#Like I'm still getting comments on that post I made

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

Taglist:

@strwberryglass @lilithquillete @delias-stuff @bellatrixmld @damainwayneisthebestrobin @kittzu @lilyalone @yokesmam @sanjisluvbot @facelessisnthere @dollwhite @superstarbucks

@angelunatic @littledollete @cutelittlesugarfairy @darbystrange @sxftiebee @zealous0mouse @trashlanternfish360 @galaxygirlsblog @euphoria-looney @1simpchunkygirl @a-lurking-fae @analuixxy @naturallyspontaneous @horror-lover-69 @pastel-mouse @ladyrosemone @frankie-moon3 @catley1011 @justannie18 @yandereaficionado @ithoughtthinks @asdfghjklgayblog @shadowyknightbeargoth @peche4et3chocolat @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @iamabeaner @rosesunderthegarde

[mggslover]

Reflections

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her. Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst? x fluff? Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers bc i'm still on s11 lol, so sorry for inaccuracies), one time mention of suicide and rape (no details), fade to black smut so suggestive content Word count: 3,8k A/n: my own entry for #lovers1kevent ! bit different from what i usually write. didn't exactly turn out like how i had envisioned it, but i'm still very curious to hear your thoughts!

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I see my reflection in your eyes.” The sound of a clock striking midnight made you jump in your seat, the plastic stool screeching loudly against the cold, concrete floor. The interrogation room was filled with nothing but the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the pounding of your heartbeat. Everything in this room felt eerie: a harsh light shone down on you, irritating your eyes, and there was no escaping your reflection in the two-way mirror in front of you. You observed yourself through the glass, and to put it simply, you looked awful. The dress you were wearing was crumpled as it hung loosely on your frame, the dark circles under your eyes were noticeable from a distance, and your eyes themselves expressed no spark. They looked dimmed, with no emotion behind the colored irises. Though, that had been so for a while now.

The creak of the door jolted you out of your thoughts. You turned your head, feeling disappointment when the same agent as before walked in. He wasn’t hard on the eyes: dark skin, rolled-up sleeves that showed his muscular forearms, a neatly trimmed goatee covering his sharp jaw, and eyes that looked just as cutting as they darted over you. Maybe, in another life, you would’ve considered dating him. In a life where he didn’t suspect you of killing three men.

He stayed quiet as he made his way over to you, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. He placed a folder in front of him, shoving it toward you. “Still not going to talk?”

You cleared your throat. Nevertheless, the words came out hoarse. “I have nothing to say.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance before crossing his arms. “Do I need to remind you of your rights? You can contact a lawyer, or we can get you one.”

“I also have the right to remain silent.”

A small huff escaped his lips, and you noticed the way he clenched his fingers, as though trying to hold himself back from making a comment he’d regret.

His eyes landed back on you, glaring. “A girl like you won’t survive in prison.”

“Well, then it’s good that I’m not going to prison,” you snapped back with a small smile. You weren’t going to let him intimidate you. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet here you were.

“I’d lose the attitude if I were you because it’s not looking good.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he cut you off. “Open the folder.”

You inhaled deeply before obeying. You hated the way you couldn’t help the nerves from creeping in. Your hand trembled as you opened the folder. The picture that greeted you was one of three lifeless bodies slumped over each other in an empty alley. A bitter tang formed in the back of your throat, but you ignored it, forcing yourself to look back at the agent.

“Looks familiar?”

Your eyes flicked over the image again. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“The people. Do you recognize them?”

You nodded.

“I want a clear answer,” he said, his voice raised.

“Yes,” you replied, matching his tone. “We went to college together.”

There was no way you could forget them. Unfortunately. The idea that they were wiped off the face of earth gave you a strange sense of comfort. Maybe now you could find the peace you’d been looking for. The peace she was looking for.

The agent seemed relieved to have gotten an answer out of you. “And you met up with them again today. Is that right?” he queried, nodding toward the folder.

You got the hint and pulled the first picture off the pile, revealing another underneath it. It was a selfie taken by two women. You spotted yourself in the right corner by the bar, in conversation with the three men he was referring to. His gaze stayed focused on you, trying to see if you’d reveal any emotion.

“It was our college reunion. As you can see I wasn’t the only one there,” you explained.

“Multiple witnesses have told us you were the last person seen talking to them.”

You shrugged. “Is that something significant?”

“Not necessarily so,” he answered, sitting up straighter. “What is, is that you left through the emergency exit. And what makes it even more suspicious is that you left right after the victims got their drinks served.”

You gave him a blank look.

“The victims were poisoned.”

Ah.

You offered him a tight smile. “I think that’s something you need to bother the bartender about.”

“We checked him out already. The only person we can connect to this case is you.”

A silence followed. It truly didn’t seem like you’d be leaving anytime soon. You rubbed your hands down on the material of your dress, gathering courage.

“It’s an unfortunate coincidence. Like I told you, I had nothing to do with it. I don’t want anything to do with them,” you clarified, the disdain evident on your tongue.

The agent turned his head around, looking at the two-way mirror. The thought of other agents standing behind that wall, all analyzing you full of judgement, made your skin crawl. 

“Seems like you’re not too fond of the men.”

You scoffed, “No one is.”

“What about Natalie Fisher?” he wondered aloud. “She seemed close to you. We found multiple pictures dating back to high school.”

Like a gust of wind, the memories came back to you. How you found Natalie standing in front of your college dorm room, smiling brightly as she introduced herself as your roommate. You instantly hit it off: sharing the same humor, the same passions. Only a year younger than you, but a carbon copy. From that day on you were inseparable. 

It all came back to that one night — that one time you bailed on her, deciding studying for an upcoming exam was more important than joining her at a frat party. It was only when she called you awake in the middle of the night, her voice shaking as her words tripped over her tongue, telling you she didn’t know where she was and how she woke up in an empty alley, possibly drugged and with her clothes torn — that you knew you made the biggest mistake in your life.

You shook the thoughts away. Pursing your lips as you shrugged. “She was. I don’t know why you’re bringing her up.”

“Her report says she died two years ago from suicide. Or did you kill her as well?”

It felt like he’d knocked the breath out of you. You made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “You’re sick,” you spat in disbelief.

“I’m sick?” He chuckled sarcastically. “You’re the one who murdered those people.”

“I didn’t murder anyone!”

The sound of your yelling reverberated off the concrete walls, the echo scaring you. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back tears as you bit your tongue. There goes your attempt at staying calm. He was playing games with your mind. You knew this was all a trick — a way to get you to admit to the crimes he was naming. And it drove you crazy that it was having an effect.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” you muttered.

-`♡´-

Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as he looked through the glass. You’d been sitting there for three hours, forty-three minutes, and twenty-six seconds, counting. He didn’t know what it was about you that made it impossible to look away. Hotch had told him to go home. Hotch was certain that they got the right unsub, and he assured him that you’d confess at some point. But he couldn’t get himself to move. To turn his head even. All he felt was a nagging guilt as he watched you being questioned by Morgan. It was a different experience to see an interrogation when he’s been in one himself. He now understood what it was like. How pressuring their questions can be, how the weight of a sentence is crushed on your shoulders, and how they keep pushing you to the point where you even start doubting your own truth. 

All he could think of when he saw you was innocence. A soft, radiant white light surrounded you. You were bright even against the harshness of the room. There was no rational way to explain how he felt, only that he sensed the deepest desire to keep you safe from everything that could hurt you.

“She’s working on my nerves,” Morgan exclaimed, tension visible in his shoulders as he stomped out of the interrogation room. 

“We can’t stop,” Hotch stated. “We haven’t gotten an answer out of her yet.”

Morgan let out a deep huff. “It’s clear that she did it.”

Spencer's focus was back on you. Since he’s been to prison he’s been more aligned with his feelings. His heart overpowering his mind at times. 

“She’s not our unsub,” Spencer spoke up, surprising even himself with the firmness of his voice.

Everyone looked at him expectantly, waiting for the genius revelation he always had. But the room stayed silent.

Hotch eyed him, “What makes you say that?”

“I just know.” Spencer replied, not caring to elaborate further. He nudged Derek aside and headed for the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

He pulled the heavy metal door open, at once met with your doe eyes as you faced him. For the first time tonight, you didn’t flinch when someone entered. 

Spencer had to swallow. His gaze momentarily dropped to the floor, feeling overwhelmed by how beautiful you looked up close. You seemed tired, cold, yet somehow angelic.

His eyes never left yours as he made his way over to you. You held his gaze, observing him with the same intensity as he was. He carried a calm, magnetic presence, which made you feel an unexplainable urge to get closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he eventually asked, his voice gentle and considerate.

You blinked at his question, clearly not expecting it. You remembered how you were only wearing a light dress, noticing the goosebumps that had formed on your bare legs. Inevitably, you nodded.

He surprised you again by taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders. The fabric felt heavy, enveloping you like a warm blanket.

“Thank you,” you silently mumbled, noticing a small dimple appear in his cheek.

He sat down in front of you, resting his arms on the table between you, as though compelled to get as close as possible. The moment felt intimate, your eyes locked on his tender brown ones, making the world fade around you. “I believe you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, a frown formed on your face as you realized he wasn’t about to say more. “What?”

“I believe you,” he repeated in the same composed manner. He leaned forward even further, and it was then that you noticed you had subconsciously mirrored his movement, drawn to him like a magnetic pull. 

“They suspect you, but I don’t.”

He didn’t need to rephrase his words for you to understand who he meant by them. You could almost feel the other agents’ glaring stares pressing down on you through the glass.

“Try to forget about them,” he reminded you, as if reading your thoughts. You didn’t look up to face him, instead your focus was on the proximity of your hands on the table, his finger just inches away from touching yours. Spencer noticed the look in your eyes, and moved his little finger just enough to brush against yours.

An electric shock coursed through you. Simultaneously, both of you shuddered, stunned as you saw the other wearing the same stupefied expression. Sure, it could’ve been a static shock, but something told you it was more than that. And by the look of the curly haired agent, he felt the same.

