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auroralwriting · 2 months

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poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

#doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #bau team #criminal minds fandom #dr reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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teaboot · 1 month

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how are you both bisexual and asexual. are you also both autistic and neurotypical? are you both trans and cis too? please help me out here

okay so first off I don't think you meant this to come off as confrontational, so in the future please do keep in mind that these are highly personal questions. I don't actually owe anyone this information

So, sexual attraction and romantic attraction are different things. Someone who is asexual may desire a romantic relationship with someone, while someone who is aromantic may desire a sexual relationship with someone.

Alternatively, someone who is AroAce may desire strong, intimate connections that have nothing to do with sex OR romance.

So someone who is romantically attracted to all genders but sexually attracted to nobody may be more accurately described as "Biromantic / Panromantic Asexual", but that's a bit of a mouthful and uses terminology and concepts a lot of people don't get so they may just say they're ace and bi.

I've known for a long time that I'm asexual, that one was relatively easy. Romantic attraction, I've found, is harder to evaluate because "deep, intimate friendship" and "romance" have a lot of overlap and are difficult to distinguish.

For a long time, I thought, "I feel the same level of attraction to all genders, so I must be bi or pan". It just so happens that that level of sexual attraction was zero.

(Apparently this is a fairly common experience.)

Also, not entirely what you asked, but recently I've come to the realization that I may be Aromantic as well as Asexual- I may just experience aesthetic attraction to all genders, which is a third thing, in which you can see someone and go "Ohhhhhhh my god you're so fuckin cool and pretty I'm dying" but not actually really wanna do anything about it.

And since I may be aesthetically attracted to all genders, romantically attracted to like 5 people ever, and sexually attracted to nobody, I could go around saying, "Yeah I'm an asexual demiromantic with panaesthetic attraction", confusing half the people I talk to and sounding like a queer zoomer in a conservative political cartoon, I could also just say, "yeah I'm ace and bi" or "I'm queer" and keep the rest to myself.

Also, while I openly use he/him pronouns now and for the last couple years, growing up I thought for about a decade that I was Genderfluid and I'm still pretty attached to the Genderqueer identity, so trans and cis isn't really the reach you may think it is.

So, yeah. Autistic, Asexual, Bi, Trans.

But I've found that my personal identity is less like a business card and more like a witness statement.

Any wordier than you need to be, and you start giving the opposition room to poke holes.

"Queer", though. Queer is good

#Long post #Fine to reblog

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joehills · 6 months

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Okay, this took like twelve hours longer than we hoped, and it still isn't entirely accurate in terms of who's going to be at each thing, but it's really close and we need to rest for tomorrow.

#hermitcraft #hermticraft gamers outreach #hermitcraft 10 #Joe hills #zedaph #tangotek #goodtimeswithscar #skizzleman #impulsesv #zombiecleo #falsesymmetry #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity

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evilminji · 1 year

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Oh... my god? Ghost Reporters.

Imagine it. Their office is in the Zone. They literally FEED of hunting for The Next Big Scoop! And Revealing The Truth! Every honest reporter that got silenced for getting a little too close to the facts. The bloody, beating, heart of societies underbelly.

Every Lois Lane that had no Kryptonian to stop some rich and powerful jackals putting them in the ground.

Well Death sure didn't stop THEM! They STILL want answers! But now they have co-wokers. Oh~ and SUPERPOWERS! And best part?

The newly appointed KING is going too and from the living world. That must mean it's okay now, RIGHT? Your majesty? You're not a RAGING HYPOCRITE, aaaaare you? :) 🎤

And... look. Danny knows full well what these piranhas are up too. He's not stupid. But Madeline Fenton raised a lot of things. Fool? Not one of um. That a LOT of reporters with sharp, sharp teeth and bloodlust in their eyes. He wants to half-live.

He compromises. Illusion of control and all that. Yeah, yeah, they all tooootally respect his authority etc. Give them Them Scoop! He, wisely, gets the fuck out of the way. Whoosh! Off they go!

Thats.... probably gonna be a problem. *siiiiiips his morning coffee* But it's not HIS problem. Not right now.

And? Suddenly all these politicians and business leaders are getting fucking AMBUSHED. Oh? You thought you'd get soft ball "aren't I a man of the people. Buy oil!" Bullshit questions? HA! Where were you on June 27th, 1978, at-

And "according to YOUR words, exact quote as follows-"

Just? They BEAT the leader with the STICK. "Oh but you'll lose access". They'd love to see HOW! They can go through WALLS! Answer the question, coward. "Your gonna make powerful enemies!" Oh nooooo, what are they gonna DO?

Shoot us TWICE?

Hey Mr. Family Values! How's the three mistresses your wife doesn't know about?? "No comment"? That's fine. We already have THEIRS. >:D Good luck with your upcoming election!

And like? As newspapers are shutting down and turning clickbait all across the country? This ONE(1) tiny, middle of nowhere town? Somehow has a horrid, horrid, ARMY of Satan's own Reporters. All apparently willing to die for the News. Throwing themselves at dictators and Supervillians alike.

"We see no God here but the Truth" is literally their papers MOTTO.

The damn thing is basicly a BRICK. You get a paperback of news. Entire planet AND THEN SOME. How?! How are they reporting, IN DETAIL, on the break down of talks between two planets 16 galaxies over? Hal says it's accurate. But what Earth paper would even HAVE that information?

And?? The whole town treats this as normal? There are human children, complaining about the weight of papers, because it makes their paper routes a pain in the ass. Soccer moms discussing alien celebrity drama. Farmers muttering over foreign unrest and how it will impact their corn harvest.

Fucking Lex Luthor, clearly deciding to roll with it, coming to sign himself up for a paper. Gaining a new life long Nemesis upon meeting Vladimir Master, whom he decides is both hot and unbearable. Someone is heard shouting "oh god, there's TWO OF THEM!"

And?? Look. Clark isn't MAD. Or JEALOUS. Nor is he in a secret Reporting War with Jerry from the Amity Chronicle. Because that would be petty and childish. He's just SAYING, maybe they should check the place out!

Maybe Jerry is a DICK and deserves it, is all. (Lois stop laughing.)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #Ghost Reporters Au

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ckret2 · 6 months

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Chapter 46 of human Bill Cipher frantically wishing he was still locked in the Mystery Shack and not getting his wish:

The Eclipse: Part 4

Gravity has fully disappeared from Gravity Falls and Bill finally learns why the Axolotl traveled all the way to Earth to see him. And meanwhile, Ford's in mortal peril.

[SUPER IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: if you're reading this, it means that I've edited chapters 6&7 to make them compatible with The Book Of Bill but I have not edited this chapter yet.

Before TBOB came out, in chapter 7 I wrote that the Ax's deal with Bill was "I'll give you a different form (a human body) in a different time (dropping you a thousand years in the future) so you don't have to see your old enemies" and then Bill stole a time tape to come right back to the 21st century. I've now edited ch 6&7 to make the Ax's deal with Bill "I'll drop you off in Theraprism" and then Bill escaped via reincarnation.

However, this chapter refers to the OLD version of ch 7. That's because there are not physically enough hours in my life for me to do all the editing I want to do as fast as I want to do it.

Things Bill & the Axolotl say in this chapter contradict TBOB and contradict what the new ch 6&7 say. The conversation they're having DOES NOT accurately reflect the fic's current plot. Don't freak out. I'll fix it when I can. - (note added Sept 7, 2024; will be removed when it's no longer necessary.)]

####

There were only two ways to remove a pair of magic friendship bracelets. Either both wearers had to consent to removing the bracelets; or one of the parties had to die. The bracelets weren't active if they were only being worn by one person, and a corpse wasn't a person.

The moment Dipper's soul left his body, the thread connecting the bracelets turned visible again.

Bill immediately yanked off his bracelet. He considered just letting it go, reconsidered considering that Dipper's ghost would probably tattle to Mabel, and carefully, slowly reeled the thread in. Without the magic active, it was just normal embroidery floss. The Axolotl's gravitational pull didn't make Dipper's body heavy enough to break the line, but if Bill jerked it just a little too hard, it would snap.

Bill heaved a sigh when the body was close enough he could grasp its wrist. He grabbed Dipper's head and snarled in his dead face, "This is why I told you to get in the cave." He wrapped the bracelet around and around the tree trunk and Dipper's forearm, muttering to himself, "But does anybody listen to the all-knowing immortal dream demon who's seventy times older than their entire universe? No! No, what could it possibly know! Surely we'll get better ideas from the brain-damaged hick who married a raccoon—"

An immense voice said, "Hello."

Bill froze. He slowly turned away from the beast above Gravity Falls.

The voice said serenely, "Look at me, you 8-karat coward."

He slowly turned toward the beast above Gravity Falls. He swallowed hard, steeled himself, and dragged his gaze up until he met the Axolotl's eye and he was gently tugged into the time and space between time and space. "Oh, heyyy," he squeaked. He forced a pained smile. "Didn't see you there! Haha, hi! Wow! Imagine running into you in this dimension on this planet, crazy."

"Yes, crazy," the Axolotl agreed.

"This isn't a regular part of your commute! I guess you've got some time off," Bill said. "Work must be going well!"

"Pretty well. I scheduled an extended lunch break," the Axolotl said amiably. "How's being human going?"

Bill shot the Axolotl a dirty look.

The Axolotl continued to give him a perpetual smile. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"I'll kill you."

"No you won't."

"Okay look, let's just cut to the chase," Bill said. "Go on. Tell me my punishment."

"Punishment?"

"For! Coming back here instead of staying when you dumped me in 3012. I skipped time while on parole. That's obviously why you're here." He looked down, shielding his face with a hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "So stop wasting my time and tell me how much trouble I'm in. I'm a busy guy, I don't wanna drag this out."

"Well," the Axolotl said, "it appears to me that you're locked in your enemies' home, you can't use doors, and you need to be handcuffed to a child to go outside. Is that enough 'trouble' for you?"

Bill opened one eye. "Wait, so." He looked up skeptically. "You're saying I won't get re-executed for breaking the rules. Or—or get stuck in a worse body."

"No," the Axolotl said. "You'll answer to no jailer's voice; what you do now is your own choice. I moved you by a thousand years to free you from your killers' fears. If you decide then to return, it's your own second chance you burn."

"Ohhh. See, I assumed this entire situation was a... prison... thing. Considering the..." He gestured vaguely at his body. "The flesh prison."

"It's a body. Not a prison. You aren't being imprisoned."

"'Not a prison' my base, if it's not a prison then why can't—" He caught himself before he asked a question, and took a deep breath. "So, there are no rules against coming right back to where I left off."

