is that all messed up now?”

           “Why would that be messed up?”

           Spencer closes his eyes and he lets out a haggard breath.

           “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

           Even though he can’t see me, I smile up at him anyways.

           “On any other day I absolutely would, but things are a little… hectic right now. How about we put a pin in this conversation until things slow down a bit?”

           Spencer slowly opens his eyes and they roam over my face, searching.

           “You’re not uncomfortable? Considering everything that, uh, she said about me? Especially the part that pertained to you?” Spencer asks, meek and unsure.

           I shake my head.

           “I think you’ll find that I am very much the opposite of uncomfortable,” I reply. We stand there for a moment longer, just basking in the fact that after three long, miserable months, we’re finally together again.

           Spencer opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Emily calling my name from further down the hall.

           “Duty calls,” I chuckle, pulling away from Spencer. “Tell you mom I said hi, and I’ll be by to visit once you have time to get settled in,” I call over my shoulder.

           I make it a good ten feet down the hall before Spencer’s tugging at my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. He hesitates for a moment, and a flash of uncertainty clouds his eyes, but then he’s pushing it down and pressing his lips to mine.

           Spencer’s lips are slightly chapped, but so, so warm as they move against mine. My response is instantaneous – I don’t hesitate for a second before I’m kissing back. The kiss is slow and tentative, as gentle and tender as it is intoxicating. It’s everything that a kiss should be and it ignites a fire in me that has me grasping at Spencer’s shirt, desperate for more. The hand that isn’t cupping the side of my face presses firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward until absolutely no space is left between us.

           Every drag of his lips against mine acts as gasoline to a flame, and I can’t help but think that Ray Bradbury said it best. It is a pleasure to burn.

           I’m the first to pull away, but it isn’t because I want to. What I want is to stay just like this – entangled in Spencer Reid – until not an inch of our bodies lay unexplored by the other. But when Emily calls out my name yet again, I force myself to stop.

           “I really need to go,” I murmur regretfully, and Spencer nods.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           But that doesn’t stop him from going in for one last, delicious kiss. This time when we break away, it’s his doing. I don’t have the self restraint to pull away twice.

           “Pinky promise you’ll come back to me in one piece?” Spencer says as he lifts his pinky finger up in offering. I link mine with his, and I smile a dopey grin at him.

           “Of course, I will,” I reply. “After all, you and I are due for one hell of a conversation.”

           I shoot him a wink before I’m running down the hall and slipping into the elevator just before the doors close. My teammates all shoot me curious looks, but I pretend like I don’t see and I lean against the wall, trying and failing to slow the rapid beating of my heart.

           It’s Stephen who approaches me when we all file out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

           “Spencer Reid wouldn’t have anything to do with that love-sick look on your face, would he?”

           I attempt to school my expression, but one pointed look from Stephen has me devolving into a fit of giggles like I’m a goddamn school girl.

           “Possibly.”

           “Possibly my ass. When we get done with this case, I expect a full explanation,” Stephen chuckles as he climbs in the back of the SUV.

           “You gossip like a teenager, Walker,” I tease as I climb in after him.

           “What can I say? You kids keep me young.”

           I let out a loud laugh at that.

           “Best shrink a girl could ask for.”

-

-

-

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

           - Unknown

taglist: @90spumkin, @wave0fg00dvibes, @bartlebyreid, @goldenxreid , @crubbycrab, @djreid , @waywardswain, @anotherr-fine-mess , @shadyladyperfection , @memoriesfornobody , @fakeauthor , @easygoingtheatre , @haylaansmi , @criminal-minds-reider , @leavesofgrass-stark​ , @anitazut​, @reidspurplescarf​ , @xoprincessmel, @pinkdiamond1016​, @eldahae​, @itsametaphorbriansblog​, @ziggystardustxo​

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 4

-attachment, orphanages, and yet more child psych: time to add yet another voice to the void-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

I'm going to be super biased, because my favorite portrayal of Tom Riddle is actually Hero Fiennes-Tiffin as eleven-year-old Tom Riddle, in HBP and I get to chat about child psych in this one, sooo here we go.

First of all, I’m just so impressed that a kid could bring that much depth to such a complex character.

This is the portrayal, I feel, that brings us closest to Tom’s character. Yes, Coulson’s brought us pretty close, but by fifth year, the mask was on.

We don't really get to see Tom looking afraid very often, but it's fear that rules his life, so it's really poignant in our first (chronologically) introduction, he looks absolutely terrified.

The void being the fandom's loud opinions on a certain headmaster. I wouldn't call myself pro-Dumbledore, but I'm certainly not anti-Dumbledore, either. (Agnostic-Dumbledore??)

Since I'm not of the anti-Dumbledore persuasion, I decided to poke around in the tags and see what the arguments were, so I don't make comments out of ignorance.

Most of the tag seems to be more directed towards his treatment of Harry and Sirius, but a few people mentioned that Dumbledore should have treated Tom with ‘exceptional kindness’ and tried to ‘rehabilitate’ him.

As I said in Parts 2 and 3, I am 100% in favor of helping a traumatized kid learn to cope, and I don’t think Tom Riddle was solidly on the Path to Evil (TM) at birth, or even at eleven. Not even at fifteen.

Could unconditional love and kindness have helped Tom Riddle enough for the rise of Lord Voldemort to never happen? Possibly, but...

Yes, I'm about to drag up that Carl Jung quote, again.

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

The problem with this is that if you’re going to blame Dumbledore for this, you also have to blame every other adult in Tom’s life: his headmaster, Dippet, his Head of House, Slughorn, his ‘caretakers’ at the orphanage, Mrs. Cole and Martha, and possibly more. In fact, if we're going to blame any adult, let's blame Merope for r*ping and abusing Tom Riddle Senior, and having a kid she wasn't intending to take care of.

Furthermore, you cannot possibly hold anyone but Tom accountable for the murders he committed. (I should not have to sit here and explain why cold-blooded murder is wrong.) And if you like Tom Riddle's character, insinuating that his actions are completely at the whim of others is just a bit condescending towards him. He's not an automaton or a marionette, he's a very intelligent human being with a functioning brain, and at sixteen is fully capable of moral reasoning and critical analysis.

I've heard the theories about Dumbledore setting the Potters up to die, and I'm not going to discuss their validity right now; but he didn't put a wand in Tom's hand and force him to kill anyone. Tom did it all of his own accord.

And while yes, I have enormous sympathy for what happened to Tom as a child, at some point, he decided to murder Myrtle Warren, and that is where I lose my sympathy. Experiencing trauma does not give you the right to inflict harm on others. Yes, Tom was failed, but then, he spectacularly failed himself.

