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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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verus-veritas · 3 years

Text

Legacy

Revenge, Technology, Mind Transference, with a dash of unrequited love. What’s not to love? /Verus

"Dude! P-please! I'm sorry! Whatever you think I've done, it must all be a mistake!" Andew yelled, thrashing against his confinements and eyeing the only point of exit in the room. His firm muscles were wet and taut against his clothes, and his handsome face flush red with terror and worry.

"Are you really sorry though? It didn't seem like it from the way you acted during Gavin's funeral. The sneers and laughter you made as his parents said their final words to him..." I said, hiding in the shadows. Only my feet and the contours of my body was visible for him to see.

"N-no offense. I just found it funny when the parents said they wish he'd atleast gotten a girlfriend before he passed away-" The same devious sneer returned on his perfectly handsome face, as he most likely remembered the scene in his head.

"Of course you found it funny. Because you knew he was completely gay. Gay, and had a massive crush on you for ages. He literally worshipped the ground you walked on, and spent most of his waking hours wishing he could be with you." I explained, slowly walking around him as I pulled out a flimsy latex cap with electronical nodes attached to it.

"And I let him. I did no wrong." Andrew talked back. His eyes following my figure until I stood directly behind him.

"No! You lead him on, made him believe you were actually interested in him. And then you destroyed him. You are the reason he ran out of the house crying, and you are the reason he didn't see the truck speeding towards him!" My voice was shaking as I quickly slapped the cap onto his head, accidentally pulling out a few strands of his hair.

"Ouuch! Get this thing off me!" He shook his head and began thrashing about again.

"You know. He really loved you... He said he was going to make you the happiest man on earth. Showering you with gifts and undying love, and be by your side forever and ever. That's why he trusted you so wholeheartedly and let you do whatever you wanted."

"Naive..." He quietly muttered under his breath.

"He was even fine with you staring and drooling over other girls. As long as he could stay by your side."

"What a fag..." I could hear him gritting his teeth.

"But that evening when you invited him over, only to have him find you in the bedroom hooking up with a random girl... that completely ruined him. You shattered his dream, his self-confidence, and his sensitive soul! He didn't know what to do and where to go, which is why he ran straight out into the traffic..." My voice was uncontrollably going up and down now, as I was unable to hide my emotions.

"Dude only had himself to blame. He should've known I only had him around for the free stuff he bought for me." Andrew snickered, as he looked down at the expensive shorts Gavin had bought for him a few weeks prior.

"How dare you!" I tried to punch his shoulder, but knew I was too weak to do any real damage against his hard muscles.

"Y'know... it almost sounds like you had feelings for him- Wait a minute! You're that pastry white kid that always walked around with him aren't you?! Hah! 'Ghost boy' we called you!" The tone in his voice shifted - with more confidence and arrogance. Back to the way he normally talked - a manipulative bastard at heart. "I see. So you best friend Gavin never had feelings for you, and now that he's gone you blame yourself for not having stopped him."

"......" I clenched my hands till my knuckles turned white.

"Hah! Maybe you really were a horrible friend. Have you thought about that you might be the reason he's dead?" He laughed, obviously enjoying the way he was toying with my feelings.

"...you have no idea..." I mumbled, as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

"Maybe you should be the one sitting in this chair - tied up and wearing this stupid cap on your head. Hehe."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, before walking around him once again and turning so he could see me. See the real me... one last time. "I will. Soon."

"W-what do you mean with that? And why are you also wearing that ridiculous cap?" He asked. His tone in voice once again becoming panicked and anxious.

"You see. The reason why I'm so pale is because I spend so much time at home playing with my inventions and devices. Coding is one of my favorite things to do. And for the last few months I've relentlessly been working on creating this device we're both wearing right now. It was originally only meant to be used on you, recoding the patterns in your brain into loving Gavin as much as he loved you. While also erasing all of your bad traits and turning you into his ideal boyfriend... but there's no reason for that anymore, is there? So, I upgraded it into 2.0, which can now be used with two people."

"P-pff... yeah right... and what does this new version do then?"

"It can transfer the consciousness between two human brains. Even recoding the brain into believing the new consciousness have always been in control of its own body. All the memories, habits, and even muscle memory will be easily accessible to the new permanent owner." I explained, as I began fiddling with a machine by our side. The nodes on our caps lit up.

"Permanent?! Wait a minute. Let's say all of this freaky sci-fi stuff is actually real, what's going to happen to my consciousness?" Andrew asked, as he began to get more anxious by the beeping sound of the nodes on his head.

"All gone. Overwritten by mine. Erased out of existence with no way of restoring it." I answered nonchalantly. Flicking the last switched around, the device was now ready to be activated.

"What the fuck! Then you're basically killing me?! Get me out of here, you sick freak!" He began violently thrashing against the back of the chair, and flung his head around to get the latex cap off... but to no avail.

"Am I really though? Your memories, your body, and your relationships will all still be here, under my complete control. I'm just... discarding a small part of you that's no longer necessary."

"No...no... Help! HELP! SOMEONE!! THIS CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER IS GOING TO KILL ME!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, but the soundproofed walls would do him no good.

I flicked the final switch and walked over to him as the machine began buzzing. Standing in front of him, I suddenly sat down on his lap and grabbed hold of his face. I stared into his fearful yet piercing blue eyes and slid my hands across the cheeks and contours of his face.

"This beautiful face of yours that Gavin loved, I promise I'll take good care of it and cherish it until the day I die. It's the least I can do to honor my friend Gavin." I leaned forward and gently laid a kiss on his sweaty forehead, while holding him in place as he screamed for all he was worth.

"No! Noo! NOoO-Uoogguuughhhh" His scream turned into a gurgle as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. At the same time, my eyes went white and hazy as my pastry body slumped over and fell on the cement floor. Most likely cracked open its head or something from the sound of it.

"NgOOuoouughhgguuuhh!!!" Andrew's head flung back and forth as if to fight whatever was invading his head, but it barely took a minute before the thrashing suddenly stopped and his head slumped down.

His eyes were closed, his face flushed red from exertion, and the sweat and drool pooled down onto his expensive shorts. A further five minutes of stillness and blinking nodes passed before any activity was seen.

---

*Gasp*

I awoke to the cap on my head giving me a quick electric shock. In front of me laid my old withered body, lifeless and without a doubt stone dead. My throat felt dry and tired, and the ties on my arms hurt like hell. In fact, everything felt, looked, and smelt different. The smell oozing from my sweaty clothes that once smelt great now stunk in my nose. I could recall from Andrew's memories that he showered atleast twice a day. I showered atleast twice a day.

After some fiddling with the special knots in my back, I easily slipped the rope off. Massaging the sore parts on my wrist, I soon relished in how big and strong my new hands looked now. Hands who should've been holding Gavin's...

I explored further up till I reached my new bulging biceps. Squeezing them I felt how firm and taut they were. I never in a million years would have managed to get myself this big, but here I was, standing in the body of a perfect specimen. The body of the man who my friend loved, but who didn't truly love him back. If only I could've done this before Gavin died... Would he have loved me instead, or would he have hated me for what I had done? Well, atleast he would've been alive.

My focus went to my Andrew face, as I caressed the blemish-free skin and the small stubble forming on it. The face of the man I had hated for a while, the face of the man whose identity I would have to take over, and the face I would see in the mirror for as long as I breathed. It was one of the most handsome faces I've ever laid my eyes on no doubt, so I'm perfectly fine with that decision.

My hands continued to explore what was now mine; running fingers through my lush but wet hair, following the outline of my cobblestone abs, and shaking my strong and muscular legs awake from sitting too long.

Not long after I finally slipped the drool and sweat-soaked shorts off myself and watched as the tool between my legs arose to its new owner. It might not have been as long as my former one, but the very girth of it made up for it. As I enveloped it between my palms, I realized that no one had ever been as intimate with Andrew's tool as I was now, and no one would ever be. Not even Gavin would if he was somehow resurrected. Only I, Andrew would ever know how this throbbing member would feel in my own hands, the endorphins and pleasure its touch would send throughout my amazing body, and the ultimate earth-shattering orgasms I would experience as I edge myself to climax every day from now on.

The very thought of it immediately brought me to the brink of orgasm, so I quickly spread my legs apart and thrust the member fully through my grasp. It was all that was needed as I suddenly began shaking with pleasure and exploded shot after shot of Andrew seed all over the floor, myself and my former lifeless body."Ugh! Uuuugh! UUUuOOGggHH!!"

“.... Holy shit.....” I moaned, slightly shocked by the unfamiliarity of the new voice coming from my throat.

Reeling from my first ever orgasm in my new body and life, I sat back down on the chair and took a breather. I was sweaty, my crotch sticky, and my armpits stunk. Yet, I know I still looked glorious. How couldn't I? After all, I am Andrew. The man who Gavin loved, and who loved him back just as much, if not even more...

I will dedicate this new life of mine to worship and care for this body just as much as Gavin would have. His legacy, Andrew's body and life, and my consciousness have finally become one... and I promise I will carry them with pride and confidence to the grave... even if it is the only thing I will accomplish in this short insignificant life of mine.

#possession #revenge #selflove #love #dark #permanent #identity theft #mine

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kkyujikoo · 3 years

Text

These are my... 2...? Maybe 50, cents about the whole "freejk" thing. I'm gonna be extremely petty and at some points a whole lot sarcastic and it's gonna be long but I had to say it. As soon as I get my computer I'm gonna make it under read more, but the app does whatever it wants, as we know.

Listen, this ain't my first fan rodeo, and not even the first fan rodeo where I've been directly or indirectly accused of being some sort of pervert or delulu. I've been in fandom spaces since I was a teen, I was shipping mlm couples when queerbaiting in TV shows was still something that was seen as the norm rather than some cheap disgusting trick. I was there when fanfic spaces saw "slash" fics as something "different" and to be tagged with a more mature rating even when they just looked at each other.

I was in BBC's Sherlock's fandom and I shipped Johnlock during the hiatus between S3 and S4, at this point I'm not even feeling it when people call me delulu or a weirdo.

So, yeah, take this with a grain of salt: as a person who has seen thousands of times fandom drama unfolding and has lived too much of it... This whole situation is so ridiculous it makes me laugh. Like, yeah, it's maddening how people will blame anyone and everyone because they don't even see their own bias and homophobia, granted, but like... It also makes me laugh for the sheer dumbassery of the reasoning behind it all?

Like... Y'all are getting mad and for what? Because it sure as hell isn't the invasion of privacy, since y'all are watching the same content we're all watching and you're paying to see it the same way everyone else is. If you don't want to "invade their privacy", you should just... Stop watching content that isn't their music videos, RUN episodes or interviews. Memories and any kind of dvd/video that shows what they're doing behind the scenes shouldn't be part of their job as musicians, and therefore we're intruding in their privacy... Or aren't we?

Or maybe it's more nuanced than that: maybe the content they release on dvd/on their official channels is part of their job as entertainers, and it's been approved, and it's a small window THEY are granting us.

You know what's the REAL invasion of privacy and what REALLY invalidates someone autonomy? When you, who maybe aren't even paying to see that content (which is something I understand, like, dude, I'm not covered in money either), DEMAND what kind of behind the scenes content you want when I swear ABSOLUTELY NO ONE has asked you. Once again: you don't like it? You think it's some huge invasion of privacy? Don't buy it. Don't interact with it. Convince your friends to do the same. For all I care, just go and petition to boycott this kind of content. I know you won't do it, because... That's the thing, isn't it? It's not the invasion of privacy that bothers these people.

