#people in category 3 however...

[music-orthemisery]

i have a theory that most p*tekeys fall into one of the following three categories:

people who are casual fob fans who don't really know any deep lore. just see some memes and shit on the internet and go, "yeah haha geeze pete was down bad! anyways..."

people who just enjoy the ship for funsies and don't actually see it as real person fact. just playing with their dolls in their sandbox minding their business.

people who can't comprehend that pre-h pete wentz would find pre-h patrick stump attractive and that certainly all his yearning must have been for a conventionally attractive skinny guy.

[taamlok]

i have a post explaining/clarifying the Mystra timeline in detail rotting in my drafts that will never see the light of day

[foxy-eva]

Love me Tender

Summary: When you finally tell him about your struggles with sex, Spencer proves to be the most understanding and gentle boyfriend anyone could wish for 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Reader struggles with painful sex/penetration, implied medical issues (not specified), implied negative past sexual experiences, feelings of insecurity and frustration, nervousness, crying, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (both receiving, including 69), handjob, fingering, attempted penetrative sex

Word count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Me? Writing a completely self-indulgent fic yet again? It’s more likely than you think. I hope this little story finds its way to people who need it <3

Masterlist

Heavy breaths. Heaving chests. Tongues intertwined and bodies so entangled it became impossible to tell them apart. 

Yet again you had found yourself on Spencer’s couch, his weight trapping you beneath him, while you got lost in the haze of longing. Albeit still being protected by some layers of clothing, it felt like you might melt together. Ever so slightly you rolled your hips against him until you could feel his desire burning for you. 

The lust you felt was overwhelming, yet the further things progressed, the more reluctant you became. That had happened before and Spencer sensed your hesitation. A sigh left his throat and you caught it with your lips. His kisses became more innocent until he was only softly pecking your lips. 

The word sorry burned on your tongue but before you could voice it, Spencer hushed you. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

He sat up and you mirrored his motion until you were sat beside him on the couch again. Gentle fingertips found the side of your face, caressing your cheek and ghosting over lips plump from kissing. 

��You’re so incredibly beautiful,” Spencer breathed.

With heated cheeks you looked at him, his eyes dark and filled with yearning, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he was witnessing. It was comforting to see his adoration for you. However, a part of you still believed he’d run out of patience with you soon. 

It had been many weeks of you kissing and cuddling on his couch, acts that were innocent the first time quickly turned into something more sinful. A moan escaping his throat when he felt some friction against his hardness, a desperate sigh from your lips when you ground against him. And then you’d ask him to stop. 

He never once complained when you voiced your wish to slow down, always content with any ounce of affection you’d grant him. But how could it be enough? 

Spencer noticed the glistening in your eyes before you could even feel the tears forming. 

“Hey,” he cooed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

The first tear rolled down your cheek and Spencer pulled you into his embrace. “I.. I just..,” was all you could mutter before the dam broke and you just sobbed against his chest. His heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, the panicked sensation he must have felt was very familiar to you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.” 

After several moments of silence, you wiped away the saline droplets from your face and shied away from Spencer’s touch. 

“I’m sorry, you must be so frustrated with me,” you sobbed and Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’m really not trying to be a tease, I swear.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was laced with concern and confusion. “That’s not what I’m thinking. And I’m not frustrated with you.” 

More tears spilled from your lashes. His words were sincere. Maybe it was time to be honest with him. 

“I know you want to have sex with me.” Your words almost sounded like an accusation but that wasn’t your intention, so with a softer tone you added, “And I want to sleep with you, too.” 

His facial features were soft when he said, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. There's no rush.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain. “I can’t have sex.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand?” 

“It hurts. I can’t have sex because it’s too painful for me.”

Spencer's eyes widened but only for a second. Then, after he encouraged you to speak, he just sat there and listened while words began bubbling from your mouth. Stories about advice from medical professionals and experiences with past lovers all spilled from your lips. 

“There are good days,” you finally concluded. “But most days it's a struggle. And sometimes I think it will work but then it doesn't.” 

Relief washed over you when you had finally told Spencer about this. It had been bothering you for weeks and you were glad it was finally out, whatever that would mean for your future together.

Staring at him, you suddenly felt your heart beating loudly inside your chest. His face still looked soft and understanding but you weren't entirely sure how he'd react.

“I'm very sorry you have to deal with this,” he softly spoke. “I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.” 

Your sight fell to the floor when you muttered, “I would understand if this was dealbreaker for you. I'm sure you expected something else when we started dating.” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said before gently touching your cheek to turn your head until you'd look at him again. Then, he continued, “I care about you and I really like you. I am grateful for any amount of physical proximity you'll grant me, whether sexual or not. I just want to be close to you in any way you're comfortable with.” 

His words warmed your heart and made you smile. “Just for the record, I was very comfortable with what we did before,” you snickered. 

“Yeah?” He purred as he leaned closer. “Good to know.” 

His lips captured yours in a kiss that turned from sickenly sweet to breathtaking within moments. It didn't take long until you found yourself in your previous position lying on the couch with Spencer on top of you. 

Within minutes you felt the heat rushing through your body again until this familiar tingling returned to your core. A slight shift of your legs and you had Spencer’s thigh pressing against you in the best way possible. It wasn't enough for you, though. 

“Spencer…,” you mumbled into the kiss. 

He leaned back slightly to look at you and whisper, “Do you want to slow down?” 

Staring up at him, your heart skipped a beat. He looked so beautiful with unruly curls hanging into his face and his lips plump from kissing.

“No, I wanna do more,” you confessed. In an instant, your hands flew to his shirt, getting a hold of the first button. “Want to feel your skin.”  

The sweetest smile spread over his face. “I want that, too,” he whispered and brushed over the hem of your shirt. 

A little too enthusiastically, you tried to sit up to get rid of your clothes and almost threw Spencer off the couch. Ungracefully, he grabbed the armrest of the couch to avoid losing his balance and colliding with the floor. 

“I'm so sorry!” You giggled as you helped him back onto the couch. He joined you in your laughter and placed several innocent pecks on your lips. 

“It's okay,” he chuckled. “I didn't expect how eager you'd be to get me naked.” 

“I have waited for too long,” you whined. 

“Come on,” Spencer said as he stood up and took your hand. “We'll be much more comfortable in my bed.” 

For a brief moment you hesitated but then you got up and followed him. You knew you could trust that he would be nothing but gentle and patient with you. If anything, it would probably be you who'd expect too much of yourself. 

At his bedside, curious hands began pushing and pulling on fabric until both of you stood in front of one another in nothing but underwear. Gently, you pushed Spencer onto the mattress before you found your place on top of him, straddling his lap. 

His clothed erection pressed against the lace of your panties and it almost drove you insane. As your sight travelled over his skin, you felt your cheeks heating up. You couldn’t decide whether to focus on the warm amber of his eyes, his saccharine smile, his heaving chest or the softness of his tummy. 

He was just so pretty.

You noticed his sight dropping to the swell of your chest at the same time his hardness twitched against your covered heat. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered before his hands cradled your cheeks to pull you down for another kiss. 

He didn't wait to deepen this kiss, his tongue begged for entrance right away. It became obvious how aroused Spencer was, a realization that only turned you on more. Tentatively, you began rocking your hips against his hardness, creating some much needed friction between your legs. The moan that escaped his throat sent shockwaves right through your body. 

His hands travelled down your shoulders and over your back until they found the clasp of your bra. Skillfully, he undid it before you briefly broke the kiss to toss away the piece of clothing. Spencer cupped your breasts, gently exploring your skin before taking your hardened peaks between his fingers. Caressing you this way made your head spin and had you grinding even harder against his cock. 

The lace of your panties became soaked with your arousal as the tension in your core only grew. The sounds of pleasure that made it past your lips were swallowed by him as he didn’t allow you to break the kiss. 

When you ground over Spencer’s sensitive tip, a desperate “Fuck!” was mumbled against your mouth. It was then that you decided this wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. Your lips left his to kiss along his jaw and down his neck instead, nipping on his neck until you felt his throat vibrate with a content hum. 

Sitting up, your hands wandered along his chest, caressing his skin before following the line of hair from his navel down to the waistband of his underwear. A smirk was painted over your face when you found his eyes again. 

“I want to touch you,” you murmured and as if to answer you, you felt him throb against the confines of his boxers. 

“Please…,” he breathed, watching your every move. 

Spencer whined when you got off his lap and you mourned the loss of pressure as well. But you had other, even more fun things to do. With a swift motion, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear to pull it down and throw it on the flow to join the rest of his clothes. 

His cock laid on his stomach, swollen and thick with a weeping tip that begged to be touched. Everything about this man lying in front of you was so aesthetically pleasing, it let heat rush through your veins. 

Then, a very silly thought crossed your mind. Nothing you intended to say out loud but of course Spencer noticed the change of microexpressions in your face. 

“Everything okay?” He said, having you tear your sight away from his body to look at his eyes again. 

“Yeah sorry,” you awkwardly stammered as you laid down beside him. “I don’t want to kill the vibe, I just had a silly thought about something.” 

He raised his eyebrows as he said, “Now I’m curious.” 

“You’re very beautiful and so, so perfect, Spencer,” you said with the utmost sincerity in your voice. With a more light-hearted tone, you quipped, “It’s so silly but I kinda hoped you had a small penis. It would have made things a lot easier.” 

When you heard Spencer laugh at your words, you were relieved and chimed in with your own giggles. He briefly looked down at himself. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just average,” he chuckled. 

“Nothing about you is average, Dr. Reid,” you cooed before capturing his lips once more, feeling him smiling into the kiss. 

One of your hands travelled down his body with a clear goal in mind. When you found his cock, you let your fingertips travel along his length. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. Spencer trembled when you finally wrapped your fingers around him to give him a gentle squeeze. The droplets on his tip were collected by your thumb and used to glide up and down his length with slow and precise motions. 

When he dared to look down to watch you taking care of him, he downright growled at the sight. “Feels so good!” 

Then, with greedy hands he grabbed your hips and drew circles into the lace of your underwear. He looked at you again, a soft expression on his face, and purred, “Can I touch you, too?” 

His question made you sigh and retract your hand from him. Spencer apologized immediately, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

However, there was nothing to be sorry about. The truth was that you were burning for his touch and longed to find relief. Aware that your feelings of restraint were a result of previous experiences and didn’t have anything to do with Spencer, you wanted to give him a chance. He deserved to get the opportunity to show you the care you needed. 

“Don’t apologize. I want you to touch me, Spencer,” you told him as you pulled down your panties, revealing yourself to him. “Just be gentle, please.” 

His hand wandered over your breasts and gently brushed over them before it descended further down. His fingertips danced along your hips and your thighs before they wandered closer to your heat. 

You were sure he could sense your nervousness when he whispered, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?” 

You nodded and he placed his warm palm over your slit, holding it still for a moment. Despite your nervousness, you were so turned on you could feel your own heartbeat drumming against his hand. “Still feeling alright?” He wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

Gently, he let his fingertips glide along your seam, collecting the wetness that had dripped from you already. With the same amount of carefulness, he parted your folds with his forefinger to find your swollen pearl and started circling it with slow motions. Shockwaves travelled through your body and you could feel how your thighs trembled slightly. 

He kissed your cheek and murmured, “How does that feel?” 

“Feels good,” you sighed and instructed, “add a bit more pressure.”

When he did, your entire body shook and a broken moan made it past your lips. Spencer hesitated to continue moving his hand. “Too much?” he wanted to know. 

Shaking your head, you whimpered, “No, it’s perfect.” 

He smiled at you and continued this motion. Then, he let his fingertips glide through your folds to collect more of your arousal from your entrance. Without intending to, you flinched when you felt him at your opening. Not because it was actually painful, but because you expected it to be. 

In an instant, he retracted his hand. Concern was written all over his face when he looked at you. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” 

“No,” you said and took his hand in yours. “I just thought it might hurt.”

You placed his fingers back on your sensitive nub to encourage him to continue before you wrapped your hand around his cock again. When you began stroking him once more, Spencer started moving his hand as well. Weeks of built-up tension begged to be released as you brought one another closer to the edge. 

Closing your eyes, you focussed on this magnificent sensation of being at ease. Facing this wonderful man, your body pressed against his, you felt so safe and cared for. It only took a few more moments until you let yourself come undone, your thighs quivering and core pulsating as you ground your swollen bud against his fingers. 

When you came down from your high, you shied away from his touch to focus back on him. His cock felt hot and heavy against your palm and even harder than just a moment earlier. Spencer tensed his entire body while panting some curse words right before relief washed over him. As he throbbed against your fingers, his essence spilled over your hand and onto his stomach. 

Curling into his side, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek as you waited for him to catch his breath. It was hard to leave the comfort of his embrace but the two of you had to get up to get clean eventually. 

Soon enough you were cuddled up under the blanket again, basking in each other’s warmth. Spencer held you safely against his chest while his fingers danced over your skin ever so slightly. 

“That was fun,” you finally broke the silence and tilted your head to look at him. 

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, it was.” 

Even though Spencer seemed content, you still couldn’t quite tune out this nagging voice of insecurity inside you. Feeling brave for once, you decided to address it. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer nodded, “Anything.” 

After taking a deep breath, you wondered, “Are you disappointed that we didn’t …do more?” 

The man beside you seemed surprised by your words and raised his eyebrows at you. He thought about his words for a second before he responded, “Absolutely not. I think what we did was plenty.”

That was all that you needed to hear. Spencer, however, had more to say about it, so he started one of his ramblings, “Did you know that studies show that the majority of women cannot reach climax from penetration alone? So if you think about it, it’s actually odd that what most heterosexual couples define as sex focusses so much on that. According to one study I read–”

As fun as it was to learn that Spencer apparently read sexual research papers, it wasn’t really the kind of pillow talk you needed right then, so you shut him up with a peck on his lips. He didn’t seem to mind and kissed you back in a same sickenly sweet manner. It didn’t take much longer until the both of you dozed off together. 

Within the next few weeks you grew more comfortable around one another, exploring each other’s bodies whenever you were alone. That first night together was repeated in similar ways several times until Spencer confessed how much he craved to taste you. From then on you found his face buried between your thighs more often than you could count. 

There was not much you could complain about and Spencer seemed happy, too. But still, whenever you caressed his throbbing cock you longed to feel him inside of you, to fill your emptiness and create a connection unlike anything else. 

The next time you found yourself in Spencer’s bed again, clothes already shed and limbs entangled, you felt confident and comfortable and your pain was nothing more than a distant memory. 

Spencer’s breath was hot against your cheek when his hand made its way between your legs. Desire was dripping from your folds as his fingers carefully glided through them. At the same time he began circling your most sensitive spot, you started stroking his hardened cock. You imagined how it would feel to have his swollen tip press into you and you instantly clenched around nothing. 

Your free palm found Spencer’s hand between your legs and guided it further down until his fingertip was at your entrance. 

“Inside,” you breathed

Your boyfriend hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

With widened eyes you looked at him and nodded. “Please,” you added. 

Slower than necessary, he pressed his middle finger against your opening and stopped when he sensed some resistance. After taking a deep breath, you focussed on relaxing your pelvis. Once your body allowed him to continue, Spencer pushed his finger further in. 

“Does that hurt?” He wanted to make sure. 

The pressure was unwonted but not uncomfortable. You shook your head and noticed how Spencer curled his finger inside you, reaching a particularly tender spot. A gasp fell from your lips and you throbbed around his digit. 

“Feels good,” you breathed. 

Without any rush he worked his hand against your core until you were sure you'd float away any minute now. Your hand around his erection trembled as your imagination ran wild. 

“I want your cock,” you finally whimpered, surprising the both of you. 