“Why don’t you?” you asked, returning to the subject. “Suspect me, I mean.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “Because I know what it’s like to be in a situation like you are.” He saw the confusion written on your face, continuing his explanation. “There’s something about being in a room like this — being treated like you’re guilty before you even speak — that makes you start questioning your own truth.” 

Questions flooded your mind, but you chose not to press further. You had someone who believed you, you weren’t going to ruin that opportunity by being too curious.

“So, what now?” your voice sounded more sure, hopeful even.

“Usually, we ask people if they’re willing to take a polygraph exam,” he explained. “It can also be referred to as a lie detector test, even though that term is often used incorrectly. A professional will ask a series of questions, and as you answer, the device will measure multiple psychological indicators which are associated with lying, like your blood pressure and pulse. I know it can sound scary, but in cases like these — when there’s no clear evidence — it might be the only thing keeping you from going to prison.”

His words hit you hard, though the gleam in his eyes remained soft. You inhaled deeply before nodding. “I’ll do it.”

-`♡´-

“She’s telling the truth.”

You hadn’t known pure relief until now. Your eyes closed, trying to stop the flood of emotions from flowing in when the pressure cuffs and sensors were being removed from your arms and hands. You didn’t know whether to cry or to cheer, but when you opened your eyes and saw Spencer — who had introduced himself as Dr. Reid, smiling at you, you were sure everything would turn out okay.

“Impossible,” the agent who questioned you earlier huffed under his breath.

The chief who had introduced himself as Aaron Hotchner walked up to you. “For now you’re free to go. However, this case isn’t closed yet. You’ll remain our primary suspect until we find more proof.”

The sharpness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. You kept quiet as he and the other agents left the room, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.

He closed the distance between you two, standing near enough that he could see all the details on your face. He fought the urge to tuck the loose strings of hair behind your ear, to hold you and tell you that you were okay.

“You did really well,” he said with a soft smile. “Your heartbeat stayed on an average of 70 beats per minute, only going up to 86 once, which is still in the normal range.”

“Did you peek at the monitor?” you jokingly teased.

“I- uh, no. I just counted.” Spencer shyly admitted, earning a playful grin from you. You took his hand in yours, his palm slightly sweaty, as if he was nervous about the outcome too. Then you placed his hand on your chest, right where your heart was. “What about now? Higher than average?”

He swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck. “95 beats per minute.”

The tension between you was palpable, though his touch felt comforting. Your hand was placed over his, and you could both feel the way your heartbeat steadily decreased as you brushed your fingers soothingly over his.

“Can I drive you home?” Spencer offered.

You bit your lip in an effort to hide your grin, but then the corners of your mouth slightly dropped. “I don’t really have a place to stay.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but an empathetic twinkle appeared in his bambi eyes. “You could stay at my place.”

Spencer wasn’t sure why the words came out, but he meant them. He could practically hear the voices of his team telling him to not get involved with someone on a case, let alone a potential suspect. But it wasn’t like he was the first person to do so. And he wouldn’t waste the opportunity of getting closer to you. Maybe if he could get to know you better, if he could make you comfortable enough to open up to him, he could prove to everyone that you were innocent. Because deep down, he knew you were.

-`♡´-

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing, man?” Morgan called out, rushing after Spencer, who had just entered the bullpen to grab his satchel bag before heading out with you.

“Hotch told me I could go home,” he hastily replied, stuffing his papers into his bag.

“Yeah, two hours ago. Before you decided to flirt with a suspect,” he exclaimed in frustration.

“I didn’t flirt with her,” Spencer recounted under his breath.

Morgan let out a dry laugh. “Everyone saw what went on in that room, Reid,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I would’ve least expected this from someone like you.”

“Someone like me doesn’t exist anymore, Derek,” Spencer snapped, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’m not who I was before prison, and neither will I ever be that person again. However, I can help her from turning into someone like me. So, if you don’t mind, I am leaving now.” 

He left Morgan at a loss of words as he walked off. You were waiting on him; your posture stiffened as you wrapped his jacket closer around you. Gently, Spencer threaded his fingers through yours and guided you to the elevator.

Once inside, Spencer pressed the button to the ground floor, then leaned his head back to the wall, letting out a fatigued sigh.

“I am sorry for causing you trouble,” you apologized, nervously picking at the fabric of his jacket that hung loosely over your arms.

His gaze softened, and he shook his head before he reached out to hold your hand once more. It was ironic how he longed for your grounding touch. “You’re not causing me any trouble. I’m sorry for the way they’re treating you. It’s our job to be cautious, to not easily trust someone.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you trust me,” you stated, though it came out more as a question, waiting for confirmation.

His other hand lifted up to touch your cheek, and his heart warmed at how you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I do.”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Can you prove it to me?”

He responded with a soft chuckle, reaching up to cup your face in his large palms. You rose to your tiptoes, leaning in until his sweet lips found yours.

-`♡´-

Spencer had expected to spend the ride home talking to you. Instead, you spent the entire ride trying to resist the urge to climb on top of each other. Once he tasted your lips, he couldn’t get enough, and neither could you.

Your giggle sounded through the dimly lit halls of his apartment complex as he dragged you up the stairs. 

“Hurry,” you impatiently chuckled as he struggled to find his keys in his bag. He joined your giddy laughter as you entered the apartment. The second he shut the door close, he gently pressed you against the wall, his lips finding yours again. You let out a satisfied hum, your fingers sliding into the soft curls of his hair, tugging on it as he bit down on your bottom lip.

“Wait—one second,” he murmured.

“No,” you pouted, capturing his lips. 

He kissed you back—then again, and again—before finally pulling away. “I just need to put my gun away.”

“Fine,” you mumbled, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “Just make it quick.”

He gave you a big grin and walked to the cupboard, where his safe was hidden behind his jackets and a row of spare shoes. It felt strange to have someone in his apartment. Strange to be smiling so brightly, to feel so much, after the emptiness prison has brought him. But strange didn’t mean bad. It felt new. And new could be good. You could be good.

His fingers pressed down on the familiar buttons: 62383. With a soft click, the lock opened; he took his gun from its holster on his pants and safely put it away.

When he turned back, he saw you leaning against the wall, a sweet expression on your face as you awaited him. He strode toward you, immediately pulling you in and kissing you fiercely.

Spencer was aware of his actions. Aware that he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do with you. But as his hand made contact with the warm skin of your inner thighs, and as your sweet sounds filled the air, he chose to simply not care.

-`♡´-

The next morning you woke up with messy curls tingling against your face. You chuckled as Spencer lay asleep with his head resting on your chest. Your fingers ached with the urge to graze them through his hair, to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. Instead, you held your breath as you climbed from underneath him.

The golden sun shone brightly through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings. You tiptoed through the room, gathering the items of clothes one by one, until you were fully dressed. 

Wearing yesterday’s dress sent a shiver through your body, being reminded of the long hours spent in that bleak interrogation room. 

You mumbled a sorry, before opening his closet and fishing a T-shirt out of it, a blue one with a faded Caltech logo, barely visible. You ignored the thoughts forming in your head, the itch to want to know more about the man who was still sleeping soundlessly in the bed that you shared. 

Once you found yourself a suitable pair of pants, Spencer started groaning from the other side of the room. You turned around, catching his hand patting down the empty space beside him, as if in search of the heat of your body. It felt irresistible to not check up on him. You slowly made your way to his side of the bed, crouching down and lightly stroking his face. His eyes blinked open, and the way he smiled made your heart churn. 

“I need to go,” you softly whispered to him.

His smile faltered. “Where to?” He sat up straighter on the bed, but you gently pushed him back down.

“Will I see you again?” Spencer asked when you didn’t respond.

Your lips curled in a smile, “I’m sure you will.”

And sure you were, because as soon as you left the bedroom, you were headed to the cupboard, pushing aside the jackets that hung on the hooks, until your eyes landed on the shining steel safe. 

62383.

The lock sprung open, and in a swift motion you took the gun and hid it in the bottom of your purse. I will be seeing you again, Spencer. Just under different circumstances.

[helloyesthisispapermario]

#no same im still surprised when i tag something for my own organization after the first 5 tags and it gets attention#from folks who don’t follow me. you weren’t supposed to see that. now i gotta post it and go back and edit to have tags ig#but not showing up in your own blog. girl what are the tags FOR at that point#i know it cuts you off from typing them at a certain threshold but i forget how many that is#idk why it wouldn’t cut you off at 20. unless it does and op is talking about reblogs using the xkit thingy on desktop?#where you can just kinda type whatever forever without realizing you’ve been cut off

--

just to be abundantly clear to anyone wondering: i'm not talking about the xkit thing (though i am aware of it, love that feature), or even about /search, really, i mean like

if you make "#myart" tag number 21 on your post, and i go to your blog, and i type in blogname.tumblr.com/tagged/myart, i am, in fact, not going to see your art. because tumblr doesn't register any tags past number 20, apparently. the post i discovered this on was from 2018, and i stumbled on it the day i made this post. ("#myart" was tag number 25 on the post, for complete transparency)

chances are that few people are going to run into this, because tagging your art posts with every game (related or not) and every nintendo console is a little overkill, but like. some people like rambling in the tags and going on rants! for them, it's pretty important information to know that if you do that then you need to make sure your organizational tags occur BEFORE number 20 or they won't function as organizaton at all: which is why i made this post lol

and for artists, it's important to know that the 20 tags you get for reach are ALSO the 20 tags you get for blog organization, which is why "#my art" and "#specific project" are tags that need to go higher than number 20.

no hard feelings @ anyone, just addressing a handful of comments i've seen in the notes + these tags were most relevant + i liked them. this post is for the oldies, for real.