"Though I think your plan is clunky—not my circus, not my monkey."

"Oh. Okay, great." Bill planted his hands on his hips, straightening up properly for the first time since the Axolotl's arrival. "Huh. How 'bout that. Spent the last two days worrying for nothing!"

"You? Worried?"

"Of course not, I wasn't worried for a second," Bill said. "So if you're not here to punish me—that doesn't explain why you are here."

"Are you asking?"

"You know I'm not."

The Axolotl stared at Bill, patiently awaiting a question. Bill stared at the Axolotl, patiently not asking one.

The Axolotl caved first. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't burned down the dimension yet."

Bill pointed sharply at the Axolotl. "Hey! Hey!"

The Axolotl gave him a look like a toothless gumball learning how to smile.

"Not funny! Seriously, now!"

"I came because you called."

"Wh— When did—?" Bill cut himself off. He thought back to the day he'd spent locked in the bathroom. He recalled the desperate plea for salvation he'd painted on the ceiling. He buried his face in his hand. "That... that was a joke. False alarm."

"I gathered," the Axolotl said.

Bill peeked between his fingers. "But, I did call for rescue. Therefore. You're here to rescue me."

"No."

"Why n—! You said I'm not supposed to be in a prison! You've seen what these humans have done to me!"

"You aren't a prisoner," the Axolotl said. "You're a kidnapping victim. That's outside my jurisdiction."

Infuriating—but it told Bill something important: in the Axolotl's eyes, Bill's captivity wasn't just. And Bill didn't consider the Axolotl any kind of god—he didn't consider anyone any kind of god—but the Ax had a lot of pull in the multiverse when it came to defining the universal concept of justice. That was promising.

"But I do have a keen interest in your case. I wanted to check in on your progress."

Bill gave the Axolotl a questioning look. "'Progress.'"

The Axolotl said nothing. Bill waited. The Axolotl simply continued to smile. "You haven't asked a question yet. Usually you can't wait to get rid of me."

"Under the circumstances," he gestured again at his body, "I didn't think I could afford to waste it."

"I see. However, I do have a meeting I need to get to."

What was the most important thing he could ask. What did he need to know the most. "So... if I learn my lesson or complete my sentence or—whatever I'm supposed to do... will you turn me back into a triangle?"

"I can't and won't do anything else. I've completed my obligation to you," the Axolotl said. "Whatever happens to you from now on is up to you."

That could mean anything from "you're stuck as a human forever and will die in less than a century" to "there's a secret spell on you and when you meet its conditions you'll automatically turn back into a triangle" to "you're already a triangle, you just need to believe in yourself." All Bill knew was that he wasn't getting any help from the Ax.

"It's been a pleasure as always," the Axolotl said. The world slowly began to move again as he gently returned Bill to the dimension he'd come from.

"Wait!" Bill called. He needed to know—was he still a triangle, somewhere on the inside, buried beneath all this flesh and bone? Or had the Axolotl's transformation rotted him to his core—was he now nothing but a human through and through? If he wasn't being punished, why had his suffocating soul been smothered under a blanket of meat? If he wasn't being punished, why had his own corpse stared him in the eye as if it didn't recognize him? "Just one more question before you go!"

"If you have the time. Up to you."

If he had the time? Bill's eyes darted around. Why wouldn't he have the time, what was he missing—?

His gaze locked on Ford. Floating twenty, thirty feet out from the cliff's edge. Oh.

Bill let the Axolotl's gravity drag him to the edge of the cliff before digging a hand into the ground, holding himself in place. Bill was safe; Dipper's body was safe, and his soul could float home once the Axolotl was gone. But when the Axolotl was gone, gravity would immediately come back—0 to 100, just like that—and Ford was dead.

And the Axolotl was already turning away. The millions of axolotls in the water below followed, moving through and out of the lake as though the lakebed didn't exist, migrating in the Axolotl's wake.

Ford was unsuccessfully trying to swim through the air back to land. Several useless feet of cable from his infinity belt floating around him from trying to fling it at the cliff. The best he could do was stretch an arm toward land.

He met Bill's eyes. The only other time Bill had seen Ford this terrified was when he'd threatened to torture the kids.

Bill looked at Ford, looked at the Axolotl—nearly too far to shout to—and looked down. By now, the future death he'd witnessed earlier was so close that Bill could see more than the blood to be left on the rocks. He could see the body—gray hair, tan overcoat, broken. It was just a few moments away.

Stanford Pines was about to die. Bill Cipher was innocent. Dipper was his witness; Dipper, honest goody hero type, could verify that Bill not only repeatedly told them both to stay away from the thing in the sky, but also warned them to anchor themselves right before totality. Everyone at the shack knew he'd protested, knew he'd warned them, knew he'd begged to stay home. There was no possible way Bill could get blamed for this.

And once Ford was dead, none of the idiots in this town would ever find a way to destroy Bill.

Up to you.

Bill didn't stop to think.

He kicked off the edge of the cliff.

He could see, hovering in the air like a golden arc amidst a dozen blurry failures, the path he needed to jump to reach Ford. The Axolotl's tail was already soaring over the town, his sky blue fins rippling like vast, slow sails. If Bill reached Ford before the Axolotl's influence was completely gone, he could fly them over the lake and they might both survive.

They collided. Bill had to fling an arm over Ford's shoulder before he managed to get a grip on his lapel; Ford seized Bill's hoodie in both hands. Ford demanded, "What are you—?" He fell silent as their trajectory took a sudden sharp turn from south to east.

"The lake!"

Ford nodded. Why could come if they both survived. He could already feel weight grabbing onto his limbs. He spared a split-second glance down, but with half the lake floating in the air he couldn't tell if they'd cleared its banks yet. "Have you ever learned to swim?"

"You have to learn?!"

Ford prayed, if Bill drowned, that he was a mortal, and that he wasn't the kind of drowner who dragged other people down with him. "Cross your ankles as tightly as you can, cross your arms over your chest, land feet first in the water—better to break your legs than your neck—do not tilt your head, eyes on the horizon—" And that was as much emergency survival advice as he could give before gravity returned in full force.

This wasn't the first time Ford had plummeted into a deep liquid from an irresponsible height over the past thirty years. The hit was softer than he expected—the turbulent lake hadn't settled back down into its normal water pressure—but he also sank far deeper than he expected. Streams of bubbles raced past his vision; maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but he could have sworn they looked like transparent axolotls.

As soon as he had his wits about him, he threw off his coat, tugged off his boots, and kicked his way toward the surface.

Bill didn't.

This actually wasn't so bad, he thought, with a calmness that definitely came from being such a rational level-headed fellow and not from being in shock. Sure, all the air had been forced out of his lungs and his body was screaming in airless panic, but he wasn't his body, was he? This felt just like floating. He would miss floating again.

What was he supposed to do now.

He'd seen humans swim. He tried kicking his legs. He felt stupid. But, he decided—again, with a calmness that definitely was not from shock—that looking kinda stupid was probably preferable to drowning. Although he was curious what drowning felt like. Had he ever drowned a puppet before? He couldn't remember. Didn't seem bad so far.

He surfaced.

Ford was already on shore, on hands and knees, desperately coughing out water, his lungs burning. He collapsed in the sand. It took a couple minutes for him to reach the point where he was breathing more than he was coughing, and another minute of heavy breathing before he had the energy to look at the lake again. Bill was floating on his back about fifty feet away, very still.

Ford croaked, "Bill," coughed again, and tried a little louder. "Bill?"

Without otherwise moving, Bill raised one arm and gave him a thumbs-up.

Ford dug into what energy reserves he still had, shuffled back into the water, and swam over to Bill. "Are you all right?"

Bill gave him a dazed look, opened his mouth, and exhaled a cup of water. Then he started coughing.

Ford grimaced. "Let's... get to shore." He took Bill's arm to tug him toward dry land.

Bill flailed upright and shoved him off. "Don't—" Hack. "M'fine. I l—" Cough. "I like floating." He lay on his back, shut his eyes, and said shakily, "Don't touch me."

Ford treaded water for a moment, considering that. Bill looked like he'd got the hang of floating enough that he wasn't an immediate drown risk, so Ford said, "I'll... be on land."

"'Kay."

Ford swam to shore and sat cross-legged in the wet sand to wait, staring down at his hands. The Handwitch's ring was a bright indigo blue again, no traces of darkness within the cabochon, as though the lake water had washed it clean.

Should he go do something useful? There weren't many places Bill could go, except to shore; it wasn't like he was at risk of escaping. But then if Bill did make it to land while Ford was distracted, he had a chance to make a run for it without the bracelet—

Ford stood up. "Bill! Where's Dipper?!"

Bill raised one arm and pointed up.

Ford looked at Gravity Peak. A small speck high above, Dipper was looking down over the cliff's edge. Ford waved to him. Dipper waved back. Well. That was inconvenient. Maybe Ford could restrain Bill with the infinity belt's cable in the meantime. (He reeled the cable in while he was thinking about it. He was fortunate it hadn't tangled on anything while he was underwater.)

"We have to rendezvous with Dipper. Get over here."

"Just leave me."

"Not an option."

Bill let out a pitiable whine, but, after a moment, managed to figure out a way to slowly paddle-kick his way toward land.

When his heels hit sand, he rolled over, crawled onto land, and lay down. "Gravity," he groaned. "I hate gravity."

"I'm not too fond of it myself right now." Ford's limbs felt like lead. Some combination of spending a day and a half in steadily reduced gravity, the exhaustion following a near death experience, and waterlogged clothes. "Where are the enchanted bracelets?"

Bill lifted one hand from the elbow and pointed toward the cliff again.

That'd be just Ford's luck. All the same, he said, "Really?" Bill would hide them if they were on him.

"Yes, really. Whaddaya want, a strip search?" He gestured vaguely toward his body without lifting his head. "Go ahead. 'M not moving to help." His arm flopped back down.

Ford decided that was a bluff he did not want to call. "Fine. We'll put them back on when we rendezvous with Dipper." If Bill tried to escape, Ford wasn't sure he was in any condition to chase; but then Bill didn't seem to be in any condition to run, either.

"Surprised you wanna wear matching bracelets with me. If I'd known, I woulda made you a friendship bracelet." Under his breath, Bill muttered at the sand, "But m'sure it'd've been a waste of thread."

Ford decided it was more prudent to hold his tongue. "Can you walk?"

"If I have to." For as difficult as Bill made getting to his feet look, one would think he was being subjected to the gravity of Jupiter. Ford offered his hand; Bill smacked it aside.