We also have no idea how Dumbledore treated Tom as a student.

In the movies, it’s Dumbledore who tells Tom he has to go back to the orphanage, but in the books, it’s Dippet. We know that Slughorn spent a lot of time around Tom at Slug Club and such, yet I don’t really see people clamoring for his head.

I regard the sentiment that Dumbledore turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort with a lot of skepticism.

But let's hear from the character himself -- his impression of eleven-year-old Tom Riddle.

“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his."

Now, assuming that Dumbledore's telling the truth, I'm not seeing something glaringly wrong with this. No, he hasn't pigeonholed Tom as evil, yes, I'd be intrigued, too, and it's a very good idea to keep an eye on Tom, for his own sake.

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school."

Again, it seems like he's at least somewhat sympathetic towards Tom, and is willing to at least give him a chance.

More evidence (again, assuming Dumbledore is a reliable narrator):

Harry: “Didn’t you tell them [the other professors], sir, what he’d been like when you met him at the orphanage?” Dumbledore: “No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance.”

Now, I think Dumbledore is pretty awful with kids, but I don't think that's malicious. Yeah, it's a flaw, but perfect people don't exist, and perfect characters are dead boring. I am not saying that he definitely handled Tom's case well, I'm just saying that there's little evidence that Dumbledore, however shaken and scandalized, wrote him off as 'evil snake boy.'

It's also worth taking into account that it's 1938, and the attitudes towards mental health back then.

Why is Tom looking at Dumbledore like that, anyway? Why is he so scared? What has he possibly been threatened with or heard whispers of?

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course -- well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!

Tom keeps insisting he's not mad until Dumbledore finally manages to calm him down.

I'm really upset this wasn't in the movie, because it's important context. Instead we got these throwaway cutscenes of some knick-knacks relating to the Cave he's got lying around, but I just would have preferred to see him freaking out like he does in the book.

There was extreme stigma and prejudice towards mental illness.

'Lunatic asylums,' as they were called in Tom's time, were terrible places. In the 1930s and 40s, he could look forward to being 'treated' with induced convulsions, via metrazol, insulin, electroshock, and malaria injections. And if he stuck around long enough, he could even look forward to a lobotomy!

So, if you think Dumbledore was judgmental towards Tom, imagine how flat-out prejudiced whatever doctors or 'experts' Mrs. Cole might have gotten in to 'look at him' must have been!

Moving on to the next few shots, he is sitting down and hunched over as if expecting punishment or at least some kind of bad news, Dumbledore is mostly out of the frame. He’s trapped visually, by Dumbledore on one side, and a wall on the other, because he’s still very much afraid. uncomfortable, as he tells Dumbledore a secret that he fears could get him committed to an asylum (which were fucking horrible places, as I said).

It brings to the scene that miserable sense of isolation and loneliness to that has defined Tom’s entire life up to that point (and, partially due to his own bad choices, continues to define it).

And, when Dumbledore accepts it, his posture changes. he becomes more confident and more at ease, as he describes the... utilities of his magical abilities. 

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

I do think Harry, our narrator, is being a tad bit judgmental here. Magic is probably the only thing that brings Tom happiness in his grey, lonely world, and when I was Tom's age and being bullied, if I had magic powers, you'd better believe that I'd (a) be bloody ecstatic about it (b) use them. And, like Tom, I can't honestly say that I can't imagine getting a bit carried-away with it. Unfortunately, we can't all be as inherently good and kindhearted as Harry.

Reading HBP again, as a 'mature' person, it almost seems like the reader is being prompted to see Tom as evil just because he's got 'weird' facial expressions.

So... uh...

Nope, let's judge Tom on his actions, not looks of 'wild happiness.'

To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Okay, one thing I dislike is Tom's lack of emotional affect when Dumbledore burned the wardrobe, in the books, he jumped up and started screaming, instead of looking passively (in shock, perhaps?) at the fire. Incidentally, I can't really tell if he's impressed or in shock, to be honest. I think they really tried to make Tom 'creepier' in the movie.

This is one of the incidents where Dumbledore's inability to deal with children crops up.

I think he was trying to teach Tom that magic can be dangerous, and he wouldn't like it to be used against him, but burning the wardrobe that contains everything he owns was a terrible move on Dumbledore's part. Tom already has very limited trust in other people, and now, he's not going to trust Dumbledore at all -- now, he's put Tom on the defensive/offensive for the rest of their interaction, and perhaps for the rest of their teacher-student relationship.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

But I'm not surprised Tom is 'greedy.' He's grown up in an environment where if he wants something, whether that's affection, food, money, toys, he's got to take it. There's no one looking after his needs specifically. I'm not surprised that he's a thief and a hoarder, and I don't think that counts as a moral failing necessarily, and more of a maladaptive way of seeking comfort. It would be bizarre if he came out of Wool's Orphanage a complete saint.

Additionally, I think given that the Gaunt family has a history of 'mental instability,' Tom is a sensitive child, and the trauma of growing up institutionalized and possibly being treated badly due to his magical abilities or personality disorder deeply affected him.

And there are points where it seems that Dumbledore is quick to judge Tom.

"He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control."

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless?..."

And while this is all empirically true, these are (a) a product of Tom's harsh environment, and (b) do not necessarily make him evil. But the point remains that child psych didn't exist as a field of its own, and psychology as a proper science was in its infancy, so I'd be shocked if Dumbledore was insightful about Tom's situation.

But I've gone a ton of paragraphs without citing anything, so I've got to rectify that.

Let's talk about Harry Harlow's monkey experiments in the 1950-70s.

If you're not a fan of animal research, since I know some people are uncomfortable with it, feel free to scroll past.

Here's the TL;DR: Children need to be hugged and shown affection too, not just fed and clothed, please don't leave babies to 'cry out' and ignore their needs because it's backwards and fucking inhumane. HUG AND COMFORT AND CODDLE CHILDREN AND SPOIL THEM WITH AFFECTION!

I will put more red writing when the section is over.

This is still an interesting experiment to have in mind while we explore the whole 'no one taught Tom Riddle how to love' thing and whether or not it's actually a good argument.

Andddd let's go all the way back to the initial 1958 experiment, featured in Harlow's paper, the Nature of Love. (If you're familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, him and Harlow actually collaborated for a time).

To give you an idea of our starting point, until Harlow's experiment, which happened twenty years after Dumbledore meets Tom for the first time, no one in science had really been interested in studying love and affection.

"Psychologists, at least psychologists who write textbooks, not only show no interest in the origin and development of love or affection, but they seem to be unaware of its very existence."

