#and i could exist without being in fight or flight constantly

[grantihare]

mentally ill bitches will live in an extremely toxic environment and then be surprised when the mental illness flares up when they get home lmao

[tossawary]

So, Force-users in "Star Wars" appear to have their telepathy and empathy powers mostly only when it's convenient for the plot. (And obviously different characters naturally have different natural talents and different trained skills.) The "Jedi Apprentice" series that I am slowly trying to read introduces more concrete telepathic elements than the vagueness of the films, such as both intentional and UNINTENTIONAL mental bonds between characters.

And it keeps making me thinking about the accidental Force bonds that must often exist between young Force-sensitives and their non-sensitive parents. (Note: This post is mainly about Anakin Skywalker and Xanatos witnessing the violent deaths of their respective parents.)

I used to do a lot of casual reading on toxic and abusive relationships, because I stumbled on a quote from some book and thought that it was just fascinating from a character perspective (I did also use that information for reflection on other stuff, but that's not relevant here). Children usually become deeply attached and attuned to their guardians, even if those guardians are intentionally cruel, or even if those guardians have toxic behaviors because they are stressed and a little self-absorbed or whatever. Children spend the early years of their life with no way out and just trying to survive by keeping their parent (who provides them with that survival) happy. People in abusive relationships are often made to feel responsible for the reactions of their abuser. They often have panicked instincts that demand fight or flight or freeze or fawn reactions to someone getting upset with them.

(I am summing up a LOT of stuff, I know! Unhealthy relationships are very complicated and varied! People all react differently. I'm trying to quickly establish a few points to make a later point here.)

Even adult children trying to establish boundaries with their toxic parents often meet a great deal of resistance, and are sometimes accused of being disloyal and ungrateful and disrespectful and sometimes even abusive themselves, just for doing things like asking their parents not to show up without calling first, because their emotionally immature parents regard any sort of disagreement or conflict as harmful to them and their authority. A lot of adult children talk about the mental struggle that comes with learning how to stand up for themselves against their parents, whether that parent has been intentionally or unintentionally abusive.

Which has all made me think about how much worse any relationship could get if one side of it has telepathy and empathy. Especially if that side of it is a child who doesn't know it! And the parent probably doesn't know about this either!

The Jedi Order is already kind of set up so that a cruel or neglectful Master could potentially do a lot of damage (a few months, at least) to a Padawan before hopefully being caught. Being able to literally feel your abusive Master's intentionally projected / focused disappointment or anger sounds nightmarish for a child. Most Jedi who are decent people shield themselves and do not project negative emotions at vulnerable / impressionable children, but we know from canon that there are plenty of Jedi who fail at being decent people.

(And oh, man, everything about Sith training sounds SO BAD. The mental and emotional damage that can intentionally be done by a Force-user projecting bad vibes is truly off the charts.)

Non-Force-sensitive guardians probably won't have any kind of mental shielding. Even if the guardian is outwardly the nicest parent in the world, it has to be hard that your child is (potentially) apparently constantly unhappy, and you won't know that it's because they are telepathically sensitive to all of your internal tiredness and anger and sadness. There would be no emotional privacy. And if the life situation is bad for the family, then that child is potentially going to grow up being hyperaware of the mental and emotional states of everyone around them, knowingly or unknowingly using the Force, because being able to read the room like that has been imperative to their survival.

Shmi Skywalker seems to be a remarkably even-keeled person for her circumstances. I headcanon her as being (perhaps unconsciously) Force-sensitive herself and having taught herself some degree of mental and emotional shielding due to her hard life. If someone as powerful as Anakin had been raised by someone who was constantly stressed and willing to scream about it, lash out at their child about it, then he could have been even more of a mess. He seems remarkably well-loved compared to what could have happened.

I do think that Anakin and Shmi must have had some accidental mental and emotional bond with each other. If Anakin is as gifted in the Force as everyone says he is, he probably would have naturally reached out to the minds around him, because that's what baseline senses / existence are to him. (It's fun to think about Anakin's existence being wholly unique and WEIRD, and how this causes him to clash with everyone else. It's possible that one else experiences the universe quite like he does.)

Being separated from a parent will cause anxiety in ANY child, but it's interesting to think about how things might have been heightened for Anakin, if Shmi's mind has been an unconscious cornerstone / foundation of his mental reality and his emotional keel since his birth. Due to telepathy / empathy, Anakin may have been unconsciously using Shmi as his mental and emotional ground to stand on for as long as he can remember. Losing his mother, even by separation, when he's been halfway into her head all his life, might genuinely feel like losing a piece of his mind to Anakin. He doesn't initially have the teachings to deal with this kind of catastrophe to his baseline operating system.

He DOES get teaching for these things over the course of the next ten years. (I don't think that he was too old to be trained (Luke was famously 19 in the original "Star Wars") but I do think Anakin could have probably been trained better. Anyway, if he hadn't been trained, Sidious probably would have scooped him up immediately.) But then his mother dies in a very violent and painful way when he's RIGHT THERE, when his control probably already isn't very good due to the situation, and it cannot feel good to be inside the mind of a loved one when they're dying, especially if their own mental and emotional shielding is limited.

Like, yeah, I can see why someone who has telepathy and empathy might have some kind of mental break there. Anakin is permanently losing someone who has potentially been a mental and emotional cornerstone all his life, literally. I don't think it makes his thorough massacre of the Tusken Raiders, down to the last child, in any way excusable, that kind of vengeful, murderous collective punishment is horrifying, but I understand why it might happen from a character perspective.

If were arguing that Anakin is innately more telepathic than most people, he should be able to feel the people he's attacking as well. And it's interesting to think about how someone incredibly naturally empathetic might choose to adapt an apathetic perspective to the suffering of anyone he doesn't personally care about. Yeah, of course he might try to close himself off as much as possible. The universe is already constantly screaming at him with its death and pain. If super-telepath Darth Vader cuts someone down with his own hands, then at least they're quiet now.

Anyway, this post was also about Force-sensitive children who have shitty parents who aren't in any way Force-sensitive. Which, funnily enough, brings us to Qui-Gon Jinn's other potential Chosen One: Xanatos. Xanatos even witnessed his parent's violent death, like Anakin, because Qui-Gon semi-accidentally killed the corrupt Governor Crion for trying to start a civil war and threatening Padawan Orykan.

Like, I just finished reading "Star Wars: Jedi: The Dark Side", a 5-part comic that depicts how Qui-Gon and Xanatos broke up as a Master-Padawan pair. (I wanted context for the "Jedi Apprentice" series.) They're sent there to investigate a murder and are cooperating / protecting Governor Crion, before it is ultimately revealed that Crion has been intentionally stoking the conflict and local xenophobia for his own benefit. Xanatos spends almost the entire time telling Qui-Gon explicitly that he wants to go back to Coruscant, he doesn't want to be here; all but outright saying that he's emotionally conflicted and that there's a conflict of interest here.

It's not made explicit that Crion was abusive before, but he does seem to be a little toxic, and Xanatos clearly has a very rocky relationship with this man who is trying to start a fucking war. It is very clear at the end of the story that Xanatos resents being tested like this, having watched both of his family members die violently.

And I couldn't help but relate this to Anakin: that uneven, childhood-deep Force bond with a parent (which I am presuming exists, there's no specific canonical proof of this for either Anakin or Xanatos that I have yet read) snapping back on a telepath presumably isn't great for a person's mental state. Even though he clearly wasn't too close to his sister, watching Nason die first couldn't have helped either. Merely standing in a room getting blasted with whatever bad emotions Crion is pumping out was probably bad for Xanatos. Xanatos may be vulnerable to psychic damage from this shitty guy specifically.

I get that Jedi are supposed to rise above their attachments and fears, Yoda is clear in that he thinks putting Xanatos on this mission to his chaotic homeworld is necessary to "prove" his status as a Jedi. And I get that maybe someone even presumed Xanatos's personal connections might help the bad situation, more than it might be a flagrant "conflict of interest" in any way. But MAN, does it fucking suck that the Jedi (Yoda) are kind of like, "No, you can't do literally anything else to help people in the galaxy. You have to go face your past right now or else you can't be a good Jedi. We ARE going to judge you if you bow out and cry 'personal conflict'."

To be somewhat fair to the Jedi, Xanatos WILL need to be objective to be a good Jedi Knight and they don't KNOW that Crion is a warmonger, but Xanatos is clearly not ready to see him again, and apparently only goes on the mission because he's afraid that Padawan Orykan will replace him as Qui-Gon's student. He repeatedly accuses Qui-Gon of trying to leave him on Telos IV with his father, which is obviously a fear that's weighing heavy on his mind. Usually when a kid doesn't want to go "home" that badly, it's... indicative of something unpleasant in their home life?

At the end of the comic, Qui-Gon is like, "Oh, this situation is BAD. I was wrong to bring Xanatos here. We need to get out." But Crion is killed, Xanatos apparently has a mental break, scars his own face, and then disappears into the riots? And Qui-Gon apparently assumes that Xanatos has been killed? The execution is more than a little confusing. But yeah, Jedi need to rise above their personal shit, of course, but maybe prematurely exposing this supposedly telepathic / empathetic kid to what's potentially a bunch of deep-seated triggers to "test" him was a bad idea. (And personally I think that the comic is saying that it was a bad idea. Qui-Gon clearly regrets it afterwards.)

As far as I can tell, Xanatos's main crimes here were 1) being a huge snobby brat, partially because he has glaringly obvious rejection / jealousy issues, 2) like everyone else, not really knowing what his father was up to until after things had gone to shit, and 3) having a mental breakdown and attacking both Orykan and Qui-Gon, and ultimately failing to kill or injure them.

Xanatos is flawed, obviously, but he looks pretty young thoroughout these comics. Like, he looks like a teenager? Sixteen-ish? (Every shitty thing that Xanatos does afterwards in regards to Offworld Mining and trying to kill Obi-Wan will be on him, of course!) And I keep thinking about what a child being telepathic / empathetic does to their relationship with a Force-null parent... Especially when that parent is a piece of shit. Especially when watching them die violently. Involuntary magic has really got to suck sometimes...

[smytherines]

The headcanon that keeps me up at night is the idea that Owen Carvour was this very closed-off, isolated guy who just singlemindedly devoted himself to spycraft (almost as if it were his special interest) and was generally disinterested in any sort of relationship- romantic or otherwise- and suddenly agent Curt Mega strolls into his life and stubbornly insists on being part of it.

And Owen is just completely, utterly fascinated with this guy. Infatuated with him. How could he not be? Curt is perhaps the only person on Earth that can keep pace with Owen, that can best him (not that Owen would ever admit to it). He's so different from Owen, but they're also very much the same.

And over a number of years Curt wins his trust. First by being an excellent (if unconventional) partner, and then they start a physical relationship. And then Owen actually finds himself in love with this person, an attachment he never wanted but now can't live without (in a way he sort of resents Curt for sometimes).

He feels these things in an overwhelming but impossible to articulate way, to the degree that he willingly puts himself in a position to be outnumbered 21 to 1 to rescue Curt from a Russian weapons facility- because that's what you do when you love someone, right? You flip off god and walk backwards into hell for them.

So when Curt leaves Owen to die, part of him just fractures. This delicate, imperfect, but still very real trust he had in Curt is absolutely shattered. He's afraid and helpless and critically injured, and the last thing he can remember before waking up in unimaginable pain, his body and brain damaged in a way he will never fully recover from, is the look of horror on Curt's face as he ran away.

And the worst part is that there is no way for Owen to disengage from those feelings. He will never have any sort of distance from Curt and his betrayal ever again. His body hurts constantly, his mobility is impacted, he gets headaches and vertigo and panic attacks, and every single time he is forced to relive the moment that Curt left him. Forced to relive that terror.

Every time his leg gives out while he's forcing himself to walk without crutches, or the burn scars start to ache, or his vision goes blurry and his heart feels like its going to burst out of his chest, he feels that hurt. The only person he would've ever confided those feelings in is the reason those feelings exist to begin with. That person thinks Owen is dead. And Owen sometimes wishes he had died too.

And Owen hates Curt, but more than anything he hates himself for trusting Curt. For putting himself in a vulnerable position to save Curt, only to be destroyed by Curt's hubris- part of the very same thing that made Curt irresistible to him. That cocky confidence, the effortless charm, the completely intuitive, instinctive way his mind worked- a style that had never let him down before. Owen loved him, and he knows that if the situation were reversed he would've gone back for him. He would've laid down and died next to him. And it's blisteringly painful to him to realize that the same wasn't true for Curt.

And for Curt's part I don't think he was like "oh well, fuck it, time to book." I don't think he thought at all in that moment. He didn't decide to leave Owen so much as his body, his adrenaline, his instinct made the decision for him. It was fight or flight, and his body chose flight. Speaking from personal experience, when you have ADHD and you realize that you've screwed up and you're suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, your body can just kinda carry you away without thinking.

But the leaving being involuntary doesn't help Curt deal with his grief and shame and self-hatred, because he still has to live with the decisions he did consciously make that night- leaving the banana peel on the steps, deciding to blow up the facility instead of just sending the blueprints with the watch, setting the timer for three minutes instead of four.

For years, when he's not too drunk to think at all, he endlessly relives each point where things could have gone differently. He obsessively thinks about how his pride was a bit bruised by needing to be rescued, by being chewed out by a boss who seemed to prefer his partner to him, and wondering if maybe he was more over the top than usual out of spite or insecurity, to save face with Cynthia and Barb, to impress Owen (because he loved Owen and respected him and cared about what Owen thought of him).

He wonders if Owen was right about his drinking, and then he drinks to shut out the pain of that thought.

He has to live with the decision his adrenaline made, tortured by the idea that he should've somehow fought back against that flight impulse in the moment and gone back for Owen. Tortured by the idea that maybe, if his rational brain had been fully present, he might have still made the same decision- leaving Owen to save himself.

He saw Owen twitching on the ground, grasping onto the banana peel, bleeding out on the concrete. He was almost certainly about to die, but when Curt left Owen hadn't died yet. So maybe, maybe, maybe there was a chance and Curt missed it. And every time he thinks about the possibility he feels sick. And he drinks. And he has imaginary conversations with his dead partner before passing out curled up in the corner of his bed, clutching a pillow, his eyes red and burning from the tears.