(NEW?) TUMBLR TAGGING PSA:

heads up, folks! it looks like - EVEN AND ESPECIALLY ON YOUR CUSTOM BLOG VIEW!!! - tumblr only counts the first twenty tags! on a post! after this, the post won't show up in that tag, not even on your blog

so if you have a personal art tag but you put it at the bottom of the post under all of the #switch #nintendo #mario #bros #64 etc etc etc bloat tags, it doesn't work.

please put your most relevant tags first! having an art tag that doesn't have all your art posts in it is basically useless, after all

there used to be a saying that tumblr search only counted the first five tags on a post, which is why crosstagging for reach was pointless. tumblr has since updated to count twenty tags - at a cost. any tags after #20 apparently do not show up in that tag on your own blog.

i found this out because i was looking at someone's cool mario 64 art project, and because they put the tag for the project at the very bottom of their tags, the final post NEVER showed up in their tag for the project when i was browsing it ON THEIR BLOG (very different tumblr behavior than it used to be years ago!). i did finally stumble on the final post of the project, thankfully, and realizing what happend, i started counting. tumblr counts the first 20 tags, but tag #21 and all after are useless.

psa!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Cater Diamond - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Courtyard]

Cater: Whew～ Today's Alchemy class was a real brain wiggler. What class do I got next… Hm?

Cater: Hey… Is that you Leona-kun? Woah, that's a surprise, are you just getting out of class too?

Leona: Shut your trap already… It's got nothing to do with you, Cater.

Cater: No, no, I just wanted to give you the drop on a bit of info. Do you know what tomorrow is?

Cater: You see, it's YA BOI CAY-KUN'S BIRTHDAY ♪

Leona: Oh. Good for you.

Cater: NO REACTION!? I mean, I guess I knew that was coming～

Cater: Shoulda known it wouldn't be easy to get a warm birthday greeting from ol' Leona-kun.

Leona: What nonsense are you spouting? I just did.

Cater: What, you mean when you said "good for you"? C'mon, you just threw that out there 'cause you had to～

Cater: If you're gonna say something, you gotta put more heart into it, not just toss me a few words here and there ♪

Leona: Your birthday's tomorrow, ain't it? I couldn't possibly be rude and wish you a happy birthday the day before all your fellow housemates have a chance to…

Leona: So, bye.

[Leona leaves]

Cater: There he goes again, spouting off whatever… Well, guess I should just consider myself lucky that we got to hold a convo and he didn't just ignore me.

Cater: Alrighty, then. Looks like my next class is Animal Linguistics. I got a feeling I'm gonna get called on today, so I should prep for it.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Hallway]

Cater: Woah, it's that delicious!? I wanna go right away… Oh, but I don't think I'll be able to until after next month.

Cater: Yeaaah, I did terrible on the last Magical History exam～ …Saaame, I wish those tests weren't basically one bit puzzle.

Cater: And also… Oh, we're already back to our rooms. Okay, night～

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

Cater: …Whew, finally I'm back.

Cater: I wasn't able to check Magicam while I was in the shower, so I should do that now.

Cater: Oh, looks like some of my old posts are getting likes too. I'm glad people are still seeing what I posted ages ago.

Cater: There's a few comments, too… Ugh, this question is waaay too long.

Cater: Not to mention, half of what they're saying has nothing to do with their question, they're just gabbing on about themselves. Ugggh… It's gonna be a pain to respond…

Cater: But if I leave it for later, I'll want to reply even less～ Guess I should give 'em a response ASAP then.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

Cater: "Except, that eye mask was a limited-time item, so if it's already sold out, sorry." …And, send. Was that all of them?

Cater: Whew～ I finally finished responding to everything. Guess now I can go check out everyone else's posts.

[phone pings]

Cater: Huh, who's post is this on trending right… Hey, it's that one guy! I can't believe they got a cat.

Cater: "Your cat looks so soft and suuuuper cute～! Can't wait for more pictures!"

[phone pings]

Cater: Ooh, I like the picture of this guitar. I wanna try customizing like this, too.

Cater: "I can't believe you did all this yourself! I'd love to see the play-by-play of how you made it next time."

[phone pings]

Cater: What else is there…? Oh, hey, I've heard of this Magicammer before. Looks like their video giving a tour of their room is hot right now.

Cater: Woah, that's hella cute! Both the floor and wallpaper are done up so meticulously. The entire room's been designed to mesh well with everything～!

Cater: The little trinkets they have scattered around their room are also all the rage right now, so they might be a good reference to keep in mind. I'll give them a follow.

Cater: Maaan, I wish I had a cute, pastel room like this. I bet they get tons of likes.

Cater: Oh, yeah. I kinda left it 'cause I didn't really have anything to say, but… Guess I could write a suggestion here.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Cater: It's been more or less smooth-sailing ever since I got a single room, so I didn't think I'd really have any complaints…

Cater: But this place is a bit too chic for the kinds of photos I want to post on Magicam. Maybe it's more accurate to say it's cute in an old-fashioned way?

Cater: The colors in the room are more on the darker side, which makes the videos come out too dark…

Cater: And it's a pain always having to lug out my photography equipment each time. I'll just write "I want more attractive walls and floors."

Cater: Honestly, I'd love to be able to do a room tour or a day-in-the-life routine video...

Cater: But I bet there'd be a ton of trouble I could get into when it comes to everyone's privacy if I'm shooting in and around the dorm, so that'd probably be impossible while I'm still attending school.

Cater: Mmkay, then… I'm already ready for bed, so I guess I'll just go to sleep early, ready to tackle the day tomorrow.

[fwumps into bed]

Cater: What time should I set my alarm for…? Oh, there's already a reply on my comment from earlier.

Cater: I should probably respond right away since they were also quick with it, huh… Hmm…

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Cater's Room]

[alarm rings]

Cater: Mmm… Mrrrnngh… Is it morning already…?

Cater: Yawn… What time did I even fall asleep last night?

Cater: I think I was replying to a comment I got wishing me a happy birthday right at midnight… Did I fall asleep in the middle of that?

Cater: Looks like a got a lot more comments after that, too. I need to respond… But before that, there's something else I need to do today.

Cater: Can't just laze about here! I need to go to the washroom and wash my face ASAP!

Cater: My face is washed, and I did my skin care routine… So, let's get started!

Cater: The photography lights are turned on, the reflector board is adjusted, and my phone is on the tripod…

Cater: The plushes in the background are… Good, they're settled nicely on the bed.

Cater: There's nothing in the shot that shouldn't be. Perf, time to start the video!

[phone pings]

Cater: Hey-o everyone, it's Cay-kun! Today, I'm going to show off some base makeup items that's been my go-to these days.

Cater: First up… Here's the UV primer that just came out on the first of this month! I know this has been all the rage lately.

Cater: I've been using this every day since I bought it the day it came out ♪

Cater: And you know what's the best thing about this primer…? It's got no reflective shine at all!

Cater: It's got a nice toning effect, and I think it works well with just a little bit of powder on days when you don't really need to spruce yourself up too much.

Cater: I've fallen in love with it, 'cause whenever I wanna take a pic on the fly, all I have to do is dab a little here and there with a tissue and it looks like I did myself up in proper makeup ♪

Cater: Aaand it rolls on so smoothly, too. I'll apply some now to show you what I mean, so keep your eyes on the screen!

[phone pings]

Cater: …Nice, video done.

Cater: I'll snap a few pictures in the afternoon during break and put together a comparison picture, then edit the video… I guess I'll be able to upload it the day after tomorrow.

Cater: I still have to think about some other stuff like the background music, but I should focus on finishing my makeup for now.

Cater: It's my birthday, so I think I'm leaning towards using some of my more cuter cosmetics… Oh, I know.

Cater: I found it! Here's the glitter eyeliner that I got as a part of that limited-edition holiday cosmetic set!

Cater: Both the package it came in and the glitter itself is waaaaay too cute. I'll draw the line with this, and snap a pic to see…

[snap!]

Cater: Nice, I can see the glitter glimmering around my eye. This'll give my birthday photos a little bit of a different feel from usual.

Cater: As for my hair… Eh, I guess it's going a little too far if I did something with that too. I'll just massage in a little bit of wax and just set it like usual…

Cater: Perf, looks good. Hmmm… I still have a bit of time, so I guess I'll reply to all the birthday comments I got earlier.

Cater: I still need to record a birthday video, and I bet there'll be a party, or at least a get-together with the Pop Music Club...

Cater: Eheheh, I can't wait. I think I'll have enough content to upload to Magicam for a while!

[Main Street]

[Cater chats with everyone]

Cater: Yaay, thanks everyone! …Hm?

Cater: Who's that I spy walking over there…? Oh, hey, it's Leona-kun!

Leona: Cater…! Tch, what'd I do to be this unlucky?

Cater: Ehhh, you really gonna act like that in front of the birthday boooy?

Cater: So, anywaaaay… Remember how you said yesterday that you couldn't possibly be rude and wish me well the day before my birthday?

Cater: Which meeeeeans… Since we've met the day oooooof…

Leona: Yeah, yeah, you don't gotta tell me twice. …......Happy birthday.

Cater: Ahahah, I really got you of all people to wish me a happy birthday! This is gonna be a great year!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the teeth, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the T.V.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[i-merely-jest]

Welcome to the show, folks!

This site is really fun from what I've seen so far... although I do have to comment on the lack of other Cookies on it!

What a shame, truly... that means less people to talk to, y'know.

Oh, and it sure is boring just sitting around and waiting for something to happen. Alas, I am trapped inside some sort of labyrinth, and my options are limited.

But hey! There's always something new on the internet, amirite? Boy, are a lot of you dirty little liars... Hehehe...