I'm going to link some videos of Harry Harlow showing the actual experiment, which animal rights activists would probably consider 'horrifying.' It's nothing gory or anything, but if you are particularly soft-hearted (and I do not mean that as an insult), be warned. It's mostly just baby monkeys being very upset and Harlow discussing it in a callous manner. Yes, today it would be considered unethical, but it's still incredibly important work and if you think you can handle it, I would recommend watching at least the first one to get an idea of how dramatic this effect is.

Dependency when frightened

The full experiment

The TL;DW:

This experiment was conducted with rhesus macaques; they're still used in psychology/neuroscience research when you want very human-like subjects, because they are very intelligent (unnervingly so, actually). I'd say that adult ones remind me of a three-year old child.

Harlow separated newborn monkeys from their mothers, and cared for their physical needs. They had ample nutrition, bedding, warmth, et cetera. However, the researchers noticed that the monkeys:

(a) were absolutely miserable. And not just that, but although all their physical needs were taken care of, they weren't surviving well past the first few days of life. (This has also been documented in human babies, and it's called failure to thrive and I'll talk about it a bit later).

(b) showed a strong attachment to the gauze pads used to cover the floor, and decided to investigate.

So, they decided to provide a surrogate 'mother.' Two, actually. Mother #1 was basically a heated fuzzy doll that was nice for the monkeys to cuddle with. Mother #2 was the same, but not fuzzy and made of wire. Both provided milk. The result? The monkeys spent all their time cuddling and feeding from the fuzzy 'mother.' Perhaps not surprising.

What Harlow decided next, is that one of the hallmarks being attached to your caregiver is seeking hugs and reassurance from them when frightened. So, when the monkeys were presented with something scary, they'd go straight to the cloth mother and ignore the wire one. Not only that, but when placed in an unfamiliar environment, if the cloth mother was present, the monkeys would be much calmer.

In a follow-up experiment, Harlow decided to see if there was some sort of sensitive period by introducing both 'mothers' to monkeys who had been raised in isolation for 250 days. Guess what?

The initial reaction of the monkeys to the alterations was one of extreme disturbance. All the infants screamed violently and made repeated attempts to escape the cage whenever the door was opened. They kept a maximum distance from the mother surrogates and exhibited a considerable amount of rocking and crouching behavior, indicative of emotionality.

Yikes. So, at first Harlow thought that they'd passed some kind of sensitive period for socialization. But after a day or two they calmed down and started chilling out with the cloth mother like the other monkeys did. But here's a weird thing:

That the control monkeys develop affection or love for the cloth mother when she is introduced into the cage at 250 days of age cannot be questioned. There is every reason to believe, however, that this interval of delay depresses the intensity of the affectional response below that of the infant monkeys that were surrogate-mothered from birth onward

All these things... attachment, affection, love, seeking comfort ... are mostly learned behaviours.

Over.

Orphanages, institutionalized childcare, and why affection is a need, not an extra.

His face is lit the exact same was as Coulson’s was in COS (half-light, half-dark), and I said I was going to talk about this in Part 3. I think perhaps it's intended to make Fiennes-Tiffin look more evil or menacing, but I'm going to quite deliberately misinterpret it.

Now, for some context, Dumbledore has just (kind of) burned his wardrobe, ratted out his stealing habit, and (in the books only, they really took a pair of scissors to this scene) told him he needs to go apologize and return everything and Dumbledore will know if he doesn't, and, well, Tom's not exactly a happy bugger about it.

But interestingly, in the books, this is when we start to see Tom's 'persona,' aka his mask, start to come into play. Whereas before, he was screaming, howling, and generally freaking out, here, he starts to hide his emotions -- in essence, obscure his true self under a shadow. So this scene is really the reverse of Coulson's in COS.

And perhaps I'm reading wayyy too much into this, but I can't help but notice that Coulson's hair is parted opposite to Fiennes-Tiffin's, and the opposite sides of their faces are shadowed, too.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

Here's an article from The Atlantic on Romanian orphanages in the 1980s, when the dictator, Ceausescu, basically forced people to have as many children as possible and funnel them into institutionalized 'childcare', and it's absolutely heartbreaking.

There's not a whole lot of information out there on British orphanages in the 30s' and 40s', but given that people back then thought you just had to keep children on a strict schedule and feed them, it wouldn't have a whole lot better.

The only thing I've found is this, and it's not super promising.

The most important study informing the criteria for contemporary nosologies, was a study by Barbara Tizard and her colleagues of young children being raised in residential nurseries in London (Tizard, 1977). These nurseries had lower child to caregiver ratios than many previous studies of institutionalized children. Also, the children were raised in mixed aged groups and had adequate books and toys available. Nevertheless, caregivers were explicitly discouraged from forming attachments to the children in their care.

Here's a fairly recent paper that I think gives a good summary: Link

Here, they describe the responses to the Strange Situation test (which tests a child's attachment to their caregiver).

We found that 100% of the community sample received a score of “5,” indicating fully formed attachments, whereas only 3% of the infants living in institutions demonstrated fully formed attachments. The remaining 97% showed absent, incomplete, or odd and abnormal attachment behaviors.

Bowlby and Ainsworth, who did the initial study, thought that children would always attach to their caregivers, regardless of neglect or abuse. But some infants don't attach (discussed along with RAD in Part 2).

Here's a really good review paper on attachment disorders in currently or formerly institutionalized children : Link

Core features of RAD in young children include the absence of focused attachment behaviors directed towards a preferred caregiver, failure to seek and respond to comforting when distressed, reduced social and emotional reciprocity, and disturbances of emotion regulation, including reduced positive affect and unexplained fearfulness or irritability.

Which all sounds a lot like Tom in this scene. The paper also discusses neurological effects, like atypical EEG power distribution (aka brain waves), which can correlate with 'indiscriminate' behavior and poor inhibitory control; which makes sense for a kid who, oh, I don't know, hung another kid's rabbit because they were angry.

Furthermore...

...those children with more prolonged institutional rearing showed reduced amygdala discrimination and more indiscriminate behavior.

This again, makes a ton of sense for Tom's psychological profile, because the amygdala (which is part of the limbic system, which regulates emotions) plays a major role in fear, anger, anxiety, and aggression, especially with respect to learning, motivation and memory.

So, I agree completely that Tom needed a lot of help, especially given the fact that he spent eleven years in an orphanage (longer than the Bucharest study I was referring to), and Dumbledore wasn't exactly understanding of his situation, and probably didn't realise what a dramatic effect the orphanage had on Tom, and given the way he talks to Tom, probably treated him as if he were a kid who grew up in a healthy environment.

