#maybe its about kevin... what... no...

[fandom-freak-lel]

Jean Moreau is giving

sombr: back to friends | The Tonight Show Starting Jimmy Fallon

[dayurno]

so sick and tired of people writing fics about jeremy treating kevin like shit over kevin leaving jean at the nest like that is either 1) in character 2) something jean would appreciate or 3) fair. do you even bother to read the books you’re writing fanfic about or is the urge to create cheap angst so overwhelming you can’t see past the tropes you write for every other fictional pairing you like? the idea that jean would appreciate jeremy going out of his way to poke old wounds in his and kevin’s relationship when jean himself does not even like for jeremy to joke about kevin near him is absurd, and that’s without mentioning the fact that jeremy is not so clueless as to think he has any idea of what the nest was like, or why kevin felt he had to leave the way he did. if you need something to make your ship more interesting thinking beyond your flat interpretation of it is a lovely start, but don’t use kevin’s name and storyline if you’re just going to butcher it for the sake of a milquetoast sob fest the characters involved in would not even appreciate

[crunchyspaghetti]

Ok, as previously established, I very much enjoyed Thunderbolts*. This post is in no way trying to minimize the movie or its characters.

however

if I see one more person talking about how it was so groundbreaking to have a superhero on screen where their superpowers don’t magically fix all of their problems and actually give strength to making those problems worse, I am gonna riot I fear.

While I would argue it’s not necessarily groundbreaking to superhero stories, generally. It makes me mad when people say this bc it’s not even groundbreaking to the Marvel universe. This exact concept was literally done so well in Agents of Shield (multiple times!!!!), upwards of like 9+ years ago… like… please I’m in the trenches here

[mudstoneabyss]

soooo they are trying to do something plot relevant with the men who are not tall/short and the dark planet 😑 ok

[elegyofthemoon]

reading springfest now after everything in nagazora is making me crave more fu hua and mei interactions. i feel like thus far in my go through, i've never actually seen them interact, but it's kinda fun that the person who made the recommended reading order put springfest after nagazora (though of course this is probably in preparation for whatevers going on with senti/fu hua rn in ch 19)

but the way that the empyrea isolates herself so she doesn't have any attachment to those who she will outlive and how she winds up becoming lonely as a result threw me back to mei isolating herself in world serpent so that she can protect kiana and just... idk..... i think the two talk about that isolation would be interesting

also. i love fu hua. she's still at the top of my list for best character so i'm just a happy little guy getting more fu hua content now in the story :> yippee fu hua

[mymarifae]

oh yeah did you guys know that the official hsr twitter accidentally posted this cutscene art

with, uh, this guy's sword in the background

and that sword also very much appears to be the sword that killed cyrene

and it also happens to look like, uh. phainon's sword. haha

i don't know how many concrete conclusions i want to draw from all of this but man. isn't that something to think about

[nbclover]

teehee

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

How would poppy playtime crew react to a kid player? The kid player is wondered where was his friends went (they are dead in Playtime Co.) and kinda got excited when kid player saw the toys

Okay, so, doing the math the oldest the player could reasonably be is about 14~15 years old. So, the player isn't exactly a kid, but mid teen.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Dogday, Doey, Poppy and Kissy & young Player

Dogday

★ Dogday’s eyes widen when he sees you. His vision blurs, not just from pain, but from the realization that you lived. Now standing in front of him like a beacon of hope. Like an angel. Changed with time but still the same person he knew.

★ Its... strange, strange that you came back. Strange that you remember him and strange you haven't died by now. Why would you come back? You escaped once but returned anyway. The Players all grown up now, like a tragic reminder of what could have been.

★ He knows that your friends have likely died. But he won't be telling you that. Dogday's heart aches, yet he makes the decision to keep quiet. Yes, you will figure it out eventually. No, he won't be the one to tell you. He just can't bring himself to hurt you like that.

★ Dogday is extremely protective of the Player, almost acting like an older sibling. He can't help but see you as that innocent little kid he met before the hour of joy. He still feels the need to shield the Player from harm, much like he did when you were a small child.

Doey

★ By the time you meet him again, you've realized what happened to the other orphans. You were one of them years ago. But thankfully you had been adopted by your parents before the hour of joy. Doey always wondered what happened to you.

★ Despite the years apart, he still remembers when you and Kevin would sneak into the cafeteria to steal extra snacks. Mathew used to tuck you in when it was your naptime. Then things happened, and they were gone.

★ When the player starts to talk about missing their friends, Doey distracts them with whatever he can think of. “Did you know catnap always lands on his feet? Watch this!” He says, trying to keep you from thinking too much. (No Catnaps were harmed during this.)

★ Say “You're not my dad!” to him, and he spends the rest of his day acting like a stereotypical dad from some old cartoon. Just to annoy you and have a little fun. Yes, it was Kevin's idea. Hope you like terrible dad jokes and having your hair ruffled, kiddo! 

Kissy

★ In the orphanage you didn't know her very well, having been put into different groups and being a few years younger than her. As she pulls the lever to help you get through the factory, there’s a momentary pause. The Players face looks familiar, like she knows you somehow, but the details remain hazy.

★ As the Player continues on, Kissy tries to remember how she knows you. But she just can't put her finger on it. When she eventually returns to Home Sweet Home, she sees an old picture of you on the wall. And the pieces finally fall into place.

★ When the Player expresses worry about their missing friends, she can't do much but hold their hand. Offering some support in the only way she can. In times like this, she wishes her voice still worked. That way she could tell you it would be okay.

★ Seeing you alive and well gives her hope. It reminds her that no matter how bad things are, there is always hope for a better future. You survived, she can too. When the Prototype is dead, maybe you could help Kissy make up for lost time.

[literalgrill]

Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

[novelconcepts]

A thing I find really important about the way Kevin Can Fuck Himself goes about its job: Allison is kind of a mess. She’s self-centered, she doesn’t put other people’s needs first, she makes reckless choices that endanger herself and others. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s flawed as fuck. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her. It could be argued that she is, in fact, this flawed as a direct product of her trauma. Her self-absorption, unlike Kevin’s, is actually self-preservation. It puts Patty in danger. It tunes out Diane’s pain. It capitalizes on Sam’s relationship problems. And still, the show says: yes. Right. She’s going about this in fumbling, worrying ways. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her.

Know how we know this? How we really know this, outside of our own objectivity, our own awareness of the abuse she’s enduring even to the soundtrack of laughter?

Because Tammy is the one to find her. Because Tammy is the one holding the cards at the end of the game. Tammy, who does not like Allison. Who sees so clearly the complicated, messy, dangerous person Allison can be. The mistakes she is prone to making in the name of desperation. How imperfect she is at every level. And Tammy, who is the character most explicitly set to call Allison on all of her shit, to drag her before a court of law, to lean on that hot-button of whether or not she’s a “good person” until it breaks—lets her go. Folds the cards up, puts them in her pocket, and leaves.

Because Tammy, like the show, like the thesis statement of abuse is never earned, never deserved, never warranted, understands. This is a world that so often sanitizes women after it’s too late to save them. A world that insists she should have done more to get out. A world that insists you should be kind and moral and perfect, or maybe you got what was coming to you. This is a world that sees fighting back as an equally heinous crime. As punishable, if not more so, than the actions of the instigator.

But this show doesn’t want to play that game. This show doesn’t want to fuck with it at all. Allison doesn’t have to be perfect and moral and above reproach. Allison has blood on her hands, and a DUI neatly ignored, and knowingly has an affair with her married boss. Allison hurts her friends sometimes, and she makes awful decisions out of desperation, and she doesn’t always pay attention to other people’s plotlines. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s making choices you probably should not agree with.

And she still does not deserve any of what is happening to her.

[allforthegaymes]

Andrew sat in the fbi interrogation alongside Neil, stuck between trying to decide wether to keep his wary eyes on the agents sat across from them or to keep his eyes locked on Neil, as if he’ll disappear again if he loses sight of him at any point.

Instead he keeps a finger hooked around one of Neils belt loops and sets himself to memorizing every word out of Neils mouth, keeping a watch on the agents to make sure they dont make a sudden attempt to go back on their words.

Which means he gets the first hand sight of how other people would react to hearing about what Neil’s gone through. And while he’d accepted every word from Neils mouth without a facial reaction, watching how the agents react make him think maybe he shouldve.

