#what-- is the problem that you struggle to hold on to me and keep track of me?

[snekdood]

personally, i dont see the fundamental difference between deleting your account and making a new one and deleting all your old posts, if we're talking about "running from ones past", then what are you tryna hide there, bud?

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[novy2sirius]

numerology notes v4

♩ ⋆⋆⋆ this all depends on all your numerical energies combined. energy can manifest different than these notes depending on your energies. these are isolated numerical energies

♩ ⋆⋆⋆ how to find your numbers

▹ try to keep track of dates that you meet new people on as these set up the energy of your relationship whether it be platonic, romantic, etc. similar to how everything that’s been created/formed has an astrology chart

▹ your month + day number can tell about how you come off to people similar to your ascendant sign in astrology. for example: if your month + day number reduces to 5 it can mean one of the first things people notice about you is how beautiful you are as well as your charm

▹ the name you’re known for most is your main name letterology energy. every word has numerical energy in it, but what you’re called the most, will affect you the most

▹ people born in the 2000’s are more sensitive and emotional than people born in the 1900’s since 2 is the number representing sensitivity and softness. this can be both good and bad because it means 2000’s people are more considerate of everyone’s feelings, but at the same time some can be too soft because of this

▹ 17’s are the smartest 8’s since their multiplication number is 7 - (1x7=7) - the main number of intelligence

▹ having a life path 5 is similar to having venus in the 1st house, having a life path 1 is similar to having mars in the 1st house, and having a life path 9 is similar to having neptune in the 1st house

▹ 28’s are the loners of the 1’s since their multiplication number is 7 - (2x8=16->1+6=7) - and 7 is the number representing loner energy

▹ do not hurt someone born under 9 energy because they have no problem holding a grudge against you and will do so for a very long time actually if you hurt them enough

▹ people born on may 25th often struggle with a lot of mental health issues unfortunately

▹ people born on january 1st are very masculine and confident, but still can be shy at the same time

▹ if you want me to post notes about your birthday or one of your numerical energies next time i do one of these, then comment it below

[mauvecherie-writes]

filthy: l.hamilton.

warning: 18+ mdni, extreme sexual content, slight dom!lewis, mating press, dirty talk, unprotected p in v.

notes: this gif set sent me and @hopefulromantic1 down a sinful path. our dark thoughts collided. Also I didn’t watch the episode lmao - a small section of this - paragraph 3 - is purely based on the gifs I’ve seen 😂. either way ennjjooyy 😘🤭.

I’m thinking about how you can’t get over just how buff Lewis got over the winter break. You love the way he just fills his t-shirts more, the way his thighs stretch the fabric of his pants - just how every inch of him seems to be bulging.

Just watching him do mundane things has you all hot and bothered. Like you’re in the living room watching his episode of DTS and you’re squirming in your seat as if he’s not somewhere in the house.

It’s the weirdest thing that sets you off. He’s by the track in his white tee, talking to the kids from Mission44 and he moves to clap his hands before swinging his arms. holy fuck. you’re creaming for your man.

You move so quickly off the sofa, you startle your sleepy boy Roscoe. You throw an apology to him before running to the security system and search the camera footage to see where he is.

He’s outside, fixing up the trampoline for the kids. You run to the backyard and for a moment you stop and just watch him. His arms flexing as he tightens the bolts on the legs.

When you catch his eye, he smiles at you. So bright and wide, his eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart beats faster causing you to blush.

“What’s up baby?” He asks you as he stands to his full height.

You don’t answer and in that moment Lewis sees the glint in your eye and he immediately knows where your heart is at. It makes him smirk.

“I have a problem.” You say as you tip-toe toward him.

“Tell me love.” He says, wiping his hands before taking your hand pulling you closer before he settles his large palms on your waist as yours wrap around his neck and you play with the strands at the back of his head.

“I see you on the show and you’re all buff and shit, muscles spilling out of your shirt and then I see you out here doing work.”

“Did that turn you on baby?” He licks his lips as he trails his hands down to your ass and cups your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You let out a breathless sigh as he massages your flesh.

“How do you want me to fix it sweetheart?”

You give an all knowing smile and next thing you know, he’s picking you up in his arms and running back into the house. You don’t even go all the way to the master bedroom.

He bulldozes his way into the guest bedroom downstairs and chucks you onto the bed like you weigh nothing before pulling at your clothes and barely stepping out of his before he’s back in between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet. Did I really do that to you sweet girl?” He smiles as he stretches his knees apart - pushing yours further apart too.

“Yes!” You gasp as you arch forward trying to press your cunt against this dick. “I’m also ovulating so that could be it too.” You confess.

Lewis grunts at your words as he presses into you. Once your eyes roll, he doesn’t hold back. He’s fucking you so good that you’re screaming and trying to run away from him. He’s deep in your guts as you struggle for words.

His shoulders and chest are folding you and pressing into you as you struggle for air.

“It’s t- too much baby.” You hiccup as his skin slaps against the back of thighs. His mark was all over your body despite the way that he has you folded. The contact bites at your skin from the ferocity of his thrusts.

He’s fucking you into the bed and crushing you until you’re gasping for air and he laughs at you - mocking you for how much you said you could take him but you’re clearly having trouble doing so.

You keep trying to run away.

You try to beg but he’s not having it, the laughter is gone from his voice - he’s serious again. Your legs are back on his shoulders and he’s got you in a mating press as he fucks you harder and harder into the bed.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going huh?” He hisses in your ear as he thrusts until you. “I’m fixing your problem aren’t I? This is what you wanted. Why you running?” He taunts you.

You cry louder as tears trail down your cheeks and settle into the crooks of your neck.

“This is what you wanted. Fucking take it!” He growls. “Take this fucking dick, it’s yours.”

ru’s letters 💌: I’m ending it here. Let your imagination run 😝😌

tags: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @lewisinlace @emjayewrites @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @felicity-x0 @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy

[reiderwriter]

Please Accept My Apology

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After three days spent trying to convince the BAU that they had made a mistake, Spencer Reid shows up at your door to offer his apology.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, smut 18+ minors dni, slight age gap, penetrative sex, squirting, fingering, dirty talk, name calling, degradation, hints of bdsm, implied creampie etc.

You can find my masterlist here and my 2024 song fic challenge here (don't forget to send song recommendations to my inbox!)

You never thought you'd ever see the inside of an interrogation room before this week. Now you didn't think you'd ever see the outside of it.

“Y/N, you're brother ran from law enforcement multiple times, if you know where he is you need to tell us or you'll be charged with accessory to murder and kidnapping after the fact. Is that what you want?”

“Of course it isn't what I want, but I already told you I can't fucking help you!”

You paced in the boxed room, feeling closed in and hot.

Your brother - your innocent brother - was the key suspect in a series of child abductions and murders, and as he'd ran from law enforcement multiple times, they'd dragged you into the police precinct to try to track him down.

For the last three days, you'd been stuck sitting at that table across from Doctor Spencer Reid, waiting for the worst news of your life, because you knew it was coming.

“He's not a murderer. He's mentally ill, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. I keep telling you that, why won't you believe me?”

“A lot of loved ones protest a suspect's innocence, right down to the last second.” You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from the depth of your chest.

“My brother is schizophrenic. He was violent before, sure, he had outbursts. But he has been monitoring his meds for the last three years perfectly. He has a job, he has a son. He would not hurt those kids.”

You had always looked up to your elder brother, even through the tough years.

He'd inherited both your fathers drinking problem and your mother's mental illness, each demon feeding the other until he had a breakdown at age 19.

You were only 17 yourself, but with no one else to hold him accountable, you'd been there. You'd checked him into a facility, you drove him to each of his doctor's appointments when he was clean. You'd been around for each sober anniversary, for each birthday and holiday and celebration that he'd made it one more year without falling into himself.

He'd reciprocated by being the most reliable man you knew. He helped put you through college when he was stable enough, he'd managed to work his way up in the ranks at his construction job. He had a beautiful wife (currently in another interrogation room with another agent) and the cutest little boy.

He'd promised you that your family struggles would end with the two of you. You'd promised each other to take care of each others families if anything happened to them in the future, and while you currently had no family to speak of, you sure as hell were going to make sure that your nephew never wanted for anything in his life.

Your brother wasn't a murderer, and you had proof enough.

“You know, you haven't asked me yet why I think he's innocent.” You took your seat again, and gathered your hands together on the table, leaning in closer to the agent in front of you.

You watched him think for a second, then mirror your pose, leaning in just as close, eyes locked with yours.

You'd talked about a lot of things these past three days, and you got the idea that he was a bit of a jackass. If not a jackass, then at least big-headed; he'd practically shouted his title of Doctor at you as he'd walked in, and made sure to correct you every time you'd called him agent or sir.

You kept doing it just to piss him off eventually.

“It's denial, Miss Y/L/N. You don't want to see the signs you'd ignored for that lingered, so you beg and protest and plead, hoping that eventually you'll turn out to be correct.” His voice was low, but you caught every word.

“While I am sure you know what you're talking about Agent Reid, that is not why I'm here still. I'm not being charged with a crime, and I've been here much longer than 24 hours. I'm free to go at any point, but I'm sticking around here, lawyer free, because I want to watch your face when you realise you'd been wrong this entire time.”

He shifted uncomfortably and you smiled, happy to get under his skin once again.

“Okay, Miss Y/L/N. What makes you so sure your brother is innocent?”

“Your profile.” His eyes slightly widened at that, and you basked in it, leaning back and waiting for him to take the bait as the tide turned in your conversation.

“We profiled that our unsub would be late 20s to early 30s, probably a family man who'd likely been abused as a child. The profile also suggested he may have had a psychotic break recently, likely as a result of coming off his meds. Your brother fits the profile, Y/N.”

He'd dug his own grave, and you were happy to see him getting ready to sleep in it too.

“No, he doesn't, Agent.”

A tense silence passed between you, and you knew his gaze was fixed on you. You let your eyes dart elsewhere, rolling down his body to his hands. They were totally still of course, but you could see how tense he was by the way he pushed them flat against the table, almost as if he were trying to ground himself, finding reassurance in the pressure.

“How does he not fit the profile?” His brows were knitted together, and his expression was one of annoyance now.

No matter how much you had shouted or let out your frustrations these past few days, he'd kept a placid look of sympathy plastered across his features. He hadn't listened, or even suggested he'd wanted to, assuming your brother was guilty.

Now he was annoyed, as if he had the right.

“Despite what your records supposedly tell you, my brother is not off his meds.”

“Miss Y/L/N, we know that your brother did not refill his prescription three months ago, and that he looked into some clinical trials in the metropolitan area and was rejected.”

“Congratulations for having 50% of the facts. My brother wasn't rejected from those trials, he withdrew because they changed the terms. They wanted to study my nephew as well to see if they could predict where hereditary cases of Schizophrenia would manifest.”

You leaned in again now, enjoying watching the thoughts rush through Spencer Reid's head once again.

“His health insurance had some issues after the withdrawal, so his prescription couldn't be filled until next week, but my brother always had six months of pills delivered.”

You watched the realisation come crashing down on the agent in front of you, though he was doing a good job of keeping himself out together.

It was time to end this conversation.

“To take part in the clinical trial, he needed to stop taking his regular medication for two weeks. Meaning he has two more weeks of his regular medication. I watched him take it Monday morning, right about when your second kidnapping occurred. My sister-in-law will confirm.”

He stood from his chair slowly and nodded at you, making his way to the door.

“And Agent Reid?” You said making sure to hold his attention one last time before he could leave. “If anything happens to my brother, I will hold you responsible.”

He slipped from the room without another word, and you relaxed into the chair, letting your eyes fall shut as you waited patiently.

Xxx

It was another week before your brother was totally cleared. He'd turned himself into law enforcement the same day you'd forced the BAU to reevaluate their profile, and both he and his wife had cracked up your story.

With nothing else to distract them, you'd been happily informed that they'd caught the actual perpetrator, and saved another victim.

You were back at home now, trying to relax, to get back on track.

You knew by the knock on the door that you weren't going to get back to your normal routine just yet.

“Agent Reid, I wasn't expecting you.” He was there at your door, and you had to brush off a wave of annoyance, forcing yourself not to slam the thing in his goddamn face.

“It's Doctor Reid. You know that, though.” He mumbled the words, jaw tense as he heaved out a sigh, trying to get to his point but being distracted by your prickly words.

“I came to talk. May I come inside?”

“We talked for three days straight, Doc. What else could we possibly need to discuss?” You made sure to block the door with your body, one arm resting on the doorframe as you leant across it, the other holding the door tightly next to you.

You thought he'd get the idea, tuck his tail between his legs, and swiftly leave you alone, but you were sadly mistaken.

Instead his eyes raked over your body as you put it on display, curiously exploring every inch you put in his eyeline.

“May I come in?” He repeated, eyes still trailing down your body. If it weren't for the heat building inside of you, you'd have slammed the door in his face. A moment's hesitation was all you got instead, as he locked eyes with you again, and you reluctantly moved an inch to the side.

You stayed there in the doorway even as he entered, his body brushing against yours almost intimately for the second, his hand faintly tracing over your hip as he stepped inside, watching you all the time.

Needing desperately to gain your composure back, you jumped into asking questions. “You're in now. What do you want?”

