#and literally fucking kill that guy because he doesn't deserve the air he breathes

[heavenknowsffs]

.

[whyreyousoobsessedwithme]

Lookism 479, 480 and 481 edited

Struggled to type this because I'm sore from my physio therapist appointment

479

- OK, so we know Jerry also knew Jinyoung and that his father was murderd. We also know there's this mysterious reporter Kim who might have some clues.

- What is the Era of peace?

- Jerry's father had an abnormal body.

- Why does no one know anything about Daniel's connection with Jinyoung? I'm so done. I don’t even care about that anymore.

- Now that lineman's training, I would like to see him go against some of the worker guys that beat him.

- Dj being shady ass hell as usual 🙄. I don't think Daniel should trust him, he's being too trusting. James knows so much but refuses to tell him anything. He's using Daniel to get to jinyoung so he can learn the secret behind the 2 bodies. I know deep down Daniel doesn't trust him that much, but he needs to stop giving James even the tiniest bit of info.

- I feel like Lightning Choi is in danger now that James knows about him.

- oh my God, he really is living by the junkyard💀

- these guys just keep getting stronger, why is his back so huge, it looks like an extra layer of skin😮‍💨

- tf do they mean by " the time has come for us to try to kill each other". As if they weren't giving each other permanent damage. Honestly, gun and Goo's relationship reminds me of 2 siblings, goo being the younger one who is not used to being independent until one day he decides to leave the nest. This whole meeting felt like a family low-key falling apart, goo leaving the family but deciding to visit his brother one last time before leaving. Which makes me think about the whole theory of someone dying and it showing guns' true personality. I originally thought that it was hinting towards Olly and how gun surprisingly has respect for the dead. But now I think it's goo who's going to die. These panels are honestly so well done. The bittersweet smiles and how human they look in here. You can tell they don't want to kill each other.

480

- I feel gun will eventually betray Charles because he took it too far or hold back while fighting goo. That or there'll be a change of plans like in the workers' fight with dg.

- I think gun was genuinely happy to find someone on his level. Maybe he was used to people always agreeing with everything he did or said, so befriending someone like goo was a breath of fresh air.

- Watching this interaction also reminds me of Crystal. It honestly looked like she had a good relationship with James,Gun, and Goo. Calling them hyung and conversing normally. She seemed like the little sister of the family, and Charles is like the power-hungry dad tearing it apart. I almost felt bad watching the junkyard breakup, but then I remembered they're both awful people. The one I truly feel bad for is Crystal. She didn't ask for this, she didn't join Charles because she had a choice.

- The whole thing with Eli deciding Hudson will stay, and the whole " ... so I'll let you borrow one room" thing is pissing me off. Why is he the one making all the decisions, Sally did a lot for Hostle, but somehow, she's just being pushed aside. Ptj wtf. Throughout the entire Hostle arc, it was just Eli getting the credit for half the shit Sally did it was literally her idea to give the runways a home. And the point system shit was not only an Ok idea, but it wasn't even his original it was just something he saw while living on the streets. The fact it's all "Eli this" and " Eli that" is so fucking annoying. Ptj literally showed Sally putting in the work and pushed all the credit toward Eli. Like if you want it to be about him actually make it about him

- Gyeol doesn't deserve his brother.

- Every one of these guys have insane methods, like how do you expect him to talk when you shove his glasses down his throat.

- THE UGLY FACE EXPRESSIONS ARE HERE WHICH MEANS SHIT WILL FINALLY GO DOWN.

- I used to think Charles's weakness was his daughter but now I don't think he gives a fuck about her.

- How did dg record the evidence though?

481

- hey I have that flash drive too

- I think dg was testing the waters with the whole flash drive situation to see Eugene's reaction to him knowing jinyoung.

- Mandeok is like Regina George, his hair is full of secrets literally

- Now they're calling it anxiety attacks instead🫥, ptj please research mental health

- is it me or James feels guilty for killing Gapryong and jinyoung going insane? This makes me think that after that incident James started hating Charles.

- that's some tacky ass writing he has there on his car

- that's the worst marketing strategy I've ever seen

- how did jibeom get so big😃

- Someone said the new guy looks like the lovechild of dg and Eli and now I can't unsee it

- To think Vin killed a king

- I was right about the cult theory

- This is why education is important, people think anything is evil, acting like they're not the devil themselves.