This was supposed to just be a couple of short paragraphs, but that's what I get for thinking about curtwen I guess

[solar-sunnyside-up]

Hey, I’m sorry to dump this on ya but your blog gives me a lotta hope and I just wondered if you had anything to say to my current ails- I am but a very anxious teen and I am so scared. I see so many people talking of how the world “Will end in 2040” or how “damn the past was so much better because it was simpler” and I am lowkey starting to believe that. I’ve got a problem with romanticizing a past I wasn’t even a part of and I really don’t want to live in some awful dystopian future and I fear I’ve missed out on so much because of when I was born :( and how come no one can afford basic shit anymore? I don’t wanna have no money at all! I really would like to be happy in the future but with all the bullshit caused by social media and the lack of money it seems bleak. I’m sorry that this is such a negative ask but I am not doing so hot and was hoping you’d have an insight ? Don’t respond if you don’t wanna

Hey ya there sprout 🌱 it can be really tough out there!

Your feelings are valid, so valid in fact that those exact feelings are why Solarpunk as it currently exists is around! We've all been there!

Between the wages of the top 10% of ppl vs everyone else being greater then during the French revolution, the average citizen globally being worse off then when the great depression was happening, climate crisis after crisis, all while consuming endless bits of info both horrifying (ex Politics) and hopeful (ex Social Media activism) it's waaaay too much for anyone to bare alone! Much less constantly! That burden shouldn't be on any of us!! But since it is, I'm here to help at least lighten the load even if temporary.

The best thing to do when we feel like this is to stop. Find 5 minutes to be still. We are fight/flight/fawn creatures and we will only loop in our solutions without actual clear choices if we don't Chill Out. We're mammals our natural state is Chilling Out and Play.

Next, think about how cool the planet is and particularly how cool humans are?

How there's finger flutes on ceilings thousands of years old, smaller then average indicating that parents held their children up to draw on the ceilings.

Think about the invention of looms and spinning fibers! What other creature could do that? Think about the kids that could build Snowmans without aching fingers because of lovingly knit mittens.

We sing like whales do, like birds do, like wolves do, and we do it to share stories and ideas over food! It is the first things babies mimic! We have songs so old we no longer know their origin just that they came from love! We even have songs to herd cattle meaning music transcends just us but bleeds into our relationships with the planet!

That we have play behavior! Just like wolves and foxes and whales and octopus it is so built into our DNA to play its generally how we learn things! This ranges from agriculture (children tossing seeds around, blowing on dandelions!) To chores (parachute games > folding laundry, playing pretend > usually chores/job based) to hunting (tag! Hide and seek!)

Think about our interconnectiveness with the planet too, how we are guided by Honey guides to find abandoned hives to share in the spoils of bread and honey. How Sweetgrass needs us to flourish, how berries and nuts need us to spread across the land, how we fix other animals broken bones and beaks and help them return home when otherwise they wouldn't ever get home.

Now that you can remember we deserve to be here, that you deserve to be here. We can look at the current situation and bare it.

And we do that by doing small things. Jam out and listen to music while picking up litter on your block, go to a library and just hang out or research something you love, make seed Bombs and toss them I to abandoned lots, make silly cartoons. Whatever it is, it will be enough.

The weight of the world isn't ment for the individual no matter how much Capitalism and Elites will try and guilt you over their failures. That weight is ment for collective groups, but your job as a Person is to be happy where you can and to be kind so others can be happy. The last thing that I always keep in my heart is a quote from my fave author Ursula Le Guin:

Hang in there, a brighter tomorrow is gunna happen. I promise 🌻

[picklerocket]

Thin Man headcanons from me because I said so

He can't speak audibly because his vocal chords are distorted and it just sounds like loud garbled static, so he speaks directly into the mind of someone if they are willing to listen.

If he ever got to be free of the tower and feel safe, he would learn he makes low, quick, clicking static sounds which are essentially him purring. Yes I made this up because I think he is some sort of alien.

If he weren't older than dirt, he would be strong enough to not only teleport longer distances, but he would also require less preparation time for each teleport. This means he could conceivably teleport himself into the air and keep himself there by teleporting every second. Pretty much eldritch horror magic flight! I think about the physics possibilities of this constantly.

Thin Man has black/no eyes on his model, which I have taken to mean he literally has small TV screens for eyes. They function less as a way of seeing physically, and more as a way of seeing through the TVs from inside the Tower, and being able to instantly show up out of whichever TV he sees activity from. I think seeing all of that at once would drive anyone insane 🫶

His model is also hollow, obviously, except for his eyes, teeth, and tongue. In my hc, his body basically works like a gem from steven universe without the gem, and more like Mono's body hollows out as he grows taller. He is basically a physical projection of how he feels!

Building off of this, the only thing left in him is his power source that the Tower uses. However, since he canonically has reality-warping abilities, I wager he can create the illusion of any body part/organs/etc. he could require for say if he wanted to try food.

Which then leads me to the hc that he doesn't actually need food or sleep to live. He just sits in the Tower in some sort of fugue state while he distorts from being so bent out of shape (emotionally AND literally LMAO).

But that is to say, if he gets in a fight with a fellow powerful entity and sustains damage, he will more than likely just lose a chunk of himself and show his hollowness. The missing piece will eventually glitch back into existence later once he is repaired by returning to the Tower.

Despite being hollow, he weighs approximately how much one of his height and build would (I always think of him as about 9ft/274cm tall), so he still weighs about 300lbs/136kg. Which in my mind means the Lady is strong as hell because in many fanarts she is depicted holding him bridal style! I love that lmao

Also bonus hc about the Lady- I see her as about 7ft/213cm tall, coming up to around Thin Man's lower-chest area. Probably would make for nice hight difference hugs if they didn't hate each other!

That's all for now! I might add more in a rb later if I think of them 👍

[deceptive-daydreams]

Some more comforting Eddie below the cut, it just be like that lately 🥲 my neurodivergence is really showing

Having a particularly rough day where it just feels like rain clouds constantly loom over you and nothing feels right.  Your thoughts are just self-deprecating and you constantly think “Why am I like this?” , “I’m useless.”, “Why do I fuck everything up?”, “I don’t want to exist.”   You’re having difficulty swimming to the surface for air so drowning in your depression was the only option.  The pressures of the world had a tight grip on you, shoulders and neck always tense and stuck in fight or flight.  There was this longing feeling lingering inside of you, like a strong desire to go home but the thing is you were already home.  It made no sense and only caused more turmoil throughout your mind.  I want to go home…but I am home.  

As you sit in bed, the room dark and cluttered as it gets when an episode takes over, your face is buried in your hands trying to navigate each emotion but hot tears just fill your palms and your breathing becomes erratic.  The weight of the world sits on your shoulders and you break underneath it.  I don’t fit in anywhere, you think to yourself, sobs escaping you.  

It isn’t until you hear the creak of the door as it’s lightly pushed open that you look up through blurry eyes to find the source.  Eddie.  Your dear Eddie pokes his head in, large bambi eyes filled with concern as he sees you falling apart right before him.  It’s not the first time.  Whenever he finds you crumbling apart like this he wishes he could take all the pain and give it to himself if only to provide you with some relief from the burdens your brain pushes upon you.  

He knows that you’ll let him hold you if he slowly slips himself behind you, and so he does.  He has you in between his legs, arms wrapping around your waist gently while you continue to sniffle and keep your crying minimal.  A whispered “C’mere.” in your ear coaxes you to turn and press your face into his chest.  His hand holds the back of your head to him and he presses a kiss to your temple.  What he says next only makes you cry more and it’s not his intention but you can’t help it.  “If I could take the pain from you I would.  I would take any amount of pain just to see you happy.”  His words would be hushed.  Snot and tears would be mixing together on his shirt but he wouldn’t care.  He would let you sit there and cry for as long as you needed.  “I love you.  Okay?”  He’d whisper softly to you.  “No matter what that little voice in your head tells you, I love you.”  You’d only be able to offer a nod against his chest, snot covering your upper lip and salty tears on your tongue.  “You’re my girl.”  His hand would gently caress the small of your back.  “And I don’t know what I’d do without my girl.”  His words are not taken lightly and he knows this because your hand ever so slightly squeezes at his bicep, a small gesture that says ‘thank you for not giving up on me’.  

How could he when you’re the one talking him out of his nightmares on nights when they’re extra bad?  When you offer him the same comfort in his time of need.  When he feels especially bad about himself after being called a freak all day.  You both had your moments of vulnerability and weakness but through those moments your bond to each other grew stronger.  

Soft kisses against your forehead told you ‘You’re safe.’  And you were.  In Eddie’s arms, you were safe and loved.  It didn’t completely wash away your worries or anxieties but knowing that you didn’t have to go through it alone meant the world and Eddie would do it forever if it meant you felt safer and less alone.

~end~

[fireessie]

As I think that I'm not going to string these segments together to make a full fic, please enjoy the little snippets from my planned abo logan/Oscar Miami fic 😊

************

“So are you excited for Miami?” Oscar watched as Logan randomly pulled shirts out of the wardrobe and tossed them in the general direction of the suitcase. He batted away one flying towards his head and stretched his arms as he waited for his mate to respond.

“Eh I guess.”

“Dalton's coming right?”

“Yep.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, “Are you okay?”

“Fine, why?”

Oscar shrugged, not being able to put his finger on it. There wasn't even anything flagging up in the bond, it was just a feeling.

“I'm fine,” Logan repeated, “it'll be good to be ‘home.’” He did air quotation marks as he said home and Oscar's stomach twanged at the action.

“”Home?’” he repeated.

This time Logan shrugged, pulling a face Oscar before turning his attention back to the wardrobe. “Have you seen my dolphins hoodie?”

“Second drawer down, you'd know that if you ever put the washing away,” Oscar lightly teased, “why do you need a hoodie anyway?”

“Because it'll be cold, it's not summer. And, I do the laundry.”

“You put it in the machine and forget about its existence.”

Logan shrugged again, “I hate folding things.”

“Yeah I've noticed.”

“Oh are we having an argument about laundry? Is this where our relationship is now?”

Oscar laughed, making Logan grin widely.

“I wouldn't call it an argument but yeah I guess we're that old and domestic now.”

“Gross.”

“Welcome to the rest of our lives. I'll start nagging you about the bins next.”

“I've already said, I'll do the recycling and stuff but I won't touch the food one,” Logan shuddered, “it's disgusting.”

“But I hate it as well. We need to alternate.”

“Oorrrrr,” Logan drawled, flopping down onto the bed next to Oscar, “you can just do it because you love me.”

“Even my love has limits.”

“Ouch Osc, you wound me.”

****************

Oscar watched as Logan pushed the lasagna around his plate, not making an attempt to eat it.

After a few minutes of this, his concern steadily growing at the faraway look in Logan's eyes, he gently poked the bond.

Logan jumped, eyes snapping to Oscar's.

“Sorry.”

Oscar put down his fork and reached out a hand, which Logan took.

“Darling, please talk to me. What's on your mind?”

“I'm okay Osc,” Logan tried to soothe with a soft smile but he could see that it didn't work, “I'm just thinking.”

“I'm worried about you,” Oscar squeezed their joined hand, “you've been so quiet this week.”

“Osc…”

“Please don't shut me out.”

Logan finally met Oscar's eyes and he felt his stomach twist as he saw the concern in them. He sighed softly, pushing his chair back as he stood up and tugging on Oscar's hand to pull him away from the table. Oscar followed him without resistance, letting Logan lead him into the living room and wrapping his arms around him as they sat on the sofa. Logan curled as close as he could without sitting on Oscar's lap, taking hold of the zip on Oscar's hoodie.

“Come on darling, let me help,” Oscar urged after a few moments of silence and Logan fiddled with the zip as he tried to get his thoughts into order.

“It's just.. I don't know, I'm worried? Like my fight or flight is constantly on.”

“Anything in particular making you feel like that?”

Logan sighed heavily before cuddling closer, tucking his head under Oscar's chin. “It's the first time I'll be in Miami after everything.”

“Ah.”

“And I don't think they're coming but I don't know for sure. What if they come and try and talk to me? Or say anything?”

“I'll be the-”

“You can't be around at all times Osc. And what if it's a friend of theirs or something? And it's not even just that. Everyone thinks I'm excited to go home but it's not my home. Not now. Dalton’s the only thing tying me there and he's more than happy to travel. And then…I don't have a home.”

“Darling, how long have you been feeling like this? Of course Miami is your home.”

“It isn't though Osc,” Logan said shaking his head, “like I was born there and spent the first 11 ish years of my life there but it's not home. It's not somewhere I'd want to take the pup's. It's just a place. Like, when I saw you in Australia over the break, that's your home. It's so easy to see because you just relax, you're happy there. I don't have that.”

****************

“Are you seriously telling me you didn't notice the way Tom Brady was looking at you? Fuck Logan, he was being so obvious.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Why would I notice?”

“Because he's Tom Brady!”

“Yeah, he's not you. Wait Oscar, are you jealous?”

“No!”

“You know that I'd never cheat?”

“Of course I do Lo’, it's just,” Oscar scuffed his shoe as he avoided Logan's eyes, “it's Tom Brady and all those football players, they're more…”

“More what?”

“You know….hunky.”

Logan laughed loudly, cooing as Oscar folded his arms over his chest and scowled.

***************

“Oscar-”

“No,” Oscar growled, grabbing hold of Logan's arms and holding him still, “you are not a dumbass! I don't want to hear you speaking about yourself like that.”

“It's-”

“If you start saying ‘it's fine’ or ‘it's true,’ I'll loose my shit because it's fucking not fine or true Logan.”

Logan nodded shakily and Oscar could see the wetness in the corners of his eyes.

“It's not true,” he repeated, softer this time as he slid his hands down Logan's arms until he reached his hands which he clasped tight. “It's not true Logan.”

“I know, I just made a stupid mistake. A stupid rookie mistake.”

“It's okay to make mistakes, we all do it.”

“But I keep doing it.”

[lasitakh]

Sun, Nov 12

Hi there,

It's almost midnight in Jakarta, and I find myself unable to sleep, with a thoughts swirling through my mind. I couldn't quite pinpoint who to talk to about all of this, so I ended up scrolling through my contact list, but no one in particular came to mind. That's why I'm writing this letter to you, imagining that you're somehow listening, even though your existence is still shrouded in mystery, huh.

These past few days have been really tough, you know. I feel like the universe has been putting my patience and anger to the test, pushing me to my limits.

Let me tell you about what happened yesterday. I was just about to to sleep when I stumbled upon a post from one of Sal's friends, celebrating his birthday. And there she was, Sal's most recent ex, looking all happy. Sal had assured me that their relationship was over, but seeing her there made me feel a mix of jealousy and sadness. She was there, regardless the separation.

Why could Sal love her more than me? We had a solid five years together, and this new girl just breezes in for four months and suddenly she’s the queen of his world. Why was she even at his birthday bash when she's out of his life? And here I am, playing the role of the ex, but I didn't get an invite? I mean, seriously! The best ex gets the VIP pass, and I, who practically took on the roles of mom, mentor, and rehab center, didn't even get a nod?