“I wanted to apologise.” He hadn't moved far into the apartment, and you realised aa soon as you turned away from locking the door, overestimating his distance. You spun right into his arms, one of his palms coming to your waist to steady you as the other steadied the two of you against the wall.

“And whatever would the wonderful Doctor Reid need to apologise for?”

Your words were venomous, but the heat in them rose from somewhere deeper than the acid in your stomach, somewhere more fiery than the burning sensation at the back of your throat.

“I'm trying to do the right thing here, Y/N.”

“After a week of doing the wrong thing, Spencer, I'm not sure you're fully capable of that.”

His brows furrowed as he pouted, and you hated his proximity, both too close and too far at the same time. You wanted to run him apart, and then delicately sew him back together.

“I was doing my job.”

“You almost got my brother killed.”

“I'm sorry.” He heaved out an exasperated breath with the words, body relaxing and pushing your back fully against the wall. His eyes widened, and you could tell that he hadn't meant to move you in that way, but you just stared at him still, eyes flicking down to his lips with every intrusive thought.

This was how close you needed him.

“I don't give a shit if you're sorry.” You meant the words to be harsh a warning, but you hadn't realised your heartbeat bursting from your throat, your breathy gasps for air making it sound more erotic than angry.

He blinked once, then twice, slowly as if he was a scientist observing an experiment, not wanting to take his eyes off of it until he was certain something wouldn't happen.

“You're enjoying this.”

“I'm not.”

“Your heart rate is at 127 bpm, your pupils are dilated, your breathing is shallow. You're enjoying this. Why?”

His hands didn't let up, even as he shot out his words, brows furrowing further as you resisted the urge to push him away.

It was more comfortable keeping him close.

“I told you I am not enjoying this. You're just too close.”

“So, you're having a physical reaction to me?” He asked, almost quizzically. You had expected to hear a triumphant smirk or something in his voice, but he seemed genuinely curious.

“For God's sake, Spencer, yes. Yes, you're close and it's making me uncomfortable. You spent three days making me feel uncomfortable, and now you've come back for round two, are you happy now?”

“You're not uncomfortable,” he shot out again, almost as if he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. “You're aroused.”

“Know it all.” He laughed at that, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks. You weren't sure what the hell was going on with your body, because you'd spent the week despising the man in front of you, but now a simple hand on your wrist and a laugh had you blushing like a schoolgirl.

“So what if I am aroused? You're touching me, you have me pinned against the wall, really this is your fault, Agent.”

“It's Doctor, but you can call me Spencer. Or you can go back to another colourful insult if you'd prefer?”

“You're pretty full of yourself, I thought you came to apologise.”

“I did, it's not exactly me that is acting like they want to be filled right now though.”

“Jackass,” you snapped, as he lowered his hand around to cup your ass, finally allowing himself a tiny hint at the smirk you'd predicted earlier.

You gasped as he took a handful of your ass and pulled you flush against him.

“I want to say sorry, I want to make it up to you. I'm being quite charitable here.”

“Charity, my dear Doctor, is where you give something and expect nothing in return. It seems like you want something in return.” You spat the words again but you let your hands press lightly against his chest, waiting for him to make the next move as you played with the buttons of his shirt.

“I'd be more than happy to do that, too.”

You weren't sure who reached for who, or which one of you made the first push, but you were suddenly joined together by your lips, each of you battling furiously for dominance.

Your hands pushed up desperately, clawing into his long, busy strands and pulling him down further into you as you worked against him.

He was still stronger than you though, so when he forced your head back an inch, you moved out of necessity.

“Is that enough, or should I keep apologising?”

“Nowhere near enough, jacka-” he cut you off by pushing the tip of his thumb into your mouth, using one of his legs to spread yours so he could nuzzle himself between them.

“Why so quiet now? We couldn't shut you up in those interrogation rooms, but now you're so polite and obedient.” You moaned around his thumb as he stroked your tongue, encouraging you to suck it.

You didn't need much instruction, desperate now to show off your superior skills to the man in front of you.

“That's it, show me how much you want it, my little whore.”

His hand slipped into your pants quietly, but you twitched as his hands feathered their way along your pelvic bone, twitching at the sensitivity of the connection.

His hands slipped into your panties and you knew immediately it was over for you. You were so wet, and he was going to be able to tell just how much you apparently wanted him.

You moaned as he roughly pushed your pants down, finger teasing your cunt through your panties as you still struggled to suck his thumb so you didn't make any louder noises.

“You're enjoying this.” It was no longer a question, but a confident statement, no curiosity but simple satisfaction at how good he was making you feel.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, rubbing some saliva across your lips to make them shine before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your hands barely pushed out in from of you before your chest collided with the wall, and he was close behind you.

As he coaxed your panties down your legs, you closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, desperately clinging to some high ground where you could find it.

His fingers were hot and long, and they quickly found your clit and got to work as he ground his hard cock against your bare ass.

His pants were still on, but you could feel the outline of his dick against you, hips rutting back into him with each flick of his wrist.

“Now, come on Y/N. You said it's not charity if I receive something in return, right?” He whispered into your ear as you tried to reach behind you to grab his dick.

“We're going to take this nice and slow, and you're going to enjoy all of it.”

His fingers slowed to an aching pace as he finally pushed a first digit inside of you. His hips finished moving and his free hand held you still too, so the only friction was coming from that one hand between your legs, practically edging you.

“Fuck me, just fuck me Spencer.” You moaned in frustration.

“Doctor.” He whispered in your ear, the glee in his voice igniting your hatred of him all over again.

“What?” You spat out.

“Call me Doctor Reid, and I'll give you anything you want. You want to cum, right?”

His fingers kept their slow pace, and you could feel yourself growing more impatient, even as you grit your teeth together.

“Fuck me, Doctor Reid.”

“What about please?”

“Fuck you.” You instantly regretted your words when he pulled his hands off your body completely, retreating further into your house.

“No, shit, wait.-”

You scrambled after him as he took a seat on your couch, removing his jacket and loosening his already dishevelled tie.

“What do you want, Y/N?” He asked, palming himself through his pants as he watched you practically fall at his feet, needing his hands back on you.

“I want you to f-fuck me, please Doctor Reid.” He nodded slightly, pulling your remaining clothing off as he responded.

“That's a good little slut.” He led your hand over his cock and let you undo the buttons and pull him out. You needed no other instructions as he leaned back and pulled your legs into a firmer position.

You gave his cock a few strokes before lifting your hips and sinking back down onto him.

“So fucking wet for me, you were so aroused, baby.”

He didn't let you control the pace, but held your hips still just above him as he began pushing into you from below, lifting his hips to fill you up with each thrust.

You couldn't bite back the screams as his balls slapped against you, Spencer trying his best to fit his entire length into you with each deep thrust. You wanted to kill the man only an hour earlier, and now you were sure you wanted to have him inside you like this forever.

“Oh fuck, just like that, just like that Spencer please!”

Your hand drifted down to your cunt and you're began to rub feverishly, even as you felt the pressure build up from your gut.

The pressure was almost unbearable and before you knew it you were squirting on his cock, fingers splashing wave after wave of your arousal over his cock and clothes.

“Already squirting for me? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, Y/N. I guess you are just a little whore.”

You twitched, but couldn't respond, as he began thrusting sloppier than ever before, grunting in your ear as he finally joined you in your mess.

His grip on your hip slipped as he finally started cumning, and you moaned feeling him so deep as he gathered you in his arms and pulled you chest to chest.

You sat there panting together for an eternity before you even thought about detangling your limbs from one another.

“You made a mess of my fucking sofa.” You said as you finally rose up slightly, looking down at the mess beneath you.

“No, Y/N, that was you. I simply helped.”

“Jackass.”

“Whore.”

You gasped as he laughed at you again, pulling your hips back down over his so you couldn't slide off his cock again.

“Don't act so scandalised when I can feel just how much that turned you on. You're enjoying this.”

You pouted a little, but let your head fall back against his chest.

“And what if I am, Agent Reid?”

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 5/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

A/N: I think we are staying on track for this to wrap up within two more chapters, but again, we are both in the dark if that's the case😂 Thank you guys for the love! If you are wanting to be tagged, please send me an ask. It's a lot easier for me to keep track of who's been added and who hasn't :)

_________

Y/N’s POV:

Okay, so maybe I blew up a little more than necessary, but I tried to chill out before he started chasing me, ordering that I didn’t walk away and talk to him. Let a girl try to get a hold of her emotions for a second big guy.

I’ve been anxious all day, waiting to talk to him about some deep seeded trauma, and then he comes and screws up all of it with a simple exception to an invitation. I know he didn’t mean harm by it, but he’s a trained professional. That was not a trained professional response. Plus, stepping out of my normal routine of being a bitch to him to keep him at a distance wasn’t just a switch I could flip.

Again, I could have handled that better, but now my brain is in mission mode, trying to reprogram what this night has set up for us. Considering the invitation was for tonight, it gave me little to no time to prepare.

“What time did she say dinner was?” I shouted from my bedroom, where I was going through our small, hidden arsenal of gadgets Tony had made for us.

“Six,” Bucky replied from his room down the hall.

Great, that was forty-five minutes from now… “Ok, I can do this.” Deciding it was best to keep some bugs on hand in case we could plant them in the house, and we would be planting them, I needed to consider sizes and placements.

“Should we bring over some wine or something?��� Bucky’s voice was now in the doorway to my room, but I kept my back to him as I sifted through our tools.

“I made a pie earlier today. We can take that,” I answered absentmindedly.

“Why’d you make a pie?”

“Felt like it,” I shrugged and walked out of the closet with three small wires/ bugs in hand. When I looked up, I saw he had changed into a nicer button-up and was tightening a tie around his collar he hadn't been wearing earlier. “Why are you wearing a tie?” I examined him.

“Same reason you’re wearing a nicer dress. I want to make a good impression,” he shrugged, straightening pieces of his outfit.

“I’m wearing this because we were going to our ‘anniversary dinner,’” I made sure to put the lie in hand quotes. “I had a story that went with it, but this can pass as casual, too,” I motioned to my dress and moved toward him, placing the wires on the bed. “This looks like you’re about to give a sales pitch.”

Without thinking, I pop his collar up and loosen the tie to get rid of it. The whole time I’m focusing on untying it, I ramble about what the plan is for the night.

“I’m going to give you a wire to put wherever you see fit, and I’ll do the other two. I’ll excuse myself to use the bathroom and sneak it where it’s needed. I feel it’s important we look for cameras already in the house in case it’s a setup. We don’t need them having hard proof that we bugged their place. We want to come off as simple yet good assets if we want them to bring us on board for their work,” I struggle with a certain spot on the tie he somehow fixed in an efficient way I’d never seen. “Jesus, were you a sailor in another life? Might as well have knotted it.”

He doesn’t respond, but I get it off in the next two seconds and look at him to see he had been studying me intently as I invaded his space. I see my slip-up, push the tie into his chest, and take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” he answers rather calmly, and I look at his eyes, seeing patience there. Always that damn patience. How did he still have it with me even with how I’ve treated him? “Listen-”

“About last night,” I say at the same time, and he seems shocked but gives a single nod to tell me to continue. “I want to say I’m sorry for being all over the place recently. From last night to thirty minutes ago.”

He seems frozen by my apology, and I became anxious enough that I start to word vomit.

“I took some time to think after last night and spent the day stressing, thinking how I was going to talk to you about it because I do want to. I want to get what I can out on the table if you’d be ok with that,” I look up through my lashes, and I see the most subtle turn of his lip as he watches me attentively.

“Are you hinting that there’s a chance I’ll get to see the side of you others are lucky enough to see?” he retorts, grin growing and taking a step closer to me.

His use of the word ‘lucky’ shortcircuits my brain, and all I can do is nod once, slowly, as my answer. He takes another step, and I match it with one back. I feel more vulnrable than I was expecting to.

“You can understand now why having our plans for the night changed made me slightly temperamental.”

“I think slightly may be an understatement.”

“I think you still should choose your words carefully,” I say, tightening my smile. However, it doesn’t shut him down like normal. Instead, he laughs under his breath, and the doorbell rings.

Both of our heads shoot toward the noise, and solemnity takes over the room.

“You don’t think that’s,” Bucky pauses as he turns back to me.

“How often am I wrong?” I take a deep breath in and smooth my dress out as I walk over, pausing beside him. “Hide the wires. I already did a sweep of the house while you were getting ready to make sure we didn’t have anything out of place. I’ll tell them you’re getting ready.”

I don’t need to open the door to know who it is, but when I do, the urge to yell, “I told you so!” in Bucky’s face is strong.

“Bethanne!” I smile kindly and immediately notice the dish in her hand. Reggie is behind her, holding two others, looking like he just got off work and had been dragged over here. “Did Beau tell me wrong? Are we not eating at y’all’s house tonight?”

She scrunches her face in a practiced motion and lifts the ceramic bowl up as she explains.

“I hate to ask this of you, but our oven is still the old rickety one. The new one had some faulty design, and we had to ship it back. Needless to say, it decided to give out on us today of all days,” she raised her shoulders. “I know we sprung the dinner on you suddenly, but would you two be willing to host if we provide the food?”

Not on the money of what I guessed, but pretty fucking close to the money if you ask me.

“Who is it, Doll?” Bucky’s voice carries from the hallway he’s now emerging from. The first three buttons on his dress shirt are undone, and he’s messing with the cuffs on the sleeves. “Hey, Bauers,” he smiles yet still holds shock in his features by the neighbor's appearance. “Did we get the time wrong?” he asks, looking at his watch before coming to my side, where I've now moved and am letting themselves in.