[vacantgodling]

i think its really interesting that japan doesn't have flood myths, i didn't know that! but in a video i was watching yesterday it was talking about how 2 monsoons took out the attempted mongol invasion of japan, which is the origins of kamikaze and i think that is just. funny as fuck. (also susanoo is one of my fave japanese deities so shout out to that fucking guy he causes So Many Problems on purpose but also thanks for taking out the mongols that one time)

i think that's the weirdest thing about flood myths to me too like when did we start associating it specifically with divine retribution?? like i get that floods are Extremely devestating, and natural disasters in general suck ass, but like its the only one i think that is consistently associated with you (the people or the emperor in china PFF) being a fuck up and you deserve to die because of it. i guess i don't BLAME them because drowning is one of my greatest fears so like Mood but also ??? what about famine? is that bc someone is being punished?? cuz it seems most of the time in those scenarios (like demeter refusing to let shit grow) the gods were just fighting each other and humans are just collateral pff.

the mandate of heaven is actually so fucking funny to me frfr. like if you don't like a guy and then all of a sudden ur crops fail you literally have a justifiable reason to chop that guy to pieces like ODJNL i bet the first emperor where the mandate was used against him was like: well we fucked up by conflating my existence being one and the same with heaven huh. like ig at least in europe the divine right of kings meant that even if fucked up shit happened, that's bc god wanted it to happen so you couldn't off your king, but china said this judgment is rated e for everyone 😭

i mean that's definitely probably it. i mean, there's so many things about earth even now that we just don't get. but because science is a thing and knowledge has advanced, there's more ways to go "oh this is just a thing that happens" vs being like "who did i piss off upstairs?" i mean, i can't imagine seeing a tornado for the first time and not immediately thinking oh, this is the end and god hates me for breathing air wrong ig??? because that's SCARY. i was literally talking to my partner yesterday and frfr i am surprised we've gotten to the point where humanity is 8 billion strong bc i s2g idk how we as a species made it past the australopithecus era. you don't know shit and everything can kill you

watching another video relating to uncovering the oldest religion in the world and something that struck me is the fact that he's currently talking about how many mesopotamian myths traveled (specifically) west including the creation myth (about a god having a child, god getting deposed by said child and using their body to create the world as we know it + the whole cannibalism of ur kids so they don't depose you but failing and getting killed by a kid) AND the flood myth (a la noah's ark etc) and it just occurred to me. kind of.

would part of the piece of many major religions having a flood myth be from a great flood that devastated mesopotamia? ik peole talk about the downfall of mesopotamia possibly being related to natural disasters Such As flooding, so perhaps before mesopotamia's actual decline, in their pre-written history there was another similar flood that devastated the region that got baked into their myths, then traveled as farming spread and got imbedded into other major religions?

that wouldn't really explain why the americas had flood myths tho--but its definitely interesting to think about

[poisonouswritings]

*Appears out of thin air* Hello! May I request M4 being caught with MC in a rainstorm. Just all the soft, cutesy antics that might occur, I can’t stop say dreaming about it :3 amazing work as always!

Aww thank you :3 and rainstorms are v aesthetic

GN!Reader, rainy behavior

Felix Escellun

Consider,, consider,,, You and Felix went to the bookstore and now there's rain and you guys are trying to protect the books,,,, you both pull off your jackets/cloaks and have them wrapped around the bundle,,,,, it's cold so you're huddled together,,,,,,,,,,

He comes up with the brilliant idea to try and cast a Water Deflection spell! It's something he learned a couple years ago because it seemed useful.

On one hand imagine walking around with Felix and you guys are just in this bubble of dryness so you can watch the rain and be in it without actually getting wet,,, the buildings you pass would have candles in the windows and stuff and they'd be reflecting on the puddles,,,,,,, magical,,,,,,,,,,,,

On the other hand imagine Felix steps into the rain all confident and then he immediately gets soaked because he somehow managed to reverse the effects of the spell, aka instead of repelling water he actually attracts it and then he just is huddling with you under a shelter and he looks like a drowned cat,,,,,,,, funni,,,,,,,,,,,,,

He shivers a lot. Complains of course because he's just bratty like that, but he is genuinely cold. Will definitely be clinging to you for warmth.

Just think it's funny if you have the study key with you so you could just teleport to his study whenever you want,,,, like he can open a portal,,,,,, but neither of you guys think about it in the moment.