You know what really got under my skin? The fact that Sal could walk away from our relationship without suffering the way I did, and yet, when he split from this girl, it seemed like he went through all the trauma. It was as if he fought for her, not for me. And that really messed with my ego.

I've carried this insecurity with me throughout my life. I've always wondered why people could so easily walk away from me without putting up a fight (Well, except for Bi, but he's a bit of a unique case). I've often felt like I wasn't enough for anyone, like it was effortless for them to continue their lives without me, while I was left suffering after each separation.

So, Sayang, if you ever contemplate leaving me someday, please, let's not even start building a relationship in the first place. I'm terrible at goodbyes. Unless you're willing to come back to me, no matter how challenging it may be, let's give this relationship a shot. But if you plan to walk away just like the others, please don't.

-------

So, Sal and I had a five-year relationship, and he was quite the breath of fresh air in my life – a real game-changer.

See, ever since I was a kid, life was all about grinding and fun was a rare guest. Then Sal came in, and he brought something I'd never really experienced before – pure joy and fun. Being with him was like taking a vacation from life's constant stress. It was just non-stop fun. He opened my eyes to the idea that life isn't all about being in a perpetual fight-or-flight mode; we can actually loosen up a bit. It was my first taste of really enjoying life, something I'd never truly known.

But here's the twist. Constantly being carefree and happy seemed too good to be true. The real world requires hard work and making tough decisions. Sal was 100% fun, but when it came to the nitty-gritty of adulting and facing life's tough stuff, he always seemed to back away. That made me wonder if all this fun was enough or if it was time to grow up and tackle the real-life problems that might pop up any day.

Before Sal, I was the type of person who mostly used my brain to make decisions, and some people thought I was a bit cold-hearted. Sal changed that. I started using my heart more and my brain less. But eventually, my brain told me to cut the nonsense because what I had with him was a fantasy. Life isn't all sunshine and rainbows; there's thunder too. If Sal couldn't step up to face the thunder, maybe I needed a partner who could tackle tough challenges with me, not just party and goof around.

After the breakup, it felt like my world was falling apart, and happiness seemed elusive because the happiest I'd ever been was with him. I started questioning whether my decision to trust my brain over my heart was the right call.

Those 2.5 years that followed were rough. I lost my confidence, questioned myself, felt like a completely different person, couldn't sleep, and my heart felt hollow. Countless sessions with psychologists, psychiatrists, even hypnotherapist – I even saw a neurologist because the trauma messed with my brain, causing sleep issues and near-daily headaches. Some days, I couldn't get through without painkillers or antidepressants.

As I made some progress, I jumped into another relationship, which turned out to be another tragic chapter that sent me spiraling again (I'll spill those beans later).

It took yet another round of countless sessions to recover from Sal's breakup and the toxic rebound relationship afterward.

Then, out of the blue, Sal sent me a message in the middle of the night, apologizing for how things ended between us. He admitted he was a chicken who ran away, not really thinking about how I felt at the time.

At first, I was all mixed up, and part of me even wondered if this was a sign of another chance for Sal and me. But I tried to keep my head above my heart, so I dug deeper to figure out why it took him 2.5 years to apologize.

Turned out he got stressed out after breaking up with his most recent girlfriend and decided to ask for forgiveness from people in his past who he had issues with. It was more about setting himself free. So, meh, the apology wasn't really for me.

I asked him why he just left when I suggested we part ways, and he said it was because my pace was too fast, and he couldn't keep up. He also claimed he was stressed when we split (though he couldn't quite remember how he coped). Total BS, if you ask me, because he seemed just fine, and no one forgets how they survive a heartbreak.

His explanation made me realize that trusting my brain was the best decision I ever made. Without my love, he was just an ordinary dude, and without all the fun, well, he really was nothing. So, that's the story.

[kyrodo]

Sometimes I wonder wyd now. Still treating people like ass, or somehow turning a new leaf. 4 months running btw. Me and Choskey with Red. I know Red does a lot for me, I just wish he had time to do anything other than work that I actually enjoyed. His style of gameplay when it comes to pvp games is head into danger and die also. Borderlands go off and die. Sea of thieves spend 2 hours burning the boat when I've been ready to hop off for the last 10 minutes. For a while all the scat jokes which were kinda gross. Constantly spamming planetside which feels like face planting into a train constantly.

It used to be that I would be nothing without the whuffitude, without the antics we've built up, but they relied entirely on each other to function. My affectionate interactions were not appropriate elsewhere ever and that was a good 80% of it along with Red being able to follow up on it but no one else would be able to. So I couldn't really use it socially until I got the cat avatar. And developed new interactions based on being cute even without Red being there.

I've been extremely dependent on Red. He spoils me hard, and does things or gets stuff for me on top of that and there's little I could do to equal it. But despite that it's hard to do stuff together. He's a workaholic. He's not much of a gamer. And when he does play I used to have trouble making time to use the bathroom or saying I want to do something else. Vrchat built up my confidence quite a bit. I'm not afraid to grab a soda or hop to the bathroom midgame if I have to. I am able to communicate my needs quite easily now. And I am able to socialize easily as well. At least more easily than I used to by a lot.

Red in all of that hardly ever joined us and even when he was in vr he was usually doing something who knows what. Somewhere along the way Red's capacity for social interaction greatly diminished, to the point it is almost non-existent. He still had more interaction than I did back then, minus my twitter problems. And that also played a huge role in me engaging in it in the first place. When I was frustrated about how socially absent my life was, I expressed it on Twitter one way or another.

I have no such needs now. Ever since vrchat my mood improved dramatically. My social life improved dramatically. And now my love life too. People outside my life might not understand or give a rat's ass what my problems are or what I was lacking, but I understand it quite deeply now. With time and with enough time to really think about it, plus the experiences that improved what I needed the most for a good long while now, *I* understand.

And I am no longer a tough act to follow either. I know how to express my thoughts and feelings without "weaving an illusion" or not saying what I mean. Because such a tool never served me well. All it ever did was get me hurt.

One important thing to consider is I took such retweets and subtexts seriously. There was always that few things telling me what I should be doing and I held myself to that standard thinking you were serious about it. Though perhaps in reality you didn't care nearly as much as I did about such things. Failure on such volatile information that could change at any moment to suit whatever serves you at the time is not surprising and I should've dropped you like a fucking glass the moment it started.

I learned how to protect myself from people like you. To the point I would be able to completely end any such interaction the moment the first flags appear, but it seems like I won't be needing it. I have the toughest shell made of steel and it won't get so much as a scratch. And yet the fact that I ever needed it in the first place always has me putting on more and more armor to the point I'm a living fortress. That is how trauma works in a nutshell. You develop all these protections obsessively to what once gave you a fight or flight response even when the trigger for it is long gone.

And yet it is through the development of these protections that I am able to stand so proudly now. Looking at my posts overall, even the angry ones and seeing how much sense they make now is oddly satisfying. And evident of the progress I made on myself. I know how whiny, self destructive, emotional and dramatic I was back in 2020, but every year I walk away from that I grow, and I have grown incredibly strong. I do enjoy my happy endings and even when it was seemingly made impossible for me by people that hated me so much they were doing the digital equivalent of breaking into my house, I still found mine anyway.

This art, and my vrc avatar, makes me realize how important it is to have a new look when getting over such moments. It makes me feel how far I've come. I am a being heavily susceptible to spite. But I can still turn it into something beautiful and meaningful.

[steveskafte]

LITTLE GREY SHEEP One of my favourite album covers is "Little Grey Sheep" by Danny Schmidt. The artwork shows a black sheep and white sheep mating, and the title infers the result of their efforts. It's a quick, silly joke, but I always identified with the notion in the name. When someone says that they're the black sheep of their family, it usually implies an intensely outsider condition. Something about their lifestyle, beliefs, or behaviour marked them unacceptable – perhaps permanently. For most families, being a criminal would do it. In others, just your thoughts might be enough to push you to the outskirts. Becoming a liberal child of conservative parents, or an Atheist kid among otherwise Christian siblings, could easily make you the pariah. Maybe you're attracted to the wrong kind of person, or don't talk the right way. Some become the black sheep by not following in the family business. I was never dramatic enough to turn everyone against me, didn't go to wild parties or end up an addict. Never felt the inclination to break laws, and if my beliefs have shifted from what my parents taught me, I was never inclined to start a fight about it. But being an artist born to a blue collar background, and only a mildly successful one at that, is plenty to make you the grey sheep in most families. I know the "get a real job" speech by heart. Shaking it off is like the negotiation of gravity and flight, building up a stubbornness enough to be the first of your kind, a mutation. My twenties were tough, but I got used to the consistency of failure. Turning thirty has been harder for the hints of hope. It's strange to say how making progress can be rougher than none at all. Clinging to a ladder is easier on your grip than constantly clawing rung over rung. I'd be nowhere at all if it weren't for what's modern. Somewhere buried deep in the rural recesses of my home Nova Scotia, few creative children make it out intact. They leave for the city, then lose their ability to express what's wild. Urban existence holds so much more opportunity. Fully half of my home province lives in Halifax, everything else is just a town. There are no satellite spaces to tie it all together – so that's why online connections came to mean so much. World at my fingertips and all that; making me realize I'm less alone than I imagined. It can get surreal being young in the country, and I've had weeks without seeing a single person under forty. While my own youth gets slick and slippery, I hold what I can from being bitter. It's nowhere near my nature to dwell on failed expectations. This little grey sheep is his own favourite joke – caught in the joy of existing at all, and the weight of why not. December 15, 2022 Bear River, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5513 of my daily journal.

[paintedkinzy-88]

Ink lowkey looks like a tie dye disaster sometimes and I’m okay with this.

Also hello, I became Even Smarter and actually made use of my 5 dragon based information books for this, with all their many diagrams. In other words, his skeleton is more accurate to what I wanted than what I have for Nightmare OR Dream’s ref sheets _(」∠ ､ﾝ､)_

That doesn’t mean their refs are inaccurate or anything. I just don’t like how I did Dream’s ribs or Nightmare’s spine. XD

Ink, God of Creativity

Full Dragon Form Reference

Half Dragon Form Reference (WIP)

Dragon Breath:

Acidic Ink

A dark, saliva-like liquid in Ink’s mouth that burns to the touch. He’s able to spit it at a distance semi-successfully, but he finds it’s far more effective to just gather it up in his mouth and bite, locking his jaw to both hold onto the victim and continuously burn them directly in the wound. He doesn’t often use this in a fight, because he finds it to be a little too vicious for him. It’s usually only used when he is lost to pure instincts and desperate to correct his side of the Balance. He has found other uses for it, though, like burning through things (branches, metal poles, thin doors, etc), disposing of trash, or even random artistic purposes.

The ink is able to burn through most material, though it won’t continue doing so forever as it does quickly dissipate. It cannot hurt his own bones or ecto, unless he doesn’t wash it off for a few hours. Even then, it’s a very slight burning sensation — nowhere close to the damage it deals to others.

General Abilities:

• Ink keeps all of his usual abilities:

- Creating paint/ink attacks

- Creating objects out of said paint/ink

- Traveling and teleporting via ink puddles

• Flight (though his landing isn’t always great)

• Longer jumps (very useful in the Doodle Sphere)

• Typical physical attacks, like clawing, biting, wrapping around someone, or ramming with his horns.

Hoard:

As planned by the same “beings” that fated them to be dragons of the Balances, Ink’s hoard was supposed to be the AUs. This would have strengthened his role as the Protector and the God of Creation, therefore benefiting his Balance. However, as Destruction is also necessary, Ink would have had to constantly deal with the pain of losing his hoard.

Error changed this fate without Ink’s knowledge. After they’d mostly befriended each other and established a truce between their own Balance, he purposefully influenced Ink’s hoarding instincts by spontaneously gifting him random art supplies. This was usually just anything he could pick up from worlds he was destroying, but there were definitely more considerate occasions where he’d hunt down something Ink mentioned he was interested in. This was incredibly meaningful to Ink, and it eventually turned into his hoarding item.

Ink very well can make his own supplies, but he finds it much more satisfying to get them himself (or get them from Error, who, even after Ink said he’d established his hoard, continues to bring supplies for him). He often steals from worlds he’s passing through, or occasionally takes small things like pencils and paper from friends’ homes. He leaves his hoard anywhere he trusts, which so far has only been his own home, the Anti-Void, Dream’s home, and (briefly) the empty remains of X-Tale. Not included here are the pieces of artwork he gives to people he trusts, which would still count as a part of his hoard, but a part he’s more willing to share.

Extra Info:

• Ink is the only one out of the six shifters who gained his role as the God of Creation before becoming a shifter. Truthfully, he and Error are the only ones that had to become a shifter in the first place — the others just came into existence like that.

• Though it’s never been officially talked about, both Ink and Error are well aware that all the knitting and sewing supplies in the Anti-Void are a part of Ink’s hoard. He doesn’t use them, he doesn’t take them (unless asking), but they are hoard, and Error constantly finds them buried under canvases, sketchbooks, and palettes. With the amount of times he’s watched Ink literally toss brushes into his fabric boxes right in front of him, Error’s just given up on trying to keep it all organized.

• Ink is likely the most cat-like out of them all. He’s hopped into boxes, batted at something dangling in his reach, sleeps in any and all positions, and will get onto anything he thinks will hold him.

• XGaster had never seen a shifter before. He did not know how they worked, nor did he really care to think it through, especially in the moment. When he used Overwrite on Ink, he wasn’t entirely correct in how to properly adjust his code into being a shifter. This makes Ink just a little different from the others. More specifically, this is why the process of shifting between forms for him is so broken and painful.

- Truthfully, XGaster would have fixed that for him when he got out of the vial. He wants everything to be perfect, afterall. No matter how many times he has to try for it. He never gets the chance to do so, though.

• When overwhelmed or upset, Ink often runs away to an unknown or empty AU to curl up and wait for his colors to fade away. He doesn’t usually talk to anyone about what’s bugging him, because he thinks as the Protector and God he should be able to handle anything. However, this is partially also because of XGaster using his rambling against him, both verbally and physically, thus instilling a fear he doesn’t fully know about that his friends will betray him and use his insecurities against him. He’s currently working on it. But for now, Error is the only one he truly talks to.

• If you really took the time to learn what each and every color, shade, and tint stood for, you could tell exactly what Ink was feeling based on his ecto alone. This is very helpful when he’s trying to hide something — any hints of blues, cyan, or purples are great indicators that he’s Not Okay. Usually, he’s seen in varying shades of pinks, yellows, and greens, constantly mixing and swirling around within his magic.

• He truly does care for Cross, despite the soldier really disliking Ink.

[unmotivated-cosmere-nerd]

Blake could never fly.