Spencer looked at you with widened eyes and his mouth agape. Before he could say anything, you added, “I mean… I want to try if that's okay?” 

Carefully, Spencer removed his hand from you, making you sigh at the loss of contact. 

“That’s more than okay,” he breathed as he reached for the nightstand, taking out a condom from the drawer. 

Intently, you watched as he opened the foil and rolled the latex over his cock. You motioned for Spencer to lean against the headboard of the bed before you swung your leg around his hips to straddle him. 

Looking down at his hardness, your heart started fluttering. You couldn’t wait to finally be filled out by him. After wrapping your hand around his shaft, you tentatively let his tip glide through your folds. 

Spencer watched you patiently, his hands resting on your hips. 

“Take your time,” he purred before placing a soft kiss on your lips. 

Positioning his tip at your entrance, you hovered over him and took a few deep breaths. 

“Sorry, I'm really nervous,” you murmured as your cheeks heated up. 

“That’s okay,” Spencer whispered. “You’re the one in charge here. We can stop at any point. I won’t be disappointed, I promise.” 

You tried sinking down on him but once you felt the pressure of the head of his cock against your opening, you stopped.

“Can we maybe add some lube?”  

“Yes, of course.” Spencer said as he reached for the drawer again. “I'm sorry I didn't think of that right away.” 

You took the bottle of lube from his hand and softly spoke, “Let me do it.” 

After squirting a fair amount of the liquid into your hand, you leaned back slightly to be able to spread it over his latex covered erection. Spencer moaned at the sensation and twitched against your palm. 

When you were satisfied with that, you took in your previous position, hovering over his cock. One more deep breath and you began sinking down on him. 

Half an inch in and the pressure was almost overwhelming. You stopped, took more deep breaths and noticed how you could feel Spencer's heartbeat inside you. 

You took in a little more and the pressure morphed into a stinging that you were far too familiar with. A frustrated whine made it past your lips and Spencer stilled your hips. 

“Please stop if it hurts,” he almost begged you. 

In hopes your body would adjust to the intrusion, you kept still for another moment.  It didn't though. The sting turned into a burn that made you yelp. Quicker than you probably should have, you lifted your hips again and plopped down on the mattress beside your boyfriend. 

Your voice was already breaking when you said, “I'm sorry, I really hoped it would work.”

Spencer immediately wrapped you into his arms, just in time for the dam to break that let tears stream down your face. 

“Please don't apologize,” he mumbled. “It's okay.” 

His kindness only made you sob more and he pressed your body tightly against his. It wasn't the pain or any sadness that made you cry but the frustration over not being able to do what you yearned for. 

When you had calmed down a bit, Spencer took a tissue to wipe away your tears while cooing, “I love you. You know that, right?” 

“I love you, too,” you snivelled. “Thank you for being so kind and understanding.” 

“Of course.” 

With a sweet smile painted over his cheeks, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

After cleaning up a bit, you continued cuddling in bed. Many moments and innocent kisses later, the longing inside your chest returned.

Your kisses turned more urgent while one of your hands sneaked down Spencer’s body to dance over his hip and thighs. Your tongue brushed over his at the same time your fingertips found his dick, quickly hardening under your touch. The sensation of him growing inside your palm let shockwaves run through your body. 

Spencer’s hands greedily brushed over your chest and down your body until they squeezed the curve of your backside. 

When you began kissing down his body, Spencer threw his head back into the pillow. You wanted to feel him inside you, one way or another. As you kissed down his stomach, you took his erection into your hand. 

He felt hot against your fingertips as you brushed over his velvety skin, making Spencer shudder when your thumb moved over his leaking tip. Leaning down, you started kissing along his shaft until you were sure that your lips had brushed over every inch of him.

You pressed your lips against his tip before opening them to let him slide into your mouth slowly. When he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed around him, eliciting a deep moan from your boyfriend. 

With precise motions you began to move up and down, your hand covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth. The room filled with the sinful sounds of your mouth moving against his length and the moans falling from his lips.

“Wait,” he suddenly whined. “I wanna taste you, too.” 

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. With a soft pop you released him from your mouth. 

Smirking at him, you wanted to confirm, “You want me to… sit on your face?” 

With more confidence than you had anticipated, he said, “Yes. That's exactly what I want.” 

Shifting your position, you moved up the mattress before swinging one leg over his face until you were hovering over his face. Without wasting any time, Spencer showered your inner thighs with kisses and pulled you down so he could reach your core. 

Like a man starved he let his tongue run through your folds and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his tongue. For a moment you just sat there, revelling in the pleasure before your sight fell down on his cock, lying thick and hard on his stomach. 

Spencer had such a tight grip over your thighs, you failed to lean forward. 

“Spencer,” you snickered as you tapped his hands gripping your thighs. “You gotta let me go, I want to finish what I started.” 

His hold on you lightened and you leaned forward until you could reach his hardness. After peppering him with kisses and tasting the little bead of precum that had spilled over his tip, you took him into your mouth again. 

It was difficult to move with a rhythm, your own pleasure rushing through your body forced you to stop and moan around him every few moments. When he focussed his attention on your swollen pearl, you had to take a break. You released his cock from your lips and instead moved your hand lazily up and down his length. 

Moans and sighs fell from your lips as you ground your hips back against his tongue, chasing that exhilarating sensation you so desperately longed for. When you finally came, Spencer became more gentle but didn't let you move away from him. Instead he lapped up your release before he let his mouth move over your folds carefully. 

Once you had stopped panting erratically, you took his hardness back into your mouth, keen on granting him the same blissful feeling. It only took a few more skillful motions until he fell over the edge and released his warm essence on your tongue. 

A few more soft kisses were placed on his tip, his shaft and at his base before you moved off of him to lay down beside him instead. His lips were glistening with your arousal when you kissed them, your own taste clearly perceptible. 

You found your place inside his arms, your head resting on his chest. The comfortable silence was interrupted by your words. 

“I love you so much.” 

Tenderly, he kissed the top of your head. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

“I love you more.” 

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb @thegoodwitchs-blog

[incognit0slut]

Devil’s advocate

Softcore Spencer doesn't feel any remorse when it comes to this strange arrangement involving sex. Neither do you.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 3.6k Content: fem!reader, dom!spencer, bratty reader if you will, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, spit kink, overstimulation, squirting, and kinda fwb or (more precisely) not-exactly-friends with benefits a/n: it took me more than 3 months to post again and it will probably take me another for the next post (kidding) (maybe not). try to imagine this spencer for a better experience

-

Spencer isn’t a good man.

A quiet verdict, a fault line.

A truth etched into the grain of his being that is unmoved no matter how many times people say otherwise.

He’s made a habit of the dissection — words, meanings, intent. A lexical autopsy, combing through every definition in the dictionary if it meant finding just one that could give weight to the well intentioned affirmations spoken by those who’ve shared his life through fourteen years of cases. From friends to mentors. From people he considers family. Even his mother has taken part in the exercise in her own way, quietly revising the definition of goodness to fit the shape of her son.

His love for her isn’t enough to convince him.

And he loves her, deeply, enough to bear the fragmented reality she clings to without complaint. Still, her confidence sounds like a desperate attempt to defend a virtue that, as far as he can tell, simply doesn't exist. Her faith in him is stubbornly rooted in wishes rather than proof. Pretty, fragile things wilting from reality. She doesn’t see the cracks hidden behind the glassy surface of his supposedly endearing charm.

Like most people never do. The brilliance of his brain blinds them. They think his mastery of facts or ability to weave information into careful answers is a reflection of some deeper moral foundation. Assuming that the man who can recite obscure case law from memory and deconstruct a lie with nothing but tone and syntax must also be someone incapable of harm. That someone who thinks in algorithms surely knows the difference between right and wrong and essentially follows it. Articulate, therefore righteous.

What lazy math that they run.

The truth, however, is far less romantic.

If there’s anything genuinely good left in him, he likes to believe it’s the act of waiting. Patience still sounds noble enough. It casts him as a silent benefactor, gifting others the space to sketch their own truths while he quietly collects their misconceptions and spends them like counterfeit bills.

He’s getting good at it, too.

Exchange his intelligence for wisdom.

Detachment for strength.

Emptiness for depth.

Little trades, so small and constant they almost feel natural now. As long as he keeps showing them the version they’ve come to accept, no one pauses to wonder if those long months locked inside his own head have carved him down to something less than whole. Selfish, perhaps, letting them cling to these illusions. But it’s a comfortable deception. They get the man they want, he keeps the truth to himself, paying nothing but time and silence for whatever reward comes from that carefully preserved silence.

After all, waiting is nothing more than delayed gratification, isn't it?

And this right here is what he’s waited for, to have you like this — warm and wet and dangling precariously off his bed.

A decadent reward for every second of restraint.

Purely carnal. Blasphemous in its perfection.

Your body curves at an angle that looks uncomfortable, a leg hooked over his shoulder, another barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress with the cool air licking your calf. Common sense tells him a complaint is warranted, yet not a murmur of discomfort escapes your pretty lips. You seem perfectly content to let him mold you into whatever shape he wants. Harmless, he insists, just a mutual indulgence between two consenting adults.

But morality has a way of souring sweet things — and maybe he should be ashamed.

Should be embarrassed at the way he finds satisfaction in this.

Should feel something other than pride watching your brows pinch together in pleasure.

Should care that he’s reduced to fucking you with all the desperation of a man who likes being selfish. It’s statistically uncommon for someone with his level of empathy, yet he stitches hunger into the tender curve of your body, scoring endless sensation with needles that prick and sting but never draw enough blood to slow him. Only if he distanced himself from you could he see the cruelty he’s gouging into the very seams of your skin.

He does no such thing.

He can’t. Not when he’s buried inside you like this, when your breath splits apart into fragile little pieces with weak fingers clawing at his back. Not when his selfishness feels bottomless, a craving so raw and wide and insatiable he's never dared give it a name — but somehow you seem to understand.

Understand what, though?

That he can’t help himself? That despite all the logic, all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have you, he does?

That he doesn’t regret it, not even a little?

No.

Good men don’t do this.

But you’re no saint either.

Innocence wears your face, but never fit so poorly. You’re trouble in its finest form — beautifully packaged, masterfully delivered with a smokey laugh that glides over the fine shiver pebbling across his skin as you offer a sly, “You’re getting sloppy.”

The smug little curl of your lips has his heart leaping in his throat, and he would have joined in your laughter if it weren’t for the way your breathless tone slithered into his ears. His brows draw together, sweat dripping down nose as he shakes his head to free the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” You tip your head back against the bed, exposing the lovely curve of your neck. "Your age is starting to show.”

He finally huffs a laugh, lowers the leg hooked over his shoulder and trails up the inside of your thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

Your teeth briefly catch your lower lip.

“Neither is slowing down right when it’s getting good.”

“You think I’m slowing down?”

You faintly nod. “It’s actually cute how you’re pacing yourself. Should I be worried about your knees?”

That earns a sharp, almost affronted look before his palms grip both your inner thighs, followed by a sudden thrust that sends you back against the mattress. He thinks he’s regained some semblance of power over himself, until you let out a breathless little moan and continue to taunt him, arching your back with full insolence but only half the mockery. Docile in appearance alone when you’re flaunting your nipples in blatant invitation.

“That the best you can do?”

A hand flies to your breast, curling around the supple meat as he catches the stiff bud between his knuckles. “You’re acting brave tonight.”

“Sexually frustrated,” you admit with an exasperated sigh, rolling your hips. Urging him to move again. “Spent the whole day picturing you fucking me stupid and got exactly nothing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Nothing feels almost insulting considering how easily he coaxed you through his apartment.

He tries to bend lower, and sure enough, there’s something that feels suspiciously like age nipping at his lower back. A dull throb he quickly swallows as his mouth find your nipple. And toys with it, rolling the taut peak between wet tongue and wetter teeth, each slow suck a deliberate rebuttal that the way he’s been driving his cock into you for the past twenty minutes is anything but nothing.

Your fingers slip into the softest surface of hair.

“Fuck me harder.”

He turns his attention to your other nipple. “That still wasn’t enough for you?”

“If you have to ask, then clearly not.”

His mouth closes around you again, laps slow, teasing circles, all the while you grind your hips, shamelessly trying to fuck yourself with every delicious tug of his lips.

Instinctively, he starts rutting his hips in response. Little thrusts of his cock easing inside you inch by inch. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I have every intention of finding out,” you counter, pulling him by his curls. “I know you can do better.”

His gaze touches yours.

You smile lazily.

“Go on. Show me.”

His eyelids dip in a slow, dangerous blink, and lets his nose brush the soft swell of your breast. Lingers. Smells the powdery scent of jasmine and honey consuming his senses.

What part of himself can he exchange this time? What currency of half-truths still has any value left?

The answer, adamantly, is etched in the narrow space of his mouth and your skin, a hush too charged to disguise. He doesn't think he owes you anything in counterfeit tonight. No borrowed patience. No repurposed kindness polished thin by repetition. The second you ask for more when he’s been giving you nothing less is the moment every polished veneer he’s spent years perfecting shatters like chipped glass.

So he gives you the one thing he’s never bartered — himself, stripped of caution.

Because no matter how many labels others slap on his name, you’ve never bought into a single one.

Not entirely. You catch the edges that don’t quite align, the rougher layers hidden beneath his careful composure. You see past the softness everyone assumes is the entirety of him, the reputation they’ve stitched together from fragments pieced carefully since he was an innocent young boy with oversized glasses and a penchant for knowledge.

Rationally, he is soft. He’s spent a lifetime wrapped in the belief that his gentleness is his sole trait. That it’s all he can embody.

But not with you.

With you, he's whatever he needs to be.

He's whatever he wants to be.

He pulls back just enough to watch your body seize around him, and drags his tongue over his chapped lips, tastes the salt of effort and the musky smell of sex before channeling what’s left of his energy into his core. Then fucks you harder. Shoving every inch back with a strangled noise of his own, savoring the tight pull of your dripping cunt. Relishing the slight roll of your eyes as he pushes deeper, harder, with a savagery that rips breathless whimpers from the back of your throat with each jarring thrust. 

Your moans ride every groaning hinge of the mattress, too, then linger, fogging the dark walls of his room as the wet slap of skin bounces off every surface. Stepping three beats out of time with reason, maybe more, for the way his eyes chase that music down the slope of your belly, following the trail of his thumbs over your mound, over your stretched folds, and pulls the soft skin apart.

His throat rises and falls in time with the motion of his cock — in, out, in, out. For someone so famously averse to germs, the streaks of your slick smearing across his skin outweigh every compulsion, so much so he pries you open even wider and lets a hot ribbon of saliva pool in his mouth. Watches it dribble over your clit. He’s nowhere near coherent enough to care about cleanliness when he can tell how much the slow trickle of his spit sliding down your swollen flesh — a foamy mess now resting heavily on his cock — only seem to intensify your thirst.

You squirm when he moves closer, fingers clawing around his wrist like you’re on the verge of asking for more but can’t bring yourself to say.

Stubborn, he's not surprised.

But he knows you well enough to understand the subtle shifts in your expression. He takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a plea for him to give you what you need, so he smears the extra coat of lube over your clit and rubs frantically. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it too, not when he’s seen how much you like it under rough hands. He’s proven right when he notices your muscles tensing up.

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

He rubs your clit with more pressure. “Good enough for you?”

You swallow thickly, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Still—fuck—”

“What was that?”

“Still—think you can—do better,” you retort, hiccupping through your words. 

