#and see that’s why two brains are better than one

[nekonaps0]

Brushstrokes and Blushes

✦fem!reader, Ace Trappola

✦The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.

✦Humor, Fluff, Teacher!Reader, Ace Being a Menace, Protective Deuce

✦Word Count: 2,409

The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.

It all started on a sluggish Tuesday afternoon.

Ace flopped into the nearest stool in the art room, dramatically dragging his sketchpad behind him.

“Ugh. Can’t believe I had to fill an elective slot. Why couldn’t it be something easy like… broom flying or potion tasting?”

Deuce, ever the responsible one, sat beside him with better posture and a furrowed brow.

“You already failed broom flying, remember? And you can’t ‘taste’ potions if you blow them up.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Still better than drawing. What am I gonna do? Doodle some hearts and hope I pass?”

Deuce sighed. “Just try not to get detention.”

But before either could complain further, the door opened.

And you walked in.

You were smiling. Softly, genuinely. Wearing a pastel-toned blouse smudged slightly with paint, hair tucked back with two clips, and a warmth that filled the whole room. The soft clink of your earrings and the smell of oil paint and florals preceded your calm voice as you greeted the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Y/N, your new art teacher. I’m really happy to be here with all of you.”

Ace sat up straighter.

You were… cute.

No—hot.

No—hot and cute?!

“Let’s start with something simple today,” you continued, motioning to the front of the classroom. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just draw what you feel. Art’s more about expression than execution.”

Ace’s brain short circuited at the way you smiled. Did your eyes just sparkle or was that the overhead lights?

You passed out supplies and complimented each student in some way. You were patient with Cater when he drew a selfie instead of the still life you’d assigned. You didn’t even get mad when Grim spilled paint on the desk. And when you stopped by Ace’s desk, leaning slightly over his shoulder to look at the messy sketch he’d done of a half finished apple, your voice was soft and encouraging.

“That’s a great start. Try adding some shadow here, just like this…” You gently guided his pencil with yours. “See? It gives the apple a bit more dimension.”

Ace, who normally hated being corrected, stared at you with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He was in trouble.

When you moved on to help another student, Ace blinked down at his paper. For the first time in his life, he actually cared whether a drawing turned out okay. Not because he loved art, but because you told him he could do better.

He nudged Deuce with his elbow.

“Dude.”

Deuce didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“She’s like… super cute and hot.”

Deuce paused, pencil in midair. “Don’t.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. This is fate.”

Deuce finally looked at him, visibly alarmed. “Ace. No. She’s a teacher.”

“She’s not that much older.”

“She teaches us. That means she’s off-limits. There are rules. Probably laws. Probably murder attempts by Crowley if you even try.”

Ace grinned smugly. “You’re just jealous.”

Deuce groaned. “This is your worst idea ever. And that includes the time you tried to smuggle chocolate frogs during potion exams.”

Ace didn’t answer. He was too busy glancing at you across the room like a heart eyed fool.

•

You, meanwhile, had noticed Ace’s stares. And while you were used to the occasional flirty student like Cater had already jokingly asked if you were single, there was something particularly obvious about Ace Trappola.

He wasn’t subtle.

At all.

He’d stared for most of the class, and when you gave him a simple suggestion, his face turned red and he just… blinked at you like you’d cast a spell on him.

You didn’t blame him, students his age were bundles of hormones. You’d seen this kind of thing before. It was sweet, and innocent, and—

Entirely inappropriate.

But harmless.

You smiled to yourself as you continued circling the room, deciding not to make a big deal of it.

Kids would be kids.

Besides, it would fade.

Right?

•

After class, Ace lingered behind while others packed up.

“Um. Miss Y/N?” he called out, casually leaning against a nearby stool like it owed him money. “So… how long have you been drawing?”

You turned, pleasantly surprised. “Most of my life, really. I started with charcoal, but I’ve come to love oils and pastels too.”

“That’s cool,” Ace said, trying to act smooth. “You must be, like, really good.”

You laughed lightly. “I’d hope so, otherwise I wouldn’t be teaching you guys.”

He gave a sheepish grin.

You tilted your head. “Do you enjoy drawing?”

Ace shrugged. “I dunno. Never really tried. But today was… not bad.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully I can make it even more enjoyable for you.”

Ace smiled, and for a moment, his heart actually thudded. Like, hard.

Maybe this wasn’t just a little crush.

Maybe this was the real deal.

Maybe—

Deuce suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.

“Let’s go, Ace. Lunch isn’t gonna wait.”

Ace blinked, startled. “Oh—right. Yeah.” He gave you one last smile. “See you next class, Miss Y/N.”

You nodded. “See you, Trappola.”

Once they were out of earshot, Deuce grabbed him by the collar. “Get a grip!”

Ace just grinned, heart still hammering in his chest.

“I’m doomed.”

•

The bell rang, signaling the end of another long art class. You stood at the front of the room with your usual warm smile, thanking the students as they walked out. Most of them nodded back or mumbled a goodbye, eager to head off to their next class or some club activity.

Ace Trappola, however, lingered by the door, fidgeting with his sketchpad and pretending he was in no rush. You noticed him immediately, he’d been unusually chipper all class, sneaking glances at you and asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Trappola,” you said gently. “Is there something you need?”

Ace stepped forward, trying to look cooler than he felt. “Yeah, actually,” he said, stuffing one hand into his uniform pocket and giving you a half smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

You blinked, then tilted your head with a light laugh. “Absolutely not.”

His smile faltered just a little. “Wha—what? That’s it?!”

“I mean that kindly,” you added, your tone still calm and gentle. “You’re a sweet kid, Ace, but you’re a student, and I’m your teacher. Not to mention the age difference. So no, not now, not ever.”

Ace stared, slightly slack jawed. “You called me a kid?”

“You are,” you said simply, walking past him to stack a few leftover brushes in the sink. “I appreciate the honesty, though. That took guts.”

You thought that would be the end of it.

You were wrong.

The next day, Ace was back at it again, another compliment here, a cheeky grin there. And again, he waited until the end of class.

“Hey, how about that date?”

“Still no.”

Then again the day after that.

“I’m thinking maybe dinner and a walk by the school lake? Very romantic.”

“Absolutely not.”

And again. And again. It became a strange sort of routine. He didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest, even if his attempts kept getting shot down.

•

By the time lunchtime came around one week later, Ace was at the cafeteria table with his usual crew, slumped over his tray like a man defeated.

“She smiled at me today,” Ace groaned, stabbing a piece of sausage like it had offended him. “But then… boom! another rejection. ‘Absolutely not,’ she says. Again!”

Jack shook his head. “That’s because she’s your teacher. Of course she keeps saying no.”

“She’s also, like, an adult,” Ortho chimed in, blinking. “Biologically speaking, the odds of compatibility—”

“Please, Ortho,” Epel muttered, sipping his juice. “You’re not helping.”

Deuce sighed and rubbed his temples. “Ace, we’ve been listening to this every lunch for the last eight days. You keep asking, she keeps saying no. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because she’s hot, and sweet, and cool!” Ace protested. “Have you seen the way she talks about art like it’s magic? Have you seen her smile when someone finally gets the shading right? I’m telling you, it’s fate!”

Epel stared. “Bro, this is either the dumbest thing you’ve ever done or the most hopeless romantic one.”

“Why not both?” Ace muttered dramatically.

Deuce looked between the others, then back at Ace. “Okay, listen. You need a distraction. Let’s head into town after class. We’ll hit up the game store or something.”