“No, no, no,” Bethanne shakes her head and hands off one of the pots to me as she takes one from Reggie, who looks more bothered to be here than happy. Long day human trafficking, asshole? “We had some appliance issues thanks to some of the renovations we were doing. I was just asking your wife if we can use your house as tonight's setting and possibly use your oven while here.”

Without hesitance, Bucky takes the dish from my hands and the dish Bethanne had swapped for and nods for Reggie to follow him.

“No problem at all. Let me help you ladies with that. Char," A nickname he had never used for my character before, but it seemed to work fluently. "Would you like to get some wine for the two of you while I get this organized in the kitchen?” he asks me, placing a kiss on the side of my head while his hands are full as he walks towards the other room.

I don’t know how he’s learned to play his role so well, but it’s convincing, even to me.

“Uh, yeah,” I almost stutter in my response as I motion for Bethanne to follow me to the wine cooler out in the garage. “Red or white with tonight's dish?”

"Do you have any more husbands like that in the back I can steal? What a gentleman," she coos, shoulder-bumping me.

___________

Half an hour of baking the food and getting it plated, and our conversation continued with questions mostly strictly about us, which would have been fine if not for the reason behind such invasive intentions.

They started off simple. How’d you guys meet? Who made the first move? What did we love about the town so far? What kind of hobbies and adventures did we take on before moving here? All questions we had prepared for, and if not, could easily improvise.

So far. No slip-ups. If anything, we sold the scheme far better than I’d imagined we would even when they became more personal. And our discussion on being the ‘prude couple’ last night seemed to affect Bucky’s actions a lot more than I was expecting.

An obvious hand on my thigh under the table and an arm thrown over my seat in a slightly possessive manner seemed to catch the eye of Reggie, who mimicked some of the moves as if it were a competition.

In addition, Bucky kept making small compliments about how I looked and how smart I was when they asked about my job. Dropping little comments about things I did (not my character) that he loved and appreciated.

“She’s always doing things like that. I almost never have to worry about making coffee in the morning because she has it all set up just to hit a button and go.”

“You should ask Charlotte about that! She’s the reason our house looks like a home. I’m sure she could give some advice on the kitchen backsplash.”

“She may not know how to boil an egg correctly, but her baking skills are unmatched. I've put on a few pounds now that we have a nice kitchen to spend time in."

I did my best not to act shocked every time he dropped a compliment, but the fact he could have made shit up for my character and used those details as conversation pieces, yet he went the honest way (although more convincing, of course), shocked me.

“Speaking of baking skills,” Reggie nodded his head back to the kitchen counter behind us and smiled at me. “I spied a pie on the counter. Any chance we can have that to finish off this dinner?”

I was still staring at Bucky from his last form of appreciation when I blinked out of my distraction and returned to our neighbor.

“Oh, of course! I was just about to offer,” I smiled, standing up, and Bucky quickly stood next to me, pulling my chair out. “Thank you.” I smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm as I moved around to the counter.

“How sweet. Oh, Charlotte, would you mind telling me where the bathroom is?” Bethanne asked, standing and giving her husband a look for not showing the same chivalry as Bucky.

I watched her, knowing that I would have used the same excuse to do what we planned to at their house. But I was two steps ahead of her.

“Of course! Beau, do me a favor and get some plates out for dessert. I’m going to show Beth-”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find it,” she waved off, coming around the table and moving to the hall promptly.

Yeah… Not without a chauffeur, honey.

“No problem,” I waved off, moving with her casually. “I need to grab some floss from my bathroom before dessert. I’ll show you to it.”

I can see the most subtle glaze of annoyance at my insistence, but she smiles and walks a step ahead of me.

I show her to the bathroom and make it seem I’m going into the master down the hall while she’s in there. And I do, but I keep an eye to make sure she isn’t snooping in any other room besides the one. We’ll have to survey it after they leave, but better that and the dining room than the whole house.

Once we’re back with the boys, no wandering to be done, Bucky helps me plate a slice of chocolate pie for each of us, and I offer to move the conversation to the porch. Any kind of redirection from the comfort of the inside of our home is welcome.

“I love how you’ve decorated your porch. It’s so cozy,” Bethanne notices, pointing out the colorful decorative pillows, hanging swing the size of a daybed, and loads of plants and decor that make the space more intimate. She and Reggie are sat on the two rocking chairs facing the front yard, and Bucky and I are sat close together on the swing, where he’s controlling the tempo we sway in.

“I always wanted a spot outside to escape. We didn’t really have that at our last home, and it was important for me to have this time around,” I replied.

My answer is actually very true. I loved being outside, especially when it was something as simple as sitting in the backyard or swinging on a porch. I had one requirement about this mission, one I’m not even sure Bucky knew about. But I asked Tony to supply a nice budget for the porch.

Call it cheesy, but growing up in such an unnatural and dehumanizing way, you crave a small part of that normalcy you see on the movie screens. For some reason, a porch I could escape on but still be within the comfort of my own home was a dream. And because it was, I thought I’d make this situation a little more bearable by granting that small wish I always had.

“Well, I may have to start budgeting for a new kind of renovation,” she patted Reggie’s back, and he gave her a tight-lip smile. "What do you say, Reg? Do you think we can get a swing like that one?” She smiled over at us just as Bucky pulled me into his side, his arm going around my waist and his hand resting on my hip bone.

“I have a feeling we might as well have built a home from scratch by the time you’re happy with the renovations we’ve taken on,” Reggie answered with a nod before taking a swig from his beer. “Get that recipe for the pie from Charlotte, and I’ll consider buying you a new porch,” he winked my way and turned back to the front of our lawn.

I instantly found Bucky’s hand tightening, and his thumb started rubbing in an up-and-down pattern along my hip. When I turned to him slightly, his gaze stayed on Reggie.

Before finishing cleaning up for the night, we said goodbye to our guests, and just when we thought we hadn’t made any headway in our conversation about work (mind you, we had dropped hints and notices about it all night, but neither of the two seemed to take the bait), Reggie stopped on the last step to our porch and turned to Bucky.

“You mentioned working in transportation, and by the sounds of your new job up here, if you’re interested in a more innovative place, I may have some ins for you,” he shook Bucky’s hand. “I have some coworkers around the states that could use some employees like you on their route.”

“I may take you up on that offer. It all depends on how this week rolls out,” Bucky answered perfectly. The Bauers said their goodbyes, and we watched them walk home before turning to each other.

In a silent celebration, we grinned at the invitation and then sent wordless glances to tread carefully when we got in before scoping the place for bugs…

_______________

Bucky’s POV:

I’m not surprised that the blonde sole cycle instructor of a neighbor was able to get a wire in our bathroom, but neither Y/N nor I were in the mood to remove it right away and give away our knowledge of it, so we each grabbed another drink for the night and debriefed subtly on the porch where the only bugs we had to mind were the crickets chirping their music for the night.

Bethanne was right. Our porch was nicely done, and I hadn’t even noticed Y/N had hung lights out here until she plugged them in.

“I feel like this spot is more put together than the rest of the house.” I noticed the details when we were out here earlier. Now, we both have taken up spots in the rocking chairs our neighbors had vacated.

“I may have focused more of my attention on this spot than the others,” she smiled as she brought a tumbler glass up to her lips. She had drank wine while Bethanne was here, but as soon as they were gone, the whiskey I had made a glass for myself was stolen out of my hand before I could take a sip. Now, we had each of our own.

“Was what you said about the porch a real thing? I mean, we have balconies at the compound,” I looked at her as I sat my drink on the small table between us.

“Balconies and porches aren’t the same. At least in my head, they aren’t,” she nodded, taking a deep sigh and resting her glass in her lap. “Did you mean what you said when you were complimenting me all night?” She lulled her head to the side to look at me.

I had been making compliments. It felt easier to use the ones I had picked up on than the ones I made up. Yet again, I think anyone should get the recognition they deserve when they excel in something. Y/N just tended to excel in more than I think she was aware of. And I was learning she didn’t seem to be used to people taking note of those things.

“Why lie?” I shrugged, starting to rock in a steady pattern.

“Because that’s this whole gig. A lie,” she answered, taking another pull of the hard liquor.

I considered her perspective and shook my head, looking out to the lights on the other side of the street. “I guess it gets tiring at points. Don’t really feel like doing it if the truth can be just as usable.”

She didn’t answer for quite a few seconds, and when I turned back to her, she was staring at me like she was waiting for another shoe to drop.

“How are you so patient? Seriously, is it a drug Tony made you before you had to deal with me on this mission? I don’t get it,” she laughs, but I can hear the genuine confusion in it as she sits forward and turns her body to me.

Honesty. I’m in a mood to be 100% honest.

“Want me to be real with you?” I asked, turning my own body.

“It’d be preferred,” she nods and rests both her arms on the armrest.

“I don’t know anything about your past, but I know most people have a reason for acting the way they do. It took years and a ton of patience before I felt like I was even close to who I used to be. I still struggle to come to terms with the fact I’ll never be who I was before the train incident,” I sigh and rest my head back against the chair as I look at her. “I guess I have understanding more than patience. I understand that you have a history of your own that I don’t know, and I can’t blame you for a lot of the things you do.”

“But you should. I’m an asshole to you,” she says, and the admission is kinda nice to hear, even if it is sad.

“Yeah, and I was hoping you’d be willing to share why that is,” I reply calmly.

She tenses some and sits back in her chair, pulling her legs under her to sit crisscrossed, the chair rocking with her movement and her dress overflowing past her knees.

“I guess now is as good a time as ever…” She looked at me sidelong before finding comfort in the view in front of her instead. “I didn’t really have a chance to develop a personality of my own because of my time in this lifestyle,” she motions around her, “started as soon as I could walk. So I had no identity to fall back on since I had to find it after I escaped.”

I had questions, but I found it best just to listen. Clearly, what she was talking about wasn’t something she brought up lightly, and being an ear to listen was what she needed right now.

“I was left behind by whichever no-good parent gave me up, and Adonis Hummel took me as his own and decided he’d try to recreate the famous assassin, The Winter Solider, from birth practically.”

The name drop came quickly and struck home. I didn’t know her whole story, but I had enough imagination and experience to believe where she was going.

“Wait, Hummel?” I started because the name sounded familiar, but…

“He was a low-level scientist who worked for Hydra when they were still using you under Pierce. He thought he had the brains and resources to create his own version of you. A version that would be more undetectable as a woman and a version he could tweak however he wanted,” she rolled her shoulders. “Lucky for him, I didn’t have to be brainwashed since I knew nothing besides the life of abuse, experimentation, and a shit ton of conditioning... " 

"To clarify, I say that for context, not sympathy,” she straightened, and I could see her shifting back to her unbothered disposition, but the truth was shining through the cracks. She may not have wanted sympathy, but something about the vulnerability seemed to lighten the load on her shoulders.

“As for why I may have built a wall around you, an unhealthy and senile wall, I felt as though…” She gulped as if the next part was harder for her to say than the abuse of her past. “I felt as though you had been my competition my whole life, and a part of me, a young and in-need-of-therapy part of me, thought it was best to keep you as far away as possible and hold onto that anger instead of work through it. It felt easier than facing the fear that I didn’t actually equate to you in any way. So that’s another reason why I felt everything with you was to prove a point.” She lets out a short breath after using all the air in her lungs in one swift swoop.

I-

It’s a lot to take in…

She doesn’t move her head back towards me after her confession, and I can’t seem to break my stare from her.

“This is where you say something like, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day. I’m actually an asshole either way, so we can go on hating each other for completely understandable reasons!’ or I don’t know? Anything but silence would be preferred, though…”

Her hand is gripping the arm rest unconsciously like an anchor keeping her on earth.

On instinct, I reach across and pull her hand into mine, keeping my stare heavy, enticing her to look at me.

She closes her eyes at first and takes another short breath before turning.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unworthy of being on the team.” I feel like I personally am the reason for her suffering, even if I had no correlation with her before I joined the team. "You are more than an asset to the team and are your own kind of weapon. It's incomparable."

“Ugh,” she sniffles and rubs an eye with the heel of her free hand as if to disguise a possible tear as allergies. “This would be so much easier if you were a piece of shit misogynistic asshole, but you're part of the few good ones out there. Steve, Sam, and Clint included, not Tony,” she noted.

I smiled, thinking about how I’d make a team like that even if she had me believe otherwise for so long.

“What I’m trying to get at, B, is you’re not the one I should be blaming for my past. You’re just as much a victim as I am, but I took the easy way out of making it more manageable for me, and I only made it harder for us both in the end. And for that,” she turned and stared into my eyes fully, the hand she held squeezing my own. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve an ounce of the kind of cruelness I tried to bury you in. You are the opposite of what they tried to make you, and you’re genuine in proving that to anyone who meets you. I've been envious of the strength you have, and I can say confidently that I deeply regret ever blaming you for that.”

I once again have to process yet another collection of words I’d never thought I hear. From her. Ever. A part of me believed this was a dream, but the part that Y/N had a grip on was practically pinching me into reality.

Without hesitating, I stood up, pulled her arm up with me, and yanked her into my body in a crushing hug.