In a lot of stories, learning to fly is often an incredible moment of self actualization and freedom, but in pact the ability to fly is granted to Blake because he needs to fight a dragon, and it's a solution. For a character who has romanticised and envied birds for there freedom, Blake's wings feel practical not emotional and he only gets that back when all that he is is taken away.

More interestingly is that Blake constantly turns down the ability to fly(you fools), he goes back to the police for Evan, back to the tower for Rose, and back to Ur despite having no obligation to face it again.

And in Isadora's interlude we find out why:

The Fool in the Tarot deck frequently depicted a boy with a dog at his heels, staring at the sky while he walked blithely off a cliff, burdened only by a bundle on a stick.  The diabolist had admitted a relationship to the card.

No single detail was quite right, but much as something might appear similar if one were to unfocus their vision…

The young diabolist walked with the sparrow at his shoulder, eyes on the windows without looking through the windows, walking forward as if he were afraid to stop.  His burden here was the gas containers.

No, he was burdened not just by the gas containers, but by some notion of responsibility.

A man, when facing death, aspires to finish what he started.

What had the custodian of the Thorburn estate started?  What drove him?

She knew he sought to do good and to vanquish evil, and she could surmise that both good acts and the existence of evil had touched him deeply.

The Fool card was akin to the ace.  Depending on the game being played, it was often the lowest card or the highest.  Valueless or highly valued.  Powerless or powerful.

It all depended on context.  He sought to kill the demon, and he would either catastrophically fail or succeed.

This Fool sought to slay the metaphorical dragon.  He felt his own mortality, which was quite possibly her fault, in part, and now he rushed to finish the task he’d set for himself.  To better the world.

The Fool was wrought with air – the clouds he gazed at, the void beyond the cliff, the feather in his cap, even the dog could often be found mid-step, bounding, just above the ground.

He was a Fool wrought with a different element.  The familiar didn’t quite fit for the departure from the air, but the traditional dog didn’t conjure ideas of air right off the bat either.

What was he wrought with?  That was another question that begged an answer.

For so many characters in fiction flight represents some level of ascension(haha) often this is being free, of some fear or restriction, but also rising above others, making them small in comparison to you, to fly you must sever yourself from earthly tethers and part of the reason flight is so special is because everyone else is on earth. 

So why can’t Blake Fly? It is because he carries a burden and it weighs him down. As Isadora says, he was touched by a great evil. The Evil has left him with a desire to be free, to get away to never be pinned down (He probably associates birds with a freedom from his trauma), but he was also touched by great good, Alexis has inspired him to make the world “better for having him in it” and that takes precedent. That's why he bonds with Evan,  that's why he goes back for Rose, that's why he faces down something worse most practioners wouldn’t face in their entire career

I’m sitting this one out.  I’ve earned a break.  I’m going to use that break to do some reading I’ve fallen behind on, I’m going to look after my circle, and when that’s done, when I feel ready, I’m going back to the factory.”

Blake Turns down a chance for freedom and safety, to do what is right, even if it isn’t Right.

So that leaves us with a question, what element is Blake wrought with? And I think the answer is Earth. In Pale we learn that the astrological symbol for earth means to be a part of reality, to be brought down to the rules and laws all must follow. Flying puts one above the world, made apart from it and Blake’s mission is to make the world better for having him in it and so he must be a part of the world he cannot be apart from it. (Also Evan is dead, and his corpse will be buried, hence his connection to Earth).

In conclusion I think the reason Blake can’t fly is because he must be part if it if he wants to make it better and that responsibility will keep as a part of the earth until there is no Blake Thorburn left, and I think that's beautiful

[writer-in-theory]

All Too Well (Spencer Reid x Reader)

summary: reader sees spencer years after their college relationship wearing their scarf. they remember how everything ended and how they both have learned to exist without each other. series summary: a series of oneshots to celebrate the release of red (taylor's version). 19 songs, 19 fics. pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader category: all too well levels of angst. all too well levels of no happy ending. content warnings: language, discussions of bullying and abuse (spencer’s past), insecurities, breakups, sexual reference (it’s implied what they do) word count: 10.4k for the 10 minutes of all too well that’ll crush our hearts in two weeks a/n: we made it!! this is easily one of my favorite songs on the album and i think it’s easy to tell since this is double the length of all the others. so, um, sorry about that. i picture this being s5 spencer, at least in the present time of the fic.

series masterlist masterlist send me a request!

“I forgot about you long enough to forget why I needed to...”

There was a time when you wished for an eidetic memory. It would have helped during those long nights spent studying in college or when you inevitably forgot the birthday of someone you knew. Now, years down the road, you were grateful that wishes on shooting stars didn’t come true.

Six years after the breakup, you had nearly forgotten how Spencer Reid broke you to pieces. It had once felt like an irreparable break, a deep scar that would constantly leak life-blood no matter how much you tried to stop it. Maybe it was because you stayed in Pasadena, the city you’d met and fell in love with the beautiful genius, or maybe it was because he’d been the first person you truly loved. It felt impossible once upon a time, but now you woke up and went to bed without once thinking of him.

That is, until life decided that was just too easy for you.

The day itself started out strange. You’d made your way down to the CalTech campus, dropping your bag off at your office only to find a voicemail from your boss telling you to meet him first thing that morning. It wasn’t like you were apathetic toward the situation; it was horrifying what the recent serial killer was doing to those poor women. Still, you couldn’t help but be annoyed that the FBI would be interrupting your lecture. They promised your boss they wouldn’t disturb the learning process, but you knew college students. It would absolutely take over their attention as soon as the agents walked through the door. That was the only reason you hated the idea, not at all because you had a bad history with the FBI.

You were determined to not let this ruin your lecture, the FBI could not take anything else from you, consequences be damned. It was a determination that remained fiery and warmed you through the cooling Autumn walk from your office to the lecture hall. It kept you moving quickly around the room, organizing and writing all of the information you’d need on the blackboard, proud when you kept your hands steady enough for the words to be legible.

Then your students began filing in. It was only the ones who showed up far too early to everything, much like you’d done in school. Then you saw the first person you didn’t recognize slipping through the door; a blond woman with such bright blue eyes you could see them from where you stood. Then an absolutely gorgeous man who was clearly teasing the guy next to him, who was-

No, absolutely fucking not. You spun on your heels quickly, feeling your sense of fight-or-flight kicking in. Eyes darting around the room, you searched for another exit, a way to get out of this room because you hadn’t been this close to him in six years and he was still capable of taking your breath away. Your body still remembered what it felt like to be held by him and even now yearned to slot itself perfectly into his arms as if that was the place you were meant to be. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly as though that were your only lifeline left in the middle of the fucking ocean. Maybe it was, because your legs shook and you weren’t sure they could carry your weight if you let go.

You would find out though because that familiar voice was calling out your name. Feeling like you shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning, you pulled as genuine a smile as you could manage and turned back to face the trio of agents. At least he seemed as shaken as you did, amber eyes comically wide and lips parted in shock. He looked different than when you’d last seen him, of course, he had. His hair had gotten longer—before, you would have been overjoyed he listened to your advice on the matter—and he no longer wore the glasses you knew him to always have on.

That wasn’t the worst part of it all though. No, you could handle the fact that your ex-boyfriend, the man that destroyed your heart in a way you hadn’t thought possible, somehow got more attractive. What you couldn’t handle was the purple scarf hung loosely around his neck. Memories of you wrapping that same scarf around him when he was cold flooded your mind, making you wish you had amnesia. He’d always been much colder than you, not used to the chill but still protesting taking any of your warm clothes. You hadn’t known where that scarf went, but now you were staring at it still wrapped around him and you understood how some people literally died of a broken heart. It burned in your chest, filling you with an urge to reach in and discard it because how could this much physical pain exist just from seeing someone?

“Dr. Calwell told me why you guys were here. I just ask that you try not to distract my students too much,” you spoke, and any other time you’d wince at how robotic your voice sounded. Now it was a victory because it didn’t show him the pain taking over your body now.

The other two nodded, giving you quick platitudes and promises not to be a disruption before finding seats in the back of the room. Spencer didn’t move, still just looking at you with an unreadable expression. That hurt more than you’d like to admit; there was once a time when you knew every one of his microexpression but now he was little more than a stranger.

“Y/N,” he spoke again and this time your resolve cracked in a way that infuriated you. How dare he still have a hold on you after all these years?

“Dr. Reid, I have a class to teach,” you spoke dully, turning again to gather the lecture plan you had in your bag.

“Do you remember anything about us?”

You mourned the crinkles that formed in your lecture plan as your hand curled around it. Strangely the now crumpled paper now looked a lot how you felt, irreparably changed and easily discarded by the man right behind you. He wore your scarf like a trophy, a reminder that he’d had you and chose to give you up. You could’ve had me, Spencer, you could’ve had more than a scarf.

“I was there, Spencer. I remember everything, all of it,” you spat as you turned to face him again, thankful it was still early enough that there weren’t more students in the room. “I remember all too well what you did to me.”

“What happened wasn’t all my fault, Y/N,” he tried again and you couldn’t help but disagree. This man had broken you, left you with once-happy memories that were now tainted and poisonous. “I miss you.”

It couldn’t be anything but Spencer’s fault that you two were standing together for the first time in six years.

“Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and I can picture it after all these days...”

Autumn was always one of your favorite seasons. Back home you could see visible signs of change; leaves melting into warm colors and falling like snow to the ground. Sunrises would come later and would be more vibrantly pink and orange, bathing the entire sky in the colors of the leaves. It was your second Autumn in Pasadena and you were beginning to think you would always miss the way your hometown embraced the full swath of the season.

With Autumn came midterm exams and so many papers due that you were sure you’d never sleep again. As time went on, your hours of sleep decreased and the number of coffees you drank increased until there was a good chance your bloodstream was nothing but caffeine.

It was impossible to forget that day, though. After staying up nearly all night studying for your midterm, you’d managed to fall asleep at your desk and sleep right through half of it. With panic surging through your body, you got dressed and sprinted through the chilled Autumn morning to make it to the lecture hall.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, you’re too late. You’re going to have to take the fail,” your professor told you, practically stabbing the words straight through your chest.

“I can’t take a failing grade for this, Sir. Please, is there anything else I can do?” you begged, thinking of how you would tell your family about this. They always expected so much out of you, how could you possibly tell them about a failure of this magnitude?

“Your only other option is to go through a remediation course with one of our TAs,” he explained, “It will be a couple of weeks outside of class, and at the end you will have a chance to take the midterm. Keep in mind that remediation is meant to be intensive, this would be a lot of extra work on you.”

There was no other option in your mind. If it added onto your stress, so be it. You could have time to relax after you graduated, but until then you would do what it took to keep your grades high. CalTech had an amazing doctorate program for chemistry and it would take a nearly perfect portfolio to land a spot.

That was how you met Spencer Reid. All of the TAs were graduate students, but with slicked back hair, large glasses, and an adorable button-nose, you couldn’t help but think he looked younger than you. Of course, you already knew about Spencer. He was a living legend at CalTech, having started when he was 12 and having gotten a PhD by 16. The man was your age and already working toward his second doctorate. You assumed he’d be a pompous asshole.

So while everyone else in your class was finishing up the midterm, you walked alongside Spencer Reid to a portion of the library where you could talk. You should’ve been the nervous one, but his long fingers shook as he pulled out the necessary books and worksheets. He licked his lips a little more than normal and his eyes continuously flitted up to meet yours before immediately looking back down. The poor kid, you had to put him out of his misery.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N,” you introduced, waving a little from across the table.

He smiled, a little one with so much tension around his lips it looked like he might’ve been stifling it. “I’m Spencer Reid.”

“Well, with you at the reins I have no choice but to pass,” you joked and were pleasantly surprised when he seemed more bashful about it than arrogant. “I do feel confident about the material though, so I’m not sure the whole remediation thing is necessary.”

“Dr. Calwell said you failed the midterm.” Ouch. For some reason, you didn’t want him to think of you as anything less than brilliant.

“I didn’t show up to the midterm. I would’ve passed if I had, maybe even have gotten the top score.” You didn’t truly believe that; you knew better than to think you were always the smartest person in the room.

“Could I test that theory?” Spencer immediately blurted out, then his eyes widened and he added, “Not that I don’t believe you, but I want to stay on Dr. Calwell’s good side before my thesis defense.”

“So what’s it like being a genius?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, but once it was out in the open you couldn’t help but want an answer.

“What?”

“I mean, it’s gotta be a lot of pressure, right? Practically everyone on campus knows your name.”

“Are you stalling studying chemistry?”

A laugh slipped from you then and you shrugged, leaning forward in your seat. “Maybe a little. I am curious, though. I don’t know if I could handle it.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment then, eyes taking on a faraway look as though he’d never actually thought about this before. Then his gaze snapped back to yours, his honeyed eyes taking in everything about your expression. “I guess I’m worried I won’t live up to everyone’s expectations of me. School’s been the only thing I’m good at for so long that I’m scared to try doing anything else.”

“Well, you could always be a professor,” you tried, immediately laughing at the way Spencer’s nose crinkled at the idea.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for constant public speaking. I don’t do well talking to strangers.”

“You’re doing just fine with me,” you pointed out, trying to help the cause.

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted softly, and damn did you love that smile. You hoped in your couple of weeks together that you could elicit more of those smiles.

“If we’re going to be working together, Spencer, you’ve gotta know that I’m always right.”

“It’s statistically possible to get 60% of questions correct on an exam if you guess on each one,” he answered, and the blunt honesty was enough to pull a laugh from you loud enough that the students at the table next to you flashed you an annoyed look.

“Okay, I like you, Spencer Reid.”

“And there we are again on that little town street, you almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me...”

“Hey, Wonder Boy,” you greeted, plopping down in the hard library chair and wincing at the sting of impact.

“You’re in a good mood,” Spencer noted, looking up from his notes and smiling at you. A month later, you had successfully saved your grade (and learned a thing or two from Spencer) and made a new friend in the Caltech resident genius. The pair of you often studied together, you with your undergrad chemistry work and him typing up his chemistry doctoral thesis. Sometimes you could help him with the wording of things, or he could help you with a particularly brutal problem, but most of the time you sat in each other’s company, ankles tangled together under the table.

That wasn’t what you wanted to do today, though.

“Remember how you saved my life?” you began, watching the pure confusion melt over Spencer’s expression.

“I have an eidetic memory and I don’t recall any such occasion, Y/N.”

“You’re mistaken then, because I definitely remember you saving my organic chemistry grade thus saving my college career, allowing my hopes and dreams to still come true, thus saving my life.”

“Then yes, I remember saving your life,” Spencer chuckled.

“I want to do something for you in return.”

“Y/N, you really don’t have to. It was literally my job to help you.”