“Or eat ice cream!” Ortho added. “That helps with heartbreak, right?”

“Y’all are acting like I got dumped,” Ace grumbled, but he was already sitting up straighter. “Alright, alright. Maybe getting out will help. But just know I’m not giving up.”

“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “Because you never listen.”

As the boys made plans, Ace found himself smiling again. He’d take the break. But deep down, he was already planning how to ask you again, maybe with flowers next time.

•

The town buzzed with its usual weekend energy, vendors shouting, students roaming, and shopkeepers setting out signs. It was the perfect place for a distraction, and Ace actually found himself enjoying it.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Ace said with a grin, popping a candy in his mouth. “This was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Deuce said, arms crossed. “It’s nice to just chill without… you know, heartbreak.”

“You sound like I got dumped.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I never even got a yes.”

The boys had already hit up the arcade, where Ace had gone on a dramatic winning streak that included beating Epel at every racing game and losing horribly to Ortho in a rhythm battle.

They grabbed some snacks, wandered a bit, even found a cute photo booth. For a moment, Ace had stopped thinking about you entirely.

Until Ortho’s voice broke through the crowd.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s ‘uh-oh’ supposed to mean?” Ace asked, half-laughing. “You break something again?”

Ortho didn’t answer. He and Deuce were frozen, standing like badly coded NPCs trying to block Ace’s view of the other side of the street.

But it was already too late.

Ace leaned to the side and his heart stopped.

You were there, standing in front of a boutique. Dressed in something soft and elegant, makeup done just enough to highlight your best features. You looked like you belonged on the cover of a magazine. You were scrolling on your phone, casually unaware that you had just become the center of someone’s universe all over again.

“Oh crap…” Epel muttered.

“She looks… whoa,” Jack said with a sigh, already bracing for the incoming disaster.

Ace didn’t hear any of them. He was already crossing the street.

“Hey, hey!” he called, waving. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You looked up and smiled. That smile. It still had the power to melt anyone’s heart.

“Well, look at you boys,” you said sweetly. “Having fun?”

“Y-Yeah! Totally!” Ace grinned, flicking his hair back like he didn’t spend most mornings messing with it in the mirror. “But wow—you look amazing today. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Special occasion or just naturally that stunning?”

Behind him, Deuce groaned into his hands. Jack facepalmed. Ortho was trying to calculate the fastest way to drag Ace out of the line of fire.

You were just about to respond when the door behind you swung open, and a familiar voice followed

“Apologies for the delay, Love. That employee was more clueless than a freshman on his first potion.”

Professor Crewel stepped out, dressed to the nines in an immaculate suit and silk gloves, like he had just walked off a fashion runway. His sharp eyes landed on Ace and the boys… and he froze.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh no…” Epel whispered.

Crewel raised an eyebrow. “Students?”

You gave a sheepish sigh and looked at the group with a soft smile. “Boys, I guess I should’ve said something sooner. Crewel and I are dating.”

Ace blinked.

He blinked again.

And then he laughed, but it sounded like it might also be a sob.

“You’re dating Professor Crewel?!” he asked, voice cracking like a broken guitar string.

“You’re a literal child, Trappola,” Crewel said dryly, though he didn’t sound angry. “Be grateful your taste is excellent.”

“I mean—yeah—but seriously?!”

“I’m very serious,” you said gently, placing a hand on Crewel’s arm.

Crewel’s cold, stern face softened at your touch.

“Right. Sure. That’s cool.” Ace nodded, looking like someone just deleted his save file. “Totally… great. Great for you two.”

You both gave a polite farewell, and walked off hand in hand, leaving Ace staring at the back of your outfit like it had personally betrayed him.

There was a long, painful silence.

“…Well,” Deuce said, clapping him on the back. “At least now you have closure.”

Ace groaned. “My heart just got critical-hit KO’d.”

“You were going to get rejected again anyway,” Jack said bluntly.

“Yeah, but not this hard!!!”

Ortho tilted his head. “I can find you someone statistically more likely to say yes, if that helps.”

“I don’t need your pity matchmaking, Ortho,” Ace mumbled, sulking.

They were about to head back toward the café when Ace suddenly gasped.

“What?” Epel asked.

Across the street, another young woman had stepped out of a flower shop. Dressed like springtime and sunshine, fixing her hair in the reflection of the glass.

Ace straightened up, flashing a grin.

“…Or maybe it’s time for the next chapter.”

“NO!” all four boys said at once.

Too late. Ace was already strolling toward her.

Deuce dropped his face into his hands. “Here we go again.”

Jack growled. “You’d think rejection would teach him something.”

“Not Ace,” Epel muttered. “He treats love like a boss fight, keeps rushing in ‘til it works.”

Ortho blinked and said cheerfully, “I think it’s romantic.”

“It’s not!” the other three groaned.

And from across the street, Ace’s flirty voice rang out once more.

“Hey there, need help carrying those flowers?”

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[mytherapyisreading14]

From Steps to Sparks

Summary: Your best friend is getting married soon and is now taking dance lessons. She's dragged you into it, the only problem is, you don't have a dance partner. When the team finds out, they arrange for Spencer to accompany you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 6,6k

The conference room at the BAU is more quiet than usual. You, Derek, and Emily are stretched out across the room - exhausted but relaxed because you just finished your current case successfully.

“…I’m just saying,” Derek says, grinning as he leans back in his chair, “if he’d run five more seconds, I would’ve had him. No sweat.” Emily raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Right after I teleported in and read him his rights.” You chuckle. “You two should take this act on the road.”

As the laughter fades, your phone buzzes quietly on the table. You glance at it and sigh as you read the incoming message. Emily catches the shift in your expression. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” she asks and you can hear the concern in her voice. “Yes it’s just my best friend. She’s getting married and she reminded me our dance class starts tomorrow.”

Derek perks up. “Dance class? You? That’s something I’ve gotta see.” You give him a look. “Don’t get too excited. She didn’t want to do it alone and dragged me into it. And now she wants me to bring a date.” Emily laughs. “She’s matchmaking and choreographing?”

“Apparently so. But honestly, I’m not thrilled about the idea of getting all up close and personal with some stranger. It just feels awkward.” Emily and Derek exchange a familiar look, the kind that never means anything good for you. They’re grinning before you can say a word. “What?” you ask suspiciously. Emily leans in. “You could always ask Spencer.“ You blink. “Spence?”

Derek leans back with a teasing smile. “Come on, he’s probably memorized every dance style from the last three centuries. And he definitely wouldn’t step on your toes that much.” Emily smirks. “And you wouldn’t have to worry about weird vibes. Plus... you'd look adorable together.” Before you can respond, the door opens and - speak of the devil - Spencer walks in, balancing a coffee and a book in one hand.

Derek immediately calls him over. “Hey, Pretty Boy! You got plans tomorrow night?” Spencer looks up, a little surprised, but walks over. “Hey. Uh… not that I know of? Why?” Derek spreads his arms like it’s obvious. “Perfect! You’re going to a dance class.” Spencer freezes mid-step, blinking. “Wait… what?”

You cover your face with your hand, already regretting everything. Derek grins. “Our friend here” - he says and nods toward you - “needs a partner. Her best friend is getting married, dragged her into dance lessons, and wants her to bring someone.” Spencer turns to you, brows slightly raised. “You need a dance partner?”