You spend over an hour huddled together. Read a little from your books. Share stories about how this one time it was storming really hard and Baby!Felix went into the rain to get worms and then got a cold and how Scylla tried to 'treat' him by getting him to eat a literal mud pie and that's why he started eating dirt.

And then the rainstorm ends and he opens a portal to yeet you guys home because the books are heavy and he doesn't wanna carry them all,,,,, and,,,,,,,,,,, you guys kinda just Share A Look as you realize you've had access to fucking portals this entire time,,,,, dummies,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Anisa Anka

I mean if Anisa is drunk it's basically gonna be Chapter 4. Stumbling around and flirting, but this time with significantly more kisses. Anisa is bold when she's buzzed!! She's gonna be a little handsy and a little bitey. Love that for her. She deserves as much. Bonus points if you smell like some type of food.

You either have to carry her or sit with her until she sobers up enough because if she tries to navigate her way home now she's gonna get distracted wanting to take you to her favorite food place so.

But if she's sober!!

If she has a cloak/jacket she's immediately giving it to you. She doesn't want you getting sick. What if Astraean illnesses kill you?

If there's puddles everywhere she picks you up and carries you so you don't risk slipping and falling. Yes she just wanted an excuse to show you how stronk she is and how well she can protecc you

I think you guys would wait around for like,,, a couple minutes,,,, and then when it's clear the rainstorm isn't gonna stop, she bundles you up and grabs your hand. You guys dart from cover to cover, trying to avoid getting drenched and laughing all the while.

You teach Annie the 'rain rain go away' song and you're both singing it as you dart around,,, end up in a little alcove chest-to-chest, giggling and singing while you guys catch your breath,,,,,, your singing kinda trailing off because Oh Anisa Looks So Cute with her hair flattened by the rain and her cheeks warm and a big smile on her face,,, and you throw your arms around her and smooch her because She Deserves It

When you guys finally do get back to the apartment, it's a change of clothes and some fresh tea for both of you!!

You guys are changed and in bed surrounded by a pillow + blanket fort while sipping warm tea,,, listening to the rain hitting the window and the thunder rolling in the distance,,, soft,,,

Sage Lesath

Okay like,, honestly,,,, Sage is gonna play in the rain. You can stay under the shelter if you want but He Is Going To Run Around And Have Fun. And there is a very good chance he grabs your arm and pulls you over as well.

Spinning you around,, if the ground is slippery and you start to fall he catches you,,,, has a hand on your lower back as he grins and says Hey It Looks Like You Fell For Him,,,, On the other hand if he's the one that falls and you try to help him he is still going to trip and he will pull you down with him, but he will make sure to twist so that he hits the ground and you fall on top of him

Hehe,,, Sage titties

He wants to splash in puddles!!

Like legit he just wants to hop around from puddle to puddle. Stomps his feet a little bit because it's fun. His tail smacks against the water too.

You can ask him why he feels the need to do this but he'll just look you in the eye, blink really slowly, and hop into another puddle.

✨ ~ ℕ𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕤𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙 ~ ✨

If you really don't want to get wet (throw in a sex joke there on Sage's behalf) then that's fine! He'll give you his jacket to use as a makeshift umbrella and then just run around only in his pants and boots. And on that note I wanna point out to everyone,, Sage,,, shirtless,,,, water running down his torso,,,,,,, it's cold out,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, yeah he sees you looking and he's gonna tease you about it, but he's also pretty damn proud of himself. Kitty cat likes showing off!

Ultimately I don't think you're gonna be able to get out of this while staying dry.

Once you guys do manage to get back to Fathom, you tell Sage to go towel off so he doesn't get a cold. And then he smirks and says that Oh, Do You want to towel him off? Wink.

Once he's dry he crawls on top of you and curls up for a little cat nap.

Rime Varela

Okay okay okay so

I feel like when he notices it's raining Rime has this split second moment of cursing the gods because Why Must They Conspire To Ruin His Hair Like This

I mean he will go out into the rain if he has to but he's also perfectly content to just stay in whatever store or cafe you guys are in and just,, wait for it to end.

Rime can teleport!! He's just gonna teleport home.

But if you want to stay in the rain then he will stay with you. It just isn't his first choice.

Or his second choice.

You guys watch raindrops racing on windows except Rime will just clear a path for his raindrop because he's a competitive little bastard and he thinks he's oh-so-very Funny.