It’s beyond him that you’re still functioning. Your hair clings messily to your forehead, damp strands caught in a tangled halo around your face. Your cheeks are blotchy from where his stubble scraped across your skin, lips kiss-bruised and swollen and somehow still trying to get the last word.

You should be done by now. Boneless, reduced to little more than trembling limbs, yet you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. There’s a spark of energy left to bait him. Foolish, he decides, but if there’s even a sliver of you left untouched, he’ll gladly take every fragment that dares to surface.

He wrenches off your body just long enough to fist his cock, dragging his bulbous tip through the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath, then slaps himself through the mess. If it weren’t for your hips bucking shamelessly, he’d think he was wrong for indulging such filthy impulses he’s never dared to overstep. You can’t seem to discern whether the sharp throb is pain or pleasure, but your cunt flutters around emptiness and aches like it's grieving the loss of him.

One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s right back where you need him, hammering into that devastating spot that sends your pupils scattering upward, leaving nothing but the whites of your eyes. He pulls out and does it again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until he’s certain all your senses have braided into one indistinguishable pulse.

“Oh God,” you moan, trying to press your thighs together out of reflex, but his grip tightens as he pries them open once more.

You feel lightheaded. Your belly rolls, your cheeks burn, drool slips from the corner of your mouth. You’re so far gone you don’t even notice. Too wrapped up in the desperate drag of breath through your parted lips, too busy chasing the dizzy spark bursting behind your eyes. You’re nothing short of raw nerves, lost in the punishing rhythm that keeps tearing you open and stitching you together in the same brutal stroke.

It doesn’t take long for a high, agonizing squeal to wrench free from your throat as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Steals your breath away, leaving behind only a splintered string of gasps and trembling cries that fall recklessly from your lips as his pelvis hammers into the curve of your hip bone.

And he catches every fractured syllable and synchronizes his thrusts to the quiver of your voice, or maybe he’s simply addicted to the jagged rise and fall of your moans — like a direct stroke to his ego, trophies he hoards greedily.

He ponders how many more of those rewards he can coax from you tonight, how many more heights your body can scale before it finally gives way. He assumes it’s too much to ask, yet the greedy pulse in his veins insists there’s always more shiver to claim, another breathless note to add to his growing collection.

It turns out to be unnervingly easy.

Your second climax arrives in the span of a single heartbeat.

The third steals in like an electric stab, splintering along your spine as he pins you down and pounds hard into you.

By the fourth, your cunt swells and clenches around him in frantic pulses, yet he’s still fucking you relentlessly as if one more keepsake will finally satiate his greed.

Your hand shake when you lift one to trace his bicep, though it ends up as more of a twitchy pawing than anything resembling grace before you blindly scramble up his shoulder, finding his damp mess of curls again. Its wild, humid knot of heat tangles between your fingers as the most wrecked little whine trembles in your throat.

“P-Pee.”

He blinks, straining to pluck your voice over the rush in his ears. The words barely register at first, but when they do, his own pulse comes apart in a hot scatter mess.

“Need to pee,” you fluster again.

And if that doesn’t unravel him to his bones, he doesn’t know what will.

He tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs. “‘S not pee.”

“What?”

The confusion in your voice is almost cute for someone who usually acts like they know everything. Adorable how you’ve been nothing but provocative all night, only to falter gradually.

“You don’t need to pee,” he rasps. The grip behind your knees tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drives deeper with all the focus he can muster. He’s holding back by sheer will alone now, even when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut creeps up, but that ache is a small price to pay when he’s painfully aware of what your body is capable of giving.

His cock strikes a deep, delicious spot inside you.

Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck,” you croak. “I’m gonna piss your bed.”

“It’s not pee.”

His words barely register when your whole body winds so tightly that your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. Eyes unfocused, spine bowing, throat bared. The muscles in your neck tighten like cords that it’s clear you’re still trying to fight whatever pressure you’re under.

“You need to relax,” he urges, finding your clit once again. Wide eyes flutter over intense brown orbs.

“Wait wait wait—gonna pee—”

“You’re gonna come again,” he corrects. He sees you puff out a long breath, which is nothing less strained than his own. “Female ejaculation, different glands. Less than—”

His words catch in a groan as your cunt flutters around his thickness.

“…less than ten percent of the fluid is even related to—to urine.”

Annoyed, you tug on his curls and whine, “This isn’t the time.”

“No better time than now.” His hips continue to buck into you with a sharp, hungry rhythm. “You’ll understand if you stop fighting it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Thwack-thwack-thwack. “You will.”

The sound of his balls slapping against the wet cradle of your ass is making you delirious. Even more so when a warm, buzzing sensation sparks in your core and rushes outward, blooming into this intense prick that spreads across your lower belly with startling speed.

“Oh—shitshitshit—”

“That’s it, just breathe through your nose.”

His words falls on deaf ears. “I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to hold it in.”

"I—wa—wait—Spencer!”

“Let it out,” he frets, and closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads nearly touching, brows pulling together in quiet frustration. “Need you to trust me for once.”

“I don’t—fuck! I am NOT pissing on you—”

“Do it.”

“I can’t—”

“C’mon,” he prods. “Give it to me.”

You sniff a strangled sob.

“Do it.”

You claw at his hair once more, and any semblance of control that you clung to shatters immensely.

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding. A passage of whines pitches upward as his thumb swipes side to side over your tight nub while he slams into you. Once, twice, over and over — until a concentrated surge of pressure around his cock urges him to pull out.

Warm bursts of liquid splashes onto him. Streaks down his damp thighs, the flushed skin of his skin. Seeps deep into the cotton fabric of his sheets with muffled sounds as your heart thunders wildly in your chest. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth the second your eyes flicker with disbelief, or the lazy circle his thumb traces around your sensitive, overstimulated clit. He’s too focused on the way your release continues to mark the bed he intends to sleep in.

"There it is,” he hums proudly, "knew you could do it."

He did. He knew this would happen the moment your breath stuttered into helpless little gasps, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. His lust blooms unchecked, a fever behind molten eyes, something his vision can’t seem to outrun. Even as his gaze blurs over your dripping hole puckering around nothing, over the tiny bead of precum trickling down your cleft, he’s stunned into silence.

You’re a ravishing mess, and he’s never seen anything so pretty.

You’re on another level of divine that it makes something in his head tick just from the sight. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously inserts himself back through the warm puddle of your flesh, and swears he can still feel you fluttering. Feels the tremor in your sweet, sopping cunt. Hears the faint splatter of droplets beating the sheets with every deliberate stroke of his hips.

He’s long since fallen behind in being a good man, but you certainly deserve something in return for listening to him. So he reaches out, cradles your face between palms that have never claimed to be gentle, and drinks deeply. Tries to steal back the breath you robbed from him.

Kiss, taste, repeat.

Touch, grab, repeat.

But it’s not enough.

He doesn’t think it ever will be.

The dopamine surge won’t last, a notion as clear as the haze of your sweat gluing to his skin. He’s even sure he could rattle off half a dozen papers about reward circuits and compulsive behavior, recite the exact millisecond window in which the pleasure centers will spike and fall. None of it matters when your mouth parts for him and your breath warms his cheeks.

He tries to catalog the way your pulse thumps beneath his thumb, the microscopic tremor in your lashes, the sweetness of carbon dioxide exhaled against his tongue. It becomes another unsolved equation, a tangle of variables his doctorate never prepared him to parse. There’s only the thunderous beat of his own heart and the simple, staggering fact that you’re here, giving when he has taken so much.

But there is no safe dosage of you that will let him step back unscathed. One hit becomes two, two becomes habit, soon habit feels indistinguishable from necessity. An addiction he can’t refuse when it would only mean denying himself the only thing that makes him feel alive.

And if that makes him weak, he might as well be weak for you — again and again until there’s nothing left of him that doesn’t carry the imprint of your name. To ruin or to worship, it makes no difference to him.

He’ll fall to his knees just the same.

Your pulse begins to settle into a calmer rhythm in the hush that follows, and he scatters small kisses along the corner of your jaw, up the sweep of your cheekbone, pausing at the hinge of your lips. The gentle weight of his mouth has you shifting along wet sheets, every muscle tensing at the unexpected softness threaded through his touch.

Tenderness, in your world, feels foreign. Unfamiliar. Ill-fitting. And truthfully, he isn’t much better when it comes to you. Sharper tongues seem to be the better fit for two people who know how to fight more than they know how to surrender.

His lips skate beneath your chin instead, slides along the sweat slick column of your throat and hums, “Think you can do that again?”

Avoidance. It’s the language you both speak fluently.

The stiffness in your body bleeds out with your next exhale.

“…depends on your skill, old man.”

That's it. He can take another one of your barbed little comments. Another sly jab delivered with that pretty pout of your mouth. In fact, he finds himself almost craving it. Your taunts fuel the heat beneath his skin as much as they test his patience, and patience is something he's mastered after all. So he continues to grind his hips. Rubs the tip of your clit with the fine coarse of hair dusting his belly before you’re writhing again.

Peculiar, how easily his selfishness devours reason. Logic. Decorum. How quickly a man who’s built his life on discipline can find himself unraveling for something as simple and devastating as the way you gasp his name.

A good man would’ve stopped at the soft mist pooling in your eyes.

Spencer keeps going.

"If a God is a dog and a man is a fraud then I'm a lost cause." Devil’s Advocate—The Neighbourhood

[g4rvez-r3id]

Protector

Boyfriend!Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer have been together a few months and he’s beginning to notice how often you keep your guard up and he converses with you about his concerns and so you tell him why you act the way you do.

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: established relationship, spencer being a concerned bf, mentions of past physical assault, reader has ✨trauma✨, crying, kissing, mention of past trauma, dark humor (?), spencer lowkey doesn’t get dark humor, it’s cutesy towards the end, lowkey projected here sorry y’all

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i wanted to write another personal one-shot, i wanted to share my own personal experience on here so please tread this lightly :) i hope y’all like this one because this one did truly come from the heart. <3

He noticed it after leaving Rossi’s mansion one night. Spencer’s team had invited you out to dinner. You’d only been dating just a few months but they’d heard all about you from your dear old, doting boyfriend and were eager to meet you.

His colleague, author David Rossi had told your boyfriend to invite you to dinner over in his big mansion. You’d almost said no, that maybe it was too soon but Spencer encouraged you and well, he was good at doing that.

He’d met you at your workplace, a bookstore no less. He’d been looking for a copy of Slaugherhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. when he’d spotted you in your natural habitat, putting more books on the shelves, dressed in an outfit you’d been comfortable in topped with converse and he was hooked.

He started coming up with excuses, just to see you and even had the courage to talk with you about where to find certain despite his excellent memory but you didn’t need to know about that, yet.

Eventually, you’d figured him out and decided to ask him out on a date to put an end to his misery.

And since then, you’d been going steady for just a few months. And it was an understatement to say that these had been the happiest few months of both of your lives.

However, there were still things you needed to figure out about each other.

Like, when it came to Spencer’s job, you knew to be supportive and realize that you weren’t the only person in the world that needed Spencer Reid. Or that you loved the winter season despite not being a big fan of Christmas.

But this was something new and something he wasn’t sure if he should be concerned about. When you left Rossi’s mansion that night with Spencer, arm in arm with him, you held your breath and kept looking around in the streetlights. He noticed it on the way into Rossi’s place as well. Spencer had parked a little far than intended but assured it wasn’t too far but you seemed to have another thing on your mind.

Eventually, Spencer brushed it off and chalked it up to you being anxious to meeting Spencer’s team.

But then it happened again. You’d both gone to the grocery store at eight o’clock, wanting to get snacks for the sleepover you’d wanted with him after a long hard week of work on both ends.

And the whole time you’d been shopping with Spencer, you’d been looking at the other customers and even tensed up on the way out at an older man sitting on a bench nearby with a grumpy look etched on his face. Spencer had also noticed how you clutched your taser in your hand until you both got to the car that night.

He’d asked you if you were okay but you gave him a small smile and assured to him — “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not used to going anywhere at night.”

And he’d had his answer. You didn’t like going anywhere at night. It was as simple as that.

But just to be sure it was nothing more, he began to secretly study you. And this was where he started to get concerned.

He began to notice how you often clutched his arm tightly while you two walked in the park and were by yourselves. He also noticed how you took your taser everywhere you went. And how you constantly looked over your shoulder, even if you were in a group of people. He also noticed how you never strayed far, keeping close to a big group and never went alone anywhere — unless it was work and even then, you took your taser with you.

Spencer even decided to ask Morgan to see if there was anything he could give him advice on and even Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that. “To be honest, I’ve never dealt with anything like that. The best thing you should do is just talk to her. See what’s up.”

So, Spencer waited. He waited until it happened again. And it did, you’d met up with him after work since you were going to his place tonight and you surprised him by going to the bureau — since Penelope had wanted to see you and who are you to deny the sweetest woman in the goddamn world?

He’d led you both back to the parking garage. And he noticed how even though the parking garage was empty, you still kept your guard up and kept looking over your shoulder.

So, as he drove back to his place in your car — he told you he was driving, no questions asked — he struggled with how to begin the conversation. You could tell something was up by the way he kept staring at you in the car. But he didn’t say a word.

And then, you both arrived back to his apartment and he still couldn’t say anything to you. I mean, he was talking to you but there was something behind his eyes that was holding something back.

It wasn’t until you both sat down on his couch, watching a movie and catching him stare at you every few minutes that you paused the movie and finally asked him what’s wrong.

Spencer crinkles his brows together, “What? Noth-Nothing’s wrong.” He tells.

“You’ve been staring at me since we left your workplace. And normally, I appreciate your gaze but right now, it’s freaking me out.” You explain and Spencer looks down, he never really did have a good poker face and he’d been known to slip up quite a few times. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Spencer opens his mouth but you rake your fingers through his chocolate locks and all rational thought seems to go out the window. But he knows that you guys need to have this conversation since you’ve confronted him on it now.

“Are you… okay?” Spencer starts subtly, hoping on this being a way to start the conversation about your recent behavior he’s noticed.

“I am great, Spencer. Are you okay?” You ask with a small smile. A smile he loves seeing on your face. A smile he appreciates and wants to see everyday. A smile he envisions seeing every night before he goes to bed. He nods, “I’m okay. It’s just…”

Spencer sighs and maybe it’s just time to rip off the bandaid. It’s time that you two need to talk about this like adults. Because this has gone on for too long and he’s starting to become worried.

“You’ve been acting a little… squirrelly lately. And I can’t help but notice that… every time we go somewhere at night, you’re more…” Guarded? Nervous? “On edge,” He chooses. “And you hold onto me a lot when we’re both out and— not-not that I’m complaining about that, I love when you do that but… I’m just starting to grow a little concerned because— I like you a lot. And I just want you to feel like you can talk to me if something is bothering you.”

You look at Spencer and you can tell he’s genuinely concerned and really does care about you. You’re kind of flattered that he’s noticed a lot about your behavior, despite it being a little troubling. You know it can be to other people. You’d avoided having this conversation with him, not wanting to burden him with it like other people have claimed that you have in the past. The people that had you’re no longer friends with anymore.

You sigh and you know that maybe it is best to talk to him about it. Spencer had never been one to judge and you knew that he would never ever say anything negative about your fears — however, the fear that he’d think you were overreacting was scary to face. Especially when Spencer was such a logical person already. But he wanted to know and maybe it’s best to speak out your truth.

“Okay, okay, okay,” You sit up a bit and he does the same. “But please do not say I’m overreacting or being overdramatic because I’ve dealt with that too many times already and I can’t handle it from you either.” You find yourself telling him and he shakes his head assuringly, “I’d never think that.”