You glance up at him with an awkward smile. “Only if you’re willing to suffer through it with me.” Spencer hesitates for half a second. “I mean… I did read a book on traditional ballroom etiquette last year. And technically, dancing is just applied physics, right? I mean, I’d… I’d be happy to help. But only if you actually want that. Not because they volunteered me.”

You give him a small smile . “Yeah. I’d like that. If you’re okay with it.” Spencer smiles, that shy, crooked grin that always makes your heart beat faster. “Of course I am. Then I’ll do my best not to step on your feet,“ you say.

“I mean, statistically, in beginner-level partner dances, foot-stepping is actually one of the most common sources of anxiety, especially when one or both dancers have little prior experience. But coordinated movement improves rapidly when you practice with someone you’re comfortable around. The brain responds better to physical rhythm when cortisol levels are lower, and familiarity tends to reduce that.”

He pauses, realizing what he’s doing, and pushes his hair back awkwardly. “So... what I’m saying is... uhm… It’ll probably go better than you think.” You can’t help but smile at him because it’s classic Reid, and because, somehow, that long-winded explanation actually makes you feel better.

Derek laughs, clapping him on the back. “That’s the attitude, genius.” Emily just laughs, already pulling out her phone. “Oh, I have to be there for this.” You groan. “This is going to be a disaster.” But even as you say it, there’s a part of you that’s actually kind of looking forward to tomorrow night.

-

It’s the next evening, and you stand outside the dance studio with your best friend and her fiancé. The air smells faintly of warm asphalt and summer as you slowly approach the entry with its tall windows. Your heart beats a little faster, but it’s not just nerves about the dance class.

“I still can’t believe Spencer’s your dance partner,” your friend says, grinning wide as she clutches her bag a little tighter. “I mean, we’ve known him forever, and for years been waiting for something to happen between you two. And now, here he is.”

You laugh softly, a little embarrassed. “I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. But yeah, there’s definitely something more there… even if we never really say it out loud.” She winks at you. “Well, it’s about time. And now that you’re dancing together, there’s no escaping it.”

Just then, Spencer comes around the corner. His hair is its usual tousled mess, a shy smile playing on his lips. You shyly raise your hand and wave. He waves back, his eyes lighting up a little as he walks toward you. “Hey,” he says softly, and your friend grins mischievously and nudges you before she turns to Spencer.

“So, Mr. Partner-in-Crime, ready not to step on my friend’s toes tonight?” Spencer smiles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll do my best.” With a last laugh, you all step inside the dance studio together, ready for whatever this evening will bring.

-

The dance studio is softly lit, with polished wooden floors that gleam under the overhead lights. Mirrors line one wall, reflecting every awkward step and nervous glance. You stand beside Spencer and your dancing teacher Derya - a graceful woman with a beautiful smile - claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone, we’ll start with the basic box step,” she says, demonstrating the slow, deliberate movement. “Step forward with your left foot, side with your right, then close your left foot next to the right. Then step back with your right foot, side with your left, and close your right foot next to the left. It’s called a ‘box’ because the steps trace a square pattern.”

You watch her carefully, then glance sideways at Spencer. He’s focused, biting his lip just a little. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but knowing him, his brain is already running a mile a minute. You give a small, encouraging smile. “Ready to give it a try?” He nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You both start moving through the steps together, slow and careful. Your feet don’t trip, and you manage to stay mostly coordinated. Spencer matches your movements, his brows furrowed in concentration. “It’s like a rhythm puzzle,” he says quietly, “trying to line everything up. Actually, the box step is interesting because it creates a closed loop of motion. From a neuroscience perspective, repeating a pattern like this helps build muscle memory through repeated neural pathways.”

You grin. “Only you could make dancing sound like a science lecture.” He shrugs, a little embarrassed but pleased. “It’s all connected, right?” Derya walks around, offering tips and gentle corrections. Spencer’s posture straightens, and you notice his nervous energy starting to ease. You feel your own tension relax, too.

After a few minutes, you’re both finding a rhythm. You even manage a small smile as Spencer accidentally steps a little too close. “Okay, not bad so far,” Derya says cheerfully. “Let’s add some turns.” You swallow, suddenly feeling the class get more challenging. She demonstrates a gentle spin for the leader, followed by a turn for the follower.

Spencer leans toward you, whispering, “You’re the follower, right?” You nod, feeling butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, I’ll try not to spin you into the floor.” You laugh softly. “Fair enough.” The music shifts, a soft, rhythmic beat filling the room. You start the turn, Spencer guiding you with surprising confidence. For a moment, it feels almost effortless.

Then, just as you complete the spin, your foot catches harshly on Spencer’s, and you stumble badly, nearly falling forward. Instinctively, Spencer’s arms shoot out, catching you firmly around your waist. You find yourself pressed close to him, his chest warm against yours.

Your eyes meet, and everything else seems to fade - the mirrors, the other dancers, the music. It’s just the two of you, caught in this quiet, unexpected moment. “Are you alright?” Spencer asks softly, his breath a little uneven. You nod, heart pounding. “Yeah… thanks to you.”

He doesn’t let go right away, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read something deeper. A small, shy smile tugs at his lips. “I promise I’ll be more careful,” he says quietly. You smile back, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the dance studio heat.

Derya claps her hands again. “Excellent effort, everyone! Dancing is about connection and trust, not perfection. Keep that in mind as you practice.” You and Spencer exchange a glance, both silently acknowledging the growing closeness between you.

Derya finishes today's class 30 minutes later and everyone starts packing up their things and taking off their dancing shoes. Only now do you realize how exhausting it really was. But you still had fun. This dance class doesn't seem to have been a bad idea, especially since it's bringing you closer to Spencer.

As you step outside the studio, the warm night air feels refreshing after the concentrated energy inside. You glance at Spencer, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re actually not bad at this,” you say, teasing lightly but honestly. He looks surprised but pleased. “Really? I’m glad to hear that.”

You take a breath, gathering your thoughts. “Thank you… for doing this with me. I’m really glad it’s you and not some complete stranger I have to dance with.” Spencer smiles softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Me too. It makes it easier.”

You both stand there for a moment, the quiet between you comfortable, as if something has shifted, just a little, in the space between you. Spencer glances at you, curiosity in his eyes. “So, when’s the next class?” he turns over to your friend. “Thursday evening, same time,“ she says. He nods. “Alright, I’ll be ready.”

You smile and start gathering your things. “Well, I should get going. But you better brace yourself. I’m already curious what kind of comments the others will have tomorrow.” He raises an eyebrow and gives you a shy smile. “Sounds like I should prepare myself then.”

You laugh softly. “Definitely. It’s going to be interesting.” With a final smile, you wave goodbye and head off, your heart still fluttering from the night’s unexpected moments. Thank God Derek set Spencer up for this.

-

The BAU bullpen is quiet when you arrive early the next morning. You grab a coffee from the kitchen and lean against the counter, still waking up and replaying last night’s dance class in your mind. The soft hum of the lights fills the room, and for a moment, you enjoy the calm before the storm.

A few minutes later, the rest of the team starts filing in, one by one. Emily appears first, spotting you immediately and grinning like she’s been waiting for this moment all night. “So?” she asks, practically bouncing on her toes. “How was the dance class? Did Spencer survive being your partner?” You laugh softly. “He did, surprisingly well.”

Derek strolls in behind her, smirking. “I’m just wondering how many times you guys managed not to step on each other’s toes.” You roll your eyes playfully. “More than you’d think. But it wasn’t too bad.” Emily nudges Derek, shooting him a knowing look. “You know, it’s about time these two actually spend some real time together. I swear, you can feel the tension from across the room.”

