#wildly different contexts but still

[n-m-and-p-avocados-at-law]

If I had a nickel for every time Charlie Cox played a character who fired an unloaded gun at someone and then laughed, I’d have two nickels.

[tequiilasunriise]

Love, but in the sense that you’ve spent your whole (wretched) life trying to live up to your single-minded definition of hard cornered strength, where you have witnessed enough horrors to last a few lifetimes and the unwashable blood on your hands could drown an army, where there are infinite shadows lurking within you that could never be fully chartered but- and here’s the real kicker- despite all of these traumas and tangles wrapped within and around you, the one thing that finally breaks you, the one thing that renders years upon years upon years of built up tolerance suddenly meaningless….

“Goody warned that I was destined to be alone. Maybe it’s inevitable. But for the first time in my life, it doesn’t feel good.”

-Wednesday Addams, Netflix’s Wednesday

“One idiot with a sword and an asymmetrical smile had proved to be Harrow’s end.”

-Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Tamsyn Muir’s Harrow the Ninth

…is her not being by your side.

[disabledhedgehogs]

hmm... been thinking about how i want the tagging system for this blog to work. i think it would be a good idea to tag specific disabilities/disorders as well as mobility aids so if people come on this blog wanting to see highly specific content they can find it. but also ive seen disabled people say they don't like fandom stuff being posted in disability related tags which i can totally understand i can remember instances where ive looked up a specific disability on here and was greeted with x reader fanfiction and got pissed off. i don't wanna be That Guy you know ..

[taliesin-the-bored]

“…Dreams” by Peter Dickinson

Wolves in the roadways, brothers at war,

    The sword a tool to be bought and sold,

Savages raiding the eastern shore

And the King old, old.

"Newest of all my knights, now ride,

    Quarter my kingdom, search moor and fell.

Find me the mage who stood at my side

When the world was well."

A crazed knight dodders across the hills

    Blear-eyed, mumbling and listening at stones.

His armour is rusted away. He feels

Ice in his bones.

The last King lies in a secret grave.

    His Caer is sacked and his kingdom gone

Under the savages' conquering wave.

But the search goes on.

Where? Which outcrop on what blank moor?

    They swore there was something that could not die.

It might sleep, but would wake when needed . . . Or 

Is it all a lie?

On a cliff which the ravens swoop beneath

    (He does not see them, but hears their calls)

He lies exhausted and waits for death.

Mild sunlight falls

On limbs and turf . . . There is something there, 

    Not heard like the calling birds, but felt . . .

A presence filling the tingling air,

Seeming to melt

Times into Time . . . In this Time, this Place 

    A boy lies watching the ravens' flight, 

Not outside, but filling the self-same space

As the dying knight . . . 

And others whose times are still to be 

    Here in this instant, layer within layer,

Mind within mind, like the rings of a tree

Grown fresh each year

Till it holds the centuries, age within age . . .

    The last knight dies in the evening dew

Knowing the tale of the sleeping mage

Was a lie, but true.

Nowhere, ever, for him to find

    Under any boulder on moor or hill

But buried in minds fresh born that mind

Dreams on, dreams still.

[deadbeatdadjokes]

“your choices don’t matter”

yeah ok sure maybe this is true as far as the end result is concerned, like whether Lancer sided with his friends and let them seal the fountain which sustained the only world he really knew or sided with his father to allow the world to then be slowly engulfed in darkness-both options result in the ‘end’ of that world (meaning the dark world in the classroom). He made the choice himself and yet the ‘end’ came anyways.

But I’m like 90% confident if you asked him I’d know which timeline he’d rather be in.

[joeybarnacles]

Hey Tumblr, how about you stop showing me posts from terfs "based on my likes" and actually show me stuff I've liked before

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I get haunted by my past as a dr fan because someone mentions it or smth and lemme tell you the worst case scenario is if they bring up v3 in an even slightly positive light because nothing will make me start giving a shit abt dr again except for my burning hatred of that damn game, I just spent like 30 minutes ranting to myself about how much of a nothing character Kokichi is in the bathroom after showering just to vent it out because if I don't rant abt v3 every now and then I'll explode and kill someone

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[reidrum]

porcelain doll | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

a/n: writers block is a bitch fr but somehow this came out! i just wanna say that if you relate to reader or just have qualms in general about intercourse that its okay and its normal and you're still a wonderful human being at the end of the day ok that is all i love you mwah

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, making out, no p in v sex but talks about it, reader has an ambiguous reason for it hurting cuz there are like so many gdm reasons it can hurt it's ridiculous, hurt/comfort, fluff, afab reader, spencer is a loving and supportive boyfriend, i proofread this once sorry

summary: you'd been keeping quiet about something personal that you knew you should tell spencer but just couldn't find the right time for, but now it's all come to a head in a hot heat of the moment and you're forced to confront it

wc: 2.6k

_______________________________________________

you meant to tell spencer about it when you first started dating.

it’s not something that comes up to discuss in a natural context, like over coffee or at work. by the time you and spencer had actually started dating, you hoped there would be a quiet moment where you could tell him, but even when soft moments came and went your anxiety was the ruling emotion and prevented you from telling him.

that brings you to this moment right now— you straddled over spencer’s lap on his couch with your arms around his neck, his on your waist, wildly kissing him. you had just come home from the bar with the girls, and spencer couldn’t help himself with how pretty you looked as he pulled you to the couch and perched you on his lap.

still being in the somewhat early stages of your relationship, your intimacy with him never went past making out, with you most of the time tapping out after getting too overwhelmed. and spencer always respected your boundaries.