She froze at first… The motion was quick and surprising, but slowly, she unhooked our hands, brought both of hers tightly around my waist, and laid into me. I rested my head on top of hers and pulled her shoulders in with my arms, wrapping both of my own tightly around her.

I wasn’t going to let go until she did, and by the looks of it… She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

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[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve And Robin Are Stuck in A Timeloop AU 

Steve's lost track of which time loop this is.

Had lost track pretty much instantly, because it turns out when people die repeatedly in front of you, it kinda takes precedence in your memory. 

Besides, Robin has a list in her head, memorized via some kind of musical code, alongside all the dates and times they wake up in. 

(Steve doesn't see what difference it makes if they wake up at 7:15 am the day of the Championship or 8:25 am, but Robin's insistent that even the slightest variations could mean something.) 

He’ll have to ask his soulmate when he finds her though, because presently Steve has determined they're having one of their weirder loops.

Typically, when the two of them get kicked back in time, they wake up the day of the Championship game. Occasionally it will be the day right before or the day after, but sometimes? 

Sometimes they’re sent back someplace, some time, that isn’t related to 1986 at all. 

Thus far, the Starcourt loop had been the worst. 

("If it happens a third time I'm killing myself." Steve had told Robin after they’d failed that one. 

Robin didn’t even look at him, the two of them huddled up together in Steve’s bed. "No you're not Dingus, not without shooting me first."

"How come I have to shoot you!? Is it because I'm a man? That's not very feminist of you."

"No its because you've seen me shoot, I would miss!") 

Steve had even woken up in an odd place. Not his bed or the couch, but the driver's seat of the Beamer, seated in the high school parking lot.  

It made him immediately uneasy. 

The chair is reclined all the way back, the mass of cars indicating it was a school day. Steve struggled to recall when he's ever taken a nap in his car as he got out of it, trying to decide how he wanted to go about things. 

Felt his pocket and was surprised to find it full of a packet of smokes. 

The sheer implication of that had him pulling out a cig and lighting it before the knowledge that he'd officially quit buying his own cigarettes in 1985 sank in.

Panicked and chainsmokes three, before deciding his best course of action was his usual one. 

Find Robin. 

Which of course means that he found Eddie instead. 

xxx

He’d started his first lap, walking out if the parking lot and round to the more shaded, empty parts of the building when a voice he knew yelled. 

The kind of yell he’d grown intimately familiar with, the one Eddie used when he was terrified and using anger to hide it. 

Steve turns automatically, following the taunts and loud, pained breathing until he finds a handful of jocks encircling the metalhead. He's down on one knee, snarling like a wildcat caught in a trap while some guy Steve barely recognizes holds him by the hair, laughing. 

Red coats his vision instantly, and any thoughts Steve had about being stuck in time (sort of) vanish from his mind entirely. 

The world shrinks down, to that white knuckled grip on Eddie's hair, the way it’s pulling the older boy’s face up so that Steve can see the straining muscles in his throat. 

The protective creature that lives in his chest and likes to punch it’s way out of problems awakens, and a thrum goes through Steve as he feels its demand for blood. 

"Hey fellas " Steve calls joyfully, striding directly into the crowd. "What’re we doing?" 

Two part before him like fish seeing a shark,and a faraway inner voice identifies them as members of the swim team. 

Which likely meant the other two were football players, and for all the tackling they did they were surprisingly easy to scare, if you knew how to play it right. 

Steve absolutely knew how to play it right. 

"Fuck off Harrington. This isn't your business." The one holding Eddie's hair spits. 

"Well that would be where you're wrong." Steve was still keeping things conversational as he positioned himself, arms nice and loose at his sides. He lets the thing that lives inside him, who made him turn right back around all those years ago and charge back into the Byers house, out a little more. Feels the need to protect, to save, to destroy the things that are his, fuel him.  "Seeing as all of Eddie's business is my business."

Eddie stares up at him, wide eyed at the declaration. 

Feeling entirely out of control of his body, Steve sends him a wink. 

"Since when!?" The other football player asks. 

"Since now." Steve declares cheerfully--and then smiles. 

It isn’t a nice smile. 

Thoroughly unnerved, his swim team members shrink back. He’ll have words for them later if he has time--Steve can't ever recall the swim team members being dicks but who fucking knows. 

His memory wasn't the best before he and Robin got stuck in time. 

"You fucking into drugs now or wha--" Their ringleader, still holding onto Eddie by the hair, doesn't get to finish his sentence.

Mostly because his mouth is too busy catching Steve's fist. 

Fighting, he knows, is something he does best when it's too the death and he's armed with something. 

Bonus points if his opponent is a horrific monster from another dimension. 

He has gotten better though, and here the rapid pace he sets feels almost too easy. 

The first guy goes down on the ground before the rest pick up on it, giving Eddie time to lurch backwards as Steve turns and torpedoes into the next jock. 

This one gets in a good shot--Steve staggers with a blow to his side but it's not enough to wind him. He keeps to his feet and advances, delivering one more punch before the swim team guys are trying to call him off. 

"Come on man, you're gonna kill them!" 

Steve almost laughs-- he hasn't come close to killing either idiot-- but backs away, keeping himself between them and Eddie. 

They wave their hands, getting ahold of their bloodied friends as they slowly ease between them and Steve. Make apologizes and promises that it was a poor joke, Munson just got to them, hot heads you know? 

Steve snarls at them to fuck off, and glares until they're gone. 

"What the hell just happened?" Eddie asks him, and Steve turns to find him on his feet, leaning heavily against the brick wall of the school. 

As far as he can get away from Steve. 

"Our football quarterback can't hit for shit." Steve informs him, having finally placed an least one of the guys. "It's probably why we always lose." 

Eddie gives him such a freaked out face it almost makes him laugh a second time.

The effect isn't helped by the fact that Eddie's normally long mane is hovering just over his shoulders, the curls somehow poofier than normal. Clearly he’s still trying to grow it out, but it just makes him look like one of those frazzled dogs. 

Adorable. 

On instinct Steve reaches out to playfully pull a few strands, then freezes when Eddie flinches from him. 

"Sorry." He keeps his hands up, as he takes in Munson's face. "Shit dude, he got your nose good." 

There's blood smeared under it, and given the look of the skin surrounding it? 

Eddie's gonna have an impressive bruise soon enough. 

Steve gets a glare sent his way. "Why do you care?" Eddie spits, back very much still up, and-- right. 

Right. 

Time travel. 

"I'm really bad at explaining it." Steve warns, running a hand through his hair. He did this part plenty without Robin (meeting Eddie that was--Robs usually tackled Nancy.) But he also typically did in it 1986, and with at least three of the kids, not whenever they currently were. 

"We usually start with facts only you'd know, but I don't actually know when I am right now." He finishes, and realizes immediately that it doesn’t make a lick of sense. 

"When you are?" Eddie asks, because of course he clocks that part immediately. 

"Ye--eah." Steve says, dragging out the word. 

He looks at Eddie desperately, like the metalhead will tell him the exact information he needs. 

Eddie just stares back. 

"Look, it sounds really stupid when you say it out loud." Steve says finally, because fuck, it does!

"Comparable to all the other times you talk out loud?" Eddie snips, voice full of venom. 

"Shut up.” Steve replies automatically, but his tone holds no heat. He’s too used to trading banter with Eddie that is friendly.  “I'm gonna preface this by saying I can prove it."

"Oh wow preface. Such a big word for you! Did Nancy Wheeler teach you that one?"

"Robin actually." Then, "Nancy?"

The look Eddie gives him could melt steel beams. "Yeah man. Nancy Wheeler. Your girlfriend." 

"Oh--oh god." Steve says, because that means they're way back. Possibly to the beginning. 

Or worse, before he and Nancy had broken up.

"I can’t handle that breakup a second time." He says wide eyed, the panic gripping him for a second. “I could-no, no I could get Robin to tell her!” 

Because that sure would work. 

Steve can just imagine it now. Robin, sauntering up to Nancy and going ‘Hey, we really haven’t met yet but you’re gonna dump Steve, if you haven’t already and to cut through all the drama, I’m here to just tell you on his behalf that it’s over. What was that? A coward? Why yes, he is one!’

You know, provided she didn’t just laugh in his face and then cuff him over the head when she realized he was being serious. 

“Dude.” Eddie says, sinking a world’s worth of judgment into the single syllable. 

“Yeah, you’re right, bad call.” Steve says, and whatever Eddie was expecting it clearly wasn’t that. 

“Are you on drugs right now?” Eddie finally asks when Steve reverts back to looking to him as if he’s going to help. A bad habit, and one Steve knows he needs to stop doing. 

Even if Eddie, in the original timeline and every one after they got him on board, eventually becomes someone Steve can rely on like that. 

“You can tell me if you are, man, you know I won’t judge.” The hateful air around him is fading into something more confused, and then into something else entirely. The persona Eddie pulls when he’s hurt and trying to hide it with jokes and rants. “Unless you and your buddies bought from someone that wasn’t me, in which case I get exclusive rights to judge.” 

He’s shifting as he finally stands up off the wall, and Steve doesn’t miss how he hugs one hand to a rib. 

Shit. 

He needs to get Eddie up to speed and he needs to do it fast.

Steve sighs and just starts listing Eddie Munson Facts like an unprepared kid who was called on in class. 

"Okay, so your uncle collects mugs, right? And--fuck I don't know when you get all the tattoos,” Steve makes a vague gesture around his chest, “but you have bats on your arm and you gave them all names." 

Eddie's eyes pop wide again, jaw slacking as Steve volleys off a few more Munson Facts. 

"You have this weird fear about red ribbon necklaces because of a book you read in third grade, your first guitar has this giant ugly--sorry dude, but you cannot write legibly to save your life, 'This machine slays dragons' quote across it and--oh!"

 He was so fucking stupid. The answer was literally staring at him in the face, dangling around Eddie's neck. 

Steve snapped his fingers excitedly. "The guitar pick on your neck is your moms!"

Eddie’s mouth open and closes like a fish, long enough that the smile slowly slides off of Steve’s face.  

"How the fuck do you know all that?" He manages after a long, tortuous moment, looking like he’d been sucker punched. 

Again. 

With the most pained look his face can manage, Steve finally answers. "Time travel."

Eddie blinks.

Then blinks again. 

 "Time travel." He echoes faintly. 

"Yeah. I'm from 1986, where things kinda got really fucked up."

"No kidding?" Eddie says, right before he erupts into giggles. 

"Did they get you in the head?" Steve asks, abruptly concerned, as Eddie collapses back against the wall in a growing fit of laughter.  

Concussed Eddie was not a road he wanted to go down but Steve knew better than anyone what happens if you ignore such things. 

"I think my weed just hit." Eddie explains as he wipes away a tear, and Steve wants to shake him, but knows it won't get him anywhere. 

"That's great. That's just great."  He grumbles, hands going onto his hips. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To get you a bandage. And then find Robin.” 

Robin, Steve decided, could handle a high, concussed Eddie.

[bwabys-scenarios]

Chubby!Reader taking phantom troupe+Illumi and Kurapika shopping with her

characters: chrollo, feitan, uvogin, Shalnark, Phinks, Machi, Pakunoda, Shizuku, Nobunaga, Illumi, Kurapika

warning: slightly suggestive in Pakunoda’s and Kurapika’s

A/N: me on my way to single handedly provide for my chubby hxh fans… this is super self indulgent hope y’all like it!!

Chrollo

-offended on your behalf because of how limiting the clothing options are

-y’all go to like 5 different stores before finding somewhere that sells your size

-“oh! I must be lucky because I thought we’d at least need to go to 3 more before I found my size :3”

-you’re just happy you found a dress and top that looked nice

-he just looks at you like 👁️👁️ “sweetheart… this is not okay.”

-“chrollo this is the first time in 3 years I found clothing in store, usually I have to shop online.”

-will take you to get custom made clothing, nothing is too good for you!!

-honestly he’s pretty appalled by the lack of clothing available for you. you shouldn’t have to get custom made clothing to have something fit you right :(

-also gets you custom made lingerie but cough cough don’t question it

Feitan

-he was watching you shop online and groan because the dress you really wanted was sold out in your size

-“just go to store.”

-“they don’t carry my size in store.”

“… what.”

-this man is itty bitty he has no idea about your struggles 😭😭 he’ll accompany you on your next shopping outing to… observe

-please take him to torrid it would be so funny

-“… they expect young woman to wear this?”

-he holds up an ugly Disney shirt that’s super unflattering. he’s not the best with fashion but even he knows that it’s ugly as hell

-“YEAHH I used to shop here all the time because it’s one of the only shops that has my size in store.”

-you find a dress that looks relatively nice while feitan browses the lingerie LOL… he’s stealing you something, it might not be the clothes you wanted but that black lingerie set speaks to him…

-now if he’s out on a mission he’ll stop by stores and steal you some nicer clothes, you deserve it! (He’s such a cutie patootie UGHH)

Uvogin

-no he absolutely understands your struggles

-he’s fucking huge it’s hard to find clothes in his size too

-tbh he’ll just suggest you make your own clothes or get them custom made, but if you really want him to go shopping with you he will

-literally shocked with the lack of feminine clothing for big women

-he can at least find SOME things his size, and he’s obviously bigger than you

-but you can’t find a single thing

-calls Shalnark to ask him to track down some local shops that carry your size

-will carry all of your bags for you!!(hubby material)

Shalnark

-he just doesn’t believe you until you show him

-he mostly shops online too so will suggest you keep doing the same, but you wanna go shopping with your boyfriend!!