(The whispered thanks from Neil afterwards about Andrew not looking at him differently changes his mind)

The only part that really makes him freeze is when Neil begins the talk of his mothers death. Andrews all too familiar with dead mothers in cars, but hearing about the gun wound, the vinyl seats sticking to a half burnt away body, the bone burial along the beach. Neil stutters only once during his recounts, where he slips and mentions the smell.

He compares it to the scent of cigarettes, used Andrew’s one marlboro reds as a reference and suddenly all those rooftop rendezvous together makes more sense.

Neils half smoked cigarettes, never stubbed out but left to continue burning on the concrete next to them while they sit and talk. The way he only does stub them out when talking about his parents, or when Andrew mentions something about his own mom, or when Andrew says anything about the earlier days with Aaron.

Neil stops talking for a moment after that. Lost in thought.

And as always, Andrew follows him half a step behind.

Neils adamant claims during their zombie apocalypse walks with Renee around the track that he would always burn their friends bodies to make sure they dont come back from the dead.

The way he always leaves the room when they watch the newest episode of that stupid viking show that Aaron and Kevin like to watch and theres a burning boat funeral.

The way he-

And then Neil starts talking to the fbi agents again and Andrew is forced to tune back in and tuck away those thoughts till later.

He tells them about what happened in Baltimore.

The torture from Lola. The dashboard lighter pressing seared wounds into his skin. Over the tattoo, scattered across his arms, the faint marks from where she tried to burn holes through his jeans to get to his thighs. Saved only half as well as they were by the fact he’d worn a pair of the carhartt work pants Andrew had bought for him and not a pair of the threadbare thrift store jeans he usually wore.

Andrew makes the mental note to stop using his own dashboard lighter to light the cigarettes he smokes in the car. And to swap cigarette brands. And to stop smoking in the car.

And then its about the trunk of the car, the way Lola had held onto him and the comments she made in the car, the basement, the offhanded mention about how Nathan was barefoot when he walked down the stairs.

The little details that only someone who’s truly grasping for any recollection in a traumatic moment would retain. The way even when Nathan was walking down to tear Neil limb from limb, Neil still couldnt bring himself to look at his fathers face. The face that Neil shares. The face Neil still avoids looking at when he walks past the mirror in the hall in Columbia.

And he thinks about the way Neil shied away from Wymack in the beginning, the way he now searches for Wymacks face whenever they get separated from their coach at away games.

The gun shots during the Hatford raid, the way even though Neil was bruised and battered he still found himself with a smile on his face when he saw Lola’s body get blasted apart by silenced guns.

The way he knew even if they got a proper funeral no one down there would get to have an open casket. The evidence in their bullet shattered bones that their bodies would never rest peacefully. That people in a thousand years would know from the unmarked graves and their remains that they deserved whatever ended them.

And then he claims it goes dark, he says it with the same way Neil lies about everything else, with his body forced relaxed to not twitch and give himself away, but he breathes a little heavier when he calmly tries to describe the way he came to and found himself being helped by the emergency services, feigning he doesnt know what theyre actually called, playing into the runaway kid sent on the road too young and not knowing completely how the world works still.

Andrew wishes he didnt know Neil well enough to know its only half real. Wishes he didnt know Mary probably only taught Neil how to recognize and run from EMT’s, and never actually explained what EMT was meant to stand for.

Andrew knows first hand how hard it is to gain sympathy from government officials, but Neil’s got them eating out of his hand with the way he words his story, their final nail in the coffin to take down the Wesninski trails in Baltimore and beyond.

Neil knows they need him and he knows how to play them to believe whatever story he deems they’re worthwhile to hear.

[heliosunny]

Love you "lucky egg" series can you write with Kevin Kaslana?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Kevin x Reader

[artist]

The game was over before it even began.

You had Rowan cornered—one more move, and victory was yours. Across the table, she scowled at the board, brows furrowed in deep concentration. You could see the exact moment she realized she had no way out, frustration flickering across her face.

And then—chaos.

A blur of fur launched onto the table, scattering dice and knocking over carefully placed pieces. Rowan let out a sharp gasp, while you barely had time to react before a tiny, wriggling body landed in your lap.

"Pebble!" Rowan groaned, throwing her hands up. "You little demon!"

The ferret chittered, unbothered by the accusation, tail flicking as she burrowed into the crook of your arm. You chuckled, stroking her soft fur. "Guess that means I win by default."

"Absolutely not!" Rowan pointed an accusatory finger at you before hastily trying to reset the board. "We are starting over, and you are losing."

Before you could argue, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—and suddenly, all interest in revenge seemed to vanish. "Oh! Did you hear about that lucky egg dispenser? The one that spawns magical pets?"

That caught your attention. You adjusted Pebble in your arms, intrigued. "Magical pets?"

"Yeah, people have been posting about it all day." She turned the phone toward you, showing images of small creatures—some glowing, some covered in intricate patterns, others curled up beside their new owners. "You said you wanted a pet, right? Maybe you'll get something cool."

That was all the convincing you needed.

The shop was tucked into a quiet alley, the kind of place that felt almost hidden from the rest of the world. The machine itself stood against the wall, an old-fashioned thing with a glass front and faintly glowing buttons. A small crowd had gathered, some holding eggs that shimmered with warmth, others already introducing their newly hatched companions to the world.

You fed a coin into the slot, anticipation thrumming in your chest as. Light swirled within the chamber, forming the shape of an egg—

But something was wrong.

Instead of the warm glow of the other eggs, yours was a deep, icy blue. The second it materialized, the temperature dropped. A thin layer of frost spread beneath it, creeping outward in sharp, crystalline patterns. The air turned crisp, your breath misting in front of you.

Rowan took one look and backed away. "Nope. Absolutely not. That thing is cursed. You are on your own."

You barely heard her. The cold should’ve been biting, unbearable—but as you reached out, it didn’t sting. Didn’t hurt.

You lifted the egg carefully, cradling it against you. Beneath your touch, the frost settled.

"You're seriously keeping that?" Rowan asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Taking care of the egg wasn’t easy.

It never warmed, never pulsed with life the way Rowan said hers had. Other people who had gotten lucky eggs spoke about how their eggs glowed, moved, or made soft noises from inside. Yours did nothing.

It just sat there, an unmoving sphere of frost.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry.

Even when Pebble curiously prodded at it with her tiny paws, even when Rowan kept side-eyeing it like it might explode, you simply… waited.

The egg sat in a nest of blankets on your desk, cold as ice but never spreading frost beyond its immediate space. When you touched it, the chill wasn’t painful, just sharp—like the crisp bite of winter air. You spoke to it sometimes, like it could hear you.

“I wonder what you’ll be,” you mused one night, resting your chin in your hand as you watched it. “Something fluffy? Something with wings?”

But on the third night, something changed.

crack.

You bolted upright, heart leaping, just as another fracture splintered across the egg’s icy surface.

"Oh, shit—"

The cold surged outward, a sudden blast of frigid air so intense it made the lights flicker. Pebble scurried under your bed with a startled squeak. Rowan, who had stayed over out of curiosity, jolted awake on your floor, rubbing her eyes blearily.

“What—” she started, but then the egg broke.

Not in gentle pieces.

It shattered.

Shards of ice burst outward, frost curling along the floor. You instinctively shielded your face, but the cold didn’t harm you. Instead, a figure emerged from the mist, stepping forward as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Tall. Broad shoulders. White hair. Blue eyes.

He reached for you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. He was freezing. Ice clung to his clothes, frost still trailing from his skin, but his hold was desperate.

Like he had been waiting an eternity to touch someone again.

"...You're real" he murmured against your shoulder, voice low, almost disbelieving. "You're here."

Rowan made a sound—half gasp, half incredulous choke. "Okay, WHAT—"

The man’s head snapped up. His arms tensed around you, and before you could blink, a blade materialized in his grip.

Rowan barely had time to move before he pointed it at her.

"Wait!" You moved, stepping in front of Rowan, shielding her with your body. “Stop! She’s not a threat!”

The cold thickened, sharp and heavy in the air. His grip on the weapon didn’t waver.

But then, his eyes met yours again.

And, slowly—reluctantly—he lowered the blade.

Rowan, to her credit, didn’t push.

After witnessing a fully grown man emerge from an ice egg and nearly skewer her with his weapon, she looked between you and him—expression torn between concern and absolute disbelief, then slowly exhaled.

"You know what? I’m gonna go."

"Rowan—"

"Nope. You two clearly have… whatever this is to sort out. And I, for one, do not want to be on the receiving end of a sword again.”

