#I'M SORRY THIS KEPT ME UP AT NIGHT

[dr-zeddy]

Guys, hear me out, again, I hate to be the one saying it, but:

Mohg kidnapping Miquella doesn't even make any fucking sense in hindsight.

Why would MOHG, who has his own confirmed definition of royalty in his dynasty, as an act of rebellion against the system which severely oppressed him, follow the tradition of being the consort to a GOD, for his claim to have legitimacy. Why. It doesn't make any sense for him to suddenly kidnap Miquella, at all.

Honestly, if anyone, it would very likely be Mohg who couldn't give less of a fuck about how his lordship will take place, as long as it does. Bro is extremely sure of his power and abilities, why, why, why would he share the belief a God is neccessary to achieve his goal???

This mf is all about rebellion in oppose to Morgott, on a philosophical level it would be super hypocritical to enable a new status quo by trying to achieve lordship through the current tradition. I mean, maybe that is the point if you still want to interpret him as an 'evil creep' but I personally think, that way, some things fit the narrative even better:

We know that there already was an established system via Ansbach, before the Miquella drama, so why on earth would Mohg, who considers his Pureblood Knights Royalty and creates his own nobles by sharing his blood, follow this atrocious tradition??

That way Ansbach's dying line, would also make a lot more sense. He hopes that the lordship which the Tarnished is trying to achieve, would follow more akin to what Mohg was probably trying to do, becoming a lord for men, not for the gods.

(And also for himself, I still think it was some kind of coping mechanism for Mohg to achieve lordship, so it was a mix out of the psychological need to get power, in order for it to be less likely to be controlled again (tragically ironic, really) and a big middle finger to what the Golden Order did to him.)

Mohg's dynasty used to be centred around having his blood shared. It didn't matter where you come from or what heritage you carry on your back. If you carry around his blood in your veins, you're part of the family.

I guess when Mohg was being enchanted by Miquella, his mindset shifted and suddenly, he became obsessed with creating this whole Formless-Mother vessel-thing. (Which in itself even sounds silly, like how to you push a goddess which is considered formless into a flesh vessel? It would seem fairly counterproductive but that is just some literal interpretation, also considering all the New Formless Mother lore we encountered in the DLC. )

That's when Ansbach – knowing his lord's usual mindset and ambition – probably noticed something is off and fairly easily figured out that Miquella was fucking with Mohg's mind. Hence why he tried to challenge him and lost. Mohg was more important to Miquella's plans than the other way around and opposed a threat to the order Miquella was trying to create. So why did he coccon himself? My guess is that he needed a gateway to the Lands of Shadow + a way to get rid of his golden flesh to escape the influence of the Greater Will. And being supposedly kidnapped, nobody would ever suspect him being behind all of this and annihilating Mohg as a possible, popular competitor to his goals, which was, as we see, extremely effective.

[vulpixelates]

i hate how much any reminder that my mother exists fucks me up aoeijfoaijwfojiaw

we haven't spoken in years now but she still keeps trying to find ways to contact me. she finally learned she has to stop going through my dad bc i told him i didn't want to hear anything about her so this time she sent a fucking letter. and started it w like "i didn't know how else to contact you" as if that wasn't the fucking point, and then started rambling about her new cats as if a) the last time we talked on the phone hadn't been a fight about her abandoning her old cats and b) one of the last times we talked in person hadn't been her telling me that MY cat was ugly.

like bitch, i don't care that you have new cats. i don't want to hear anything about you. the only thing this made me want to do is go steal them bc they deserve better than being taken care of by someone who is a borderline neglectful cat owner, especially now that the cat i BEGGED her to keep inside as per her adoption agreement has died bc she was outside during a fucking tropical depression like 😭 what do you fucking MEAN. she has these fucking designer cats that are probably from a breeder and she's probably letting them outside like an insane person

ig i shouldn't be surprised that the woman i cut out of my life for never respecting a boundary in my entire life is still not respecting boundaries but god it's so infuriating aefoijaowi she just refuses to let me be fucking rid of her

at this point i'm tempted to send her a letter back just to tell her to fuck off but that's giving her what she wants: attention, which i am never giving to her. i had once thought that maybe i'd let her back in my life if she told me she'd stopped drinking but i don't think i even want that anymore. my life is so much better without her. she makes everything fucking worse, no matter how much my brain tries to convince me that she's my mom and should be looking out for me. she's not my fucking mother anymore. she barely ever was.