"Well. My raft is still in the cave behind Trembley Falls, so we'll have to borrow a boat." Ford pointed toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle at the far end of the lake. "Think you can make it that far?"

Bill—barefoot, soggy, and slumped like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders—gave Ford the most pathetic look he'd ever seen Bill wear. Ford empathized completely. But Bill only sighed and said, "Let's get going."

####

Tate lowered his magazine to give Ford a critical look. "Dr. Pines," he said. "You get caught out on the lake when the gravity came back?"

"Something like that."

He shook his head. "Shoulda listened to the news."

"The news?"

"Dad's been making public warnings since yesterday. 'Stay anchored and keep your head down.' Reckon you must've missed it."

"We've... been camping." He'd have to ask Fiddleford about that later. "Listen—do you have a boat we could borrow? It's an emergency. We were separated from Dipper and we have to get across the lake."

Tate raised his hat just enough to give Ford a look that told him exactly what he thought of his merit as a guardian—Ford figured he deserved that—but then stood with a sigh. "All right, I'll see what we've got."

He paused, then gestured behind Ford with his chin. "Who's the lady?"

Ford turned. The shop's door was propped open and Bill was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed tight, staring blankly out across the lake. "Er—Goldie. She's... staying in the shack a few weeks."

"Hm." Tate raised his voice. "Ma'am?"

Bill didn't budge.

"Ma'am—Miss Goldie?"

That time he turned to give Tate a faraway look. "Me?"

"Yes, uh—you're soaked to the bone. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes?"

"Oh." Bill considered the question for a little longer than necessary. "If you want."

Ford explained, "She inhaled a lot of water."

Tate nodded. "Think we've got some out-of-season stock in the back, there might be something big enough for..." He caught himself before insinuating something about a lady's weight, and mumbled, "Well, it'll do." He headed to a door behind the counter, paused, looked Ford over, and reluctantly said, "I s'pose you can get something too."

####

Tate had a motorboat in good working order, so he let them borrow it, with a stern request to have it back by the end of the day. And so they set out—Ford in waders that went up to his chest, a bandana he really hoped was keeping his embarrassing neck tattoo hidden, and a t-shirt that said "The worst day of fishing is better than the best day of court-ordered anger management classes"; and Bill in a makeshift skirt Tate had apologetically improvised out of a beach towel, a sweater depicting a pine tree constructed out of fish that said "MERRY FISHMAS", and a pair of novelty slippers shaped like rainbow trout.

"I'm never giving these shoes back," Bill informed Ford as they crossed the lake. "I don't care whether we buy them or steal them. They're hilarious." It was the nearest thing to personality Bill had demonstrated since landing in the lake.

Ford supposed he was in no position to tell Bill he couldn't keep them, considering that Bill had... well.

Well.

Ford should say something about that. He didn't know what. He didn't know where to start. (Bill's question came back to him: if Ford didn't believe anything Bill said, why did he keep trying to pry information out of him?)

(Because, he realized—beneath thirty years of every nerve in his body screaming "DON'T TRUST HIM"—part of him was still hoping Bill would say something he could believe.)

Ford cleared his throat. "It's... impressive that you didn't panic while you were underwater," he said awkwardly. "That must have taken remarkable self control."

"Oh. Eh." Bill spread his hands vaguely. "I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening. I was thinking about other stuff."

Ford blinked. "While you were drowning?"

"It wasn't a very severe drowning."

Ford huffed.

This was probably a conversation he should have later—Bill's brain only appeared to be half on—but, if they had it later, Ford wasn't sure he'd get anything but yet another polished lie.

And so he steeled his nerves and asked, "Why did you save me."

Bill didn't answer. He stared silently at his rainbow trout slippers.

"Bill—?"

"Hold on," he said. "I don't know, just—give me a minute to make something up."

It was the first time in a month and a half—the first time in years—that Ford was absolutely certain Bill had just told him the truth.

And not just about his intentions to lie to Ford—but about not knowing why he'd saved him.

It meant there was no secret master plan, no manipulative ulterior motives, no cunning illusions. It meant Bill had endangered himself just to save Ford.

There was a universe where Ford then said, "I didn't think you meant it all those times you said you wanted to be my friend again," and where Bill lied—both to Ford and to himself—"I didn't think I meant it either." It wasn't this universe, because neither one of them wanted those words out in the world. Yet they still hovered around them, unspoken.

It didn't make Ford trust Bill. It didn't make Ford like Bill. Bill was still everything he'd ever been—liar, conman, tyrant, torturer—and Ford still hated him for all of it.

But. It meant that for the first time in a month in a half, a muscle between Ford's shoulder blades that had been knotted tight with fear could finally loosen and relax.

Ford was safe.

####

(I first had the idea for this chapter nearly a year ago and I've been dying waiting to post it. I hope you enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear what y'all think! And to those of you in the path of totality, happy solar eclipse this Monday! I totally planned it this way. I did not.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #stanford pines #grunkle ford #the axolotl #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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vidavalor · 1 year

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What I love about the cellar scene in the Job minisode is not even that it was Crowley who "tempted" Aziraphale into first trying food but that the scene shows that Aziraphale then took one look at Crowley lounging with a jug of wine getting off on watching him lose his mind with pleasure over eating for the first time and promptly decided that he was extremely into Crowley watching him like that... and that after this night, Aziraphale decided he would keep Crowley's interest more in the future by then becoming exceedingly well-table-mannered for the rest of eternity.

Every single time they have eaten together for millennia since, Aziraphale has been sitting up straight with a napkin on his knee and not a hint of mess and yeah, okay, so he's naturally a bit like this but he is leaning into it *hard*. He's been inviting Crowley to watch him eat since 2500 B.C. and turning it into the complete *opposite* of Job *on purpose*. Oh, a tiny dab of cream at the corner of his mouth? Only there for a teasing second before Aziraphale meticulously dabs it away... He eats every meal like he's being served in Buckingham Palace and on the surface, it might look like he's pretending that the ox rib night never happened but they both know it happened so it's really *referencing* it, every single damn time, for millennia. It's moaning over how scrumptious something is, like he's restraining himself from a full-on food orgasm in public, because he *is* and every time he intimates to Crowley the pleasure he's getting from the food but restrains himself from full-on gorging on it with true abandon, Aziraphale is intentionally reminding Crowley of the one, single time, thousands of years ago that Crowley got to watch him go wild with unbridled pleasure.

It is the exact opposite of what Aziraphale would do if he never wanted Crowley to ever think about the ox rib night ever again. It is *designed* to make him think about it every single time they eat together and Crowley absolutely knows it. He's gone in for it with his eyes wide open. ('Blown wide open' is probably a more accurate description...). So much so that being together is coded for them as high, fine dining-- dining at the Ritz. Aziraphale's been edging this poor demon over oysters and dessert since ancient Rome and that was all fairly evident in S1 but S2 deciding to be like 'actually, Crowley isn't *wondering* what Aziraphale would be like if he let loose over this meal, he's *remembering* what Aziraphale was like the one time he got to see him out of control-- and that he's entirely responsible for Aziraphale's food lust in the first place' is among the best 'new context from flashbacks' stuff in S2.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley

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spncvr · 7 months

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waiting room | s. reid

summary: spencer can't seem to escape the girl in the waiting room

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of reid's addiction & tobias hankel, mentions of kidnapping and mass shootings (in, like, a joking way??) my terrible, terrible humour, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE LMAO, this is deffo terrible, pls tell me if i missed anything!!

a/n: ok idk if i wanna continue this and make it a series so lmk lol (also im on writers block so i literally can't come up with SHIT)

SPENCER REID WAS a pessimist.

At least, that’s what he’d call himself. His colleague, Derek Morgan would most likely (and by most likely, he means, definitely already has) call him an overanalysing introvert. But in Spencer’s defense, there has never really been a good reason to go out and “live your life”. Consider this:

Go to the new coffee shop? Mass shooting.

Go to the mall? A child gets abducted.

Leave the apartment for a short while? A stalker finds out where he lives, kidnaps him in his sleep, and, in a nightmarish turn, auctions off his organs to the bidder in the black market.

Besides, his life isn’t some John Green book. There were no life-affirming adventures or poetic moments of self-discovery awaiting him. Carpe diem? A fanciful notion for others, but for him, not so much. Sorry, Mr. Keating.

Yet life—or more accurately, bureau protocol— had its own plans. Ever since the Tobias Hankel incident, a visit to the psychologist wasn’t just a request but rather (unfortunately for him) an order. Which meant, he’d have to risk his entire life to get up and walk for ten whole minutes just to sit and wait, in this glaringly bright waiting room, when he could have stayed at home and read the new books he’d gotten from his team as a get-well gift.

Speaking of which, why the gifts? He was fine. Physically, at least. But really, when have you ever seen get-well-soon cards in an asylum? Well, alright, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic. A visit to the psychologist doesn’t mean he’ll be institutionalised—but then again, Spencer Reid was never one to wear rose-tinted glasses.

This is his third time in the waiting room, and she’s always there. He isn’t sure as to why she is, because, well, unlike himself, she was very clearly an optimist—and at least, from the looks of it, she hasn’t been kidnapped and drugged in the past month. But she's sitting there again, in the exact same chair for the past three weeks, along with a beacon of smiles where joy usually fears to trend. Maybe, he isn't as good of a profiler as he’d like to think he is.

“Dr. Reid?” the call of his name rips him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the same kind woman he’s seen the past three weeks—not the one in the waiting room, no, he means his therapist.

Dr. Brown was easy to profile: She wore heels to make herself look taller, and she hated wearing glasses, apparent by how she would continuously place them atop her head instead of her nose. Her teeth were abnormally perfect, which meant, she’d had to wear braces when she was younger—which (from his humbling experience) means she wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Perhaps, psychology felt appealing to her because she could help people like her.

“How are you?” she asks, her pen clicking.

Usually, he’d offer her a meek shrug. The kind that could win awards for its commitment to non-commitment. Besides, he’s not one to talk about how he feels—there isn’t much to say, anyway. And let’s face it, “How are you?” in the grand tapestry of human interaction is almost as genuine as a three-dollar bill. And, get this, the average person asks “How are you?” 6,739 times a year but only listens to the answer about half the time—well, okay, maybe those numbers might have been fabricated, but isn’t the sincerity behind the question also made up? But instead of telling her all this, he remembers what Hotch had told him, one, two, three weeks ago: that he ought to cooperate with Dr. Brown or the board won’t be happy. So, he kisses his teeth before he says:

“Fine. I’m fine.”

And the session went on.

PLS TELL ME IF I SHLD CONTIUE OR NOT LOLOLOL spam my inbox with ideas I BEG.