She grabbed Pebble—who had poked her head out from under the bed, curiosity outweighing her fear. “Text me if you need backup. Or if he starts doing creepy ice magic. Or if he tries to murder you in your sleep.”

“I won’t need backup.”

“You say that now.”

Then, with a final suspicious glance at Kevin—who had yet to move from where he stood, silently watching—she left.

The moment the door clicked shut, you turned back to the stranger in your room.

“Alright. Spill.”

He didn’t respond.

You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

Silence.

“How did you come from the egg?”

Nothing.

“Why did you almost stab Rowan?”

Still nothing.

Your patience thinned. His unwillingness to speak was quickly becoming frustrating.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Look, you can’t just show up, nearly give my best friend a heart attack, hug me like you’ve known me for years, and then say nothing.”

“…Kevin.”

You frowned. “Kevin?”

“That’s… my name.”

Kevin.

The name felt familiar. Like a word on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the tense silence. You glanced at the screen. A text from Rowan.

ran into my ex. send help. or maybe a meteor.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head before replying.

You’ll survive. Just avoid eye contact.

Another buzz.

fine. but now you’re stuck babysitting ice man. enjoy.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket before turning to Kevin. “Looks like it’s just us for the night.”

His posture shifted slightly at that.

“…What does that mean?”

“It means I’m stuck taking care of you.” You stretched, rolling your shoulders before glancing back at him. “And since I doubt you’ve eaten in… well, ever, we’re getting food.”

"…Food?"

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Dinner. You do eat, right?”

“…With you?”

“…Yeah,” you said, “With me.”

For the first time since he hatched, Kevin looked almost… happy.

Taking Kevin out in public turned out to be more of a spectacle than you anticipated.

From the moment you stepped into the restaurant, people stared.

You couldn’t exactly blame them. Kevin wasn’t exactly inconspicuous—towering over most of the patrons, clad in unfamiliar clothes, the way his presence seemed to subtly lower the temperature of the room—it was no wonder people were sneaking glances, whispering behind their hands.

Kevin, for his part, didn’t seem to care.

Every so often, his fingers would flex at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to reach for something.

You nudged him lightly. “Relax.”

He glanced at you. “…I am.”

“You look like you’re about to start a fight with the waiter.”

He didn’t respond, but his posture eased just slightly.

You reached the counter, scanning the menu before placing your order. When the cashier turned to Kevin expectantly, he hesitated—clearly unsure of what to do.

“Just get whatever looks good.”

He studied the menu for a moment before quietly repeating what you ordered.

The cashier, still eyeing him curiously, nodded and rang it up.

As you moved to find a seat, you caught snippets of hushed conversations.

“—he has to be a model, right?”

“Did you see his eyes? They glowed for a second, I swear—”

You glanced at Kevin to see if he noticed. If he did, he didn’t react. His focus remained entirely on you.

Even when you sat down, even as people continued stealing glances, his attention never strayed.

“…Do you always attract this much attention?”

“Attention?”

“The staring. The whispering. You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

He blinked, then looked around—like he was only just noticing the way people’s eyes flickered toward him before quickly looking away.

“I don’t care”

You exhaled, leaning back. “Of course you don’t.”

----

Life with Kevin was… an adjustment.

At first, he was quiet—always watching, always listening, rarely speaking unless spoken to. But the more time you spent together, the more he started to change. A comment here, a question there. Then, one day, Rowan nearly choked on her drink when he suddenly cracked a joke.

"Why did the scarecrow win an award?"

You and Rowan exchanged glances. "…Why?"

Kevin, completely deadpan: "Because he was outstanding in his field."

A beat of silence.

Then Rowan smacked you on the arm, wheezing. "What have you unleashed?!"

From that moment on, there was no stopping him. Every opportunity, every silence, every meal—another dad joke. Some so bad they made Rowan dramatically fake her own death on your couch. Others that made you snort into your drink when you least expected it.

And then there was the cooking.

Kevin, for all his strengths, sucked at it.

You tried to be patient. You really did. But after the third time he turned a simple omelet into something that looked—and smelled—like a crime scene, you had to intervene.

"Kevin. What did you do to this?"

He looked at the mess on the plate, completely unfazed. "I followed the instructions."

Rowan peered at the destruction. "…Did the instructions tell you to make it explode?"

He looked at the pan like it had personally betrayed him. "It didn’t do that last time."

"Last time?" you echoed in horror.

In the end, you took over the cooking duties, while Kevin begrudgingly stepped back—though not without very intense supervision.

"No, Kevin, you don't need to set the heat that high. Lower it. No, lower."

Despite all the chaos, it… worked.

Somehow, between Rowan’s teasing, Kevin’s terrible jokes, and your constant attempts to keep everything from burning down, the three of you settled into something that felt almost normal.

Kevin spoke more now. He wasn’t just an observer anymore. He and Rowan still had their moments (mostly involving his near-murder of her that first night), but they got along better than you ever expected.

And even though you didn’t have all the answers about him—where he really came from, what he was hiding—it didn’t feel like he was a stranger anymore.

He was just… Kevin.

---

The more time you spent with Kevin, the more you noticed something off.

It wasn’t just the cold that followed him. That, at least, you had gotten used to—the way the air seemed to crisp slightly when he was deep in thought, or how frost would creep along the glass whenever he stared too long out the window.

No, it was something else. The way his eyes would linger on the night sky, a faraway look in them. The way his posture would stiffen whenever a particular song played, or when Rowan made an offhand comment about history, or war, or things lost to time.

Like he was remembering something.

Something he refused to talk about.

“…Kevin?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, finally, he murmured, “The world feels… different.”

“Different how?”

He wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Lighter.”

You stepped closer. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“…No,” he admitted. “But it makes me wonder.”

You tilted your head. “About what?”

“If this world was always like this… or if it was made this way.”

You didn’t understand what he meant.

----

You worked as a dungeon monitor—watching adventurers as they delved into the depths, tracking their progress, recording statistics, and ensuring that if something went horribly wrong, help could be dispatched.

That day, things almost went very wrong.

The team that entered was experienced—one of the best—but halfway through their expedition, the cameras cut out. The entire monitoring system flickered and failed, leaving your department blind to whatever was happening inside.

Then, the readings spiked.

Unstable energy fluctuations. High threat levels.

Something was in there with them.

You and the others scrambled to restore visuals, but it was useless. No way to see what they were facing, no way to tell if they were even still alive.

Then Kevin, who had been standing silently behind you the entire time, spoke.

“I’ll go.”

You turned to him, startled. “What?”

“I’ll go in.”

The room fell silent. Some of your coworkers exchanged uneasy glances. Others whispered among themselves, unsure whether to take him seriously.

“Kevin,” you said carefully, “we don’t know what’s in there.”

“I’ll handle it.”

You knew how strong he was. You’d seen glimpses of it—his unnatural speed, his ice-cold aura, the way he carried himself like someone who had fought things far worse than this.

But going in alone?

“…You sure?” you asked.

Instead of answering, he raised his hand.

A sudden heat flooded the room.

For a moment, you thought he had activated his ice abilities again—but then you saw it. The shift in temperature. The faint glow of embers at his fingertips, the flicker of something red-hot forming at his side.

The blade he summoned burned fiercely, searing through the cold that usually followed him. The contrast was almost unnatural—his frozen presence clashing with the heat of his weapon, a contradiction made real.

The room was dead silent.

Then Kevin turned, walking toward the entrance of the dungeon without another word.

Kevin returned an hour later.

Injured, bloodstained, but standing.

And he wasn’t alone.

One by one, he carried them out—some limping, some unconscious, some… unmoving. He didn’t stop. Even when his arm was clearly wounded, even when a deep gash trailed down his side, he did not leave a single body behind.

The survivors were in shock—some barely coherent, others whispering about what they had seen inside. About the monster.

About him.

The other department arrived shortly after—the clean-up team, tasked with handling whatever remained inside the dungeon. You sat with the injured, helping where you could, while Kevin leaned against a wall, silent as medics tended to him.

Then the reports started coming in.

The mess he left behind.

The ice-covered battlefield, frozen over in jagged, unnatural formations. The smoldering remains of the creature—the way its body had been carved through by searing heat, its flesh torn apart by both fire and frost.

The kind of destruction that shouldn’t have been possible by one man alone.

One of the cleanup officers returned, pale-faced and visibly shaken. He pulled you aside, voice low.

“That guy…” He glanced warily at Kevin, who hadn’t moved from where he sat, “What is he?”