[cacw]

adding onto that one I feel like they put too much emphasis on how bad bucky feels about killing while he was the winter soldier as if he hadn't killed what must have been countless people beforehand

[myrinthinks]

are you a zionist? the tags on that one post made me wonder and i dont want to follow a zionist. sorry if not and im bugging you for no reason lol

You know, I've been kinda going back and forth on whether to answer this or not, not because I'm offended or anything but on principle (and also because I couldn't tell what it was referring to at first and "are you a zionist?" is one hell of a thing to read out of nowhere; for everyone similarly confused: it's in reference to this post).

Because the thing is:

The whole topic of zionism/Israel's war on Palestine/Israeli colonialism could not have been what I was talking about in those tags because the post in question is literally about shutting up and never, ever talking about something. Contrary to that, I have reblogged numerous posts on the Palestine-Israel issue over the past months which I would have thought made my stance on the whole thing clear. (I have also donated to Palestinian relief funds but of course you couldn't have known about that because, somewhat ironically given the topic, I never mentioned that on my blog.) I'm astounded that out of all possible topics I never, ever talk about, you landed on one that, well, I actually have talked about.

I'm also astounded that you read my saying "so I simply never talk about them ever" and thought "better make her talk about it". When I say I don't talk about a topic, I mean it.

Ironically, I was - again - going back and forth on whether to include those tags in the first place when I reblogged the post in question, exactly because of anticipating asks like this one. I feel like it's a simple reality of life that basically every person we interact with has thoughts and feelings we don't know, have never even thought of, and might even vehemently disagree on, especially when that interaction is happening through an online lens. But somehow, a lot of people don't seem to (want to?) realise that, and actually acknowledging that simple fact somehow makes you suddenly suspicious when it's just stating the truth.

There are a lot of topics I don't talk about, either online or IRL, but not all of those are ones I know people won't share my thoughts and feelings on; in fact, the vast majority aren't. You are vanishingly unlikely to guess what I was referring to in those tags, even if you list all the things you can think about which I've never mentioned on here, mostly because what I was referring to are all utterly mundane topics, they're just things I happen to know some (not even all! Not by a long shot!) of my online friends have the diametrically opposed opinion on, passionately. (If you absolutely need an example, albeit a fandom one: one such topic - which has since changed because I found my people - used to be my love for omegaverse. I gobble that shit up, it's my absolute favourite trope in any fandom I've ever been in. But I had one online friend - "had" not for any particular reason, we just drifted apart naturally and haven't interacted in years; she actually fully deleted her tumblr some time ago - who was very vocal about her hatred of it. By pure happenstance she mentioned her strong dislike of the trope before I mentioned my strong like and as such, I simply never brought the topic up at all, ever.)

You are allowed to not follow me for any reason at all! If I, for some reason, have given you the idea that I might be [whatever you can come up with] and you're uncomfortable with that, you don't even have to hesitate, you can just unfollow/not follow me in the first place. I don't even know my follower count and accidentally look at it maybe once every two weeks. But even if that weren't the case, what am I gonna about it? I don't know you! You can just happily live your life without my having any way to contact you about your unfollowing me, and if you hadn't even followed me to being with, even better - I don't even know you exist! Spoken more bluntly: this.

I could be lying about all of these things. I would think that looking through my blog would be a much better indicator of my personality, stances, and attitude than point-blank asking me about it. I could easily try to trick you with my answer to your question but I've had this blog for almost ten years and I would be playing a very long ruse if I had spent that much time exhibiting views I don't actually hold.

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I just finished watching S2E13 The Stan Who Came To Dinner, and there's a scene I didn't remember before in which Stan asks for Dorothy's forgiveness for all the times he cheated on her, because he wants to face his operation with a clear conscience. Which is,, yikes, of course, but also not the thing I want to talk about right now.

What surprised me is that Dorothy seems to be shocked at his revelations? It seems like she really didn't know about Stan's infidelity? I mean, the whole dialogue begins with her saying:

"I've already forgiven you for that, Stanley. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, it's not bad to wait 38 years to make your first big mistake."

I initially thought his mistake was divorcing Dorothy (since his line before this one is 'I love you, Dorothy. That sounds crazy because I walked out on you, but it's true.' ), but then he admits that the divorce wasn't his first mistake, because he's cheated on Dorothy before -- and she seems genuinely taken aback:

"I cannot believe this. I cannot believe that I am hearing this. I always assumed something like this could happen, but..."