//mod will remain anonymous and goes by he/they pronouns

the plotline for shadow milk cookie himself is after being freed from the silver tree, but then being put into a different form of containment afterwards. for some reason i wanted him to be in an ikea, so this different containment just so happens to be a fucked up version of ikea. shadow milk cookie is essentially stuck in the infinite ikea, but not exactly, since it's not an scp and it's my own take on the matter. basically, it's like the cookie run equivalent of ikea since it's made with materials seen in the cookie run universe, and he can't physically leave it usually.

it is unknown to others what entity sealed him away here, and even shadow milk cookie himself claims to not know what it is. given how he's unwilling to talk about it most of the time, he is either lying completely or only telling a half truth. furthermore, he's not willing to divulge much information about the place he's stuck in aside from ominous answers that leave people with more questions. if he ever has visitors, he's more than eager to toy with them a bit, especially since they're exceedingly rare. good luck getting out though...

when he does appear to others in the real cookie world, it's typically as an illusion or ghost-like figure from him using his powers to project himself back into reality, so he's translucent. furthermore, he can still do voice impressions, so sometimes he will only be a disembodied voice, as this is easier and more entertaining to him. it is also more common than an actual appearance of him.

he can still have some effect on the real cookie world and can choose to be tangible or not, but is usually the latter. it's incredibly taxing for him to use his abilities nowadays, so he has to remain in his alternate reality, constantly trying to find a way out. it's been so long that he can somewhat control the environment with his powers, but for the most part it seems like something else is in control of the space. sometimes he can forcibly open up a gateway out, but will always have to return since there's always this unknown force dragging him back...

general dni, but if i find you annoying i might block you too

no nsfw, but some flirting is okay (don't expect shadow milk cookie to reciprocate in a genuine way though; he'd likely just see it as a joke) shipping generally depends because i honestly have NO idea who's he's even shipped with but. yeah. feel free to ask or try to plan something with me in advance

i'm generally okay with either silly or serious roleplays, so have fun! i won't bite, i promise. (unless, of course... i'm lying? who knows...)

i encourage oc interactions, as well as canon character interactions! i'm also fairly open to cross-fandom roleplays if it really comes to it

fun fact: this is THE most effort i have put into an intro post. credit for the eye dividers goes to sisterlucifergraphics, and credit for the other shadow milk cookie assets goes to phantasyze. is this blog kind of self indulgent? yes, and i freely admit this. i think he deserves to be in a hellish solitary confinement dimension though.

[simpfordin]

W A V E S

thanos (choi su-bong) x fem!reader [au: based on the film waves]

wc: 3.4k+

summary: you and your boyfriend were madly in love, spending nearly every moment together. the two of you each had your own big plans post graduation. unfortunately, an unexpected pregnancy leads to the demise of the relationship.

warnings: TWTW teen pregnancy, toxic relationship, very angsty, subong is mean/ooc [not rlly a warning but i'm a chronic run-on sentence gal and i'm tired of reading this so i apoligize for grammar/spelling mistakes]

disclaimer: by no means am i promoting any of the themes in this story.

the sun had set below the horizon, casting the sky into a beautiful sea of deep blues and purples. some light was left, though, enough for you to see every detail of the man that lay next to you on the beach towel. his focus was on the sky as stars gradually appeared. the moment was so tranquil, from the light breeze in the air to the sounds of waves crashing in the distance, and the salty smell of the water blown in your direction. moments like these made life feel perfect.

“i didn’t want to say anything, babe,” you broke the silence, “and i love you dearly, i hope you know that.”

su-bong raised a brow, sensing the tease in your voice. he turned his head to face you, noticing how you tried to hide your smile.

“its just that,” you giggled, “your hair really reminds me of thanos. you know, that purple dude in the marvel movies?”

he watched as you cracked yourself up. if anyone else had told him that, su-bong would not find it amusing at all. the soft spot he had for you, though, allowed you to get away with the comment. in fact, he did find it somewhat comical.

suddenly, he interrupted your laughing by placing his hands on your hips, and swiftly maneuvered your body so that it lay on top of him. he placed his hand on the back of your head, pulling your lips to his. the two of you smiled into the kiss, ignoring the rest of the world. ‘moments like these,’ he thought to himself, ‘make this life feel perfect.’

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

we need to talk, plz text me when you can.

you tossed your phone to the opposite side of your bed where you currently sat, a wave of anxiety rushing over your frame. it was almost as if every single cell in your body let out a small shock starting from the crown of your head, and ending in the tips of your toes.

the two pregnancy tests sat side by side in your brightly lit bathroom. after seeing the word ‘positive’ on the first test, you had rushed straight back to the convenience store, assuming, no, praying that it was a mistake. less than half an hour later, though, your fear was confirmed.

anguish and anxiety riddled your bones; confusion lay dormant in your soul. 'how could this be?' you wondered in a panic. your mind immediately began to race, as if it hadn't been before, and thoughts about the future quickly crept in.

in a matter of months, you would be graduating from the 12th grade, and you were set to begin your first semester at a prestigious university nearby. what's more is that the university offered a select number of students generous scholarships based on merit and academic excellence, with you being a lucky recipient. your parents bragged for months, and still continue to do so; nearly everyone you know, even acquaintances, were aware of the achievement. what would happen if all of the sudden you declined to attend school? how, then, would everyone you know view you? or, what if you attended school whilst pregnant? what kind of reputation would this build? ‘they're going to think i'm some kind of whore,’ you catastrophized, the heat of the moment only intensifying the irrationality of the ideas.

furthermore, your boyfriend of one year, su-bong, had been ambitiously planning and curating a career in music longer than the two of you had been dating. su-bong, fortunately, found connections within the industry through social media and friends of friends of friends. he planned to begin his journey as a rapper as soon as he graduated. he would be incredibly busy, and you knew this. he would hardly have time for your relationship, let alone a child.

a ding from your phone pulled you from your thoughts back into reality. the screen lit up the opposite side of the bed, and you couldn’t make out anything other than your boyfriend’s contact name and photo on the lock screen.

'inhale, 2, 3, 4, hold... exhale 5, 6, 7, 8,' you repeated in your mind over and over, hoping that the breathing exercise would provide even an ounce of comfort, ‘you can do this, you can do this, you can do this.' the phone had shut off due to inactivity by the time you reached for it, only to light up again as you reluctantly opened his message.

you good ma? the text read.

though you could tell he meant no harm, the lack of seriousness in his tone only added to your anxiety, practically undoing the breathing exercises you practiced before. it took a few moments to build up your once more and finally respond.

~

“thats sick, bro,” su-bong spoke into the mic, conversing with his friend nam-gyu over discord, “yo, i need back up over here.”

su-bong had a habit of playing video games rather than focusing on his studies. ‘why does it matter anyways? i don’t plan on going to college,’ he would think. whenever he wasn’t with you (you were most always his first option after school), he would be on the game, either alone or with his friend. su-bong did, also, have a habit of keeping his phone close by, should you ask him to hang out or face time. it was nothing out of the ordinary when the screen lit up displaying your contact name. he glanced at his phone expecting to see, can we call? or want to go get ice cream? something sweet and innocent. the message, however, caused his heart to drop.

we need to talk, plz text me when you can.

su-bong absentmindedly abandoned his task in the game as his heart fell deep into his chest. he couldn't help himself, and immediately assumed the worst, ‘no way she’s about to break up with me.'

“are you lagging or something man? you’re boutta be killed!” nam-gyu’s voice rang through su-bong’s headphones, snapping su-bong back into the moment. su-bong didn't have the capacity to snap back at his friend as he usually would. instead, he spoke the first excuse that came to his mind.

“yo my wifi isn’t working, i gotta hop off."

“whatever bro, i’ll catch you later,” nam-guy answered, and su-bong didn’t stay on the call for a second more. he shedded the headphones and xbox controller from his body, and grabbed his phone already thinking of a somewhat unbothered and collected reply to send.

you good ma? su-bong finally decided on. though he held up his nonchalant persona, the message failed to reveal his concern for the situation at hand. he loved you, yet he couldn’t bare to be caught off guard; he would not allow anyone, not even you, to see him this troubled.

moments later, three dots appeared on this screen, indicating that you were actively typing a response. the dots lasted ages, he felt, or perhaps time slowed due to his anxiety. finally, a message came through.

i really need you to not get mad at me please subong

he sighed, knowing all too well what was about to happen. ‘who does she think she is breaking up with me over text?’ he thought, immediately replacing his feelings of sadness with outrage and anger. su-bong didn’t like to feel sad, and so he typically opted for harsher, more "acceptable for men" feelings. his inability to be vulnerable manifested in, almost, a superiority complex mixed with toxic masculinity ideals.

whatever, he typed angerly, your loss wom…

im pregnant.

the message appeared before he could even finish typing. he didn’t even have time to feel relief about the fact that you had not broken up with him (over text, too), as the news hit him like a truck.

~

its not that you wanted to tell him over text, in fact, you realized after the fact that it probably was a bad idea to do so… perhaps it was even disrespectful. in your delirious state, however, it seemed like the right move.

you stared at the i'm pregnant message on your screen, seeing no indication of him typing which was present moments before; it immediately stopped after you pressed send. you could hardly stay calm, especially knowing full well that he had seen the message.

you wanted to throw the phone, not to the end of the bed, but this time through the wall or out the window. your mind betrayed you; it craved a response but also begged to avoid it at all costs.

without realizing how much time had passed, you looked down at the screen, seeing that he already responded.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

it was 9:15 am on a saturday morning. su-bong pulled up and parked his car outside of your home, sending a quick message to let you know he had arrived.

you sat looking at yourself in the vanity mirror in your bedroom. a hand rested on your stomach, the supposed home of the child that had yet to develop. your emotions ran rampant the past week, and at this point you felt numb. though you felt you should be emotional, perhaps even crying, your body would not let you.

su-bong and you had come to the conclusion that termination would be the best option as you both had so much ahead, and since you both were far too young to be parents, let alone good parents.

your phone screen illuminated showing a message from su-bong. without even checking, you sprung into action. 'its time,' your mind thought as you pulled a crewneck (which previously belonged to him) over your frame, then grabbing your tote bag before making your way to his car.

su-bong picked up his head at the sound of the passenger side door opening, revealing you. he couldn’t bring himself to smile, and nor could you; he instead decided to place a light kiss on your cheek once you were seated, and he rested his hand on your thigh as he began to drive.