“You’re right, as always, but I want to,” you answered, deciding then that the word ‘no’ wasn’t on a list of words you understood for the time being. “You know how you said the only reason you don’t drive is that you don’t have anyone to teach you?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I want to teach you.”

“I don’t want to make you do something like that for me,” Spencer protested, but he shut his book anyway. “I don’t even have my temporary permit or a car.”

“That takes an hour to get especially since I know you know the info on the test. You can use my car, and does it really look like you’re making me do it? C’mon, Spence. One driving lesson? And if you hate it I’ll never bring it up again and you can keep biking to campus.”

That was how, three hours later, you sat in the passenger seat as Spencer drove your car around a small neighborhood you’d found.

“How’d you know where to go?” Spencer asked, not daring to take his eyes off the road. “This is the perfect spot to practice, but it’s so far from campus. How did you find it?”

“Don’t you ever just explore the city?” The silence was a resounding no. “I love to just drive or walk around Pasadena, sometimes even LA if I have enough time. It’s fun to get lost in a part of the city you don’t know, then you get to explore more of it trying to find your way back.”

“Isn’t that terrifying? What if you really get lost?” Spencer dared a glance at you as he turned onto a road just outside of the neighborhood; not busy but still having enough traffic to be a challenge.

“Then it takes me a bit longer to get home.”

“Y/N, you have to know how dangerous that is.”

“Of course it is,” you answered, and Spencer really didn’t like that one.

“Y/N!” he protested, lips parted in horror.

“What’s life without a little risk?” you countered. “The chaos of the universe is so beautiful sometimes, you know? Two people can do the exact same thing and still end up with wildly different outcomes. I can take the same risks as someone else and end up okay, and I’d like to think it’s because the universe wants me to be okay. I don’t know,” you punctuated the phrase with a shrug, “maybe it’s a little silly. Maybe I’m just putting myself in danger for no reason like an idiot.”

Spencer turned his head to fully look at you then, eyes alight with sudden anger. “You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but you’re not an idiot.”

“What am I then?”

Spencer’s gaze softened to something you’d never seen on him before. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve called it love. All you knew was that one look from him made you feel like a comet, a beautiful phenomenon for him to gaze upon.

Until out of the corner of your eyes you noticed the quickly approaching red light. “Spencer!” you squealed, hand reaching forward to grip the dashboard as he slammed to a stop. Your heart was racing, suddenly breathless at the thought of how badly that could’ve turned out.

He seemed breathless too, his usually perfectly slicked back hair falling into his face a little. He was still staring at you, and you wondered if he was speechless because of the danger or because of you. Reaching up, you brushed a lock of hair away from his face, tucking it back behind his ear and restoring his always pristine look.

“See what I mean about risk-taking?” you spoke, each word breathy as you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away. You thought of the chemistry notes sitting in your bag, about how certain particles were meant to come together. They would try whatever it would take to come together, constantly pulled together by an unknown force. That was what you felt now with Spencer, your head leaning forward until your lips touched his. It was gentle; a kiss filled with so much care you wondered if he thought of you as something to be treasured.

“I do see what you mean,” Spencer told you, a smile lighting up his entire expression. This was happiness in its purest form.

Then a car’s horn blared from behind you, causing your body to jerk and twist forward again. Oh, the light was green. How long had it been like that? Spencer continued driving, the two of you in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. It hadn’t even been obvious before that you felt this way for him, just now did you realize how happy it made you that you knew what Spencer’s lips felt like on your own.

“That was my first kiss,” Spencer admitted, maybe feeling more confident now that he could focus on the road instead of on you. His cheeks were flushed pink, though, and you reached out to squeeze the crook of his elbow once, light enough to not interfere with his driving but enough to let him know you were there.

“Really? I hope it was everything you thought it’d be.” The idea that you were the first person, the only person, who knew what it was like to kiss Spencer Reid sent a thrill through you.

“All and more.” You wondered if this was how you looked after your first kiss too; trying and failing to suppress the wide smile, eyes shining and cheeks pink. It made you want to experience so much more with him. Before today you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to share your life with him, but now sitting in a car beside Spencer it was all you could imagine.

“'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night, we're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light...”

It was the happiest year of your life, that first one you got to spend with Spencer. It was a whirlwind of smiles, laughter, and kisses that grew more confident than the first. It was the kind of love that belonged in a fairytale, the kind that made you wake up in the morning and hope that it wasn’t all a dream.

By November of the following year, the two of you had decided to take the next step. A friend of yours was unexpectedly leaving the city and needed someone to finish out the lease on their apartment. You’d mentioned it to Spencer, thinking he might’ve known someone who needed a new place to live. Turns out he did; it just came in the form of asking you to move into said apartment with him.

“How many books do you have?” you groaned as you picked up a box labelled as such, already feeling the way your arms would be gelatinous by the time everything was moved into the apartment.

“Fifty-seven,” Spencer piped up from the van, picking up a small box because he needed a free hand to unlock the door.

“Of course you know the answer to that.” You were no longer surprised by what Spencer knew, having learned a long time ago how impressive his mind was.

“You don’t?” The words were so innocent and genuine that you couldn’t help but pause on the stairs to look at him.

“No, Spencer, I don’t know off the top of my head how many books I have. I love that you do, though,” you spoke before realizing what you’d said. Spencer realized though, he always did.

“Love?” he’d practically squeaked the words out, surprise written all over his expression.

You considered it for a moment, head tilted in wonder. Every morning you would wake up and look forward to going to class every day because it meant seeing Spencer in the library. He would walk you home at the end of every day even if he hadn’t needed to be on campus that day, at first citing the dangers of walking home alone at night and then admitting he wanted to have more time with you. Dates spent in one of your apartments when he got too overwhelmed to be in public crowds, or picnics in the local park where you got to show off your cooking because—while he’d never admit it—he adored that you cooked for him because no one really had before. Sticky notes clung to nearly everything you had with little doodles or sweet words he’d thought of in the moment but had been too nervous to say aloud.

“Yes, Spencer, love,” you told him, “I love you.”

It was possible you broke your boyfriend. He stood there on the stares, hands curled into the box he was holding and face frozen in shock. Then the familiar lower lip quiver and his eyes glassed over. “Hey, hey, hey, why’re you crying?” you exclaimed, setting your own box down in favor of backtracking on the steps until you were the same height as him. You reached up, gently wiping the escapee tears away with your fingers before resting your hands on his cheeks. “Talk to me, Spencer. If that was too much, or you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay, alright? We can forget I said anything. It’s okay, Spence.”

“No, I don’t want to forget,” he forced out, a small embarrassed pull of his lips came as his voice came out wet with the unshed tears.

“Then talk to me.”

You waited patiently as he gathered himself. It was lucky the apartment complex didn’t seem to be busy because you two stood on those main stairs for a while as he got his thoughts together. Being open about his feelings had always been tough for him, so you could wait here all day if you needed to.

“I didn’t think I was meant to be loved by someone like you.”

The words burned through your chest; a hot poker shoved deep and twisting for maximal pain. You’d known Spencer was insecure about a lot of things. He’d always look down when people mentioned his intelligence as if waiting for a blow that didn’t come. His shoulders would curl forward and he’d keep his hands up in front of his stomach, physical measures of protecting himself in the only way he knew how.

“C’mon,” you finally forced out, having a plan but also needing the rest of the walk up the stairs to compose yourself. It wouldn’t do to let him see you cry, not after he’d been so open with you finally. If he saw you crying, then Spencer would shut down the entire conversation about himself in lew of making you feel better. So, you picked the box back up with one arm (even though it killed your arm to do so) and took Spencer’s open hand in the other, guiding him up to your new apartment.

You took the keys from him and unlocked the door, walking inside first and setting the box down wherever you could. The apartment was beautiful; a clear step up from your own previous space. You left the lights off, knowing sometimes all of the bright lights could make a person feel more exposed than anything. The darkness was a comfort, but you also knew Spencer was uncomfortable with total darkness.

The only solution you had was guiding him into the kitchen and flicking open the empty fridge to bathe the small room in the dull light.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked you, eyes narrowed and eyebrows pushed together in his confusion.

Instead of answering, you guided his hands to your hips and wrapped your own up around his neck. “Dance with me?” you whispered in his ear.

“I don’t know how to dance,” were his soft words back.

“Yes, you do. Trust yourself,” you whispered back, helping him out by beginning to sway. He caught on and joined you, the two of you swaying and stepping around your new kitchen.

“There’s no music.”

“Who needs music when we have each other?” you countered and it seemed that was enough for Spencer because he didn’t answer again. Finally, finally, you dared touch the statement he’d made on the stairs. “You are so unbelievably worthy of love, Spencer. I hate that anyone made you feel like you weren’t because I feel so lucky to get to love you.” You tucked your head against his neck in the hopes of hiding the tears sprouting unbidden from your eyes, though were sure he could hear them in your voice. “I’ll tell you every day if that’s what it takes. I love you so much, Spencer, and you are meant to be loved.”

“You’re so cheesy,” Spencer laughed wetly over his own tears, arms squeezing you closer to him if that were even possible.

“I know, it’s my specialty. I do mean it though. You’re remarkable, Spence,” you answered and you could feel the inhalation in his chest from his practiced response. “Not just because of your brain, silly. I love everything about you. You’re sweet, you’re so kind to everyone even strangers. You’re so funny it catches me off-guard sometimes and you are so determined to help the world that I have no doubt you’re going to someday.”

“Y/N.” No one had ever said your name like that before. No one would say it like that again for years after him. His fingers were curled tightly into the fabric of your shirt, you two still swaying in the dull refrigerator light but not moving much beyond it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was small, unsure. What if it was too much? You’d said the word so many times, what if he didn’t feel the same way back?

“There are approximately 171,146 words in the English language, and yet there are none good enough to explain how much I love you, Y/N.” A short, surprised laugh slipped from you as the words registered in your ears. Spencer loved you. He loved you, and you were living together, and maybe that fairytale ending could happen after all.

Eventually, you’d go back to finish moving the rest of your belongings into the apartment. For now, though, both of you were content with dancing around your kitchen and whispering the words back to each other in as many ways as you knew how.

“Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red. You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed...”

“What if she hates me?”

The question had sounded in the car so many times that Spencer already had an answer ready for you. He rolled his eyes playfully and squeezed the hand resting on his leg, saying, “She’s going to love you.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Currently, you were driving you and your boyfriend to Las Vegas, where you would eventually meet his family. The two of you had been talking about going on a roadtrip for winter break, and somehow it turned into him asking you to meet one of the most important people in his life: his mom.

You’d never dated anyone long enough to meet their family before. Even then, you never pictured meeting them like this, with careful words on what to do if she had a bad episode while you two were there. Spencer had been so cautious with even telling you about where his mom was living that you’d never expected the hurried question to come, telling you that he wanted his mom to know about you.

It was safe to say you were terrified, desperately wanting to make a good impression on the woman who’d gone through so much while raising Spencer.

“Y/N, she’s going to love you because she’s going to see what an amazing person you are. She’ll see how happy you make me and she’ll have no choice but to love you,” Spencer reassured you, drawing little patterns on your hand from the passenger seat, keeping it resting in his lap.

Time flew in a rush until suddenly you were walking into the Bennington Sanitarium with Spencer, following one of the nurses over to where Spencer’s mom was currently in her room curled up with a book.

The relationship between a mother and son was a special thing, especially when they only had each other for so many years. You watched from just inside the doorway as both faces lit up. His mom hugged him tightly, immediately commenting on how thin he still was. “I always knew it was all that coffee you’re drinking, Spencer. You need to eat some real food,” she admonished and Spencer only laughed, shrugging and tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I tell him that almost every day,” you couldn’t help but pipe up, watching how the bright expression never once dulled as she turned her attention over to you.

“You must be this Y/N I keep hearing about,” she spoke up, waving you further into the room.

You reached out for a handshake but just as quickly Spencer’s mom was pulling you into a hug; you could understand now where Spencer got his hugging skills from. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Reid.”

“Please, only the pushover nurses call me that. It’s Diana.”

“Mom,” Spencer groaned, looking like he wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or surprised by the words, “you can’t say that about your nurses. They’re taking care of you.”

Diana only ignored him, keeping her gaze focused on you. If you thought Spencer had a look that pierced right through you, then Diana’s stare didn’t even need to pierce, just floating right through you as if she already knew everything about you. You knew Spencer wrote to her daily, maybe she had heard about you from him before? “I’m happy Spencer finally brought you around to meet me. I wanted to see the person who was taking care of my boy so well.”

“Mom!”

With as much heat rushing to your face, you were sure your cheeks were bright red. “He takes care of me too,” you returned as Diana guided you over to the empty seat beside her chair, leaving Spencer to sit on the end of the bed across from you two.

“He better. He knows better than to throw away something so good for him.” You laughed, smiling wide at the embarrassed look only deepening on Spencer’s face.

It would grow worse when he realized what Diana had grabbed. “Mom, no,” he tried, hands covering his face for a moment but dropping uselessly to his lap when that didn’t stop what was happening. “Y/N doesn’t need to see that.”

Finally, you looked to see what Diana was holding in her hands, and you felt a playful smile pull on your lips. It was a photo album. “Oh, yes I do.”

“Y/N, please,” Spencer tried, but it was too late. Diana was already flipping open the book (thankfully for Spencer’s sake skipping over the baby photos).

“Wait, is that Spence playing baseball?” you gasped, your finger pointing to a picture in the top corner of a page.

Spencer groaned and flopped back on the bed, keeping his hands firmly planted over his face. Diana’s expression took on a fondness as she brushed her fingers over the image. “His father made him play T-ball when he was a kid. My Spencer is good at a lot of things, but baseball’s not one of them.”

You tried to picture this little Spencer playing baseball. His hair was cut not too dissimilar to how it was now, clunkier glasses perched on his nose. All of the dirt, and sports in general, no you couldn’t see it. “I played soccer as a kid for a while,” you added to the story, causing Spencer to sit up and watch you, “I quickly realized I had a greater affinity for the library than the soccer pitch.”

“Crash could’ve used you growing up, I think. You would’ve been good friends.”

You watched as Spencer’s expression tightened. The smile never left his face—though you could guess this was more for his mom’s benefit than anything else—but you saw the signs of his mind drifting off somewhere else nonetheless. You didn’t know the details of Spencer’s childhood, but you recognized the leftover habits from a person who’d been bullied.

Maybe he needed a break from reminiscing about such a painful time for him. He might also appreciate some alone time with his mother. So you stood, telling him, “I think I’m gonna find a bathroom. Stay here with your mom, I’ll ask someone on the staff for help.”