Y'all aren't mad because we get into their business or else you would have gotten real mad when we were privy to REAL private moments like people crying their hearts out.

No, no. Y'all are mad because it's "shipping content" and "fanservice" which apparently bothers you because it lacks authenticity.

Pick a side, lovelies: either you DON'T want to invade their privacy, and thus all the content they release should be focused on what fans want to see, or you WANT to know how they interact TRULY in private.

And here's the catch: "shipping content" can be anything. Shipping existed WAAAAAYYY before the word for it was invented, same way with fanfictions. Shipping means, literally, "seeing two (or more) people interact and thinking they would make a good romantic pair". That's it. That's quite literally it. Everything else is just some nuance of the concept of shipping, but at its core, it's nearly impossible to ban all shipping content when it's a group of seven people, because they should for real go in social distancing mode to do so. Most people who have parasocial relationships tend to have "ships" whether they know it or not, because we've all, at least once, looked at a dynamic from the outside and thought "oh man they look cute together". So, even if, o dear ones, your wishes were granted... What the hell do you mean by "shipping" content? Should they just film solo clips, avoiding talking about the other members? But wouldn't that be fanservice, since it's focused on pleasing the fans? (Which, ultimately, is what fanservice MEANS, and I hate to break it to y'all but the whole concept behind entertainment and thus all the content BTS releases it's... For the fans. Like, they're not going out of their way to just meet our expectations but they're certainly doing fanservice by the mere act of releasing bonus content.)

But it's not even quite that, is it? Because no one bats an eye if it's Tae kissing Nj's cheek. I've seen no hashtag against everyone - and I mean literally every one of them - wolf whistling at Nj. It's okay to show intimacy... Because they're bandmates and it's okay to be close to someone who you see basically 24/7, I hear you. And it's also okay when people see that and gush over that closeness, because it's such a nice thing to see.

Soooooo... We've got to free JK from whom exactly? From what?

Are y'all mad cause people pointed out there's very little way a bruise that stayed for a whole ass night could be a quick bite? Because that doesn't harm jk, at most makes fun of him and jimin and their poor excuses (seriously, guys, next time consider using mosquitoes or "I was doing stuff". It'll be equally embarrassing but at least the meme will be funny), and it's literally... A fair observation. Like. It's a hickey, people are gonna make jokes about seeing a hickey and poor excuses of covering it up in the exact same way they're gonna make jokes over jimin falling out of chairs. And yeah, a hickey is AT LEAST something that happens in a sensual context. Like, I could understand "people who are extremely familiar with each other will have different body language/touch in areas where usually you wouldn't see friends touching each other", but that's not. Not a hand on the thigh. It's a hickey on the neck. I don't even know a more stereotypical placing for a hickey. But once again, are y'all mad because someone is pointing it out? Because that's not being delulu or even being a shipper, really, it's just commenting on something that was approved to be shown and discussed in something that was released BY THEM.

Are y'all mad at hybe for showing something that literally fell onto their hands? Cause like, unless someone (I'm counting on Jimin, since as we know Jungkook was busy spinning him round and round and had both his hands busy) called at hybe headquarters to say "yo bang pd substitute, is it okay if I give my friend jk here a hickey? Cause he's being really annoying rn and he has to pay", I highly doubt anyone expected Jungkook to come to rehearsal all neatly marked up. Or idk, maybe someone at hybe asked them "we need Jungkook to come in with a hickey but refuse to say it's a hickey, so that fans will feel reeeeally served." That sounds perfectly plausible too. Or a good marketing strategy.

Now, if you're a big company and your objective is to have some footage of the rehearsals for a concert, and the fandom is too good at noticing stuff for their own good, and one of your artists comes in with a very visible mark, and he and his bff bropal4lyfe come n with a story about how they were playing and a bite happened, you've got three choices: 1. Cut the artist out of aaaaalll the footage. Someone would have noticed the "bite mark" anyway, you best believe that. If you don't want anyone to notice it, you gotta cut him in most of the footage where it's visible. 2. Keep the hickey, discard the explanations. You could do that, but also it would feel a lot more unfaithful to everyone involved. Also they clearly worked their ass off to invent an explanation, come on! They truly tried to do their best inventing something that was not "it's a mosquito bite", they should get some credit! 3. Keep the bite, keep the explanation.

Notice how none of these solutions include the biting never happening because... They couldn't prevent it? The only thing they have any control over is how they're framing each "accident". And that's not an easy job.

I applaud you, people on the editing team.

So... On whom should we cast the blame now? Ah, yes, I think it's finally time for the ultimate scapegoat of this fandom: Jimin. Which is funny, cause... You know... If this were really about privacy, or being "victims" of shipping... This should be about freeing him too, you know? But obviously Jimin does it for attention, while Jungkook, poor angel that he is, doesn't even know what shipping is.

Furthermore, don't we all know how much Jimin imposes himself in Jungkook's life? To the point where he, multimillionaire man feels compelled to share a car with Jimin even if they're both late in the process. And can't you see how uncomfortable he is, draping himself over Jimin, making Jimin drap himself over him?

Oh lordy, truly such an awful eight years Jungkook spent, choosing to have vacations with someone who made him uncomfortable, spending free time with him, even having to suck his ear in public to the point you can see his saliva just because Jimin was sad :( truly an all-around bad time for Jungkook, as evidenced by alllll those times when he said Jimin was pretty, cute, and all-around knowing every little thing about Jimin. I absolutely concur, the dude would be so much more happy if jimin was not in his life.

Did that sound weird and absolutely ridiculous and a really absurd joke? Because that's what y'all sound like to me. Like. Jungkook is out there living his best life, getting hickeys and showered in affection and y'all paint him as a fucking martyr??? I'm sure he's really truly desperate that Jimin holds him in such high regards 😭😭😭 I can see him suffering whenever he starts doing his own serendipity rendition 😭😭 and when he claimed you are me, I am you as his and Jimin's only 😭😭😭 I cannot believe this poor baby 😭😭😭

I've reached a point where every time I hear this stuff I laugh because the levels of twisting reality when it comes to jikook are extraordinary, Jungkook will have a literally blissed out face and people will cry in outrage.

But coming back to my point: let's pretend you're not mad at Jimin and the possibility that jikook are dating: are y'all mad... At the hickey? Because at this point it seems like the only feasible solution. And if you are, do not worry: I'm sure Jungkook's skin was throughly healed by his boo. A kiss soothes even the worst pain, doesn't it?

#jikook #that freejk dumbassery

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

The more I think about it, the more “Find Me” feels like an echo of “Ghosts.”

Allow me to explain. In probably the most rambling and incoherent way possible, lol. My earlier post on Twitter about Season 10 being an exercise in grief and longing really got me to thinking. Not just thinking. Ruminating.

Anywho.

Posting the rest of this beneath a cut because nobody asked for this (I swear I haven’t imbibed or ingested any illegal substances).

It doesn’t take long for Carol to be established as an unreliable narrator in “Ghosts.” At first it isn’t completely obvious because there’s just enough fact in the fiction that Carol’s triggered brain stirs up. Daryl’s there and he’s concerned about her. He’s supportive. Both things he’d been before, especially since Henry’s death, but there are just enough elements in those chemically and grief induced hallucinations of hers that make you go--oh wait a minute. Like she’s having a break from reality but she’s desperately grasping for that which grounds her and that’s Daryl.

Am I making any sense here? I feel like I’m not.

Let me approach this from another angle.

Following the airing of “Find Me” various people mentioned that Daryl, similarly to Carol in “Ghosts” wasn’t exactly the most reliable narrator. That things weren’t necessarily as they seemed. The word toxic was bandied about but other than Leah giving Daryl an ultimatum to choose her over his family and Daryl dwelling in deep, longstanding depression? There wasn’t much else overtly deserving of that moniker.

Argh. I’m still not explaining myself well. Let me just jump right in the deep end of probable delusion here. Sometimes it’s fun to splash around, lol.

Wouldn’t it be wild—sad AF but still wild—if Leah was already dead when Daryl met her?

Bear with me here.

Like Carol in “Ghosts” Daryl is obviously struggling. He’s grief-stricken. His brother is lost to him and after he betrayed him no less. His close friend is mired in her own grief--she’s just lost her mate, probably recently discovered she was carrying RJ, and it wasn’t too long before that they had all lost Carl. And that’s not even considering Carol, who’s allowed herself to be pulled away, lured by the tantalizing chance of doing things right this time. Of rearing a child capable of surviving in the harsh world they live in. Another thing to remember is Daryl is not that far removed from his torture at Negan’s hands. So he’s more fragile than he’d willingly admit to anyone.

He’s searching the woods for a man that isn’t there. Now he’s no more aware that Rick was taken than the rest of Team Family, but he’s unwilling to give up hope and so he searches and because Rick’s not there and hasn’t been since shortly after that bridge blew up, Daryl’s doomed to always come up empty. To always feel disappointment. To never have his grief assuaged because as long as there’s no body in the form of a Walker, there’s still hope. Or plausible denial. Take your pick.

He’s tireless in his search. He’s methodical. He plots out the places he’s already scoured on a hand-drawn map. A map that just so happens to get ruined by an awful storm and Daryl seems to reach his breaking point, screaming out into the roar of that storm. Walking through the barrage, the harsh rain and the violent lightning, unconcerned for his safety.

Dude has a bit of a mental break. He’s undeniably emotional.

It’s not long after that he stumbles upon Dog. Or, more aptly, Dog stumbles upon him.

That puppy immediately lightens Daryl’s heavy heart and helping it find its way home gives him purpose. He’s a tracker after all. He could have easily traced Dog’s steps back to that cabin.

Funny that Dog was always coming to him. That he was roaming free in woods that were full of hidden dangers.

I don’t know about the rest of ya’ll but that cabin looked abandoned when Daryl first discovered it. Maybe not long abandoned, but it didn’t look inhabited by the living. And that’s the weird thing. How did that Walker get into the cabin? Did Leah just leave the door wide open for it? Did she also leave the door wide open for Dog to escape? Why was he always such an unaccompanied furry minor?

The thoughts swirling around in my brain, lovelies. They’re going to force me to go back and watch that fucking episode again aren’t they?

My point is that Dog essentially leads Daryl to the cabin. The Walker’s inside and then he stumbles upon Leah, who bursts onto the scene like she wants to be Sarah Connor or something. Daryl ends up in restraints and Leah questions him and ultimately lets him go and WTF, lovelies. Who does that in the ZA? As a woman all alone in a cabin miles from anybody else, in the company of a man she doesn’t know from Adam? If ever there’s a time to have stranger danger...

Right from the start, this chick doesn’t really add up.

So Daryl leaves the cabin. He resumes his search for Rick and he seems to give very little thought to this Leah or the cabin. Until Dog finds him again.

Strange isn’t it that he keeps stumbling back in her path around the times that Carol visits, when she draws further and further from his reach and closer to the fairytale he thinks she’s living at the Kingdom?

Did Daryl ever go to that cabin without following Dog? I can’t remember. The episode was beautifully shot but ultimately too painful to rewatch for my Caryl loving heart.

Anywho.

When Daryl and Carol come upon that cabin in the woods, Daryl’s flashbacks begin. They’re hazy around the edges and not as clearly defined as the moments he spends with Carol. Speaking of the moments he spends with Carol, how coincidinky that so many of them echo his moments with Leah? Or do we have it all backwards? Hmm?