9:23 the clock read. you glanced out the window, remaining silent just as he did. the world around you seemed so normal; people walking in the neighborhoods, cars driving down the road, birds singing and flying in the sky. everything went on as normal despite your current predicament. the world had no idea what you were going through. it was painful in a sense, yet also beautiful how life could go on even in the midst of hardship.

a light squeeze on your thigh brought you back to reality. you turned to glance at the clock which now read 9:39. su-bong slowed down and turned into the parking lot of the clinic. it was hard to miss the small group of protesters on the sidewalk, attempting to dissuade individuals from stepping foot into the building. they sent glares you and su-bong’s way, intensifying your anxiety and bringing on a feeling of guilt.

as if su-bong could sense your unease, he spoke, “ignore them, ma.” upon parking the car, he held up his middle finger to the people that could see him, though it didn’t necessarily do much to calm you down.

once parked, su-bong reached into his pocket pulling out a disorganized wad of cash. the two of you worried about the funds needed to pay for the abortion, and came to the decision that no matter what, you would work together to cover the cost. over the past week, you collected money from your savings, as well as birthday and holiday money. you even went as far as asking your parents for some extra “gas money” to get you through the month.

he handed you the cash, which you placed in your pocket. the two of you exited the car and were immediately met with angry shouts from protesters. su-bong cursed at them, flicking them off once more, and attempted to guard your body from their view with his own.

once inside, you were immediately hit with freezing cold air and the scent of rubbing alcohol, typical of a doctors office.

the two of you made your way to the waiting area and stopped at an empty couch. “i’m going to go check in,” you said. he immediately pulled you into a tight embrace, resting his head on top of yours. he hoped that he could provide you with comfort, even if only a little.

“you can do this,” he whispered, “and i’ll be right here waiting for you.”

you wanted to sob in his arms and stay there forever, however you forced yourself into motion. taking a few deep breaths, you pulled away to look into his eyes, "i love you."

“i know,” he replied. he had never been comfortable saying the three worded phrase, which sometimes bothered you, however you know in your heart what he meant.

taking another deep breath, you pulled away completely and made your way to the receptionist. soon after, you were escorted to the back. soon the anguish will be over.

~

su-bong sat with his head in his left hand, his elbow propped on the arm of the couch. he struggled to keep his eyes open even though it had only been roughly 20 minutes since you disappeared from the lobby. he had no interest in his phone, nor the Weight Loss and PEOPLE magazines laid out on the coffee table in front of him. the televisions in the lobby displayed nothing; the room was practically silent aside from one or two conversations going on between others. very few people aside from him were in the clinic, and so he took the time to sit in solitude.

he slowly, though, began to doze off. just as he felt himself slipping into a light sleep, the door to the back burst open. you walked quickly, making a b-line straight for him. su-bong stood up, slightly startled, yet relieved to see you. the relief didn’t last very long though.

“can we go?” you asked in a hurried tone, “like, now?”

although confused, he shook his head yes, picking up his jacket from the couch, then following you as you hurried to the exit. once outside, you two were again met with shouting from the protesters.

before su-bong could retaliate, you grabbed his forearm, “please don't pay attention to them, lets just go.”

he fought against you for a moment, wanting nothing more than to approach and destroy the nagging individuals. however, he complied with your request once processing the urgency in your voice. he opened the car door for you, then quickly walked around the front, flicking the group off one last time before entering the car and driving away.

su-bong's mind wandered, though focused on driving. he felt somewhat afraid by your urgency, and also the fact that you started to sob silently. he placed his hand on your thigh just as he did on the ride before.

“so, uh, what happened in there?” he asked unsure.

“i-,” you spoke reluctantly between sobs, “i just… i couldn’t do it.”

su-bongs eyes widened and he immediately pulled his hand back to the steering wheel. “wh-what do you mean you couldn’t do it?” he stuttered, at a loss for words. he subconsciously began to speed up; he must have been going 15 miles per hour over the '25' limit at least.

“su-bong please slow down,” you petitioned in an attempt to stay calm. you could sense his negative emotions, and wanted to keep the conversation as mellow as possible.

“screw that, don’t try to change the subject, woman,” he demanded, allowing his anger to speak for him.

“don’t call me woman,” you, too, demanded, raising your voice to match his. the heat of the moment mixed with his anger caused you to lose your temper briskly, and abandon any attempts at a civil conversation, “you have no idea how i feel or how difficult it was to be in there.”

he scoffed in return. “you’ve got to be kidding me,” he spoke dismissively.

“don’t speak to me that way,” you said sternly, “its my body-“

“i get its your body-“

“and i don’t think i can do an abortion,” you cried.

su-bong shook his head in confusion, “what do you mean you don’t think you can do it? you had everything you needed back there, and we got the money to pay-“

“it’s not about the money, you don’t get it!”

“what am i not getting?” he shouted, slamming on the breaks and whipping the both of you forward. luckily, there was nobody else on the road.

“what am i not getting? huh? what, you want to be the knocked-up hoe in your college classes?” he taunted, raising his hands in confusion.

“stop yelling at me,” you begged, anxiety welling up and causing you to cry even more, "and don't you dare call me a ho-"

“you realize we’re kids ourselves, right? we shouldn’t he having a baby right now,” he interrupted, staring you dead in the eye.

“yeah well thanks for caring about what i think and feel. you’ve always been so great at that,” you scoffed, unbuckling your seatbelt and opening the car door.

“alright whatever,” he rolled his eyes, slamming his hands on the steering wheel, “walk then, bitch.”

“i was planning on it,” you sneered, slamming the door as hard as you could.

without hesitation, su-bong stomped on the gas pedal, practically leaving you in the dust. his actions caused you to let out an angry sob, yet your body began walking. you just wanted to be home.

seconds later, regret crept through su-bong's body. he realized how far you two were from your residence. as badly as he wanted to run from the situation, he realized he couldn't simply leave you, his love, alone to walk multiple blocks. he let out an angry groan, resisting the temptation to run. he changed gears, reversing swiftly back to you whilst rolling down the passenger side window simultaneously. he slowed down upon meeting you, placing his car back in drive. you, however, continued walking, attempting to pay him no mind. his anger only rose in reaction to your response; he had no desire to chase you down the block, “so you’re just gonna walk out of this car like that?”

“yeah thats exactly what i’m gonna do!” you shouted back.

“i can’t just leave you out he-“

“leave me alone.”

"listen to me-"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" you repeated, stopping to kick dirt toward his car.

“whatever," he scoffed, "FUCK YOU!”

“FUCK YOU,” you screamed. like the last time, he speeded off, leaving you by yourself.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

days went by, then weeks, then months with no word from su-bong. the first few days were debilitating. aside from the fact that you were experiencing an unplanned pregnancy, the love of your life had completely abandoned you when you needed him most.

eventually after a couple of weeks, still with no word from su-bong, you decided to come clean to your parents. it took a few days to muster the courage to inform them about the pregnancy, and how you were practically deserted in the situation. initially, they were shocked and disappointed not only in you, but also in su-bong for abandoning you. despite the pain it caused you, you understood. this was not part of the plan.

after the initial shock wore off, your parents showed compassion and sympathy for you, their dear daughter. they vowed to not only help you in any and every way, but also to be present in the situation. of course, their decision to do so provided you with a sense of comfort. however, the pain of losing su-bong still lingered in your mind.

~

two months later you stood adorned in your cap and gown. the line of back stage was long, yet you couldn't help yourself from searching for him in the sea of students. it was odd how he was a stranger to you now; so much time spent together all but flushed away.

su-bong's name was called far before yours, and you watched as he walked across the stage, posing for a photo with the principal. anxiety rushed through you; merely seeing him caused anguish to bubble and brew within you. your gaze didn't leave his body as he step down from the stage, oblivious to your intense observance.

you knew in your heart that it would be the last time you would see him. you knew it to be a fact especially in the weeks leading up to the ceremony. it had finally hit you, though, on this day, in this moment.

and so it was.

[maria-is-stupid]

Yo so, i got something i wanna say rq.

Quick CW for the discussion of grooming, false allegations and a long ass post. If you don't already know about this situation, scroll down, I've provided links to the necessary posts at the bottom! I’m not the one for drama, never have been and never will be. But being a mutual of @ikamigami and literally getting tagged in it, it was inevitable that I would see Alexandraisyes' grooming allegation post on both her and Mothy. And after having reached out myself to get Ikami’s side on things along with reading the documents provided by both parties, I've come to my own conclusion. I don’t see either party as really being in the right. Not Alex nor Mothy. Mothy for their poor behaviour which has been given evidence of in Alex’s document. And Alex for Ikamigami’s completely unnecessary involvement and the horrible accusation made against them with lackluster evidence. Lackluster evidence which I have a few things to say about. Now Alex or any of her friends who may end up reading this, I'm not a new enemy of any sort or looking to be one, nor do I have any particularly ill feelings against any of you, I'm just giving criticism and stating my opinions here. 1) Evidence against Ikami No.1 - The nsfw fic Ikamigami wrote a nsfw fic and tagged GarbageChocolate, who she at the time, didn’t know was a minor. But once she found out, it was publicly apologized for. And now the fic has been completely deleted from Ikami’s blog, the only reason you’re still able to see it via the link in Alex’s document is because of it being a reblog. This was resolved and closed in 2023. Information which Alex has left out both in their doc and when replying to comments, either intentionally or because of lack of proper research.

Why is it being brought up to be used as some sort of “evidence” of Ikami being a groomer? When you think about it, it doesn’t even make any sense. A groomer wouldn’t post stuff like that publically, as they would want to keep their behaviour hidden. 2) Evidence against Ikami No.2 - Ikami siding with Mothy I don’t know if people know this, but choosing to side with a friend in drama or accusations is normal.

Especially considering the friendship between Mothy and Ikami, that they’ve been there for one another and therefore will put a good amount of trust in each other. And I think that if you’re quickly able to turn on your friend at the smallest accusation, you weren’t even a real friend to begin with. That or you’re just a patsy.

Ikami herself in her own document acknowledges Mothy’s actions and says that she is not going to defend them. Though along with that Ikami provides rather important context behind Mothy’s behaviour. Context being that Mothy is someone who has immature and childish behavioural tendencies (being a 19 year old, also counting that age does not equal to maturity), and due to less than unfortunate events in her childhood expresses hypersexuality.