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bonefall · 3 months

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i’m curious- can you explain, from prepping to actual processing and cooking and such, how the clans make sausage? is it really that easy?

SAUSAGES!!!

It's SO easy. The WHOLE process from prep to cooking is essentially 5 steps. Sausage is so old that it predates the historic record. The earliest record of it is from 4,000 BC-- but it's SO simple to make that it's almost a guarantee that any carnivorous society would learn how to make their own.

You don't even need fire. Most types of sausage are made by cooking the meat with heat or smoke, but you can get SALAMI through passive fermentation and air drying. Pepperoni is also in that same category of "dry sausage"! It was an invention of Italian American immigrants modifying sopressatta back in the 1920s.

Sausage is how you can use every last little scrap of meat on an animal, AND preserve it while you're at it. There's a ton of different types of sausages, but what binds them, literally, is that they're meat stuffed in digestive tract. ALL types of meat. The filling can be offal, muscle, or even blood, packed in with varying types of preservatives and spices.

(though in modern sausage production they use don't use natural cases as often, because it's more expensive than artificial collagen casing. that's actually how you can tell right away if you're at a quality pizza place or not-- if your pepperoni "cups" up after it's cooked, it's made with the real stuff. That's caused by the natural casing shrinking because of the heat.)

the TL;DR of making sausage is collect, scrape, soak, stuff, dry. Five simple steps. I am going to create an incredibly detailed walkthrough of it, every little tiny thing, from harvest to mealtime.

Minimum tools needed: a flat rock and a dark place, such as a cave.

Recommended tools: A flat rock, a bird bone with a stick, a cold underground den, fire.

It usually begins when an animal is brought back to camp, though it could even be started right in the field where prey is caught.;

CONTENT WARNING

This post contains discussions of evisceration and unsanitary topics in the context of natural butchery.

We're going to talk about disembowelment and processing animal organs into food. This includes how to open a carcass, and washing out the things that intestines usually contain. There is also an image of sausage casings at various stages of processing, including when it's still raw (but clean) intestine.

I was taught how to clean a deer carcass when I was only a teenager and I've never been squeamish, but everyone's tolerance for this sort of thing is different. It's okay if this isn't something you can handle; just know that the process of sausage making is easy, yet still a work of skill.

Appreciate the effort that goes into making your food! Just remember; there's a reason why they warn you about "finding out how the sausage is made!"

Step 1: Collecting the offal

You might think that because the prey that Clan cats hunt are so small, there would be some animals they can't make sausage from because of it. That's not the case! Bowels are naturally stretchy and will expand when stuffed; even a mouse can make for snack-sized sausages that a cat would enjoy.

(Remember; an entire mouse is approximately 1 meal for a single warrior.)

Removing the intestines is easy to do, requires no fire, and is necessary for avoiding parasites. Even a canon-compliant Clan can, and should, do this as part of their food processing. Canon treats claws like they're small knives and I do too because it's cool as hell, but if your Clan is more tool advanced, you could even allow them to use knives.

That gruesome phrase, "there's more than one way to skin a cat" is EXTREMELY accurate for ALL types of skinning. EVERY hunter and butcher you will meet will have their own method. Here's ONE way to do it, for right after the carcass has been bled dry and skinned;

It is helpful to hang the carcass by the legs, but not required. Especially for a large animal like a hare, this will make gravity your friend in getting the organs out. Clan cats have access to plenty of twine for this; brambles, willowbark, flax, etc.

Cut a "circle" around the anus first, under the tail. You want to keep the whole tract in one piece. If the intestines rupture, it might contaminate the rest of the ENTIRE carcass. This part you cut now will be the back end of the "tube" you're going to pull out.

From the bottom of the "circle," slit carefully down the belly until you hit the bone in the middle of the ribcage. This is tricky. If you go too deep, you'll cut the guts and spill waste everywhere. Don't go deep enough and you won't even get through the membrane. A good mentor would guide their apprentice's paw at this point, showing them how to carefully hook one layer deeper each time and how to angle the claw so they don't cut deeper than they mean to. (NOTE: the sternum is a lot shorter in most four-legged animals than it is in a human. The warrior's cut will be much further down the "chest" of the prey than you think.)

Now, the guts need to be cut from the back of the cavity. This is MESSY, but not tricky. This is the part where an impatient warrior would mess up, start yanking, and puncture the gut. If the animal is hanging, this is MUCH easier as the anus is still "anchored" to the pelvis like a big noodle.

Lastly, reach down and pull the throat up, then and take the whole tract out in one piece! In a very "large" animal like a muntjac or a hare, a more advanced Clan might tie off the colon with string before pulling it out, to avoid making a mess.

That's it! You now have the entire GI tract of an animal, including esophagus, stomach, large intestine, small intestine, and all the extra species-specific organs (like tripe or gizzards) they contain. An experienced butcher can do this whole process in less than a minute on a smaller animal-- and the small intestine of a mouse alone is over a foot long for making into sausages!

(In Clanmew, this "tract" is called a gwussip. It basically means "pile of slightly processed food." It's also used to refer to the dough used to make tunnelbuns in WindClan, and the minced meat that will be used to stuff the sausages later.)

Various types of sausage are made from the stomach down. Haggis is one type of sausage, for example, traditionally made of a sheep's stomach. The esophagus doesn't have the same "stretchiness" that the intestines are known for, and is more often made into a mince and sauteed if it isn't just wasted by being tossed.

BB!ThunderClan in particular likes to let it slow cook in fat and fruit sauce until it's more tender, but still delightfully chewy. It's not enough to fill a warrior up, but it makes a good snack for in between mealtimes. If you're familiar with Mexican cuisine, pig esophagus is prepared as "buche."

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

But, digressing,

Now that you have your intestines, it needs to be turned into casing.

Step 2: Scrape the inner membrane

Intestines are full of fecal matter. We all know this. Especially if you collected it correctly, it's going to be full of unwanted liquid when you first pull it out. Thankfully, it's just a tube and it can be washed.

These organs are made to contain everything icky inside of the gut, protecting the rest of body with its specialized buffer layers; the meat itself is perfectly fine.

The first thing a warrior needs to do is run it through a clean stream of running water, just like rinsing out a reusable straw. They'd be taking care to rub every fold clean, like a raccoon washing stockings in a river. Depending on the species the organ comes from, the culture of the Clan, and the condition of the animal before it was killed, some intestines might smell worse and need to be washed for longer than others.

BB!ShadowClan is different from other Clans in that they will flush it with a mix of vinegar and water to clean intestines. Especially since so much of their territory is stillwater, they're extra concerned with making sure their offal is cleaned. Other Clans find vinegar repulsive. ShadowClan finds other Clans dirty. Other Clans point out that they're the ones that eat literally anything. ShadowClan says they'd be able to stop wasting food if they spent less time whining and more time food processing. Cultural friction ensues.

After it's flushed, the cleaned intestine is turned inside-out. Just like a sock. From there, the inner layer of membrane is scraped off.

A long, flat rock is the best tool for this, or a good bone scraper. I've also heard of people doing this with a knife, so the rock is actually still technically optional for even the most thumbless Clans... but the cats can weave ropes out of grass canonically. They can use a rock.

(meanwhile in the background the bb!cats are playing instruments around a fire, absolutely ignoring canon's inconsistent tech level)

This is what it looks line at each stage of this process. Totally raw intestine looks like the image on the left. When turned inside-out, it resembles the middle. After scraping, it looks like the right.

Now there's just one more step before you officially have casing.

Step 3: Soaking in salt solution.

This is actually the hardest part for a Clan trying to be ecologically accurate. Salt is very rare in most forest environments. If your Clans are set up in a place with a natural salt source (near a beach, or near a geological deposit), you'll have no problems!

But... most Clans would, logically, not be so lucky and need to get creative.

The first option is stealing salt from farmers and hunters. Salt licks are usually left out in large, white blocks for sheep in fields, and deer in the woods. However, BB!Clan cats, except SkyClan, strongly avoid interacting with humans. That includes not approaching the salt licks left out for deer and livestock.

So, traditionally in the Forest Territory, they used the second option: Slowly burning the roots of coltsfoot. Dandelion also works, but will give you much less salt. In the Lake Territory, cats are sent on regular "Salt Patrols" to the ocean, bringing back bags of ocean salt from evaporated water for medicinal and culinary use.

Once that's done, simply toss the intestines in salt water for a few hours. That's it. You now have casing.

Step 4: Stuff the casing with mince.

Mince is just finely shredded meat, mixed with any spices your little kitty heart desires. Humans use a lot of herbal spices such as fennel, but as obligate carnivores, warriors prefer mushrooms which have compounds resembling the taste of meat.

The real secret to stuffing, though, is to make sure EVERYTHING is chilly before you do it. Cold mince is less sticky, keeps its shape better when being handled, and the fat is distributed more evenly in the mix. Sausages made during winter come out better than ones made during summer, for that reason.

Don't overstuff and try to keep it even. You can do it by paw, but it would be MUCH easier with a simple gadget. The earliest sausage stuffing tools we know of were as simple as a funnel and a plunger like this antique;

But since Clan cats are stuffing little animals, they can work with much smaller natural materials. The bones of birds are naturally hollow-- just clean one out, get a stick to push the meat through, and you're making tiny sausages.

And the last, but most important part,

Step 5: Dry it by way of heat and smoke (sausage) or fermentation and air drying (salami).

What you have in your paws before you start this process is, essentially, a little bag of raw meat. Most food preservation can be understood as the simple act of drying. Salt, fire, smoking, wind exposure-- those are all just fancy ways of removing moisture from food.

So generally, the more moisture the technique removes, the longer it will last.

"Fresh" sausages, your bratwurst, cheap hot dogs, bangers, the ones that are JUST made of mince and casing and you're not planning on doing anything else, those get cooked and eaten immediately. These types are actually pretty "recent" historically speaking, because it was a luxury to not be making sausages to store and transport meat.

So to make it last, they will usually be "cured." That means that the mince was mixed with salt before stuffing. Simple as that. Smoked cured sausage is self explanatory once you know what the terms mean-- it's been cured with salt, and then put in a smokehouse to dry.

(side note: curing is also required for smoking, else the conditions inside the sausage become the perfect breeding ground for botulism)

But the thing you're really waiting to hear about is "dry sausage." NO refrigeration required, NO fire needed at any point in the process. Salami specifically is cured, fermented in a dark and humid place, and then air-dried. This process takes only a few days if it's hot, and up to a week if it's cold. There are often starter cultures and sugars (fruits) added to the mince which reduces the "failure" rate, but this can work completely on its own.