You take a deep breath and look at him and all you can see on his face is adoration and concern and hopefulness. “Okay, uh…” Where do you start? “When I was sixteen, I… went to this Halloween party. And… it was my first party so I was excited. I went with a few friends and… only one of us knew how to drive at the time, so they went to go drop another one of our friends off because of her curfew and was going to come back.”

“Well, while she was gone, the party got raided by cops and a lot of people left. It was just me and this one friend standing on the sidewalk waiting for our friend to come back. But while we were waiting…” You pause, the memories coming back like a floodgate and you close your eyes. It was not a happy time in your life and you blocked it out of your memory for good reason.

Spencer could see you getting worked up about it and he puts his hand on your thigh, grounding you in a way you can’t explain. “You don’t have to do this or explain it to me if you don’t want to.” You shake your head, “No, you should know.”

Spencer almost pulls his hand away but you hold him there and he lets you, knowing that maybe you need to physical touch right now.

“We were waiting and this car… stopped right in the middle of the road and three people came out of the car, a girl and a couple of guys and they were all wearing these clown masks and… they tried to take our stuff. I thought it was just some joke so I just told my friend to ignore them and walk away but…” You pause once more and Spencer waits patiently for your sentence.

“The girl punched me. Hit me right in the nose.” Spencer winces at this, hating to imagine your pain in that moment. And he almost doesn’t want to hear the rest of the story. “Luckily, I didn’t go down. I, uh, almost tried to hit her, actually. But I didn’t know what she had, a knife, a gun… so I told my friend to run. And we both ran. That was the fastest I probably ever ran in my life. And there were these people nearby that heard us yelling and they helped us. All I remember is… my devil costume and… my nose bleeding all over my outfit. I don’t think I ever wore that skirt again.” Spencer’s heart physically hurts from that sentence alone.

“For a minute there, I felt weak. And… scared. I didn’t go anywhere alone for a while and it was bad. That friend ended up telling everyone what happened when I wanted to keep it quiet.” Spencer knows that your fierce nature never goes unnoticed by him. You were so tough, so free-willed. When you had issues with customers, they were often dealt with by your attitude and to put it lightly, you were a badass. To hear that you were vulnerable at one point made him sad because that wasn’t who he knew you as and he hated that someone made you feel weak.

“Did anyone ever find those people that did that to you?” Spencer asks, his tone calm and steady. You shake your head, “I told my parents and we filed a police report but… no one ever caught ‘em. Not to my knowledge anyway.” You inform.

“But I’ve gotten better with it, but I still keep my guard up. I hate that I have to look over my shoulder every time I’m out of the house, I hate that I have to take my taser everywhere I go, I hate dealing with this. But it’s my everyday life.” You tell and Spencer looks from the ground to you. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“I just… didn’t want to be a burden on you,” You sigh. “And I felt like I didn’t need to say anything because most people don’t get it. Some actually laugh because of how I phrase it.”

“How you phrase it?” Spencer asks, clearly confused because what’s so funny about someone attempting a mugging on somebody? “I always say… I almost got mugged by a few clowns.” You find yourself sheepishly laughing but Spencer, however, doesn’t think it’s funny. “I just kinda started making a joke of it. I figure it’s the one thing I can do to deal with it. Dark humor, I guess.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Spencer said. “Something worse could’ve happened to you. It’s already bad enough you got punched in the face.” He explained.

“It was a really long time ago, Spencer. I’m okay, now.” You remind him and he takes a sharp sigh, “I know. I just hate the fact that you went through that. That everyone makes a joke of it, that no one else seems to care about the fact that you got hurt when I care so much about that because you deserved better than how you got treated.”

You take a deep breath and a weight is off of your shoulders. Part of you is glad you shared that with Spencer finally but another part of you is scared to be transparent with him about your fears. But the way he’s reacting sets all of those fears aside. He was the person you needed when you were sixteen and suddenly, you want to turn back time and tell your teenage self that everything is gonna be just fine.

“You’re such a sweet and good person,” Spencer takes his hands to your face, holding you lovingly and close. “I don’t understand why someone would want to hurt someone as sweet as you.” He mutters to you.

Suddenly, you fall forward, holding him tightly in a hug and he accepts the hug rather quickly holding you. He feels as your dig your face deep and droplets on his neck. Are you crying?

He pulls back and looks at you face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “I’m—I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I don’t know why I’m crying…” Spencer gives you a soft look. “Sharing a truth, especially a difficult one, can make you feel vulnerable and exposed, leading to tears. It’s perfectly normal.” Spencer reminds you and you sniffle at this.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Spencer tells. “I know that wasn’t easy.” You nod, “You deserved to know. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with but—” He interrupts you with a chaste kiss on your lips. He’s gentle and loving, in every way, shape and form. “You are very easy to love. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

Spencer holds you close that night. You continued watching your movie and had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he kept his arm around protectively. He watched you as you slept, vowing to never let anything like what happened to you at sixteen, never happen to you again so long as he could help it. He’d protect you until the day he died. He’d take a bullet for you, catch a grenade for you, he’d sacrifice never speaking again if it meant saving you. He’d never let anyone hurt you or even dare to touch you.

And he’d wished to take your fears, your guard and your trauma away just to see you feel happy and carefree. He hates that it’s all so normalized with you because of what you went through. And he swears to make you feel as safe as you need to be while you’re out. He’ll start going to stores at night by himself, he’ll keep on being your knight in shining armor, he’ll keep being the protector you need him to be.

“I love you, Y/n,” He whispers, saying the words he’d dare not say until he was ready to say them to you. “And I will always protect you.”

[leorora-sims-3-cc]

Thank you so much for all the likes, reblogs and comments on my very first post! I am just blown away by the positive response, and received so much motivation to keep going.

So, here is another one for you. This time it's a 4t3 conversion of the Bow Nightie dress from the Sweet Slumber Party kit. I honestly love the items in this kit so much. They are all really cute and come in some nice patterns. I will very likely convert more from this kit in the future, so stay tuned!

Polycount: 5,5k

Ages: TF-EF

Categories: Sleepwear

11 swatches - The 1st swatch is recolorable with 2 channels

All morphs incl. maternity for AF

Not available for random

All LODs

Custom thumbnails by me

Enjoy! <3

Download here (Updated 17-06-2025)

UPDATES: - 17-06-2025: EF feet fix + Thumbnails updated for all ages

DISCLAIMERS: - The first swatch is recolorable. The remaining 10 swatches use textures from the original sims 4 piece. I decided to do it like this since I think the original sims 4 textures look really nice and vibrant in game, but I still wanted to give people the option to recolor!

TERMS OF USE: Please do not reupload or claim as your own. Other than that, you are free to use it however you’d like :)

[alt-zadr]

MORE INFO BELOW CUT

This event is inspired by the vintage culture of Invader Zim (1990s/2000s) and largely relates to fashion and media trends of that time. This year celebrates 5 years of the Alt-Zadr prompt event. The prompts of this year are inspired by the days of the very first Alt-Zadr seen here. RULES: Must be 18+ to enter  Both written and drawn submissions may apply To submit applications post to tumblr and tag your submission as @alt-zadr Do not harass the Artists/Writers  It is the preference of the blog creator that you depict Zim and Dib as Adult versions of the original characters. However, underage iterations of Zim and Dib will be posted if the artwork meets the criteria of Disney shipping (cheek kisses, holding hands, exchanging gifts, hugging, Not Being Sexual) I won't allow depictions of Racism, Sexism, Ped0 shit, Homophobia, Transphobia;  or anything else I think is deplorable. I personally will block you if you’re being disgusting or a bigot.

Trigger warnings MAY include: Blood, Eyestrain, Drugs, Needles, Cutting, Gore, Suicide Mention, Murder, Violence, Infanticide, Patricide, Negative Depictions of Hospitals, Gay Cartoon Characters, Guns, Weapons, Vomit, and much more!  Feel free to send asks about specific things you want tagged.  Disclaimer: This blog does not condone any unlawful or harmful acts depicted in the events submissions. I will do my best to tag content for trigger warnings but may screw up, I’m just one dude. Negative mental health symptoms such as suicidal ideation, violent tendencies, long lasting depression, and many unmentioned others; are all things that deserve to be depicted in art and shared within an understanding and mature community. Sharing your experience with other like minded people is an important part of the coping process, and makes us feel less alone when we face the dark feelings within ourselves. It’s ok to fuck up and do the things you’re not supposed to, no one is perfect. You deserve to get the most out of life that you can. Healing is a slow process and it’s ok to acknowledge your bad feelings through art. If you are experiencing mental health problems, please seek out a professional avenue for help, or find some kind of healthy coping mechanism. You will thank yourself when you look back on it.  Thank you, for reading my preachy little blurb about why leaking brain badness is good sometimes. Please enjoy the showcase <3

IDEAS FOR SUBMISSIONS: The categories and subcategories are loose and not strict, do what you want to with the prompts given, and have fun with it! 

Word prompts: Scene Word Generator  Art Ideas Generator Fashion Prompts: Goth fashion boards  Scene fashion boards Emo fashion boards Y2K fashion boards 

ART INSPO

[cupidkenji]

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

1.

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.” 

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers. 

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying. 

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could. 

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you. 

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question. 

Damn. Tough crowd. 

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang. 

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal. 

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

2.

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac. 

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home. 

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him. 

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right. 

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of  “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him. 

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action. 

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest. 

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?” 

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop. 

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing. 

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here. 

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

3.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said. 

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently. 

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him. 

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped. 

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital. 

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it. 

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you. 

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

[anyroads]

How to actually support small businesses on Etsy

With Christmas approaching and people starting to look for gifts, I thought it might be useful to let people know how to best support Etsy sellers, since we get a lot of sales this time of year! Etsy has a lot of policies that affect sellers which they don't really disclose to customers, and often there's a communication gap that can be damaging to sellers without customers intending them to. Hopefully this post helps more people avoid this kind of thing.

A while ago Etsy implemented the Star Seller program. When you go to an Etsy store, you can see badges at the top of the page, denoting if the seller has done well in three main categories:

Speedy replies

On time dispatch with tracking

Good reviews

If you clear the bar for all three as a seller, you're a Star Seller. This is an important badge for sellers, which I'll get to in a bit. Etsy evaluates your stats monthly, and bases them on three months' worth of data:

Each has specific determining factors, which also advantage large operations like dropshippers over small businesses, but we'll get to that too:

As you can see, the criteria is really demanding. You have to respond to 95% of first messages (ie. the first time someone contacts you) within 24 hours or you lose your Star Seller status. This can be really damaging to a small store.

You also have to dispatch 95% of orders on time, ie. within the set timeline you've chosen for an item listed, and you have to give tracking info. This, by the way, is frustrating and disingenuous; I ship my product in envelopes because they're small and thin, but the mail service in my country doesn't offer tracking for envelopes. I'm not going to spend up to 3x as much on shipping just to have a tracking number (shipping would cost half the price of my product if I did), but if I don't include tracking info I don't get a Star Seller badge even if I ship all my orders on time. I get around this by writing "unavailable" in the field where tracking info goes, but this still poses a transparency issue to customers and rightly so. I end up compensating by issuing a lot of replacements for delayed orders, which I can recoup costs of through my mail service which is a lot of extra work and time.

You also must have an average of 4.8 star reviews or higher. There are no adjustments made for small stores, and this is a big one where dropshippers have an advantage.

As you can see in my stats here, I had 11 reviews in 3 months. That means if just one person gives me a 4 or 3 star review, I lose my Star Seller status for 3 months unless I get a ton more reviews quickly. A dropshipper who makes hundreds of sales a week won't be affected by one middling review. And you'd be surprised how often people who leave 3 or 4 star reviews actually meant to leave better ones but clicked the wrong button without noticing, or just don't understand how the system works.

Because Etsy doesn't explain this to customers. So people will leave a damaging review in perfectly good faith. The number of times I've gotten an "excellent product, would buy again!" review with 3 stars is astounding. I always message customers to ask what I could do better and explain the system, and the response is almost always that there was nothing wrong, they just usually don't give anything higher than 3 out of 5 stars unless the product radically improved their lives or was transformative (and to their credit, most customers change their reviews after this exchange but again, it takes time and effort).

3 stars is average, and what customers rate is their experience receiving and using a product. What Etsy uses these ratings to gauge, however, is whether a customer was satisfied dispatch timelines, craftsmanship, and if a product met the expectations set in the listing.

As an added bonus, Etsy hoses money off sellers by offering to advertise for them. The way this works is that if a seller opts in, Etsy will advertise their store in relevant searches on search engines like Google, and in exchange they take a percentage from any sales made from clicks on these links. And then some. Because if a customer clicked an advertising link once, then Etsy will keep taking that cut from any further purchases from that IP address. So if you click a Google link to an Etsy store and then purchase from that store, and then bookmark that store and go back six months later to get another item, Etsy will keep taking their advertising cut with each purchase you make.

Depending on whether or not you opt in to advertising, Etsy can take up to 30% of your earnings in fees alone. That means if I sell, say, bookmarks for $10, I only get to keep $7. Hopefully that covers my operating costs, but if I charge more for an item that takes me a lot of time and work to make, I have to factor in that Etsy offers free shipping on orders over $35 whether or not sellers agree to give it. So if I sell a product that costs $35, not only do I only get to keep $24.50 of what I was paid after Etsy takes fees, I also have to cover the cost of shipping. And if I'm selling a product for that much, it's likely shipping will cost $5-10, so now my profit is down to $15-20 for an item I sold for $35.

Why is the Star Seller status so important? Because it's the main way the average Etsy store gets onto the algorithm and has visibility, and without visibility you don't have sales. Drop shippers can afford to purchase advertising space, so they'll always show up in searches. They can also afford to have a variety of products, high-end professional photos of their products, and because they have a lot of sales, the occasional bad review or delayed shipment won't cause a blip on their rating system. In comparison, the average Etsy store who makes, let's say, 50 sales a month (and that's a small store that's doing well), is going to feel the impact of a handful of 4 star reviews and one day of delayed orders/message replies due to a family emergency. If you contact Etsy customer service to explain your legitimate reason for having a delay, they're unable to intervene. They can't give you back your Star Seller status, which means you're dropped from the algorithm for the three months it takes for those delays to stop counting towards your averages, and you then have to work your way back up into the algorithm once that time passes, which is even harder to do. (And while you can put up an auto-reply, there's a time limit on how long it'll be up, which is usually 24-48 hours. Which may not work if you have a personal emergency that the average small business would understand and give you time off for in ways Etsy refuses to accommodate.)

So what can you do to support Etsy sellers?

- Give good reviews. If you have problems with a product, message the seller and give them the opportunity to fix the problem or send a replacement/refund. Unless you feel the need to leave a scathing 1 star review, don't leave one unless it's a 5 star. Etsy counts anything under 5 stars the same as it does one star. (This goes for Amazon, Uber, Deliveroo, etc. too. Review kindly.)

- Message sellers during the week. It's harder to get to messages during the weekend, and not everyone remembers to put on their auto-reply.

- Don't click advertising links. If someone promos their Etsy store on their own social media account, it's fine. So if you click a link from an instagram profile or a tumblr post, that's fine. But if you see a link on Google or in a dedicated advertising space, even if it's a sponsored spot on Etsy, don't click on it. Instead, search the shop name on Etsy and go to it through that search. This way the seller won't lose more fees to Etsy.