Something to quickly mention as well, Ikami has only really known Mothy’s side on the things which has happened inside the servers, possibly not having been told the entire truth on some things. That along with the behaviour of Mothy is not something I want to excuse and is something that i'm certain Ikami isn't exactly pleased about either. Also, this shouldn't just come to me, but do you realise how broken the logic behind this, that Ikami choosing to side with Mothy makes her a groomer too, is?  Let me lay out a hypothetical example;

What if I was friends with someone who later gets accused to be a pedophile, would that make me a pedo too simply by association?

3) - Critisism on Alex's document Now, I know this whole segment is going to sound nit-picky, but there are some things that I want to point out with Alex’s document and its content. As I can't help but feel that the document looks incredibly rushed and sloppily made. Alex's document only bears screenshots, with pretty much no context given whatsoever behind them or this situation. Like say, as an example, what the ages of both Mothy and the minors were specifically during the time it all went down, as that is very important information and simply just stating that the victims were minors doesn’t really make things clear. As anyone between 1 to 18 would be considered a minor. Along with lacking context, there are things added which don't serve anything, being rather trivial. Like the comparison made between the behaviour of Mothy, Alex herself and Alex's friend Peachpopfizz/Peachfnaf. I can understand the potential reason for this being added, but in execution it just looks like you’re trying to make yourself look better or superior and is rather useless to know.

And something which I think is plenty worthy of being pointed out as well is that we don't seem to get any screenshots of one-to-one private conversations. Or at least not ones where it's clear, as most of the screenshots are also cropped. The victims in Alex’s document state that Mothy has used manipulation tactics, used her ties to the ‘big blogs’ as leverage and not taken it too kindly when others did not want to talk to them about something or got uncomfortable, so why don't we see examples of such?

 If all of Mothy's messages come from open channels for anyone to see, it makes me wonder, as one of the main tactics of groomers is to isolate a victim and hold their own poor behaviour behind closed doors. Especially considering there were apparently other adults in the proship server who, assuming they're either not stupid or ignorant, would’ve seen and called it out immediately as Mothy was openly 19 and NSFW was not allowed as far as i'm aware. And the last point i want to make, seeing that this would become way too long if i was to add every single tiny one. Again about rather trivial info. Alex in their document, in the section about confronting Mothy, mentions of Ikami apparently talking about killing herself in the TSBS discord server, along with the harassment and slandering which has been happening between Ikami, Dana and Ceph/Twinanimatronics (in which direction it fully was in I'm not aware).

Number one, in regard to the claim of Ikami speaking of killing herself. I've gone the lengths to look through her messages in the TSBS server myself, especially around the time in which the Miku episode and Ikami’s psychotic episode happened, and have not found anything remotely close. So if Dana and Ceph, the ones who allegedly reported this to the mods, have evidence of this actually happening. I would love to see it.

And number two, the personal drama between Alex, Ikami, Mothy and Alex’s friends, i’m sorry to say this, is such a nothing burger and is frankly inappropriate to add in an allegation document of grooming. It would’ve been way better to have just stuck to the main matter of all of this from the very start, that Mothy was talking inappropriately in the proship server, anything else is not something that I will care about.

Overall, the document is a case in which the more you try to make sense of it, the more it falls apart. Whenever it’s because of lacking context, trivial information which distracts from the main point, an unrelated party which was dragged in and framed without any actual proof, ect. Or that is at least how i feel. 4) - final thoughts. Now, with everything i've said above, i'd like to emphasize, I do not want anyone in this situation to get harassed as that will amount to nothing.

All that I personally wish is for Mothy to seek help with the issues that they have, work to get better and for something like this never to happen again (which, considering their apology post. It sounds like they're not afraid to admit fault, which is a first step). For the minors to take care. And for everyone here to perhaps consider and be mindful how they spend their time online and in what spaces, as from what I've seen in my time on the internet, the proship space and those similar has many times been the breeding ground for predatory weirdos to take advantage of those younger and vulnerable.

If you have questions or anything you want to say, you are more than free to reach out to me privately, as I'm not going to clutter up my blog with replies to reblogs. Of course with that being said, keep in mind, i will not tolerate insults, slurs or threats of any kind.

Here's the links to the document posts of both Alex and Ikami so you can read and come to your own informed opinion on all of this.

Have a good day folks.

(And please, for the love of god. When it comes to allegations online, always take it with a grain of salt until both sides have spoken. I’ve seen countless times where false allegations have ruined people’s reputations and lives. And I would rather wait than look like an idiot.)

[481mclarg]

Scared to love you | AL65

★ I've never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.

STLY      •       FANFIC + SMAU

          • Arthur Leclerc x Male!Oc Driver

« K » They aren't in Bariloche, but Bariloche is the only snowy place I have as a reference. It never snows in my province�� (El gordo paisaje nacional, en esta y la sig. parte uso varias fotos de Bariloche).

Warning: Suggestive content – sexual jokes. Possibly worse English than usual (I'm so sorry).

★          introduction. | one. | two. | three. | four. | five. | six. | seven. | eight. | nine. | ten. | eleven. | twelve. |

.          .          . October .          .          .

matteolombardi

♡ Liked by charlesleclerc, zhouguanyu24, arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1, giancarlogirotti, olliebearman and others...

matteolombardi: I think she hates me for being out too long :(

⇲ Comments

user1: VAL, I MISSED YOU

user2: Oh, she looks PISSED

matteolombardi: 😔

charlesleclerc: he's mad because you spend more time with Leo than with her

matteolombardi: Well, it's not my fault if she also hates being with people. I can't take her to the races😿

user3: PSSSSST PSSSSST VAL VAL PSSST PSSSST

user4: How do you manage to leave your house, leaving that baby alone😭😭

matteolombardi: someone has to work to buy her expensive threats, and she's not going... (+ I always leave a trusted neighbor in charge. She's never alone at all)

user5: she's so cute😭♥️

matteolombardi

♡ Liked by olliebearman, arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, dennishauger, alex_albon and others...

matteolombardi: Oh, nevermind. I think she just hates ME

⇲ Comments

user6: OMG this cat is plotting your downfall

user7: SHE LOOKS SO MAD😭

dinobeganovic: She's EVIL

maxverstappen1: Oh- I don't think she wants to come play to Jimmy & Sassy

matteolombardi: I can try to ask her if you want😥

maxverstappen1: I'm not sure that I want😰

user8: Val il gatto = hello demon

arthurleclerc: I'm a little scared now

matteolombardi: I swear to God she's nicer in person

matteolombardi: Guys, I have to take her to the vet next week😰 Wish me luck

dinobeganovic: 🫡 we'll never forget you

dennishauger: 🫡🫡🫡 Rest easy

arthurleclerc: 🫡🫡 it was a pleasure to meet you in this life

olliebearman: My baby will be named in your honor 🫡🫡🫡

paularon: It was nice while it lasted🫡🫡

matteolombardi: GUYS?? 😭

arthurleclerc

♡ Liked by matteolombardi, olliebearman, giancarlogirotti, dennishauger, pierregasly, dinobeganovic and others...

arthurleclerc: 🫡

⇲ Comments

charlesleclerc: YOU made that gift ?

arthurleclerc: the shock ???? I made gifts all the time. But no, this time it is a gift for me, u hater🥱

user9: GIANCARLO LIKED THIS POST ???

user10: SO, THIS IS OFFICIAL ?ARE THEY DATING???

user11: bro thinks he's softlaunching

user12: Is it casual when your former manager liked my post?

dinobeganovic: 🤧

user13: DINO SPEAK NOW

dinobeganovic: NO😙

user14: he's definitely dating Matteo

user15: we need to act shocked when Arthur and Matteo confirm that they are dating

dinobeganovic

♡ Liked by matteolombardi, arthurleclerc, ollie, dennishauger, paularon and others...

dinobeganovic: BARCELONA TEAM IS BACK. Limited edition, now in the snow.

⇲ Comments

matteolombardi: Hope you're happy now

dinobeganovic: Very😁😁😁

            Arthur fell onto the bed, sighing. He was tired from the trip, but happy.

            Getting back together with the same group that had accompanied him on his birthday, seeing that they were all still friends, and that the only thing that had changed was that this time Matteo was going to stay by his side only made him happier.

            The Italian sat down next to him.

            —It's nice. —he commented, staring out the bedroom window. The open curtains left a spectacular view of the snow-covered city and its mountains.

            —The city? —he asked, sitting up.

            —Everything. —he replied. —The city. That we're all here... that we're together. —He looked at the brunette next to him.

            —Yes... it's very nice. —He put an arm around the Italian's waist, letting him rest his head against his shoulder, both admiring the views they had from their room.

            They couldn't tell if a couple of seconds, minutes, or hours had passed like that. They felt an embracing calm, which invited them to stay in that comfortable silence.

            —Did you talk to Giancarlo again? —he asked when he remembered that the man had been making a presence on social media, attracting not only his attention but that of the fans as well.

            —Yes... We are thinking about him returning to his job as manager. —he mentioned. He already knew that they had spoken a couple of months after he had canceled his contracts. Giancarlo explained that he did not feel the same contempt for him that his father had, and he regretted that his actions were perceived that way.

            Arthur found it funny how Giancarlo seemed to be an older version of Matteo. An extraordinary ability in his work, but a gigantic fear of personal relationships. Talk being their biggest enemy.

            Having developed so much affection for his pupil had scared him. Realizing that his annoyance went beyond marketing or public image, but that he was hurt by the lack of trust and that the boy began to act in a rebellious manner instead of talking to him.

            He had also tried to distance himself, to understand that Matteo was just another client, another of the many boys he had worked with throughout his life; while Matteo did the same with the replacement provided by Ferrari.

            Sooner rather than later, they realized that theirs was almost a paternal relationship, giving in to the logical thought of dialogue.

            That Giancarlo hugged him after having told him how afraid he was that he would hate him in the same way that his father did only make him cry.

            The first time in years that Giancarlo had seen him cry.

            —In the end, you both are so soft inside. Just very complicated. —Arthur laughed.