-he has no problem accompanying you, but is doubtful you won’t find ANYTHING

-that is until after you’ve visited the 7th clothing department and there wasn’t a single clothing item in your size! And it isn’t like you weren’t looking hard enough, he looked up the inventory of each store and there was nothing!

-apologizes for not believing you by buying you some boba or pastries

-also the type to get you custom made clothing, tho it will be sorted more to his tastes than yours(the skirts are all way to short and the tops dip a bit too low)

-doesn’t understand why they can’t just sell your size. wouldn’t they make more money that way?

Phinks

-already knows your woes of not being able to find cute clothes in your size

-goes shopping with you literally whenever you want and won’t stop until you find at least SOMETHING(he’s whipped for you)

-got really sad when he found matching couple pajamas and they didn’t have your size(he’s killing someone over this)

-so cute, gets excited with you when you find something you like

-also carries bags

-takes you somewhere nice after. it’s stressful trying on clothes all day, especially when none of them fit!

-Phinks is soft for his lover agenda RAHHH

Machi

-offers to make clothes for you

-probably the second most understanding. she’s seen women’s clothing sections, although she can’t really relate to not finding her size

-will actually hurt anyone that is rude to you while shopping

-likes to help you in the changing room, saying she doesn’t want you to slip(it’s an excuse to feel you up but she’s a lil tsundere so she’ll never admit it)

-if you can’t find anything, she’ll buy you some accessories or stuffed animals, literally will NOT let you pay

-extra sweet on you when you get home, reassuring you that she loves you and that your clothing doesn’t matter to her(she’s trying her best give her a lil kiss for her efforts)

Pakunoda

-as a big chested woman, she can relate a bit! she doesn’t struggle to find clothes as much as you do though

-researches which stores carry your size so you don’t have to go in just to be disappointed

-also will get you custom made clothing, but let’s you choose what you want. she thinks your fashion style is cute!

-gets you custom made matching outfits

-also helps you in the changing room but isn’t hiding her wandering gaze at ALL

-after a fun day of shopping you two cuddle in bed and watch whatever you want!

Nobunaga

-another person that doesn’t really believe you, but because he sees you as a cute lil thing

-will call you silly for thinking they don’t carry your size! your his sweet little girlfriend, why wouldn’t they?

-in for the shock of his life

-literally gets on his hands and knees to apologize

-it’s been like 3 hours and the only thing you’ve found was a hello kitty tshirt that was a little tight on you, but you refused to go home with nothing!!!

-feels bad, will treat you to a nice dinner

Shizuku

-just says to wear her clothes

-“… Shizuku, sweetheart, we aren’t the same size.”

-stares at you for a minute

-keeps staring

-grabs your hand and runs to go shopping with you

-keeps getting lost while you’re in the changing room

-you end up having to have her sit in the changing room with you while you change(she does not mind in the slightest 👁️)

-cannot comprehend why you can’t find clothes in your size

-love her so much but she’s actually the worst to shop with. You spend more time trying to find her than look for clothes

Illumi

-you don’t really have to worry about finding clothes in your size because he has everything made for you, but if you just want to go shopping for the experience he won’t deny you

-cue him contacting the ceo of the clothing store and demanding they start selling your size after you don’t find anything

-hates seeing your sad face, probably won’t take you shopping again unless he’s researched and made sure the place you picked carries your size :(

-so sweet to you, gets you ice cream and buys you jewelry and stuffed animals to make you feel better

-when you get home there’s a rack of clothing Taylor made for you waiting in your shared room

Kurapika

-he needed to go shopping for some clothing too, so he accompanies you

-gets a little embarrassed shopping in the women’s section because people always mistake him for a girl himself

-gets pretty pissed off when an employee rudely says they don’t carry your size

-“Kurapika it’s fine, let’s go somewhere else.”

-will hold your hand protectively as you go from place to place

-when you find a few things, he’s happy for you!

-is a little glad that people thinks he’s a woman because that means he can slip into the changing room with you 👀

-perv!kurapika strikes again

-makes sure you leave the store feeling VERY happy ;)

[couldyouimagine-that]

I'll Hold You

Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count; 1.5k

Warnings; reader struggling to cope with a hunt gone wrong, mentions of death, Lucifer being Lucifer.

Pairing; Lucifer (Supernatural) x Reader

Reader doesn't want to be alone after a hunt and goes to Lucifer - he plays with them a little, but he's glad they came to him.

This can be read as a part two to Cuddles With Satan, but it's also good as a standalone!

Masterlist

-

The first time you went to Lucifer for comfort, company – you didn’t even know what – your stomach had been in knots. The latest hunt had gone wrong and people had died, and on this particular day you just couldn’t cope with that knowledge. Sam and Dean had each sequestered themselves with varying degrees of alcohol and you had done the same out of habit. The problem was that much as you enjoyed the time you got to yourself, your greatest battles were always fought alone with your mind. It chose to keep replaying the deaths of the civilians you couldn’t save, and when it wasn’t doing that, there was a constant stream of words and whining white noise that left your thoughts reeling. You tried desperately to claw your way back to reality, making the effort to really feel your weight on your mattress where it contacted your body, to listen for small sounds like those made by the water pipes in the bunker, but it was no good.

You clawed your fingers back through your hair as you stood and physically shook yourself out, then set off at a brisk walk through the bunker’s corridors. You made a lap past the bedrooms, through the library and war room, the kitchen, and finally back to the bedrooms again, your thoughts blissfully silenced by the movement. Until you arrived back at your own door and found you didn’t want to go in. You knew you needed to be with another person, but you were frightened by what exactly that meant. Dean and Sam, much as they cared for you, needed to be alone to deal with their own trauma from the day’s events. Castiel was in another state entirely, on a mission to track down some artefact that he thought would come in useful in the future. That left only one, and the very thought made your stomach flip. Lucifer.

He had taken up a room in the bunker, so that he too could have some privacy even if he didn’t need to sleep, and worry was twisting through your gut before you even took the first step towards his door. The walk to the end of the corridor was excruciating, your legs feeling as weak as jelly and your hands trembling. What would you even say to him? The boys had no idea you had finally given in during a moment of unparalleled exhaustion and allowed Lucifer to hold you while you slept. He had been gone when you woke up and hadn’t mentioned it since, nor even alluded to it. You certainly hadn’t had the courage to bring it up. And now what? You were going to one of the most powerful beings ever created, who had been around for almost all of creation and who was currently the biggest threat to you by miles, to ask him to hold you until you felt better. You could already hear the mockery in his voice.

You drew in a shaky breath as you stood outside his door, hand raised to knock, when it drew back of its own accord.

Lucifer’s frame took up most of the doorway, his entire being radiating casual confidence. Your nerves skyrocketed as you looked up to meet his direct gaze and had to fumble for words. He was completely relaxed, his expression telling you I knew you’d come.

“You were thinking about me so much it was pretty much a prayer,” he purred. “Why did you come to me?”

This wasn’t going to be easy, then. You bit your tongue, trying to calm yourself.

“The hunt went bad,” you started, voice blissfully steady. His answering hum said I know. I don’t care. “The boys need their space to recover. I need… I need to not be alone.”

“And?” Worse than just the nerves permeating your every cell, now you were starting to feel the heat of embarrassment too. He was going to make you say it out loud. Your swallow was so harsh that even you could hear it.

“I wanted your company.” His head dropped forward just a fraction of an inch, eyes locked square on yours. Keep going. “I – I wanted… What we did before, I…” You breathed in sharply. “I wanted you to hold me again. Please.”

Heat burned the backs of your ears as you spoke, but the look that came over Lucifer’s face could only be described as malicious satisfaction. He held out a hand to you, palm up, and watched intently as you hesitated but ultimately stepped forward to take it. His movement was easy as he drew you inside with him and closed the door behind you. Lucifer let his fingertips brush your palm as he dropped your hand and strode slowly over to the fully made bed, laying down in the middle of it with his legs crossed elegantly. He leaned his weight back on his elbows as he watched you, still standing uncertainly near the door.

Lucifer glanced down at his side to indicate where he wanted you, a smirk starting to curl the corner of his lips at your continued hesitation. His eyes bored into you until you felt small and you almost wanted to leave, but then that would leave you alone with your thoughts again, and at least this little game of his was forcing you to focus on the present. Some quiet part of you wondered if he would even let you leave, now that you had knowingly walked into the lion’s den. You knew why he was doing this; by making you join him yourself, by making you say what he already knew you wanted out loud, it rendered the entire situation a choice made by your own free will. And that was something you had no doubt he would hold over you.

As the silence stretched, you finally decided to force yourself to stop thinking. Your steps were quiet as you approached him, and you kneeled on the edge of the bed first before leaning down to support your weight on one hand. You tried to drop his gaze by looking down at his chest but he wouldn’t let you, a finger beneath your chin drawing your head back up again. You knew in that moment you had finally decided to play his game properly, holding his amused gaze as you scooted towards him and laid down against his chest, a leg over his and your hands on his shoulders. His real smile was no less threatening than the smirk had been.

“There,” Lucifer cooed, voice unbelievably soft. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it.”

You chose not to answer in words, instead pushing against his shoulders until he conceded to lay back against the pillows. His arms moved to ensnare you immediately, pressing hard across your lower back and spine to hold you to him. You let him trap your head under his chin as you tucked your face against his shoulder, your own arms finding their way around him. With the weight of his hold and the solid feeling of his body against you, with his breath lightly stirring your hair, you relaxed into him, realising your mind was finally quiet. You smiled in relief at your effortless focus on the present and squeezed your arms around the archangel in thanks before you could think better of it. In response, you again felt the touch of his lips to your forehead and again you didn’t comment, but god if you didn’t want to.

-

Lucifer, despite his love for a bit of powerplay, knew how bad you felt and how poorly you were coping. Humans as a species were a thorn in his side, but there was something about you that he wanted more of. His lips curved at the thought of you coming to him for comfort, for safety, to be grounded and protected. That wasn’t a sin in his mind, since he didn’t view himself as the image his father had created for humans to fear and to blame. You had chosen him, out of the many better, safer options you had, and he was going to make sure you kept on doing it. The physical contact didn’t hurt either, he thought belatedly, since no one had ever knowingly chosen to be close to him the way you had.

The archangel felt you give a little sigh as you shifted, trying to press yourself against him even more. He obliged you since he thought it was cute, starting to move his thumbs in gentle circular motions over your back. The next sigh you gave, this one incredibly content, made him wonder if you had forgotten what exactly you were curled up in the arms of. It would only serve to make him more satisfied if you had, but there was no need to find that out now. Time slipped by as your breathing slowed and evened out, but the grin that stretched his lips each time he thought of the trust you had in him didn’t fade.

[lastoneout]

It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

[randomfoggytiger]

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (Plus One, Forehead Sweat, Ghouli, Kitten, Rm9sbG93ZXJz, Familiar, Nothing Lasts Forever), Part VI

Part I (My Struggle I), Part II (Founder's Mutation), and Part III (Weremonster), Part IV (Home Again), Part V (Babylon), and Part VI (This.)

Had to cut down on my react posts because I didn't have the time, drive, or willpower to keep plowing through at the same rate.

OVERALL THOUGHTS

The usual complaints.

There are overly dramatic "DUUUUN" musical cues, scenes end too quickly, camera shot transition at odd times, and the cast can be too wooden or too emotionless in moments that desperately need something (Mitch Pileggi excepted. He nailed it.) David and Gillian trade off believability in their respective roles; and usually not in the same scene (unfortunately.) Scully is stuck with her 30-years-a-smoker voice; and Mulder magically finds every answer he could ever want from the Dark Web. (I don't think "the Dark Web" means what the writers think it means.)

However. The plots are tighter, the humor more effective, and the pacing (a tad) better constructed.

I wouldn't mind rewatching mid-S11 if it followed different characters in a different show. As it stands, nothing really hit the spot.

PLUS ONE

Mulder and Scully are but aren't but are together in S10 and S11. They also are in This but aren't in Plus One. What the script says they do versus what DD and GA portray them doing often clash.

Yeah, Mulder and Scully are already involved again in this episode. My theory: scoot-in-your-boot is a private in-joke they have. Backed up by: his twinkle and her quick "I'm scooting you out of here."

The siblings were like a Punch and Judy show, get it? (Chucky Poundstone? Punch? Ehhh? Also, Chuck like Chucky the doll. ...And also like the other Revival Chuck doll, Mr. Chuckleteeth.)

Plot problems:

A man who matched the profiles of recent, suicidal "sudden schizophrenia" victims was left, alone, in his cell while he screamed for help. That would not fly by 2015 standards. And if it did, there would be serious consequences or a serious attempt at a to cover up (which the cops didn't attempt to do.)

Chucky Poundstone: Fight Club levels of overacting.

Mulder and Scully were constantly called hot not because the topic naturally bloomed in conversation but because it was relevant to the episode's theme.

Scully let Demon Judy get to her. Scully wouldn't have been bothered to be out of "child-bearing age" because Mulder might want kids with someone else (WHEN HAS MULDER EVER)-- she should've been because she wasted their one shot at parenthood and "threw away" their son. Wrong track, wrong manipulation tactic. Like point 3, this was only brought up to serve the episode's theme, not because it was crafted to fit the characters.