[suugarbabe]

omg ok ok ok, I love your Sirius, so, I'm wondering if you could write a sirius x fem!reader who is maybe the grumpy to his sunshine? he's the one who is always super flirty and outgoing and the life of the party, and she would sort of rather die but begrudgingly puts up with it for him? OH but maybe one day she has a bad day and he gets to see a softer side of her 🥹 IDK idk I'm too excited to request this is so bad sorry my love xoxoxoxo kisses for youuuu

I am *living* for this okay. l i v i n g. because Sirius is my sunshine to my grumpy. I am the grumpy reader. okay let’s do this baby. kiss kiss kiss yoooou <3

Opposites attract right? At least that’s what others seemed to deem as the explanation for your relationship. Sirius was in a category all his own as far as you were concerned, but that category was nearly the opposite of where people would place you. Sirius was a people person, it came so easily to him it was like he never even had to try. It annoyed you to no fucking end when you first met him.

Being a descendent of the most noble and ancient House of Black had its advantages. Like incredibly sharp cheekbones, beautiful alabaster skin that contrasted perfectly with onyx locks and eyes so deep and blue you could drown in them. Sirius exuded this energy that seemed to pull people towards him; like he had his own force field. He could walk into a room and everything shifted, like he breathed extra life into the area and everyone was desperate to live.

Most people when asked about you would say you were…short-tempered. Your housemates tended to steer clear of your presence. Which was fine with you because you were easily annoyed by most of them. Ravenclaws were known for being know-it-alls and truthfully you found it rather repugnant. Thankfully you had Pandora as company. Usually her overly sweet demeanor would drive you insane, but you knew more than the rest. Being a Rosier sorted into Ravenclaw essentially meant she was the black sheep of her family. But that seemed to be your soft spot.

Pandora would tease that this was why you started falling for Sirius. Despite your more grumpy demeanor, you were never quite as grumpy when it came to Sirius. Hearing the ins and outs of what was going on over breaks from Pan made you want to take care of him.

The first time Sirius brought you around the rest of the marauders it was not without sideways glances. “Er, Pads, you seemed to have picked up a shadow,” James nodded towards your frame just behind Sirius. “Sod off, Potter,” you’d grumbled, Sirius’s palm big and flat against your back moving in slow circles. “S’alright love, he’s just teasing. Be nice, Prongs or she’ll hex you into next week and I won’t be able to stop her.”

“Not that you’d try to stop her, would ya mate. I’m Remus, but all these miserable gits call me Moony,” Remus gave a small fingered wave as he plopped onto the couch ceremoniously. He would eventually turn into the one that’d help you gang up on Sirius, if ever needed.

On this particular night, though, you were feeling just…down. It wasn’t often you felt like this, despite outward appearances. However when this feeling did hit you, there was only one person that could fully get you out of it. You knew that the Gryffindors were having their annual Halloween party. Which meant if you wanted to find Sirius that’s where he’d be.

You had of course agreed to come to the party ages ago; much to do with Sirius begging and pouting his pretty pink lips and sucking you in with his pretty blue eyes. Sirius had insisted that costumes were required, “Even for an angel like yourself” which earned him a particularly large eye roll. Thus, you threw on some fishnet tights and a black minidress with your signature black boots. Atop your head a small pair of black cat ears, thanks to Pandoras charm work.

She was dressed as an actual angel, charmed halo floating above her nearly white blonde locks. Any muggle would think they were truly hallucinating if they would have seen her. You greeted the fat lady with the password, “Hiddlypunks,” and she swung open. Within the first few steps one would be none the wiser. But two steps into the commonroom and the barrier was broken, music and singing and murmuring filling the room.

“Drinks yes? Please yes,” you nodded at Pandora who found her way to to the drink table to create what you were hoping were very strong concoctions. You didn’t need to look around in order to find him. That magnetic pull leading you closer and closer until you heard the boisterous laugh of Sirius Black. You were quiet in your approach, not drawing any attention to yourself on purpose. Even though you yearned for his touch you knew how much he enjoyed entertaining and didn’t want to interrupt.

Remus spots you of course, the observant bastard. He throws a playful wink in your direction; you responding with a middle finger and a forced smile. Sirius is in the middle of recalling “a truly amazing play, great play” from the last quidditch match, but Remus’s low chuckle from your display of affection towards him causes your boyfriend to turn around in search of who could have possibly pulled attention away from him.

His furrowed brows disperse as you catch his sights and smile lights his face, “Well, hello there, Kitten.” You give a weak smile in response, “Hi Siri.” His brows are furrowed once more. The others try to greet you but immediately you’re swept away to a farther corner of the room. Sirius swirls his wand around you both, muttering a quick muffliato, coating you both in silence. “Okay, out with it what’s wrong?” Sirius’s hands were laid gently on your waist, head dipped down to force your avoidant eyes to keep contact with his. “Come now, pet. You know I can’t do anything without knowing what’s wrong,” he urged, giving your waist a small squeeze.

You met his eyes and yours immediately began to brim with tears. In an instant Sirius has engulfed you, one hand grasping your head and holding you close to his chest while the other wraps around your back, squeezing you as close to him as possible and hoping the pressure of his pull is soothing. His heart breaks ever so slightly at the muffled sobs against him. Your emotions seem to be everywhere but embarrassment is toping the list as you begin to pull away, aggressively wiping your face with the heel of your palms, hoping no one but Sirius is noticing you in this state.

"I-I'm sorry Siri, 've just..." you trailed off, choked breaths causing your intake of air to stutter. Sirius's touch has yet to cease, one hand cupping your cheek gently while the other finds solace in the dip of your waist, "Rough day, love?" You nod once, looking to the ceiling and willing any tears to fall back into your head instead of trailing down your face. "Alright, let's go," his head tilts towards the spiral staircase that would lead to his dorm.

You sniffle quickly, shaking your head, "N-no, I'll be okay. I'm not going to take you away from the party, Siri. Not gonna steal you from your friends like that." Sirius can't help but scoff, "Fuck my friends." You laugh a little at his brashness and the sound makes Sirius grin again, "There you are, love." He takes a quick peek over his shoulder, "Now. Let's just go tell the others we're going up, Remus will make sure we're left alone for a good few hours then, hmm?"

You nod, agreeing, knowing that there's no use in arguing with Sirius when he's made up his mind. His fingers laced with yours and the cool feeling of his rings are such a contrast the the heat in your body that it's calming. He gives your hand an extra squeeze as you approach the group. You decide to try and stay hidden behind Sirius, almost burying your face against his shoulder blade, barely peeking one eye out to see the others.

Sirius explains that he's feeling tired and wants to go back to the room with you. James does not look convinced in the slightest. He looks even more confused by your seemingly shy and reserved demeanor. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look so...vulnerable. Remus is the only person you make eye contact with and he gives you a simple wink and a nod. The reassurance from the smallest action making you sigh in relief.

It's almost like Sirius can feel you relax slightly, turning to you and asking if you're ready to go. You give a feeble nod and a shy wave to the others, most of which look a little skeptical but say no protests in return.

When you make it to his dorm Sirius immediately goes to his trunk, pulling out his favorite concert tee and handing it to you. You take off your outfit slowly, pulling his shirt over your head and letting it consume you, the additional scent of Sirius now enveloping your body and adding to your relief. Sirius changes himself and then pulls back the duvet, "In you go, pet."

You oblige, going and getting comfortable on your back. Sirius climbs in after you, crawling over your form and placing two soft kisses on either apple of your cheek before giving you the most gentle yet firm kiss. He rests his head against yours, asking you almost in a whisper, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"No," your response so soft it would've been missed had it not been only you two in the room, "Will you just...lay on me?" Sirius kissed you softly once more, scooching down just enough to lay his head on your chest. He wrapped his arms around you, relaxing himself and allowing his full weight to now lay on top of you. The weight of your boyfriend was the grounding you needed, your breathing now finally able to even out.

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna’s Loneliness Part 5 (Sukuna Did Nothing Wrong in the Heian Era, Probably)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Some notes before we start.

1) Big content warning for in depth discussion of historical slavery and the exploitation of minority groups.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

3) Raws are from Mangareader(.)to.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

This is another case of me making everyone suffer the consequences of my fic research. I finally got my hands on 100+ page THESIS on the lives of the lower class in ancient Japan that references multiple peer-reviewed sources. This is my holy grail. Please read all of it. (Thank you Mr. Breann M Goosmann!) Whenever I quote something, I am quoting this source. Most of what I'm summarizing is directly from this source.

Gege may have failed to write a proper backstory for Sukuna, but one was clearly set up using the actual history of that time. So I'm here to infer what's in those gaps using this document.

The Class System in Ancient Japan

During the Heian Era (794–1185) a social caste system called Ritsuryō (you can read more about its application here). The upper class was called 良民 or Ryōmin (good people) and the lower class was called 賤民 Senmin (low people).

The kanji 民 (Min) used for both of these classes can be translated as citizen instead of person. The Wiki page I linked uses the citizen translation. I have decided to change that to people because of 3rd group of people excluded from this system: The 非人 or Hinin (non-people).

Ryōmin included court nobility, citizens, professions that served the court, and tradesmen.

Senmin included servants and slaves.

Hinin included criminals, the deformed/disabled, and those working professions considered "unclean."

The most notable thing about this class system is the mobility between Ryōmin and Senmin. Committing crimes, selling oneself into slavery, aging, paying off debts, and doing good work allowed people to rise or fall from the ranks accordingly. Hinin, however, were confined to their class for the most part because many were viewed as innately "unclean".

Ironically, the best way to understand how this class system functioned is to understand what being "unclean" meant to it.

Uncleanliness (Kegare)

穢れ (Kegare) is a term that can be translated as the following: uncleanliness, defilement, pollution, impure.

晴れ (Hare) is a term considered the opposite for Kegare and can be translated as the following: to clear up, clear skies/sunny, renew, dispel, sacred, pure.

Both of these terms largely inform of how ancient Japan functioned and evolved over time. And though not a black and white dichotomy, it can be generally understood that society was organized in a way to minimize Kegare.

What's interesting about Kegare specifically is its complexity and its impermanence. Rather than being something only bad people have, anyone could acquire and dispel it through the proper rituals.

From the Kojiki, a Shinto document compiled before the introduction of Buddhism, and therefore before the Heian, separates Kegare into 2 categories:

1) Touch Kegare: Defilement through the physical contact with something unclean such as bodily fluids and the dead.

2) Transgression Kegare: Defilement through sinful actions.

"These versions of pollution appear as transient, exorcised relatively simply through misogi (cleansing ritual), seclusion from society, or expulsion of disorder causing elements."

This understanding of Kegare then evolved with the introduction of Buddhism to Japan. (This began in the Nara Era and extended well into the Heian.)

"As Jacqueline Stone explains in her study of deathbed rites and rituals, someone who had become enlightened was considered to have a “pure” mind, while those with a deluded mind were said to have a “defiled” mind. Monastic Buddhists also followed their own codes of “pure” conduct such as refraining from the eating of meat and killing of animals."

The old Shinto understandings of Kegare still carried over with the physical avoidment of unclean things such as dead bodies and blood. However, Buddhism introduced the idea that certain groups of people were innately impure. This includes the Hinin who were uniquely ostracized by this system.

"Hinin, like all outcast groups were bound to their “defiled” status. However, unlike other outcasts, they were also cast as blasphemers of Buddhist doctrine afflicted with karmic illness."

But despite being seen as this innately impure, the religious institutions were closest to them. Of the few places in society willing to tolerate and deal with Kegare, they offered outcasts "positions" where they could beg, display themselves as what happens to people who don't follow religious doctrine, and help with jobs considered "unclean". Since outcasts were considered permanently defiled for the duration of that life, they could touch impure things such as the dead, the sick, and blood on behalf of those avoiding temporary Kegare.

This is exploitation point blank. And though this suggests outcasts had some agency when it came to their survival, it doesn't remove the systemic coercion driving their situation.

Please keep this in mind as I explain why Sukuna did nothing wrong.

Sukuna is Hinin

Though there is plenty of debate on what makes someone Hinin, the general consensus is the following:

"All agree that hinin were considered defiled by others in society and looked at with some contempt. One medieval reference book called the Chiribukuro explains that hinin and other outcast groups “are alike in that they are shunned by human society.”"

But when trying to define Hinin more narrowly, this is the result:

"the term hinin indicated a very specific group of social outcasts isolated from the community and cast aside due to disease or deformation. In his description of hinin, Nagahara explains that those referred to as “kojiki-hinin” were of the lowest social class, physically isolated from their families and communities and therefore excluded from society and economic activities in the medieval period."

Sounds like Sukuna, right?

Sukuna does not refer to himself as Hinin of course, but he does call himself 忌み子 (Imigo).

To quote myself from Part 1, Imigo can be translated as "Abominable Child", "Unwanted Child", or "Shunned Child." None of these translations in my opinion get across how severe Imigo is. It's closer to meaning "child who should've never been born". Like the child's very existence is an affront to god. (If you play Elden Ring the Omen are called Imigo in Japanese for this reason.)

And since we know that Sukuna is canonically a conjoined twin, aka someone with a visible deformity, this all indicates he was considered afflicted with a "karmic illness" that would classify him as Hinin.

This means that from birth, Sukuna was designated as fundamentally unclean and non-human. Within that society, there was no route he could take to remove himself from this uncleanliness and be seen as human.

The following views of Hinin were considered controversial for their time (during the Kamakura Era aka right after the Heian):

"Although Nichiren believed in the karmic nature of certain diseases, he also understood that this kind of disease was not a hindrance to salvation."

"Undoubtedly, Eison envisioned hinin as the physical representation of the Bodhisattva Monju and advocated that compassion and charity were the appropriate response to karmic illness."

And since these controversial views of *checks notes* considering Hinin worthy of compassion and salvation were documented after the Heian, I don't think it's unreasonable to assume Hinin had less advocates during the Heian.

In other words, Sukuna could not exist within human society without being shunned or exploited. The manga itself suggests this has always been the case.

As you can see Sukuna is absolutely miserable performing a ritual someone of this lower class would be responsible for overseeing. All while the people he is helping regard him with disgust. (By the way there is a purification ritual in Nara called Yamayaki that involves burning an entire mountainside. Something Sukuna's flames would be very good at.)

This is also from the same chapter where he's assaulted by Yorozu who assumes he's lonely because he's strong. She's wrong about this. Just like Kashimo who assumes Sukuna cares little for love for the same reasons he does.

Love from one person is worthless when compared to the nonstop ostracization that comes from institutional discrimination. At most, love can offer relief from that pain. It does not eliminate it. I'm saying this as a minority myself. I love my friends dearly and they love me as well, but I still wake up and go about my day with the soul-crushing knowledge that most wish for me to not exist.

Sukuna is not lonely because he's not loved. Uraume clearly does. It's that for circumstances beyond his control, he has been excluded from human society and forced to constantly be around people who exploit him for the very traits they scorn.

Sukuna pretty much confirms this himself when he talks to Mahito.

And you know what? Sukuna deciding to kill all the people exploiting him is completely justified. (Imo, he can even kill the non-sorcerers that discriminate against him as a treat.)

The Cannibalism was Justified too, for the most part.

Another thing to note about Sukuna. He was born starving and he died starving.

Famines and natural disaster were frequent and extremely hard on the commoner population during the Heian. The fact Sukuna was born starving indicates he was of lower birth to begin with since nobility hoarded the resources to avoid starvation for themselves.

One way for commoners dealt with famine was via foraging. We actually see Sukuna doing that when he meets Uraume.

Now there are several very interesting things we learn from this.

1) Sukuna hunts and eats elk/deer. Something massively taboo for the time. Especially since deer were considered sacred animals back then and even to this day.

2) He appears to wander around and owns very little. This is further in line with him being Hinin per the following:

"Clearly, welcome could be revoked at any time, which meant that hinin had to be prepared to leave any location at any given moment. This mobile lifestyle also meant that hinin could only afford to carry essential daily items, such as cooking utensils and begging bowls. The image also reveals that the hinin were never officially invited to stay in that particular area. Instead, they sought out their own locations to set up communities."