don’t get it wrong, you both still had a lot of fun when things got heated. if you could kiss him every second of the day you would. but being able to feel how much fun he was having always left a pang of guilt in your heart after always stopping. he’d always be heavily panting, trying so hard to hide the discomfort in his pants, and the most you could do in return was dissociate and live in false ignorance about it. it didn’t help that he still so devastatingly kind to you after.

but here you were on his couch tonight, and something felt different. a desire you hadn’t felt before taking over your senses as your bodies intertwined. it’s like every time you’re with him, he makes you almost forget all the insecurities that eat away at you.

almost.

spencer moves his mouth down your neck, leaving a trail of hot love bites before he finds your sweet spot. you angle your head more so he can get better access, and moan out at how fucking good it feels.

he moves his hand to the waist of your shorts, looks up at you silently asking for permission to remove them. you nod and he maneuvers them off, returning to straddle him. his hands move to knead the flesh where your hips meet your thighs, every movement delicate and intentional. it’s like with every touch he transfers his love for you through his fingertips to drive you absolutely crazy.

you subconsciously grind down on him, putting a pressure he wasn’t expecting as he groans lowly in your ear, “fu-uck.” it warms your heart a little, knowing the effect you have on him. your hands tangle in hair and pull firmly letting spencer moan into your mouth as he moves a hand further down your body.

“this okay still?” he breathlessly asks as he toys with the lining of your panties.

you nod again, not trusting your words at the moment. a sinking feeling starts to brew in your gut, as you can easily predict where the next events are going. he’s being so kind to you, and you feel sexy with the way he’s eating you alive with his eyes and touches. the guilt would chip you away if you had led him on this long only to stop right before the good part, just because you couldn’t handle it or something.

but he starts to stroke you outside your panties, and you have to admit that it feels vaguely good. you continue to bury your head in the crook of his neck in the hopes of masquerading any facial expressions contradictory to your words. you just want spencer to feel good, and this is the first step to reaching that goal.

spencer takes the soft breaths blowing in his ear as a sign to keep going, and hooks a finger on the cloth to pull it aside. he runs a single digit up and down your slit, swiping by your entrance to gather the wetness to spread around. when he circles back to give your clit attention you shakily moan out his name and his arm grips you tighter around your waist. you feel his finger descend again and prods around for the entrance again before gently sliding in.

the last five minutes you had been praying repeatedly and silently in your head, please let it be different this time, please don’t let me ruin this perfectly great relationship, please let my body just do what it’s meant to do.

but your prayers are left unheard, and all you can feel is hot, burning pain.

it tears through you, a feeling incomparable to walking on fire rocks even. it’s overwhelming, all consuming, things you would typically describe a normal sexual experience but here your body was, in a cruel twist of fate by being on the complete opposite end of that spectrum.

most of all, it just fucking hurts. point blank, you don’t see it subsiding anytime soon. you hoped the sentiment of making this good for spencer would overtake the signals being sent to your pain receptors. but it doesn’t, it actually intensifies the emotional pain in your heart that you know will weigh on you once this is over.

spencer being the darling lover he is holding you so gently, and yet instead your body betrays his gentle loving touches and receives them with malice. 

how dare you?

after a couple minutes, you can’t take it anymore. the panic starts to rise in your chest— from the pain, the guilt, all crashing down like an avalanche preparing to leave you stranded in the rubble.

“spencer…” you grit out.

“yeah baby?” he hums.

“can we-, i think i need to…” you strain. the pain is spreading throughout your body like a forest fire, uncontainable and devastating.

spencer slows his ministrations and pulls back a little, noticing the faint red rings forming in your eyes from the unshed tears, “hey, what’s wrong?” he pulls out his finger complete, subtly wiping it on his pants (which you’ll gawk at later because, who is this man?). even after the removal it’s left you scorned, and you feel it breaking your resolve fast.

“are you okay?” spencer tries to peer into your eyes again, voice laced with worry and dread.

you open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. you’re in shock, you think. and you’re feeling a lot of emotions, too many emotions all huddled up in your head begging for control.

spencer sits still below you deeply concerned and confused, “sweetheart, what’s going on?” he desperately tries one more time.

you think your brain has finally settled on what to feel.

mortification.

you squeeze your eyes shut, harshly rubbing them with sweaty hands, “i’m okay, i’ll be right back.” and you don’t give him time to rebuttal as you swing off him and bolt to the bathroom in record speed. after you shut the door and lock it, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. and then everything else falls out too.

your arms clutch your stomach in distress as the panic settles in you, sliding down the wall as you sit on the floor with your knees tucked under your chin. tears blur your vision, and the deep breaths are counterintuitive as they seem to make you more and more lightheaded.

a faint knocking seems to cast a line to bring you back down, and another firmer knock solidifying it.

spencer softly says your name, “can we talk? i just want to know that you’re okay.”

a pang of guilty shoots up your heart and you let out a big sniffle inadvertently, and spencer finds an unknowingly matching pang shooting up his own heart.

“i’m sorry if i hurt you, sweetheart.”

that was the final blow, and you fully begin to sob on the bathroom floor. how selfish of a person were you to let him feel guilty for something that was entirely your fault?

“you didn’t do anything,” you say between cries, “i’m just, being weird.”

spencer isn’t convinced, “will you let me in?” he says softly.

you contemplate the outcomes. he comes in, you tell him about your irregularity, he gets upset with you for not telling him and because you don’t work. or you don’t let him in, he gets upset with you and your stubbornness, deciding it’s no longer worth it to deal with you and he leaves.

solid choices, you think.

swiping at the tears falling still, you think you can’t feel any lower than you do right now. so you reach up and unlock the door but don’t move to open it.

he hears the click of the lock turning and knows he has to open the door. the handle turns and spencer pokes his head through, “i’m coming in, okay?”

you don’t respond, your head still finding solace in your bunched up knees. you faintly hear the door creak open and a figure move in.

if spencer’s heart wasn’t clenching before, someone’s now got it in a death grip with how distraught you look is making him feel. he doesn’t enter your bubble, he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate at the moment. instead he sits in the open doorway, hoping it offers you a comfortable space to know that he’s there but not enough to overwhelm you.

you both sit in silence for what feels like forever, spencer knows it’s ten minutes and thirty two seconds, when you let out the smallest and faintest, “i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t do anything,” he immediately says, itching to move closer to you, “i just want to know what happened, angel.”

your eyes scrunch up in frustration, “ugh, it’s not-“ you falter, this was not how you pictured this conversation going.

he waits for you to continue. “i have this…thing.” you start.