You can stomp around in puddles if you want but if you get mud on him he's gonna be salty for the rest of the day.

Either he does the Water Repel spell (hehe that rhymes) or he just flat-out steals an umbrella. He's trying to stop you from getting drenched because if you get a cold, guess who's gonna be taking care of your dumb ass? He is. So quit trying to get sick >:(

But as much as he complains, he's also smiling to himself a little at how much fun you're having. He makes sure to hug you close and rub your arms when you're cold. If he has his cloak with him then he'll wrap you up in it (I don't think he can get cold so it's really not a big deal for him).

You guys get home and Rime makes you go change into something warm. While you're changing he's making some coffee and pulling out some snacks.

You guys are inside, wrapped in blankets, still racing raindrops but this time Rime can't cheat. And it's peaceful and soft and warm and nice.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand. 

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat. 

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling. 

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again. 

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has. 

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. " 

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?" 

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack. 

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least. 

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so. 

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch.  “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken. 

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.” 

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability. 

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady. 

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

 TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting​ @babybloodstonebones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @m0rcia​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @blakes-dictionxry​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 55 Xs1)

"Helluva Night"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@mythsloveworld

@kellyimagines

@queenieofthesouth

@crystalbaby12

After Luna changes, Ashley and her head over to The Amory to rehearse.

It's an open square stage. Like a four way runway. They do a run through, each positioned at an opposite corner. Starting by walking away from each other so that by time they meet, perfectly timed, they can toss their mic to the other as they walk by. It takes a couple runs to nail it. Not the toss but musical timing. They don't stop until it's perfect. Both girls maniacs when it comes to detail. Feeling confident in their flow and timing together, they cut out just after midnight.

Luna, Ashley and her band head to this neat little place called Up-Down to unwind with drinks and bar food. They hang out for a bit. Going over the show, bullshitting and playing pinball. Luna Snaps Colson while at the bar. Laughing, buzzed and full they wrap it up. Luna and Ashley have an interview in the morning.

Before going to sleep the two girls go over any last minute details of their performance. They're sitting on Luna's bed, sharing a joint also.

"Dude." A giggly Luna grabs Ashley's knee. "We're gonna do a fucking show together."

Of all their years, besides karaoke, they've never been on stage together.

"I know!!!" Ashley excitedly shakes her whole crossed legged body on the bed. "We're gonna fucking kill it!!" She exclaims to Luna's laughter.

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Once Colson and Casie are home, he checks flight schedules real quick.

She's watching TV while he makes them dinner and a few phone calls. One to Emma, that goes according to plan. Then another.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks.

After dinner, Colson gets Casie ready for bed. She has school tomorrow. They read 3 of her favorite books and he sings What I Got. It's their goodnight song. Tucking her in, he tells her that Mommy will pick her up from school but he'll see her the next day. Asking why, she's satisfied with his explanation. He tucks in with a tight squeeze, an I love you and a kiss.

Going into his room to collect himself, he lights a joint and checks his phone. Finding a Snap from Luna.

Opening it, he's pleased with his earlier decision. Snapping her back, he finishes the joint before climbing into bed. Trying not to miss her.

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Ashley wakes up before Luna. As always. Learning over the years, she enjoys the half hour to herself that it usually takes to get her friend out of bed. She finally rises Luna with coffee, who immediately rolls a joint. They have a system.

Ashley showers first, while Luna sits with her, the joint and coffee. Holding it for Ashley to hit when she pops out her wet head.

Luna rolls another. Finishing in the shower, Ashley does the same for her.

Out of the shower, looking for clothes, Luna finally checks her phone. There's a Snap from Colson, amongst other things. But first, Colson.

"Oh my Fuck. He's fucking handsome." Even looking tired, he makes her body flush and pussy swell. Her heart misses him."

"Hey! You wearing this?" Ashley asks, pulling Luna out of her phone. Distracted she sets it down.

"Uhhhh... Nah. Go ahead." Luna says. She pulls on ripped black skinies, a sequin black tank and a long sleeve sheer white shirt. She puts on a deep purple lip before slipping on her white Chucks.

Luna stands up, just as Ashley asks "Ready?"

"Yup." Luna nods, grabbing her bag.

And awaaaaay they go......

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Luna and Ashley arrive at the station on time, which is amazing for them. Ashley's team is close behind. Luna likes them individually but finds an entourage annoying. Plus, she's not used to Ashley being as famous as she is now. To Luna, they're still just two kids running around, hanging out.