Its taste will also vary depending on the cultures of bacteria doing the fermenting-- but that's unironically the kind of thing beyond the scope of this. That's culinary science.

This is where a dedicated "den" for hanging fermenting sausage would be handy. You can make do with a cave, but being able to completely control the environment can be the difference between having food in two days, versus having food in a week. You can even store it while it's fermenting for months if you can control the environment perfectly.

The last step is simply to take it out when it's at the absolutely perfect conditions and stop fermentation. If it ferments ALL the way, it will taste so sour it's inedible.

And that's it.

It's that simple. You hung it up in a cave for a while, and now you have shelf-stable meat that doesn't need to be refrigerated.

The catch; this works best in hotter, sunnier, southern environments, where the post-fermentation process is finished off with air drying. Drying is VERY GOOD because it totally removes the moisture. BB!Clans, in Northwestern England, prefer to finish this off with smoking unless they're doing it in summer and the weather cooperates.

Air drying is better because it typically removes more moisture and makes the sausage hard. Finishing fermentation with smoking causes it to be "semi-dry."

This far north, the days are cloudier, darker, and colder than it is further south, where the most famous dry sausages are made. It's not impossible to make fully dried sausage here, but it's a LOT more precise of an art.

If your Clans are based in the USA, don't worry about that. Dry fermentation is possible everywhere there except Alaska. Even if they're at the very tippy-top north of the continguous 48 states, they are barely higher in latitude than Paris, France. To put what BB's environment is in context, remember that you could walk a straight line across the globe from Liverpool, UK and be somewhere near Edmonton, Canada.

(in fact, dry fermentation can be done easily anywhere it isn't too dry or too cold. RIP Southern Chilean fanclans you will simply have to smoke it just like the Brits.)

And that's sausage. That is an in-depth guide to how salami can be made by Clan cats.

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months

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JJK men after hurting (y/n)

Pairing: Choso x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,7k (Gojo's part is huge)

Warnings: this is drama over drama so be prepared, injury in Choso's part, mentioned pregnancy and breakup in Gojo's part, also Geto is an a-hole in here and it isn't 100% accurate to the original story-timeline, it's getting veeeery heated my lovelys, but also comfort but mostly hurt

As usual, I am very thankful for every little like, comment or reblog (thank you anon hehe). Let me know what you think of this, I literally poured my heart and soul into these two parts <3

Tags: @sanicsmut I just know you'll like this girl, @chilichopsticks

Choso Kamo

„(y/n), this is nothing I will discuss with you right now. Just stay here.”

“I can’t let you kill him, this isn’t right. His death won’t bring back your brothers!”, you shout urgently, hands desperately trying to keep him from walking away.

“I always appreciate your opinion and support. But this is something I have to do for myself. Don’t get in the way.”

With one last glance back he’s gone, lost in the neon signs around you, shadow immerged into darkness.

Your brain goes into panic mode immediately, palms sweaty just by the thought of him haunting that boy down. How strange it is that you are able to call Choso your boyfriend. Choso Kamo, a reincarnated curse that is over 150 years old. Choso Kamo, who seems cold-hearted to people when he first meets them. Choso Kamo, who loves his family more than anything else.

You know this isn’t him, that killing Yuji Itadori is nothing but an act of revenge for him that he hopes will make him feel better.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

He never answered this question. He didn’t have to, given the fact that he just stared at you with furious eyes. You know all too well how it broke him to lose his brothers through the hands of some random jujutsu sorcerers. Fuck, you were just as heartbroken as he was. But if revenge is the only solution, wouldn’t this little game go on to infinity?

This isn’t the way, this isn’t the man you love. And you won’t let him go berserk only to regret what he did later on.

There is only one thing you can you now.

Your feet start moving on their own, following his shadow through the dark hallways of Shibuya’s train station. You aren’t a very gifted jujutsu sorcerer, maybe a grade 2 in sorcerer terms. But maybe your presence will be enough to stop him. Maybe his love is greater than the hatred he carries in his heart for that Idadori boy.

After all, it is a miracle in itself that he really loves you, a human being. Instead of killing you right on the spot he decided to safe you and even take care of your multiple wounds back then when you first met. You are not only hopelessly in love with him, but owe him his life. It’s time for you to give something back.

The only thing that echoes through the hallways are your very own rapid steps and sharp breaths. Please let him be okay, please let him still search for that boy. Your forehead glisters in sweat, the area only illuminated by the changing neon signs.

Finally a sound. You stop in your tracks immediately and close your eyes while holding your breath. It’s far away, but those are steps and dampened rumbling. It has to be him. And he’s definitely not alone.

You can’t waste any time. As fast as your shaky legs carry you, you run down the hallway, eyes roaming around to catch a glimpse of his dark messy hair. Did he found Yuji Itadori? From what you’ve heard, Sukuna’s vessel is a quite skilled jujutsu sorcerer himself. But despite that, you know how much power Choso holds. If they meet, there will definitely be a fierce fight and your boyfriend might get hurt in the process.

But Yuji gets killed.

Suddenly water starts to soak into your shoes, pooling the surrounding area entirely. You furrow your brows. Where the hell is that coming from? Aren’t you underground? And also, it wasn’t raining outside…

Instinctively you follow the stream, noises growing louder and louder. Your heartbeat picks up, eyes wide open in realization. They have to be in there, in that toilet. The only think you are able to do is run. Water splashes around you, completely taking your already dimmed sight under the purple neon lights.

Until you see your boyfriend. Bending over the severely injured body of what looks like Yuji Itadori, fist ready to hit him with his last shot.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Before you are able to even think about a plan you sprint forward and shield the boy’s body with your own.

Only to get hit in your stomach with full force by your own boyfriend.

For a moment you forget how to breathe, the only sound being the constant ringing in your ears along with a silent cough. Are you dead? You can’t tell with your sight completely turned black and your empty head.

“(y/n)”, is all Choso is able to breathe out.

It happened so fast he couldn’t react anymore. Within the split of a second, he was only able to direct his fist away from your head into your stomach.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A trail of blood escapes your lips along with a cough, gaze completely empty. Did he kill you? His guts turn, he feels like fainting away. Oh god, what did he do?

“(y/n).”

You shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He told you to stay out of this, to leave this to him. Why on earth did you throw yourself in front of Yuji Itadori? How could you risk your life so reckless?

“(y/n)?”

You don’t react, glossy eyes wide open, directed into darkness. His shaky hands pull up your shirt, revealing a huge bruise. He broke a few of your ribs, that’s for sure.

“(y/n)!”, he begs again, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

His hands grab your body and pull you away from Itadori while all he can do is kneeling next to you. Are you even breathing? Fuck, you are so cold and completely soaked in water that still pours down without mercy.

“(y/n)…”

His hand caresses your cheek gently. You just have to wake up. This is a bad dream, right? He didn’t just punch you with full force, he isn’t responsible for you laying here with broken bones and bruises. No, he didn’t just hurt the love of his life, his precious girlfriend.

Are those tears running down his cheeks? He can’t tell. The water pouring down on him makes it hard to see.

“Don’t…kill…him…”, you suddenly mumble.

Choso feels like flying and dying at the same time, relieved by hearing your voice while being absolutely crushed be the fact that he is responsible for your poor state.

“Why did you throw yourself in front of him, (y/n)? I never wanted to hurt you. I would have never hurt you…”, he stutters, pressing your upper body against his.

You cough violently, feeling as if your spilling your guts out every second. God, you feel terrible. If you move a single inch you’ll faint away into darkness.

But despite the pain that rolls over you like a tsunami, you force your eyes to look at him? His beautiful screwed up face, his glistening eyes. Is he crying? This might be the first time you’ve ever seen him like this.

“I know you didn’t wanted to hurt me. Did you kill him?”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade away whisper, almost too distant to get under the pouring water. But the second your words reach his ears, Choso can’t hold back any longer.

He’s crumbling in front of you like a piece of paper, hands holding onto you for dear life.

Choso almost killed you. The love of his life, the only thing that’s worth living. And for what? Because he was seeking revenge.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

Your wise words repeat themselves over and over in his head. Fuck, if he only listened to you. He shouldn’t have agreed to work with Geto in the first place out of sheer rage. No, he could lay in bed with you at the moment, hearing about what is currently happening at Shibuya in the news.

Then this wouldn’t have happened. Then you wouldn’t lay in front of him severely injured.

His whole face is screwed up, trembling fingers clenched to tight that they bleed while a sob escapes his lips.

All of this is his fault.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I’m so so sorry”, he cries out, placing his head on your chest.

“Is he dead?”, you croak out, tired eyes wandering to the boy’s unconscious figure leaning against the wall.

“Yes…Yes he does…”

A weak smile forms on your lips. So this wasn’t in vain. After all, you reached your goal.

“Thank god…”, you mutter.

Choso’s guilty conscience eats him up from the inside. Why? Why the hell did he think killing Yuji Itadori is a good idea in the first place? Despite the deaths of his brothers, despite all the pain he’s been through, despite the fact that he isn’t even human.

He loves you with all his heart. Your gentle disposition that is the opposite of his cold-hearted one. Your friendly smile that outshines his emotionless expression every time. The way you love him although he didn’t even know what love is when he first met you.

You showed him so many facets of life and he tramples on all the things you taught him.

“I will get you out of here. And I promise will every fiber of my being that I will change, that something like this will never happen again”, he blurts out.

“You don’t have to change, darling. You just need to decide on your perspective of life.”

Everything hurts, you feel like dying from the inside. Although you don’t seem to bleed externally, the stinging taste of blood in your mouth tells you you are severely injured. A load moan escapes your lips when Choso gently lifts you off the ground, body screaming out in agony.

With a gentle kiss on your forehead and tears still running down his cheeks. Something like this will never happen again. Not through the hands of others and especially not his.

God, never again will he ever hurt you.

Satoru Gojo

Your fingers tremble uncontrollably as you try to figure out what you hold in your hands. Is this…positive?

Are you really pregnant?

Two lines. Two clearly visible lines. You feel like fainting and flying at the same time, your thoughts are racing.

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming?

No, the proof lies visible in your hands. You are pregnant. You are expecting a child with Satoru Gojo.

“Listen (y/n)…I’ve been thinking about this for a while now…Have you ever thought about having a baby? I mean, you’ve been my girlfriend for more than 6 years, my fiancé for half a year. I’ve never seen me as a father and I know this isn’t the best timing considering what’s going on in the word at the moment. But the thought of you with a precious baby belly, a child with your eyes…This thought filled me with so much joy recently that I wanted to talk about this with you.”