In case you are still unconvinced that hugging is that important, there's a famous 1944 study conducted on 40 newborn human infants to see what would happen if their physical needs (fed, bathed, diapers changed) were provided for with no affection. The study had to be stopped because half the babies died after four months. Affection leads to the production of hormones and boosts the immune system, which increases survival, and that is why we hug children and babies should not be in orphanages. They are supposed to be hugged, all the time. I can't find the citation right now, I'll add it later if I find it.

But I think it's vastly unrealistic to say that Dumbledore, who grew up during the Victorian Era, would have any grasp of this and I don't think he was actively malicious towards Tom.

Was Tom Riddle failed by institutional childcare? Absolutely.

Were the adults in his life oblivious to his situation? Probably.

Do the shitty things that happened to Tom excuse the murders he committed, and are they anyone's fault but his own? No. At the end of the day, Tom made all the wrong choices.

And, for what it's worth, I think (film) Dumbledore (although he expresses the same sentiment in more words in the books) wishes he could go back in time and have helped Tom.

"Draco. Years ago, I knew a boy, who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

[seoracle]

DRIVERS LICENSE; ii

Pairing: Bang Chan x Idol! Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fake Dating! AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies(?), Occasional Pining, Comedy, Smut 

Summary: Y/N has become an overnight sensation with ‘Drivers License’, Breaking records left and right…But what if the press gets wind of the ill-matched lovers and their company decide it’s the perfect attention ploy?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mature themes, Dry-humping and Drinking, Angst warning

A/N: part three will conclude this series, thank you for the support!

“So Y/N, I’ll only ask one question on the topic but...What attracted you to Bang Chan?” 

“Well, everything really.” You say with a fond smile. “When we first met I had just moved to Sydney and he took care of me. I think I started liking him then, But I only confessed when we were both trainees.” 

“How cute!” The interviewer gushes, fanning herself. “I hope you two have many happy days to come.”

Things had been jam-packed since the news of you and Chan had come out, his fandom had been more welcoming than you had expected and left lots of sweet comments under your social media accounts. You hadn’t done any interviews until today, just music shows or performances. You also hadn’t actually seen or spoken to him since it all went down, not even at the meeting.

In fairness you had both become extremely busy, and constantly were a hot topic for netizens. Your fame had skyrocketed even more so than it originally did, you had now become the ambassador of a major brand and already had a performance booked for the end of year awards with a brand new song.

Your mind went back to your conversation with Chan and how quick you had been to blurt out hurtful words that you no longer meant. 

You knew it was up to you to reach out, but admitting your actions were over the top isn’t something you’re ready to do. You hadn’t technically lied but calling him a sellout was a low blow, and although he wasn’t an angel he wouldn’t say something like that to you. 

Today is a better day than any to deliver your reluctant apology, a fake date is scheduled for a popular book store that recently finished an extension for their in store cafe.You dressed casually and made sure to bring your mask and matching black baseball hat, along with Tims Tams.

Even though it’s only 1pm, the sky is dim and dreary which makes the walk to the cafe a bit more nerve-wracking. What if he chews you out before you can get a word in? He was always good at that. The scent of arabica coffee beans brings you to your senses and you walk in before you can make a run for it and never return, goodbye idol life, au revoir pilates and adiós to Christopher Bang.

“You actually came.” A voice remarks, making you squeal in surprise. 

“What the fuck?!” You screech, placing a hand over your heart to try calm it’s rapid beating.

He opens the door, smiling in amusement at your terror. You settle in a corner with a large bright window, perfect for paparazzi and incase you nervous retch. Chan heads to the counter and comes back with a double shot Americano and a Green Tea Latte.

“Thanks.” You murmur sheepishly, feeling like a complete asshole for lashing out at him.

“I wanted to run something by you, well, to clarify something…” He begins to explain, waiting for your nod of approval before he begins. “I didn’t even know Seungah, or ‘Mijoo’ properly until we broke up. I wouldn’t hurt you like that, I know I still did but I just wanted you to understand.”

You’re taken aback by him not being mad at you for two weeks ago, even though he has every right to be. If he had said half the things you had said he wouldn’t know any peace for the rest of his life.

“Thank you for clarifying, But I should be apologising…” You began hesitantly, did he want you to just move on and say nothing? Still, you’re not that person anymore. “I was way out of line to say all that stuff about you, which wasn’t true at all. You worked hard to get where you are and I’m happy for you, if anyone deserves the world it’s you.” 

While he processes your words with his mouth ajar, you push the Tim Tams to his side of the table. His eyes light up and he rips into them immediately, dunking one into his warm coffee and although you find it semi-revolting, you smile.

You spend the next half hour sharing the biscuits and stories of wardrobe mishaps and what you’ve both been up to in the last few years. It doesn’t take long before you feel comfortable in his presence, not fully but more than you thought possible after all that went down.

Chan ends up finishing the packet and relaxes into his chair with a content sigh, you can’t help but smile at the sight. It quickly fades when you spot paparazzi in heards outside the cafe.

“They found us, totally not like our companies tipped them off.” Chan comments, turning back to you after squinting at them for a bit.

“Quick, act surprised.” You order, as you start making over-exaggerated expressions to the cameras.

The flashing of cameras is nothing new to either of you at this point and you head upstairs to the book section, scanning from classics, science fiction and biographies of people you’d never heard of. Chan spots a section of books with their covers hidden under wrapping and the descriptions written in black ink. You decide on a poetry book from the 1700s with a little sun drawn on the brown paper, Chan picks a Sci-Fi thriller and you shake your head knowingly.

Afterwards, Chan walks you home through the playground near your tiny apartment and makes small talk about music, he picks your brain about melodies and what your favourite synth sounds are. It’s hard to believe less than a month ago you wanted to rip his head off. 

“Let’s sit for a bit.” Chan says, situating himself on a swing.

It doesn’t take you long to join him on the swing to his right, if there’s nothing worse than one idiot on a swing it’s two idiots on swings. Instead of chatting you focus on seeing how high up you can go and Chan watches, shaking his head in embarrassment.

“You’re an actual child.” He teases, grabbing a hold of the rope to slow you down. 

“Hey, no fair.” You huff, grounding yourself by using your feet, turning to him with a pout.

He rolls his eyes and ruffles your hair just like he used to, and embarrassingly it makes you feel happy. Just like you used to back when you first met in Sydney and he was all you knew. 

Stop thinking about the past, you say mentally, what’ll It change?

To distract yourself you decide it’s time to go somewhere else, and get up with the intent of forgetting whatever feelings your brain is fabricating. You can hear footsteps behind you and sigh, he’s not letting you go that easy.