3) Despite Uraume being alive and fresh human meat, Sukuna does not immediately see them as food. Nor does he attack them. This, combined with him not taking the dead villagers for eating and preparing deer/elk instead, suggests that cannibalism is not the default for him.

Back to famines, it's also not unheard of for people to resort to cannibalism during them. The logic is simple: An outcast with no support network eats humans to survive.

And given the frequency of death from natural disasters of this time, there’s a real chance he never had to hunt humans in the first place. As Hinin, handling the dead is one of the few jobs he’s allowed to do. So it’s possible the worst thing he did was desecrate corpses in the name of scavenging.

Furthermore, if Sukuna is considered a non-human, is it even cannibalism to begin with? Is a hungry animal evil for eating a human?

I may consider Sukuna human because I refuse to partake in his dehumanization, but it needs to be understood that in the context of the JJK's story, there is not a single character that refers to Sukuna as a human. He's not even referred to as a man. He's either a curse, a monster, or at the very end, a sorcerer. Sukuna has been so dehumanized by others that he himself identifies as a "curse". This is also separate from "cursed spirit", leaving him in his own unique category of non-human.

Sukuna may not see eating other people as acts of cannibalism. After all, they are the ones who decided he was non-human at birth. (And since he is taboo, eating the deer/elk can’t make him more taboo than he already is.)

The following is an excerpt discussing the dehumanization of the starving:

"This strange image is from the Scroll of Hungry Ghosts and the huge emaciated creature depicted is just one of many of the numerous depictions of hungry ghosts or gaki. Invisible to humans, the gaki depicted are the spirits of greedy or jealous individuals karmically punished for their covetous thoughts with perpetual hunger for bodily excretions such as urine or feces."

"The protrusions of the stomach, the red-tinted hair, as well as the greying of the skin, are all genuine symptoms of starvation. In this light, our image appears significantly different. Instead of an invisible monster attacking a man, we have a disfigured and suffering human reaching out for humanity."

The phenomenon of hair during red or blond from starvation is called Kwashiorkor. Gege may be color blind, but Sukuna being depicted with pink or blond hair appears to be deliberate and in line with Kwashiorkor.

Sukuna was probably framed.

The only crimes Sukuna is accused of by Jujutsu Society is murder and cannibalism. As demonstrated by the previous section, there could be a pretty good reason for the cannibalism. But what about the murder?

Another thing that should be noted about Sukuna is how his destruction is largely retaliatory in the modern era. Every kill or kill attempt is made as a response to a challenge that was directed at him first.

When Sukuna first incarnates, Megumi says this to him:

Yuji may be Megumi's target, but remember that Kegare spreads through touch. Sukuna coming into contact with Yuji has made them both unclean. In other words, Sukuna has been informed that in this life, 1,000 years later, where he has yet to do any harm (Those comments about the women, children, and massacre are still sus, but they could've been about the Merger.), he will be attacked by sorcerers no matter what. It's not unreasonable for him to then attack them on sight.

But even when he does that, most of them survive until Shinjuku. During the culling games, Sukuna kills only 2 sorcerers—Ryu and Yorozu. Ryu is given a chance to walk away, but he doesn't. Uro flees and is spared. Yorozu is the sole person Sukuna seeks out to kill and that’s just for his Gojo plans.

And in that month Sukuna has before the showdown with Gojo? Nothing happens. He kills no one and just lounges around. Eating his own corpse is the only cannibalism. He absolutely could have eaten Tsumiki’s body to further crush Megumi’s soul, but he doesn’t.

Then when it comes to the actual showdown, Sukuna kills 3 sorcerers total. It's also very telling that after Sukuna is dead...no one blames him for what happened. They blame Kenjaku, hell even Gojo, but Sukuna isn't mentioned once. Higuruma is convinced that Sukuna was playing around. Kusakabe agrees that Sukuna’s manner of play isn't what they’re super worried about, it's Kenjaku.

The worst thing Sukuna does is Shibuya and that too has nuance to it. The twins aren't killed for fun. Sukuna punishes them for making demands of him. The citizens of Shibuya? Collateral from dealing with Jogo and Mahoraga. (He only really kills Haruta for the sake of it. And let's be real, he deserved that.)

And though the Shibuya civilian deaths are an objectively bad thing Sukuna has done, the fact they are not intentional gives credence to the idea that Sukuna didn't really target them in the past either. This suggests that the "murders" Sukuna did in the Heian were likely retaliation against people challenging him or trying to subjugate him. In other words, self defense.

And if he did wipe out a village, it was probably collateral. But that's kind of the thing. Did Sukuna even kill innocents by accident? The only confirmed kills of the Heian are those of the Subjugation and Military Squads. You know, people who may have attacked him for simply being "unclean".

Who am I kidding he absolutely was attacked for being “unclean”. This is how Angel talks about Sukuna and the incarnated.

She doesn’t care about saving the lives of innocents, all that matters to her are things that she deems evil are purged. Sukuna to Angel is ontologically evil and doesn’t deserve to exist. She targets him more than other incarnated players while ignoring Kenjaku who is responsible for this mess in the first place. She also quite literally did something she deemed wrong and evil so she could follow him into the future and make sure he died. (Move over Gojo Satoru we've got a new minority hunter.)

But it’s not like her attitude is new. Jujutsu Society is notorious for trying to kill things they deem "bad" such as Yuji and Yuta. The striking thing about the wanted executions of these literal children is that the higher ups giving the command make other sorcerers do it for them. Going back to the ideas of Kegare—spilling blood and touching corpses makes one impure so the outcasts are to deal with it. This is the logic driving their decision to coerce Yuta into a binding vow to kill Yuji.

("No matter how many cursed spirits you kill, it's proof of nothing!" <Please take note of how Yuta's good deeds do nothing to earn the higher ups' favor because he's seen as inherently evil.)

Yuta is essentially scapegoated through this manipulation and Yuji initially treats him like an enemy. In the same way characters like Kusakabe blame Gojo for refusing to execute Yuji. Despite the higher ups being responsible for the system functioning this way, the people they’re manipulating bear the brunt of responsibility to other characters.

Who's to say Sukuna isn't also a victim of this scapegoating? His power is comparable to a natural disaster. It would be very easy to blame one on him. After all, the higher ups of the Heian, the Fujiwaras, did exactly that to Uro.

Uro’s situation is much worse than Yuta’s however. She is a military slave. This distinction of military slave is important because unlike domestic slaves, they were allowed to rise through the ranks and be given awards despite their status.

And since Uro is a Sukuna parallel, there is a pretty good chance he was a slave at some point during the Heian.

Slavery in the Heian

A little detail I left out when discussing famine in the Heian. The asymmetrical wealth distribution was so severe during this time that commoners would sell themselves into slavery in hopes of not starving to death.

An example from the Kamakura Era (after the Heian):

"As the article shows, during the three years of the Kangi famine (1229-1232) and several recovery years following, various common people sold themselves, their relatives, and their retainers into slavery in exchange for sustenance. Not only would an amount be given to the seller, but also presumably whoever now owned the sold individual would be responsible for feeding and providing shelter for that individual. In this way, the common populations of Japan created a strategy for survival. There was no certainty that a new owner would fulfill this obligation, but the promise of reprieve from daily struggles was impetus enough for the sale."

Another example from the same era:

"A didactic tale from 1283 tells the story of a small family consisting of a mother and son, who after experiencing severe famine, came to the realization they would soon starve to death. In the hope of saving his mother, the young boy offers to sell himself into bondage, and although the mother disagrees, he goes ahead with the plan."

Yes this is as bad as it sounds, but there is one thing I would like to get out of the way—this slave system did not function anything like the chattel slavery during colonialism. Strangely enough, these slaves had some rights they could fight their owners in court over. They could pay off debts and be set free. They were allowed to be married and have children with those outside of their class. They were not kept in cages or in chains like animals. (Silver linings! /s)

The term used for these slaves was 奴婢 (Nuhi) which roughly translates to “bonded person”. This is more in the contractual sense rather than the physical sense since most were slaves by contract or debt.

This kind of sounds like something binding vows could do, right? Well binding vows share no kanji with Nuhi using 縛り(Shibari) instead. However, Sukuna introduces the concept of binding vows with chains and a handshake.

Sukuna was also born unwanted to a starving mother during a time when starving people sold themselves or their relatives into slavery to survive. This can mean a lot of things for his upbringing and none of them are pleasant.

Here is a summary of what jobs Nuhi did:

"As stated previously, wealthy households frequently obtained slaves and assigned them to various domestic tasks. However, sources further illuminate trafficking of women into the sex trade of Kamakura Japan."

If you noticed, Sukuna's Cursed Technique is perfect for this. He can chop up veggies, butcher fish, till farmland, slash and burn farmland, light fires, and every other non-violent thing a knife and fire can be used for. If he wasn't exploited for exorcising curses, he absolutely would've been exploited for domestic tasks.

And to get to much more depressing line of work Sukuna could've been subjected to as a child, I'd like to discuss why someone as masculine as him would be associated with women's work in the first place.

The Treatment of Women in Ancient Japan

"In Japan prior to the Heian and Kamakura periods, women played prominent roles in religious activities as miko, which was akin to a female medium or female shaman...Since miko functioned as a sacred and integral part in religious communities, issues of impurity did not appear to be an issue. Instead, it was Buddhist ideas that linked the female form to impurity."

With the introduction of Buddhism, women began to be seen as innately impure due to the blood and fluids associated with childbirth and mensuration.

"In the Heian period, Buddhist temples such as such as Enryakuji and Tōdaiji, began barring women from entering the premises due to their defiled nature."

"prominent Buddhist discourse painted women as innately defiled and therefore unable to achieve enlightenment in their own female bodies."

"To be born as an innately defiled female was considered a karmic punishment for past actions."

Though not ostracized as much as outcasts, women were seen as innately unclean in a similar vein to Sukuna. Women were expelled from religious institutions but not the courts, while outcasts were tolerated by religious institutions and barred from the courts. (The courts and temples operated independently of each other, which is why it was possible for noble women to hold power despite being designated as unclean.)

A few months ago I made a joke about this panel:

"Sukuna’s two options were helping Uraume transition or becoming a girl himself."

This is still mostly a joke, but I do think Sukuna identifies more with women than with men. Not that Sukuna is a girl, but that he relates to them and their struggles better. (Keep in mind he does wear a women's yukata and a men's obi at the same time as Yujikuna.)

It's important to note is that this mystery woman here wears the clothes of a Miko or Shrine Maiden/Priestess—the main group of women that was displaced and persecuted because of the new religious doctrine. And like every other group without a proper social safety net, selling themselves into slavery became a survival strategy. They did have other options of course. In the case of Asobi, the Priestess that used to serve the courts, turned to entertainment and sex work after their exclusion.

"Either riding in boats or setting up shop on busy routes to the capital and religious sites, Goodwin argues that these performers were part of independent, possibly female-run organizations, which were not stigmatized until the later part of the Kamakura period. However, as Wakita Haruko has examined, at least some women involved in sexual entertainment were female indentured servants, serving as security on a loan issued by their parents."

In this way, the exact identity of the Miko in Sukuna's path may not matter. She might be a representation of those who accepted their exclusion and did their best to survive on society's terms. If the South choice is meant to represent returning to who Sukuna used to be, then it can also mean the types of struggles Mikos faced are his as well.

However, there was a temple that continued to accept women as followers—the Muroji Temple in Nara. Interestingly enough, this temple contains an inner sanctuary devoted to the founder of Shingon Buddhism, the type of Buddhism Tengen brought over. The mountain this temple is located on is also associated with a dragon spirit. Since there is historical precedent of at least one temple accepting a group of people seen as innately impure, a place like this may have also been a sanctuary for Sukuna.

With the information we have, it's not really possible to know exactly what awful thing happened to Sukuna. The most important takeaway from this is that the suffering he experienced was systemic. He didn't get unlucky with a few ignorant and bad people. This was the direct result of the Heian class system dehumanizing people. In other words, his choices were severely limited.

Sukuna's Other Choice

Going North with Uraume appears to be very similar what he did back in the Heian—taking in an abandoned child and looking after them. What makes this choice slightly different this time around is that the class system that oppressed him no longer exists in the modern era. Yes, he’ll absolutely face discrimination for being deformed, but the complete denial of his humanity at every turn for his appearance is gone. He won’t be treated as untouchable and inherently evil. Legally speaking, he has drastically more rights. Violence won’t be his only option moving up in the world.

I will always loathe that Sukuna had to die to obtain this. And that the “reformed” modern Jujutsu Society refuses to acknowledge the systemic failures of their institution. Kusakabe makes it very clear he still believes the immediate extermination of anything deemed “evil” is a valid way to go about things, even if it means the death of a child…as long as he doesn’t have to do it. (Hence him blaming Gojo for it, just like the higher ups.) After the fight, everyone passes blame around, absolves themselves of any wrongdoing, and decides no one is really at fault.

There were people at fault for this. There are institutions at fault for this. But their failure to confront those things directly is probably why Sukuna rejected Yuji’s offer so viciously. Instead of trying to understand Sukuna on his own terms, Yuji showed him the value of a simple life he was never allowed to have, then told him to die or go back into the cage.

Yuji offered Sukuna pity but no autonomy, which is exactly the way Hinin were treated by the religious institutions of old.

"However, Hosokawa argues that even in veneration of hinin as representations of Manjusri, Buddhist monks continue to discriminate against this outcast group and further perpetuate their low position in society. Hosokawa explains that although activity involved in charitable works towards hinin, Eison cared little about the salvation of hinin because he saw outcasts as divine only within the context of the ritual of assembly. Therefore, all charitable works directed at hinin were merely ceremonial. Hosokawa advocates the view that Eison believed hinin lacked ‘nature,’ meaning they were unable to study or practice Buddhism. Essentially, without nature, they had no ability to escape the cycle of re-birth through the study of Buddhism."

Sukuna even thinks of modern sorcerers like the ones of old. Why would he ever want to return to that?

His goals are simple; eat, play, and pass time until his dies. That’s not really evil now is it? But the people attacking him don’t know that. None of them ever stopped to asked because they assume him existing freely will bring evil.

But what does Sukuna do when he’s given a month-long truce a body he completely controls? He does what every minority group does when they are no longer being actively oppresed—he rests. He doesn’t go around killing or tormenting for fun. With his newfound freedom he secludes himself and lounges.

The fight in Shinjuku is essentially a group of well-meaning people from a corrupt institution beating an outcast that was ostracized by it into submission. Albeit for very good reasons.

Why did this fight change his mind?

If Sukuna is basically reliving past trauma via the Shinjuku fight, why did he decide this group of sorcerers was worth listening to? The simple answer of course is he lost to them. Sukuna believes the strong impose their will and the weak follow suit.

I don’t think that’s quite right. Sukuna used to be weak too. He was a child once. He used to controlled by others stronger than him. By his own logic he should’ve stayed like that, but he trained to get stronger and eventually rebelled.

Since Sukuna is a known liar and hides his feelings under several layers of repression, I’m inclined to believe this statement is also smokescreen. And after reading the Uraume Epilogue I am certain of this. But for now let’s revisit the Shinjuku fight, starting from the battle that made me realize Sukuna is indeed a pathetic sopping wet cat underneath it all—Sukuna vs Gojo.