You glance over, cheeks warming, but before you can say anything, Garcia pops in from her office with a big smile. “Oh, you two better spill the details! How’s the new dance duo doing? Any sparks flying on the dance floor?” The whole team seems to lean in, waiting for you to confirm the rumors.

You clear your throat, trying to keep it light. “It was fun. We’re both a bit awkward, but we’re learning. And yes, Spencer’s surprisingly good at not stepping on my feet.” Derek laughs, “That’s promising.” Emily grins wider. “Just wait. We’re all rooting for you two.” You smile, feeling a little nervous but mostly happy.

Just then, Spencer walks into the bullpen, slightly rumpled but with that familiar focused look on his face. As soon as he spots you and the others gathered around, he raises an eyebrow. Emily grins and waves him over. “Hey, Pretty Boy! How was your big dance debut last night?”

Spencer approaches, trying to keep his usual composed demeanor, but you catch a brief smile tugging at his lips. “It went well, thank you. I managed not to completely embarrass myself.” Derek smirks, exchanging a glance with Emily. “We’re still deciding if that counts as a win after the whole ‘almost falling’ incident.”

You laugh, nudging Spencer gently. “Yeah, you definitely stepped on my foot at least once, but I survived.” Spencer chuckles softly, eyes meeting yours. Emily leans in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now that you’re officially stuck with her for the whole course, you better get used to being close and not just on the dance floor.”

Spencer’s cheeks flush slightly, but he nods. “I suppose I’ll do my best.” Derek chuckles. “Sounds like commitment to me.” The teasing is annoying but somehow still nice, filled with the unspoken hope from everyone that this dancing partnership might lead to something more. You glance at Spencer, your heart fluttering just a bit. Maybe this dance class really is about more than just learning a few dancing steps.

-

The past few weeks fly by faster than you expect. Between cases, paperwork, and dance lessons, the days blur into each other. Before you know it, there are only a few classes left before the wedding.

One afternoon at the BAU, you find yourself in the break room with Emily. She leans against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand, giving you that knowing look she’s mastered so well. “So,” she says casually, “only a couple lessons left. You and Spencer still managing to stay upright?”

You laugh softly. “Mostly. We’ve actually gotten… kind of good at it. He’s way more focused than I expected.” Emily smirks. “Focused, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, maybe a little more than just focused.”

She watches you for a moment, then tilts her head. “Have you thought about taking him to the wedding? As your plus-one, I mean.” You pause, caught off guard but only for a second. The truth is, you have thought about it. More than once. “Yeah,” you admit. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately. I feel… really comfortable with him. It’s easy. And he makes me feel like I don’t have to force anything.”

Emily’s expression softens. “That sounds like the beginning of something real.”You look down at your hands, then back up at her. “Maybe it is.” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think he’d be honored to go with you. You should ask him.” You nod, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah… I think I will.”

-

It’s later that evening, and you’re standing outside the dance studio once again, bundled in your coat against the cool air. Your best friend scrolls through her phone next to you, her brow furrowing. “Ugh,” she sighs. “I just got a message that our class is canceled tonight. Our teacher is sick.” You glance up at the familiar building, its windows dark. “Seriously? That’s a first.”

“Yeah.” She slips her phone back into her bag and shrugs. “Honestly, I’m kind of glad. I still have so much left to plan for the wedding. I’m going to head home and try to knock a few more things off the list.” You nod. “Makes sense.”

She gives you a quick hug. “But maybe you can still get a little practice in. You know, since you’ve got your favorite partner.” You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips as she waves and disappears down the sidewalk. Just as she turns the corner, you hear footsteps approaching.

You glance up and there’s Spencer, walking toward you with his usual thoughtful expression and his bag slung over one shoulder. “Hey,” he says as he reaches you, “did I miss something? The place looks dark.” You shift your weight slightly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “No, you’re on time. Class is canceled, our teacher’s out sick.”

Spencer frowns lightly. “Oh. That’s too bad.” You hesitate for a second, then glance up at him, a little shy. “I was thinking… if you’re not busy, maybe you could come back to my place? We could still practice a bit so we uhm… don’t fall behind.”

Spencer looks pleasantly surprised, but he smiles right away. “Yeah. I’d really like that.” You feel something warm settle in your chest as the two of you turn away from the studio and start walking side by side into the night.

-

Back at your apartment, the two of you clear a space in the living room. The lights are soft, a playlist humming quietly in the background. Spencer shrugs off his jacket, and you kick off your shoes, both of you slipping easily into the rhythm you’ve built over the past few weeks.

You dance for a while. The two of you are focused at first, counting steps under your breath, trying to remember what Derya showed you. Spencer is careful, gentle in how he moves with you, guiding your steps like he’s thinking through every motion before he makes it.

Time passes quickly, and soon you find yourself letting out a small laugh as you miss a beat and stumble slightly. “Okay,” you say, breathless, stepping back, “I need a break before I collapse.” You sink onto the sofa, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Spencer stands there for a moment before dropping down next to you, equally flushed from effort.

“I was going to ask,” you say between breaths, “do you want to order something? I’m starving.” Spencer nods immediately. “That sounds amazing. What are you in the mood for?” he asks. “Italian?” you suggest, already reaching for your phone. “There’s a great place a few blocks from here.”

He leans a little closer to see the menu with you. “Looks good.” You both make your selections, place the order, and set your phones aside. There’s a short, comfortable silence until Spencer turns to you with a slight tilt of his head. “We’ve got a little time before the food gets here,” he says. “Want to run through that one spin again?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “You’re relentless.” He grins. “Just committed.” You sigh with mock resignation and get back to your feet. “Alright, one more round.” But this time, the tone shifts completely. Neither of you is really focused. You’re laughing too much, teasing each other as you try to stay in sync. Your timing’s all over the place, and you keep stepping on each other’s toes.

“You’re totally throwing me off!” you giggle as you spin a beat too late. Spencer holds up his hands in defense. “You’re the one who said you were starving, maybe it’s low blood sugar.” You roll your eyes, then smile as he takes your hand again. “Okay, okay, one more time.”

He tries to lead you into the spin, but your foot catches his, and suddenly, you lose your balance. “Wait - !” You stumble, grabbing instinctively at his arm - but you both go down, landing in a heap on the carpet. You land on top of him, your hands pressed to his chest to keep from crashing into him entirely.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. You look down at him, heart racing, and your cheeks flush bright red. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry -” But Spencer’s not complaining. He looks up at you with wide, amused eyes… and something softer beneath. You don’t move. Neither does he.

Your breath catches a little as your eyes meet his, and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of how close you are and how warm his hands feel, one resting gently at your back. You lean in, slowly, without thinking, just a few inches separating you now - Ding dong. You freeze. Spencer blinks.

You scramble upright with an embarrassed laugh, brushing your hair back quickly as you hurry to the door. “That must be the food.” You open it to find the delivery driver holding a warm paper bag, which you accept with a grateful smile.

Back inside, you carry the food to the living room, and Spencer is already sitting upright on the floor, trying to act like the moment didn’t just happen but his ears are just as red as your cheeks. You sit down beside him again, passing him a container and chopsticks.

Neither of you says anything about what just happened. But the air between you hums a little differently now. You unpack the food in quiet motions, placing the warm containers on the coffee table between you and Spencer. The scent of tomato and garlic fills the room, but neither of you reaches for anything right away.