You took your time in the bathroom, stalling by fixing your already perfect hair in the mirror and washing your hands for longer than normal. When you made your way back to Diana’s room, you really hadn’t meant to overhear their conversation. Still, the door was propped open so there was no way not to hear when Spencer said, “I want to marry Y/N, Mom.”

Your hand covered your mouth, desperate not to make a noise and reveal what you’d heard. He wanted to marry you? Suddenly it was easy to picture the two of you having a small wedding just with close friends and family. It would be here in Las Vegas so his mom could be there, and it would be just like the wedding you’d always dreamed of.

When enough time had passed and you successfully schooled your expression back to normal, you walked back into the room. You took in Spencer’s bright smile when he noticed you returning, trying not to picture how he’d smile when he saw you walking down the aisle.

You two stayed with Diana until visitor hours were over. You talked about anything and everything with her. She seemed especially fond of bragging about her son, and you found you also enjoyed that subject. When you two finally got back to the hotel, you laid in bed curled up with Spencer trying not to imagine when he’d propose to you.

“You told me 'bout your past thinking your future was me...”

You only broached the topic of Spencer’s childhood once you were back in Pasadena. It had been a casual night in for the both of you, still on winter break and having minimal responsibilities to tend to. You ended up curled around Spencer for most of the day, talking about anything from your favorite books to what superpower you’d have if you could pick one (barring the obvious ones, it had to be something unique).

And when the conversation lulled into that comfortable silence you found peace in, you propped your chin up against him and asked the question. “Spencer?”

“Y/N?”

“Who hurt you so badly?”

His hand paused its movement against your face, dropping to hold your own hand instead. He didn’t look at you and instead stared at your intertwined hands. You could feel the way his heart began to race and you wondered if now wasn’t the right time to ask.

Then, he sighed, swallowed thickly, and asked a question of his own. “Do you know why my mom calls me Crash?”

“She said because you’re clumsy.”

“That’s true, but it’s not...” Spencer winced, clearly struggling for the right words.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, needing him to know that he would always have you there to support him.

“She used to get confused a lot. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes she accused me of working for the government against her. She’d...” Your heart broke as Spencer snapped his lips shut, unable to say the words aloud. “She never remembered how I got the bruises. I didn’t want to hurt her, so I said I fell or ran into something. She’d laugh and tell me to be more careful with myself.”

“Spencer,” you gasped, trying to reign in the tears but watching your vision blur anyway. You tried to picture that little kid with glasses, dutifully protecting his mother by hiding the fact that she’d been the one to hurt him. You hated that it was so easy to imagine; Spencer always tried to put his loved ones above himself, of course, he’d learned that behavior so young.

“The kids at school gave me plenty of bruises too,” he continued, and as much as you wanted to comfort him you knew better than to interrupt now. “I don’t know if they were jealous about the attention the teachers were giving me, or if they thought a twelve-year-old in high school was an easy target. They’d beat me up whenever they had the chance. Teachers saw it, of course they did but to them, it was just high school kids being kids.

“The worst was in my senior year. This girl, one of the prettiest girls in the school, told me to meet her under the bleachers. That was where kids went to kiss, and I thought that’s what she wanted. Half the football team was waiting for me. They, uh, they stripped me down to nothing, tied me to the goalpost, and left me there.”

Never once did you imagine kids could be so cruel. You thought of your own high school experience, how there had been rough moments but nothing ever so cruel and horrific as that. You thought of the loner kid of your school, the one the popular kids picked on the most. Suddenly when you thought of him, it was Spencer’s face you saw. Your tears were pooling on his chest but you didn’t dare move to wipe them away.

“Did someone find you?” You were scared of the answer.

You were right to be scared of the answer. “I was out there for hours until I managed to free myself. They’d taken my clothes but it was the middle of the night so no one saw me when I was walking home.” One singular laugh ripped out of Spencer, but it was more sad than anything else. “My mom never noticed I was gone, she was having one of her episodes.”

Everything Spencer had ever said or done made sense. You thought of the day you first told him you loved him, how he didn’t believe you at first. How it had been so easy for him to declare that he didn’t deserve your love. Finally, you moved, pulling Spencer closer and brushing over his hair. You kissed every inch of him that peeked out of his pajamas, needing him to know how much love was in store for him.

You hated every single person that had a hand in breaking Spencer. You didn’t say anything for a while, focusing on holding Spencer as he worked out the rest of his cries. What was there to say to that? What could you say to a young man who had been tortured by his peers, who had been abandoned by the very people meant to protect him?

“No one is ever going to hurt you again,” you whispered against him when the tears finally ebbed away and dried sticky against both of your bodies. “I promise, Spencer, I’ll never let anyone hurt you, not like that. You’ve had enough pain for a thousand lifetimes.”

“I’ve never told anyone about that,” Spencer admitted and those words only served to break your heart more. He’d gone years walking silently through the world, clinging to all of that pain he’d been forced to deal with as such as young kid. It wasn’t fair, you decided, and you wished there was a way for you to go back in time and be that friend he needed.

“Crash could’ve used you growing up, I think. You would’ve been good friends.”

The easy words Diana had spoken to you took on a new weight now.

“Thank you for telling me,” you responded, drawing circles over his chest and trying to force images of the deep bruises out of your mind.

You would hold each other for the rest of the night, both of you unable to sleep but not having the energy to discuss much of anything else. Every once in a while he’d ask you something about your own childhood, and you’d try to come up with the happiest memories you had. He deserved to hear something happy after all he’d been through.

You wished you could’ve been the light for him sooner, but you would be that now.

“After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own...”

It was the night after Spencer earned his second doctorate that the two of you decided to give each other every part of yourselves.

You’d dutifully gotten dressed up that day, trying to soothe Spencer’s nerves because he was a literal genius, of course, they would support his thesis. You’d read it too, and while some of it you didn’t quite understand you recognized the skill there. You’d walked hand-in-hand with Spencer to campus, never letting go until he walked into that room to be judged by a panel of faculty members.

It felt like forever until he emerged from that room again, a wide grin on his face. He’d scooped you up into the tightest hug he’d ever given you, pressing light kisses across your face and thanking you for being his support through all of it. He told you then he was thinking of going back for a third, to which you told him he had to wait until you got your first.

The two of you opted not to go out to dinner, rather making a meal together and sharing it at the kitchen table that you’d bought together when you took him to a flea market for the first time.

After dinner was cleaned up, the two of you ended up curled in bed together again. You’d kissed him, sweet at first and then with growing intensity. It wasn’t long before you were straddling his lap, hands pressed to his chest while his own wrapped over yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” Spencer told you, and the words never failed to make your stomach flutter, “I want you, all of you.”

“Then have me,” you whispered. It was sweet in the way only Spencer could manage, taking care of you with such gentleness that had you completely melted in his arms. And when it was over, you laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around you as though to protect you from the world.

“Have you thought about the future?” Spencer asked quietly, face still flushed and eyes shining as he looked at you.

“What about it?”

“Do you want kids?”

The question surprised you. Never once had this conversation ever been brought up, but it was just a testament to the closeness you had with Spencer. “One day, I do,” you answered, “What about you?”

“I think I do. I never considered it before, there was so much to worry about.” You knew he was talking about his mother’s schizophrenia. Spencer had mentioned it before that his greatest fear was his own mind turning on him, how he hadn’t wanted to pass that weight on to anyone else. “I can picture it now. We’d have to have at least two, I don’t want them growing up an only child.”

He’d said ‘we’. As much as the thought scared you, it was easy to sink into this fantasy with him because you could picture having kids with Spencer too. “Our two baby geniuses. A boy and a girl, for good measure,” you supplied, all too ready to continue the fantasy.

“I’d love to have a daughter.”

“She’d be such a daddy’s girl. You’d be wrapped around her finger from the very start.” It was easy to imagine this future with him. It was so easy that it almost hurt, your entire being aching to be able to have this with him someday. “We’d never pressure them to be anything more than happy. They’d be absolutely brilliant but they could just be kids.”

“You’d be the best parent, Y/N,” Spencer spoke, voice wet again from new tears. These were lighter though, matching your own as you pictured the most perfect future for you two. “They wouldn’t ever know pain like we did. They’d have so many friends, and they’d be there to protect each other.”

“Tell me we’ll have this someday, Spencer.”

“I promise, Y/N, this is our future.”

“You call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest...”

When Spencer woke you up on the morning of your three-year anniversary with gentle kisses and promises of something important to talk about, you knew what was coming. It was the perfect timing for it too. Spencer had just completed his third—and supposedly, final—PhD in record time. You were on track to graduate with your undergraduate degree and, though you hadn’t told him yet, had gotten your acceptance letter to the chemistry doctorate program here at CalTech. You both were starting new phases of your lives, it only made sense that he planned to propose now.

“Can we talk about it now?” you’d pleaded, trying to pull him back into bed despite the fact he was already dressed for the day.

“We can’t, I have a meeting with someone,” Spencer told you, laughing brightly at your antics anyway. “We’ll talk tonight, I promise.”

So you’d tried to busy yourself all day and not picture what it would be like to wear a ring on your left hand. You’d ended up running errands for the day to get out of the apartment and calling one of your old friends because someone else had to know what was going on.

You were so sure.

You were sure until you got home at 7 and he still wasn’t home. 8 pm passed and you hadn’t heard anything from Spencer. 9 passed and finally, he called. It would be the call that would absolutely ruin you.

“Hey, Wonder Boy, when are you coming home? I miss you,” you greeted as soon as you answered the call, pressing the phone against your head and shoulder as you went about fixing your outfit. You had to look good for when he proposed.

“We need to talk, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why you need to get home so we can talk.” The smile was impossible to wipe from your face, permanently etched in with a chisel.

“I wanted to do this in person, Y/N, I did. I can’t though, I know if I saw your face I couldn’t say it.”

Oh? Was he going to propose over the phone? You had to admit it wasn’t what you were expected, and you had to admit you were a little disappointed. Still, you would have Spencer any way he would give himself to you. “I can’t believe you’re doing this over the phone,” you teased.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” A sigh and...was that a sniffle? It sounded a little like a hiccup; like Spencer might’ve been trying to reign in the tears. “I’m at the airport.”

“Why’re you there, silly?”

“Y/N.” The smile was erased from your face as he said your name. He’d never said it like that, filled with so much pain and guilt that you could practically feel through the phone. With a sinking feeling, you realized this wasn’t a proposal.

“Why are you at the airport, Spencer?” you tried again, voice considerably smaller. Did you even want to know the answer?

“I got recruited by the FBI, Y/N. I started training at the academy in Quantico tomorrow.”

“What the fuck?” The words slipped out before you could even process what Spencer had said. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Your hand shook as it grabbed the phone again, dropping onto the floor when your knees could no longer hold you up. “This isn’t funny, Spencer.”

“It’s not a joke, Y/N. It’s called the BAU, the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They hunt down serial killers by psychologically profiling them, and they want me to be on the team.” Under any other circumstances, you would have been so happy for him. You would’ve been thrilled. Instead, now you were picturing Spencer at the airport ready to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

“Why are you at the airport, Spencer?” Maybe you were a broken record now, unable to say anything but the question that had chipped at you. The words were considerably harder now, desperate for the answer he wasn’t giving you.

“I told you why. I got recruited by th-”

“I know that part, Spencer, I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean, why are you saying goodbye like this?”

Your anger stunned him into a rare silence from him. Maybe later you would feel bad for the harshness, but for now, all you could picture was the future he’d promised you.

“This isn’t a goodbye.” Spencer sounded so innocent, so genuine that you wanted to believe him.

“You’re flying to the other side of the country.”

“You could come with me. Come with me, Y/N. We can find an apartment together in D.C. Georgetown’s a great school, you can take a gap year and apply next year.”

“You want me to uproot my life just like that? Everything I have is here,” you spoke incredulously. You finally got into your dream doctorate program at your dream school, how could he ask you to give that up when he knew how much it meant to you?

“I won’t be there.”

“I know, you’ve made that very clear,” you snapped, angrily wiping at the tears pouring down your face. They dripped onto your outfit, a bitter reminder of what you’d thought tonight held for you. “I can’t do this, Spencer.”

“You can’t do what?”

“I can’t say goodbye like this. Don’t leave me behind, Spencer.”

“I’m not, Y/N!” It was his turn to sound angry. There weren’t many times Spencer truly got angry, but it was scary when he did. His genius mind always knew the right thing to say to cause the deepest pain. You hadn’t been on the receiving end of that calculated blow until tonight. “I’m asking you to come with me. What do you plan to do in Pasadena? You could hardly get through your undergrad even with my help, do you actually think you can get your doctorate? What are you without me?”

You gasped as if he’d reached through your phone and smacked you. It felt like it too; your chest was stiff and unable to take in another desperately needed breath. It was the final blow that shattered whatever was left of you. You choked on the sob that tore through your throat, hand smacking against your mouth to try to stifle the rest of them. After so many nights admitting it was your worst insecurity, your worst fear, he’d used it against you. You were so afraid of not being good enough for him, of not living up to anyone’s expectations for you, and here he was telling you that you’d done just that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean that.”

“You said it though. You said it, Spencer.”

“Please, Y/N, let me explain. Listen to me, and I-”

“I’ve done enough listening.” You don’t know where this strength came from, but you knew it wouldn’t last. You couldn’t speak to him anymore. “I wish you luck with the FBI. Stay safe, Spencer.”

“Wait, Y/N, pl-” but you hung up before he could finish his pleas, having heard enough.

Once he was gone, you allowed yourself to cry. You mourned the loss of the man you thought you’d love forever. How could he have possibly been so cruel? The sobs wracked your entire body, forcing you to fold over on the ground so your hands could brace your upper body. It felt like the kind of pain that would never end, that would follow you until the rest of time.

Spencer Reid had well and truly broken you like he’d broken his promise of forever.

“I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it. Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone...”

Picking up the pieces of a broken heart doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a painstaking process that ends up with you cutting yourself on the sharp edges of the heart someone else had dropped.

After three years, you didn’t know who you were without Spencer Reid. It hurt in more ways than one as you desperately wanted to prove him wrong. What are you without me? You hated that you didn’t know. So you stayed in the apartment that was meant for two and you focused on school. You were a ghost of yourself, but that was okay.

You would find yourself again one day.

A year after the phone call that broke your heart, you got a package delivered to your door. You recognized the handwriting right away; the shaky scrawl and random capitalized letters. You almost didn’t want to open it, but a morbid part of you carried it in with shaking hands and tore open the box.

It was like a memorial to what you’d lost that night. The pictures were unbearable to look at so you stacked them neatly and shoved them into the first drawer you could find. You hold the flannel shirt up to your nose, hoping it’ll still smell like him but throwing it into your dirty laundry pile when you found it just smelled like generic detergent. It was a shirt of yours he’d worn around the house several times, stating that he wanted to wear things that smelled like you too in the same way you stole his sweatshirts. Maybe you should send him the CalTech sweatshirt you’d still hung onto after so much time had passed.