You couldn’t find words, his sudden outburst caught you off guard. But oh how much you thought about that too, how it would feel to have a child with the man you love more than anything else on this world, to start a family with Satoru. Tears started to sting your eyes, arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I would absolutely love that!”, you cried out, face buried against his broad chest while he stroked your hair just the way you like it.

“We don’t have to rush anything. Just living like usual without protection”, he mumbled against your head.

“I love you so much, Satoru. Nothing makes me happier than being with you. And maybe next year there will be three of us.”

He smiled down at you the way that always makes you see stars. God, how much you love that man. The thought alone to spend the rest of your life with him and your little family filled your heart with nothing buy warmth and joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything else”, he mumbled.

Satoru. What are you supposed to do? Call him, text him, drive to Jujutsu High? You’re on your day off while he told you this morning that he’ll teach the new student, Yuta. As much as you’d love to get in your car immediately and meet him in person, you shouldn’t disturb him right now. No, this is something special. This needs time, a calm evening and privacy.

A little message can’t hurt though.

Hey babe, can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ve got some exciting news. Love you <3

You let out your shaky breath, eyes darting to the test again. Is this really your life? It surely can’t get any better than that.

-Satoru’s POV-

“I hate so say it, but I guess there’s no way out of this”, Shoko comments.

But there has to be. After all, he’s the strongest, he’s the only one who’s able to protect you right. This shouldn’t be the only way to save you, there has to be more.

“I will find a way around this”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, hands so tensed up that his veins pop out.

“You can’t. There’s absolutely no way to keep her save. She’ll insist on going with you if you tell her. And if you don’t she’ll find out and come to your place. Or worse, someone else will find her. She is the safest when she’s gone.”

Fuck. Satoru slams his fist against the table, blood squirting. He knows she’s right. Deep down, he is very aware of the fact that no matter how he twists and turns it, you’re in danger. Suguru made that very clear. He has to make a decision now, even if it breaks his own heart.

“So what’s the solution then, huh? Breaking up with her?”, he barks at Shoko.

“If you really want to make sure that she’s safe and gone, yes. Aren’t her parents living far away from here?”

That’s not what he wanted to hear. Thick rage crawls up his spine and takes his sight. He’ll kill all of them. Every single one of these curses and Suguru’s accomplices. This shouldn’t be the only way, he shouldn’t have to break the heart of the women he loves most.

Fuck, how much he hates to see you cry. Just a few days ago, he told you that he wanted to have kids with you, to start a family, he proposed to you. This will not only break your heart, but shatter you into million pieces.

“I get that it’s rough and that you don’t wanna do it. But if you want to make sure that (y/n) is safe, you have to make her believe that it’s over.”

“What if I’m hiding her somewhere at Jujutsu High? What if I’m staying by her side?”

“She’ll never allow that and you know it. (y/n) would rather die herself than letting other people suffer because you aren’t there.”

She’s right. Deep down Satoru knows that every word Shoko says is true.

- Later that evening –

You almost fall off the couch in excitement when you hear keys turning in the lock. He’s finally home! It must have been a pretty rough day if he wasn’t even able to reply to your text. Your fingers hold onto the test in your hands for dear life, heart jumping up and down in joy. How will he react? Will he laugh, will he cry? You don’t know. But he’ll surely be cheerful.

“Hey babe, I need to talk about something with you!”

The sound of your joyful voice alone makes him want to break down. Fuck, you don’t deserve this, none of this is your fault at all. So why does he have to break your heart so violently? He shakes his head, blindfold covering his already glossy eyes. There’s no way out of this. He needs to hurt you in order to save you.

“Oh, there you are”, you breathe out when you catch a glimpse of him.

Satoru looks as breathtaking as always, albeit a little drained. It must have been a rough day for him. But your news will definitely brighten up his mood.

“Babe, there’s something absolutely exciting I have to tell y-“

“(y/n)”.

The harsh tone in his voice quiets you down immediately, the grin on your face washed away in the wind.

“I have something to talk about”, he announces.

Why does he have to be so cold? What has gotten into him? Worry lines disrupt your face.

“Oh, did something happen?”

The innocent tone in your voice kills him right on the spot along with your stunning glimmering orbs…No, he needs to do this. After all it’s for your well-being. You’ll see that too, hopefully.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

You hold your breath, eyes scanning over his stunning face for any hint of sarcasm, for an emotion. But no, all he does is staring down at you with stone cold orbs, arms crossed in front of his chest.

You feel like fainting, world collapsing around you. No, this can’t be true. He can’t be serious. Not long ago, he told you he wants a child with you, he asked you to marry him. Your heart clenches, tears start glistering in your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I’m breaking up with you, (y/n)”, he insists.

This isn’t a joke or a dream. You can tell that he’s serious, that he means every word he says.

“Why?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

You can’t believe your ears.

“Just yesterday, you told me over and over how much you love me, you…you had sex with me, Satoru. Just a few hours ago.”

You can’t stop your tears from falling anymore, the feeling of this indescribable loss pulls the ground from under your feet.

“It meant nothing to me.”

His words hit you with full force, pushing you to sit down in order to not collapse onto the floor. Was all of this a game for him? And what about…?

Oh god, you feel like throwing up.

“I’m pregnant, Satoru.”

His heart stops. Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, almost too low for him to understand. Did you really just say that?

“What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs.

Pregnant… You’re pregnant. You’re expecting his child, the child he told you he wants. You’ll be family! This is absolutely fantastic, you have to celebrate-

No. Satoru stops the seed of joy in his heart immediately. Now is not the right time for that. After all, he’s about to break up with you at the moment.

“I don’t care.”

His word cut through his very own heart like a knife, your face twisted in agony simply takes his breath away. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve any of those venomous words he spits at you. But he does it so you are safe. Yes, over and over he tells himself that this is for your best, that at least you’ll be out of the firing line. You’ll be safe and sound, you and his unborn child.

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something. I don’t want to see you here any longer.”

In this moment, you feel like dying. Your past, present and future plays itself in front of your inner eye, reminding you of all the precious moments together. Was all of this a lie? Does he even care about you?

Like in trance you get up, grabbing nothing but your wallet and phone. You need to get away from here before you break down completely. If this is how he feels, he doesn’t deserve to see your grief.

God, he wants to break down in front of your feet, completely mesmerized by the way you carry yourself so well after his harsh words. Hopefully you will understand that he did this for you. Even though he broke your heart, you’ll live. And this is all that matters…

“Goodbye then, Gojo.”

The venomous sound of his last name out of your mouth makes him collapse onto the couch the second you close the door behind your back, tears glistening in his eyes.

Why? Why on earth did this just happen? Why did he have to hurt you like this? God, please let you understand it when all of this madness is over. Please let you be okay…

- Day of the night parade –

“Oh dear, look at this”, your mother breathes out while turning up the TV volume.

You gaze at the flickering pictures without any emotions, dark circles surrounding your eyes from all the nights without any sleep.

Satoru? You haven’t heard a word from him since that evening. That evening that altered your brain chemistry forever. That evening that showed you his real face. Since you’ve had nowhere else to go and wanted to be as far away from him as possible, you stayed with your parents ever since.

“What is going on at Tokyo?”, your father mutters.

Huh, looks like absolute chaos. Your eyes widen at the sheer amount of destruction, the reporter whose head gets ripped away by…

Your heart sinks.

This was a curse, without any doubt. What about Satoru?

No. You shake your head vehemently. This isn’t about him. What about your students, Nanami, Shoko, all the others? Are they okay? What is going on there? Suddenly you feel like standing up, too excited to sit.

You swore to never step a foot into Jujutsu High again, to start over somewhere else. But this…You can’t just sit here in silence with all your powers while your friends might die through the hands of curses.

“I need to leave”, you announce.

“What? But you said you want to stay here. (y/n), if this is about him…-“

“It’s not”, you interrupt your mother immediately.

“I need to watch after my friends.”

Yes. Screw Satoru and whatever he’s up to. Mindlessly your hands caress your little bump. This is your responsibly, the least you can do.

- At Toyko –

“Gojo-sensei, (y/n) is here”, Maki announces through her communicator as you walk through the barrier with ease.

Impossible.

His eyes widen in pure horror. All this pain and grieving over the last few weeks, all the nights he cried himself to sleep because he missed you, the countless thinking about your precious little baby.

And now you’re right here where you shouldn’t be, running into the arms of Suguru without even knowing it.

“Oh, I didn’t expect he’d be so dumb”, a painful familiar voice behind you suddenly speaks out.

You turn around, taking in the appearance of none other than Suguru Geto.

“Are you responsible for this whole mess?”, you question.

He steps forward, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Fuck, this isn’t good. Suguru is a special grade, he could kill you without even trying. Are your students around? Maybe they are at Tokyo, maybe they are safe.

“Did Satoru send you here? Apparently he doesn’t care about you”, Suguru’s voice comments dryly.

Your heart immediately stings in agony, fingertips trembling. Just a few innocent words that break you completely after weeks of pretending you’re okay.

“He broke up with me a few weeks ago”, you clarify.

Suguru breaks out in hysteric laughter while all you can do is stare at him and hold back your tears. How is he able to laugh about your feelings? Before he went berserk, you and Suguru got along pretty well. What happened to him?

“3 weeks ago, maybe?”

You tilt your head. Why that question? And why…why is he so accurate?

“Yeah”, you mutter.

“How ironic.”

“What’s so funny about that, asshole”, you bite back.

His figure comes to a stand so close to you that you can feel his breath creeping across your face.

“It’s funny that he tried to save you and now you’re standing right in front of me, (y/n).”

His words pull the ground from beneath your feet, thoughts racing so violently that you feel like throwing up. What did he say about Satoru trying to save you? What is all of this about? You lose your cool completely.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, you yell into his stupid smirk.

“I gave him an ultimatum. But now that you’re here already…Let’s get this over with.”

You aren’t able to properly understand a single word as he hounds a curse your direction.

“Why are you even here?”

Where is Satoru? What is going on here? Where are your students? So many unknown variables, so much pressure. You need answers.

“I’m here to kill Yuta Okkotsu.”

Your heart sinks immediately. Yuta? Suguru is probably on the hunt for Rika. No, you can’t let him get away with this.

“Over. My. Corpse.”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear (y/n). I always liked your charm, but nothing better than that.”

It’s hard to keep up with him without any weapon. Where is your dagger when you need it? You only have your powers and your combat skills to attack him. But Suguru isn’t dumb. It’s almost frightening, the way he keeps distance between both of you.

Your baby. Fuck, you need to be careful. After all, stress isn’t beneficial for your pregnancy.