For a brief moment, there’s silence - not uncomfortable, just… charged. Like the air hasn’t quite settled since the moment on the floor. You clear your throat gently, breaking the silence as you hand Spencer his fork. “So,” you start, voice soft but steady, “I get to bring someone to the wedding.”

He looks up at you, giving you his full attention. “And,” you continue, tucking a loose hair behind your ear, “we’ve been dancing together all this time, and… I just feel like it makes sense. I mean only if you want to. But I’d really like it if you came with me.” You glance at him, nervous suddenly. “Would that be okay? Would you want to?”

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. Not because he’s unsure, but because he’s smiling, slowly and sincerely, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes. “I’d like that,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.” You feel a warmth settle in your chest. You smile back, and this time, the silence that follows isn’t awkward at all. You both reach for your food, the easy rhythm between you returning but now with something new in it.

-

The next morning at the BAU, you’re standing by the coffee machine when Emily walks in and spots you. She gives you that sharp, curious look she always has when she knows there’s something to dig into. “So,” she says, raising her brow as she pours herself a cup, “did you end up asking him?”

You try to play it cool, but your smile gives you away almost immediately. “Yeah. I asked him.” Emily blinks, then breaks into a wide grin. “And?” she asks curiously. “He said yes,” you say, a little quieter. “He’s going to be my plus-one.” Emily’s grin widens even further. “Finally.”

Unfortunately for your hopes of a low-profile announcement, Derek happens to walk by right at that moment and naturally, he catches every word. “Ohhh?” He turns, hands on his hips. “Did I just hear that Pretty Boy is officially wedding-bound with you?” Before you can answer, Penelope pokes her head around the corner like she’s been summoned by gossip radar. “Wait what?” she gasps. “Spencer’s your plus-one?!”

You groan, but you’re laughing. “Can I tell one person something in peace around here?” Derek claps you gently on the shoulder. “Absolutely not. This is what happens when you drop relationship bombs in public spaces.” Penelope’s eyes are practically sparkling. “It’s about time! Honestly, you two have been orbiting each other like anxious little planets. Did you kiss yet?” You go still for a second, then mutter, “Almost.”

The collective gasp from the three of them is dramatic and immediate. “Wait, what do you mean almost?” Emily demands. You cover your face for a moment, then lower your hands with a sigh and a smile. “We were dancing, we fell - long story - and I was about to… you know. And then the food delivery showed up.” There’s a beat of silence.

And then Penelope throws her head back and groans. “I swear, if I ever meet that delivery guy, I’m filing a complaint. Or giving him a very stern look.” Derek laughs, shaking his head. “Man, the tension is killing me. I might wear a tux to this wedding just to be ready if something finally happens.”

Emily leans against the counter, sipping her coffee like she’s watching her favorite soap opera. “So, when is this wedding we’re all living vicariously through?” You grin, cheeks warm. “This weekend.” Another chorus of gasps. Penelope looks like she might combust.

“Oh my god. That’s practically tomorrow! I need to emotionally prepare.” You raise your hands. “Which is why I seriously need help. I still don’t have a dress.” Penelope doesn’t even pause. “Emergency declared. Emily, JJ, and I are coming with you.” Emily nods without hesitation. “We’re clearing our afternoon.”

You blink. “Wait—really?” JJ walks by just in time to hear and chimes in casually, “What time are we meeting?” You laugh, a little overwhelmed, but touched. “Okay, how about four?” you suggest. “Perfect,” Penelope says, already pulling up potential shops on her phone. “We’ll make you shine.” Derek shakes his head with a grin. “You guys are a whole operation.” You look around at your chaotic little work family, heart full. Yeah. You’re in good hands.

-

The soft lighting of the boutique should feel calming, but after trying on what must be your hundredth dress, you’re leaning your forehead against the fitting room mirror with a dramatic sigh. “This is it,” you mutter to yourself. “This is how I die. Buried under a pile of tulle and regret.”

Outside, you hear Penelope’s cheerful voice. “Come on, sugar! We believe in you! One more! I swear this one is going to be the one.” You roll your eyes playfully, but you pull the next dress off the hanger anyway. You slip into it slowly, almost expecting the same disappointment - too tight here, too dull there - but as soon as it falls into place and you turn to face the mirror… You freeze.

It’s simple, elegant, but not too much. The color flatters your skin perfectly, the fabric hugs you in all the right places without feeling overdone. It’s you - only elevated. Heart fluttering a little, you step out of the fitting room. Emily looks up first, her eyes widening. JJ’s jaw actually drops. Penelope clasps both hands over her chest. “Oh. My. God.“

You stand there, suddenly shy under their stares. “That’s the one,” Emily says, no hesitation. “You’re not trying on another thing.” JJ nods, getting up to circle around you. “It’s perfect. Clean lines, great fit, and it’s so you. Effortless but gorgeous.” Penelope fans herself dramatically. “And when Spencer sees you in that? Oh, he is going to lose it. In the best way.”

You laugh, your cheeks warm. “You really think so?” Emily grins. “I know so.” Then Penelope squints at you. “Only one thing left to settle… what are you wearing underneath?” You raise a brow. “Why does that matter?” Penelope raises both brows right back. “Oh honey, everything matters. The foundation is just as important as the gown.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Well… I may have already taken care of that. Bought something a while ago. Just in case.” There’s a chorus of pleased gasps. JJ laughs. “You so did not.” You shrug innocently. “Just covering all my bases.” Penelope throws an arm around your shoulders. “Our girl is ready. Dress, check. Lingerie, check. Wedding date who’s clearly half in love with her, check.”

You groan. “Okay, okay. Can we just pay before you all make me combust?” Emily tosses her arm around your other shoulder. “Only if we go get drinks after this.” JJ’s already grabbing her bag. “Absolutely. We are celebrating.” Penelope nods eagerly. “Tonight, we raise a glass to friendship, great fashion, and impending romantic developments.”

You laugh, letting them steer you out of the boutique, your dress carefully bagged and in hand and your heart a little lighter than it was before. Because now, everything’s ready. And you’re more than a little excited to see what happens next.

-

It’s already late afternoon when you finally unlock your front door and rush inside, kicking it shut behind you with your heel. You’ve spent the entire day helping put the finishing touches on the ceremony setup - wrangling florists, calming down her stressed-out mother, and making sure the playlist didn’t mysteriously vanish from the DJ’s laptop.

Now you’re home… and you have barely an hour to transform yourself. You throw off your coat, toss your shoes into the corner, and immediately head for the bathroom. The makeup bag’s already open on the counter - foundation, mascara, liner - you work fast, balancing on the edge between panic and precision. Your dress hangs in the doorway like it’s waiting patiently for its moment.

You curl your hair in record time, smooth a bit of color onto your lips, and step into the dress with practiced care. A deep breath. Then another. You glance at yourself in the mirror. Not bad. Actually… pretty damn good. You’re just slipping into your heels when the doorbell rings. Your heart skips just slightly. You walk to the door and open it.

Spencer’s standing there in a perfectly tailored suit - crisp white shirt, dark tie, jacket buttoned just right. His hair’s styled, slightly messy in that effortless way that probably isn’t effortless at all. But as soon as his eyes land on you, the cool, collected expression he arrived with melts away instantly.

He blinks, and his gaze sweeps down your figure, slowly, like his brain is still catching up with his eyes. “Wow,” he breathes. “I mean… wow.” You feel your cheeks heat as he stares, momentarily stunned. “Hi,” you say softly. Spencer exhales a quiet, amazed laugh and finally meets your eyes again. “You look… incredible. Like, stop-time kind of incredible.”