“thing..?”

why does it feel so embarrassing to say out loud, he has three phds and hunts serial killers this cannot be the worst thing he’s heard.

it’s definitely the most vulnerable though.

you turn your body 180 degrees so you’re not facing him, thinking it would be easier to confess to him if he’s not staring you down, “when i like, put things down there… it hurts.”

“what kind of hurt?”

“it’s like a…really intense pain. that doesn’t go away.”

spencer ponders for a couple seconds, “is that what happened a couple minutes ago?”

you nod your head into your knees, letting the fresh hot tears wet your kneecaps. it’s humiliating.

he inches closer, “angel, did you think i was going to be mad?”

you sniffle, “are you not?”

a tentative hand rests on your back, “not at all,” he whispers, “i was just really worried about you.”

worried. people have been angry, apathetic, even sad (for themselves) when you told them. but never worried.

you suppose spencer reid has always been different, defying any preconceptions anyone previous had imposed on you. he always offered you kindness and love when you couldn’t find any for yourself. it was unfair, how much he loved you, and how you couldn’t show him how much you loved him back.

you clear your throat, “it just makes me feel…broken? to not be able to do the one thing my body is made to do. in the past it’s been a dealbreaker for a lot of people, and understandably so.”

spencer has moved to sit in front of you, inches away. he reaches a hand up to push a tendril of hair behind your ear, letting his palm rest upon your jaw. his eyes hold nothing but love, and he waits patiently for you to continue.

“i’m really sorry i didn’t say anything, i meant to tell you when we first started dating,” your voice gets higher as the emotion floods your throat, “but everything was going so good, i didn’t want to ruin it.”

you add one final blow before receding, “i thought when i told you, i would offer you an out to go sleep with some other girl just so you could have that experience.” you lament.

spencer lets your words sit in the air for a few moments before softly saying, “can i hold you?” 

he thinks it’s better to have you in his arms before he talks, because as much as his words could comfort you he thinks it can’t hurt for you to feel physically held together after all that’s torn you down.

if he wasn’t watching you so intently he would’ve missed the faint nod you give him. you’re scooped into his embrace with your head tucked under his chin and into his neck. he has one hand supporting your back and the other drawing letters into your thighs, and leans his chin to rest atop your head.

“first of all, please don’t ever feel like you have to ‘offer me an out’, especially for things that are really serious like this.”

“but it’s not fai-“ you try to argue.

“no. you can’t do that. you won’t do that. i don’t care what you’ve been told in the past, but loving and having you means holding every part of you, especially the ones you try to hide. i am not here to pick and choose what i want.”

he holds you the way you would a porcelain doll, achingly beautiful yet terrifyingly fragile.

“my sweet girl, you are not broken. i promise. penetration is not the end all for sex, and it’s not the only way to have sex. studies show that 75% of women feel pain during penetration, sometimes it can be related to stress or anxiety, which i’m sure on top of all that you deal with, that me leaving for cases all the time can’t help.”

he cups your cheek with his warm palm and angles your face to meet his eyes.

“what matters to me the most is that you feel good, and if you don’t feel good then it’s not worth doing in the first place.” he whispers, “if this is something you want to work on in the future, i will be there to help and support you however i can. but if you don’t want to do anything, i will still be there to support you. always. there is no dealbreaker for me, you are it.”

with red stained eyes you look up at him, “are you sure?”

“i’m sure,” he reinforces, “i love you. i don’t think a version of me exists where i am not loving you. you occupy an embarrassingly large amount of my brain, and there’s a lot of stuff in there.” you giggle and spencer feels flowers blooming in his chest.

you sigh and wrap your arms tighter around him, “i love you too, spence.”

you both sit in silence, basking in each others presence.

“you looked so beautiful tonight, i don’t think i told you when you came home.” he softly speaks, stroking your hair.

fiddling with a button on his shirt you reply, “thank you, honey. penny told me to buy that dress, said it’d drive you insane.”

he breathes out, “she was right. i don’t even know if i said anything to you, i was borderline delirious seeing you come home to me.”

you lean up to place a smiley kiss on his neck, “i’ll always come home to you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“i think i’ll be having you forever.”

“woah,” you smirk, “that sounds borderline stalkerish. better be careful, my boyfriend’s an fbi agent.” 

spencer’s eyes narrow, “i could probably take him.”

“eh.”

“eh?”

[emmyrosee]

You’ve been sneaking into Kenma’s room for years.

It started when you were very young, having left your gameboy at Kenma’s house after a few rounds of Mario. You managed to toss a few rocks at his window, and once he silently unlocked the door and let you in, you quickly scurried back out hours later with a grateful smile.

Then, you started to sneak through his window. Seeing the flashes of lights at god knows what hours was something you knew meant he was awake, and you’d climb out from your sheets and crossed the street to his place. Again, you’d throw rocks at his window, and when he’d tried to go open the door, he hadn’t expected you scale up the large tree just a few feet away.

Tonight was no different; he’s tapping away wildly on his console while you scurry up the tree in your slippers, smooshing your face against the glass when he finally sees you and opens the window.