Things are so convoluted sometimes on this fucking show it leads one to question their sanity.

Let me ramble out a few wild thoughts for you lovelies again and you tell me if I’ve completely lost it, lol.

What if Dog was simply an orphaned, abandoned Dog that found Daryl in the woods?

What if Daryl followed the trail Dog had traveled in reverse and stumbled upon the cabin?

What if the cabin was abandoned because Leah was already dead? What if she’d taken her own life? What if Daryl saw the cross/grave outside and the picture inside and his grief-stricken brain conjured up a whole tragic story for this woman, this Walker roaming around inside this house, and she became his coping mechanism? You know. Kind of like Rick did Lori when he had his own break with reality. They’ve all suffered so much, lovelies. They’ve all got PTSD. It’s just manifesting in different ways.

I mean, all of this would fit the label of sad that NR and others have given this little tale. It would even fit toxic because Daryl let grief and loneliness swallow him for a while.

As Carol pulls farther away from him, Leah just keeps popping up more and more.

Daryl essentially loses himself in his own fairy tale only it’s a nightmare painted in soft colors and Leah��asking him to choose is basically his own psyche saying to him “do you wanna live here in this fantasy land and numb your pain or do you want to relive the awful reality of Rick being lost and Carol slowly fading from your life day by day?” And at first he’s like, you can’t make me make that choice because Daryl doesn’t want to give up hope, no matter how futile it seems. But then Carol makes what she tells him might be her final visit for a while and anger leads Daryl right back to that fucking cabin and oblivion. Back to the solitude of his tortured thoughts.

That note, lovelies. It felt like by choosing Leah he was choosing a lifetime of being alone more than it did him choosing the hope of a new love. That “find me” for all the world felt like he was willing hope to find him again. Hope in the form of love in the form of Carol.

Listen. I never said this would make sense, lol.

When Daryl gets back to that cabin, Leah is gone. Her picture is gone.

Truly it felt like she’d never been there.

Even more so when you consider how run down the cabin looks in present day when Daryl and Carol seek shelter in it.

I can’t help it. Some small part of me? Well, it thinks that Daryl told Carol about Leah (whether she existed or not) as a way to both make her feel better than he wasn’t out there in those woods completely alone and to maybe move the needle a little bit on the nature of their own relationship. Both in the past and present day.

And while he and Carol are struggling through the ever-shifting nature of their feelings for each other, Daryl has climbed out of his own darkness and found hope again in Judith and RJ. In the family he’s embraced again. In the communities. And he’s angry and unsettled because he wants the same for Carol but she doesn’t seem to want that for herself.

He still wants her to find hope.

He still wants her to find him.

He still wants her to find love and peace.

Help me, lovelies. These two have broken me, lol. I promise. I’m stone cold sober. A little, okay a lot, tired.

Wouldn’t it be wild, though? If Leah really wasn’t what she seemed? If she were a figment of a broken, lonely man’s tortured imagination?

Undeniably sad AF but wild all the same.

#The Walking Dead #Shae's thinky thoughts #Caryl speculation #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #things that make me smile and cry #and giggle and giggle #for reasons

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

established relationship prompt: "Newton, darling, would you be a dear and eat my arse?"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMANN!!! obvious maybe but not sfw below the cut lmaoooo. WHEW I managed to finish by midnight!

------------------

Birthdays have never really been the sort of thing Hermann has cared much about. Growing up, they were largely uneventful and unexciting, mostly ignored (if not outright forgotten) by his family, and in adulthood mostly ignored and forgotten by Hermann himself. After all, it’s become rather difficult to look forward to the passing of another year when the odds are growing exponentially higher humanity won’t live to see another, and equally difficult to celebrate the extension of one’s life when so many others have been lost. The very notion makes Hermann feel guilty. For those reasons Hermann has never marked his birthday down on a calendar in his time at the Shatterdome in any capacity, nor has he verbally acknowledged it to anyone. Certainly not to Newton.

It makes the hand-drawn card and small cake he finds on his desk the morning of June 9th all the more surprising. He does not need to read the card to know who the gifts are from. Newton’s distinctive handwriting and little crayon-doodled kaijus aside, Newton is quite obviously watching Hermann over his workbench for his reactions as Hermann inspects the cake. “How did you know?” Hermann finally says.

Newton feigns looking up at him in surprise. “Know what?” he says.

Hermann waves the card. “That it’s my,” he pauses, then continues, his mouth curling down with distaste at the word, “birthday?”

“Lucky guess,” Newton says. Hermann taps his finger impatiently on his cane, and Newton begins to tug off his work gloves with an eye roll. “Okay, I maaaaybe snooped through some of your employee records a little while back. But it was for totally valid reasons, dude. Relationship status, number one, birthday number two. How else was I gonna know all the important shit about you?”

“You could’ve asked,” Hermann says. He supposes this must’ve occurred right before Newton approached him in the laboratory a few months ago and asked him if he’d like to have sex. Hermann didn’t regret saying no at the time, and he still doesn’t, really, but he should’ve known Newton would be the…sentimental sort. Too affection-starved to let their convenient arrangement remain just that. At least he hasn’t thrown Hermann a party. “Besides. Did it ever occur to you I was keeping such things private for a reason?”

“You keep everything private,” Newton says. “I don’t even know your favorite color.”

“Most people don’t,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, but, you’re not—” Newton shakes his head, and lowers his voice, “—sleeping with most people. I mean, maybe you are, I don’t know, do whatever you want, man. I just mean—I want to know shit about you. Like your birthday. Since we’re—yeah.”

“I see.” Hermann sniffs. “Well. How terribly considerate of you.”

The sarcasm is unfortunately lost on Newton; he merely preens, and grins at Hermann, happy even to accept the smallest inkling of a compliment. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, what do you want to do tonight?”

Hermann expects he will do what he always does tonight, which is work late, eat dinner (usually cold by the time he clocks out) late, shower (also cold by the time he clocks out), and then go to bed. Though he supposes he’ll have to figure out what to do with the absurd little cake by then, as he doesn’t have a refrigerator in his bunk in which to store it. “Nothing much, I imagine,” he says.

“Really?” Newton says. “I was thinking we could wrap up early and head out somewhere fun for dinner. I was Googling cool places nearby that haven’t been, like, destroyed by kaiju yet. Or we could just get drinks. Or I also have drinks back in my room, and we could order pizza or something, so we don’t have to go out at all.”

“We?” Hermann says. Of course, Hermann ought to have known that sentimentality would also dictate he and Newton spend Hermann’s birthday together. All on account of a few, er, stress-relieving and completely emotionless liaisons every now and then. None of Hermann’s previous sexual partners (a rare handful, but existent nonetheless) have ever insisted on spending his birthday with him, and they’ve certainly never bought Hermann a card or cake, either. It would feel far too—well—intimate. What Hermann would only expect from a long-term partner. It’s really rather presumptuous of Newton to assume Hermann has any interest in celebrating with him. “Newton, really, it’s not—”

“Or we don’t have to have dinner at all,” Newton says quickly. “You could come over, and we can just…”

Do what they typically do when Hermann goes to Newton’s bunk, he expects. Hermann clears his throat. “You really have done quite enough for me already today,” he says. "I don't think—well—" He fidgets, scraping his cane across the floor, glancing back down at the cake and card. Newton has clearly handmade the cake as well: the frosting is colored a rather eye-searing shade of blue, layered on messily, and the Happy Birthday Hermann! written in yellow across it is cramped at the end, as if Newton did a poor job of space management. It is rather sweet of him. Hermann finds his heart softening just a bit towards his odd lab partner. "Oh, alright," he says, and Newton perks up happily. "But I'd rather not do anything too, er, fancy for dinner."

"Ha!" Newton says. "Awesome! Come over at six?"

Six means that Hermann will have to leave the laboratory no later than fifty-thirty if he wishes to shower and prepare himself for any sort of activity that may arise between them while they sit alone in Newton's bunk. Five-fifteen, if Hermann is being realistic, as he knows he will spend at least twenty minutes fussing over his appearance (wondering if he ought to shave away the few almost-clear pieces of stubble on his chin, smoothing back his hair, critically eyeing up his bony chest) as he always does upon the evenings when Newton invites him over. Hermann would like to protest and remind Newton that he does need to get some work done, but he really can't find it in himself, especially not when he knows Newton will put up a fuss and try to argue Hermann out of it anyway. "Six," Hermann agrees. He supposes he could use an early night in. Besides, it might be nice to treat his birthday as something special this year.

-------

Hermann arrives at Newton's bunk promptly at six. In lieu of dinner, which Hermann did not really expect they would be having, Newton (stripped down to a faded pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt) leads Hermann over to his bed, sets his cane aside, lays him on his back, and begins to kiss him before either of them exchange a single word. It's rather more gently than Hermann is used to from Newton. Their liaisons are typically of the fast and rough sort, spurned on by fierce arguments and a need to outdo each other in everything, even sex. He can't say gentle doesn't feel nice. "What do you want to do?" Newton mumbles against his mouth.

"Do?" Hermann says. Are they not already doing something?

As Newton begins to kiss and stroke his fingers across Hermann's neck, Hermann finds his gaze wandering to the cinderblock ceiling of Newton's bunk. Everything feels rather nice and hazy. Newton's skin is warm and still slightly damp from a shower of his own, and each time Hermann inhales, he is nearly overwhelmed by the strong scent of Newton's body wash, unique, as far as Hermann knows, to only him on the Shatterdome base. Newton scorns the standard PPDC-issued kind, claiming that it irritates his skin, and so orders his own online once every few months. A funny little habit of his. Hermann is far less picky. "You're the birthday boy," Newton says. He flicks open Hermann's top button and nips at his collarbone. "Do you want to fuck me tonight? Or I could fuck you?" He speaks in short bursts, sentences stolen between pecks to Hermann's lips and punctuated by further nips to Hermann's throat. "I know we've only done it those ways a few times. But it's, like, a special occasion. And we have lots of time. I got new lube. Just in case. It got good reviews online?"

Hermann shivers pleasantly each time Newton says fuck. Newton's voice is far from sensual, Hermann must admit, but he is bold in voicing those sorts of desires in a way Hermann could never hope to be, and so it affects him as if Newton had purred the words. He secretly loves how crass Newton can be in bed—begging Hermann to fuck him harder, telling Hermann how much he loves fucking him, gripping at Hermann's hair and whining fuck, fuck, fuck while Hermann works his mouth over Newton as best he can. Hermann is not sure what he wants, and he's not sure what he wants from Newton tonight, either. "I don't know," he confesses. Newton kisses his mouth again, pressing his tongue in clumsily, and Hermann's eyelids flutter, the ceiling growing hazy. "Newton," he groans.

Newton's breaths are coming out in short, excited pants, and his fingers fumble over the next button on Hermann's shirt. Hermann suddenly feels foolish for changing into a fresh shirt and pair of slacks after his shower and not just his pajamas as Newton has. Foolish, and impatient with himself. It'll take Newton longer to strip him down to his bare skin.

"If you don't want to do all that I could just jerk us off a little," Newton says. He inches his hand down to the front of Hermann's slacks, rubbing against Hermann's zipper as clumsily as he'd kissed him. It's far too rough and graceless to be truly arousing, but it's Newton doing it to him, so Hermann pushes into his palm anyway. He feels Newton smile against his skin. "Or anything. Seriously. I wanna, like, make you feel good."