You smile shyly, smoothing your hand down the side of your dress. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, you know.” He laughs, his ears turning slightly pink. “I mean, you always look great, not just today. I mean…” He clears his throat. “You’re always beautiful. But tonight, you’re… wow. Really beautiful.” You bite your bottom lip to hide a smile. “Thanks, Spencer.”

He nods quickly, still looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. “Are you ready? Or… is there anything you still need? Something I can help with?” You shake your head. “I’m good. My best friend and I went over everything earlier, so there’s nothing left to do now except show up.”

He offers you his arm, his smile a little crooked. “Then I guess it’s time to go turn some heads.” You link your arm with his, still smiling, and lock the door behind you. As you walk toward the car together, his hand brushes gently against yours, and for a brief second, it almost feels like he might take it. But for now… you’re both just quietly enjoying the way things are falling into place.

-

The sun filters softly through the trees as you sit among the gathered guests, the gentle murmur of whispered excitement floating in the air. Your best friend stands at the altar, radiant and glowing, her hands trembling just a little as the officiant begins to speak. You watch her with a full heart, a smile that won’t quite fade playing on your lips.

As the vows unfold, you feel your eyes sting with tears - not sadness, but pure joy. The words spoken about love, partnership, and commitment echo in the quiet space around you, wrapping everyone in a warm embrace.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Spencer shifting slightly beside you. His gaze flickers toward you with quiet concern. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, voice barely above a whisper. You blink back the tears and turn to him, your smile honest and bright.

“I’m more than okay. I’m happy - so happy. She’s found the right person, Spencer. The right man for her. And knowing she’s in good hands… it just fills me with this kind of peace.” Spencer nods slowly, his expression softening. “That’s… really beautiful.”

The ceremony continues, and you feel the atmosphere tighten with emotion. Around you, guests wipe away tears; some hold hands; others steal glances filled with hope. You reach out instinctively and squeeze Spencer’s hand. There’s something quietly powerful in this moment - the way love can be both a personal victory and a shared joy.

As the couple exchange rings, you whisper, “I hope one day I’ll find that too.”Spencer’s eyes meet yours, full of warmth and something deeper. “Maybe it’s closer than you think.” You glance away, heart pounding, just as the officiant pronounces them husband and wife. Applause ripples through the crowd, and you stand, clapping with everyone else, your smile genuine and wide.

-

Your best friend and her fiancé - now husband - take the dance floor for their first dance as a married couple. All eyes are on them as they glide gracefully to the music, the room glowing with warmth and happiness. Guests smile, some dabbing at tears, caught up in the beautiful moment. The energy hums with love and joy. As the dance ends, the crowd erupts into applause and cheers, officially marking the start of the celebration. You turn to Spencer, excitement sparkling in your eyes.

“They just nailed that,” you say softly. “Now the real celebration starts. I’m so curious to see how they handle the rest of the day.” Spencer smiles warmly at you. “I’m really glad to be here with you.” You nudge him gently. “And you know what? Our moment’s coming soon, too. We finally get to dance and show off everything we’ve learned.”

His eyes light up. “I’m really looking forward to it.” He grins playfully. “We just have to make sure we nail the spins… don’t want to send anyone flying across the dance floor.” You laugh, feeling a lightness in your chest. “Definitely not. No accidents tonight.”

The DJ announces the floor is open for guests, and Spencer offers you his hand. Taking a deep breath, you step onto the polished floor with him. Once in his arms, a calm warmth spreads through you. He leads effortlessly, your steps syncing perfectly with the music.

You find yourselves locking eyes often, the world around fading away. His fingers brush lightly along your back, gentle and reassuring. Sometimes, his hand glides over yours, a tender touch that sends a flutter through your chest. You stand close, almost as if your bodies remember a rhythm of their own, hinting at something deeper between you.

You laugh softly each time he spins you gently or pulls you in for a twirl, your smiles mirroring the joy swelling inside. Catching his gaze again, you see the same happiness shining back. In his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and alive. After a while, your feet begin to protest, and you lean in to whisper, “I think I need a break. Maybe something to drink?” He nods with a smile. “Sounds perfect.”

Together, you leave the dance floor and find a quiet table. Sitting down, you soak in the festive atmosphere, your hearts still beating fast from the dance. You look at him, gratitude in your voice. “Thank you, Spencer. For coming with me, for doing that dance class. I’m really, really grateful.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “I’m glad I did. It’s been… special. I’m happy to be here with you.” You smile, warmth spreading through you, knowing this night will stay with you forever.

-

The party inside is buzzing - warm lights casting a golden glow, laughter mixing with the soft hum of music. The room feels cozy but alive, packed with friends and family celebrating the day. You and Spencer have just finished dancing again, spinning and stepping in rhythm, your laughter blending with the joyous noise around you.

Your chest still flutters from the closeness, the way his hand rests lightly on your back, and how his fingers brushed gently over yours while you danced. Every so often, your eyes meet, holding a silent conversation full of something unspoken but electric. The warmth between you isn’t just from the room - it’s something more.

Spencer leans in slightly, his breath warm near your ear. “This is crazy loud in here,” he says with a soft smile. “Want to step outside for a bit? Get some fresh air?” You nod, grateful for the chance to breathe and maybe catch your breath from all the excitement. Together, you weave through the crowd, feeling the buzz of the party fade behind you as you step onto the terrace.

Outside, the cool night air wraps around you like a soothing blanket. You shiver slightly, feeling the chill nip at your skin. Spencer notices immediately. “You’re cold,” he says softly, slipping off his blazer and draping it over your shoulders. His hands linger a moment, making sure the fabric settles comfortably.

You lean against him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool air. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice soft, feeling suddenly very safe and warm. The moment feels intimate, just the two of you away from the crowd. After a brief silence, Spencer looks down at you, eyes full of something unspoken.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while,” he says softly, his voice a little hesitant but sincere. You meet his gaze, feeling your heart flutter. “Funny, I’ve…I‘ve wanted to tell you something too,” you admit and before he can continue, the words are spilling out of you. “I guess… I’ve had feelings for you long before this dance class even started. I just didn’t know how to say it, or maybe I was afraid to admit it - even to myself.”

You take a deep breath, your eyes locked on his. “But spending all this time together, learning, laughing, even stumbling over each other’s feet - it made everything so much clearer. I realized I don’t just want to be your dance partner. I want to be… more. I want to spend more time with you, to share moments like this, to be close to you, not just on the dance floor but in everything.”

Spencer’s smile deepens, and he gently squeezes your hand. “I feel the same way. You’ve been on my mind since the moment we started this whole thing. I guess I was just waiting for the right moment… or the courage to say it.”

You stand close, the world around you fading away until it’s just the two of you. Your heart races as the feelings you’ve both kept hidden finally have a voice. “I’m so glad it’s you,” you whisper. “That it’s us.” He pulls you even closer, warmth radiating between you as he leans in and kisses you - softly, deeply, with all the promise and love you both feel.

[howlingday]

Probably the worst thing I ever did...

Velvet: (Taps scroll)

Wake: (Mowing somebody's yard, Answers w/ slur) Whatchu want?.

Velvet: I want you mowing my yard like you're supposed to be!

Wake: Well, too bad for you, because I just took another job. And even though they don't pay hardly nothin', working for humans looks way better on my resume.