You’d finally tumbled in, and he gave you a tired sigh, “you’re annoying.”

“And you’re still playing. I wanted to watch you play.”

“You could’ve just texted me. You left marks on my glass.”

“I needed the exercise. What time do you need me out of here?”

“Kuroo drags me by the ankle out of here by 06:30. Be out beforehand.”

You smirk and nudge his shoulder with yours, causing him to send you a glare before sitting back down on the floor. “Sleep on the bed, help yourself to pajamas.”

“You like him, kenma,” you tease. You see him tense up before he shakes his head.

“No,” he says simply. “I don’t. Not like that anyways.”

“Just not used to you having other friends besides me,” you hum. He huffs in annoyance.

“Are you gonna watch, or do I have to kick you out of my room?”

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll behave. Only because I hate climbing your tree.”

Kenma doesn’t like Kuroo. Honest! He thinks he’s cute, sure, gets why the girls like him and boys follow him around, he’s fine enough on a scale of emotional and physical attraction.

But Kuroo’s not the one Kenma’s eyes stay focused on. It’s you.

You’re funny, he likes the way you eat foods that you don’t like first, before diving into the favorites after to savor them. You’re cute, and you’re bad at the differences between contexts of words, and you have a little eye twitch that bestows you in a moment of quick thoughtfulness.

You don’t ask him why he’s up so late, you ask him the answers to homework and give him gummy worms as a thank you. You never overstay a welcome, always either leaving before the sun comes up, or staying quiet while you sleep on the bed.

He likes the way your eyes shine when you’re excited, the roll of your eyes when he tells you “no” when you want the answer to be “yes”, the little snickers that slip out at Kuroo’s expense at Kenma’s quick thinking.

“Kenma?”

“Im busy.”

“I want to cuddle.”

The way you want physical touch when you’re tired.

Yeah. As your best friend, he really is bias to that one.

With a groan, he pauses and saves his game under slot 3, shuts down the console before crawling up and into his bed next to you, the cold sheets shooting his nerves until they warm under your shared warmth. You bury your nose in his collar and he takes out his phone for you both to watch tiktok.

“Kenma?”

“Go to sleep.”

“When you marry Kuroo, can I be the ring bearer?”

“If i marry Kuroo, I want you far, far from my ceremony.”

He practically hears you pout, “you’re no fun.”

“I sure am not.”

For someone who has no fun, not one fun bone in his body, he’s amazed at how comfortable you are in his grip and he in yours, fingers fisting his nightshirt until his own eyes grow heavy.

And if Kuroo walked in just a few hours later at 06:30, only to see his best friend cuddling with someone he loves most, he didn’t say anything and closed the door softly behind him.

[junglelandnatural]

i am literally so sorry but have we ever talked about the "you're just a man" parallels at the end of s6???

as in cas goes "you're just a man" to dean at the end of man who would be king and then ONE EPISODE LATER dr. visyak goes "you're just a man" to BOBBY, who SHE HAD A RELATIONSHIP WITH???

[lizardsfromspace]

The factchecking this cycle has been so profoundly incompetent that it's finally getting some real backlash, but the extent of it really should be clear. So much of factchecking is not based in reality, but in a kind of contorted moon logic that can find true claims to be false and false ones to be true based on wildly inconsistent reasoning.

But this one really shows off some of the base assumptions of modern factchecking, and also bc it got a community note which is funny:

Let's take this one by one

The idea that quotes have any options but "he said it" or "he didn't say it". It is a binary, maybe with a third option of "it was clipped wildly out of context", but something you see constantly now is the idea that quoting someone's direct words without deceptive editing or removal of context can somehow be false

Pointlessly noting that it's from 2016, and that it's not clear if he currently believes it. What the hell does that matter to the question of if he said that in 2016? People understood that the "dig up someone's tweets from when they were 17" thing was inane, but they counter-balanced by apparently deciding that citing anything someone said more than about six months ago is Misinformation if we don't have objective evidence they would say the exact same thing now, even if there's no evidence they believe anything else. Analyzing someone's high school tweets and analyzing something the literal President said seven years ago are not equivalent

Noting that he walked it back following criticism. You see this constantly, too. Again, what does that matter to the question of if he said it? But this is just taken as a given now: if someone gets blowback and says "whoops I didn't mean it", that should be taken at face value. Effectively, Politifact is letting Donald Trump self-factcheck Donald Trump: their only evidence (and I read the article too) this is at all false is that Donald Trump said Donald Trump didn't really mean the words he said, so they must agree with the judgment of Donald Trump that Donald Trump was treated so unfairly here.

A general confusion over what factchecking is. If you're asked "did Donald Trump say this in 2016?", your sole job is to determine if he really said that in 2016. It's not to divine if he, deep in his heart, still believes it now. That's completely irrelevant.

The two guiding principles of modern factchecking are this: one, it's strongly rumored - and also, obvious to everyone literate - that the major factchecking sites have either standing orders to find equal numbers of lies on both sides, or are staffed by people who think it's their job to hold both sides equally to account (the exception is Snopes, whose writers are just terrible at their jobs). In the name of this, Donald Trump can say something on camera only for it to be judged false, while a Democratic politician can be excoriated for mildly rounding down a figure in a speech. A factchecking website once determined that saying climate change was a threat to life on this planet was a lie, because climate change won't kill all life on this planet. Politifact's lie of the year one year was a Democrat saying a Republican plan would "end Medicare as we know it", which was judged to be a lie because it wouldn't literally end Medicare completely. Figurative language needs to be scoured, comments said directly on camera need to be made fuzzy. This makes factchecking sites worthless at factchecking, because what even is this?