“Where are you going?” Chan calls out, finally catching up to you.

“A bar, I assumed you were still on that drinking ban.” You say feigning your intentions of ditching him for your own benefit.

“That ended two years ago,” He replies with a small smile, “What bar exactly?”

“You’ll see.” 

“Y/N….you said a bar, this is a club.” Chan says, stating the obvious. 

It’s a small place just on the outskirts of the bustling city, illuminated by purple and blue with none of the  ridiculous cocktail names, dry humping and reek of Victoria’s Secret perfume you became accustomed to in Seoul. 

“Same difference,” You reply with a shrug, sitting down at an empty velvet sofa. “Wanna be a dear and get us some drinks?”

Chan shakes his head with his usual grin and heads to the counter, you can’t help but notice how buff he’s gotten in the last few years. You look away when he takes the drinks off the counter and focus on the fabric of your ripped jeans instead, fiddling with the loose strings.

“A rum and coke for you and a black russian for me.” He announces, sitting down on the other end of the couch. 

“Perfect choice.” You say thankfully, raising the glass to your lips and taking several gulps.

The blond raises an eyebrow, sipping at his caffeinated cocktail at a more leisurely pace, soon one drink becomes four and a round of shots later you can gladly say any warm fuzzy feelings have been replaced with drunk fuzzy feelings. Chan, who's only had two drinks laughs at your predicament as the bartender cuts you off for the night.

“Chris, order another round!” You instructed giddily, clinging onto his arm.

“Yeah, and carry you home drunk? I don’t think so.” He retorts, finishing his soju.

You grumble incoherencies under your breath, leaning into him and shutting your eyes. He inquisitively still smells the same and carries the same soothing aura that everyone seemed to pick up on. He hums to the song playing and you can feel his chest vibrate when he messes up on a lyric and laughs. The alcohol makes everything seem blurred around the edges and rose-tinged, he puts his arm around you and it all feels right.

“Y/N, Y’Alright?” 

“Yeah, you?” You slur, smiling into his neck, you can feel him chuckle when your eyelashes tickle his skin.

Everything becomes hazy after that, you hardly remember Chan helping you into the back of a taxi or guiding you to your front door. He searches your bag for the front door key and then your jacket, you giggle drunkenly, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Back pocket,” You state with an amused grin.

Chan reaches down into the back pocket of your jeans and the contact makes your cheeks redden and you inhale deeply. He doesn’t seem to notice and clasps onto the key, before he takes the key out you place your hand around his wrist and hold it there. He looks at you with an uncertain glance, his eyes searching yours for confirmation of some sort, arching into his touch gives him the clarification he needs and he presses his lips to yours in a hungry, intrusive kiss. 

You bring your hands up to his hair and tug on it lightly, as if to bring him even closer if possible. Chan groans into your mouth at the feeling and you take advantage of the moment and control the kiss while he eagerly follows, one hand firmly squeezing your ass while and starts to grind against you. The only sounds you hear are his ragged breathing and the quiet whimper that leaves him when you pull apart to nip at his jaw.

“Y/N,” He pleads, rutting against your thigh with desperation. You answer his pleas, allowing him between your thighs, he kisses your ear appreciatively and helps you up onto the low metal shelf by your doorway for better access grind against your sex.

He whines profanities into your neck when you meet his ruts in a more languid pace, it only makes him more desperate for you. You sigh in pleasure at the sight, although your vision is hazy his swollen lips and furrowed brows are as clear as day. You can tell how close he is by how unsteady his breathing is, he cries out your name repeatedly and you coo at him.

“Pathetic, I haven’t even wrapped my hand around your cock and you’re ready to blow your load.” You mock, pretending you aren’t at the edge yourself.

“Ah, shit..!” He bellows, hot breath hitting your neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

You watch his mouth fall agape as he finally reaches his peak, his blonde hair is plastered against his face and his skin has a sheen that suits him well. Chan gasps as you start up again, the overstimulation making him writhe, he slips one hand down the front of your jeans, which surprises you because you still feel secure being held up with just one arm. You rut against his hand, he knows exactly where to touch and your moans only spur him on until you finally reach your own climax, biting down on his shoulder when you do.

Nothing is said while you both collect yourselves, Chan drops you down and presses his forehead to yours while he catches his breath. The alcohol starts to wear off you and fully realise what’s happened and take your keys out of your back pocket, your hands shake and it takes you a while to get the key in and twist it.

“Y/N?” He calls out, sounding helpless. 

“I’m sorry, Chris.” 

Ignoring the downcast expression on his face you go inside, looking at him once more and telling him you’re sorry again and that he should leave. When you slam the door, he calls out for you to open it again, fifteen minutes later he leaves and you’re in the shower crying. You had just done to Mijoo what had been your biggest fear, but she would have never done that to you.

She was a good person and you were disgusting with no morals.

How the fuck had it all happened so fast? Meeting Chris again, loathing him, fake dating him, feeling emotions for him and now practically fucking him? Nothing had really changed, even before the breakup it had always been you crawling back to him and him feeling as if gravity was pulling you two back together just to tear you away again. ‘Cruel fate’ he called it, you call it nonsense to make him feel better.

Whatever it was, it needed to stop or finally be faced.

It’s just after 12pm the next day when you wake up, everything hurts and you try to piece together what little you remember before that thing with Chris. You groan into the palms of your hands and try to think of a solution, you couldn’t ignore or avoid him, at least not forever. Why did you ever agree to fake a relationship anyways? If only you could turn back time and tell your CEO and the entire JYP entourage to get fucked.

A buzzing under your pillow snaps you back to your senses, realising it’s your phone you slide your thumb across the screen to accept the call. 

“Hello?”  You ask in a hoarse tone.

“Check literally any news outlet.” A familiar voice says in a monotone voice.

“Iris, Should I be worried?”

Iris doesn’t reply and you decide to check Twitter, upon opening it you’re bombarded with notifications that all lead back to a photo of you and Chan making out. The picture has clearly been scanned to make the quality better, it’s grainy but even you can see how easy it is to tell who is in the photo. Dread fills your body at the thought of what management would say, this could compromise all of your hard work.

“I thought you were done with him,” Iris sighs, “God, Y/N... it took you years to get over him, and he has a real relationship.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You reply quietly, ignoring the sting of her words.

“I love you, okay? But I’m so worried you’ll end up hurt again.” She admits, you can hear her tapping her nails against wood, a nervous habit. “Just be careful, I’ll call you later.”

As the call ends you sigh with a smile, typical Iris trying to show she cares while remaining unfiltered. You quickly realise there's no point in hiding from any of this and get ready for what you’re sure will be an eventful day. 