At once Hermann knows what he wants, and the need for it seizes him so tightly that he flushes brilliantly and bites down on his lip to keep from blurting it out and making a fool of himself. (It would hardly be healthy for Newton's already inflated ego if he knew just how badly Hermann wants him.) Newton has done it for him only two or three—well, three or four—times before, and each time has left Hermann an incoherent, trembling wreck upon the sheets. And no one does it to him the way Newton does; their arrangement is not technically monogamous, as that would require an admission of deeper feelings which neither of them are willing to make (and which are entirely nonexistent on Hermann's part), but Hermann has long since stopped seeking sex from anyone but Newton after a disappointing experience with a handsome j-tech who simply had no idea how to use his mouth effectively. Hermann likes to think Newton's is more skilled for the sheer fact that he never stops running it. "Newton," he says, falsely calm, stammering only slightly when Newton gropes at the length of his prick through his layers. "Newton, would you—would you be a dear, and eat my arse? Of course," he adds in a rush, "if it's too much trouble, don't—"

"Dude, of course," Newton says, smiling down so sweetly at Hermann that Hermann's heart twists in his chest. "No problem. I have the extra pillows in my closet, lemme get them." He slips to his feet, but hesitates. "Do you want to me finish—I mean, like, your shirt, and your pants, and—"

"I can do it," Hermann says.

Newton nods, and stumbles over to his closet to dig around for the spare pillows while Hermann makes fast work of his clothing. He finds himself strangely unwilling to part with his undershirt tonight. Not out of any lack of desire for Newton to see him naked, but rather out of a strange bashfulness at the idea of being fully on display for him. Which is really quite silly of Hermann. Newton has seen him naked countless times, both in his own bed and in the laboratory decontamination shower after some (Newton-induced) accident or another. It is only when Newton returns with the pillows that Hermann finally tosses the undershirt to the floor with the rest of his clothing. He's embarrassed to see his pink flush spreading down his bare chest, and hopes Newton does not notice it. What on Earth is wrong with him tonight? "You look hot," Newton says, sweeping his eyes up and down Hermann's body. He's still wearing his glasses. "Um. Pillows?"

"Yes," Hermann says.

Newton arranges the pillows in the way he and Hermann typically do when they engage in this particular activity, with enough support beneath Hermann's lower back, left hip, and left knee that he won't strain himself. As he parts Hermann's thighs and kneels between them, Hermann suddenly wishes that he was laying on his stomach instead. He does not want to watch Newton, nor does he want Newton to be able to watch him, for he feels twice as aroused and twice as overwhelmed tonight and he's sure neither will help that; the idea of falling apart under Newton's gaze is so tremendously mortifying that he almost asks Newton to turn him over. But then Newton is pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, and dragging his marvelous tongue across the sensitive skin there, behind Hermann's prick... "Oh, Newton," Hermann gasps, and Newton gently tucks Hermann's right leg over his shoulder, "oh, yes, Newton—"

He hides his whimpers behind his left hand as Newton licks and mouths at him hungrily, and fists his right hand in Newton's hair when Newton curls the tip of his tongue and begins to tease at him. "More," Hermann begs, breathless, pressing himself down on Newton's tongue to feel as much of it as he possibly can. His prick is stiff against his stomach. Newton laughs, and Hermann feels it vibrate within him. "Ah—more, please—"

"Uh-huh," Newton says. His glasses are fogging and crooked on his nose, and when he nods they slip down a centimeter. His tongue prods more insistently at Hermann, almost (but not quite) hard enough to breach into him, and Hermann bites down on his knuckles to contain another whimper. Newton hasn't even put a single bloody finger in him yet, and Hermann needs to calm himself down if he wishes to last until he does.

Then Newton sucks at him, moaning, and (his back arching, his eyelids fluttering) Hermann finds himself unable to hold off any longer. He squeezes his thighs on either side of Newton's head and cries out, "Newton—"

Newton swoops up to catch his release in his waiting mouth and swallows it all down. He presses a kiss to Hermann's inner thigh as Hermann trembles and shakes, and Hermann feels rather than hears him mumble something into his skin he can't quite make out. He follows it with another kiss, sweeter than the last, before crawling back up and dropping next to Hermann on the mattress. He watches Hermann catch his breath with soft eyes. "Please," Hermann says when he finds himself able. His voice is terrifically hoarse. "Let me—for you—" He gestures vaguely at the front of Newton's boxers and hopes Newton understands what he means.

But Newton shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. I know how lazy you get after you finish."

Hermann feels as if he ought to be affronted, but Newton says it with such obvious affection, and strokes his fingers through Hermann's sweat-damp hair so soothingly Hermann can do nothing but lean in to his touch happily. And Newton is not wrong, really. Hermann's eyelids are already beginning to droop. He imagines he'll be dozing any minute now. Newton winds an arm around his shoulders and draws him closer, and Hermann nearly shivers from the warmth his body exudes. "Thank you," Hermann murmurs. He's about to lay his head on Newton's shoulder and allow himself to doze when he realizes he ought to ask for permission first. Newton may still wish to go out to the mess hall and eat dinner, after all, and he may not want Hermann hanging around here. "Er—I don't suppose you would consider letting me sleep here? Only for tonight."

"Of course, dude," Newton says. "Not just tonight, any time you want. Seriously. I'm kinda—well, nevermind." He presses a kiss to Hermann's temple, and Hermann does not find out what he kind of is. "Happy birthday."

"Mm," Hermann says, shutting his eyes.

Newton strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #not sfw /////#HAPPY BDAY HERMANNNNNN

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

for @magellan-88!

When Hawkins’ class of ‘85 graduated high school, Billy was the first to take off, halfway back to San Francisco before the caps even touched the ground.

Everyone gave hats off to him for being one of the few who’d ever make it out of the dying ghost town that was Hawkins, but as much as he hated that place and all its confines, he felt like he had left behind a lot.

The job wasn’t what he really wanted to do anyways, his house, when he was still staying there, was cramped, and after only a couple of months, the town had no sentimental value to him. The only thing he couldn’t help but feel bad about ditching, and that amounted to a whole lot of regret on his part, were the people.

Not the girls who swooned over him or the half made friendships he’d been neglecting since they formed anyways either, but he had his little sister, to whom he promised he’d drop everything and come back the second she said the word, and he also had Steve.

His relationship with Steve was a little blurrier, the two of them had gotten to the point of calling each other friends just after Christmas, best friends by the time Neil kicked Billy out for nothing but turning the big one-eight in april, and he was left crashing on the Harrington’s designer couch until he was free to leave Hawkins.

That’s where Steve would’ve ended the story at least, but as for Billy, he’d fallen ass over tits in love for his best friend in a matter of a smoldering gaze at a Halloween party.

Of all the many things he regrets about his short time in that cramped little town, he’d have to say the biggest was not having worked up the courage to fess up about his little crush before he skipped town to live it up more than two thousand miles away, mostly because that had been the only of his mistake he never took any time to resolve.

So it was that when Steve, apparently completely forgetting about the existence of time zones, calls him up at five in the morning to ask if he could come out to visit his new place in the golden state in a few weeks, Billy senses a pretty big opportunity.

What Steve had always done when Billy was staying at his place was cover the couch in the upstairs foyer, as he was made to call it, in layers of spare pillows and blankets, making it up like a bed for him. If he could, he would’ve let him have the guest bedroom, but that was out of the question when every other night that Steve’s parents were home, they argued and John had to take the spare.

But Billy doesn’t have a spare room, and he isn’t too sure about doing the same for Steve in his new apartment.

The problem isn’t that he can't, he has a brand new couch, bought from an actual furniture store instead of an old busted up one at thrift (or that he brought in off the curb and said was bought at thrift) and it’s even got a pull out to make things easier. He’d spent too many dozens of nights on Steve’s couch, staring up at the way high ceiling and wishing he had the guts to make a move, that he doesn’t think his yearning heart can take being just down the hall from him again, especially not with the promise that in a few weeks time, there’d be that vast, looming space between them again.

So he’s settled on it, Steve is going to sleep in his bed. He’s just gotta find a way to get him there, and that’s simple enough, he just has to pretend there’s nowhere else for him to sleep.

Now, he’ll admit that his plan on selling that idea is shaky at best, but Steve is bone tired when he gets there a few days later, his first time flying and dealing with jet lag taking everything he has out of him, so really, he’s looking to crash as soon as they get up to Billy’s apartment.

Only, he notices immediately that the couch isn’t set up like a bed like he usually would have done it up, and he looks to Billy with a slight tilt of his head, confusion in those big puppy-dog eyes.

So Billy answers, trying not to be too smug about it, “Sorry man, couch is out of the question.”

“Why?” Steve asks, then thinks better of it, knowing Billy’s history, “Actually, hold that thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

That makes Billy laugh, makes him remember why he fell in love with Steve in the first place too, “Nothing gross this time, s’just brand new. Can’t have you drooling all over the furniture that cost me two months of rent.”

“Right. So.. where am I going to sleep then?”

“I’ve got a bed, Steve.”

“Well duh, but I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re not the only one with a queen sized now. I got room for two.”

“But.. is that going to be weird?” Steve asks, shifting on his feet, like the suggestion makes him uncomfortable, and Billy almost backs out then, lies about how he was just messing around to test Steve, but he sticks to his guns, saying, “Only if you make it weird. Don’t have much of a choice anyhow, unless you want to sleep in the bathtub.”

Steve insists on arguing though, “What’s wrong with sleeping on the floor?”

“Dude, this is a shitty ass apartment. I live here and I don’t even know half of the nasty shit that’s been on this floor.”

“Fine, just as long as I have a place to sleep.” Steve half-mumbles, cut off by a yawn, obviously too tired to keep pressing the issue.

He saunters off to Billy’s room not too long after that, not even changing out of his clothes before he’s throwing himself face down in his bed, leaving Billy to do his entire nighttime routine while Steve makes himself right at home, assuming that after brushing his teeth and putting his hair up, changing out of his jeans and triple checking that the doors and windows were locked tight, that’d be enough time for Steve to fall asleep.

That however, does not happen to be the case.

Billy knew from sleeping just down the hall from Steve’s bedroom that he snored like a motherfucker, and from the times he had fallen asleep on the basketball bus after a game that Steve never stopped moving in his sleep, but he was truly not prepared for how difficult it was for Steve to get to sleep in the first place.

He understands it, he remembers how hard it had been trying to relax in the silence that surrounded the country, and since that was all Steve was used to, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the sounds of the city were hard for him to tune out and just sleep.

What he doesn’t understand is how Steve doesn’t wear himself out tossing and turning, and after at least an hour of it, Billy’s got to wonder if this is a princess and the pea type situation, some messed up spring in his mattress making this arrangement not proper for the royalty at his side.

Billy can tell he wants to talk, from the way he keeps feeling Steve’s eyes on his back, the tapping of his fingers against the headboard, which, if they got to talking he might not even need part two of his plan, but Steve doesn’t ever say anything just sighs with every chime on the clock, another hour he can’t get to sleep.