Velvet: Dammit, this is the fourth week in a row that you've cancelled on me! The yard looks like a jungle!

Wake: Well, Ms. Jackrabbit; you should feel right at home~! I'll be there when humans don't need me no more. Wake: And let this be a lesson for you; no matter how much lien you make, you're still just a (Slur, Hangs up)

Velvet: (Visibly shakes, Screams)

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: (Drunkenly singing her prejudices, Collapses)

Whitley: ...

Willow: I believe it's okay for them to say those words. (Claps)

Whitley: (Applauds w/ rest of human crowd)

--------------------------------------------------

Blake: I've done nothing but listen to you all day talk about how much you can't stand Faunus.

Wake: Not two of them in the history of Remnant worth more than a cow's fart.

Blake: Then why do you love humans so much?

Wake: Because they're the best thing that ever happened to the world of Remnant.

Blake: ...Wake. You're just as Faunus as me.

Wake: I don't see a need for you to insult me after losing a game of chess. We've been sitting around, talking, and pretending to like each other, and you just have to go and remind me of my ailment.

Blake: Ailment?!

Wake: Mhm. You've heard of a vestigial structure?

Blake: ...

Wake: Well, I got analogous structures. My extra growth on my head just seems to get hairier and fuzzier and hairier and even more fuzzier. It's the opposite of what some humans got, poor, innocent souls...

Blake: I just... Wake... How could you possibly love humans so much?

Wake: It's easy. Have you ever spent time with a human before? Or even looked at 'em? They're an absolute joy to be around! They smell like lemon juice and furniture cleaner~.

Wake: And just look at all the good they've given us! They taught us humility, gave us jobs, provided instruction for how to live our lives, took us off that god-forsaken island! And how do we show our appreciation? We blow up their trains, kill their innocent friends and families, and act straight up ungrateful for everything they've done...

Blake: ...

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: If there's one thing a Faunus is good at, it's cookin' a fish.

Wake: Not to say a human couldn't cook a fish better; her big brain's just got more important things to worry about, like running the world and spaceships.

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: It's about time! Here come the brave women and men of the Kingdom of Atlas-

Specialist: GET OUT OF THE TRUCK AND SHOW ME SOME ID!

Wake: ID? Why, that's a fine idea! Can't be too careful these days- (Pulls out wallet, Lifts)

Specialist: GUN! (Opens fire)

Wake: (Shot at) WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! I'M HUMAN! YOU'RE MAKING A MISTAKE!

Specialist: (Click! Click! Click!)

Wake: ...That's okay, Specialist! I've got a spare wallet for just in case! It's where I keep my spare Film-Fan card (Pulls out wallet, Lifts)

Specialist: GUN! (Rushes in, Batons ready)

Wake: WAIT! WAIT! WAIT-! (Beaten harshly)

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: (Victim of police brutality) Oh, don't be like that... (Pats Specialist's back) I'm sure you'll get me next time~.

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: Gather 'round, everyone! I have good news!

Wake: The Brothers are human and they love humans above all others~!

Jaune: Alright~! Woohoo~! Yeeeaaah~!

Blake/Velvet: (Death glares at him)

Jaune: ...S-Sorry.

Wake: Don't be sorry, human! Only the Faunus need to be sorry! Be joyful, for the Brothers love you~! That's why they granted us mercy by giving us a second chance~!

Wake: The Brothers hate animals~!

Velvet/Blake: ...

Wake: The Human Brothers are good gods! And even you animals can rejoice! For even ones cursed to look like beasts can walk in the light of their better's creators, if she hates her own cursed form. In the name of the Human Brothers, amen~!

Blake: WHAT?!

Wake: That's right, Blake Belladonna... You must learn to HATE yourself in order to SAVE yourself!

--------------------------------------------------

Lisa: So, you believe the Brothers are human?

Wake: First of all, Miss Human, I'd like to say that I love you, honor you, envy you, enjoy your smell, and I celebrate you in the name of the Human Brothers~!

Lisa: Er... Thank... you...?

Wake: No, thank you~.

Lisa: And you say the Faunus are-

Wake: CURSED! CURSE! CUUURSED~!

--------------------------------------------------

Wake: Oh, Brother Gods, may you forever curse your bestial foes and lift up those who work in your name, like the great Jacques Schnee... And if any of my words ever rang hollow and you find I do not speak with the absolute truth, then may I be struck by lightning right this very instant! Halle-

Wake: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[m-ac-m]

1.

I keep writing, rewriting, re-editing. Thinking, rethinking, adjusting. Even now. Even today. Even tomorrow. Just as I shrink beneath your sight.

One step forward, two steps - where? I'm lost in following the path, I'm afraid. One look behind - how am I here? Why did my _mappins_ (oi, gamedev people) disappear?

All this time, frozen, in my pre-produced smile. Please, please world - stop spinning. Just stop spinning for a while.

I try to silence her, I do. To make her traces disappear. But she insists on coming through. She won't go quietly, I fear.

Now there's You - waiting - for my sanity to come. For my mask that hooked you in, one I try to overcome.

For my cool, sardonic smile. For my well-timed lifted brow. For all my words, thinly-veiled affection, masquerading as sarcasm, humor and deflection.

(Just so I don't scare you away with this. Lucky you. I wish I had an editor to shield me from myself too.)

All my insecurities - edited - cut - clean correction, right into the required adult, stoic perfection.

Here, I unravel. The previous form is gone. My thoughts? Left free to travel. My soul laid bare below.

I'd love to be a child once more, just trying, tasting words out loud. Testing the waters before I plunge in, to find out: Am I insane? Or am I really bright? Should I jump back in, just once more? Risk my pride? For the visions that feed my heart, my soul, my core? But then - where on earth do I hide? Am I "me" anymore?

Please, please go quietly. You - get - to close your eyes. And I'll just keep on living with the part of me that dies.

I look inside and question, ask:

is "what it takes" within, in fact? Or was it all just play-pretend? Has it all been my clever act?

Questions thrown - into the little black hole of my own.

The young-me feels like a time wasted, lost. Emotionally dead, unresponsive ghost. Did the "now" demand it? The emptiness? The cost? When in the end - I - am the one we both needed most?

I do not know what alt-future could bring. But hey - for what I have, right now - I'll give up anything.

Still, I'd hate to let her slip away - hate to watch her die. Hate to break her heart - AND mine. With all her pain and all my fear - together, we can persevere.

And then, there's this - she's still inside. The past self I'm growing out of - my pain, my shame, my pride. New branches feeding off her broken, feeble roots. Her dreams, her beliefs, her wants - hardening into absolutes.

She won't go quietly. Won't let me bury her inside. And that is good - she knows best. She's the better part of mine.

2.

Rejection - with teeth

Oh dear Lord. Give it to me, please.

I want your god-like bite in me. I want myself to disappear.

I want you - your teeth to sink right in. and me - myself - my faults - no longer here.

Give me this break. Please, love. It spins too much. Even if I find pauses like the one here, as such.

(man, I'm such a fucking catch.) If it hurts

on my terms

Does it hurt as much?

3.

Well, I guess, you're not gone. Or pissed. Or thrown. Or even just checked out

look, love. Me? I'm - Am I? God, dear Am I now found out?

I think, I shrink, I cry - I die? Has it just been all you - all the while?

No- I've been crazy way longer than this. Way longer than you. What have you missed? The past- it will have to sit - sit quietly with that.