When you arrive at the company building you’re quick to sneak past the secretary and into San’s office, he greets you with a suggestive look.

“You’re so lucky the apartment’s security spotted and escorted them out.” San remarks, tongue pressing against his cheek.

“I know, don’t worry Iris got to the lecture first.” You retort, pinching the bridge of your nose once you sit down on his uncomfortable sofa, damn hangovers.

San pulls open a drawer and passes you a bottle of aspirin, which falls to the floor thanks to your slightly altered (and loss of ) coordination. You mumble words of gratitude and dry swallow two.

“So how mad is everyone?” You ask meekly, not meeting his eyes.

“Well, no one really is. It got you more buzz and sales but there is a broken-hearted girl to think about.”

Shit, Mijoo.

You get up in a flash and take San’s unopened energy drink with you, as you exit his office you hear him yelling at you.

“Why does your apartment have shelves at the front door anyways?!”

It’s when you get outside and the fresh air hits that you realise you have no idea what to do. Woolim is a twenty minute walk at best, you have no idea if Mijoo will even be there but it’s worth a shot. On the way you stop to get two cans of iced coffee and hope she’s still feeling kind after what you pulled last night.

The Woolim building is finally in sight and you push the door open and are stunned to see Mijoo on the other side. Her eyes are glassy and swollen and she isn’t giving off her usual bright aura, but still she smiles at you.

“Hey, trying to hit me?” She jokes with a wry laugh.

“Mijoo...can we talk?” 

“Um…” She looks anywhere but your eyes. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Y/N.”

“Seungah, five minutes is all I need. Then if you want I’ll never talk again.” You plead, she sighs but accepts, turning back and leading you to the private back ‘garden’ which is just concrete and a bench.

“Thank you.” You say, bowing your head a little. She laughs and takes a coffee out of the plastic bag when you sit down.

“Formalities aren’t needed between us, what do you want?”

Her bluntness catches you off guard, up close you can see mascara has seeped around her eye bags and dried up. She definitely knew what had happened but wanted to hear it from you, which petrifies you. How are you supposed to casually say the truth and not get punched in the face?

“I know you saw the picture but you need to hear it from me,” You begin, licking your lips. “I kissed Chan, he didn’t return my feelings and he’s probably going to try to take half the blame.”

Mijoo’s facial expression doesn’t change and she takes a sip of coffee, folding her lips into a thin line after she swallows the bitter liquid. 

“I don’t think he ever got over you.” She admits in a downcast tone. “When we started dating he told me he’d always love you a little bit, I just didn’t think you'd come back for him.”

“I didn’t come back for him,” You clarify, “I had no intentions of...any of this. I’m really sorry and I won’t come between you two again. It’s strictly business from now on, you have my word.”

“Why are you so keen on keeping us together?” She says, stunned.

“I don’t want to be the reason anyone is hurt.” 

“What about you then? Won’t this hurt you?”

You don’t reply, instead returning the same kind smile she had given you. Of course it’ll hurt you, but you can’t bear the weight of hurting anyone the way you did, even Chris. For so long it was all you wanted, for him to feel the pain you did that night in his car.

A week passes by in a flash, between schedules and training you haven’t had any time to dwell on Chan which is nice for once. San and Iris make sure to keep you up to date on what he’s been up to since you shooed him away like a bad dog.

Luckily fake media reports of you two being spotted have been enough to keep the ‘break up’ rumours at bay for now. Eventually you will have to face him, but if Mijoo’s Instagram story is any indication, it’s a happy one of them and their daily coffee trips. Meanwhile all your days are spent in the dance studio, trying to perfect your end of year performance.

Your newest track took two weeks alone to record, it was yet again a song you hadn’t intended on releasing. The lyrics were about being drunk, horny and sad which are emotions you felt most days. The choreography was the most challenging part, primarily because you weren’t much of a dancer to begin with. 

“Perfect!” Your teacher, Hyolyn praises with a satisfied smile.

You collapse on the floor and try to catch your breath, taking a second to gulp down water. Although it’s  hard work, it was extremely rewarding. According to San, you’re predicted to win two awards and nominated for four which was insane considering last year you were #9 on ‘Top 10 least watched debuts’. 

“How close am I to acing this?”You ask, completely drained.

“I’d give it a week.” Hyolyn replies after taking a second to evaluate you.

Groaning, you lie down on the hardwood floors and shut your eyes. The performance was in nine days, giving you little to no time to rest. Iris also had you booked for three days of practicing your makeup for the show, which included intricate and trendy tattoo art all over your arms and littered over any other revealed areas, for hair you would be wearing a wig, lighter than your own hair but similar to how it looked in a recent magazine spread. 

It was all down to you to ace this performance, and you only had one shot.

“Y/N? Y/N L/N!” 

San’s voice snaps you back to your senses, he guides you up from the floor and gives you a once-over and decides you look fine. Then, without a word, drags you down through the busy city and into a quaint cafe, filled with greenery and flowers galore. You spot Wooyoung’s blonde hair behind the counter and smile knowingly, of course.

“Am I here to third wheel?” You joke, elbowing his ribs.

“Shut up, We’re here for you to experience a delectable latte topped with chocolate art and if you’re good I’ll buy you a bean bun.” 

You sit down on an empty chair without a word, smiling up at him. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for a fresh bean bun, especially if it’s free. San goes up to the counter, his laugh echoes around the small area when Wooyoung makes a little joke involving word play. Minutes later, a steamy cup of coffee is in front of you with a cute little bunny made of white liquid and you can’t help but look down in amazement.

“Good, right?” Wooyoung beams, full of well-deserved confidence.

“Amazing,” You gush, taking a sip reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the illustration. 

Wooyoung takes a bow and walks back to the counter, brewing up another order in no time, San watches intently resting his chin in the palm of his hand. What an idiot, you think, although you’re slightly envious no one looks at you that way. 

Several more cups and bean buns later, you leave the lovebirds to return home for some well needed rest. Today is the only actual real chance of resting up before the real work begins, even the thought makes your body ache. But all that fades away when you see a familiar face at your door, Chan.

“Chan?” You say bewildered, “Why are you here?”

“Can we talk?” He asks, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away again.

“Okay.”

Five minutes later he’s sitting across the coffee table, stirring a cup of instant coffee and not saying a word. What is there to say? You were both drunk exes longing to relive old times, Yes you would always love him but he wasn’t yours anymore, he hadn’t been for years.

You weren’t the same person, the cheap electric guitar you’d adored has spun into a customised Fender, his dark curls had been swapped for blonde locks that hung across his face. You had loved and lost him, found him and begun the cycle again.