It isn’t until three in the morning rolls around that Steve finally conks out, Billy himself still barely awake enough to shoot his shot, draping himself over Steve and pulling him close before he has a chance to roll over onto his front again, falling asleep with his crush in his arms.

~~~~

The sun’s not up yet, and the clock’s too blurry to say exactly what time it is when Steve wakes up again, realizing after a few minutes that he’s hot as hell, and didn’t immediately start tossing and turning again, which, once he’s actually woken up enough to think, he discovers that the only reason that is is because Billy is pressed against his back, his arm thrown over his side, spooning him and basically keeping him held there in place.

Steve at first tries not to think about it, the whole, sleeping in the same bed as the person he deliberately never did that with to avoid facing his feeling, and just get comfortable with Billy all cuddled up to him, but he’s a front sleeper, and Billy is fucking hot in more ways than one, so when it’s evident that’s not going to work, he clears his throat, announcing into the silence, “You’re smotherin’ me, Bill.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him, like Billy had just woken up, and a soft little hum of a question, “Hm?”

“You’re like, on top of me, man.” Steve informs him, like he didn’t notice he was half laying on him, but Billy answers bluntly, voice all tired and scratchy, “Don’t care.”

That sort of confuses Steve. He’d been expecting an apology, for Billy to roll over and them to pretend this never happened in the morning, and it’s got his mind, and his heart, racing a mile a minute, because Billy isn’t the only one with a helpless crush, there’s a reason Steve flew 2,000 miles just to see him.

So he asks, before he can lead himself on, “Just to be clear, is this an accidental thing that only isn’t awkward because we’re friends or is this like, meaningful?”

Billy just hums, pulling him even closer, making Steve feel small, “Go to sleep, Steven.”

“Okay.” He tries to, shoving his arm under the pillows and shifting under Billy’s weight so he’d be comfortable enough, but it’s just nagging at his lovesick brain, “But seriously man, I don’t know what I should take away from this.”

Billy sighs softly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, maybe because he was tired, maybe because Steve was being Steve, “Look, you’re in my bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because of the couch, I thought you were just a cuddler or something.”

“Nope. This was all by design.”

“So then the couch..”

“Was perfectly fine, yeah. Damn thing even has a fold out.”

“You did this on purpose?”

“Thought I made that pretty obvious.”

Steve pouts, sitting up so Billy has to let go of him, “Well if you’re so annoyed with me, I’ll just leave you to get back to sleep.”

“Oh no. It’s much too late for that. I’m thinking we’re going to have to find another way to spend the time now. And, well, since you’re already here...”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #ej writer #story by ej!#this took ages and I’m really very sorry about that #I hit a huge writers block because of school stress and stuff #but it’s here! and other requests will be being written too!#as well as new chapters on my fics!#basically this is your sign that I’m being productive again!

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uhthor · 2 years

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This is completely unprompted but when I was younger the only two marvel super-heroes I knew were spider-man and the hulk. Everyone else was from dc. (Not that I was aware that there were comic book companies but w/e). I didn’t know Thor or Iron Man or Black Widow or Cap or Black Panther or anyone else lol. Obviously I was familiar with spider-man because of Tobey’s movies and it being superpopular with kids my age. However I was really familiar with the hulk too. His face was kind of everywhere that was related to fitness. And in commercials for “manly” things like cars and axe deodorant. There was (and still is lol) a famous football player nicknamed after the hulk because of how big he is. And it was my dream to go to the incredible hulk ride at universal studios bc every kid that got to go would come back bragging about it. And despite not reading comics, he kinda terrified me lol bc I was familiar enough with his story to know that he was a normal looking dude that would completely lose it from time to time. I’m saying this bc there was a time when the hulk was the second most popular marvel hero and I’d say he was in the top five most well known super-heroes (by the general public outside of America). He left an impression on people. So it baffles me how little marvel has explored this character. With each movie they let him fall further and further into the background. They completely stripped him from everything that made him interesting and turned him into a supporting character in everyone else’s story. I mean they had Ed Norton and then Mark Ruffalo who are both top tier actors and did nothing with it. The only time he got to shine was in the first Avengers and that was it. It really blows my mind lol. Like I can’t comprehend why they didn’t make better use of this character. He probably has the richest comic book history out of all the Avengers, second only to cap (bc he exists since literally WW2). So much stuff to work with and they did nothing? I don’t get it lol

omg hi anon i’m sorry this reply is so late!!

ALLLLL OF THIS!!!! bruce is so interesting and he gets paid DUST!!!!!

the hulk ride at universal omg…. i went there when i was 11 and was so excited to go on it only to be too terrified when i arrived and saw it irl 😭

i think one of the reasons that he’s fallen into the background is because a) marvel don’t know what to do with him and haven’t found a writer who does b) don’t have access to a lot of his material because he is still technically property of sony and c) moving him over to the mcu and recasting him wouldn’t have helped (even though i much prefer mark as bruce)

we need a dark and gritty origin movie for him in mcu canon. on a similar level of dark and mysterious as MoM was because i feel like bruce definitely would fit that kind of vibe in an origin story. i mean that line in A1 when he admitted to trying to take his own life…. fury, steve and tony just IGNORED that? they asked a mentally unstable man to relive his traumas over and over again in order to fight battles he didn’t even want to in the first place…

i say it all the time but it’s true: ragnarok is the ONLY exploration of bruce where we truly see his inner conflict and relationship with hulk - they work out their differences and we see both sides of their stories and bruce actually comes to terms with hulk being there and them trying to work together which is especially huge after the absolute shitshow he went through in AoU where he was terrified to live in case he hurt people. even that deserved more of an arc really, one that could’ve taken us to an even darker side of bruce and find him on rock bottom ready to work on himself and his relationship with hulk/hulk and the public.

i wish he would’ve gotten the treatment marc spector got. i wish they’d have known each other if i’m honest because they are the only ones that may be able to support and understand each other. and while i’m so glad we got the rep we did with how they handled marc’s character, i wanted that for bruce, too :(

#liv answers #anonymous #whoa this is long when it wasn’t meant to be oops #anyway i love bruce #and i don’t think this all makes sense? but hey ho #bruce banner

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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(WLW anon) I really don’t like the “bad rep is better then none at all”. I hate that. We should want good rep, because bad rep has been used time and time again by homophobes as to say we shouldn’t get representation. To me it’s not “gay can have the same flaws as het”, it’s “fix the flaws in the het”. Also I know Renora being independent was a good, I was just saying in comparison BB. Also, yes, they were separated, but also didn’t stop thinking about each other. Especially bad with Yang.

Indulge me for a moment because I want to take a trip down memory lane and list some—just some—of the queer rep that has been important to me over the years:

Ellen comes out both as herself and as her character… years later, she’s a hated millionaire who is criticized for how she treats her staff

The wildly influential Buffy gives us two women entering a loving relationship… except then Tara is killed off, Willow goes evil for a time, and Buffy comes under fire for Joss Whedon’s everything

The beloved and respectable headmaster of one of the most popular book series ever published is revealed to be gay… except it doesn’t count because it wasn’t in the text and now all of Harry Potter is cancelled because JKR is transphobic

Kurt is an unambiguously gay teen in a hugely popular TV series, acting as one of the first overt representations a generation has seen… except he’s way too stereotypical and Glee is a joke now

Orange is the New Black gives us a number of queer women, including one of our first trans characters… but isn’t it problematic that they’re all criminals?

Brooklyn Nine-Nine hosts an out gay captain and gives us a bisexual coming out story that resonated with many, myself included… except now we’re supposed to hate all the characters on principle because they’re cops

Korra and Asami walk off into the spiritual sunset together… but they never kiss or anything, so that doesn’t count either

Steven Universe gives us a queer relationship and a wedding… but it’s an issue that this is just a kid’s show and, really, does it count when the rep is embodied by space rocks whose entire species only creates a single gender? Feels like a cop-out

Same with Good Omens. Yeah, Crowley and Aziraphale clearly love each other… but you never see them kiss or declare their intentions. It’s great ace rep though! Unless you want to level the criticism that asexual characters are always nonhuman

A character intended to be a minor guest becomes a show staple and eventually declares his love for one of the two main characters… except then Castiel immediately dies, Dean doesn’t respond, and they never meet on screen again

I finished Queen’s Gambit the other day and the main character had a one-night stand with a woman! … but everyone is talking about how bisexuality is used to represent her lowest point, so that’s bad too

I could go on for literal pages. Some of these arguments I agree with (Dumbledore), others I’ve pushed back against quite strongly (Crowley and Aziraphale), but all of them are valid criticisms depending on what part of the queer community you’re in and what your expectations are. My point here is that it’s all “bad rep.” I mean that seriously. If anyone reading this is scrambling for the comment section to say why [insert media title here] is actually fantastic rep, I guarantee that someone disagrees. Or if they don’t, give it some time. Just wait until the characterization becomes offensively outdated, or another part of the story ruins the relationship, or it comes out that the author did something truly horrific, or the terminology changes and it’s labeled as “problematic” now… just wait. At some point, any rep we feel is good rep now will be criticized, cancelled, and dragged through the mud. The rep that I personally haven’t seen much push-back against—like the beloved Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who, or Schitts Creek that just won a ton of awards—is wrapped up in the criticism, “So it’s all just about able-bodied, cis, (mostly) white dudes, huh? :/” Even the argument that queer characters need to be written by queer authors doesn’t hold up. I absolutely adored Sense8. “Wow, a gay main character in a loving relationship with another gay man, both of whom enter a loving poly relationship with a woman, another lesbian trans main character who marries the love of her life on screen, an entire cast arguably queer due to them sharing orgy scenes centered around the emotional intimacy they share, everyone survives, and this was written by two trans women! Great, right?” Well, not according to the wealth of opinions explaining how Sense8 is horrible rep, actually. Every piece of rep we’ve got is either currently flawed or will become flawed in the future.

So what do we do with that?

That’s where my “I’d rather have bad rep than no rep at all” comes in. For me, that’s not waving the white flag. That’s not an oath that I won’t expect better rep in the future (I do) or that I won’t criticize the rep we get (BOY DO I), but rather just an acknowledgement of reality. The vast majority—if not the entirety—of rep is “bad rep” in one way or another, but I’d still rather have it than nothing at all. Because I’ve lived just long enough and studied media just enough to know what nothing looked like. It was watching all queer characters meet untimely deaths. Before that it was watching queer characters be derided and treated as jokes. Before that it was nothing but coding, where queer characters didn’t exist except in our own headcanons and interpretations. Obviously “bad rep” covers a very large range of issues and “They haven’t even confirmed this relationship yet” is a bigger issue than “This queer character embodies one or two, mild stereotypes,” but ultimately I’d take any of it over nothing at all. And enjoying what we’ve currently got doesn’t mean I’m willing to settle for it indefinitely.

To use an iffy analogy, imagine there’s a factory. This factory makes plates. So. Many. Plates. Big plates, small plates, plain plates, decorative plates, plates for every possible occasion in your life—and everyone with a steak for dinner is pleased as punch. You though? You’ve got soup. You need a bowl. Your entire life you’ve been struggling to eat your soup off a plate (it doesn’t work) and listening to friends and family claim that the plate with a slightly raised edge could be a bowl if you squint (it’s not). To say it’s frustrating is an understatement.