There were other things too, memories that Spencer was so cruelly tossing away. Ticket stubs to super artsy films he’d adored and you watched because of how happy it made him, the little plush elephant from when you took him to the San Diego zoo after finding out he’d never been to a zoo before. Your hands ran over each little memory, allowing yourself to cry for the way they were now tainted.

Spencer was giving you up, it was time you did the same.

Eventually, you moved to a new apartment that didn’t still echo Spencer’s laughter. You successfully defended your thesis and only cried a little when Spencer wasn’t waiting for you outside like you always imagined he would. You began teaching at the same university that had changed your life, and one day years down the road, you figured out the kind of person you were without him. You could finally say with absolute surety that you were okay. Time began moving, and life finally moved on without Spencer Reid.

“I know it's long gone and that magic's not here no more, and I might be okay but I'm not fine at all...”

Six years after Spencer broke your heart, and he was standing in front of you. He looked good, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. His outfit choices were a little more grown, and he carried himself with more confidence. You hoped that a part of that change was because of you.

“I miss you too, Spencer,” you admitted, surprising both of you at the sudden admission. It was clear he was expecting anger, and maybe you were too, but you didn’t have the energy for it anymore. “You still have my scarf.”

Spencer’s eyes widened and he glanced down to the purple fabric hanging from his shoulders before meeting your stare again. “I was packing up your things, and I couldn’t give this up. It reminded me of you. You can have it back if you want,” he offered, already reaching up to take it off.

“No, no, keep it. It suits you,” you answered, wondering if this was the closest thing to a peace offering you could give him. The old scars that finally had begun fading were opening again, bleeding and mourning the way you were so close to him now and yet feeling like you couldn’t be further apart.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. You did everything you said you would, I should’ve had more faith in you.” You didn’t dare correct him, thinking that there were a couple parts of your perfect future that you’d never get to accomplish.

“So have you. That job’s perfect for you, Spencer,” you sighed. Of course, you’d kept tabs on him as best you could. You’d find clips of the BAU while discussing their cases to see glimpses of Spencer. You’d make sure he was happy in the life he’d chosen for himself, the life he’d chosen that didn’t have you in it. “I have to start class.”

“Can we catch up? Y/N, I want to try again. I don’t want to lose you twice.”

You wanted to believe Spencer. That future you’d longed for was right there in front of you, waiting for you to reach out and grasp it. Spencer was asking you to stay, and this time you were in a place where you could say yes.

And yet. It had taken you six years to put yourself together after him. He’d damaged you in a way you weren’t aware another person could. Honestly, you were scared of what would happen if you tried again, if you let yourself hope for another future with Spencer. If he hurt you again, you were sure this time it would be irreparable.

“I can’t, Spencer. Maybe someday down the road, if both of us still remember. I just found myself again, I’d like to enjoy who I am a little longer before I risk falling for anyone again,” you admitted, looking away as his shoulders slumped. “You told me once we were destined to be together. If that’s true, then we’ll meet again in the future, when both of us are ready. Until then...”

“Until then it’s goodbye,” Spencer finished, face crinkling as he tried to hide his disappointment. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry too.” So you watched him return to his coworkers, both of them with clear concern in their gazes. It comforted you that he’d found a group to love and care for him like you once had.

It comforted you to see him still wearing your scarf after all this time.

You sighed, allowing yourself only a minute to compose yourself before beginning the lecture. It would be a lie to say you never once looked at Spencer and imagined what would happen in that figmented future you’d created with him.

A few years down the road, when both of you were older and wiser, you’d apply for a position as a professor at Georgetown. You’d pack up your belongings and drive to D.C. without telling anyone. One day, you would reach out to Spencer and tell him you were ready.

He would be ready too. Spencer would meet you at your apartment and would hold you like he used to. He would promise that the heartbreak was over, that the two of you could finally be happy. He’d propose like you once thought he would, and one day you’d have the family you’d dreamed of once so many years ago.

In your dream, you could be happy together.

“It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well...”

SERIES TAGLIST

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @alexlovescriminalminds @reidsbookclub @givemeth @fightingdragonswithreid @girloncorneliastreet @silverhetdanes @just-a-human-witha-pen @eurydice-but-gay @shemarmooresfedora @rexorangecouny

[uswntxfootball]

wonderland (kristie mewis x uswnt!reader)

all the memories and suppressed feelings flood back when she gets called up to the national team again.

word count: 2624 ish

rated D for dumb idiots. also F for flustered reader. and A for a little angsty.

——

it was tuesday morning when you had a near death experience.

jordan thinks that you’re being overdramatic but you don’t listen to her anyways.

on your off day of training the team decided to go out to have a nice breakfast together at a cafe.

there was the usual banter, disgusting couple moments (you constantly made gagging noises at them), and general stupidity.

after a bit the conversation dulled a little, but spiked again when jordan said:

“hey doesn’t the uswnt roster drop today?”

oh crap you forgot about that.

“oh crap yes it does.”

you were pretty sure you were going to make it again.

you’ve been very constant with your playing, scoring goals nationally and at the wsl alike.

still you couldn’t help the nerves that crept their way up your skin, and you handed your phone to jordan to have her read the list .

“read the list of midfielders aloud for me would you?”

the forward accepted it without hesitation, this being a usual exchange between the two of you.

jordan scanned the page a few times before smiling:

“i am proud to present the midfielders for the 2020 netherlands camp-“

“oh stop it just get on with it.”

“well i was before you rudely interrupted me-“

“alright whatever well keep going then.”

“julie ertz.”

“ditto.”

“lindsey horan.”

“also a given.”

“rose lavelle.”

“obviously.”

“catarina macario.”

“i’m not surprised.”

“sam mewis.”

“uh huh”

“and yours truly, y/n y/ln.”

the table cheered a little and you blushed, taking a bite of your avocado toast to hide your smile.

“oh and kristie mewis.”

and then you inhaled sharply, choking on your bite of food.

“who?” you managed to get out through a fit of coughing.

your inquiry was met with an array of exclamations.

“do you not know who kristie mewis is?”

“sam mewis’s sister?”

“won the challenge cup with dash?”

“dated rachel daly?”

“how do you not know who she is?!”

“you’re american for god’s sake!”

you ignored them all and instead said to jordan:

“can you hand me the water?”

jordan furrowed her eyebrows and handed you a glass of water as you coughed away.

you shot her a thankful glance before it was broken again by your nonstop coughing.

daan turned and slapped you a few times on the back which helped slightly.

for the rest of the breakfast jordan noticed you were much quieter, resorting to staring off into space instead of filling the silences with bad jokes.

after breakfast she caught up with you.

“alright spill.”

you shot her a look of confusion.

“spill about what?”

“you and kristie.”

“there’s nothing to spill.”

“that’s a lie and you know that.”

“i- hey would you look at the time i gotta go!”

you glanced at your wrist quickly before running off.

jordan shook her head before yelling out:

“you don’t even have a watch on!”

~~

steph watched the two of you and shook her head.

you and kristie were bickering about something across the field, too caught up in your own world to pay attention to the fact that training had ended.

steph and kristie were both boston college grads, and the two had been close friends before signing together.

kristie had taking a particular liking to you, and within the first week of training you found yourself included in everything the they did.

the three of you played for the boston breakers, sharing an apartment, a car, and consequently all your personal spaces as well.

and so it was only fitting that the three of you bickered.

a lot.

you and kristie more than anyone.

“that is the worst show in existence!”

“no it is not the cinematography is fantastic it’s-“

“no the acting is so bad!”

“no it’s not i-“

“you just have bad show choices.”

you gasped in offense.

“take it back.”

kristie grinned and stuck her tongue out at you.

“never.”

“well then you better run.”

kristie’s eyes widened when you lunged at her.

she took off but you, being faster tackled her to the ground.

your fingers dug into her sides and through a fit of laughter she relented.

“okay okay! i take it back! you have good taste in shows!”

you grinned triumphantly and stopped, your hands on both sides of kristie’s head as you looked down at her.

kristie’s cheeks were flushed and her chest heaved slightly as she looked up at you.

you were briefly aware of the pounding in your ears and butterflies in your stomach.

your eyes locked onto hers and unbeknownst to you you were leaning in but kristie was very, very aware of it, and just as she was about to lean in as well, steph’s yell broke the two of you out of your trance.

“hey training is over idiots!”

you shoot up so fast that your vision goes a little bit black.

you stumble a little bit before finding your balance.

“shut up mccaffrey you almost gave me a heart attack.”

you look down to see kristie still on the ground before you stick a hand out to help her up.

“what were the two of you even fighting about?”

you gave kristie a pointed look before saying:

“this idiot said my show choice was bad.”

steph thought about it for a minute.

“well i mean she isn’t wrong.”

kristie lets out an exclamation after hearing that.

“see?! i told you!”

“hey! you took it back!”

“doesn’t mean it isn’t true!”

“i’m being bullied.”

“oh shut up y/n.”

~~

adjusting your mask and sunglasses, you made your way out of the plane with a few of your teammates.

you had just landed in the netherlands, and coming from england you had a shorter flight compared to most of the team, who would be landing in an hour or so.

you were brimming with excitement at meeting up with your us teammates, as you hadn’t seen them since the beginning of the pandemic.

even then you didn’t get to see them often as you played in the wsl.

you had signed with arsenal in 2017, after the league folded and the boston breakers disbanded, as you were done with the american soccer system.

england had welcomed you with open arms, and you soon made a home there, flying back every so often for national team camps and games.

so when the pandemic hit and a handful of your teammates signed for international clubs, you were ecstatic.

even if they signed for opposing teams.

at least none of them signed for chelsea.

christen gave you a little tap when she saw your suitcases, and you gave her a thankful look before going to grab them.

when everyone was settled, you made your way to the bus and set off on your way to the hotel.

“sam how excited are you that kristie is coming?”

your head snapped up at the mention of the midfielder’s name, an action sam noticed but didn’t comment on.

“i’m so happy! she’s happy too on being called back and can’t wait to see her old teammates again!”

your cheeks flushed a little when sam’s eyes met yours at the end of her statement, and you suddenly found the ground very interesting.

it was a little later when you arrived at the hotel and rose kicked your foot that you looked up.

making your way into the hotel was an interesting experience.

on one hand you were beyond excited that you were back with the national team, yet on the other hand the prospect of seeing kristie made you want to throw up a little bit.

it’s not that you didn’t want to see her.

you were nervous because you liked? like? her.

of course this you realized way after you had left the us.

or rather, just as you were about to leave.

~~

you stood, heart racing as you stood in front of kristie’s door.

your hand hovered above it for a little bit as you tried to swallow and breathe normally.

you had already told steph and the rest of your friends but why was it so much harder to tell kristie?

were you afraid of what she was going to say?

that you were going to leave the country, leave the nwsl, and leave her?

you take a deep breath to calm down and you gave it a little knock.

the door flies open in less than a second.

“y/n! what are you doing here?”

kristie’s cheery demeanor rattled you a little bit.

upon seeing your face she frowned.

“what’s wrong?”

“i-“

your mouth was so dry and it trembled a little.

you could feel your heartbeat in your ears, tears threatening to spill.

kristie’s looking at you with a face full of worry now, and you couldn’t get the words out.

“i-“

you close your mouth again and take a second to look at her.

noting the ways her eyes sparkled and the way her hair was falling out from her bun in little curls over her shoulders.

and then it comes out in a hushed whisper when you least expect it.

“i’m moving to england.”

kristie looks at you too stunned to speak.

she whispers:

“when are you leaving?”

you look down at the ground.

“tomorrow.”

you keep your eyes trained on the ground, too scared to look up at her, knowing that when you look at her the tears you’ve fought so hard to hold back are going to spill.

the silence that falls between you is too heavy. too thick. too constricting.

you find yourself lunging forward towards the midfielder, wrapping her in a hug as the tears spill.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

kristie doesn’t say anything.

she just hugs you harder.

you break away when you have to, but as soon as you turn kristie grabs your wrist.

you turn to ask her what’s wrong but her lips are on yours in an instant.

before you can even process what happened she pulls back.

“you’re going to kill it in england.”

and then she walks into the apartment and shuts the door.

~~

ironically you walk into a door when you see her.

to be fair it wasn’t your fault.

it was hers.

well maybe it was yours.

your head had been all over the place in the past few days, ever since the prospect of seeing her was brought up.

when you had left five years ago, you couldn’t help but replay that kiss over and over in your head.

you couldn’t believe all the signs you had missed.

so yeah.

you were nervous.

and so with music blasting in your headphones, you were prepping for a run, and subsequently not paying any attention to where you were walking and she opens the door right in your face.

you stumble a little bit backwards, before falling down.

you haven’t even looked up, instead sitting on the ground rubbing your forehead and cursing.

it’s when a pair of sneakers appears in front of you that you look up.

and you actually choke on air.

before you stood the woman you had been thinking about, sporting an amused smile and quirked eyebrow.

she says something you don’t hear and it’s only when she leans down and takes your headphones off that you notice them.

your cheeks flush and you mutter an embarrassed “oops” which elicited a chuckle from the midfielder in front of you.

she extends her hand out to you and you take it, sparks shooting up your arm at the contact.

she pulls you into a hug and the two of you quickly fall into conversation.

here up close, you can spot all the changes and similarities of the girl you left 5 years ago.

the five years had been great to her, she was now even more breathtaking than before, no longer the awkward kid but a gorgeous woman.

she almost looks like a completely different person.

almost.

but you notice the same ways her eyes sparkle when she talks, the way the corners of her mouth tug up slowly when she smiles, and the way she tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear and you know this is the same girl you were so smitten with 5 years ago.

“you done checking me out now?”

your gaze snaps back up to her face and blush, a little surprised by her statement.

kristie gives you a teasing smile before saying:

“come on i’m just joking.”

she even has the audacity to wink at you.

and this behavior continues.

for the whole training camp she flirts with you.

you’re a little taken aback by the confidence in the girl.

with the constant winking and flirting and fleeting touches you’re pretty sure she’s trying to kill you.

“y/n. y/n!”

sonnett’s voice snaps your gaze back onto her face.

“sorry what?”

“you were so far into la la land i almost had to get ryan gosling to come get you.”

you shoot her an annoyed look.

“oh shut up no.”

your eyes drift back to the other side of the field, to where kristie was.

sonnett rests her chin on your shoulder and says:

“so who are we checking out today?”

you turn to her and scowl.

“no one.”

“you’re no fun.”

“no.”

“come on you love me.”

“no.”