A lot of Mulder and Scully's theories talked past each other or leaped from point to point without fully fleshing out the last one (i.e. Scully derailing their theories to insist that ghosts don't exist.)

Scully almost threw away the pills Judy gave her instead of, I don't know, testing them first.

Scully and Mulder didn't keep the lawyer under surveillance after he saw his double.

Scully didn't believe in the Devil anymore... despite the fact that she used to, and we aren't told when or why she changed her mind. Imperative character development the writers neglected.

Scully thought it was more plausible that a man would cut off his own head through shared psychosis than the possibility of a supernatural element at play.

Scully was butchered either way: she believes in a supernatural element but doesn't want to admit it to Mulder because Judy might be right about her; or, she believes everyone is in a state of delusion yet still gives weight to Judy's pokes about her age.

The "Can you hold me?" scene was pleasantly in-character for Scully, but wobbled and waffled for Mulder. It also bucked up against their "we're already together" vibe, and didn't fit with This (at all.)

"I don't have anyone to have one [a kid] with even if I could [have kids]." Script, don't insult my intelligence; Scully was literally in Mulder's arms when she said this ("What are we gonna do?"/"We'll think of something" kind of saves it. Rather, salvaged it.)

Mulder didn't see Scully's doppelganger even though he was facing the doorway and was on high alert. Scully didn't TELL HIM she saw her doppelganger earlier (which is stupid because she'd either be aware it's-- hello-- an evil entity or she could be considered a risk in the field.)

Mulder ran off WITHOUT SCULLY after seeing his double and after she admitted to seeing her own earlier.

Scully ATE RANDOM PILLS instead of, I don't know, analyzing them first. The plot needed to have Scully have the pills because she wouldn't have saved herself otherwise. And also: why did the placebo pills work??? We're never told anything about them other than they're leftovers from Judy's food, and that the nurses superstitiously take them, too. That's it. No followup.

Scully continued to drive after seeing "herself" in the backseat. She should have pulled over-- even if she believed the doppelganger was only an illusion-- because she'd become a road risk and was following the pattern of the other victims.

The siblings just got mad at each other and wrote each other's names in the hangman slots. Which saved Mulder and Scully while killing each other, conveniently.

The "Mom" and "Dad" hangman papers haven't aged a day, despite being written, supposedly, when Chuck and Judy were kids.

DD salvaged the ending by waiting in the doorway for Scully.

Plus One thrust me into a world where Mulder and Scully are jumping in and out of bed, from Unremarkable House to motel, from etc. to etc., without ever talking about their future-- more accurately, where the writing pretends Scully never pondered the obvious conclusion.

THE LOST ART OF FOREHEAD SWEAT

This episode worked... up to a point.

As a one-off, the comedy hit pretty consistently and Reggie was an enjoyable third wheel. (I admit: I ALMOST laughed out loud when Reggie shot Eddie Van Blundht in the head.) The writing was tight, the dialogue flowed smoothly, there were no out-of-place musical beats or lingering camera shots.

As a part of the overall canon?

Forehead Sweat solidifies, for me, what doesn't work about the "modernization" of the Revival. Dr. They kindly pronounces that Mulder and his way of life is no longer necessary in the current age... and that's the stickler. The current age. Fox Mulder didn't fit into the current-world 90s, either, because the mythology and Consortium and mystery behind the original show was a fabrication inspired by old politics-- the Cold War-- that was then mapped onto a very loose, very forgiving framework. If Carter and Co. had kept to that formula, had steered away from cookie-cuttering the 2015-2018 political climate into their show, then Fox Mulder and Dana Scully wouldn't seem so lost and out of place chasing X-Files in the forest in their 50s while aliens did or didn't plan to colonize the planet and Skinner might or might not be on their side. Because that would raise questions: why hasn't the Trump Administration shut them down-- he'd consider their unit useless. Why are Mulder and Scully now afraid the FBI will be suspicioned or "shut down" if it's always been corrupt, if even now they serve a counter-culture role to the establishment, instead of striking off on their own? More importantly, in an era steeped in finger-pointing and blame-shifting and distrust and disbelief, there's no way the cases that drift to the basement wouldn't be blown up on social media within hours-- especially when the 90s already had NICAP and MUFON and other groups who closely followed their niche interests. The logic of The X-Files quickly falls apart in a world that would afflict stricter and harsher consequences, 2015 and 1993 alike.

That aside, this was the best Revival episode, thus far, in terms of quality. I will give it that. (Note from the future: that will be outdone, I believe, by Ghouli.)

Plot problems:

The comedy bits hit, but Mulder and Scully warp in and out of character to achieve them (particularly: the repeated one where Scully keeps leaving before Mulder finishes rambling. Ironically, it's out of place with Darin's other comedic episode Weremonster as well as 200+ other examples of her character. But if the execution had been tweaked, those scenes would have been satisfying to watch. )

Mulder was LOUD. That's not new; but he was LOUD in the wrong moments, at the wrong times-- raising his voice, yelling, punctuating statements with STATEMENTS rather than his usual smooth pantomime or one-off, quick-witted remark.

The Babyfication of Dialogue continues ("sugarboobs", "I'm Fox Freaking Mulder, you punks!", etc.)

I'll bet Reggie kept hiding from the baddies in Skinner's office, hence why he knew him. This isn't a criticism so much as a theory. Or maybe those two gossiped over the water cooler-- Skinner knows everything and everyone, after all.

The Trump Administration poses no threat compared to the global Consortium and Conspiracy Mulder and Scully faced in the 90s. It was considered a threat to 2016s America, which would explain the "I feel like the world's gone mad" quotes the two leads keep kicking around. But, to them? Who lost and almost died and tried to save as many lives as possible to the Syndicate? And in a mythology that had large, regular gatherings of conspiracists who believed in aliens and distrusted the government (as seen in The Red and the Black) it disrespects the intelligence of its viewers by injecting and magnifying struggles that Mulder and Scully would philosophically take on the chin.

GHOULI

Another bump up in quality. The sharp back-and-forth camera techniques are better utilized with this episode's destabilizing, reality-questioning moments. Mulder rambling about the pathos and history behind classic monsters is a classic Mulder moment, Scully snorting and slightly smirking as he does so is a classic Scully moment. Is this the origin of the "Bob" nickname on Tumblr? The girl's "Kids would get stoned on it, in the summer. ...Not me!" was hilarious. Scully's speech in the morgue was the most Scully moment I've seen thus far. Scully subtly admitting to hiding evidence from her parents in her mattress (like Jackson.) Skinner always gets updates about Mulder's activities through other government employees' complaints.

Demerits: shots and cutaways still, well, cutaway at odd moments. Instead of holding on a scene and easing the audience into the atmosphere, cutcutcutcut snaps them out of it. But that's par for the course in the Revival; and it's not tooooooo badly done in Ghouli. Hoebag Jackson Van de Kamp. Mulder didn't get a moment to grieve over his son.

Thoughts? It turned from gripping mystery to big, fat disappointment. Skinner was great, Scully's morgue scene was great, um, Clone!Mulder had a nice moment or two. Jackson stank. As a condensed, disparate experience? It's alright. I quite liked it. (But it still wasn't The X-Files to me, etc. etc.)

Plot problems:

Mulder initially thought Scully's experience was sleep paralysis when he quite literally experienced this before in Paper Hearts. And neither were off-put or shaken by the similarities. (The episode tries to patch this up with, "You've been receiving visions through seizures. I'm sure this is another form"; but that's after she pointed to an open x-file and identified that boat as the one in her "dream".)

Mulder quoted a quote similar but different to his own from the original show. Instead of, y'know, quoting his own quote.

Mulder and Scully's kid is just Free Willying it up everywhere. And for what?

If CC wanted to do away with William (and that's an if), his death and his last attempt at justice for himself and his adoptive parents would have been a mature, heartbreaking way to do it. But no, we got My Struggle IV instead.

Mulder is oddly hesitant to believe his son's alive-- he's usually the one who is borderline delusional about believing and having hope. Yes, the series is supposed to show Mulder on the "other side": depressed (maybe? jury's out), burnt-out, and afraid to believe. But it goes back and forth on that message so often that there is no concrete change in his character to hold onto.

SKINNER'S ON THE CSM'S LEASH AGAIN.

We're back on the "men in Conspiracy but actually aliens but ACTUALLY men in Conspiracy" schtick. Pick a lane, mytharc.

Jackson played dead but it backfired because his parents found him not the agents, then he had to escape so the agents know he's on the run anyway, so.... *Cue Tony Stark*: "Not a great plan." Jackson is an idiot.

Mulder puts together all the pieces of the case off-screen without us, the audience, being there to see him working the mystery out logically. A "tell don't show" approach that undercuts the brilliance of his leaps.

Jackson let his two gfs see a monster and stab each other.... Jackson is an idiot.

Jackson made up a monster legend website to prank both his girlfriends-- who don't know the other exists-- at once; and ended up causing them to stab each other in fright. Jackson's an IDIOT.

Jackson is an IDIOT and a bit of a psychopath. And a LOT of an IDIOT. And he only got his visions and powers recently (since My Struggle II or III, it would appear); so he had to be an idiot before unlocking his abilities-- like the Rush highschoolers. So. Great going, writers.

SARAH TURNED HIM IN BECAUSE HE WAS KISSING ANOTHER GIRL. I mean, get him, girl; but then don't come groveling back.

JACKSON DOES THE MULDER FOREHEAD TOUCH WITH ONE OF HIS TWO GIRLFRIENDS.

JACKSON GOES ON THE RUN INSTEAD OF ASKING FOR HELP FROM HIS POSSIBLE BIO MOM DESPITE HAVING VISIONS OF HER BECAUSE HE'S AN IDIOT.

Mulder. Never. Had. A. Moment. With. His. Son. WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY.

Oh. Mulder and Scully accepted their son wanted to move on with his life, away from them. ...Nnnnnnnoooooooooo, Jackson's not safe and is now an orphan and a high school dropout. NOPE.

KITTEN

This is Blood and Sleepless and Wetwired 4.0. ...But it's not bad.

Mulder snooping around Skinner's kitchen... fine, I liked it. Sue me.

The cop... fine, sue me, I liked him.

Skinner's code name is Eagle... because he's bald. I don't care, sue me, that was hilarious.

Skinner had the best speech.

I admit: I really, really do like this episode. It's the only one that fits into canon, oddly. (Mulder and Scully aren't themselves, etc. etc., blah blah, what else is new.)

My overall thoughts: Um. What did it achieve? Kinda progressed their characters forward... but had to regress them, first. Mind control and chemtrails and falling teeth and Mulder and Scully possibly holding Skinner's career back and Mulder distrusting Skinner but trusting him again while Scully did trust Skinner and was proven right in the end.... And a reference to Mulder's juices. It was necessary for Season 11, character-wise-- a "let's repair the damage to Mulder's trust issues" (which had been resolved?? in This but then wasn't, I guess??)

Plot problems:

There goes S9 Kersh's character development: all that he came to believe in. Right down the drain. (Not that I care; but keep it consistent, series.)

Scully questioning what happened to "the old, reliable Skinner we always knew and loved" is RICH considering A. she and Mulder were questioning his loyalty not five episodes ago and B. Skinner constantly got his hands dirty to help them out (which they largely forget in the Revival, for plot reasons, unless forced into a corner.)

Mulder: "As much as I don't trust the guy right now--" EXCUSE ME. I don't care what My Struggle II or III implied, Mulder of all people, Mulder, has seen Skinner squeezed into tighter corners and still ended up trusting him.

Skinner's getting framed, again, on surveillance tape.

SCULLY giving Skinner the benefit of the doubt, NOT MULDER.

There's no way Skinner's surviving that wound without blood transfusions and serious medical attention. Nope.

Skinner... was behind the two agents... in a pit... but managed to not only climb out but outrun them... in the woods... with a side wound... and knock over a full-grown man... and punch him enough so that said man could get caught in his own trap. ...'Kay.

So. The teeth falling out was never explained. Except to suggest, I guess, that the gas slowly rots them out? Except the policeman and his wife also had teeth loss? Or was that as a comedic bit? Or and as a comedic bit? Who knows!

WAIT, I WAS WRONG. CHEMTRAILS. Really. CHEMTRAILS SPREADING POISON OVER THE TOWN. (Blood already did this but BETTER, writers.)

Mulder's "We're with you" is undercut by nearly 30 years of previous history.

Rm9sbG93ZXJz

This episode is, again, not too bad.

The characters, again again, don't feel like Mulder or Scully to me; but I could see Mulder and Scully doing the actions that the characters did. All in all, I can see why those who like the Revival would enjoy watching this.

Also, I still wish Clone!Mulder never had to pay the tip.

Plot problems:

The world with all this tech doesn't coincide nor coexist with The X-Files universe (and, yes, that include the Revival.)

The whole... not speaking thing. I know it was supposed to be artistic or to convey some layered meaning; but, narratively, it was off-putting. Perhaps if they'd both been knocked about in the field, and it was painful to talk? Mutual tonsil surgery? Anything??

Whipz. Get it? Scully whipz and naynays.

The robots having that much influence over lesser forms of tech (i.e. Mulder's cable, not smart, tv.)

Mulder would have absolutely spiraled if he'd experienced half of what this episode put him through. Scully would have spiraled. None of this would not have been easily brushed aside with a tip.