But then, one day, the factory starts producing bowls too. Hurray! Except as soon as you get your hands on one, you’re told you really shouldn’t be using it, let alone praising it. Look at the state of that bowl! It’s cracked right down the middle, ugly as hell, shoddily made all around… you’re not really going to settle for that, are you? And no, you obviously still want the factory to produce better bowls, but at the same time, this is a bowl. You’ve never gotten one before and you can finally enjoy your meal, even if the soup leaks at times. Sometimes a lot. But you’re still feeling better about your meal than you ever have before. And what you then begin to realize is that lots of the plates are a mess too. They also have cracks, they’re also ugly, many are also shoddily made. The difference is that the factory is producing so many plates at such a rapid pace that every steak eater is able to get by. One plate breaks completely? You’ve got a thousand fallbacks. Don’t like the look of this one? A thousand other options. You disagree about what “shoddily made” means? Luckily there are enough plates that everyone can find what they prefer! But the bowls… there’s only a few. Some are really expensive. Others are only available for a limited time before they suddenly disappear. Your bowl breaks and you have to wait months, years sometimes, to get another one. You’re constantly told to go buy this one obscure bowl no one else has heard about and yeah, you like it... but you’d also like to buy one of the bowls everyone is already enjoying. You find yourself looking at the plates and thinking, “I’d like that. I’d like to have so many options that the flaws, while still a problem, are much more bearable.” You’re still going to demand that the factory get its shit together, you’re still going to (rightly) complain about the awful quality of your bowl… but it’s still nice to have a bowl, period. There are still things you like about it, even if it’s a mess: the color, the size, the beauty of the shape of it. Its potential. You’re still pleased you have something to enjoy and that helps serve the need you’re looking to fill, even if that something is imperfect.

That’s “bad rep is better than no rep.” To bring this very long response back to Blake/Yang, I don’t think their problems negate their benefits. Is their relationship currently non-canonical and filled with a number of writing issues everyone has a right to be angry about? Yup. I express that anger a great deal. Are they still half of a team on a very popular show that is (presumably) set to be canonized as queer? Yup. I’d much rather live in a world where big shows like RWBY try to include queer rep and fail in a multitude of ways—with the expectation and hope that they’ll continue to improve—rather than in a world where authors a) don’t care or b) are too scared to try. Because that’s where a “good rep or no rep” stance leads. The danger isn’t homophobes because they’re, well, homophobes. It doesn’t matter if the rep is good or not, they hate it on principle. But if queer authors writing for other queer identities, or allies writing queer identities, or even queer authors writing their own experiences (like in Sense8) continually come under non-stop fire for their attempts… there’s a good chance that many people won’t ever try. We’re already seeing that here on tumblr with young authors admitting that they wouldn’t touch [insert topic here] with a ten-foot pole because just look at what happens when you get it wrong. And authors will get things wrong because authors are fallible people forever unlearning their own ignorance. So though it might sound strange coming from a blog that has turned into such a RWBY critical space, I am glad that RWBY’s queer rep exists, despite all the frustrations that I share about it. I think a RWBY with various types of “bad” queer rep is better than a RWBY with no queer rep at all, particularly when “bad” or “good” is so intensely subjective. There’s a middle ground between passively accepting whatever we’re given, and tearing into rep with such ferocity that we end up rejecting it all. There’s a space where we can be critical of rep and embrace the parts that work for us, simultaneously.

I hope and expect the het rep will get better too, but… that’s never going to happen instantly. To quote RWBY, there’s no magic wand we can wave to fix all our problems. Rather, it will take slow, plodding, meandering, lifetimes’ worth of work to see that change occur and I personally don’t want to spend the one life I have waiting for that perfect rep to show up. Because it’s unlikely that it will. While we work, I’d rather find the good in what rep we’ve already got.

#rwby #queer #mymetas #Anonymous

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inkykeiji · 4 years

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Hiiiiii ! Your bmb series is amazing! What is the relationship between Dabi and Tomura outside of y/n world? Dabi seems to not care if he gives Tomura an attitude, which scares me! and Tomura notices Dabi's obvious attraction to y/n and hasn't really said anything (or tried to kill him) as he would to any other guys who tried to get with y/n!!! ahhh so many questions in my little head. okay love you bye

hello sweetpea!! <33 ah thank you so much!! oooh i love questions like these so thank you for sharing!!! let’s get into it under the cut!! <33

what is the relationship between dabi and tomura outside of y/n world?

great question!!! so much of this world exists just inside of my head + in my notebooks n sometimes i forget that you guys don’t have access to those and that i haven’t actually acknowledged these things ehehehe. okay, so in their organization, dabi’s fairly high up—honestly like, i’d even go as far to say that he’s essentially one of tomura’s right-hand men. to quote myself from a previous ask:

dabi, on the other hand, is their man on the street (ik i haven’t explained this yet, but dabi basically rules the streets, if there was a hierarchy for the dirty work the company does in the underworld + on the streets dabi would be right at the top. he’s the man in charge and had his own band of thugs etc etc, but that was before he was demoted to babysitting the reader of course!!)

so, because of this ^^ dabi has a bit more leeway than most of the people who work under tomura. the work dabi was doing on the streets wasn’t easy, nor was it pleasant, and tomura really does value him as a trusted uhhhh ‘employee’. he was, in the beginning at least, the person tomura trusted most. obviously, that trust will start to crumble as the story advances, but at the time of the inciting incident and when tomura needed someone to guard the most precious thing in his life, dabi was one of the prime candidates.

dabi definitely does give tomura more attitude than a regular employee would, and that’s definitely increased and become a little bolder since his realization that he loves reader, but he is still fairly careful with what he says and does. for example, at the end of bmb pt 2 when tomura goes to lunge for the reader and dabi catches his wrist, he also drops it just as fast at a mere glance from his boss. dabi still avoids his superior’s eyes the moment he enters the penthouse after the kiss, and in pt 1, dabi still does what he’s told and apologizes to the reader. heck in part one tomura deadass decks the dude in the face and dabi just takes it because (not only does he deserve it but) that’s his mf boss, and he has no choice. he knows fighting back equals an instant death sentence. tomura still has all of that power and still instills fear in dabi (tho ovb dabi would never admit this lmao). dabi’s attitude is more than anything just a part of who he is as a character, but he knows tomura’s limits—he knows what he can get away with and what he can’t, and he is still, for the most part, cautious of what he says (for now, at least!!!).

YES okay i had a similar question about tomura noticing dabi’s attraction to reader a long long loooong time ago, and there are a few reasons why he hasn’t exactly done anything about it yet. the first, is that he truly doesn’t want to believe that there’s something budding there. he’s been throwing himself into his work to avoid having to deal with that potential, because it’s just too painful for him to think about. he doesn’t want it to be true, so he’s kind of coping by ignoring everything.

the second reason is that, obviously, dabi is still the best person to be protecting his baby. as much as he wishes it weren’t true, he can’t lie to himself, and dabi having feelings for the reader only makes this more true, because now he’s even more protective of her, actually cares about her and her well-being etc.

aaaah i hope this helps clear some things up!!! thank you so much for your ask ehehehe i truly love discussing this stuff with you all, sorry this ask got a lil long!! ily too!! <33333

#aaaaah anon ur so sweet!!!!#i hope you have a lovely day bb <333 #and stay safe pls!!#feel free to come back n ask whatever u'd like to about bmb!!!#OOH THAT REMINDS ME I STILL GOTTA MAKE THAT DAMN POLL #sweet anon 🥺#clari gets mail #bmb universe

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ariyadaivaris · 3 years

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i am putting this one under the cut. it’s a little too much to have out in the open, haha

i've been kind of expecting to have to write something like this for awhile. i mean, Nothing Lasts Forever, obviously, and this being primarily about 205, we've always been on the edge of it ending just because it's 205. so, i've always had the idea of what the end of this thing that holds a disproportionate amount of meaning to me would look like in the back of my mind. and it's been fizzling out for a bit. there's been some time to prepare. not that i HAVE prepared, but there's been some time to.

i don't really need to say 205 is important to me. it is! it's important to me in a way that is incredibly pathetic and strange. even after withdrawing somewhat, after losing enthusiasm and becoming a bit too paranoid to settle into enjoyment, after deciding to not say every thought that crosses my mind about the cruiserweights (which is still like, 90% of my brain activity, unfortunately), 205 has a hold on me like very few things have had. 205 is where i kind of sharpened my eye for characters and storytelling (and where i learned to see those things where they do not exist, lol), 205 is where i've met a lot of people who i consider sincerely very important to me, it is like... okay. listen. it's hard to say! because i feel like, this blog itself is kind of evidence of all i could say. i don't need to tell you that i like 205. you can see it, every week, in chunky paragraphs, whether you want to or not. it is something i hold dear. it is something that gave me friends when i was coming out of a nightmarish part of my life that damaged my ability to have friends at all. (a damage that persists.) it has given me something to hold on to when things are rough! it has given me a way to experience the range of human emotion in ways that are both painfully awfully real and shows in the theatre of fiction. it's...it's hard to state this. i'm very embarrassed to be sincere on the internet, and to express the full extent of my feelings on something, but 205 is like. a sort of bedrock in my life. it's. LISTEN it's important to me is what i'm saying here

i've spent the last five years thinking about 205 a LOT. specifically i've spent the last five years mostly trying to get back the feeling of the first two. which is sad, but that's wrestling, babey! it's a story like nothing i've ever experienced before, in good and shit ways. it's given me more of an appreciation for stories that drag things out to degrees you can't imagine, for stories that fuck up and disappear and falter. it has given me a lot of appreciation for wrestling as a whole, for what it can be when it's at its best, and for what it means to put your entire being into something when you know you're gonna lose, or fail, or go unseen entirely. for...for the work. the effort of things. it's really shaped my taste in things, i guess. always, always, always chasing that feeling i got seeing titus worldwide's story play out. or that feeling of tony preparing for that tournament match with drew and realizing that that story was never laid to rest. that feeling of cedric winning the title at mania and burying his face in mustafa's shoulder as soon as the bell rung. there's been a lot of disappointment, but it is hard for me to believe that it wasn't worth it, because there is nothing else like 205 when it's good. wrestling, generally, sure. but...205 is where i was first planted. it's where i've stayed. and i'm okay with that.

this isn't really anything, is it. i don't...think in coherent ways as much as i used to. my ability to hold a thread of thought has deteriorated. but. um. 205 is kind of over. it isn't LITERALLY over (though, without tony and ariya, i think maybe it's not that long until it will be), but the hope i've had of chasing the feeling of 2017 205 is officially dead. and it's a really weird place to be in. this has been, more or less, my life for the last five years. and it'll never be the same again. i've known for awhile that it was probably never going to be what i wanted again, and i've been trying to wrap my head around it for a bit. i think i'm kind of stubborn in this way! where, if you keep going and going and going, if you just hang on a little bit longer, then it'll be worth it. hope or sunk cost fallacy. who knows. but this is the door closing on all of that.

i can't say i'm upset that tony and ariya are leaving dubya! i think it's objectively a bad company and no amount of 205, good or not, is worth its continued existence. it sucks to lose a job, yeah, and with an employer that communicates as poorly as dubya, there's no way to get through the process unscathed. that sucks for the real people behind it, and regardless of my feelings about these two human dudes i know relatively little about besides playing some of my favorite characters that exist, i do hope they land on their feet. i am kind of relieved they're out of dubya, though. you know how it is. we've been through this before.