Luna and Ashley sit bullshitting in the back room. There's really no way to prepare for an interview, there's always room to go off track. They both know this and each other well enough to let it organically flow.

They look up as the door opens. Expecting to go on. They're not.

It's Dom and Colson.

Dom grabs Ashley, splattering her surprised, happy face with kisses.

Luna exclaims "Holy FUCK!!" Tears welling in her eyes as she jumps onto Colson.

Kissing him like he's her dying breath.

"What the fuck are you doing here!?" She asks in awe while still kissing him all over.

"We've come to watch the Nightmare!" Dom exclaims, pulling his mouth off of Ashley's. She pulls him back in.

Still in his arms, Luna looks at Colson smiling. "Really?" She asks. "What about Case?"

"Yeah, Em's gonna grab her from school and I'll pick her up tomorrow." He reassures her to another passionate kiss. They missed each other.

An intern walks into the two couples making out. "Oh!" She says before turning around.

Breaking away from Colson she calls "No, no, no..." Before kissing him once more and sliding off his body. "We're ready." She says.

The boys kiss the girls good luck before they head into the studio.

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"So we've got Halsey here. She's doing a free concert tonight at The Armory. We've also got That Brooklyn... Uh, I don't know if I can say this on air... Can I just call you That Brooklyn Babe?" Steve, one of the radio hosts asks.

"Absolutely Not." Luna answers quickly without hesitation. "Stick to simply Brooklyn if you're worried." She tells him.

"Ok... Ok.." Steve agrees.

"You can tell she's from NY!!" The co-host Dave chimes in. Luna gives him a side eye with raised eyebrows.

"Where the FUCK does Ash have me??" She thinks.

Steve starts up again "So you guys are here because you have a record together, Nightmare. It's #1 on The Pop charts. I think it's even #12 on The Alternative..." He looks around checking his notes. "Yep. Yep. #12.... You ladies must be incredibly proud. In all my years, I don't think I've ever heard a song as cutting or direct. I have to tell you. As a man, the song is a bundle of emotions. I literally go from fearing you, to wanting to change the world for you to feeling stupid for feeling like I have to save you."

Ashley and Luna speak at the same time.

Luna stating a solid "Good."

While Ashley offers up at sweet "Awww... Thank you."

Both girls give each other a cocked smile and amused side eye. Ashley plays the game. Luna not so much.

Laughing, Ashley leans in. "That's the idea. For you to see us as equals. Not ones who need to be saved and definitely not feared, although a little fear is good." She cocks her lip and winks at Steve.

"One's who deserve choices and options." Luna chimes in. "This isn't about us playing on the same baseball field. We're equal as human beings but in two different leagues because we are different. Men require different things than women and vice versa. This is about RESPECTING each other and what the other needs and is entitled to. Constitutionally. At least up until less then a month ago."

Luna's not afraid to drop political bombs. It's a lot of the reason why she doesn't do promos. There's no bullshitting with her when a real conversation is at hand.

"You have that song Bad Things with MGK right, Brook.. Brooklyn, is it?" Dave cuts in, stumbling over her name.

Luna knows his tactic but the thought of Colson softens her.

"Yes... I think we're at #5. He's actually about to drop an album on July 5th, Hotel Diablo. It's sick." She squeezes in the plug. "He's actually on the Nightmare record. Him and his band are who recorded with us. We'll be on SNL with them next Saturday." Luna lets out to Ashley's shock. You can't deny, Luna gives a good plug.

"Really?" Asks Steve. He goes on. "So you have this" He uses finger quotes. "'Girl Power' song with this 'Girl Power' video backed by an all male band?" He tilts his head as he asks.

"Yup." Luna's lips pop. "Strong women back men everyday. Why the fuck can't strong men back women?"

"Ohhhhh!!!" There's a howl to the F word. Her important point being lost.

"He's here, isn't he?" Dan asks. "With your boyfriend, Yung Blud?" He turns to Ashley.

"Yeah." She states not thinking anything of it.

"Can we bring 'em in?" Steve looks around, more asking the studio then the women.

"Uhhhh... Yeah... I guess..." Ashley says, unsure looking at Luna's 'What The Fuck???'

A few moments later a giddy Dom and unsure Colson head into the studio. Sitting next to each other, between their girlfriends, they slide their headphones on.