And dying too.

-Satoru’s POV-

He runs as fast as his feet carry him, vision clouded by thick fear. He did all of this for you, to keep you out of grip for Suguru. And now you’re facing him alone, his students not able to help you. What about the baby? He needs to hurry. If Suguru harms one single hair on your head…

“Get away from her. Now”, he barks at his former best friend, positioning himself in front of you just in time before one of Suguru’s curses hits you.

“Ironic, isn’t it? That you even scarified your relationship only for her to run into my open arms.”

“I never thought you would go this far. She’s not only a jujutsu sorcerer, but my girlfriend. I thought you are better than that. Keep your hands off her or you’ll regret it.”

All you can do is stare at his broad back with tears glistening in your eyes. Is this why he broke up with you three weeks ago and left you alone pregnant? To keep you out of sight from Geto?

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something.”

These three weeks of torture, of asking yourself over and over why you weren’t good enough and where you went wrong…because he was worried?

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”, you cry out, slamming your fists against his back over and over.

“Why did you just leave me like that? Why did you not leave me any choice? Why would you leave me standing in the rain pregnant? Why did you do this to me-“

“(y/n)”, he interrupts you, glossy eyes darted at you in a way you’ve never seen before.

Satoru grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him.

“Because I couldn’t stand you getting hurt”, he breathes out.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t watch out for yourself. Because I knew this was the only way to keep you safe, even though it meant breaking both of his into pieces. Trust me, I hated myself every single day over the last three weeks, wondering every miserable second how you’re doing. It made me lose my mind, (y/n). And now you’re here, right here where you shouldn’t be.”

“I’ve got hurt the second you broke up with me just after I’ve told you that I’m expecting your child!”, you scream into his face.

All the pain, the grief, the longing, the waiting. Everything crushes down at you and swallow you whole. All of this was in vain.

“I never stopped loving you, (y/n). On the contrary, my love for you is greater than my longing after you.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you can see him cry. Tears roll down his face uncontrollably, the ocean blue of his eyes disrupted by rough red.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little moment here, but now that you’re already here, I can kill you, right?”

As if in slow motion Satoru turns around to his former best friends, hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood spills.

“I will make you pay for every tear (y/n) spilled, for these weeks of torture. You will regret your threat for every single fucking day.”

“Let’s get it on, then”, Geto remarks dryly.

...

Hope you're doing fine. If you're still able to, feel free to tell me whenever you want a part ll of this and with you. Thank youu <3

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reiding-writing · 2 days

Note

Heyy i was wondering if i could have a workshop session? Also congrats on reaching 2k i literally lovee your posts.

So i had this idea about early season spencer and a movie director reader, so basically sorta like the episode with lila archer except reader is really famous and makes mostly sci-fi movies or something spencer would watch, and someone on her set is a witness for a crime or connected to one and now that they dissapeared the BAU sent spencer and maybe derek to ask reader about what they know. But spencer is lowkey kind of silently fan girling lmao like when he first met rossi. I hope this idea isn't too cringe but its just something i thought of, and also its like 3am so my brain isn't functioning properly. Anyways thank yeww

STARstruck — SPENCER REID!

Spencer is a nerd who appreciates accurate scientific knowledge in the media he consumes, and you, are his literal idol in that aspect.

s1!spencer x fem!director!reader | 1.2k | fluff | 2k book fayre !!

a/n — this idea is so cute bro i love it

main masterlist. | event masterlist.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the towering glass windows of the Hollywood studio, casting a golden glow over the sleek set design.

Cameras, lighting rigs, and intricate models of spaceships and futuristic cities filled the massive room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and slightly burnt popcorn lingered in the air.

Spencer took a deep breath as he stepped onto the set, eyes wide with a mix of awe and nervous excitement.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Morgan smirked as he nudged Spencer in the arm. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Spencer quickly adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder, fiddling with the leather strap. “I’m fine,” He mumbled, although his gaze kept drifting toward the bustling crew members setting up for the next scene.

It wasn’t just the high-tech equipment that caught his attention; it was the fact that you was somewhere on this set. A literal legend in the movie world who had created some of Spencer's favourite films, the mind behind the intricate worlds he had spent years analysing and rewatching.

Not just a famous director, but one of the most influential minds in science fiction cinema, with a literal PhD in theoretical astrophysics, your movies weren’t just blockbusters—they were intellectually stimulating.

Films layered with complex theories of time travel, quantum physics, and human evolution. Spencer had spent hours after screenings debating the logic behind your plot twists, tracing your influences back to classic literature and obscure scientific studies.

He might have even written a paper about your work for one of his side projects.

Maybe.

“Alright, fanboy, whatever you say,” Morgan chuckled, clearly noticing the star-struck look on Spencer’s face. “We’re here for business, remember? We need to talk to her about the missing witness.”

Right. The reason they were actually here. One of the set designers from your latest film had disappeared. They had been linked to a crime scene across town, and now the BAU was trying to piece together their whereabouts.

As the two made their way past towering green screens and actors in elaborate futuristic costumes, Spencer’s heart rate quickened. There you were, standing near the director's chair, deep in conversation with a producer.

Morgan was the one to actually call your attention, flashing his FBI badge. “Excuse me, Doctor, I’m Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid, we’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes widen momentarily, before settling in understanding. “Pleasure to meet you both,” You motion for the two to follow you away from the busy set for the impending conversation.

Spencer tried to find his voice, but it was like his brain had short-circuited the moment you looked at him. The woman who had crafted entire galaxies and explored the intricacies of human consciousness in film now actually knew he existed.

“I—uh—” He stammered, glancing at the wall behind you before meeting your eyes. “I just wanted to say I’ve been a huge fan of your work for years. Your understanding of nonlinear time theory in Chrono Rift was... incredible—”

Morgan’s grin widened, and Spencer could feel his cheeks burning. He was not making a good first impression.

You, however, smiled warmly, your expression softening. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. It’s always nice to meet someone who appreciates the science behind the ‘science-fiction’.”

The way his eyes seem to soften in the wake of your thanks is endearing, matched with a pink flush to behind his glasses he attempts to brush a stubborn lick of hair from his eye.

It’s a natural attractiveness, one that’s sweet and a little awkward.

“But I assume you didn’t come here just to talk about quantum mechanics?”

Spencer cleared his throat, refocusing on the case. “Right, yes uh— We’re trying to locate one of your set designers, Adrian Moss. We believe they may have been involved with a recent crime, and they disappeared shortly after. Did Adrian mention anything unusual to you? Anyone they seemed nervous around?”

Your brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Adrian? No, they seemed fine. A little… distracted maybe, but I thought it was just the stress of the shoot. I had no idea they were involved in anything criminal.”

Morgan took over to save himself the second-hand embarrassment of Spencer’s stammering, smoothly steering the conversation. “Is there anyone on set Adrian might’ve had conflicts with? Or someone who seemed to be paying them too much attention?”

You paused, considering the question. “Not that I can think of, but I can ask around. The crew is like a family you know? People talk— if Adrian was in trouble, someone will have noticed.”

As the conversation continued, Spencer slowly found his footing again, chiming in with more questions about Adrian’s behavior and their role on set. But every now and then, his mind drifted to the fact that he was standing in the presence of one of his idols. And not only were you brilliant, but you were also kind.

After wrapping up their questions, you pulled out a small business card, handing it towards Morgan. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’ll make sure the crew knows to cooperate fully with your investigation,”

Morgan pocketed the card with a small nod. “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch.”

As they turned to leave, you called out, “Oh, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer froze, turning back to face you. He genuinely felt like he might explode.

“If you ever want to debate time travel paradoxes or poke holes in my logic, I’d be happy to grab a coffee sometime.”

Spencer’s brain went blank for a second, and all he managed was a stunned, “Uh, yeah! I mean—yes, that sounds great.”

With a smile, you waved them off, returning to your work.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Derek clapped Spencer on the back, laughing. “I’ve never seen you like this, man. Fanboying over a director? That’s a new one.”

Spencer gave him a sheepish grin, although not one that tries to dispel his accusation. “She’s not just a director, Morgan. She’s a genius.”

“Well, genius, genius or not, you might actually have a shot there. But let’s focus on finding this missing designer before you start planning your first date.”

Spencer chuckled, still a little dazed but ready to get back to work. He couldn’t help but feel that, no matter how this case turned out, his emotional outcome was going to be a net positive.

#𝜗𝜚 book fayre。#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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frownyalfred · 1 month

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Can I get clarification on your pro shipping post? The example you gave was a 20 year old with a 40 year old, and that's "problematic" (not really), but not really what I think of when I hear "pro shipping". Usually it's the shipping of minor/adult or incestuous relationships that I see getting defended. Does being against fictional works/ships that depict pedophilic or incestuous relationships as normal/romantic count as puritanism to you? Do you see the ship of Bruce Wayne/Damian Wayne as a personal preference with no moral implications?

I think there's a huge difference between being personally against something, and wanting to shame others or ban others from reading or writing something. The Puritanism comes from wanting to limit and ostracize others who don't share your beliefs. It comes from believing that your perspective is the only morally right one.

I think there will always be people who want to write or read about ships like that, yeah -- incest, pseudo-incest, everything in between. By moral implications, do you mean for the person interested in the ship? Or do you mean for others? Because I see that concern a lot on here -- this idea that somehow, by wanting to read/write about something, people are either 1) harming others by spreading this morally wrong ship or 2) harming themselves by normalizing the ship, and therefore making it more likely that they'll pursue similar relationships in their real lives.

We don't have much evidence for either of those claims. People have been clutching their pearls and wringing their hands over "morally wrong" books for ages -- and yet, Game of Thrones is still available in every bookstore. Am I a bad or woefully misguided person for having read Lolita in high school? Is a 16 year old reading a Bruce/Damian fic likely to turn around, shrug, and say "guess fucking my Dad is okay now"? Did an entire generation of fans shipping Wincest somehow have lasting, moral effects? I really don't think so. Not at the scale anti-shippers online seem to think, at least.

I think we need to separate how we moralize people from the content that they consume. And acknowledge that shaming and excluding people for wanting to read something doesn't exactly do much to prevent "moral implications." There's also a huge difference between reading a book, and endorsing the ideas/events inside of it. Same things with fics.

Anti-shipping is very appealing to people because it purports to protect people from harm. Until you look a little closer, and you realize that that protection comes at the expense of free expression, creative license, and agency to choose what we personally do and do not consume. And that that protection isn't really airtight out of your anti-shipping discord or tumblr community.