um. i'm probably not gonna watch 205 anymore. i've played with the idea before! but this is it. i have no reason to keep watching. i'll keep an eye on jiro, but i'm indifferent towards everything else it's doing, and i don't watch nxt on principle, so this is...kind of it for my engagement with the cruiserweight division as it exists canonically. christ that feels weird. if tony and ariya go somewhere else, i'll keep an eye out. my options for keeping up with wrestling are unfortunately pretty limited. i don't have the money to do it, usually, i don't know where the streams are, and i've mostly withdrawn from the Community so i don't know where i'd ask about other promotions, or if i'd be welcome. not anyone's fault! just how it is. i've met a lot of people i care about here, and i consider you all part of my life, but i mostly keep to myself. it's very lonely, but it's no one's fault but mine. i'm very bad at reaching out or keeping in touch. i want to. but i try to...maintain as little connection to the world around me as possible. just in case. there are a lot of friends i've made here that have stopped using this site, or that i've just lost touch with, or that i could have become closer with if i ever tried but i never had the guts for it. i have a lot of regrets about this. i'd like to talk to more of you one day. it's not like the door is closed entirely. i will hold out hope for this as well, though. it's what i do.

[later attempt to capture the feeling better: i hold 205 very dear to me. my biggest reason, i think, is that for a time before rabbit went down and i got in my own head, i was part of something. we were a community for a bit. a lot of 205's appeal, to me, was the camaraderie between people, this sense of everyone being connected and caring for each other even while feuding or struggling. and that was what existed as a fan of it. i was alone for a long time right before getting into 205, going through a very weird and bad relationship where nothing else existed outside of it and nothing of myself existed within it. and then, once i was back in the world, stranded and alone, i met a lot of people i consider my dearest friends through 205, people i still carry with me every day even if we don't talk for months, even if i avoid the possibility of getting too close now. suddenly, i was a part of the world again, and it was everything! it was...it was very special, to me. 205 has always been associated with that feeling in my head, that feeling of...i don't know exactly how to say it. the feeling of knowing you can come home now. it's something that dissolved a bit as everyone went their separate ways and as i kind of withdrew from the world again, it's CERTAINLY something that dissolved in 205, and i guess i've spent a lot of time chasing The Glory Days Of 205 Live Etc Etc because i miss it. no one's fault. just mine. maybe it won't be this way forever, though. i would like to think it won't. i want to be able to change.]

this is weird i don't really know how to say all of this, it feels both larger and smaller than it should, or than i thought it would. i'll still be here, this blog will still be up, i will still talk about wrestling and i will definitely be treating a lot of cruiserweights like my ocs, i was not joking about that. i have a very developed internal universe for 205 lol. quite embarrassing really! but. this is the end of something as well. the continued canon of 205, and my continued interest and hope in it. so. maybe i will rewatch it finally! having a set beginning and endpoint for it. 237 episodes, i think. which is a lot, but also doesn't account for all the matches there are to skip over or pretend don't exist lol. or maybe i will just sit with what there is and build from there. or maybe i will just keep it all to myself. i don't really know. i wasn't as ready to say goodbye as i thought i'd been.

um. man. i'll probably keep talking about it eventually, because i love the sound of my own voice, so this isn't really an end so much as a very long, clumsy, unnecessary rumination. but...well. i will miss 205, and i will miss experiencing it with everyone. i missed those things already. but i will miss them in a different way now. and we will all see what becomes of former 205 members, of wrestling, and of the people we are when we watch it together. i'll look forward to it. and i will see all of you around. thank you for staying this long, i hope some of my derangement has been fun to read about, or something you enjoyed or laughed at or thought about afterwards. i hope i've been a fun addition to the text, if nothing else! or a funny cringe compilation (the first funny cringe compilation to ever exist). either way. it's truly been an honor. thank you, thank you, thank you all. i love you very much. i’m not going anywhere and i will see you again, i promise you this. take care until then <3

#long post -

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elizabethvaughns · 3 years

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so i've been mulling over this for quite a bit now, so i might as well articulate my thoughts and get them out onto this blog. so i was just thinking: subjectively or objectively, which one is better? the if/then dc preview or the broadway production? long post (1750+ words), so i'm putting a read more break <3

now, objectively at the very least, i know i have to say it's the broadway production. why wouldn't it be? it's a lot more polished, it's...the final draft, of sorts, of the production. we all know the final draft is usually better than the rough draft. but here's the thing. when it comes to an artwork that has several different versions, one tends to gravitate toward the version they saw first and have a certain bias against all the other versions. if you saw the bway version first or the dc version first, you probably like that one more. now i'm not saying this bias is conscious by any means. absolutely not. however, when one falls in love with some media, in my case at least, they take it in over and over and over again. and then they get so used to that one thing that all other versions seem weird. i can pinpoint two non-if/then instances in my life where such a thing happened.

in the summer of 2018, i watched the RENT movie on netflix. now i was fully intending to listen to the obc soundtrack before watching the movie, but i never really got to it. anyways, that movie was like love at first...watch to me. oh man, i loved it so, so much. so i downloaded the soundtrack on my phone and, you guessed it, listened to it over and over and over and over again. one fine day, (about a few weeks after, actually) i realized i never actually had listened to the obc soundtrack. so i did. and it sounded...odd to say the very least. i mean, some of the voices were different, sometimes the lines were changed, all in all, a confusing experience. to say the least, if you asked me back then which version i preferred, i would've readily said the movie version. but now, three years in retrospect, i'm not so sure. the obc version is a lot more...complete, i like the vocals more, and i'm now salty that "christmas bells" as a song was cut. evidently, i like the obc version more(but i still love the movie version hell it's still one of my comfort movies).

in the fall of 2019, i listened to falsettos. i actually listened to both the obc and the 2016 revival cast recordings. i guess that lessened the bias a bit because i was exposed to both versions at about the same time. on the fateful date of 2 october 2019, i watched the falsettos revival proshot. that's when i truly fell in love with this musical. but, even so, my initial exposure was to both recordings so even though i had a slight bias toward the 2016 version, i still loved both of them.

now, back to if/then. i actually find it difficult to pinpoint where exactly my exposure to if/then started. was it the very first time i heard about it in 2018 when i read a very meta RENT fanfic on ff.net where elizabeth made an appearance and i thought "what the fuck"(pun very much intended)"is if/then" (psst if you find the fic could you please drop the link in the replies meta fic isn't really my shit but i want to reread it for nostalgia's sake)? or was it the very first time i listened to the obc recording in 2020? or was it the boot of a broadway production that i first saw on 13 march 2021? whichever one i pick, they all lead to the same conclusion: i naturally gravitated(and sometimes still do) toward the broadway production because it was the first version of if/then that i was exposed to.

now sometime in early april 2021 over my spring break, i watched a recording of the dc production. i knew beforehand that this production is a preview, after which some changes had been made, resulting in the broadway show. since those changes were obviously made to better the production, it would be a logical conclusion that the very presence of those changes entailed a...worse production (not considering the fact that the interpretation and the very liking of art is entirely subjective). one could say i entered the watching experience with an unconscious bias, of sorts.

from the very first note, i was caught off-guard. i didn't know they changed this much. when i watched the bway production, i was just enjoying it for all it was worth. but when i was watching the dc preview, i was comparing it constantly to its broadway counterpart. oh, david's shirt colour is different here. oh, anne's wearing a pantsuit instead of a dress(cute). oh, time for hey kid! oh wait no they put "the moment explodes" right here. also, i was just humming along to the songs, just mouthing along the lyrics(because i have them all memorized), and every now and then and getting thrown way off-track when the tune remained the same but the lyrics changed. most notably, in "walking by a wedding" and "you learn to live without". all in all, i had what one could consider negative opinions about the dc production because of that bias.

but then i watched it second time. a third time. a fourth, fifth, sixth time. and over that time, i fell more and more in love with that production. as i've said before, the interpretation of art is wholly subjective–what one may consider a shortcoming of a particular piece, another may consider a strength. let me take the placement of "the moment explodes", for example. in the dc production, it's before "some other me". therefore, the line "every friend i ever knew or thought i did" doesn't hit as hard because we don't know her situation with lucas yet. even so, "some other me" hits twice as hard because lucas is an even bigger asshole now. in comparison, however, "the moment explodes" is after "some other me" in bway as you all know. so the aforementioned line holds a much greater significance when compared to its dc counterpart. however, one could also consider that line (in the dc production) as a sort of foreshadowing for the reveal in "some other me" of the new normal of beth and lucas's friendship (or the lack thereof).

obviously, some changes were most definitely welcome, "this day" to be more specific. of course, there was that little reprising of "what if?" near the end of "this day" in the dc production which i really loved, but all in all, the mood of "this day" was much more fun and enthusiastic in bway as opposed to dc, which in my opinion is an excellent way to start an act. in contrast, some changes were...not as welcome. i don't know about you, but personally, i really enjoyed two cut scenes from "the story of jane"("no more wasted time" dc version). first, the scene where kate brings her kindergarteners to beth. it was fun to see higgs squirm. second, the scene where elena and beth's interaction parallels beth and stephen's in "map of new york". narrative-wise, i think that it is an incredibly important scene as we get to see two sort of boss-employee relationships mirrored to each other, only beth does it well as a boss (if that makes any sense). we see beth as passionate but still sort of hesitant in mony but she grows to be more self-assured by nmwt, and i think the aforementioned scene only cements that notion as beth takes on the role of mentor for elena. also, "the story of jane" was a really fun song and, as much as i love "no more wasted time", i wish it still contained elements of "story of jane". and while i did enjoy the reshuffling of "the moment explodes" such that it became clear when beth and lucas made up in the bway production, they were ultimately still...not talking during "you learn to live without. as a result, we miss that one scene from the dc production where lucas and kate attend beth's awards ceremony and shoo stephen. and need i talk about the lucas/david duet verse("you get that we're connected, / i feel like you get me") in "ain't no man manhattan"? honestly, i feel like dc anmm was, all in all, better than bway anmm–especially that one verse where lucas sings to this other dude about how everyone is connected(no, not the one to stephen, the one after that. the one that ends with "[something something] / who you helped get elected").

also the situations with stephen and with kate/anne in both timelines were relatively clearer in the dc production. even so, the actual distinguishing of the timelines was better in the bway production.

in conclusion, the relative merit of each production(broadway vs. dc) is really up to the interpretation of each viewer. scenes that may seem weak to one may be considered narratively important to another. both productions have their own merits and flaws.