            —I don't hear anything strange, so I'm letting you know that we're deciding where we're going to eat! —They heard shouts from outside the room, along with a couple of knocks. Dennis. —Come downstairs or at least look at the group chat! —

481MCLARG | 05 . 01 . 2025 | SIN CORREGIR

[weaveandwood]

The Snake and The Crow: Regrets

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 3.4K Rating: Mature

Summary:

Bianca faces all of her regrets, both in the Fade Prison and outside of it. Ashur deals with a fading mind. AN: Surprise! I got the chapter done early and was able to get it posted before the scheduled Wednesday update date! I've had a lot of this chapter sitting waiting to be used for a bit now, and I'm so happy to get it out for you to read.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Read on AO3! Previous Chapter

Bianca blinked open her eyes. How long had she been out? Her head hurt, her vision was swimming, and every muscle in her body was screaming. The last thing she remembered was Ghilan’nain dying and everything going to shit. 

What happened? Everything felt wrong, like the air was thick and the color had been leached from the world. It reminded her of something. Almost like…

She sat up quickly, her head spinning, and saw a yawning chasm, not unlike the one she was used to when talking to Solas. There was someone on the other side, a woman. Bianca tilted her head, squinting to get a better look. 

Oh, no.  Oh, no, no, no.

It was her.

“Your work is done,” he had said, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and disdain.

She curled in on herself, panic beginning to course through her veins. She was trapped. Solas had betrayed her, used her to escape this prison made for gods and left her to rot. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse. She looked around this greyed out wasteland, desperate for anything that could get her out of here. Something. 

She thought she heard the faintest whisper on whatever would pass for a breeze here—there one second and gone the next, but it sounded so much like him. Like Ashur. But it couldn’t be him, not really, not when he was still alive, or as alive as the blight would allow him to be. It had to be either a trick of the Fade or her mind. Still, she stood up, following where she thought the voice went. He was impossible to ignore. 

“There has to be a way out of here, I just have to find it. Then I can…What? Make things right?” she laughed to herself, bitterness replacing any humor. Her voice sounded loud and out of place here. Neve, Davrin, Assan, Lucanis…all dead. All because of her. Again. This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault . Her old ghosts came back to haunt her, like they had for weeks after the blighted dragon razed Minrathous. 

“Hey, kid. Solas found a way out, now you need to find yours.”

She turned in a circle, looking for the source. Another voice on the breeze. First Ashur, now Varric? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, craving something familiar, something comforting. Nothing in the Fade made sense. 

Stairs, though. Stairs were good. Stairs made sense. She started to climb. Another voice filled her head, the familiar shape of a friend flooding her vision as larger than life statues appeared before her. 

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous, but you chose me anyway. Who will protect Dock Town now? It’s like you want to see it wiped off the map. I trusted you, and it got me killed. Just like you killed Ashur.” 

Each of Neve’s words were perfectly sharpened to cut her where it hurt the most, each syllable a quick stab, poised to kill. They echoed around her, a whirlwind of pain, dragging her out to the sea and pulling her under. This is my fault . 

“Rook is not to blame.” That same faint whisper. Was it in her ear, or her memory? She couldn’t tell either way, only that it was Ashur once again providing a small act of mercy, stopping her from collapsing in on herself just as he did the night the dragon razed Minrathous. The flurry of daggers stabbing at her soul with every beat of her heart fell to the ground and she could breathe once more. This wasn’t her fault. This prison was locked by regrets—she couldn’t afford to dwell on them anymore, not if she wanted to get out and finish what they started.

“I made a choice. I live with the choices I make. The successes…and the failures. We all believed in this. The real Neve knew what it might cost.” She wasn’t sure who she was saying it out loud for. This fake Neve surely didn’t care. Maybe it was just for herself. 

More stairs. With shaky hands, she continued. What would she face next? Who would she face next?

“Whatever it takes, that’s what you told us. You lived it every day. You asked a lot of us, of the team. But you asked even more of yourself. After everything you’ve done? It was my turn to make the sacrifice. And I’d do it again. Without a second thought.” 

A tear fell down her cheek. Davrin was supposed to be living a new life, finding new purpose with Assan and the other griffons. He was more than his sacrifices, he mattered outside of his death. And now he was gone. 

“I’ll make sure your sacrifice matters, Davrin.” 

“What about mine?” Varric asked. He was no trick of the Fade, as real as anything here could be. She wished she was imagining things, that this was just a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up . 

Solas had betrayed her yet again. Used her this entire time. Fooled her. He certainly had earned his many titles. She felt her magic deep within her, dulled by this prison but heated and burning with rage all the same. He was lucky this wasn’t a prison locked by wanting to throw him off a cliff, weighted down by the heaviest of stones or she would never break out. She looked at Varric and her fire gave out, extinguished by overwhelming grief she had not yet been allowed to feel. He had been…all this time…

“I think I knew the truth, deep down, but I couldn’t face it because it would mean admitting I let you die.” This was my fault. “I made a call, and it got you killed.” 

“Haven’t you learned anything, kid? I made the choice, even knowing the risks. My decision, my sacrifice. You don’t get to take that from me.”

Varric always had a way of making her see things clearly. Everyone made their choices, they knew the risks. She may have been the leader of the team, but it was not on her to shoulder everything. It was not on her to diminish their sacrifices, to take away their autonomy.

Even me , the faint whisper said. It is what it is .

She closed her eyes, allowing it to seep in, filling every empty space within her, grief replaced by acceptance. Of course Ashur would challenge a dragon by himself to save those less fortunate than he was. Of course Davrin would distract Ghilan’nain to allow Lucanis to take the shot. Of course Neve would offer to break the wards. Of course Varric would try to reason with his old friend. They were who they were. 

It is what it is. 

“Rook!” She heard Lucanis’s voice in the distance, relief flooding her so quickly she thought she might drown in it. An arm grabbed her through the pale light she had been walking toward the entire time without realizing it, the place where the veil was thinnest. 

“I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it,” Varric called as she was pulled through, reunited with her friends once more. 

She wanted to believe him.

Dear Ashur, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it back from Tearstone Island . 

Dear Ashur. Dear Ashur. Who was Ashur?  Was he Ashur? He must be Ashur. 

The thoughts in his head were dissonant, making it nearly impossible to focus sometimes, but when he thought of her, he was able to find himself once more. He was Ashur, The Viper, so many other masks, and she was Bianca, Rook. Gone. Betrayed. Pulled into the Fade by the Dread Wolf. The very one who was assisting Minrathous at this very moment with holding back the blight and Elgar’nan. It had taken all his restraint not to use what little magic he had remaining when he saw Solas. Had he been healthy, unblighted…but he wasn’t. He didn’t have the strength to focus his magic on anything but keeping the blight within himself contained, just for a while longer. Just a little while. 

His brief hold on his focus was waning, the call of the Blight growing ever louder. It would be so easy to succumb to it. For some reason he couldn’t recall, he didn’t want to succumb to it.

Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling

The Chant always provided him with comfort in times like these, he had said to her the last time he saw her. He did not know then it would be the last time he saw her. 

Her? Who was her ?

Bianca. Bianca. Wild curls, ocean blue eyes, spark and flame. The letter. He went quickly to the desk in his room, no longer at the Shadows hideout but in his home that was too grand for one who was just a man. A man, not a title. The letter lay there, well-read with edges crumpled and stained with drops and smears of black blight. He skimmed, looking for his favorite part: 

I had already started falling in love with you.

Love. It made his magic spark to life once more, warmth flowing through his veins. Something it had not done these last weeks once he learned she was gone. They were trying to get her back. He could not do anything but pace his room, a fate worse than this blight for a man of action. 

It called to him. Sang louder than The Chant at times. He had fought this for months, but it was winning. Tendrils of inky black coated his body, the dripping proof of his injury everywhere he touched. Perhaps it was better she did not see him like this. He read the letter again, his eyes stopping once more at her confession. 

I had already started falling in love with you.

He had loved her from almost the beginning, that was one thing he remembered. He never got to tell her and now it was too late. So many secrets, so many lies, so many things he thought he was protecting her from. For nothing. She was gone and he would be soon. A faint thought of “It is what it is” echoed through him, anger rising. The blight sparked, feeding on it. He didn’t want acceptance. He wanted her. He wanted love. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life. 

Why wasn’t he selfish?  Who was he? A glance at the letter. Dear Ashur. He was Ashur. 

A soft knock at his door. The blight within him surged, the song begging.  Rip. Attack. Tear. Feast.  He swallowed it down. His magic was so tired of swallowing it down.

“Enter,” he called, as much as he could. His voice was weak for the first time in his life, used to echoing through the Chantry or the hideout, leading his faithful. No more. A man opened the door. He had a vague flicker of recognition. Who was he? Tarquin. Tarquin. 

“We just got an urgent missive. They have her—she’s back. They’ll be fighting Elgar'nan tomorrow.” 

Something he once recognized as relief flooded through him. The end. It would be over tomorrow. He could hold on just one more day, join the fight. He knew he wouldn’t survive it, but he could help. He sat down and grabbed his pen, hands shaking from the effort. 

Bianca, I have succumbed - either to illness or violence but either way I no longer remain on this side of the Veil and have gone to the Maker’s side. The truth of the matter is this…

It was time to write his own confession. For her. 

It turns out, you don’t have to be trapped in the Fade to be in a prison of your regrets. Regret didn��t have to be a statue of a fallen friend, the memory of one you didn’t realize was lost, or the voice of someone you were on your way to losing. Regret could take the form of a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at you, a trusted friend who could be more. Who you thought you wanted to be more. It could take the form of a pair of violet wings wrapping around you in comfort when they were usually used to aid in violence. It could be the gentle press of lips followed by a more urgent one, whispers of “you’re here,” and “I promise.” It could feel like hands that are not the ones you truly want tracing the shape of your body. It could feel like dancing on the knife’s edge of love, but with the wrong person. It could feel completely right, but completely wrong at the same time. 

She wanted this.  She didn’t want this. 

He wanted this.  He didn’t want this. 

“Wait,” Bianca said. 

“What is it?” His brows knit together, the crease between them present once more.

“This isn’t…we shouldn’t, Lucanis. I’m not what you want. I can’t be what you want,” she said. She couldn’t be a statue in his own prison of regrets. Something he looked upon and thought if only I hadn’t. 