I think the best we can do is let people write and read what they want -- whatever they want, with limited warnings/etc like ao3 employs -- and ensure that those pieces of content are tagged, warned, and displayed accurately. We need to understand that the only control we have is over ourselves, and what we choose personally to consume or not consume.

I don't generally read those fics you mentioned, but I'm not saying they should be banned from ao3. Just because I might possibly think they're wrong or gross doesn't mean I think the person who wrote them is wrong or gross, either. The more we go down that moral slip and slide, like I said in my previous post, the worse off we will all become.

#asks #anon #pro shipping #proship hate #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #archive of our own #ao3 #wincest #incest tw #incest mention #shipping #fandom #tumblr #discourse

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tofics · 1 month

Text

Let There Be Light

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Part 3 to Almost Like You Need Someone

Summary: You, Dean and Sam are fighting America's monsters together. Coming from a long line of hunters, you fit right in with the Winchester boys, despite having been raised entirely different from the two. Where you were brought up with love and care, John raised Sam and Dean with rules and obedience. Seeing what Dean does for the world, you decide it's time that he gets his own share of love...

The three of you are out on a hunt when Bobby calls. He needs one of you to help out on a different case where one of his hunters isn't making any progress on his own. You open your mouth to volunteer, but Sam beats you to it by a mili-second. There's a strange sense of hastiness in the way he pledges his help to Bobby. Your own perplexity is mirrored in Dean's face as the two of you watch Sam throw his belongings together and then rush out the door in a flurry.

Dean eventually breaks the stunned silence that has settled in the room. "Dying to get out of here much?"

You're unsure of how to respond until he grins at you, his own uncertainty almost entirely hidden behind the boyish charm of his crooked grin. You release your own uncertainty in a short series of giggles which just widen Dean's grin.

"Well, look at it this way! More time for just you and me, then." You smile at him with one of your radiating smiles that, unbeknownst to you, make Dean's stomach flutter - before the realization hits, and the butterflies in his stomach break out into a frenzy.

You come to the realization about the same time as him, that suddenly, it's just the two of you without your buffer.

Oh dear.

One could think it doesn't make that big of a change, but it makes all the difference.

You and Dean return to your motel room late at night, looking like two people who just spent their last few hours digging through dirt, which in your case is more than accurate. Dean offers you to take the first shower and you happily agree. There's bits and pieces of dirt and God-knows-what on and in your clothes and you're itching, literally and figuratively, to just get out of them.

Your case, it turns out, was on the easy side for once. All you had to do was dig up some bones, then give them the old salt & fire treatment. The spirit vanished and that's that, case closed, work done.

Granted, there was a middle part where things got a bit gritty and you got thrown around a bunch, but it wasn't too bad, or at least so you think until the water hits your back and you involuntarily screech out in pain.

Dean calls out to see if you're okay and you call back something assuring, despite the gash on your back that you're somehow only now becoming aware of. It blooms in dark red on just below one of your shoulder blades and, now that you're aware of it, stings like hell. The rest of a shower is an awkward dance of trying to rid yourself of all the dirt while keeping water away from your wound. There have been easier tasks, but you've also been hurt a lot worse, so you don't feel like complaining much. Eventually, you leave the bathroom to make room for Dean, successfully avoiding him spotting the gash before he goes to take a shower. No point in worrying him, you think. You've been off worse. You'll have yourself patched up in no time.

Or so you think. But turns out the gash is in a really uneasy spot to reach, and no matter what, you just can't get the placing of the bandage right.

After Dean's turn, he finds you sitting on the bed with a t-shirt pressed to your front. Your back is bare and showing the nasty cut on your left shoulder. His eyes grow wide in shock and then narrow in concern an anger. "When'd this happen?" Three large strides and he's over by the bed. You shudder as his fingertips grace your skin. Dean thinks it's out of pain, but you barely feel the gash in your flesh. All you can think about is how his fingers feel on your skin, in a place he's never touched.

"This needs stitches." You watch as he gets to work and gathers the needed supplies; needle, yarn, a bottle of whiskey. He pours you a glass and then pours some over the needle. "Ready?" You chug your glass down and nod. It stings as the needle penetrates your skin and you hiss at the sensation.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know."

You know you should be in pain, and you are, but the butterflies in your stomach demand all of your attention, urged on by the whiskey in your system. They flutter around, fluttering against your insides, flapping their little wings so fast that you feel like you're vibrating from the inside out and you just wonder how Dean can't notice when the vibration is so strong that your hands are shaking. Sweetheart. That damn nickname again.

The whiskey reaches your head and sends it for a little spin while Dean continues to work on your back. Each needle pinch burns, but the pads of his other fingers gently resting on your skin to steady his hands are the more present sensation in your head.

"Almost done, sweetheart, you're doing so good." A breathy moan escapes your lips at his praise and you can't see it, but Dean's face is contorted from the pain he thinks he's causing you. He sees your shaking hands and curses himself for not having noticed that you were wounded earlier. With every stitch, the disappointment in himself for not having protected you grows. Every hole that he has to pierce through your skin feeds the growling monster inside of him that has been with him for years. It comes to life when he thinks he didn't do his best, that he let someone down. It roars when that someone is someone he cares about.

Dean stitches you up and the monster inside of him is thrashing and turning and clawing at his insides, furious that you're in pain when he came out unscathed.

You only notice the expression on his face when he's done patching you up. He walks past you with a grim face and pours himself his own glass of whiskey, then his second when the first one is quickly emptied. His anger confuses you - did you do something wrong?

Dean scoffs. "God, no, sweetheart, that one's all on me." There it is again, that nickname that turns your legs into melted butter, but now it's tinged with ugly sarcasm. You slide on your t-shirt carefully, belatedly realizing it's one of Dean's that you mistakenly grabbed from his bag instead of yours. It smells like washing powder and something that's distinctly Dean.

Lord have mercy.

You approach him and gently lay a hand on his arm. "Hey." He turns to you and his forehead is lined with wrinkles, the anger and concern etched into his skin. And despite the butterflies in your stomach, you can't help but lay a hand on his cheek as your protective instincts win.

A breath hitches in Dean's throat as your hand touches his cheek. Your skin feels ever so soft against the stubble on his jaw. It matches the softness in your eyes, the same look he's seen you give to the grieving. "This isn't on you." He sees your lips move and hears the words leave your mouth, but they don't register in his head. His sight and sense of touch are overshadowing everything else. The sight of your lips and the feeling of your hand on his cheek are all he can focus on and he feels like you're flooding him with light from the inside out.

"This isn't on you." You search Dean's face for any recognition of your words, but he doesn't respond. Instead, you watch how his lips part slightly, forming a surprised 'o' as his eyes change from dark to light and you can feel the anger dissipating like water on hot stone. You watch as the older Winchester brother turns from stone to life under your touch and all you can think is how it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

What just happened?

"What...?" You ask with a smile on your lips and Dean feels like his head might explode and shoot fireworks up into the sky.

He decides then that you have to know what you do to people, what you do to him. That your light shines brighter than anyone else's he's ever seen and he needs it more than he needs the sun itself.

His hand finds yours on his cheeks as he cups your face with his other and he sees your pupils widen in response.

"You...," he starts, but can't find the right words to properly articulate what he feels on the inside, the light and warmth you instill in him. The look of concern on your face almost makes him laugh, but instead, it just fills him with more love for you. Here you are, wounded, and yet you're worried that he's feeling too guilty over the fact that you got hurt in the first place.

"Do you know how incredible you are?" The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes it. He watches you blink in surprise and then smile that amazing smile, so full of warmth and happiness and so damn infectious that he feels the corners of his own lips rising.

You have a tendency of surprising Dean, but even so, he never could have predicted your next words. "Do you know how incredible you are?" It's not even a question of whether you mean it, he knows you do. You comment on the good in people often and it always goes over his head how with all the crap that's going on in the world, you still find a way to see the light in everyone. But where he already has trouble seeing light in other people, he doesn't really see it in himself.

"Mhh." Dean brushes a thumb over your cheek. Now or never, he thinks. "'Fraid I don't, but that's what I got you for, hm? You shine so bright, you illuminate everyone around you. Even me. Make me see light where there wasn't any before. Maybe... maybe someday I'll even see it in myself, if you'll help me see it."

Whomp. There it is. He can't believe he's put it out there, just like that. But that's what you do to him. He can bullshit his way through life, even lie to Sammy if he has to, but not to you. You bring out the truth in him like there's no other option in the first place.

Dean watches your face for a reaction, somehow convinced that this is where you'll draw the line and finally shut him out. There's an entire world of people waiting to be touched by your light, why should he get special treatment?

But you don't retreat or draw your hand back from his face. Instead, your beautiful eyes stay locked on his, and despite the uncertainty inside of him he feels the warmth and calm radiating from your gaze and seeping into him. How do you do that?!

And then suddenly, out of all the things you could do, you lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It's so sudden and your lips are so soft that when they're gone, Dean's not entirely sure he didn't make the moment up in his mind.

"I'll help you see how good you are, no matter how long it takes, Dean Winchester," you whisper and lean your head against his chest.

Sam, of course, notices the difference immediately when he returns. You and Dean are still awkward around each other, but the undertone has changed entirely. You're no longer desperately trying to make your love invisible to each other but to him, entirely unaware of the fact that out of the three of you, Sam was the first to know. But even then, if he hadn't known, it'd still be hard to miss. There are a lot of 'hidden' smiles between the two of you that are anything but hidden and glances at each other that even a blind person would have a hard time missing. Your attempts of staying neutral around each other are so painfully obvious that Sam doesn't last longer than a day before finally speaking up.

"Probably best if I pick my own room at the next stop," he mentions casually while the three of you are on the road to the next hunt. Both Dean and you react confused, but Sam makes quick work of shushing both of you. "Come on, you guys. I know. I'm just glad you two finally do too. Only took you forever to realize that you're in love with each other." Sam rolls his eyes and then stupidly grins to himself about the silence that settles in the car. You and Dean look properly shocked, yet neither of you tries to deny it. One glance in the rearview mirror and Sam sees the smile you're trying to bite away, a bit of color flushing your cheeks. Next to him, his brother has his eyes dead-set on the road ahead of him, but he knows Dean well enough to see the smug-yet-happy expression he's trying his hardest to hide. Sam can't help but chuckle.

"Happy for the two of you. But seriously. I want my own room."

A/N: Here we are, the mini-series is all wrapped up! 🥰 I had so much fun bringing this to the happy end they both deserve. I hope I did everyone's expectations justice - let me know what you thought! :)

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

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No pressure taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @zo-byeol @shanimallina87 @zepskies @artyandink

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean x you #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic

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