You looked at Kevin—the quiet, frostbitten warrior who told dad jokes and failed miserably at cooking.

And the man who had just single-handedly taken down a monster that nearly wiped out an entire team.

“…He’s Kevin” you said simply.

The officer gave you an incredulous look, but you didn’t elaborate.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know either.

Kevin was quiet on the way home.

He was thinking.

When you finally reached your place, he sat on the couch, arms resting on his knees, gaze unfocused. His wounds had been patched up—though not without some grumbling from Rowan about how “mystery ice man is way too durable for his own good”—but he didn’t seem concerned about them.

If anything, he looked… frustrated.

You watched him for a moment before nudging his foot with yours. “Something on your mind?”

“…I shouldn’t have been injured.”

“Uh. What?”

Kevin frowned slightly, staring at the bandages on his arm. “Those attacks shouldn’t have hurt me. Not like this.” His fingers curled slightly. “I haven’t fully recovered.”

You exchanged glances with Rowan, who raised an eyebrow. “Recovered from what?”

His gaze flickered—first to you, then to Rowan, then back again.

“Something else isn’t right,” he murmured. “The effects of the dungeon. You should have been affected.”

You tilted your head. “We weren’t inside.”

“That doesn’t matter.” His brow furrowed. “The energy—its reach should have been wider. You were close enough to be impacted.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But you weren’t.”

You exchanged another glance with Rowan.

Rowan crossed her arms. “I felt something,” she muttered. “Like a headache, maybe? It wasn’t great, but it didn’t kill me.”

Kevin seemed to consider that, his expression unreadable.

You, on the other hand, just shrugged. “I felt fine.”

That made him look at you again—longer this time, like he was trying to figure something out.

“…Why?”

You just huffed, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Maybe I’m just built different.”

Rowan snorted. “Or maybe you’ve been exposed to so much weird dungeon energy that your body just gave up trying to resist it.”

You rolled your eyes before nudging Kevin again. “Besides, why are you so surprised? You’ve literally been sitting in my apartment acting like a human air conditioner. Maybe I just got used to it.”

Kevin blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…You’ve been using me as an air conditioner?”

You shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

Rowan lost it. Kevin just stared at you, utterly unreadable.

----

Kevin didn’t hesitate.

The moment he got Rowan’s message “Emergency. We’re in trouble. Come fast.”—he was already moving.

By the time he arrived, the situation was bad.

Inside the monitoring room, you and your coworkers were forced to your knees, hands restrained, faces pale with fear. Armed men stood around you, their presence suffocating. And at the center of it all, towering over the rest, was a man—easily over six feet, built like a fortress, but it wasn’t just his size that put Kevin on edge.

It was the energy radiating from him.

The moment Kevin stepped in, every pair of eyes turned to him.

The leader grinned.

“There he is,” he rumbled, “The one we’ve been looking for.”

“You... were expecting me?”

The man spread his arms, like this was some grand occasion. “We search for power. Real power. And you…” His eyes gleamed. “You are exceptional.”

Kevin didn’t respond.

The man chuckled. “Come with us.”

Kevin’s eyes flickered—first to you, then to Rowan, then to the others.

Then, the man’s grin widened.

“But if you refuse,” he said, almost lazily, “I wonder… who will you save?”

At his signal, his men moved, pressing weapons closer to throats, tightening their hold.

He had to choose.

You, or the others.

The air turned ice-cold.

Kevin’s fingers twitched at his side, the temperature around him plummeting. The leader’s grin never wavered, but the air shimmered subtly around his body—like something unseen was suppressing the cold before it could reach him.

A countermeasure.

Kevin didn’t react, but you knew he noticed. Knew he was already calculating his next move.

Think, Kevin.

You weren’t the only ones in danger. Your coworkers—terrified, vulnerable—were too close. Too easy to kill. And these men… they weren’t bluffing.

The leader chuckled. “Decisions, decisions.”

Kevin didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he moved.

The shift was so fast it was almost imperceptible—one moment he was standing still, the next he was on them. His hand shot forward, ice crackling at his fingertips, aiming for the nearest enemy—

Only for the leader’s presence to surge.

A crushing force slammed into Kevin like a wall. His momentum stalled.

For the first time since you’d met him, Kevin staggered.

“Not so easy, is it?”

Kevin clenched his jaw, already adjusting, already adapting.

But you knew.

He wasn’t at full strength.

And these men knew exactly what they were doing.

The leader didn’t give Kevin time to recover.

Before Kevin could strike again, the pressure intensified—crushing, suffocating, like an invisible force pinning him in place. You saw his muscles tense, his body resisting, but for the first time, Kevin wasn’t just unstoppable.

He was being held back.

"You feel it, don't you?" he mused. "The weight? The restraint? It's designed for people like you. Those with overwhelming power, too dangerous to be left unchecked." He smirked. "You’re strong. But strength means nothing if you can’t use it."

"You have two options," the leader continued, gesturing to the hostages. "Join us, or decide which of them dies first."

The temperature spiked.

The suppression was strong, yes. But Kevin was adaptive. And right now, his ice was useless. But fire?

Fire was different.

And Kevin, despite his injuries, moved fast. In one swift motion, he grabbed you—yanked you toward him, shielding you with his body as a blast of heat surged through the room. The suppression cracked just enough for him to act.

But not without cost.

Because in that same moment, a blade slashed through his side.

The leader had expected this. Counted on it. And Kevin, despite his speed, despite his strength, wasn’t untouchable.

His body jerked slightly at the impact, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he twisted, using the momentum to hurl you out of immediate danger, straight into Rowan’s grasp.

Then he turned back to the fight.

He had made his choice.

He wasn’t going with them.

And he wasn’t letting them win.

The battle ended in chaos.

Kevin had won. The leader was down, the remaining men either unconscious or fleeing. The oppressive force that once restrained him was gone, shattered beneath his relentless strength.

But something was wrong.

Pain flared through your body—You barely registered the moment you collapsed, barely noticed the blood staining your clothes.

"No!"

He was at your side in an instant, faster than your mind could process. His hands hovered over, the fear in his eyes couldn't be hid.

Your breath came in ragged gasps. Distantly, you heard Rowan’s voice—panicked, but it was Kevin’s grip that stabilized you.

"Stay awake," he ordered, "You have to stay awake."

You tried to respond, tried to tell him you were fine, but the words wouldn't come.

Then, for the briefest moment, you saw something in his face—something haunted.

As if he had seen this before.

---

Relief flooded his expression when he realized you were still breathing, still alive. His hold tightened slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

When you woke up, everything hurt.

Your vision was hazy, the dull beep of a heart monitor filling the quiet room. The air smelled of antiseptic, the blankets felt too stiff, and—

Why is there so much yelling?

“You don’t understand.” Kevin’s voice—low, firm, but unmistakably angry. “Let me in.”

“We can’t—” Someone—probably a nurse tried to reason with him, but Kevin wasn’t having it.

“Move.”

“Sir, we have rules—”

“Kevin, please,” Rowan’s voice now, exasperated and desperately apologetic. “You can’t just barge in like a walking snowstorm—”

“You think rules matter?” Kevin sounded genuinely offended. “Y/N almost died.”

You sighed, the noise barely above a whisper, but apparently, it was loud enough.

Because within seconds, the door slammed open.

Kevin stood there, looking like he was two seconds away from freezing the entire hospital. Rowan was right behind him, muttering rapid apologies to the poor staff, who were wisely keeping their distance.

“You’re awake.”

“…Yeah”

Kevin was at your side in an instant, looking you over, as if making sure you were still real. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should.

Rowan sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, now that you’re here, can you stop acting like a wild animal?”

Kevin ignored her.

“…You’re okay?” His voice was quieter now, barely above a murmur.

You blinked up at him, tired but amused. “Dunno, Kev. You tell me. You’re the one scaring the doctors.”

Rowan snorted.

Kevin looked unimpressed. But the tension in his shoulders eased. Just a little.

Kevin didn’t leave your side after that.

Not when the doctors checked your vitals, not when Rowan tried to convince him to go home and rest, not when visiting hours technically ended. If anyone even thought about kicking him out, one look at his expression shut them up immediately.

You weren’t going to win this one.

So, you sighed, shifting slightly in bed. “Kevin.”

His attention snapped to you instantly.

“You don’t have to hover,” you muttered. “I’m not dying.”