“You—I want you, Rook, as you already are. I thought you knew that. I thought you felt the same,” he said, sitting back on his knees between her thighs. Lies. To her, to himself, to everyone. 

I do.  I don’t. You do.  You don’t. 

She was silent. She saw him start to retreat back into himself, the pedestal of her sculpture already formed in his mind. How do you tell someone that you want them, but that you want someone more? Someone you can never have, someone who will be on the other side of the Veil sooner than either of you would like, someone you would have gladly stayed in the Fade to meet once more? How do you tell them you know they feel the same about you—the wanting and the not wanting, constantly at war with each other. 

“I thought I did. I want to.” She had thought, when he came into her room moments ago, that she could love him fully, that she would be able to forget everything else and have only him. He understood her, he trusted her, he had been there for her through it all. His was the first voice calling her name as she was pulled from Solas’s prison. She had been so close to falling before, what was stopping her now? She had been so good at lying to herself her entire life, why would her heart not let her lie about this?

She had fantasized about it, being with Lucanis. The Demon of Vyrantium, the First Talon, the rogue who almost captured her hardened heart. The man who would kill with pinpoint precision then come back and make her churros because he remembered her favorite drink was hot chocolate. Daydreamed how it would feel to be a part of something, fully, and have a family with the Crows she always felt like she was on the perimeter of, just inches away from belonging. She had wondered how those hands would feel on her body, in her body, and now that they were…they weren’t the right hands. 

It’s not fair to him. He deserves more. She deserves more. She sat up, still in her undergarments but feeling completely naked in front of him. 

“Lucanis, I–”

“I thought we had something, Rook. Why are you pulling away now? After all this time?” he asked. “Why would you—”

“Lucanis,” she interrupted, smiling softly. “You don’t want this either, it’s just easy . I’ve seen how you look at Neve. How you smile around her. You don’t smile like that around me. And I don’t think I can smile like that around you. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll be able to smile like that around anyone, at least not until…”

His face softened. “At least not until you know…” 

Neither of them could bring themselves to say the hard truth. Until he was dead . 

She nodded, though her head barely moved. Her hands in her lap suddenly were the most interesting thing in this room—anything to avoid seeing the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

They sat there in silence, moments dragging out into eternity. Would the Fade reclaim this space with the two of them frozen in this position, the stone of the Lighthouse crumbling around them while they sought to avoid looking at each other? Would the glass separating them from the aquarium crack and deteriorate with age, the fish long gone due to lack of care, the plants that brought her so much comfort with their rhythmic floating on the currents crumbled to the floor below while they avoided saying anything that mattered?

She felt a hand on hers. It may have been moments, minutes, hours, or decades later, she couldn’t be sure. She looked up to see him looking at her, his eyes warm and soft, a knowing smile on his face. A tear she didn’t even know had formed escaped down her cheek. He reached forward to brush it off her face. 

“I still can’t believe we found you. I thought we’d never see you again, that I’d never see you again. That you were lost for good.” He laced his fingers with hers, still fighting the war between wanting and not wanting. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid,” she said with a half smile. She brushed her thumb against his, fighting the same war. Her heart tugged and pulled, Lucanis and Ashur on opposite sides. Something growing or something dying, something expected or a beautiful surprise, something easy or one of the hardest things she’s ever experienced. 

Why did she always have to choose the difficult path?

“You’re right. About Neve,” he said after a few moments. “You’re always right, Rook. It’s infuriating sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Spite agrees.” 

She let out a small laugh, her fingers sliding out of his after his confession. “Well if Spite agrees, who am I to argue that?” 

She wanted to cling to him, to tell him it was a joke, that she was only kidding— “Oh, you know Rook, never serious!” She faced the prospect of being alone, truly alone, for the first time the day after tomorrow and she had to admit she was terrified. But that was her sacrifice to make, for Lucanis to be as happy as she was in those hours before the dragon attacked Minrathous and all of her hopes were as blighted as the man she hadn’t yet admitted to herself she loved. That she still loved. That she would love, until it was over. Maybe long past that. 

“Will we…be okay?” she asked, tentatively. She didn’t want there to be any issues or unhealed hurts between them, especially when they both went back home to Antiva to resume their lives—him as First Talon, and her as a thorn in Viago’s side. 

“More than okay, Rook,” he said softly, brushing a curl from her face and tucking it back into place. He kissed her softly, one more to add to her small collection of kisses from him that night. One tentative and sweet, one desperate and urging, and one for goodbye. She stared at her empty hands, lost in thought while he dressed and left, the door to her room closing with a gentle click. 

She lay back on her sofa and turned toward the fish, her constant companions. She watched as they swam to and fro, free to go where they pleased, wherever the current took them. She wondered, as she contemplated how her life would look after tomorrow, if she could be afforded that same option. Throughout her entire life, she realized she had never had a say in where she ended up, always a pawn in someone else’s plan for her. To be able to go where she pleased…it sounded like a luxury she used to only dream about on those cold nights surrounded by other orphans in Treviso, or when she was huddled up under a threadbare blanket distracting herself from her growling stomach back in Vyrantium. She had seen so much of northern Thedas now, she was changed through and through. How could she go back to her old life? Did she even want to?

As her eyes fluttered and finally closed, she found her head at war with her heart. She knew her heart would win. 

She always did choose the difficult path.

[peachnewt]

State of the Newt - Feb 2025

Hi ya'll.

After over 8  years of agonizing and pulling teeth, Spilling Guts is finished! Thank all of you for sticking around and commenting.

That being said, I do need a break from Getting In Deep. Writing Spilling Guts made me realize that I need to outline. Going by the seat of my pants doesn't work if I want to move things along to the next adventure. Until I have a proper outline for the next book, Getting In Deep will be on hold.

I'm still writing! I have two small stories about Watch Two to write and post before I get to the next book. I like short stories about minor characters connecting the novels. I also have the Gingerbread AU to complete and fanfiction I've put on the back burner for years. I'm not going anywhere.

On a more serious note...

For those of us living in the USA, the future is dire. The best thing we can do is not panic. Do not give in to the despair that's thrown your way. That is what they want. Don't do their job for them. Take five minutes to scream at the world, and then get to work. Because the best way to beat your oppressors is to out-live, out-smart, and out-joy them.

As I said in June 2022: "...I don’t begrudge people wanting to like and reblog a vid of pre-serum Steve Rogers doing something outrageous. Because we need to remember we can laugh.

We all need something to shake us out of our screaming into the void. At least for a moment. We can’t live on rage, fire, and hatred 24/7. We need to remember the parts of us that can still laugh, smile, and work for something bigger and better. The parts of us that are kind, the parts of us that are human.

We need laughter and breaks. We need to remember out humanity because so many others deny that we are human and deserving of human rights."

There are many thing about the world I cannot change, but I can continue to write things that people can look forward to.

Be well, ya'll.

-peachnewt

[oifaaa]

Alfred being the craziest member of the Batfam will always be near and dear to my heart

He's just a very crazy old man who does what ever he wants for the shits and giggles of it once people start realising this I think everyone will be much happier

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In Regards To Your 2024 Summary:

Holy shit it’s been another year????? The hell?????

Also! Your art style is gorgeous and that being found in 2023 and then refined throughout late 2023 and the entirety of 2024 really shows, as does your growth in panel layouts, perspective, and — as you said — experimentation. If you ever post your animation or video game art I’m looking forward to it.

As cheesy as it sounds, being able to laugh at funny comics and look at all the details of your art really made my 2024 brighter, even when things were hard. Including looking at your older art— it doesn’t need to be new to be enjoyable! I’m glad your art is well loved and it’s a privilege to have been here since the (near) beginning. I hope you take care of yourself in 2025 and beyond!

You and your art bring a lot of people a lot of joy never forget that <3

Thank you so much for keeping up with my art journey throughout these last two years! Two years!!! I am baffled at how that feels both too long and too short!

Admittedly, my art summary didn't manage to capture the fact that I did a lot of comic layouts that I'm really proud of. I also drew more backgrounds and made some very detailed works (*Dungeon Meshi spoilers for these examples*).

The growth is lot more evident when comparing my 'best' comics of 2023 to 2024:

Sometimes the growth is vertical, sometimes it is horizontal - and damn, sometimes it goes out of sight into the Z-plane. But it is always happening!

[every-sanji]

[impactrueno]

(i got this comment on my comic over at twitter and i thought i'd repost my response here too, because i've gotten similar comments on my other socials)

these are very kind words and i accept the compliment, it makes me happy to see people are enjoying reading through it! but i have to disagree with a couple of things. i think we need to give more credit to the source material here

i am borrowing elements from the sequel. lydia's daugther, beetlejuice and lydia not seeing each other in 30 years, lydia forgetting somewhere along the way what it means to be your strange and unusual self, all of these are parallels i made to the sequel.

i strongly disagree this is how the sequel should've been done. i try to stick to canon as much as i possibly can, but the tone of this comic isn't really beetlejuice. the movie is a dark comedy first and foremost, and the sequel ticked almost every box of what it should be about

beetlejuice's character is gross and weird of course, but every iteration has depth to them. i wouldn't have been able to write this comic otherwise! i'm not really making up BJ's personality here, i'm doing a character study of what is already there, set to a different tone.

i'm saying all this because knowing this is important in order to really appreciate the story i'm presenting. there's no need to praise things i didn't actually do, haha.

i'm aware that there's many people enjoying it without knowing anything about beetlejuice, so i'm not saying you HAVE to be connoisseur or anything. but if you are, you'd notice the callbacks to the show, including the one episode a lot of this conversation is built around.

sorry this got longwinded; i want to say once again that i appreciate the comment! i mean absolutely no offense to Timmy here, it was a sweet thing to say and i hope it's okay that i used this comment as a springboard to say some stuff that's been on my mind

[ai-the-broccoli]

enemies to lovers / but you'll never own my heart

@luzon-dove happy birthday, Quinn!! As a present, I decided to draw a piece fanart of your "blood in the walls of the yagami house" AU fic series, since I found it very well-written and full of super interesting ideas and concepts. I hope you like it!