“Why did you try to lie to Seungah?” 

“She’s your girlfriend, you clearly care about her and I didn’t want you to lose that because of a stupid mistake.” You say, even though it was no mistake on your behalf.

Chan laughs dryly in response, eyes becoming unreadable and dark.

“You didn’t want me to fuck you that night?” 

Before you can reply he's standing up, walking towards you and clearly loving that in your seated position he towers over you. He notices your thighs are shut as much as they can be and coos. 

“Is that all it takes, huh?” He says, mocking your tone from that night. “As much as you love pushing me around and belittling me, you love to be put in your place don’t you?”

A strained sound leaves your throat and you try to push it away, the feeling of wanting him to be in control, to be vulnerable for him. It’s a feeling you’ve only felt a handful of times and always with him. You knew he was just frustrated and feeling rejected, if anything did happen you’d wake up alone to a regretful voicemail.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, I would call you dumb but that would turn you on.” You finally retort, standing up to fully enjoy the flush of humiliation come over his face.

“Know your place.”  

“Kiss me,” He pleads, soft eyes full of stars. “Just once more.”

You swallow thickly, once more is all he’s asking for. Hesitating for a second, you raise your arms and gently take his face into your hands, thumbing over his jaw the way he likes and press your lips against his. The kiss is firm and chaste, much unlike the last one that was filled with hunger and urgency, this...feels final. Neither of you pull away, Chan deepening the kiss more and settling on wrapping his arms around you over his oxygen levels. 

You feel tears starting to pool within your closed eyes and it burns, finally pulling away when it all becomes too much. His warm disposition is so apparent in his teary eyes and it hurts more than ever, you drop your hands from his face and he takes them into his own, a bittersweet feeling coming to the surface.

“Goodbye again, Y/N.” Chan says with a smile, letting go your hands and heading towards the door.

“Goodbye, Chris.” You reply in a faltering tone, turning away as he shuts the door behind him. 

You’re left sobbing on the linoleum floors of your apartment, ignoring various buzzes from your phone hours later when you finally calm down enough to sit on the couch and numbly stare at the flickering TV. Then it comes up on a pop music channel, your face and his with the headline: Bang Chan and Y/N announce break up. 

[schrijverr]