Kevin didn’t look convinced. His gaze flickered to your bandages, to the faint strain in your voice. “…I won’t leave.”

Rowan groaned, rubbing her temples. “Of course you won’t.” But she didn’t argue anymore. Instead, she stood, stretching. “Fine. If you’re gonna stay, I’m going home. Someone has to make sure Pebble doesn’t eat my shoes.”

You gave her a weak thumbs-up as she left, mumbling something about ferrets and stress.

Then it was just you and Kevin.

He pulled a chair closer, settling in, still watching you carefully.

You raised an eyebrow. “Gonna stare at me all night?”

“…I can tell you a joke.”

Oh no.

You groaned, already regretting everything. “Kevin, no—”

He ignored you. “Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”

You turned your head, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Kevin.”

“Because they don’t have the guts.”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a pained wheeze. “Please stop.”

Kevin almost looked pleased with himself. “You’re smiling.”

You wanted to be annoyed, but you couldn’t. Not really. Because for all his bad jokes, all his stubbornness, all his silence and hidden thoughts

Kevin had stayed.

[gold-onthe-inside]

critical asset

n. def. a specific entity that is of such extraordinary importance that its incapacitation or destruction would have a very serious, debilitating effect on the ability of a nation to continue to function effectively.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy. content warnings: pining spencer, r and penelope argue word count: 1.8k

It’s painful how much Spencer likes you, wishing he could just transfer to counter-intelligence and be around you all the time, especially these days. You don’t come downstairs as often anymore, not since they put away Doyle, and it makes him all the more restless. He pursed his lips, looking at the chess game he was playing out, his interest in it sapping the more aware he was of your absence.

A few weeks ago, you would have been sitting right across from him, contemplating your next move, toying with the bishop between your fingers, so focused on the game that he could stare at you as long as he liked. He liked watching your sharp eyes dart around the board, assessing threats to your victory, liked watching you chew your lip as you thought about what to do. He could notice the exact shift in your expression when you knew you were either going to win or lose.

“I see it in 4,” you said, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, glancing up at him as his gaze shifted to the pieces, the litte furrow in his brow as he wet his lips, trying to see what you did.

“How?” he asked. He was so sure he hadn’t given you a way out… until he watched you arrange each move delicately and his lips pursed into a pout. “Rematch?” he would ask, noticing your smug smile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say, standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you’d walk away, and he’d sigh, like he’s doing right now, sweeping the pieces into the cloth drawstring bag and folding up the wooden board to put back in his desk.

He’d get one over you more often than not when playing chess at least. He couldn’t say the same for everything else. But if anyone would say yes to a meditation sci-fi film, he knows it’s you — you’re one of the rare few people in his life who has obscure interests like his.

“My Russian isn’t that good,” you said as he waited by your cubicle for an answer, watching you turn off your desktop, drumming his fingers on the top of your transparent divider.

“I can translate anything you don’t understand,” Spencer offered, able to sense that he was close to prying a ‘yes’ out of you.

“I’ve heard your Russian,” you replied, raising a brow at him as the two of you stroll to the elevatory. “Just cause you can memorise the language doesn’t make you fluent, Reid.”

“Well, how am I supposed to become fluent if I don’t immerse myself in the language?” he asked, knowing exactly how to modulate his voice to melt your resistance. He sees your nose twitch and he knows he’s got you.

“Fine, but you’re buying dinner,” you replied, pointing at him and he frowned at you.

“How’s that fair if I’ve bought your ticket too?” he asked, pressing the elevator button. “Plus paying for snacks, and you know those places charge extra than normal—”

“Ugh, fine, jeez,” you replied, leaning against the wall. “I’ll buy dinner.” He was content with that, waiting for you to get in the elevator before following you. A thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that he had never said anything about getting dinner together, and hope flares in his chest. Maybe you wanted this to be a date as much as he did.

It’s dashed when he overhears your argument with Penelope when he’s supposed to be asking her to track down gas stations close to their crime scene — “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling left out if you weren’t constantly shutting me out!” you cried. “God, I mean, you didn’t even let me know you were going to work this early, but you seemed fine calling up Kevin to carpool with.”

“It’s… That’s… It’s just complicated, okay?” Penelope cried, already on the edge since they’d lost Emily.

“Yeah, a lot of things seem complicated with you lately,” you said, scoffing. “It’s kinda hard to support you when I don’t know what’s going on with you, Pen. You’re either working or you’re with Derek or you’re with Kevin—”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you!” Penelope shot back. “Been on any dates with Reid lately?” she asked and his breath stuttered where he stood, out of sight, behind the slightly ajar door.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re always bringing Kevin home?” you demanded. “Seriously, it’s starting to feel like he’s a third roommate lately. He certainly eats like one.” His heart sinks at your words — were you only hanging out with him because you had nowhere to go? Spencer pressed himself back against the wall. “You know what, if he’s gonna hang around that much, you could at least get him to split the groceries,” you snapped at her, heading for the door.

“Yeah, well…” Penelope struggled to come up with a retort as fast as you did — she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Or at least, she wasn’t as quick with using it. “Well, if you’re gonna spend that much time with Reid, the least you could do is throw that boy a bone,” she called after you as you stormed out, slamming the door behind you and letting out an enraged huff as you stalked down the corridor, oblivious to Spencer.

He swallowed, watching your retreating figure and letting a beat pass before contemplating whether he should go to Penelope. Maybe he should just have Morgan talk to her instead. He turned on his heel, making his way back to the briefing room instead.

Spencer stared at the clock, watching the hands tick round until you would finally leave. All this week he had been trying to convince himself that you were avoiding him, but that was just his paranoia talking. You’d been avoiding everyone, really — him, Garcia, Morgan… your behaviour towards other people was almost exactly the same. Almost, but not quite. You had been colder to him specifically.

He just couldn’t help thinking you were upset with him.

“You okay?” he asked, catching up to you outside the building, a slight pant to his voice due to the short sprint he had to do to catch up to you in time. Your pace had slowed, and with your gaze to the floor, you let him fall in step beside you. Spencer tried not to pay too much attention to the distance you kept between the two of you.

He noticed everything about you. He couldn’t help it. He had noticed the stiffness in your shoulders, the rigid way you carried yourself.

"Fine," you replied half-heartedly, turning your keys over in your pocket. "I just hate taking the train home."

“Why not get an apartment that’s closer to here?” he suggested, stuffing his hands in his own pockets, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. He’d noticed you had been taking the metro a lot more than usual. He wondered if everything was okay with your roommate.

"I like living in DC," you replied, walking with him to the station. He hated driving as much as you hated the train.

He nodded, walking alongside you. He wished you’d look at him, though. He could never guess what was going on in your head — was everything okay? Had he done something wrong? You seemed colder to him these days. “What’s been going on with you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve been a bit down lately, are you sure you’re alright?” You finally looked up at Spencer and he had to catch his breath — he’d never get used to your eyes, the sharp intelligence in them, the focus.

You sighed, looking ahead again. "Penelope's been... I dunno, things aren't great between us."

“Why’s that?” he asked, reminded of your argument again. The two of you were always together, you were inseparable. “Is everything okay?” He was about to reach out, touch your arm, but he second-guessed himself, not wanting you to push him away. He couldn’t take it if you did.

"I don't know," you confessed, your nose tinged red with the cold, still turning over the key in your pocket to keep yourself grounded. "She's working overtime, if she's not on a case, she's working on something with Derek that she won't tell me about, which is fine, I get it. If anyone understands classified projects, I do. And then she's always with Kevin and I just..." You let out a breath, like you haven't let all of it out in a while, and it fogs up a little, your eyes glassy. "You know, you see yourself as this central person in someone's life and then suddenly... all these other figures come in and you just... don't know where you fit in anymore."

The look in your eyes made him ache to comfort you and he had to look away to stop himself from being overwhelmed by what he saw there. “People get busy,” he said, softly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t value your friendship, or that she doesn’t want you around as much as you want to be.” His fingers twitched against his own palm as he spoke — he knew the feeling in your words all too well. He hated the idea that you were going through what he did on a daily basis.

You blinked the dampness in your eyes away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "It's whatever," you murmured, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer looked at your profile as you walked and he had to look away again. He was starting to lose count of how many times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to you. He wanted to, he wanted to so desperately… but he was also terrified of rejection from you. He didn’t have an endless well of confidence, and he couldn’t bear it if you pushed him away. So he settled with wishing he could help you more than he currently was.

"How are you doing?" you asked, glancing at him. "With Emily and everything."