It's not true that Donald Trump will refuse to accept the election results, because he's merely said he won't accept, and has said if he loses, it's only because the election was fraudulent. Okay, what, do you demand that people prove he said his plans in exact words? What is the actual, functional difference between "he said he won't accept it" and "he said if he loses it's because he won and they stole it from him, and he won't commit to saying he'll accept it"? What are you talking about, who is this for? When you go to the Logic and Reason Site for Debunking & end up having to puzzle out their convoluted logic and reasoning to understand anything, the plot's been lost a bit

The other is the idea that context is exonerating. Any context at all. If they said they didn't mean it, partially false. If they walked it back, partially false. If they said it was taken out of context, partially false. If they said it a certain number of years ago, partially false. If there's a longer video, even if it shows functionally the same thing, pants on fire, five pinocchios.

Again, we have footage of Trump saying this, and the footage in the ad is unedited, and the factchecking website is declaring something that OBJECTIVELY HAPPENED WITH HARD EVIDENCE IT HAPPENED didn't really happen bc we don't know his heart, maybe he believes something different now, we simply can't know for certain. But we do know for certain. Because "false" at least used to mean "didn't happen". But factchecking sites are now on those Beyond Belief definitions of "true" and "false" I guess

But the real problem here is that they just accept anything someone being factchecked says at face value. Because, and I can't believe I'm saying this

It seems like the people paid to determine if other people are lying...have forgotten that people lie sometimes

[bitter-hibiscus]

Hear me out, hear me out. The reason why I think the dynamic of Batman and Robin is abusive is not because of the concept of child sidekicks.

Whenever you see other heroes with their respective sidekicks, their dynamics are about mentorship and being a guiding hand, most times about teaching the younger generation how to understand their powers better and how to use them for good. Child sidekicks are most commonly for the benefit of the child, not the adult.

That is not the case with Batman and Robin.

B&R's dynamic is for Bruce's benefit. Robin is the light to Batman's darkness. Robin is the one who saves Batman from himself. Batman needs a Robin. This is widely a result from Tim Drake's introduction as Robin, when Bruce was passively suicidal and causing more harm to people than he should. Tim and Bruce, in a vacuum, are not that much of a problem. It's still kind of messed up that Bruce would depend on a 13-year-old to get his mental health sorted out, but it makes sense in the context it exists in, where Jason had just died and Bruce blamed himself for it while simultaneously being in denial about his pain. The problem is that the idea that Batman can't function without a child to help him with his mental issues stuck.

It means that, between bad writers and good writers and wildly different interpretations of Bruce as a father, Bruce starts being painted as obsessive. He needs Robin to always be happy -- the guiding light -- he needs Robin to always be funny and upbeat but still mature and skilled and ready to die for Their Cause, that wouldn't have been Robin's cause at all if Bruce hadn't introduced the idea of it to them. Needing your child to never express a Bad Emotion or act out of line (like Jason was, for example, in the events leading up to ADITF) or else you're going to make them feel like they're undeserving of their place in your family (I'm not your father, Jason, I don't need teenage rebellion) is, in fact, abuse.

And the worst part is that this dynamic gets retroactively attributed to every Robin!!! Even though it really originated (or, rather, became truly ingrained in the text) with Tim!!! Because we keep getting more and more Robin Dick and Robin Jason stories written post-Robin!Tim and it gives them a dynamic with Bruce that they didn't have before!! Which sucks !!!

[lovingpiastri]

YOU ARE IN LOVE (op81 x female!reader)

ᯓ★ there is nothing more tormenting than watching two idiots clearly in adoration with one another & there is nothing more peculiar about how they realise it . ( drabble )

warnings : IDIOTS IN LOVE !? mutual pining & uses of y/n

it was safe to say you and oscar were attached at the hip and aren't to be disconnected , despite the contrast between your professions being out of this world irrelevant to the other's job. yet you still found a way to accompany the other even sometimes if it disturbed your schedules. but gosh no ! this relationship is nothing but platonic * wink wink *

whenever you required to purchase weeks worths of grocery shopping , oscar would be more than over the moon to tag along and occasionally show off that he can carry all your shopping .

on the other hand you , you would show up to all his races even though it would affect your working hours and if oscar placed then that would be the cherry on top . best believe you will be acting like a crazy lunatic of a fan girl whilst chanting his name . infront of all the other drivers to see .. and this is where the teasing begins !!

"just put us out of our *checks time* already ten minutes of misery and admit that you're in love with her."

"oscar likes y/n, oscar likes y/n !"

"grow some balls and go out with her??"

literal school children, possibly even worse . but the worst thing is whenever you walk up to oscar to congratulate him, all of the drivers gaze at you with shit eating grins.

"cough cough , y/n loves oscar." george mutters not sneakily at all to say the least. to which you hit them with "of course i love him, we've been friends for ages !" clearly oblivious to the context , making oscar's ear turn crimson due to the beginning of your answer.

however, after months of endless teasing the most bizzare scenario makes oscar realise that he is infact in love with you . it would be a random tuesday night out in the humid garden, most likely sometime in mid july where the ungodly heat would be trying to kill the both of you . yet on that casual tuesday you would gasp , "there's a typo in the crossword puzzle !" ( b99 reference )

to those words oscar revoked his attention from his phone to your aggrivatingly disturbed face , gazed at you with the biggest heart eyes and it hit him : he adores, cherishes and loves you. and during the weeks on end of knowing , oscar only wondered why he didn't come to the realisation a tad sooner . you're literally perfect for him .

for you however , it's a different story. a typically cliché one .

it would be a night head to toe adorned with booze , sweating and dancing after a successful race where oscar finished p2 , evidently so there would be waves of flirtatious girls swarming him to the point you felt forgotten and cast aside and jealous ? you'd be staring at him from across the dance floor , drink in your grasp squeezing so tight that it was moments away from crushing and smashing into shards . emotions coarsing through your veins mixed with misery, envy and vexation .

the pot of envy was bubbling and it was threatening to overflow or even explode but it cooled down as soon as you noticed oscar only gazing at you, almost yearning .

after that wildly feral night, you wanted nothing more in the world than to now be around oscar 24/7 so you knew what you had to do . admitting was not on the table so you attempted to hint it , but oscar is the definition of oblivious .