Mulder still calls sex phone operators; and the machines ratted him out to Scully. Either that, or it was a callback just so Mulder could tell the caller to "Shut up." He's grown and changed, guys~~~~~.

It doesn't make sense why the robots are trying to kill Mulder or Scully if they want a tip from them. OR, one could argue, the robots are threatening Scully's life so Mulder will pay the tip. Either way, the two could have been killed multiple times if they hadn't ducked or dodged. Seems counter-intuitive, and mostly just in service for a "surprise, we just want the tip" twist ending.

"We have to be better teachers." REALLY. That's the takeaway. Not the fact that they were almost KILLED due to the incompetence or oversight of whoever created these robots. REALLY.

FAMILIAR

So. Uh. Classic X-File. Held up pretty well. Classic Mulder eating crime scene evidence. The script was old-school tight.

In other words, this was Chimera 2.0. But not too shabby.

Plot problems:

The police immediately rule out the child's cause of death as a murder. And think it might be a coyote. Or a coy wolf. ...Uh huh.

"You're my homie": Babyfication back.

Scully doesn't believe in human combustion. ...Honestly, shakes out with her theory having been disproved in Trevor. (Although, I don't know if there was a spontaneous human combustion case in S9, feel free to correct me.)

Scully telling Mulder he's "wasting his time" for wanting to interview a little girl who was an eyewitness. ...WHAT.

The boy's mother is... not the best actress. Taking me back to the OG show at times.

What are those creepy teletubbies. Nightmare fuel.

The community... didn't know... there was a convicted sex offender... in their midst. ...Did no one care to look up, I don't know, A SEX OFFENDER REGISTRY??

WHY is Scully fighting back against his witchcraft thesis when she's witnessed a witch doctor plastic surgeon AND a bewitched doll??? Amongst such things????

Gotta admit: I chuckled when Mulder accidentally got the Chief to confess to an affair (his "I... did not see that coming.") However: that scene was wildly out of place amidst the tragedy of the salt-circle and the possible murder of the innocent-in-this-case pedophile.

The episode just skips from the police officer shooting the pedo straight to the officer's trial. ...What happened to that old curse put on the town, huh? Just... took a break for a couple weeks? Mulder and Scully stuck around, or flew out-and-in while Mr. Chuckleteeth took a power nap?

Officer Wentworth let Scully's suspicions slip to the child's father, at the child's funeral, and is kind of portrayed as the good guy here. He doesn't express remorse for not following protocol (especially to a broken-down father grieving the death of his child), only that he is "sickened" a man (the father he broke protocol for) gunned down another man without due process. ...'Kay.

So, all the responsible parties involved all die because the jealous wife was cursing the cheating woman and eventually her husband. ...But if that's the case, why did the Hellhound go after the CHILDREN first, not the two people it was summoned to punish?? Usually things go awry after a bit of murder and mayhem, not before.

NOTHING LASTS FOREVER

What a stinker of an episode. Just when the cinematography levels out, the plot absolutely rots.

I did like Mulder scaring off the two officers by pretending to be a religious supernatural investigator.

And the church scene was good. It was necessary for this series, for these characters. Glad it was done. (I say Scully whispered she's ready to let go of the past: a.k.a. move back in with him, let go of the files even, let go of her rigid expectations of herself. Hence Mulder's line: "I always wondered how it was going to end.")

Plot problems (well... some of them, lost interest):

I hated... everything about that opening sequence. Doctors eating pancreases, illegal organ harvest, "chemtrails" reference, NINJA WOMAN WHO CAN TOPPLE A GROWN MAN, NAAAAH, GET IT OUTTA HERE. THIS ISN'T BATWOMAN, BOOOOOO.

Mulder's defensive over his glasses. ...They both have needed glasses since the 90s. Is Scully ribbing him over a stronger prescription?? I don't think so.

Mulder only has progressive lenses because the plot needs a contrast to a cult sacrificing people for eternal life (Our Town and Sanguinarium and Roadrunners, anyone?)

The gore's just off the charts, huh?

Crazy, washed-up actress living off of her shut-ins' blood. Possibly their organs. To remain forever young. ...I unironically read a better fanfic of this, ngl.

There are so many, too many, egregiously many plot contrivances. Wow. Here's just one set: Ninja killer is seeking vengeance but just happens to attend church the same day Scully just happens to attend church the same day Mulder happens to follow Scully in the same day the priest happens to put up the verse that just so happens to correspond with the verse on the evidence organ cooler which just so HAPPENS to be tied to a small illegal operation keeping a crazy washed-up actress alive and young while she subsists off of parts from her shut-ins she "rescued" from the street. Stunning.

Mulder never had a dog: confirmed. ...But he did have a dog in his childhood photos, soooooooooo. Guess someone else gave it to him, then. (Or there is no show bible. Or this is an awful, no good, no-hate-if-you-like-it-but-I-don't universe.)

WE'RE STILL ON THE MAGGIE COIN NECKLACE??? What other answer for it is there except it was the date Charlie walked out of her life???? Ugh, forget it. The writers wanted it to be a mystery box. Then Gillian walked away from the series and nothing was resolved, yolo.

Mulder always bears North, Scully says, no matter how hard the wind blows against him. ...Except it didn't-- numerous times in this series, numerous times in this season, in fact. The Revival is, in fact, built on top of him losing his way pre-My Struggle I. So. Strike 1000 for missteps in Writing 101, I suppose.

Big Boss fight with a woman attached to his back. ...Guys, this isn't The X-Files, this is Resident Evil.

Olivia looks ghostly pale on second, then almost normal the second the guy she's attached to is murdered. ...Guys. She's attached to a dead guy. That's gotta be sepsis by the time she's in the hospital, right? Also: if Olivia was in THIS deep in a cult, she would have been devastated, not dazed but delighted, that her sister had killed the guy she was attached to.

CONCLUSION

I'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

If I feel in a ranty mood in future, I'll cover the last three Struggle episodes. But until then, my Revival journey has reached its end.

And what are my final thoughts? The same as they were going in. ;))

Thanks for reading¬

Enjoy!

[lees-chaotic-brain]

𝙵𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 (𝙾𝚂𝙰𝙼𝚄 𝙼𝙸𝚈𝙰 𝚇 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁)

summary: he overhears your friend saying something unkind

wc: 1.5k (oops this was supposed to be a drabble)

cw: mild swearing, reader has adhd, stigma against adhd

haikyuu masterlist | blog navigation

“...What makes you think I wouldn’t lose it? I have the worst case of ADHD anyone has ever seen, you seriously think I’d be able to keep track of it?”

Your lighthearted laughter as you teased your friend floated over the din of the cafe as Osamu entered it, there to pick you up. Unable to tamp down his lovesick smile at the sound of your voice, he immediately perked up when he spotted you and began heading over to where you were sitting with your friends.

You had a little bit of trouble controlling your volume, so he had been able to hear what you were saying earlier, but since then you had gone weirdly quiet. But as he made his way over to you, he became close enough to catch the tail end of what your friend said in response.

“...I mean come on. You can’t just blame everything on your ADHD. Like, when are you going to actually take responsibility for your problems instead of using it as an excuse as if half the population doesn’t have it?”

He didn’t have to see your face to know what your expression looked like. Just like every other time someone said something shitty like that to you, he knew that the hurt would only show on your face for a moment before morphing into a sarcastic and uncaring mask.

“I’m sorry, what?” Your voice had lost its boisterous joy from moments ago, and that alone made him want to storm over there and tear that girl a new one. Unfortunately he was well aware of the fact that you preferred to fight your own battles, and loathed feeling like you needed some man to come in and defend your feelings.

“I’m just saying.” Your friend rolled her eyes. “You’re so put together, and one of the most intelligent people I know. When are you going to stop using your ADHD as an excuse for your terrible work ethic?”

While the first part of what she said sounded deceptively nice, the hidden connotations in the barbed sentence did not go over his head, so it most certainly did not go over yours. Remembering all of the nights he spent holding you as you cried because someone had called you lazy, or told you that you could do it if you just tried, he made a mental note to himself to remind you of how amazing you are every day. As if he didn’t already.

“Wow.” Your voice had taken on a mocking, almost cruel tone. While most people overhearing would think you’re just being really nasty, he knew better. This was how you protected yourself. You pretended you didn’t care and mocked the person for their ignorance, then went home and asked him to hold you until your heart stopped hurting and the voices in your head stopped talking.

You took a slow, leisurely sip of your drink, before slamming the cup back onto the table with more force than necessary. “For someone who claims to have undiagnosed ADHD, you sure don’t know anything about it. Just so you don’t embarrass yourself in the future by spewing more bullshit like this, let me give you a few pieces of information.”

Leaning back in your chair, you began ticking off items on your fingers as you spoke. 

“One. Telling someone with ADHD to “just focus” is like telling a person with glasses to just see better. We want to, but we can’t.” You level a pointed look at her glasses and Osamu notes with satisfaction that her face is beginning to get flushed with embarrassment. You continue.

“Two. A lot of people with ADHD are actually insanely smart. They have to be. People in classes like ours who have ADHD and struggle with paying attention and staying on task need to be intellectually gifted to survive in school. It’s the only way they can keep up. Which brings us to point three.”

The overly sweet smile you give your so-called “friend” tells him that you’re about to say something you’ll regret later, but he can’t bring himself to stop you because anyone who hurt your feelings deserved what was coming for them. If that made him a bad boyfriend then he didn’t really care. He would just comfort you later and tell you that you aren’t a bad person for putting a judgemental asshole in their place.

“Point three: don’t go around telling people that you have undiagnosed ADHD. Like I said before, people with ADHD typically need to be smarter than the others in their class to keep up, especially in an engineering major. Which is exactly why no one is going to believe you. Frankly, you’re just not smart enough. You’re barely hanging on as it is. If you really did have ADHD you would have flunked out by now.”

Checking the time on your phone you gathered your stuff and stood up. “Sorry. My boyfriend is probably here by now. Although, something came up. I think you’ll need to find your own ride back. Sorry.”

Surveying the area where you had sat, you double checked to make sure you had everything, pausing and looking back over your shoulder just as you were about to leave.

“Oh, and by the way.” You shoot her a saccharine smile. “I really appreciate you thinking that I’m really put together. Unlike my intelligence, that’s all an act, so I’m really flattered that you thought that about me. It means a lot.”

With that, you turned and came face to face with your boyfriend's chest, nearly falling on your ass. One of his arms wound around your waist, pulling you against him and keeping you upright while the other snagged your bag and threw it over his shoulder.

“Samu?!” You look up at him in surprise and he just smirks and guides you out of the restaurant. Once you’re in the privacy of his car, you speak again. “...How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to hear the bullshit she spewed.” You look down, pretending to pick at your nails, but he knows you’re just trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. 

“I really thought she was my friend.” Your voice is quiet and watery, completely different from the one you used with your friend just seconds ago in the cafe. “Maybe she’s right. I was probably too mean to her. I apologize to her-”

He was going to let you apologize, knowing that nothing he said would take away the guilt clawing at your insides, but then he saw the contact name.

“Her??” He pointed incredulously at the contact name. “The girl in there was her?? The one who was super mean to ya last year? I thought ya said ya weren’t friends with her anymore!”

Flushing, you tilt your phone away from him. “Well, I didn’t want you to worry. She got nicer, I swear.”

His eyes narrow. “Uh-huh. And what she said to ya back there definitely reflects just how much she’s changed.”

With a quick stretch of his arm, he snatched your phone out of your hand and slid it into his pocket, fending you off with one arm as he started the car and pulled out, causing you to cease your physical attempts at reclaiming your phone.

“Osamu Miya!! You give that back!! It’s not up to you who I’m friends with, and whether or not I apologize!”

“I know that.” He mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road. “I just don’t like seeing ya sad. And yer always sad when yer friends with assholes like her.”

“Oh, Samu…” Your voice softens and you take his free hand in your own. “I’ll be okay. Really. Honestly she’s probably trying to help me. She just wants me to fix what’s going on-”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” His knuckles turn white with how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel, but his grasp of your hand is nothing but gentle. “There’s nothing wrong with ya! She says shit like that and you believe her! Yer perfect the way you are, and I hate that you spend time with people who make you feel less than that! I don’t care who yer friends with. I just want them to treat you well. The way ya deserve.”

You deflate, your grip on his hand tightening and he sees you wiping your eyes out of his peripheral. “I know. I know you're right. Can we just...talk about this later? I just want to be sad right now."

'"Of course we can babe. We don't have to talk about it at all if you don't want to. I'm just not letting you apologize to her because she doesn't deserve it."

You laugh, and the sound does things to his heart. "I love you so much Samu. You know that, right?”

He squeezes your hand tightly, knowing that no matter what, the two of you would be okay because you had each other. “I know. And I love ya a million times more than that.”

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight

[lxndonorris]

late night feeling - Logan Sargeant

Y/N x Logan Sargeant Theme: A mix between Angst/Fluff Logan calls you in the middle of the night because he can't sleep and you comfort him x word count: 950+

The sun is long gone on this rainy Friday night when you find yourself lying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. You're feeling a little lonely without your boyfriend, Logan. You've been together for half a year now, and it's hard to be separated from him for too long. As a professional athlete, he travels around the world almost every two weeks, and sadly, you can't join him for every race. Even though he keeps you updated throughout the whole weekend, it is not the same as experiencing the race weekend with him and his team.