Spencer cleared his throat as he walked beside you, staring at the ground in front of him. “I think I’m still in shock,” he said, softly. “I miss her a hell of a lot, I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.” He didn’t even hesitate before he added: “Except maybe with you.”

You huffed a little, smiling. "Nerds of a feather, right?"

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He glanced over and met your gaze, and he couldn’t help the way a grin bloomed on his face, your eyes meeting his.

You smiled at him, your eyes lighting up in that way he loves — not just with amusement, but with warmth, and his chest started to ache, just a little. He could do this forever.

His heart skipped, and for a moment he could forget everything. For a moment, everything was perfect, just you and him.

[doppel-doodles]

A normal post about Doey the doughman from poppy playtime

Round 4 everyone!:D The grand finale to a series I had no idea was gonna be a thing-

I also wanna mention that these posts probably were the most engagement I've ever gotten on Tumblr EVER, it was kinda overwhelming ngl but I'm nonetheless grateful and super happy about it!:>

But now let's get into the thick of it:

These share the common theme of: I'm not sure how to start this, this time my excuse is the fact that I already talked about each of the boys sharing Doey meaning that covers all the basis for his personality and a lot of his interactions.

So instead let me talk about some things that they scrapped for Doey.

So- first things first, some scrapped content that we know of, the first was that apparently Doey was at one point planned to be an antagonist for chapter 2, at first I couldn't really see it but then I did think about it and it weirdly fits when you compare him and mommy longlegs??

Like their gimmicks are kinda similar, both of them are toys that can bend,stretch and twist their bodies however they wish and even from a design standpoint they kind of go together.

Mommy is long and spindly, pink from head to toe meanwhile Doey is big and round with his main color being blue. And I know pink and blue are not opposites on the color wheel but people often associate them as opposites. Not to mention mommy has cool accent color and doey has warm accent colors.

The point I'm trying to make is: they weirdly go together.

Its giving the main big bads henchmen vibes with how they are sorta matching opposites.

Ngl I love that-

It makes me wonder about what could've been, I wouldn't trade my boy does for anything in the world but simply IMAGINE what a more antagonistic Doey could be like, maybe he was more calculating and hid his crazy better or go full hulk on us, maybe he was simply an obstacle mommy would throw at us in the game station.

Some food for thought.

A second thing that was scrapped from chapter 4 was a side quest for Doey where we go to retrieve a book for everyone to read.

And you know what?

We. Were. ROBBED.

FUCKING ROBBED.

I think a little side quest where we just get to contribute to the safe haven would've gone a long way in making the loss of it all the more gut wrenching.

And it just hammers home the fact that all of them are still CHILDREN.

Just imagine: we retrieve the book and then we get to see a little scene of Doey reading to the toys, maybe we even get to sit with them and listen to the story as well, or heck maybe WE get to read the book to them if we wanted to.

And afterwards we get new voice lines from the toys talking about how they really are starting to like us! Maybe even talk to US! It's a little thing that does a lot to make us feel like a part of this community, no longer an outsider.

And a tiny scene like that would make Doeys outburst hurt so much more.

Because we gave him a taste of something better only for the worst possible thing to happen right after.

Like Matthew could've finally gotten to sit back, enjoy a story and experience his first break in YEARS.

Kevin could've started to be more comfortable around us, seeing how much effort we put into helping them, even when it was small things that "didn't matter". He might even start viewing us as a safe adult to be around!

And Jack could just feel like a kid again! Imagine if he doesn't even know the story since he isn't from the orphanage, and he just gets so excited hearing something new and just-

UGHHHHH MY HEART IT WAS SUCH A FUMBLE!

Wanna hear my thoughts on the boys?

Here ya go-

Matthew

Kevin

Jack

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny!!! can i submit a request for kevin magnussen? something like a mafia!au where he’s big and scary except for when he’s with reader?💞

kevin magnussen

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!kevin, size difference/kink, doggy style, protective!kevin, reader doesn't know he's mafia, creepy men, mentions of blood and violence, body worship

thank you lovely anon for this idea! i know i usually get bakery submissions, but i do accept other ideas you might have! so this was a pleasant surprise in my inbox!

coming to copenhagen wasn't on your bucket list of dreams. while it was for some, you only took the job because the hours were better. and after a nasty break up only a few months prior, it felt like a good idea to be in another part of the globe. while you missed family, there was something about the unknown that made you pack your belongings (and cat) and head to denmark.

you knew living abroad would have its risks. they were put to rest when you met a tattooed gentleman with the kindest eyes. his name was kevin, kevin magnussen

kevin was an interesting man. you had met him after a blind date fell through and he was at a nearby table by himself. he was waiting for 'friends', but didn't mind spending some time with you. before his 'friends' arrived he ordered you some dessert for after your meal.

he also slipped you a business card and said, "if you need anything in this city, let me know." then smiled at you. the address on the card led to a mechanics shop and kevin told you he owned and "worked" here, but you never saw too many cars come through.

but any questions were met with smiles and promises. you felt a little safer in the city when you were kevin. you one time asked him, "it seems like everyone looks at you when we walk together. or maybe i'm just imagining things."

even though you became accustomed to the public transport of the city. kevin was more than happy to pick you up or drop you off even places like the grocery store. you didn't want to think about all the times he bought you groceries. one time he made you grab another pack of salmon and not to look at the cost. he told you that you can freeze it for a few months. your throat tightened when you saw the price at the check out. but kevin simply paid without a second glance.

maybe you were used to people in your country being paid pennies. you chalked everything up to better wages in denmark.

  “you don't have to pay for things, kevin! really, this job i do pays well enough.” you held onto the front of his zip-up jacket as he carried your groceries back to your apartment. you still didn't know what he saw in you. but, if you couldn't give him the money back, then you'd simply have to keep him smiling. not that it was hard, even your worst jokes made him laugh and wrap his arms around you.

kevin seemed weird, but you found it endearing. when he was all smiles with you, in front of the family he was serious. he could be cold, methodic, dangerous. the light that he brought into your world were the same as the shadows he put into the underbelly of the city. people looked when you went down the street, because it wasn't very often to see him out on the streets. especially with someone so…. cute. 

but, there was something that lingered inside of the danish man you met. kevin saw it with his own two eyes when he entered the bar to meet with you one night. he saw a man at your table trying to chat you up. even with your back turned to kevin, he knew you were uncomfortable. nobody liked unwanted sexual advances.

but you weren't budging giving this man an inch, instead waving him off and eventually he took the cue to leave. but not before he touched you at the small of your back which made you lean away from him in disgust.

kevin saw your mouth move and then take a sip of your drink. at least kevin knew that you could stand up for yourself a little bit. at least enough to get this creep to go away.

eventually he did and when he walked away, kevin followed. no one was touching his girl. you were your own woman of course, you did as you pleased with kevin's support. but, most of the city should've know by now. you were under magnussen protection.

you were too occupied with your drink when the man left for you to notice that kevin had saw the entire thing. and instead of meeting you at your table, he followed the man in the washroom.

kevin wasn't the mechanic he told you he was. the tattoos weren't just from the lifestyle of fixing cars. they all meant something, his past, present and future. his family. his life. the head of an important family in the country. he rolled up his sleeves and the man who was flirting with you noticed him.

"almost done, man." he said as he turned off the tap and shook his hands to dry them. kevin crossed the small bathroom and instantly his fist was in the other man's face. causing him to sprawl out on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

kevin got on one knee down to the other man's level. he grabbed him by the front of the shirt and said, "don't, don't, don't yell." he pulled the bloodied man a little closer, his nose obviously broken, "you're going to leave this place. and you're not going to come back. you do not touch a woman without her permission."

"but i-"

"shh, shh, shh. i saw what you clipped to the back of her pants. a tracker? gps? going to follow her home? kidnap her? sell her? answer me." his voice was firm.

the man looked shaken and bleeding, he was trembling like a leaf at the end of fall. kevin was dangerously close, but didn't want to get blood all over himself. he didn't want you to worry.

"keep yourself out of here. if you don't. not even your dental records will be able to identify you. and if you want a date so badly, stop being a fucking creep." then dropped the man and got up.

the man nodded before he propped himself up against the bottom of the sink. he wiped his bleeding nose and before he could get a word in, kevin was gone.

"min elskede!" kevin's words could be heard and made you look over. you perked up a little bit as your boyfriend sat across from you. you were all smiles now in his presence.