"my lip gloss tastes like strawberries wanna taste it?"

"yeah sure, strawberries are in the freezer ."

this would go on for weeks on end until you gave up , finally telling him or screaming in oscar's face to be exact so he got the memo.

"i feel strange when you're around."

"do you have a fever or something?"

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU."

the formula one drivers were most definitely having a field day with the teasing !

©lovingpiastri

[aemondluvbot]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 — 𝖎𝖎

✧ ⸺ aemond x reader︱part one

𝔞. 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: this might make sense on its own, but i do think you should read part one for added context

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: fingering while on dragonback (poor vhagar, this is the targaryen version of joining the mile-high club i think), fluff apart from that

“she won’t hurt you as long as you’re with me,” aemond reassures you for what might just be the millionth time. still, with every step you take, you wring your hands together and pray to the seven gods for whatever’s to come. 

in the stillness of the night, your senses feel heightened. every footstep, every distant laugh and squeal and animal sounds ring loudly enough in your ears that they might as well be made right next to it. you clutch your cloak tighter, looking to aemond who does the same. 

“my prince…”

“hush, little sparrow,” he breathes. it’s a soft whisper, mostly so he won’t attract any attention, and yet your body obeys like it’s a command. “do you not trust your prince?”

“i-i do, but…”

“and do you not trust his dragon?”

well, that’s certainly debatable. how do you know you won’t instantly be burnt to a crisp the moment vhagar gets the tiniest whiff of you? how do you know you’re not marching to become her next meal?

“you don’t,” aemond says like it’s a firm statement. and perhaps it is. she is ancient and powerful and a god. you are just a servant girl in the red keep. 

“do you not trust your prince’s ability to command his dragon then?” aemond’s voice is low, careful. your body reacts to it instantly as a warning shiver passes down your spine. you must tread carefully. 

“i do, my prince.” 

“then there’s no need for you to worry, is it?”

there are a thousand different things to worry about, you think to yourself—sneaking outside the keep in the darkest hours of the night, sneaking outside with a prince, riding a targaryen dragon, sleeping with the prince… more times than one…

“i suppose not,” you answer just as quietly.

“i haven’t been outside the city gates all that often,” you confess a bit more freely once you step outside the gates. “it’s…different.”

“is it?” aemond’s voice holds the same curiosity it always does whenever he’s asked you a question about yourself—never condescension or a patronising tone, always a genuine desire to know the answer.

“the air smells better,” you laugh. 

aemond hums, smiling at you as you continue to make your way to his dragon. you know it’s not far now, vhagar usually sleeps right outside the gates so the prince can ride to her whenever necessary. 

and now as you hear stirring and great big breaths echoing in the distance, your heart picks up again, thudding wildly in your chest the closer you walk. there’s anticipation thick in the air—thick and cloying and suffocating, and you wonder if it would be wise to just turn around and make a run for it. 

but then aemond stops just a few steps ahead of you and turns around to extend his hand. 

“are you ready, little sparrow?”

the no is right there on the tip of your tongue. no i’m not, i will never be, lets just go back to your bed. i’ll keep you warm. that’s what you wish you were saying, instead you give him a shaky little nod and watch the prince’s face split into a gorgeous smile. 

“ynot!” aemond’s voice rings out in the crisp, quiet night. 

the beast stirs. 

if it weren’t for the prince holding your hand, you would have dropped to your knees right then, you would have dropped to your knees and curled into a ball praying for swift death. one look at her, and you know there’s not running away from her. 

there’s only aemond who stands there like a shield between you while you cower behind him as vhagar stands to her full height. 

you have seen her in the skies before, patrolling the areas around the red keep and king’s landing, flying like a giant bird in the vast skies. but up close she is bigger than you could have ever imagined. 

she’s big and beautiful and beastly. involuntarily you whimper. 

“they sense fear, little sparrow,” there’s a teasing note to his voice as you press yourself into his back, peeping at her from behind him. 

“well, i am afraid,” you snap, not even bothering to apologise and grovel for taking that tone with him. aemond seems anything but offended, though. he seems rather amused.

“do you wish to touch her, little sparrow?”

no. no no no. absolutely not. no! but aemond seems so eager and despite the fear coursing through your veins you can’t find it in yourself to deny him this small pleasure. 

“um…”

“come,” he leads you by the hand. closer and closer and closer until she moves again and you yelp, practically jumping onto him and burying your face in his chest. aemond’s sharp laugh rings in your ears. this is beyond embarrassing that a simple movement of her head should have you shaking like a leaf. 

but aemond’s arms around you feel nice and reassuring. so much so that you hold onto him a little tighter. 

“lykirī, vhagar,” the prince murmurs. you don’t know what the words mean, all you know is that hearing him speak in high valyrian has a few butterflies fluttering in your stomach, clearing away some of the dread. 

“lykirī…” he breathes softly, approaching her with you still clinging to him, a little bit less now that she’s still again, looking at you with her giant yellow eye.

up close you can see just how leathery and thick her skin looks, battle worn over centuries and tougher than even diamonds perhaps. aemond raises your hand that he’s been holding, and before you have the chance to beg him not to, places it on her neck. 

your heart stops beating entirely. 

vhagar’s nostrils flare like she’s sniffing you. sizing you up more like… perhaps she’s wondering if you’d even be worth one bite to her. her hide is the strangest thing you have ever touched, unlike any other sensation you have ever felt in your entire life. 