"Hey guys!!" Dan shouts.

"What's up!" Dom shouts back to Colson's "Sup."

Colson and Luna exchange an easy look of understanding. Neither of them is about this life.

"So, we've got 4 of the biggest pop stars right now, in our studio. We have Halsey and her boyfriend Yung Blud. And Machine Gun Kelly and his girlfriend.... We're gonna try it, we'll see if we get bleeped... That Brooklyn Bitch. Now you all are DOMINATING the charts right now. We've got at least 5 Top 40 hits between you guys and most are collaborations."

He's met to their "Yeahs."

He continues "So, tell me. You're all obviously friends and... partners. Is there any competition? Like, Halsey and Brooklyn, are you afraid your boyfriends will knock you out of #1?"

Luna and Ashley look at each other. Ashley speaks first.

"Nooooo.... Like you said, we're all friends. If I Think I'm Okay knocks us out, that's fine. What's most important to Lu.." She corrects herself. "Brooklyn and I is the message. Speaking out for those who can't. Bringing a voice to those who don't in Alabama and across the world. As much as you want to deny it, they're taking our rights away."

"Now nobodies trying to take..." Dave interrupts Ashley but Colson interrupts him.

"But they are, Dude. The fact that a woman who may conceive during a rape can be sentenced longer then the piece of shit who violates her is disgusting." He states firmly.

Luna's heart pounds and swells with pride. "This amazing MOTHERFUCKER."

"It's about lovin each other and lettin each live." Dom steps in. "There's many people's in this world who aren't treated fairly. Nightmare focuses on one specific section. In a smart, blunt way. You can't help but hear it. And if it wasn't true, it wouldn't resonate and it wouldn't be #1." He sits back in his chair.

Luna leans up. "Like Dom was saying, we have a voice. We're going to use it. Anyone out there, please write into AL's local legislature if you want. Support your local ACLU, look into Yellowhammer.com and listen. Always listen. And after you listen, if you have something to say, speak. Please don't be afraid to speak. Silence is any nastiness's dearest ally."

"Are we gonna get ANYTHING juicy from you guys??" Steve asks.

This pisses Luna off.

"What did you expect? You invited two strong women with a politically charged song onto your show?" She asks with her hands up.

"Just.. Just tell me.. Do you all hang out?" Steve asks pathetically, looking for any detail of their lives.

The four of them look at each other and erupt into laugher.

"Yeah, Man." Colson says.

"Of course we hang out, we're best mates!" Dom chimes in.

"Yeah, we all live together too..." Ashley adds.

"Unh-hunh, in beautiful polygamy glory in the Hollywood Hills." Luna finishes.

The four of them erupt into laughter again to the host's dismay.

Luna controls herself. "No, seriously. We all get along really well. Halsey and I have been bestfriends forever. Nightmare is REALLY important. We're debuting it at The Armory tonight. We hope to see you guys there..." She looks at the others. "Hotel Diablo July 5th. Bad Things...."

Ashley pops in "11 minutes, I Think I'm Okay both streaming now. Get some... Tonight's gonna be awesome. We can't wait to see you guys there!!!"

Colson hops on too, laughing. "And Hollywood Whore!" He shouts to the others laughter.

"And don't forget Tales of the Ritalin Club!!" Luna comes back in with a snicker.

"Yes! Yes!" Laughs Dom. "And Eastside.." They continue to shamelessly plug and laugh until Steve talks over them.

"That was Yung Blud and MGK. Halsey with That Brooklyn Bitch. Their debuting their #1 hit Nightmare tonight at The Armory. If it's anything like this interview, I'm sure it will be crazy. We'll be back!"

Nightmare plays them out.

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The four of them tumble laughing into the hallway.

"Come're!!!" Ashley calls. Gathering around a mirror she finds, they pose for cramped selfie. She posts on Instagram immediately.

Fun interview today with these crazy looooverrrrsssss 💘💘💘💘See you all @thearmory l8r. It's gna be a helluva NIGHT!! #nightmare

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Luna, Colson, Dom and Ashley roam DownTown Minneapolis. It's early enough on a Monday for Ashley and Colson to not be recognized.

They have lunch and do some shopping. Luna picking up a beautiful, turquoise cuff. Before long Ashley needs to head to the venue. Luna's not far behind here.

The boys will meet them there later.

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Word Limit (1 of 2)

To be continued......