Letting out a soft sigh, you scroll through Instagram, seeing a few pictures of Logan with other drivers, when suddenly your phone goes dark. At first, you think the battery has died, but then a picture of you and Logan pops up. In fact, he is requesting a video call with you.

Sleepily, you accept it, and the screen goes dark again. Just then, the speaker comes alive, and you hear someone lying down on what sounds like a bed before the camera moves and you see Logan.

"Hey, babé." He says, and his voice sounds a little rougher than usual. Logan runs a hand across his face and through his hair as a shy smile forms in the corner of his lips.

"Logan? Is something wrong?" You steady the phone against a few pillows so you don't have to hold it the whole time. It is unusual for him to call you that late at night, and you're kind of worried. He looks fine, lying on his back with one hand resting on his bare chest while the other is holding his phone in front of him.

"No, no. Everything is fine." He growls and shakes his head as he starts to stroke his chest slowly, something he'd do as some sort of self-soothing gesture. "I just couldn't sleep." Logan forces a weak smile, and you can tell he means it. His eyes are sleepy, and his hair is messy. You can tell he's been turning around in bed too much.

"What is wrong, hun?" You say that, sitting up and leaning your back against the wall, before you pick up the phone as well. Pulling the blanket toward you to cover your feet, you notice his expression softening slightly.

"I think..." He stops himself and lets out a short, audible sigh. "I miss you." Logan's hand runs across his chest before he turns to his side to be more comfortable.

"Logan..." You breathe deeply, and the urge to move in and hug him grows bigger and bigger. Again, he forces a weak smile, hoping you won't worry about him.

"It's so weird to be in bed without you." He says his voice is now even rougher than before. You both pout at the same time, causing the two of you to chuckle before you sigh this time.

"I know, Logan." You say, running a hand through your hair. "I have the same problem." Shrugging, you lie down as well. Now it feels like you're lying side by side, even though you're miles apart.

"That's better, isn't it?" He says comfortingly, moving a little closer toward the camera, causing you to chuckle. "I wish you could be here." Logan pouts again, struggling to keep his eyes open. His whole body is tired and exhausted, but something is keeping him from sleeping.

"Me too." You say this, running a finger along your screen as if caressing his cheek. For a moment, the two of you just watch each other, smiling weakly. "Tell me about your day." You say it curiously.

This sparks joy that spreads across his entire face. Logan tells you about the training sessions, his media duty with his teammate Alex, and how good the car felt on track. You listen to him, hanging on every word. You're trying to distract him from feeling lonely, and to be fair, you're distracting yourself just as much.

"You're getting used to that car, aren't you?" You say it proudly, and he immediately nods encouragingly. His whole demeanor changed just by telling you about his day, which makes you smile warmly.

"It feels better know." Logan smiles in agreement. "I just wish it was a little faster." He can't help but giggle to himself as he shrugs. Of course, any driver would love to drive fast cars, win races, and stand on that podium.

"You'll get there, hun." You say comfortingly as he subconsciously strokes his chest again. He's a little nervous, but he tries to play it down.

"I hope so." Logan chuckles and slowly moves his body, burying himself inside a huge pillow. "I'm feeling a little better now." He speaks warmly.

"Me too." You smile shyly, holding back a yawn. "Damn. It's nearly two a.m." A little shocked, you watch him rub his forehead before he yawns as well. "We really should be sleeping." You chuckle, and he does the same.

"We should." Logan replies, picking up his phone again as he turns around to lie on his back again. "Thank you..." He growls, blushing slightly. "I needed that." Yawning again, he exhales deeply.

"I did too." Nodding in agreement, you pick up the phone as well. "I love you, Logan." You say softly as he moves his camera closer to his face again.

"I love you too." He purrs happily. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Logan smiles contently, and you nod. "Okay, good night," he says.

"Good night, hun." You say lovingly and end the call. Taking a deep breath, you put the phone aside. You're way too tired now to stay awake any longer, so it doesn't take too much time until you fall asleep.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Secluded Paradise

Pairing: Dark Steve Rogers x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend is tired of your technology addiction so he takes matters into his own hands.

WARNINGS: Imprisonment; Toxic Relationship.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

“And I was thinking we should go to the country house for the weekend, it could be like a getaway from the city. No phones or wi-fi, just us. What do you think, honey?” Steve asks, his blue eyes squinting at your figure, who continues completely focused on the phone. 

“Honey?” he repeats himself, his voice only demonstrating a small hint of anger as he reaches to tap on your arm a bit, successfully grabbing your attention.

You look at him, confusion blinding your eyes which only makes Steve even more annoyed at you. 

“Yeah, sure, sure. Whatever you want, babe.” you hurriedly agree, returning your attention back to your phone. Steve clenches his hand and takes a deep breath as he tries to keep his anger away. 

It’s hard to live in this new modern century where everyone has technology addiction. He usually tries his best to be patient when you’re glued to the device or when you ask him to take millions of pictures of yourself, just so that in the end you only choose one to post on your social media.

It’s complicated though, he’s a patient man but even Captain America has his own limits to the point that it’s reaching its end. 

Steve isn’t blind to the way that you seem to rejoice with all the attention you receive online. With Natasha’s extensive help, he actually managed to learn some rudimentar basics of navigating the online world, going as far as to creating a secret account.

All of this just to keep track of you - a man needs to keep tabs on his woman, of course. 

Yet something that worsened his mood was noticing how many pictures you had displayed there, with an abundance of male comments where most of them used very vulgar language. 

Something you clearly had no problem with. If anything, it seemed like you thoroughly enjoyed the attention, rewarding those unknown men with even more pictures of you wearing scandalous outfits. 

Plus, having a decent conversation with you was getting harder and harder as your attention was uniquely on your phone at all times. You had no time to even make small conversation, much less discuss future life plans.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he signals the waiter to bring the check and quickly pays, helping you to stand up and dress your jacket. 

“I’m gonna start planning for our vacations. You’re going to love them.” he says, grabbing your free hand. You don’t offer any response, the fingers of your free hand rapidly tapping on the screen. Steve swallows his annoyance once again as he makes up his mind. 

He’s not going to tolerate it much more. 

“Steve! Oh my god!” 

Steve is leaning against the kitchen counter, merely watching as you struggle with your phone. You’re trying to go up on the couch of the living room, elevating your phone in hopes of catching a wi-fi signal. 

Steve’s lips curl at that sight, it’s nice to see you so desperate, so needy for something. 

“Darling, I told you we don’t have any internet here.” he patiently reminds you as if you’re a child. Your hand drops as you gasp in horror, looking back at him.

“But…but…I need it, Steve.” you whine, a pout starting to form on your glossy lips. It makes Steve’s dick feel alive, he likes it when you beg. But right now, he has to be stern about this. 

“No, you don’t. A few days without that annoying device won’t kill you.” he places his hands at his hips, his tone getting sterner. 

“But-”

“Enough, goddamnit!” 

You immediately shut up, frightened by Steve’s shout. The hand holding your phone slowly falls down and you look at Steve, shocked. His face turns almost remorseful for a moment, but then that expression disappears and he returns to his normal self again.

“Now, let me show you around. You’re going to love the house, the master bedroom is really huge and has one of those big television screens, the garden is just…” Steve rambles like he didn’t just snap at you. 

He offers you a wide smile, motioning towards the stairs with one of his huge hands, but you remain glued to your spot, hand strongly clutching the phone as if your life depends on it. Ironic since it doesn’t even have a signal.

“I think I wanna go home.” you declare with a shaken voice. Steve’s smile disappears and an impatient expression takes over. 

“Nonsense. We just got here, honey.” Steve rubs his face, as if he’s tired. His voice starting to have an annoyed accent, making his irritation more obvious. You don’t like that. 

“I want to go back.” you repeat, stepping out of the couch and starting to head towards the main door. 

As soon as your hand reaches for the handle, a muscled arm bars the door. You turn your head towards Steve, his brows united in an irritated frown. 

“Why do you always have to be a fucking brat?” he raises his voice and you immediately take a step back. He’s never spoken to you in this way. 

“Oh now is when you decide to get scared? Not when those creeps comment on your slutty pictures online. Maybe that’s what you like, huh?” He darkly chuckles, seeing you scared. 

You keep your silence, your heart throbbing in your ears. The door is so close but you know that with Steve around, you’ll never actually get to leave. This new Steve is starting to scare you. 

But you can’t go against him, you have no idea what he’ll do yet one thing is clear: he’s much stronger than you are. 

As the silence uncomfortably grows, Steve lets out a sigh and removes his hand. You don’t dare to move, knowing that he won’t let you leave. 

“Listen, I just want to spend some quality time with my girlfriend. Is that too much to ask?” he says, his voice sounding honest and apologetic. Like he’s the old Steve. 

You look at him and that's when it strikes you. You can’t leave without the car.

Steve is the one that drove all the way here and you did notice the house being located in a secluded area, no stores and no other houses around.

It took almost one hour by car to get here, no way you’d be able to find your way back without the car. Whose keys are with Steve. 

You stiffly nod and Steve immediately takes your hand with a strong hold. 

“Let’s go on with the house tour then. You’re going to love it, honey.” 

Silence and darkness rules over the entire house. No city sounds that usually disturb the night. You don’t like it, it’s too peaceful for your taste.

It’s boringly calm, but Steve probably loves it hence he fell asleep so fast. You can’t hear a single sound coming from his room, meaning that he’s most certainly asleep. 

It’s time, then. 

You rise from the bed and silently tiptoe towards the living room, not even bothering to grab your bag or to dress in warmer clothes. You’re eager to get out of this horrible place already and once you reach the city, you’ll just break-up with Steve and move on with your life. 

You saw Steve placing both the house and the car keys inside a bowl on the counter, next to the door after dinner. It’s perfect, when you think about it.

You can lock Steve inside and take the car. Not that a weak lock would do much against Steve’s inhuman strength but the idea grows into you, it doesn’t hurt to lock a door.

Finally reaching the living room, you almost run towards the counter. You immediately dip your hand into the bowl, only for your fingers to grab air. Your eyes widen in horror and when you look, it's empty. 

A cough is heard from behind you and your heart drops to your feet. 

No, no. 

This cannot be happening, not when you were so close to freedom. You squint your eyes tight for a moment, trying to muster up some courage before you finally turn around.

Steve is leaning against a wall, a slightly annoyed but mostly arrogant expression on his face.

A growing smirk curls his lips, amused to see you try to get away when in reality you'd never be able to do so. You were too busy with your phone to realize that the house had an eletric fence, one that required a code to open. Silly you.

“Looks like you’re stuck here with me, babe” 

[jewish-vents]

I can't with this anymore uhhhhhhggggg

"AITAH for creating a private doc to keep notes on what my racist teacher said"

I have this teacher who said a lot of shit (eg. "Ashkenazi people were Europeans forcefully converted by invading Jews", "the Torah mentions Jesus and Mohammed", "Judaism started in Ethiopia because it's the oldest religion and therefore must come from where all people do", "getting angry at Houthis for attacking Israel is like getting angry at a l*nched man for struggling on the noose", etc.). No one cared that she said these things besides a boy she kept deadnaming, a girl who she used as an example talking about slave r*pe, and a kid who she humiliated in front of the class a few times.

When I reported this shit to the dean he was concerned as fuck and 100000% on my side because he's really cool. And to report the stuff, I'd been using a private google doc to keep track of what she'd said. The principal though was overly optimistic and decided instead of talking to the teacher in private, she would hold a class discussion! Yaaaaaaayyyyyyy. I was less than pleased by this, and at the discussion most people took her side. I eventually decided to share the doc with the other three kids so I could get better firsthand accounts.

But then the doc started spreading.

One of the other kids shared it with this boy who she used to mock and throw under the bus, and he shared it with his friend. Who shared it with another friend. Things went like whisper-down-the-lane until someone, I don't know WHO, got a hold of it and shared it to the whole. Fucking. Class. Including the teacher. People started claiming the doc was Islamophobic and didn't elaborate why, and saying we were only "attacking" the teacher because she was Muslim. Or that we only reported this stuff to get drama and attention. The principal herself even said that this was happening because we have varying cultures, which is BS because I have plenty of Muslim friends who have never said ANY of the shit this lady has. That is waaaayyyy more Islamophobic of a statement and I felt offended on my friends' behalf with that one.

I feel bad for the teacher for seeing that doc, but then again, I myself am suffering because someone leaked all my personal opinions to the class. I'm a super conflict avoidant person because I have severe ADHD and OCD and mild autism (ASD1, to be specific), and I hate being involved. I want to sympathize for her. I really do. But when asked to apologize for what she said, she started defending herself and saying we were all closed-minded for not thinking what we previously thought was wrong. My mom wants to take me out of the class to do an independent study project so I can pass the required course without being in that classroom. Because nothing gets in the way of Jewish parents. Especially during Passover.

My classmates are saying she's a sweet lady and it was wrong of us to get upset at her, so are we the bad guys and/or am I overreacting to this scenario.

Anon I'm going to be very honest here. You are absolutely NTA here. And you're not overreacting at all. Your teacher is being very offensive, not to mention historically wrong.

And the doc? If she didn't want to have her offensive opinions called out in front of everyone, maybe she should stop being offensive.

I'm going to say, personally if she were my teacher the doc would be the least of her problems. She would not like me very much.

I hope you're safe tho, you and the other students she's hurt. You don't deserve to be treated like this

-🐺