And this was so strange to me, because I always sort of assumed she did know. She even caught him one time! In S7E8-9 The Monkey Show, she recounts this episode about Stan:

"[...] I rehearsed my speech and I made arrangements to meet him at a coffee shop. I got there five minutes early and caught him necking with a waitress."

So... she does know (of at least one time)? But then, why didn't she say anything?

I feel like there's three possible answers:

She really doesn't know. She thought the incident with the waitress was a one-time occurrence, and she's believed him all throughout their marriage when he said he was 'going at a convention' or 'working late' or whatever excuse he used to cover his actions.

She's lying to him in the S2E13 scene -- and she's lied to him all throughout their marriage. She does know about his affairs, and never confronted him because she wanted to keep their marriage and their family together more than she hated his guts; she didn't want to rock the boat, so to say. What shocks her in the S2E13 scene is that he's admitting this stuff out loud, with plenty of details.

She lied to herself all throughout their marriage. As trustful of him as Dorothy can be (and as trustful of him as she was in her youth, especially), she's also a smart cookie, and Stan's not really the sharpest tool in the shed. It's hard for me to believe that she never figured out that he was cheating on her, especially after catching him with that waitress; it's easier to think that she forced herself to believe his gaslighting, as part of her efforts to be a good wife to him. When Stan (sort of...) comes clean, she's shocked because it's sinking in, in real time, that she was right.

I'm not sure which option is more likely; I feel like it's probably a mix of the three. At the beginning of their marriage she likely didn't think it possible and believed everything he told her; once she caught him with the waitress, she had a sort of transition phase where she tried to believe he was faithful to her even though she knew the truth, deep down, and then by the end of her marriage she was over it, and simply chose not to let him have it. She's shocked in S2E13 because she can't believe he's admitting this stuff out loud, but she doesn't seem as shocked (and angry) as she would be if she was just finding it out in the moment, imho.

I also feel like her knowing about his infidelity doesn't change the meaning of the first mistake line, because, well... he's always come back before. He's come back to hurt her again and again, but he has come back -- and then she gets a phone call, and suddenly, for the first time, he's not coming back anymore. It's the one time that's so devastatingly painful it eclipses everything that came before -- no wonder she counts it as his first mistake.

[pixelpaladin24]

|| The feeling of being able to post 💙Connor💙 and not feeling guilty about it oh my fucking gods I'll only look at the bright side of this situation like thank fuck i am allowed to feel happy

HHHHIIIIIIIMMMMM 💙💙💙

[zevrans-remade]

.

[elytrafemme]

i'm starting to wonder if therapy is going to be productive because no matter what happens i'm probably going to experience this every night of my fucking life

[fauchart]

I'm ngl I've been. feeling really shit about my art lately.

I promised myself I'd try and do at least one higher effort illustration per month this year so I'm continuing with that for now, it's a goal that's keeping me trying at least, but. damn.

Everything that I do feels and looks so laborious. I can't even draw a regular human figure without it coming out looking like a child who struggled to draw their dad, like. Why is this so difficult? And why is the end result so soulless?? It has as much life as a goddamn wikihow picture

I'm so envious of people who have their personality and artstyle figured out fr, I've been trying for years to find a spark of my own and never landed anywhere. I wanna lay down

[candydos]

i am genuinely so unmedicated (babygirl)

[mashmouths]

oh "the house that built me" by miranda lambert we're really in it now

[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[pyrexbongcries]

one of the besties is mad at me because for once i wasn't a self-sacrificing mess who only exists to serve others lol

[pseudowho]

The Wristwatch

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You had not known you were Nanami Kento's girl, until the Wristwatch Incident.

In truth, your affection had been brewing so slowly, you had not known if you were imagining it.

You had not realised you were in love with Kento, until he leaned in close, and you smelled the smoky, wood-rich warmth of him. Until you found yourself nursing stomach-dropping disappointment, if your phone pinged and it wasn't him. Until you woke up in cold sweats, the memory of the dream of his skin on yours so vivid that your heartbeat throbbed between your legs.

You couldn't accept it. It couldn't be love, when he did not love you back. And yet...that intoxicating dance continued, while your head dipped in denial...blinkered.

The extra coffee that would be slid over the desk to you, by a strong, gentle hand. The late night phonecalls, decompressing from the stress of your missions. The occasional dinner in each others' company, because, well...we both need to eat? Why not eat together?

You were afraid to label it; afraid to lose the soft skirting intimacy that you had. Nanami Kento was a hard man to gauge; alternately sincere and distant, warm and cool, closely familiar and objectively analytical. He kept you at arms' length; close enough to brush fingertips, but far enough that you could run...if you wanted. And you never did.