"what happened to your hand?" you asked as you carefully took his hand in yours. you examined the red across his knuckle.

kevin rubbed the top of your head with his other hand, "oh, nothing. i wasn't looking at got it right at the corner of a door. you can kiss it if you want?"

you giggled a little then brought his knuckle to your lips, "what would you do without me, kevin?"

"oh, i don't know. i'd be lost." he smiled back at you.

-

back at your apartment, you were trying to get your socks off. they had little flowers printed on them and were a lovely pair. but it was hard with kevin's lips on your skin.

you squirmed a little and broke the kiss, "please, honey. let me get my clothes off." then burst into giggles when his lips got onto your neck. you ran your fingers through his hair and laughed.

"i can't help it, you're so beautiful." he admitted before he managed to pry himself away from you to let you get undressed. as he undid his button up shirt, he watched you struggle to get out of your jeans and chuckled softly to himself. beautiful little thing you were.

"oh shush." you said as you slipped off your panties, feeling kevin's eyes on you, "i'm alright looking. nothing to write home about."

he took you and pulled him to your chest. he kept those strong arms around you, as if he didn't punch a guy in the face earlier that evening. but, that was simply a part of his life. he had a punch that could kill, but with you. he was so sweet.

eventually you wiggled out of his grasp and got yourself in a further state of undress. soon you naked body was exposed to him and you could feel his hungry gaze on you.

you said as you looked at him, "i'm not a piece of meat, honey."

he reached for you and pulled your naked body next to his. he kissed at your face with such love and said, "of course you're not. you're too important to be meat." then trailed kisses across your body.

you laughed, "oh, c'mon!" you squirmed a little bit and arched your back. your nails rubbed against his scalp. his hips shifted a little bit and his cock rubbed against your thigh.

he knew that if anyone in the family saw him in that moment, they'd think he was a totally different man. the mean boss of the family was reduced to getting head scratches while he worshiped your breasts with his lips.

he said sweet things against you, watching your squirm when his tongue touched your left nipple. he watched your reaction for a moment before he closed his eyes and started to really suck on it. leaving wet trails behind.

his large hands kneaded your breasts and he felt his back arch against you. you felt hot all over and you moaned a little louder. two lovers naked in bed together.

you ran your hands up and down his shoulders, you knew both arms were heavily tattooed. you moaned against his lips before he pulled away and moved away from you. he got you onto your elbows and knees with your ass in the air.

he groped your ass cheek a little bit as he stroked his cock a little bit before he got closer to you once more and rubbed his hard cock up against your slick pussy. he listened to your sweet noises which only excited him more when he slipped his cock in. the angle let him get quite deep inside of you.

"kev!" your back arched a little, "oh. wow! every time." you hit your fist against the bed for a moment. your back arched a little more and you held onto the covers under you.

kevin licked his lips as he kept both hands on you. he loved the feeling of your cunt around his cock. it was his little slice of heaven. all the money from being in the family was something, but to have your sweetness around him made everything feel so much better.

"you're so pretty." he said softly, "you are the most gorgeous thing i had ever laid eyes on. i think about you all day, how much i love you and care for you." he pressed his chest agaisnt your back, then kissed at the back of your shoulders as he rutted against you.

he could feel the pound of his heart as he continued to move against you. his breathing was heavy against your skin as you buried your face into the soft pillows. the pillows he bought for you because you talked so much about how they were just so soft. and you hated to admit that since sleeping with them, your sleeps have improved.

he watched you move a little bit and whine into the covers. you sounded so pretty as he rutted against you. he kissed your shoulders once more.

"please, kev. honey!" you whined.

"you're so beautiful, my love."

his movements continued and the heat in the room grew, especially between the two of you. you could feel the sweat of his chest on your back as he wrapped his arms around you. he kept you close to him as he picked up the pace.

he pushed your further into the bed and worked at your hips. his cock slipped in and out of you perfectly. you were a dream around his cock. the creaking of the bed under you as the two of you made love under the low light of your bedroom.

it was comfortable, it wasn't painful in every way. and it was so good to feel your lover so closely. you panted heavily into the pillows and clutched it tightly. your noises were muffled as he moved. he pressed further into you and knew he wasn't going to last long.

a man capable of such violence was so docile around you. he wanted you so badly. he needed you more than he needed almost anything. his heart sang for you, and when he was away he tried to get home to you as soon as possible.

the dangerous life was common for him, but he didn't want to scare you off. if you knew the truth, would you hate him? would you run away or to the police? would you leave kevin?

he loved you so much, the idea of losing you made him almost scared. he pressed into you as much as he could and fucked you with heavy thrusts. he heard you pant heavily into the covers as he felt the pleasure in his brain.

you whined more as you felt orgasm hit you like a train. you said to your lover, "please, kevin. i love you."

he kissed your cheek and said, "good. because i love you too." then gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with one final movement of his hips. he came with a groan before he slowed to a stop. he rested his face against your shoulder and just let himself feel you for a moment.

"i love you so much." you groaned.

kevin slipped out of you and laid out beside you. you laid next to him and let him wrap himself up around you. like a protective blanket. he pressed soft kisses against you and melted against your heated skin.

he said with his voice close to your ear, "i promise to protect you forever." then kissed the shell of your ear, "all of my days and all of my nights."

you giggled and turned in his arms, "sounds like you're trying to propose to me." your cheeks warmed at the thought.

he smiled down at you, "maybe, but i'll need a ring first." maybe he'll slowly let you into his world. to be closer to him than ever. he wanted you for a lifetime, to love you was an honour as he kept you in his arms while you both calmed down from your climaxes, "it's a secret for now." he said, "have to give you a little surprise."

you buried your face in his chest and giggled, "oh my god, kevin!" you squirmed a little bit on the bed, "you don't need to propose! really! i'm fine being your girlfriend." the idea of marriage made your cheeks hot!

he held your back and smiled into your hair, "even if it is just a ring, you deserve something nice. and if it is pretty enough then no idiot men at the bar will try to make you uncomfortable." he thought about the tracker he took off of you. being married to you was the end goal, but to protect you was a constant in his mind.

he kissed you, tomorrow he'll go ring shopping before his meetings. it'll be a hard choice to pick the perfect ring, but only the best for you. <3

[unwantedshivering]

can i get uhhhh more tender kevin? maybe something with him realizing he really scared the reader doing something and he didn't mean to so he's his version of nice about it?

ABSOLUTION

He couldn’t help himself from feeling this way, and it annoys him more than it hurts you.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: HEAVY emotional manipulation, controlling actions, hurtful words, light angst, Kevin being scary (not really), jealousy, possessiveness, dead reader imagery, obsessive behavior, blood and wound

FOR: Kevin Katchadourian (2.0k)

NOTES: i completely went a bit wild with this, so it's definitely longer than i wanted it to be. could this be called mild yandere? also unedited so don't mind any carelessness

It was a stupid thing.

Kevin had never done anything stupid in his life, and he never intended to. Everything was set how he wanted them to be, everybody as empty-brained or clueless. His every slight of hand had never once been unprecedented by him, though he might seem impulsive and mercurial to others.

So why did he find himself with the urge to simply stop speaking? Why did he feel the need to stop moving altogether?

The words flowed freely from his mouth, tongue unabashedly bitter and spiteful. The pocket knife he had in his hand gripped tight. He had taken to fiddling with it recently after you gifted it to him a while back, even though he told you he’d throw it away if you bought him anything.

He didn’t, of course, despite himself. He didn’t like or want to learn to use anything beside his bow, but its intricacy was… nice to look at.

It took him a while to accept gifts, and for a while he truly did throw some of them away. At some point, you bought them just for the sake of presenting it to him, but at a later point you’d see smaller trinkets still in his room. It made the area surprisingly lively despite how dead Kevin lived.

“Are you calling me a liar now?”

You were seated on his bed (one that was perpetually blank, devoid of personality), cross-legged and emotionally despondent. It’d been a long day, your whole being exhausted with the notion of there being a next. You agreed to grab a coffee with a friend that morning.

It was a bad idea.

You didn’t tell Kevin, forgetting to let him know. Usually he wasn’t so… abrasive when it came to your friends, though he didn’t like them. He knew that they were your friends, and having that approval of seeming like the perfect boyfriend amused him. It was almost funny seeing them fall headfirst into his boy next door persona. You even watched him help a female friend of yours, as if he was wrapping the facade with a bow; kind, charming, tall, wow, you have the whole package don’t you?

It was a little secret for him and you to keep.