~~

and of course she scores.

of course.

no matter how hyped the game was.

or how difficult the netherlands defense was.

of course she scores.

she had been on for less than two minutes when she did so too.

you’re so excited you almost trip over your own feet.

she runs to you and you catch her as she jumps, and soon the rest of the team comes to envelop the two of you in a hug.

“i’m so fucking proud of you,” you whisper, and when everyone has relaxed a little, she kisses you.

it’s firmer and more insistent than the one from five years ago.

it’s almost like she knows what she wants and what you want.

you pull away after a few seconds, but only because you have a game to win still.

“come on kris let’s kick some ass.”

you let go of her and the two of you make your way back to your positions.

a few of your arsenal teammate shoot you teasing glances, and you blush when you meet them.

and when the whistle blows thirty minutes later, they make sure to tease you about it after the game.

you see kristie walking towards you and you grin, but before she gets there sam steps in front of you.

you look up at her, and when she doesn’t speak you fill the silence.

“i promise not to hurt her.”

sam quirks an eyebrow and leans in to whisper:

“you better not. or i will tear off your arm and beat you with i-“

“sam!”

kristie gives her sister a little slap in the arm before pulling you away with her.

“hey.”

“um h-hey,” you stammer, rubbing your neck nervously.

“you’re so cute.”

you blush a bit, your heart racing.

kristie catches your hand when it comes down and intertwines her fingers with yours.

“go on a date with me?”

you blush even harder and nod enthusiastically, not trusting your voice at this point.

she gives you a look before leaning in and connecting her lips with yours.

“hey please don’t bang my sister on the field!”

[kiveriah]

SW Daemons AU - MASTERPOST

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Jedi lore

The Jedi’s daemons settle later, their deep connection with the force lets them keep changing for longer It usually it’s towards the end of their time as Padawan, it’s part of their trials, it shows mastery of oneself.

Everyone, at the order, has flying daemons; insects, birds, flying mammals, although some exceptions exist.

It is not frowned upon, it only may complicate their efficiency on the field by the nature of their (current) missions.

Also because flying daemons have an easier time archiving endurance for long-distance separation. With meditation and the force, they can stand to be separated.

Yoda has a firefly, she can always light the way even in the deepest darkness.

Mace has a Vampire bat, everyone who has to debrief to the council swears she stares at them.

Sith lore

An important part of becoming Sith is severing your bond and reabsorb your daemon/soul by using an ancient dark ritual, it proves your commitment to the dark, and what better way to fill your anger but with an eternally open wound on your soul.

Sith have no preference of the species or kind for their daemons, they aren't there to stay.

The Chancellor's daemon is mute. A small scarab but it's not really his, he killed her a long time ago. By using the power from the dark side, Sidious severs a daemon from someone else and tethers them to himself, it's flimsy at best and needs to be replaced constantly but it keeps his cover.

Not all Sith attempt this or has this knowledge.

Maul and Savage weren't given a choice, they were forced to go through the ritual.

Count Dooku didn't go through it until AOTC, encouraged by his daemon, she told him to accomplish their goals and to never forget her, she was an Iberian Lynx.

Ventress still has her daemon, a Wyyschokk (spider). She would have never done the ritual, for the Nightsisters their daemons are sacred.

Misc

Clones don’t have daemons, the Senate uses this as justification to make/use them as an army. “They are sentient, yes but they don’t have souls like us”, is their reasoning to pass their war bills and treat them like an army.

Small daemons are preferred for space traveling purposes.

Daemons aren't usually bigger than their person, if they are it is mostly an inconvenience. When daemons present as big creatures, they do on a smaller scale than their "real" animal/creature inspiration.

Sapient creatures cant be daemons.

Daemons settle on their adolescence according to the species lifespan (ex. Yoda 900s vs Togrutas 90s).

Mandaolian daemon's use helmets/special garnmts too once they settle, children's daemons can show their face, since they are still shifting and cant hide their face with a helmet but they are naturally sneaky and shyer than regular daemons. For Mandalorians it is very upsetting having their soul out in the open because most cant wear an armor, so their daemons are usually small critters they can hide on a special compartment of their beskar armor.

Characters

Anakin Skywalker

Whilla

S: Female

Species: Starbird

RL: Phoenix

Many Jedi and the general public debated about what could she be, most agree it's some creature from the outer rim. Some of the most religious Jedi have their own theories. She inst sure about what she is, Whilla doesn't really care, although she believes that Starbirds are silly mythical creatures

She usually shifted into desert creatures and reptiles before settling

Settled at AOTC, when Anakin arrived at Tatooine to save his mother, it was the first time she had taken that form, not even she can explain why she choose that one

Friends with many, but if you provoke her, she will snarl back at you, an uncommon trait for a daemon

Always ready to fight, ride or die

Freely talks with Ahsoka, Obi-wan, Padme, the Chancellor (their daemons), and the 501st (although Palpatine's daemon feels off, she never talks)

Preens with attention but can be more serious than Anakin most of the time

Wants to cuddle with Ahsoka and Obi-wan daemons but knows she can't, so she is happy whenever they see Padme's, she loves to cuddle with him, she is clingy

They plan flight strategies together, she often demonstrates the logistics, she never crashes, she lands with style

According to the holograms when Anakin kneels before Sidious, his daemon looked a bit molt-y, and had some patches without feathers. This had previously happened soon after the Tusken massacre, Anakin believed it was because of the fight

At the fight at Mustafar, she let Obi-wan's daemon go once, she couldn't hurt her. Later when the duel was over and Whilla saw Obi-wan walk away, he didn't look back, she did

She got burnt by trying to pull Anakin away from the lava, her feathers caught fire and her soul lost hers

Starbird

Is Anakin the chosen one? we don't know, what we know is that he is always plagued with the conflict between light and dark so his daemon should represent that.

A Starbird in the Light is remade by fire, a Starbird in the Dark becomes the ashes themselves. They are deeply connected to the force and they are affected more deeply by it.

Dragons and Starbirds on canon have been described as living inside stars and are related to death, coincidence I think not.

If they had embraced the light his daemon would have been reborn on it, she would "be" a phoenix again but instead, she chose the dark too, to live and suffer, being "a" dragon was easier.

Obi-wan Kenobi

Vesper

S: Female

Species: Sonar Swallow

RL: Barn Swallow

Looking at SW canon trying to find a bird, I didn’t want a hawk or any big bird so the swallow was a perfect match

Flashy but elegant, small and fast, perfect for recon

Talks in the same accent

Sometimes talks with Anakin, mostly to tell him to be careful or scold him, she can’t stand his antics but worries for him

Always says “thanks” to Cody, when he brings back his tired idiot (affectionate) lightsaber

She had already settled by the time of TPM, she usually was small animals, so she could stay close, hidden on his clothes

Swallows usually represent hope, loyalty and mourning

Ahsoka Tano

Morai

S: Female

Species: Convor

RL: Northern Saw-whet Owl

Keeping her canon connection with a convor

In rare cases daemons can have the same sex as their pair, so we can keep Morai as a female

She usually preferred to shift into big predators to apparent strength before settling as a convor

Always tried to shift into the same creature as Anakin’s daemon, she never could. Copied Obi-wan’s Sonar swallow, once or twice.

Considers Anakin, his daemon and Rex her friends. Talks with them.

Her daemon had not settled when she was expelled, she did after Order 66

Owls usually represent intellect and wisdom

Padmé Amidala

Altos

S: Male

Species: White stag

RL: White fallow deer

Yes, he gets fancy outfits too, they are both divas. She has to dress him.

Padmé and her handmaiden's daemons talk with each other

They are comfortable with touching each other's daemons, they need it for the charade. Altos follows and interacts with the handmaiden that is playing Padmé's role.

Of course, he talks with Anakin and his daemon too

Whilla loves to attach pretty ribbons into his antlers, he loves it too

Keeping their relationship a secret gets even more ridiculous, how do you act like you haven't touched souls with someone?

Darth Vader

???

S: Female

Species: A shadow of herself

RL: Ashes

After Mustafar she can stay almost galaxies away from Vader now, their link is stretched thin now, this also helps Vader to keep her presence hidden

No, Vader doesn't go along with the ritual (see notes), keeps her hidden and away. Mostly in shame for his weakness, and for something more he can’t name

Either she cant talk or doesn't want to is up in the air, Vader hasn't heard her voice in years

Before she was always warm, now she can only yearn for it. She is a fire that aches to burn

Her relationship with Vader is icy, they are at war with each other

Most of her feathers are gone, only scales remain, she still has some feather patches around the scars.

She mostly stays hidden on Mustafar, she sometimes follows Vader in his endeavors. Pain and time have only made her dangerous

She lets Luke's daemon go on a fight, after finding out he is their son

She is onboard with killing Sidious since forever

When Vader is redeemed, Whilla feels something she thought she will never feel again, warmth

[therealtsk]

tsk i’m DYING to hear your play-by-play on which worm characters have dumb fanon interpretations

UH OH YOU JUST OPENED THE FLOODGATES so the short answer is pretty much every major character but I am a high-effort bitch so let's do this: Taylor Hebert: jfc, I could probably hit a word count limit talking about Taylor alone. First you have the dumb as shit TINO (Taylor In Name Only) phenomenon where people just straight up SI as Taylor but pretend it's her and she's basically a different person wearing Taylor's skin like an ill-fitting suit. Then there's the Memetic Escalator Taylor interpretation where Taylor's Warlord era characterization is flanderized so hard that she turns into her world's version of Doomguy where her response to literally everything is ultra violence, mutilation and torture and she can totally beat up anyone you guys hahah coin sock goes brrrrr you go brutalize those totally deserving victims queen. And then there's shy, stuttering, soft spoken "useless lesbian" Taylor which is not as common but still, fuckin straight men and the way they infantize gay women. Taylor is perhaps the most consistently inconsistent characterization I've seen in fandom, it's fucking wild Lisa Wilbourn: Has two fanon settings. Taylor's best friend who exists solely to give exposition and get the "Stop Coil" subplot rolling (occasional gay subtext will be added in a way that feels fetishy) Or, the evil bitchy blonde who is first target of the SI. I constantly wonder if the people who write the frankly masturbatory SI's are aware that we can tell they're still bitter about girls not dating them in highschool. Brian: basically does not exist in fic aside from the occasional joke cause racism and also because of how popular wlw ships are in Worm fandom. you deserve better dude Alec: has a few token appearances in wormfic fandom that usually have him as the comic relief alongside Aisha, which might actually be for the best considering he's a rapist and the Worm fandom's uhhhh tendencies. Moving on- Aisha: prankster girl that alt!Taylor will adopt as a younger sibling. hopefully is not part of the totally-not-a-harem considering she's even younger then the rest of these teens Bitch: Another girl to fall into alt!Taylor's definitely-not-a-harem, but with more butch tendencies. Basically has no personality in fanon outside of her dogs Parian: SHE DOESN'T HAVE A SHOP FFS also another member of Taylor's totally-not-a-harem Flechette: yeah it's a harem Sophia: holy shit you think Brian's bad? The racism in pretty much every fanon depiction of Sophia is off the charts. Hyper-violent, super edgy, "predator/prey" speech inbound, will get humilated/killed in some new, supposedly satisfying but actually just deeply uncomfortable way, probably throw in some E88 shit too just because Emma: again, do the writers know we can tell they're still malding over the fact that the pretty girls in highschool didn't date them? fanon emma is pretty much a cardboard cut out of whoever was mean to the author. something something bitches three Madison: in fanon has a C53 fetish, occasionally is also Browbeat. don't ask why Victoria: gets hit with the blonde stereotypes even harder then Lisa, "Collateral Damage Barbie" is one of the phrases that activates my flight or fight responses. she basically is an entirely different character in fanon. bubbly dumb blonde girl with a massive temper and well other sexist bullshiit Amy: I hate even touching this character with a ten foot pole but basically is hit with the "soft useless lesbian" trope hard enough to make her into a completely separate person from her canon self. whether or not this is a good thing is still up for debate Carol: in fanon, an evil bitch who exists solely to bully Amy Mark: who? The rest of New Wave: cannon fodder for Leviathan Danny Hebert: literally stale milk instead of a personality, will probably die before the fic is over but we won't care because the author did not care either Armsmaster: hahaha robotman go brrrr or is an arrogant self-aggrandizing shit, can't interact with people without Dragon helping him 24/7 Miss Militia: fanon bat'd into team mom,

idk where this came from considering her first instinct upon seeing children is to pull out a gun holy shit wait is she actually Taylor's true mom- Velocity: canon fodder for levi Battery & Assault: sitcom wife, sitcom husband! please ignore how fucked up this relationship is if you look at it for more than two seconds Dauntless: haha armsy is JEALOUS also cannon fodder for levi Triumph: who? The BB wards in general tend to be incredibly bland, the only ones who have fanon personalities of note are Clockblocker and Vista. The former being such a huge prankster that every other line is a joke- or him complaining about how BULLSHIT Alt!Taylor's powers are. Vista is an angry kiddo who says that Shadow Stalker doesn't count as being a girl on the team The E88: no personality for any of them except that Kaiser is noble and really isn't that bad and also Purity did nothing wrong totally she's just a hot mom trying to do her best, please ignore how she exclusively targets characters of color and literally calls white criminals more civilized than miniorities- the worm fandom has something of a nazi problem i hate it here The ABB: racism and honorable samurai lung even though that has no canon basis so again, racist stereotypes The Slaughterhouse 9: This one makes me just as sad as the Lisa shit because dear god this is such a good cast of villains that fanon completely flattens to bowling pins for the Alt!Taylor of the week to mow down, why does this fandom suck so much. Anyway Jack is just the Joker, Crawler is masochistic, etc i'm moving on now The PRT/Protectorate as a whole: They are an evil paramilitary organization that pressgangs kids into signing up to become child soldiers, and somehow at the same time, they are a bunch of idiots who listen to the PR department and have stupid things like RULES that prevent capes from COMMITTING VIOLENCE. Being called "the biggest gang of all" is common and some shit like "at least the criminals are honest" is a likely statement. Cauldron: whoo boy this one really boils my blood but fanon Cauldron are just a bunch of evil idiots who can't even tie their shoelaces. basically a bunch of dudebros are upset that women run the world and that two of them essentially have "I win" powers so they have to make them lose to their SI- er, Taylor in fics so they can assuage their masculinity, which totally isn't pathetic Scion: Is at once the end all be all of worm you can't write a wormfic without scion or else it's TOTALLY MEANINGLESS because what is the point of a story if all the characters are going to DIE in a few years anyway, and at the same time is incredibly easy to defeat- this ties into how Cauldron is stupid. Scion Truthers pls shut up and go read something else okay I think that's everyone I would apologize but the only thing I'm sorry for is how messy this is