“what did you say to her?” you ask in a hushed voice. aemond stands behind you, his body pressed against yours, his hand atop yours as you stroke the dragon with shaky, hesitant movements. 

“i told her to be calm.”

“you told her to be calm?” you laugh, “what’s she got to be scared of? me?!”

“would you rather she startled?” aemond teases and that shuts you right up. 

the fear in you dissipates the more you stroke her. she’s calm after that, only huffing slightly every once in a while. slowly you even gather the courage to move a little closer to her. all the while aemond watches. you can feel his eye on you at all times, never once wavering, never once looking at anything else. 

“should we fly then, little sparrow?” aemond asks after a while. you freeze again. fly… on her… sure you’re no longer scared she might burn you to a crisp but to fly on her… 

but you’ve trusted aemond thus far, and he hasn’t let you get hurt. what’s a little more trust then.

“you need to let go of me, little sparrow,” aemond laughs, urging you to let go of the arm you’ve been clutching for dear life while sitting in front of him. 

the dragon’s still on the ground and you’re already so high up… what happens once she starts flying? 

“mm? oh, sorry,” you mumble, letting go and straightening just a little.

“i’m going to keep you safe,” he murmurs in your ear, raising goosebumps all over your body. 

his fingers trail up the side of your thigh, over the leathers he’d lent you for this specifically. it already feels odd enough to be in trousers but that’s nothing compared to the feel of a saddle beneath you. still, his touch soothes you a little, calms your racing heart. 

the night is still dark, with no moon in the sky. a million stars twinkle above you, and as much as it scares you, you can’t wait to touch the heavens just a little. see if you can pluck a star from the sky.

“vēzot!” aemond commands. beneath you, the beast flaps her wings. 

there’s a great rumble, a sound louder than any thunder you have ever heard. it’s her, you realise, it’s vhagar’s cry as she frees her wings and leaps into the air, up and up and up until you realise you’re half-screeching and half-laughing, hysterical and awed. this is…beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. 

wind rushes through your hair, making your eyes water at first. your hair will be a tangled mess after this, much worse than when the prince has his way with you, and yet you can’t care less as all of king’s landing lays right below you—building’s tiny as a grain of rice, lights burning below you just like the stars that twinkle above you. 

“aemond!” you grab his arm, screaming over the wind, “aemond look! the red keep, and that—” you point somewhere to its east, “that’s the sept, and oh! that’s…”

one by one you point to the buildings and the streets you’ve only ever roamed so far. the more you recognise them the more excitement floods in your veins. vhagar’s gliding over king’s landing now, gentle and soothing, only flapping her wings whenever necessary. 

“it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” somehow his voice still carries over the wind, over the blood rushing in your ears. it would… after all he speaks the words right in your ear, kissing the shell of it and flicking his tongue over it right after. 

“hold the reins for me, will you?” aemond asks, his voice hoarse, deep. 

“w-what?”

“hold the reins, little sparrow…”

it’s an order as he nudges your hands with his, urging you to take a hold of the leathers. you know you’re not really steering the dragon, not with your inability to speak any high valyrian or your lack of valyrian blood. still, it feels like the biggest responsibility in the world. bigger still when vhagar grumbles the moment you close your hands around the reins. 

but aemond’s there to pat the dragon. “rȳbās, vhagar,” he commands again and the dragon goes back to the way she was before, calm, gliding on the wind. 

“she listens to you…” you murmur in awe, more to yourself than to him. because of course it’s a stupid observation, she’s his dragon, of course she listens to him. and yet it’s awe inspiring to you that he can command the dragon the way he does. 

prince he may be, but he’s still a mortal man… it astonishes you that he commands so much power with just a few words. 

“you listen to me too, little sparrow,” aemond breathes softly, placing little kisses over the shell of your ear just like he had before. his hand, now free, rides up your thigh, over your stomach, while the other rests on your hip, holding you in place. 

“aemond was it? not…my prince?” 

your eyes widen when you realise. of course, in your excitement you’d forgotten all manners, addressing him by his name like he’d given you permission. 

“my apologies, my prince, i—”

“i like it, little sparrow.” he pushes his hand inside your trousers, shutting you up instantly. 

his fingers are cold from the night air, a shock to your system as soon as he touches your clit—cold, rough fingers, touching the softest, warmest parts of you. 

his fingers move, tracing circles and vague shapes until you’re a moaning, quivering mess, writhing just so you can feel a little more friction. it’s just the right pressure, the right pace as he works you up. your hand falls slack, only loosely gripping the reins now, back arching off his chest lightly as you moan as loudly as you want. 

there’s no one to hear you high in the skies above king’s landing. no one to catch you in the act. all your sounds belong to him and him alone. and you won’t deny your prince those simple little pleasures. 

this is nothing like you’ve felt before, nothing like how your own hands make you feel. this is like tiny bolts of lightning right under your skin as the wind rushes all around your body. 

“that–that feels so good…”

aemond hums behind you, keeping up with the pace he’s set. his fingers dip between your folds, teasing and inching towards your opening—keeping you on edge. the reins are bunched up between your fingers, back pressed to his chest. as he nips at your neck, right over your pulse point, using his other hand to play with your nipples; stimulating, sending jolts through your whole body. 

“always ready for me, aren’t you little sparrow?” he breathes, peppering kisses down your shoulder. his finger circles your entrance, rough and thicker than your own, better than you’re used to. 

it’s enough for you to cry out—whine really. because you want him, need to feel him. but he’s taking his own sweet time. 

“what was that for, huh? needy little thing,” he taunts, “what do you want?”

between the words and his gruff voice, all thoughts vanish out of your head for a second. he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet, and your head is already starting to feel like mush. 