to me, both productions are equally good. my previous assertion/assumption that the final draft is always better than the first is not necessarily true. some things that you think were actually pretty good get lost in the editing process. some other things that should've been cut (ahem ahem, kate's referrals to lucas with "she", ahem ahem, liz's "i don't believe in independents like i don't believe in bisexuals. pick a side" line) get left in there. art is subjective. the editing process is subjective. in the end, though, the only thing that matters is that you enjoy what you're watching and find personal fulfillment in it. and i do! for both of these productions. for both of the productions, i'm smiling all the way up to "here i go". i'm slightly saddened during "you don't need to love me". i'm empowered by "the story of jane"/"no more wasted time". i'm grinning in liz-verse all the way up to "i hate you". i feel like sobbing during "some other me". my throat clogs up when "i hate you" starts. i'm actually sobbing by the time "you learn to live without" ends.

...you get the gist of it. all in all, both of these productions are phenomenal and i'm grateful for their existence and to have been able to watch them in the year of our lord 2021.

i love this show so much i swear.

i talk a bit more comparing broadway and dc here.

my other ramblings essays:

if/then appreciation

"what if?" vs. "what if?(reprise)"

character analysis of lucas

#if/then #broadway vs dc production comparison

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drsilverfish · 5 years

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The Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of Despair - 15x09 The Trap

Hey everone,

I’m just catching up British time, as usual, and getting down my initial thoughts before I jump in and see what you’ve all been up to.

The much-anticipated Purgatory prayer episode - here we go!

First off - Chuck is a lying liar who lies, and also, how bad was his vamp Winchester bros script?! We know it’s a script, because he asks Sam - “So, what d’ya think?” writer-style, after AU!Bobby executes Vamp!Sam. I thought Bobo did great work here, distinguishing (for us) between his own writing and Chuck’s sucky (ha ha) vamp-Chesters ending. And oh boy, does Bobo torch the “Butch and Sundance going out together in blaze of glory” SPN scenario, because it’s one of Chuck’s shitty versions. I think we can rest assured we’re not gonna get that!

“All good things must come to an end,” Chuck says, holding up a scalpel in the Lucky (pink) Elephant (in the room, ahem Destiel) Casino. Bobo’s meta way of telling us that yes, of course, there is pain to be endured (by us) along the way, before our heroes get their freedom. Pain, because Supernatural, our favourite show, is ending.

I loved the double-structure of the episode, which balanced Sam and Eileen’s story with Dean and Cas’ story - past, present and future folded into one another; see-sawing between the twin axes of hope and despair.

The Triffid of Hope:

Isn’t this shot (and its symbolism) great? Dean is framed between the Purgatory-Triffid and the awesome three-eyed skull of a dead Leviathan (the “third eye”, in Indian spiritual traditions, symbolising higher self-knowledge).

Leviathan dude: “There’s a blossom, that grows out of the soil when we die.”

Ah-ha - I knew all the death symbolism in Michael’s God-locking spell had to mean something. It just didn’t happen the way I thought it would (Cas dying in Purgatory).

Instead, the Leviathan blossom is a monster-corpse feeding flower - it grows from death. And so it is a perfect metaphor for hope, linked to all the old vegetation Gods (like Osiris, like the myth of Persephone) as well as to those heroic underworld journeys, of Gilgamesh and Orpheus and Inanna which @prairiedust and I were talking about previously in relation to Purgatory 2.0. Because, from death, springs new life (just as Spring follows Winter) and from an underworld journey comes deeper self-knowledge and psychic growth (a la Jung).

On a meta level, this is Bobo’s message to us too - yes the show has to “die”, but who knows what new and wondrous things will be born from its “corpse”.

Dean was previously the one, of the two Winchester brothers, who’d lost hope as result of the “Welcome to the End” revelations about Chuck’s active machinations in their lives. Dean was the one who couldn’t figure out what was real especially his relationship with Cas:

Dean: “I can’t figure out what’s God and what’s real, and it’s driving me crazy” (15x06 Golden Time).

He was the one who’d said (as emphasised in this week’s re-cap): “It’s God, Sam... How the Hell are we supposed to fight God?” (15x05 Proverbs 17:3).

But, in Purgatory 2.0, Dean got his hope back.

Why?

We already know why, from watching Dean pivot from suicidal in 13x05 Advanced Thanatology, to happy cowboy cosplay in 13x06 Tombstone, as soon as he got Cas back from death. Cas is intimately tied to Dean’s sense of faith and hope.

And in Purgatory 2.0, Dean finally finds (some of) his words and gets his relationship with Cas back on track, and in so doing, he recovers that faith and hope.

Hence that shot of him lying between death (the Leviathan skull) and the Triffid of Hope. Because Dean’s underworld journey to Purgatory 2.0 brings clarity to hs heart, just as it did last time. In Purgatory 1.0, “It felt pure”; in Purgatory 1.0, Dean’s mission was, “Where’s the angel?” In Purgatory 1.0, Dean let himself love Cas again (as I’ve said before) without guilt, despite the things Godstiel/ Levi!Cas had done, to Sam, and to the world.

In Purgatory 2.0, Dean (just like Sam, in the parallel story) is on the clock. Time is ticking - the rift Michael opened is finite:

And so, in losing Cas for several frantic hours as the clock runs out, Dean finds clarity, just as he did before, and he prays (on his knees no less):

Dean: “Cas, whereever you are, it’s not too late. I should have stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go...”

And Dean cries as he prays, and there is absolutely no doubt, in those tears, and in that apology, that he loves Cas (although the text continues to embrace ambiguity as to the nature of that love).

Imagine - Dean must also be reliving the last time they were in Purgatory together, when Cas actively chose to stay behind, which broke Dean’s heart so much he re-wrote his own memory. In the land of monsters once more, Dean is, finally, terrified it’s all going to happen again (because he pushed Cas away this time).

As a romantic love-story, of course, it’s still subtext. The glass-closet still structures the narrative. We still get the plausible deniability “bromance” of; “Cas, you’re my best friend.”

And you know, it’s totally OK to feel disappointed, heart-sore, stricken or enraged about that. Nothing throws the heteronormativity of our world more into relief than watching Sam have a beautiful and tender kiss with Eileen (and I totally buy and love their relationship) when their love-story has had a tenth of the back-story and build-up that exists between Dean and Cas, whilst Dean and Cas get a hug (albeit a clearly very emotional one):

I think “queerbaiting” is, partly, a receiver-effect. Meaning, it’s partly subjective. So, some people may feel “queer-baited” by the show and others may not. It’s certainly perfectly legitimate to feel the pain of the closet, of almost-but-not-quite representation (and many queer fans have left the show over the years for that reason). The definition of “queerbaiting” however, is complex (and needs its own post).

For myself, I absolutely do feel the pain of the closet, but I don’t feel a sense of “bad faith” from the writers’ room (and I used to). I certainly trust in Bobo, whose first episode was that paean to break-up angst, 9x06 Heaven Can’t Wait, to be telling Dean and Cas’ love-story as truly, madly and deeply as he can, within the constraints imposed by TPTB (the fact that also happens to suit TPTB is another level we won’t get into here).

Because isn’t this the face of a man who had something else to say, when Cas cut him off with, “You don’t have to say it - I heard your prayer” ????

The Stop-Watch of Despair:

Chucks’ mission in 15x09 is to crush Sam’s hope, even as Dean is re-gaining his own hope in Purgatory.

Chuck does that in two ways. First, he makes Sam and Eileen doubt how much of their love story is real, as he tells them he nudged Eileen’s resurrection along and then used her (unwittingly) to spy on the Bunker.

When Eileen leaves Sam, at the end of the episode, she says: “After what happened, I don’t know what’s real anymore..”

Obviously, that is paralleled to Dean’s previous doubt about his relationship with Cas, which Cas answered expllicity in 15x02 Raising Hell (although Dean couldn’t take it in at the time):

Dean: “Nothing about our lives is real. Everything that we've lost, everything that we are is because of Chuck. So maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice. I can't.”

Castiel: “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

Sam plays Cas’ part (but it’s his own part too - I don’t want to reduce Sam and Eileen to mere parallels for Dean and Cas - their story is their own) when he kisses Eileen and says, “I know that was real,” (so, he’s able to hold onto a little hope, after all - go Sam!):

Second, Chuck makes Sam doubt the possibility of a happy ending, for the Winchesters, for the people they love, and, importantly, for the world. If they succeed in locking Chuck away, Chuck claims, Sam and Dean will die as vampires, and monsters will overrun the earth:

We can see here, that Metatron was right, in 11x20 Don’t Call Me Shurley, when he said to Chuck, of humanity: “They are your greatest creation because they're better than you are.”

Because Chuck manages to get to Sam, psychologically, only because Sam cares, with all his heart, about the fate of the world and all the people in it.

This is where the time-construction of the episode gets clever. Because, the future-Dean, who Sam sees, has lost hope again. And why? This is the face of a man who has locked Mark-of-Cain crazed Castiel in a Ma’lak box (and don’t forget S14 established the Ma’lak box as a closet metaphor):

And oh damn, we see Cas take on the Mark as part of the God-trapping spell in the “Trifffid of Hope” portion of the story. Does he still have it now, even though Chuck destroyed the spell?

Chuck shows Sam an (apparent) future in which the brother who raised him, has abandoned all hope, which is the true definition of Hell (”Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” - Dante’s Inferno) and that is the other psychological lever Chuck uses to get Sam to despair. His faith in Eileen is shaken, and his faith in Dean is shaken.

Chuck clearly admires Sam. He almost treats him as a worthy antagonist. He refers to him as “Promethean” and “heroic”, and, in a sense, perhaps he genuinely means it. But, of course, it’s also part of his ploy to destroy Sam’s hope. Prometheus, after all, got his liver eaten out by eagles on the regular, sent by the chief God of Olympus himself, Zeus (aka Chuck) for his pains.

Chuck (to Sam): “You still think you’re the hero of this story. You still think you can win.”

And Chuck succeeds (temporarily) in destroying Sam’s hope, by making him doubt the reality of his love with Eileen, and by making him doubt that his big brother will have the hope necessary to “Carry on my wayward sons,” in the future (all the more believable because Sam has, in fact, seen Dean lose hope before when he’s lost Cas).

But what changes, monumentally, at the end of the episode, is that Dean doesn’t blame Sam. He just says, “That’s good enough for me,” about Sam’s assertion he believed in the Chuck-in-the-Cage future Chuck showed him, and, “We’ll find another way.”

Dean brought the Leviathan blossom of hope back from Purgatory, and with it, deeper self-knowledge about how he has taken his feelings of helplessness out, as anger, against the people he loves best (Sam and Cas). This time, he doesn’t do that. For Team Free Will, once all together again, The Triffid of Hope wins out over The Stopwatch of Doom.

Just as it’s right, on a psychological level, that locking Chuck in a cage isn’t a viable solution - because external cages are metaphors for the prisons of the mind. Team Free Will’s heroic and metaphysical journey through the realms of the God-machine is also a journey towards emotional wholeness, and freedom from the psychological prisons of their past.

And so, to conclude, this episode (my favourite of Bobo’s since his first) is filled with love.... and love.

The Winchester brothers’ love for one another, we see, undoubtedly, in Sam’s narrative. But that’s also interesting, because again, Chuck misses Cas out of the story - and so ends up with a bros-only Butch and Sundance ending. And Bobo emphasises Chuck’s version is stuck in “toxic co-dependency” - because it’s the two of them, as Vampchesters, as monsters, going out together against the world - specifically against even their own friends, Bobby and Jodie. Now there’s a potent metaphor. By contrast, a healthy Sam and Dean relationship allows the loving presence of others.

And there we have it - the.. and love (precisely, the loving presence of others) in the love between Sam and Eileen (whose faith in that love, Chuck has deliberately shaken, for now) paralleled to the love between Dean and Cas (whose faith has been restored in Purgatory, for now).

Bobo clearly shows us that hope is the key to defeating Chuck, because it is only when Sam loses hope that Chuck is free of the God-wound.

And love is hope, because to love is to be hopeful - to be hopeful that you will be loved back, that love will endure, that a future with your loved ones is possible and so, worth fighting for.

Supernatural has always, always (as we all well know) been about the “power of love” (despite Dean’s doubt in 5x18 Point of No Return).

In the end both the Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of God-Time will converge, ending God-Time and granting true freedom for Chuck’s “characters”.

#Supernatural #15x09 #The Trap #SPN meta #Meta #Chuck Shurley #The Monster at the End of This Book #Sam x Eileen #Destiel #Still subtext #But subtext IS part of narrative #The great queerbaiting debate

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