Sukuna vs Gojo

Something fans picked up on during this fight was how Gojo dogwalked Sukuna when it came to Hand to Hand (H2H) combat. During their fight, Sukuna fails to land a single punch on Gojo’s face. It takes Yuta possessing Gojo’s body and fumbling around in it for Sukuna to finally punch that face. But it’s not just Gojo he sucks at with H2H combat. It’s everyone. Here is a compilation of Sukuna getting hit in the head or face.

This seems to conflict with Sukuna’s ability to learn anything visually. He sees someone do something and he can copy it immediately. This contradiction can be explained by him being Hinin.

Sukuna was considered an untouchable. Educated people were of a higher class and believed unclean things like him were to be avoided at all costs. This means that whatever education Sukuna obtained for himself was always at a distance. Aka watch and copy. And since H2H is mostly taught through body to body contact, Sukuna wasn’t allowed a proper sparing partner outside of the attempts to kill him.

In Part 2, I go over Sukuna’s fraud allegations for his copying of Gojo in particular. This is what lead me to realize that Sukuna spent 6 months plotting to kill a guy he met for 10 seconds. This insane level of pre-planning is also shaped by him being Hinin.

We know for a fact that Sukuna hunts deer/elk and that it’s safe to assume he driven to this because of his Hinin status. If you know anything about hunting, it’s that most of it is playing psychological mind games with creatures that are somehow complete geniuses despite having 2 brain cells. You don’t chase after a deer with a gun, you become obsessed with them. You study every little habit of theirs; when they hunger, what they eat, and where they defecate. Using this information, you set up the bait and wait in hiding for the perfect opportunity to kill them.

This is pretty much what Sukuna does to Gojo. He’s got a hunter’s obsession with him. In Part 4, I explain how this obsession might actually be unhinged courtship, but I don’t lay out why Gojo of all people seemingly means this much to Sukuna. This too can be explained by him being Hinin.

I’ve said it over and over, Gojo and Sukuna are twin flames. They are the strongest, isolated, dehumanized, exploited, self-taught, and really bad at showing affection. Part of this obsession is driven by Sukuna seeing himself in Gojo. He's being ordered around by others weaker than him in the same way Sukuna used to be.

But take note of this “I owe you a debt.” It’s easy to assume he means payback for punching him in the face. However…Gojo did actually do Sukuna a massive favor. He suspended his execution, even if it was primarily to save Yuji.

As I discussed before, Kegare was infectious. You touch something unclean and you become unclean yourself. By laws of Jujutsu Society and by social stigma around Kegare, Sukuna made Yuji equally as impure as himself. And Gojo went screw that, I’m going to look after you. He gave Yuji direct lessons, made sure all his basic needs were met, and treated him like a human. Behind everyone’s backs he hid the final finger, intending to let Yuji live for the duration of his natural life.

To Sukuna, Gojo is someone who would have taken him in and advocated for his humanity under different circumstances. Gojo is someone Sukuna would’ve loved to have as a teacher. And so he copies him. He learns and improves his own sorcery as if Gojo had intentionally taught him.

Through the Shinjuku fight, his experiences within Yuji, and Megumi’s memories, Sukuna gets a taste of what could’ve been. With Megumi in particular, he also gets to see what it’s like to be raised by someone who actually cares. Though not intentional, this is how Gojo teaches Sukuna love. This is why when Sukuna looks at Gojo, he thinks about love.

Sukuna choosing to go with Uraume is him copying Gojo one last time. After seeing that even if you’re isolated, exploited, and miserable, there’s still fulfillment in using your power to make sure someone else doesn’t go through what you did. It may not remove all that pain, but it makes it easier.

And bringing back Kegare’s opposite Hare (晴れ). The kanji used are in the Appare Da (天晴れだ) when Sukuna tells Gojo, “You cleared my skies.” (The Da at the end of this statement means it was pretty heartfelt too.) With this additional context, I think it can be taken to also mean that Gojo made Sukuna feel like he wasn’t impure.

Sukuna vs Yuji

Yuji and Megumi are the ones who ultimately make Sukuna realize that it's worth pursing guardianship regardless of marital status or blood relation. They are the two of Gojo’s students/children that are directly compared to Uraume.

Yuji who is also the same as Sukuna, fills the role of Gojo when he first chooses to look after Megumi. When he prevents Megumi from being sold by his father. Sukuna has seen both versions of this memory.

Since Sukuna is a twin to Wasuke and they are also the same, JJK 265 is Yuji showing Sukuna an entire alternate universe of the normal life he could've lived if he had been seen as human.

And even if he can’t ever be seen as human or live normally, Megumi tells him it’s ok to be improper and cherish someone anyways.

None of these 3 realize how greatly they’ve affected Sukuna. He barely admits to it even in death. But Sukuna had secretly wanted this from the start. The cracks started showing when he first tried to teach Megumi in his special little tsundere shark way.

There's also something to be said about Uraume making it to adulthood in a time where famine was rampant and parents would sell their children into slavery just to eat. Their cursed technique manifested around the age of 6, just like Megumi. The fact they survived means Sukuna was already doing a pretty good job as their guardian.

Other Things this Changes

I'm also looking at Sukuna's fondness towards Jogo in a whole new light. I thought that Jogo wanting nothing of him was the main reason he was favored. But there's more to it that that. It’s that he regards Sukuna’s life as inherently valuable. Jogo believes in a world where Sukuna has the right to exist as he is and how he wants. No one will try to control him or condemn him for something he had no say in.

He also stands out in his devotion to curses of any background. Mahito basically looks like a human, Choso and his brothers are half human, Sukuna is fully human, and Jogo accepts them all no questions asked. He’s willing to fight for people who exist differently than himself.

There's also that added “wanting to be seen as human” element. Jogo’s world is one where Sukuna would finally be seen as human. It’s the same logic that drove Choso to side with the Disaster Curses. He knew how difficult human society would make the lives of his brothers (both of which have 2 faces like conjoined twins), so he chose to fight for a world where that kind of discrimination no longer existed. (Which is why it's really sad he died and no one mourned him properly.)

And yes we can condemn the mass slaughter of humans as the wrong way to go about this. But the core problem is that Jujutsu Society branded them as taboo and in need of extermination or containment. They were driven into a corner and believed violence was the only way out. The only reason Choso was able to change was other sorcerers giving him a chance despite the hurt he caused. Something Sukuna didn't get outside of the offer to be caged.

Am I being too lenient with Sukuna here?

Absolutely. I am extremely biased.

To me at least, the type of "evil" Sukuna is has a lot nuance. It is very significant that someone as strong as him, who could basically do whatever he wanted (theoretically), took one willing servant in a time where slavery was widely practiced. (If you read the linked document, it's kind of up for debate how legal slavery was at the time.) It's also significant that the Heian crimes he was accused of were limited to cannibalism and murder. He's clearly got rules about his evilness and I really like that about him. I wanted to find the logic driving them and I think I've finally struck gold.

This didn't fit anywhere nicely. But consider the following:

"Earthly sins, on the other hand, were those that only affected individuals or forbidden actions, such as rape or cutting living flesh."

Sukuna's CT cuts living flesh. His very CT was considered impure in the Heian. The flames however, are more aligned with purification. It's just a neat little thing that shows Sukuna's duality imo.

He's also really good at archery. And though this is likely because his flame CT is a bow, he probably got good at it to hunt deer/elk on top of temple duties. (Just another way he enjoys corrupting the divine.)

But please remember, the only reason I've done all of this is because of Umineko's...

Without love, it cannot be seen.

[mis-anthrapologistic]

[long post] random simplyplural inspo

cw: vague s/h warning in the first pic

our current custom fields:

* lyric / quote

blank field for a divider or graphic

* bday or forming date

* age

* appearance (verbal description)

* faceclaim (picture)

* other names

* prns & sexuality

* species

blank field for a divider or graphic

* role

* symptoms held

* activity (how often they front)

* complexity (fully formed or not)

* hierarchy

* subsystem

* relationships (internal & external)

* headspace location

blank field for a divider or graphic

* source

* pseudomemories or source memories

* source quotes

blank field for a divider or graphic

* weirdly specific opinions

* likes

* dislikes

* playlist

* irrational fears

* fun facts

blank field for a divider or graphic

* sign off

* fronting triggers

* reviews (that other alters leave about them)

* miscellaneous

* badges (stamps, blinkies, etc)

* credits

other random field ideas:

* mbti or other personality types

* talents & hobbies

* how to tell when the alter is at/near front

* handwriting, typing quirks, etc

* "this" or "that" type questions (cats or dogs, introvert or extrovert etc)

* other titles to refer to the alter as

* associations

* which alters helped fill out the profile

* stereotypical tropes?

* what types of dysphoria the alter experiences (height, gender, voice, etc)

* kins/synpaths

* what they would be bullied for in middleschool /hj

* "life written by: ___" (favorite writer, music artist, etc. basically, "they get me" or saying that their work is very relatable.)

* fursonas, oc's, etc

* how to make the alter feel more comfortable when they're at front, or if you're meeting them for the first time

* neopronoun or xenogender hoards

* what they would most likely be arrested for

* wishlist of things the alter wants to buy?

* if you're into things like danganronpa, then feel free to add a SHSL talent field :3

☆

we don't regularly add anyone on simplyplural, so we don't have that many privacy buckets. however, we do have one for all source related fields (faceclaim, source, mems, quotes, etc).

we also have a privacy bucket for the pronouns and sexuality field in case we ever add anyone we know irl.

for each of our role groups, we always include a definition for the role in the description/info box for those who may not know the term. ^_^

☆

other things we to do make our profiles a little bit more fun:

* silly quotes or references for the bios! we usually do twitter or tumblr references.

* over-use and abuse the description box for the groups. we always leave little notes, jokes, gifs, or extra graphics in ours.

* we have an info page at the top of our alter list where we include basic info about the sys. we also added a basic dictionary of system terms in the custom fields and some userboxes!

* make tons of silly groups. if you're running low on inspiration, check out those sorting memes where characters are put into certain scenario categories (hard to explain, but do you know what i'm talking about?). like... what characters would do in a fire, watching a horror movie, etc.

* also, groups for subcultures‼️

* get people outside of your sys to leave reviews about the alters to add to the "review" field! bonus points of they write it like a professional review or add "__/5 stars".

* we don't read fanfiction, but if you do, i recommend adding a section in the custom fields or groups for a hyper-specific AO3 tag or something!

* don't worry if your account isn't always super aesthetic. seriously, it's okay. your account layout has nothing to do with how valid you are. just make sure you have fun. :p

[felinecyan]

Perfectly Fine

[Keigo Takami x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Hawks plays off that everything is “perfectly fine,” but you know better than to believe him.

WC: 2186

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Soft!Reader, Slight Angst

I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with Hawks and angst, I blame Conan Gray being stuck in my head 24/7, but here you go! 😀👍

『••✎••』

You knew he wasn't okay.

You saw him every day. You spent more time with him than anyone else in his life. He had always been so bright and so positive that it was jarring when you realized just how exhausted he truly was.

He tried. He tried so hard. He was smiling and making jokes like normal. It was so hard not to get caught up in his infectious positivity. But you knew him well enough to see through it all.

And his eyes said it all.

They weren't as bright and golden as they normally were. They looked dim. The dark circles underneath were a clear indication that he hadn't been sleeping well lately—or at all.

This was the one thing you absolutely despised about Keigo. His independence was a good aspect to have for a pro-hero, but not when it was detrimental to his own health.

He was always doing things on his own. He was a people pleaser, so of course, he didn't want to ask for help. It was his problem, so he'd handle it himself.

And you wished you could just knock some sense into that bird brain of his.

The last straw was when he came home in the middle of the night, completely disheveled, and collapsed on the couch.

It wasn't uncommon for him to come home late, and you were usually already asleep, but tonight was different. Tonight, you were still awake.

And it was almost 3 am.

You had heard him enter the house. You were about to get up to greet him, but his heavy footsteps had paused at the doorway. The silence continued for a few seconds until you heard him stumble and collapse onto the couch.

You got up immediately and rushed into the living room. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

He was sitting on the floor with his back on the couch. He had taken off his jacket and boots. His wings were limp, and the feathers were ruffled and messy. His head was in his hands, and his hair was an absolute mess.

"Keigo," you whispered, walking up to him.

You had a million questions going through your mind, but you were also worried he was hurt, so you decided to keep it simple.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't move. Not even his wings.

He did speak, however, but you wished he hadn't.

"Perfectly fine."

The words were like poison. His tone was so cold, so dark, so unlike him. You hated it. You had to force yourself not to recoil in disgust.

Just as he said those words, he made himself even worse by letting out a dry, humorless chuckle. It was so unnatural and wrong coming from him.

It scared you. It angered you. You couldn't understand how he could be like this.

You knelt down in front of him, placing your hands over his.

"Keigo," you murmured. "I’m begging you. Please don't do this."

"Do what?" His eyes met yours, completely focused. It was almost unnerving. "What am I doing?"

"You're pushing me away," you stated, trying to keep your voice from cracking. "Again."

His gaze lingered for a few moments before his eyes trailed to the floor. He let out a sigh, sounding almost irritated.

"I told you, I'm fine," he muttered, his expression hardening. "You should get some sleep."

His tone was much harsher than before, and it was beginning to frustrate you.

"I can't do that," you whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't, Keigo," you said, your voice rising. "You make it so… so difficult for me to just sit back and watch you do this. You keep saying that everything is fine, but it isn't. It's not. You know it's not."

He was silent, and you were beginning to think that he was refusing to respond to you.

"You've been coming home at weird hours, and you don't even try to hide the fact that you're exhausted. Your eyes have bags under them, and your wings are a complete mess. You look so pale, Keigo."

"I’m—"

"If you say you're fine one more time," your voice was trembling, and your eyes were starting to burn. "I swear, I will throw myself out of this window."

That made a small smile creep onto his face. It wasn’t genuine, but it was a start.

"As much as I love pancakes, you know I wouldn’t let you go through with that," he said, his tone becoming lighter.

You didn't hesitate.

"Then why are you making me go through with this?"

You didn't miss the small flinch he did. If you’d been in this situation a couple of years ago, you would’ve missed it.

But not anymore. You knew him better than anyone.

"We’re supposed to be partners, remember? You’re a harder book to read, Keigo, and I’m sorry I’m too easy for you, but we should be able to trust each other."

He only looked down and let out a sigh. He was trying so hard to keep his composure, but his emotions were beginning to break through.

You reached forward and gently placed your hand on his cheek, turning his face so he would look at you.

"And if something is bothering you, you should want to tell me. But I can’t help but feel like I'm not good enough to be someone you can confide in because if you did, then maybe you wouldn't look like this right now." You brushed a lock of his golden hair away from his forehead.

He looked so tired. So defeated.

And he was. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was struggling with himself. It was as if he were weighing his options.

Stay silent or talk to you.

Stay strong or admit his weakness.

You wanted him to choose the latter. You needed him to choose the latter. If he was going to keep pretending everything was fine, your heart couldn’t take it.

A moment of silence passed, and then two, and then three. It was like an eternity had gone by.

Then, finally, the room was filled with his deep, shaky exhale. The environment changed. The air was thicker. You felt the tension and the stress and the sadness.

"I'm not the person you deserve."

It was such a simple phrase, but you were stunned. He sounded so broken, and you didn’t understand why.

"I don't deserve you," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “I never did."

You were just speechless. You were expecting his troubles to be something along the lines of work or the Hero Public Safety Commission. It probably still is, but you weren’t expecting him to feel… insecure about himself.

"That’s…" You shook your head. "No, Keigo, that's not true. Why would you think that?"

"Why wouldn't I think that?"

He didn't wait for your response.