“you, please,” you all but beg, “want your fingers in me, please my prince…”

“not afraid of vhagar anymore, are you?” his taunting tone gets you going more. 

this should scare you to death—to be at the mercy of a dragon so high up in the skies, and yet with aemond’s fingers buried between your legs and his hardness pressing into your ass, none of it matters. none of it except chasing that high he makes you feel every single time. 

you spread your legs wider. your hand reaches back, caressing the nape of his neck, scratching it in slow sensual circles. hearing him groan is enough to calm any residual nerves that remain. sure, the effect you have on him is minuscule compared to what he’s doing to you, but it’s a small victory regardless. 

aemond falters for a brief moment, head thrown back as you feel the spike in his heartbeat. it makes your own skip a beat. but he recovers quickly, teasing your folds a bit more, finger circling your entrance.

“my good girl,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. 

before you even have the time to react to that, he slides a finger in, just the tip first, teasing, before he pulling the finger out again and thrusting it in. it’s faster this time, rougher. your insides feel like liquid, melting further and further with each graze of his callouses, with each thrust.

you scream his name as loud as you can, louder every time his thumb presses into your clit, chanting it so thoroughly, reciting it like a prayer and chasing your high. 

it’s frankly a surprise that you still have the ability to speak because every single part of your body feels like it’s melting, blood zapping through your body, pushing your heart into overdrive.

this time when aemond thrusts in, it’s with two fingers. you cry out at the sudden stretch, the burn that accompanies it. he falters when you jolt forward.

“did i hurt you, little sparrow?”

hurt?!

“no, i—” it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, and to take the whiney edge off your voice. “that felt good… better than before. keep going, please, just—”

the prince doesn’t let you finish, pushing his fingers inside you again. the hilt of his palm crashes against your clit, rougher than before, and you body trembles from all of it. 

“perfect little sparrow,” his tongue flicks against your ear, “taking me so well.” 

his words add to the heady intoxication. your head spins, completely blanking out on anything else—the dizziness from your desire and the vertigo of being so high up, that… you think, is the most addicting feeling you have ever experienced. 

all that matters right now is aemond and his hands and his voice. his lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your sweet spot and peppering kisses, and this time the buzzing that fills your ears is nothing like before. 

now as your legs shake and spasm, you know you’re close. 

his fingers keep moving in and out, plunging into you, drawing out wet and obscene sounds until you feel them hooking inside you, without warning. when he parts his fingers inside you, stretching you more, it’s enough to push you over the edge. 

with a cry, you slump against him, gushing onto his hand, incapable of doing anything else as waves of pleasure crash onto you, blinding you almost.

for a second the world falls away, tilts on its axis, as you experience a mind numbing orgasm on the back of a dragon you were terrified of mere hours ago. 

“aem…” you falter, gasping as he continues to slide his fingers in and out, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

“shall we go back to the keep, little sparrow?” he whispers a moment later, “continue this without traumatising poor vhagar.”

you laugh, it’s a throaty chuckle more than anything. aemond’s fingers are still buried deep inside you, making you clench around him. 

in apology you stroke the dragon. “she’s a good girl.”

“oh, is she?” aemond asks, and you can already imagine his arched brow as he stares at you with a little smirk, his eye glinting in the darkness. 

“lets go back to the keep, my prince,” you nod, “the things i want you to do to me are better suited for a bed anyway…”

[emese-of-void]

I have so many feelings about the psychic autism creature from Scavengers Reign.

It's such an interesting idea to have a creature with telepathy but not human level intelligence. Having Kamen in his mind doesn't mean that he now knows everything Kamen knows, but it does change him in really destructive ways. Kamen's complicated feelings about the Demeter filtered through Hollow seem to translate to indiscriminate anger towards all technology - the emotions are there, but not the comprehension.

Another thing I really liked is that mind control is presented as quite bening in its natural context, and also that it's purpose is so simple and so easily achievable by other means. It's so typical of evolution to not only solve the same problem in many different ways, but also to solve it in wildly extravagant ways. Trying to reach food high up? How about claws, flight, mind control, shock waves to shake the branches. Why not. Just irrepressible abundance.

I've been trying to figure out the potential evolutionary function of Hollow's kind absorbing their symbiotic critters. I think this could be super useful if the ecological niches of Hollow and the tripod creatures only partially overlap. And there are times when the tripods are in distress or desperately lack some nutrients or something. Hollow took Kamen in when he was clearly in distress, and after Hollow was completely focused on actions driven by Kamen's feelings, not even feeding. So the critter is kept alive and safe, and through the mental link Hollow knows what it is they're in distress about and can get them to the right place. That is such a neat adaptation! And potentially really flexible, allowing Hollow to create symbiotic relationships with different species. Maybe originally it started as a gestational adaptation. If the environment was unpredictably hostile it could be useful to be able to give birth to young but then, uh, unbirth them I guess, to keep them more safe temporarily.

The problem is, Kamen's needs aren't evolutionarily driven, and Hollow has no way of fully comprehending them or achieving them.

Oh man, the scene where Hollow lies down next to Fiona's body. Kamen doesn't know and Hollow doesn't comprehend, and it's killing them both. It's like Kamen completely abandoned his responsibility to be present in the world and act upon it, but his will is still acting on the world in a blunt and uncomprehending way through Hollow. Which as far as the addiction metaphore goes, yup, that's pretty spot on.

I'm so happy that Hollow got a happy ending. For a moment when he was melting away to reveal Kamen I thought that they were going to treat him as just a container for a human, a violent problem to be solved with violence. I should have trusted the show to be kinder.

Hollow is just a little creature, he shouldn't have been forced to try to understand concepts like self loathing or divorce, and now he never has to ever again.