So why was he so goddamn irked? You usually had more patience with Kevin, more love to give him. It was just difficult when you hadn’t seen each other in a while. Kevin periodically pulled away from you, like clockwork after being emotionally vulnerable or intimate he would stop coming over unannounced. You found him undeniably alluring despite this. Damn you for coming back to him, but you’d be more damned if you didn’t.

“No,” you answered, “you saw me, yes, but he’s not in love with me.”

In a quick motion, Kevin seated himself in front of you on his bed. “You’re calling me a liar. I know what I saw.”

“What did you see, Kevin?” you murmured, eyes flickering tiredly from his face to his hands, knuckle-white from his vice on the pocket knife.

“I saw him pathetically jabbering at your fucking feet, trying to get even a glimpse of your affection.” That your sounded awfully like mine. Kevin’s pretty face barely scrunched at the acidity of his tone, but somehow his darkened eyes and harshly clenched jaw made your breath quicken.

Flick. Blade in, blade out.

"He didn't mean anything, he was just paying for me," you stated. You forgot your wallet and it was a small gesture.

"He was drooling." It made you wince to even hear it. Its sheer harshness was grating. It convinced you he could do something horrible, even if it wasn't directed toward you.

Flick. In and out. The pocket knife kept flicking, and you followed its movements instead of Kevin's face. Faster, and faster.

He'd done infinitely worse before. Kevin could make people do things they had no intention of doing before. You saw how his laced words could make men and women unintentionally doom themselves, and it wasn't unknown to you that you were just as susceptible. You were probably the most susceptible to him, really. It was hard resisting someone like him, and harder to escape him when he didn't want you to. Though want was a strong word to use for him. He never wanted anything, but the closest he ever felt it was the ache that thrummed silently around you.

His eyes were compelling, magnetic, like a honey trap. They were brooding even now, eyebrows drawn together and anger boiling over. It was like walking into a bear trap knowing you'd be caught, ankle clasped in an excruciating vice that wouldn't ever let up. Flick. Flick.

He'd never dirty his own hands. Never felt the need to. Urges came in waves and feelings dull enough to sink beneath his impenetrable skin. So why, why, why was this scaring you? Faster, faster. It was antagonizing.

You knew he could — had done worse. This is assuming he'd do anything to you. Oftentimes you cared for him even though the barely there danger was forever present. It danced under your skin: fear. It came to the surface in this present moment only. His knees were touching yours, and you couldn't keep your eyes glued anywhere but the damn knife you gifted him. It was him and you, your back to the wall. Cornered. Something shaky escaped your lips.

"Kev, Kevin — you're scaring me." Flick. Inward. Out. You hadn't expected him to listen to you, not really, only because he'd purposefully barely miss your face when practicing archery. It'd graze you like his breath. These things would shake you, but only so much. This was much less dangerous in comparison. It was the simple deadness in his eyes that was different.

Everything he had done was for his own whims, his own nature of being himself. This was motivated by you, and you only. Whatever he could or would do... it'd be worse. Sickeningly so.

"Kevin," you tried again, quieter, disconcerted. His alluring face never let up, jaw tense and chest heavy.

He didn't move once to the sound of his name. Not a twitch or a sign of life. It was disturbing. Kevin had always disturbed you, but it ceased to something muted most of the time. It also attracted you. This was different. This felt like a mutilation of those previous times he’d subtly scare you, it felt like he could do something heinous, and you were all too aware of being secluded in his room. Blinds closed. Parents and sibling gone. Alone. Just him, only him.

You’d never been scared at the possibility of being alone in his room before. He was a man, sure, but he was Kevin. Flashes of darker impulses, of your neck, of yourself bleeding flashed through your head. His aim had always been particularly good.

It was definitely stupid. It was you being reduced to your baser instincts of survival, and it was worse to say that Kevin had triggered it.

Out. In a desperate, quick motion you attempted to slowly grab his wrist, but the speed of his movements caused the blade to come in contact with your palm instead. In. Finally, he stopped. You had a grip on the blade instead of his hand, and red droplets of your blood fell onto his clean sheets. They were perpetually and unnaturally clean, always. You were the first to stain them.

The air felt stagnant before the tension filtered away, and Kevin deftly made you let up before flicking the knife inward. A flash of something danced across his features. It was concealed surprise, and a twitch of his eyebrows upwards. Not amusement, something worse.

He grabbed your wrist, motions ever non-gentle, and made you open your fingers. The line wasn't shallow, but still stung. The way he looked at it made you feel relieved. "You're stupid," he said, voice light. His tone showed no concern. "I just sharpened it."

He liked it enough to sharpen it? It was an engraved and lovely thing, something seemingly delicate and unlike him. Of everything he threw away you expected it to be a part of them. “That's surprising," you murmured.

"Stand up."

You pursed your lips and followed him silently, clutching your wrist to keep the stinging at bay. He led you to the bathroom, rummaging around in the overhead cupboard before pulling something out. In his hand was a med-kit from their bathroom that was most frequently used when Celia was younger, and otherwise hadn't been touched since Kevin mastered archery.

He placed it on the counter before turning you around by your shoulders, making you face yourself and him in the mirror. Mussed hair, confused expression. Tired. Kevin looked like his usual self, though his eyes were trained solely on you, and that had your heart thrumming against your ribcage. He stood behind you, enveloping his hand in yours as he turned on water to wash the cut.

His larger, calloused palms from years of practice felt rough against your own. Lithe fingers slipped in between the crevices of yours, the red marbling against the white sink. It entranced you slightly. You were all too aware of the heat radiating off his body behind you. Intimacy like this was unexpected from him, at least the kinder, softer kind. It was too domestic. Too loving for someone like him. It was also all based on him and when he wanted to give it.

Kevin grabbed your sides, and the smallest yelp escaped your mouth in surprise. It wasn't until he sat you down on the counter that you closed your agape lips at his actions. He was closer than before, the small bathroom feeling infinitely smaller, and the both of you being more intimately intertwined.

"Open," he demanded, though there was no usual assuredness. It was monotone but somehow bared, like a vivisection on a table. It was vulnerable. You splayed your palm for him like an animal on its back.

He'd usually like the fact that you felt some sort of fear mixed with attraction for him, like you were toeing the line with danger unknowingly. Of course, you weren't, you wholeheartedly cared for him whether or not he gave you that thrilling risk. This thought made his ministrations slower, more deliberate. Careful and care-filled. His dark eyes were focused on your palm, eyes narrowed as he dried off your hands, wiping softly as though they were entirely fractured instead.

He opened antiseptic that hadn't been used in ages, competence and dexterity in his motions. It was odd being cared for by him. Odder with how willing you were to accept it. He patted the wound with a cotton pad, the stinging of the wound dampened by his intensity and closeness. A breath escaped his lips, tickling your skin lightly.

The wound itself pricked ever so slightly, barely there, pulsing silently like a heartbeat. It was in sync with your off-kiltered breathing, and its intimacy was grueling for your psyche. Cruel, even.

After he bandaged you, he lingered, hands clutching your own. You were close enough to curl your fingers and brush his hair out of his eyes. It was a simple action, altogether lovely. He allowed it with a small flutter of his eyes.

"I don't like him," he said finally, as though he was trying to say something, anything. "He wants you."

"I don't think so," you muttered, "but I'll tell him to lay off a bit. He's still my friend."

"Hm."

It was a quiet hum, like an unfinished conversation he'd store off to get back to. He'd make you realize that friend of yours liked you soon enough, but for now he was content with your acknowledgement. He was content altogether, the subtle stirring in his stomach halting. It made him feel sick earlier.

You made him feel sick.

It unsettled him when he hurt you in some manner, intentional or not. Usually it didn't matter, and the teasing breeze of an arrow near your face meant little to him. It was entirely full of trust. This was different, and he couldn't help himself from leaning toward your outstretched hand, head cocked and bent toward you like a flower in the wind.

Images occasionally flashed through his head. A bigger wound, your blood soaking his sheets entirely. He found himself not liking them. Your warmth was something he sought out more than he thought. It both disgusted and intrigued him.

And he’d never utter the words, but the knife reminded him of you. Your resilience despite how difficult he was. Your intricacy. Its wholeness was a reminder that you cared for him, and he, just slightly, was compelled to do the same for you.

When you left his house he washed the sheets but left the blade untouched. Some of your blood had seeped in its engravings, and he could only stare at its deeply rooted lines before closing it again. Flick.