You had gone shopping, together, one balmy spring afternoon. You both needed new clothes...so why not together? It makes sense, really. Nothing else in it, I'm sure. Just friends. He doesn't feel that way about me, anyway.

He had insisted upon Ginza Shopping Mall. You balked at the exquisitely-expensive-upmarketness of it, but you could never deny him, for fear of losing this time together. You had perused for new earrings, your belly clenching at the many zeroes on every pricetag. He had ambled over to another counter, just browsing, and there for quite some time.

"See anything you like?" That deep-roast voice broke you out of your reverie. You looked up, into twinkling hazel eyes, and blushed. Yes, you. One of you, Kento, please and thank you.

"No," you scoffed, turning your back on the jewellery, and walking towards the shop door, "too cheap for me. I couldn't possibly be seen wearing them."

Kento laughed, slipping a box into his pocket, and walking just close enough to send your brain into a spiral. You barely functioned through lunch. Kento remained, as ever, a gentleman.

As he drove you to your door, and you bid him a flustered goodnight, you felt that same big, warm hand on your arm, holding you back to him.

"Wait," Kento insisted, "I have...something. For you. Open it when you're home." He pressed a smooth, embossed box into your hands. You could not see what it was, under the glossy paper sleeve. You opened your mouth to chastise Kento, and he interrupted smoothly.

"It's your birthday soon. Consider it an early gift. You couldn't possibly refuse...?" One raised, fine eyebrow. That cool, impassive gaze. You pouted. Sneaky old goat.

"Alright. You win this time, Kento...but I'll get you back," you had promised. He had simply smiled indulgently, stepped out to open your door, and watched you until you were inside.

With trembling hands, you slid the smooth paper cover off the box, and your stomach somersaulted.

Tag Heuer.

"No...Kento-- you didn't," you hushed to yourself, rushing to open the box.

You fumbled an exquisite silver, blue-faced women's watch out of the box. It seemed, somehow, familiar. You couldn't possibly. You knew the pricetag on these. Even the packaging was too expensive for you.

With one hand over your mouth and a pounding little heart, you sent Kento a text with shaky hands;

Nanami Kento. Absolutely not. Take it back.

A few anxious minutes, pacing, looking at the watch resting on the table and gasping each time. Three small dot dot dots...dot dot dots...and a response.

Sorry. Lost the receipt. It will look good on you.

Squeaking and grinning to yourself, you tried the watch on. You took it off. You paced. You tried it on again. You fell back onto your bed, legs kicking, and hands over your face.

Every further refusal you send to Kento, was flatly ignored. He left you on read all night.

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The next day, at work, you couldn't help but notice the looks you were receiving. They weren't bad looks, certainly, more...surprise? Happy acceptance? Knowing smiles? Each person the same; glancing to your watch, eyebrows raising, and searching your face with a grin. You didn't understand it.

Over lunch, Shoko reached over to you, a coffee in her other hand, and tapped the new watch on your wrist.

"Couples' watches now, hmm?" She smirked. You frowned, questioning. Shoko scoffed at you, as if you were playing coy, when you didn't even know the rules of the game. Shoko's smile didn't falter once.

You confronted Kento later that afternoon, dragging him into a dusty narrow corridor, and holding the watch up to him with fighting eyes.

Kento's heart burst with pride, biting his lip with a sly smile, and taking your wristwatched hand in his own. He tipped your arm back and forth, admiring the watch on your wrist from all angles, with a lovesick sigh. You suddenly recalled, with flushed cheeks, where you had seen such a similar wristwatch before.

Kento watched your mental gymnastics with a slowly growing smile. You almost caught on fire as he raised your hand to his lips, pressing an adoring kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Wondered how long you'd take to notice," Kento rumbled, eyed closed and nuzzling his nose against your fingers, "that you're my girl. And always have been."

[lightlysaltedsalt]

One of those things about chronic illness nobody ever talks about is just how much it makes you feel like you have to apologize.

Sorry I'm late; I couldn't get out of bed. Sorry my weird breathing kept you up all night. Sorry I couldn't make it to your party; I was half conscious on the floor all evening. Sorry I keep forgetting everything you tell me; I promise it's not because I don't care. Sorry I seem so out of it all the time. Sorry I'm not "present" enough when we hang out. Sorry I need to be taken care of sometimes. Sorry my body is breaking and it seems like it's inconveniencing you more than me.

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.