Surprise Hit

On a con Eliot is recognized by someone who has a hit on him and has to run.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of some mafia dealings

~~~~~~~~~~~

The con went to shit.

This happened often enough with a mark not making the expected choice, a firewall taking longer to crack than anticipated or someone showing up that was not supposed to. It was normal, however the way it went to shit this time was unique. “Nate, I got a problem,” Eliot announced.

“What is it?” Nate asked over the coms. It was an integral part of the plan that Eliot talked to their mark, John Fernsby, and convinced him to meet with Sophie. Nate would have done it, but he had already been the one to go in and convince the billionaire that thebusiness was worth investing in and Hardison was needed to help Parker into the safe. It had to be Eliot.

But Eliot said there was a problem, which was bad. However, it was about to get worse when Eliot answered: “He’s talking with a foreign dignitary, but I know he isn’t. That’s Mikhail Volkov, Russian mob. He has a hit out on me.”

“The fuck, man,” Hardison replied.

“I didn’t pick it either, okay,” Eliot hissed back. “But if he sees me, we’re fucked. Well, I’m fucked and someone has to take my part in the con.”

Hardison had pulled up the camera feed of the gala and watched how Eliot turned away from the mark and tried to leave them room without pulling any attention to himself. He almost managed too, were it not for a serenade band coming in right as he was near the exit.

It was such a stupid little thing that they couldn't have predicted and it was so incredibly ill-timed that Eliot had no room to come up with something. Mikhail turned to the band and saw Eliot, his brow furrowed and he yelled: “Stop that man!” as Eliot started to sprint, multiple people now on his trail.

He pushed over furniture behind him and swerved while a few bullets started to fly around his head, dangerously close. In his ear Hardison was giving him directions to Lucille, but he knew he could not return to the team. Not right now.

The Russian mob was not known for their leniency and if they thought he had people he worked with, then they would only target them as well. No, he had to go into hiding on his own and return to them later, when he could shake off his pursuers. In his ear he heard Hardison rant at him as he took the wrong turn, but Eliot didn’t care. He had a plan.

On the street it was easier to disappear, though he got many looks from people as they cleared the way for him while he ran like a madman. There were a few screams when the Russians appeared behind him with guns.

If it were a normal day and he was on his own, he would have stayed to fight them, but he was wearing a suit he couldn't easily fight in and Sophie and Parker had still been in the building, he couldn't risk them for something stupid he’d done in the past. And when he was outside, he didn’t have the surprise advantage or the closeness to take on that many guys with guns.

So, he ran.

His lungs were burning in his chest and his legs would be jelly were it not for the fact that he regularly ran long tracks in case he got in this exact situation.

It took a while, but the bullets stopped flying around his head and he couldn't hear any footsteps behind him anymore. He took a moment to focus on the chatter over the coms. His brain hadn’t heardany of the key words to get his attention in the background, so he assumed it was all fine.

“Eliot, Eliot, are you listening to me?” That was Nate.

“I’m here,” he grunted, checking in the alley if there was anyone still following, before starting to climb the fire escape.

“What are you doing? Hardison’s GPS says you’re nowhere near the hotel. We need to regroup and figure out our next move,” Nate said as Sophie asked: “Are you okay, Eliot?”

He replied: “I’m fine, Sophie. Just didn’t want to lead a group of armed mobster to our hotel room when their goal is to kill me and all my associates.”

“They’re coming to kill us?” Hardison’s squeaky voice came through the speaker.

“Not if they don’t know I’m with you,” Eliot assured him, “which is why I’m not at the hotel right now. I think I’ve shaken them off, but just in case I’m taking a long way round. Probably won’t come through the doors.”

Thenhe tuned them out again. It might be rude and he heard they were still asking him all sorts of questions, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer. He had other things to focus on and the last thing he wanted was to tell them why there was a hit on his head from this particular mobster.

Going through the city over the roof, he saw a few familiar stances and haircuts stationed at public places where he would hide, as well as at the hotels and he knew he had made the right decision to take this route.

Mentally he was trying to figure out why Mikhail was here of all places talking with their mark. It could be that he was laundering money and their mark having a connection with the mob could both help and be an issue. He could get into witness protection in turn for information, but it was also proof that his business wasn’t clean, even if they had wanted to get him for the stealing of company funds that screwed over his employees’ safety.

But that was not his business to think about, but Nate’s. He would wait for what the man had to say about this development, but in order to do that, he needed to get back to the hotel.

There were also “guards” at the entrance of their hotel, but the team was only on the fourth floor and while they weren’t close to the fire escape, Eliot could get up high and then go side wards over the ridge to their window.

He gave Hardison a heart attack when he got at the window. They hadn’t left it open, much to his chagrin, but were luckily there to open it for him and it was better not to have a weakness in the defense, so he couldn't blame them.

“What the hell, man,” Hardison said. “Give someone a warning before you go around showing up in front of the window. Did you even have safety or something? We’re up high. You could have fallen to your death, Eliot.”

“Yeah and if I had gone through the front door, I would have been shot,” he pointed out tiredly from where he was lying on the floor.

Parker was looking out the window and smiled: “Oeh, that’s a good climbing ridge indeed.”

“Woman!” Hardison exclaimed, while Eliot said: “We could do without the attention to our room, Parker, maybe next time.” She looked sad and glanced over one more time, before closing the window with a pout.

“Care to explain what happened?” Nate asked as he leaned over him. He did that face where he attempted innocence, but failed.

“Got recognized by someone who’s sort of actively trying to kill me,” Eliot replied with what they already knew.

“Sort of actively?” Sophie asked and Eliot was glad he could explain something not that bad to them instead of the other stuff. “Yeah, there’s a difference between saying, ‘hey if you manage to kill this person and prove it you get money,’ and ‘I am hiring you to kill this person within a time frame.’ Mikhail is the former. If I die, he would be happy, but he’s not putting extra resources in finding me and eliminating me.”

“And why would be be happy if you’re dead?” Fucking Nate always sticking his nose everywhere.

“I met him once,” Eliot wasn’t giving him shit.

“Would I be correct in assuming that the meeting ended in a loss on his end?” Nate replied.

“Maybe.” He was neither confirming or denying, not if there was no explicit reason. He hadn’t felt bad about the blow to Mikhail’s organization. It hadn’t been the worst he’d done and Mikhail had a smuggling ring of sex workers and that had been awful to find.

“Okay, so we know Fernsby has connections to the Russian mob,” Nate thought out loud. “So, he’s not only stealing money from his employees, but laundering dirty money as well. If we can tie those together then we’re set.”

“Mikhail has a weakness for brunettes,” Eliot informed him, not telling him how he got that tidbit of knowledge. “He also likes gambling.”

Nate got a glint in his eye as he looked to Sophie, who smiled back. Of course those two would have a plan without needing to communicate.

“You’re out for the rest of the con,” Nate told him. “Can’t have you risk the entire thing if you’re recognized.”

“What? No!” Eliot sat up. “I need to be there to have your back. With the Russians it’s only going to get more dangerous. I’m not leaving you to your fate with those people, they’re dangerous, Nate. This isn’t just some cushy billionaire anymore.”

“And what if he gets suspicious of Sophie because of you, what will you do then, Eliot?” Nate shot back. “I’m not saying you need to stay here, but I am saying you need to keep out of sight. You’re with Hardison in Lucille.”

Eliot wanted to protest, wanted to be closer to the danger in case it went to shit, he wanted to be there when a mistake from his past came back, but he couldn't argue with Nate’s logic and sometimes he hated that about the man.

So, he found himself watching the screens in Lucille as Sophie tried to get Mikhail to make a gamble on her company, to ditch Fernsby, because he was doing it without him and leaving him out of the profits.

He was filled with jittery energy, but so far so good.

“Hey, Eliot,” Hardison opened. “What’s it like, you know, to have a hit on your head? I mean, I’m wanted in some countries, but that’s just boring government stuff, not actual people, like persons, wanting me dead personally, you know.”

“Are you really asking me what it’s like when someone wants you killed?” Eliot asked him.

“I guess,” Hardison shrugged, trying not to look like he wanted to know the answer and failing miserably.

“It’s not that different from being wanted by the government, I suppose,” Eliot finally answered, surprising Hardison. “You just gotta watch out for different things and hope no one is desperate enough for cash to go after you. I have a good enough reputation that hardly anyone tries, but I’ve had periods where I had multiple people on my trail across a dozen countries. It was exhausting, but I get it. Kill me and you can make a lot of people with a lot of money happy.”

“Wait, hold on, reverse and repeat,” Hardison said. “A lot of people?”

“Yeah,” Eliot replied, didn’t Hardison know this? “I got more than one hit on my head. I think it’s five. Used to be six, but one of them died and the bounty fell through. Though I never knew if that one English guy put one on my head as well. And of course, the countries, but those are always lazy about it, so I don’t worrry too much about those.”

“What the fuck, man.”

Eliot didn’t see the big deal. He had done a lot to deserve it and he had learned to live with it. He hadalways kept one eye open anyway.

He focused back on the screen, despite the hiccup earlier with him, the con ran smoothly on its new course and Sophie was phenomenal as he pitted the two guys against one another, making them sell each other out in the end.

Nate was there with the police and both were arrested with illegal cash on their hands and a lot of bank records detailing their dirty schemes as well as showing the abysmal circumstances of the workers that had gone unaddressed in favor of laundering money.

Later when they were sitting in the bar, Nate turned to him and asked: “Any more of that we should be worried about?”

Before Eliot could answer, Hardison had jumped in: “Apparently between five and six more times.”

“No, between four and five,” Eliot corrected. “Mikhail is no longer on the list, but honestly we couldn't have predicted this and there are too many bad guys I’ve known, double crossed, worked for or left that are still out there. We can’t account for all of them. I’ll try to be aware of which marks could have ties to other’s I’ve known, but you don’t get to be good in my line of work without enemies.”

Nate wanted to say something else, but Sophie was quicker. “I’m not keeping track of all the people I have grifted either, Nate,” she said. “We all have a past and you’re not harping me about that or Parker on all she’s stolen. Just because Eliot’s past is a bit different, doesn’t mean we can treat it differently in our team.”

Eliot didn’t fully agree with the comparison. His enemies we’re not the same and one of them coming back would be worse than it was for others.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to disagree with her. Not right now.

He thought of all the people he killed, all the families he’d left behind with one member less. He thought of Moreau and the horrible things he’d done for that man. He thought of the US Army that had turned him into a killer and set him loose on foreign soil for the first time.

And he thought of his team. Of how glad he was he knew them and how they made him better and didn’t force him to be a person he hated. How much they meant to him and how badly he didn’t want to loose that.

So he stayed quiet and let Sophie defend him, hoping his past would not come back like that again.

~~

A/N:

Sorry that the con is kinda vague, I only had the ‘the mark/someone there has a hit on Eliot and he needs to run’ and no clear plan on running the con in the background. Hope it was still enjoyable :D