"I'm too focused on being a hero," he started, his expression hardening again. "I'm always out. I'm never here. Sure, I kidnap you and make you my hostage every once in a while, but even then, I'm always thinking about work. Always thinking about how I can save more people. I'm always busy, and when I'm not, I'm exhausted."

His hands tightened into fists.

"You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. Someone who can take the time to actually appreciate you, not just a text here and there, or a quick phone call, or a stupid note. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to leave the house before the sun even rises."

Your eyes were beginning to water, and you tried not to sniffle, but it was becoming more and more difficult to control yourself.

"You deserve a life where you can relax. You deserve someone who you know is always going to be there when you need it. I can't be that for you, and it's frustrating because I really wish I could."

"Oh, Takami," you whispered, pulling him towards you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. He was holding onto you as if he were hanging on for dear life.

"I hate being like this." His voice was muffled, but you could still hear the disgust in his tone.

"Like what?"

"So pathetic," he grumbled. "I hate acting like a kid. Like an immature, needy little… little child."

He had trouble getting the last word out. You couldn't tell whether it was because he was frustrated or ashamed, or both.

"Hey," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. It seemed to always soothe him. "It’s not immaturity, and it definitely is not childish. It’s just being human."

You could feel him let out a long, deep exhale.

"You are the Number 2 Pro-Hero. You're a very busy man. I knew it then, and I know it now. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be with you."

You paused, taking a deep breath.

"Yes, sometimes I get lonely, and I miss you, and it sucks. Sometimes, I want to lock you in the house and not let you leave until the end of the world, but that wouldn't be fair to your fangirls.”

That earned a small chuckle from him.

"And it wouldn't be fair to all those innocent people who need you too. I don't like having to share you with the entire city, but that's just the way it is, and it's something I knew I had to get used to."

His arms squeezed around your waist. You felt his warm breath on your neck, which made you shiver slightly.

"And it's not your fault, either. We will have times like these, where you're too busy, and we won't see each other for a while, but at the end of the day, I'm still going to be waiting for you. At the end of the day, we’ll be perfectly fine."

"What a sap," he mumbled, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Hey! I'm trying to be romantic!" You playfully smacked his shoulder. "Be grateful."

He chuckled and pulled away from the embrace. You didn't want him to at first, but when you saw his expression, you smiled.

He was grinning. He was finally genuinely happy. There was a twinkle in his eye, and his wings were perked up. His feathers were starting to look much cleaner and fluffier. He was starting to look like his old self.

"I'll make a mental note of that," he replied, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "You are the cutest sap ever."

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes and let out a laugh. "Go to bed, bird boy."

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," he said, holding his hands up. "You're not going to give me a good night kiss?"

You scoffed.

"And you say you’re not childish."

"No, seriously."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap. Your arms instinctively went around his neck, and you squealed and caught off guard.

"Hey!" You protested, trying to glare at him, but it was hard to do when he was looking at you with such adoration.

"C'mere," he hummed, resting his forehead against yours. "Let's see how good of a kisser you really are."

"Okay, no, let's not," you said, leaning away from him. "That was awful. That was worse than awful."

"Oh, c'mon!" He chuckled, his eyes full of amusement. "I've been waiting to use that for ages."

"Well, don't," you said, shaking your head. "That just made me want to turn into a pancake even more."

"It’s too bad we don't have syrup," he joked, giving you a quick wink. "Guess I'll have to improvise."

"That's it," you said, trying to push him away, but he only laughed and pulled you closer.

"Stop trying to avoid the inevitable, darling," he murmured, his eyes meeting yours.

"Please don't say anything else," you begged, your face growing warm. "Please. I'm not kidding, Takami."

"Neither am I."

And this… This was what everything was worth.

Keigo looked so content. He was happy. He was relaxed. He wasn't thinking about anything but this moment. He wasn't overthinking things. He wasn't forcing himself to stay positive.

He was just being him, finally. The rest of the night the discussion wasn’t brought up again, and it didn’t need to. You both knew exactly what the other was thinking… feeling. And sure, there’s no doubt there’ll be another time when he will be stressed out again, overworking himself and pushing himself too hard, but you would be there to pull him back down.

You would be there to remind him that everything would be okay and that no matter how hard he tries to fix it all on his own, you would simply remind him that he doesn’t have to do that anymore.

He doesn’t need to keep hiding behind that smile; the only smile he should ever have is the real one.

The one where he truly is perfectly fine.

[mcyt-longfic-database-project]

Welcome to the MCYT Longfic Database Project

Hello!! My name is Jim ( @rocketships07 , he/him), and I'm just a guy with a passion for data analysis and cubitos. I have been compiling, for a few months now, a small google sheets file of my favorite mcyt longfics, because I enjoy being able to see some stats and have everything in a place I can access. However! It ocurred to me that it would be very fun to develop a much larger database so that I could share it with friends!

So, the MCYT Longfic Database Project was born.

IMPORTANT LINKS:

MCYT Longfic Database SUBMISSIONS Form

Publishing site voting (closed)

FAQ

MCYT Longfic Database

Here's how it's going to work.

1. Interest Check (due: jan. 27)

I'm going to first compile information on what fandoms most people want me to compile fics of. This can be any MCYT fandom! As long as someone requests it, it'll have a place in the database. To do so, please send me asks through my tumblr page with your fandom(s)!!

CURRENT FANDOMS ADDED:

Hermitcraft

Traffic Life Series

Empires SMP

Dream SMP

QSMP

Scott's Life series (X life/Afterlife/New life)

POW Creations (Pirates SMP, Rats SMP 1&2)

The Realm

Fable SMP

Life Steal

Outsiders

Yogscast

2. Fanfic submission form is released (jan. 27 - feb. 28)

I will be releasing a form, where you can submit your favorite longfics! This form will include plenty of different sections for you to fill, such as title, fandom, word count, main character(s), ship (or ships), main tropes or au, amongst other categories with the purpose of data analysis! Mainly because the database will also have an analysis tab, where you can see some fun stats about the database!

During this period, the database will not be public. This is due to the fact that Google Forms does not format the information correctly, and I will be creating a much easier to read file for everyone to see!

After the end of this period, the forms will continue to be open! I will not be updating it constantly after that, but I'll try my best to keep it updated!

3. Database publishing (march 1)

After March 1st, the database will go live!!! I will continue to update it and add fics as long as people keep submitting them.

Feel free to share it with your friends and use it to find new fun fics to enjoy!

[justnatoka]

Hey there!! saw that your requests were open so i thought i’d share some inspiration<3

david x fem!witch!reader ??

big bad vampire x cutesy witch who could totally give him an aneurysm when he pisses her off vibes lol

need david who’s just soft on his little witch 🕯️🌙🩸

Big bad vampire and his little witch

David x Fem! Witch! Reader

A/n: Thank you so much for requesting! I'm not particularly into the witch/magic user reader fics, but I really enjoyed writing this one! I hope you will like it too, anon! Special shoutout to A Reading by @theyreonlynoodlesmike! It's an amazing fic with a witch reader, and it gave me a lot of motivation and inspiration for writing this.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You happen to catch the eye of a certain vampire one night on the boardwalk. All dark, mysterious and handsome; the intrigue in definitely mutual.

Nobody could deny that Santa Carla was a colorful place. People from all different walks of life ended up in the small beach town. It was a place where you wouldn't easily stick out, no matter how you looked or what you did. If a pack of vampires, and a very loud one at that, could operate here without being found out, a humble witch like yourself faced basically zero threat of being outed.

At least you called yourself humble, although in reality you were probably one of the more powerful supernatural beings living in Santa Carla. You didn't like to advertise it, satisfied with leading a quiet life. Business was booming anyway. The little shop you set up on the boardwalk offered a vast array of products and services. You sold all sorts of pretty but useless trinkets, stuff that caught the eyes of tourists because they looked interesting and otherworldly. But a good portion of your products were actually the real deal. Healing stones, charms for protection and prosperity, herbal teas for all sorts of ailments. For some extra cash you also made personalized potions, performed palm or card readings.

Your customers ranged from interested non-believers who were drawn in by your very deliberate aesthetic choices, to spiritual ex-hippies, all the way to people who believed the most harmless pendant you sold held some type of magical power. You've seen and heard it all.

Still, there was one particular person you couldn't help but be intrigued by.

It was an especially busy night on the boardwalk when he first approached you, the air practically buzzing with all the noise and energy. You just said bye to a customer when you felt it again, that light tickling sensation as the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Someone was watching you. You've been feeling it on and off for a while now, not particularly alarmed, more like curious. It wasn't out of the ordinary for people to stare, your unique looks and decorations naturally had that effect; it was something you've counted on to draw in new customers. However, no one has ever been this persistent.

And after a group of teenagers moved on from your table, in a small gap in the crowd you finally spotted him. A stranger, all dark, mysterious and handsome with bleached blond hair was leaning against the back of a game booth, taking slow drags of his cigarette. Even though you couldn't make out the color of his eyes from this distance, you knew they were trained on you with a stare almost unblinking. Just as he moved to push himself away from the wall, a group of people entered your field of vision, and the crowd swallowed him once again.

You were trying to see if you could catch another glimpse of him, but by the time that spot became visible again, he was no longer there.

That's why your heart jumped when the smell of cigarette smoke entered your nose, and he was suddenly standing right in front of you. Not many people were able to sneak up on you like that these days. You weren't even sure he belonged to the category of 'people'. There was a persistent tingling under your skin radiating from the small amulet you've worn around your neck, your magic signaling you that something was not normal about this guy. And as his eyes (a striking blue as you noted) met yours, you were certain he was not human.

You put on your most charming smile as you greeted him.

"Evening, mister! What can I interest you with? I've got many different magic potions and amulets for all kinds of problems," you started your usual spiel, playing into the bright and alluring witch persona you usually put on. Most people like it when it seems like you hold knowledge on all the hidden secrets of the world. They don't need to know that they are partially right.

"You." The single word cuts off your chatting, your rhythm faltering for a moment as his eyes bore into you, and he slowly blows out a cloud of smoke.

"Excuse me?" The tingling in your body started to intensify, becoming sharp, almost like a beast clawing against your nerve endings. It wasn't particularly unpleasant.

"I'm interested in you," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a little smirk.

It was clear you were sizing each other up.

You were searching in the back of your mind for the source of this strange feeling. It was like the answer was right on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach enough that it was driving you crazy. He looked like any other young man on the boardwalk – although a slightly better dressed one –, but as you met his eyes curiously, there was something timeless about them. Then it clicked.

A sweet smile slowly stretched across your lips as you let the innocent facade drop.

"Show me yours, I'll show you mine, vampire."

His smirk became sharper, his irises tainted with yellow for just a moment, the stone around your neck pulsing in answer, the wind chimes hanging from the roof of your shop swinging gently without the slightest breeze in the air.

No one noticed anything, people passing by just as they did before, but something changed between you two that night. He didn't stick around for much longer after that, leaving you with a hint of that tingling in your magic, a lingering scent of cigarette smoke, a mind full of intrigue and a name.

David.

It wasn't long before he started showing up at your shop nearly every night. Sometimes he was with his friends, but most of the time he was alone. You had a feeling he wanted to keep your encounters to himself, and you couldn't particularly blame him. You've made some friends of your own since coming to Santa Carla, but you haven't told them about him either.

There seemed to be an unspoken connection between you, one that grew stronger the more time you spent together. Mostly, he would watch you work, listening in with interest when you performed your readings, asking questions when you made potions, or just simply keeping you company.

Before you realized it, his dark silhouette became a permanent fixture at your shop; taking long drags of his cigarette and leaning against the far side of the counter, close enough to make conversation, but out of the way enough that he didn't scare away potential customers.

However, sometimes he just couldn't help but intervene.

It had been a slow night on the boardwalk, with slightly less people meandering around than usual. You and David had been having light conversation on and off, both of you content with sharing comfortable silences in between.

For some reason, it was always nights like these when weird people found you. The guy that strolled past your shop was pretty unassuming, his eye briefly meeting yours before he seemingly changed his mind and turned back, leisurely making his way over to you.

An easy smile stretched across his lips as he took you in behind your counter with more curiosity. Something about it made your insides squirm.

"Hey there! Pretty sweet setup you have here," he greeted, motioning over your items and decor before his gaze returned to you once again.

You thanked him with your pleasant customer service voice.

"You run this shop all alone?" he asked after pretending to look at some of your merchandise.

There was some unspoken implication in his question that you couldn't quite place. Nothing seemed outwardly wrong about him, but you still couldn't help the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. It wasn't your magic warning you this time, this was the intuition of a woman who has seen things.

"Yes, I do. Have been for a pretty long time," you answered with caution.

His eyes squinted at that.

"Aren't you a bit young to be doing this for a 'long time'?"

Your smile definitely had an edge to it as you replied,

"You don't know how old I am."

Throughout your short exchange you have been growing more and more conscious of David standing not far away. He was half-blending into the shadows, not saying anything, but his presence seemed to have grown heavier. The creep wasn't noticing it though.

He leaned on your counter, his forearms messing up the neat arrangement of charms and amulets in front of you.

"So," he started, his voice conspiratorially low. "You really believe in all this supernatural stuff, huh?"

"I guess I do," you deadpanned. "Comes with the job description."

He breathed out a laugh.

"You're funny. But really, you don't have to lie to me, everyone knows it's all bullshit." There was the slightest hint of condescension in his voice. "Just a way for pathetic folks to deal with life. But you're selling it pretty well," he winked at you.

You were done. You could feel your heartbeat rising, the air around you pulsing with anger. But before you could open your mouth to do some damage, a growl sounded from the shadows lurking around your shop.

In your irritated state you forgot him for a second, but David was quick to step forward.

"I think it's time you fuck off." His tone had an edge that promised danger.

The creep blinked at him, caught off guard for a second. "Where the hell did you come from?"

He swiftly recovered however, answering David's harsh words with some of his own. "And who the fuck are you? I was just having a conversation with her."

David was suddenly standing right in front of him, his hand gripping the guy's shoulder painfully tight. As he leaned in close, his face started to change, his features looking less and less human.

"Fuck. Off." He emphasized his words by snapping sharp teeth at him.

The guy was just about soiling his pants. David gave him a rough push, and he almost fell over his own feet in his haste to scamper off.

When you looked up at the vampire, he was in the process of snuffing out his cigarette just before pulling out another, his face completely back to normal. Noticing your stare, your eyes full of wonder, he cocked up an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You know I could have fried his brain if I wanted to, right?" An amused smile was playing on your lips.

"I know, sweetheart. I just didn't like the way he was talking to you." He wasn't looking you in the eye as he said it.

Oh, he's cute. Your insides were turning mushy from him turning into protective, big bad vampire. With a radiant grin on your face, you beckoned him closer. A small flame lit up at the end of your pinkie, lighting his cigarette for him. Now it was his turn to look at you with wonder.

"Thank you," you murmured, very much enjoying his close proximity.

"Your welcome," he answered with a softness in his gaze that you haven't seen before.

You went back to your usual routine after that; you rearranging your items that were moved out of place and chatting with customers, and him standing to the side listening in. You know he noticed how your heart was beating faster, and he knew you noticed how he moved just a bit closer from his previous position. None of you said anything about the silences between you being feeling charged with something more now either.

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[makingqueerhistory]

Thought to be one of the most photographed women of her time, Josephine Baker was a renowned dancer, a singer, a mother, spy, and bisexual Black woman. While there are still people who resist the category of queer for Josephine Baker, with some help from her son, historian Jean-Claude Baker, the truth is clear. Born on June 3, 1906, in St. Louis, Missouri, USA, Baker’s life was never without its share of obstacles. However, an entertainer, an activist, a military woman, and a mother, Josephine Baker wasn’t familiar with the word “stop”; .

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