But you - the part of which I'm so, so proud. So please. Please let me in. Straight in, today - right through the crowd.

And yet. Somehow, someway I know - fear? - that's how you'll go away.

Or stay? And then, oh dear, oh God, - then pay? To let this live without a loss. A final one. Cut clean - straigh across. I'll have to pay. I will. Cover the cost.

But hey, dear. I'll surely test this still. To break things while I can - until - Until you see me in the clear And ask - "hey, there are you mental, dear?"

Before I figure myself out. Before I kill the in-brain crowd.

And please, dear love - stay with me still. The "life", the "real" - I'll get the bill. And then, in shame - see myself out? I'm sorry - where? here? You had to find out.

Then - then I do not have words. No, never. I just lie there - waiting to close my eyes forever.

But here - right here - here I can rest. On your beloved - Your - beloved chest.

Then, please let your heartbeat say- You're free. You're full. You're safe. And hey love - that is what fixes me of late.

But now - back to you, if I may. Darling. Love. Boyfriend? Yeah? Alright? Ok? Please - pardon my intensity. I've only ever dealt with this in real low-human density.

Estonia-level. Please, please hold on there. Hold on there forever. Please - if only, this doesn't just burn.

All in all - I don't know how I got in here. I'd rather be with you. Just resting, empty-headed brain, Left to humm - not scream - just safe. So safe there, saved from all my pain.

Again. We meet in the clear. My dear.

But for these - Me-filled, putrid, honest breaks. For all that aches. You need to train. So I won't break you - won't break you ever again.

Then the goth-ier self in me, the one that wants to die -

-No.-

No, never with you. No, never with you in sight.

I'll shield you from this image - love, if I only might. And then please - you just hold me. Please, please hold me tight.

Love, even if it's true. And even if I'm right. And even if it's new. Love please - still hold me tight.

How I got here? I don't know.

My feet don't follow where I go. Let's see - see where my dice is thrown.

But I do want this. A reflection in his eyes. These eyes of his. Let me break it down - break down all of this. (I'm broken enough to reject food and sleep

- but in fact still well enough to see us - as I weep.)

We're both - both green-eyed monsters. But God. So different in the end. Don't know why you would love me. I can't even pretend.

You see me in my scariest phase. Face away. So lord, god, please - so it won't stay. Right there, in here, - in your brain Or even worse, love - in you heart.

One thing that could break us apart. . But I'm still here - all my awful parts. The parts that hurt - "the parts in arts".

Here - please, please - love - now you come through. Just do. I need your voice, your presence - you.

Ah. Yes. You. Much more than elsewhere, More then you've ever been, love. Been what then? Where? What of?

To let myself feel different. More adult. So I stop going in - stop joining the cult.

A version smoother, easier, simpler - and intact. But that love, my dear? Heh. That was just an act.

I'm so sorry, reader. If you were waiting for a breather. Not that, not a break - not end. None coming neither.

It asked me - begged me. To refrain. To find a better way through pain.

But how? My love, my pain, my pride. Do I just simply watch you die?

And here? Here we are so near. And my problems - dear God. Finally in the clear.

With a different one, much more random and deeply, deeply lost Handsome, random and lost? Give me that right there. (at what cost?)

(Then - who am I kidding. I really don't care. Problem is - fuck it. I love you more - and then I dare - Dare to challenge, to fight, no flight. Challenge them, challenge all that's in sight. Never ask again who's right. And then? We go. Then we _both_ bite. Bite into the future that's written for me. Blind to the truth that's hidden within.)

You've sunk too deep in me - my heart, my bones, my core. Also through this - this content - this message I bore. So please, love, try to understand - why my soul is sore.

This will never disappear. If there's a part of us still here.

It feels so sad. Trying, panicking. To edit the crazy out.

It's mad. But then, I'm glad.

Glad that I'm curating this. Throughout. Through all my pain and tears. Glad that all my thoughts are now neat and clean. But all the crazy is still here- All capped and wrapped. But then, my dear, still me

I didn't disappear.

Still, then, I'm dying, love, I am afraid. As I see myself, unseen. But as you see me see myself out. You did it! You figured me out!

But I need strength. Your help. Your aid.

I'm dying in my quiet self.

I'm dying in the crowd.

And God, just once. I hope you're proud.

I said your name there. Said you name out loud.

4.

But, love, is it good? Is the voice worth hearing? I - my soul - my core - my whole- All it ever could be? All there of me, there - in it? Stupidly endearing? Love, or just -

Hear me out, dear.

Dramatically fearing?

Is the message -in your clear, dear. open ears- Clarifying? Open? Clearing? Or eaten by fears?

And its core - core - the truth I try to grant you. Not perform.

But then, truely - feeling No, it's not vanity. Know this. Or power, or control.

God, please. Please, let me out of this.

This ever eating hole.

Don't let me be the end of his. When all I want is -

Ha!

God, all I want is him in this. In all my pain and all my fear, But, please. Don't let this die- don't let him near.

Words spill and flow. Some place, some space. With grace, tho, no chase. Away they go.

And I still pray. For you to stay. (and please, don't throw my thoughts away.) For him - to never disappear. To rest my head and hold him near.

I had a perfect phrase to close. Cool, calm, collected - just that, one of those.

That terminator broke - confined, then cried and died. But then, to be fair - did he put up a fight? Or even try? Well, he just still might.

I eyed him down and watched him break. (Just as my heart is still in ache. For when I look down, love, down here - why did your hands just disappear?)

A worthy opponent there, though, all in all. Now - smile, win, own it, this thing as a whole.

Words won't end this here for us. Just couldn't break my heart of glass. Wouldn't let me free of all my pain These pointless things I feel. Please stop. Learn some restraint.

But words are spilling on their own. How? I swear, I do not know. The "Her" - she must have sadly grown. Into a scary force in here. A fearless presence of her own.

And in her power, With her sharp, poetic spear. Do I cower? Die? Or just disappear?

To kill her - the inner voice tempts me to go there. But I know I don't want to close that. I'm just getting to know her. To see where we're at.

5.

I hate this feeling of remorse.

When I tell him.

Throw him off - show him. Hey - I'm here. I'm even worse.

(Where, again, dear? Where is now our course? - in here?)

Worse than whatever has - so far - transpired. Worse than what I whispered - but, love, I was so tired. Worse than what you saw in me - my frame, my pain, and - why was I desired?

She lingers in the back. With notes. And god. A better rack. And quotes.

She knows me well

I couldn't tell how deep she goes how much she knows.

But then - I love you more than her. I had to let this slip in there.

She won't go quietly. Ha! Not at all, I fear. But by now it's us.

Fearfully, painfully, alas…

(I'd add a comment here, for me. but dear, it's just so crass, I fear where would the right place be in here For a comment - God - comment about an ass. So, instead, a proud _alas_.)

So let's just savor, feel this moment, Let's not just let it "be". Let us watch it go free, there - uncuffed. In our first try - I fear we got the shaft.

Now. It's me and her. (And you?) Our little hell. (For two?) Are we a pair? (We are - I swear) It's hard to tell. (Nah - easy. We're swell.)

Here, watch her go. Watch her in our fire. We won't burn with her.

Now. Brain please. Please. I am so, so tired. Let's end this dance. Our deadly stance. Let love and peace and silence there. Inside? Where I have no room, no room to hide. Come, please - please all of you- come in. Peace, love and silence- let us all commence - embrace and face ourselves within.

You're gone now. Thanks. The silence? Bangs. Gone. Disappeared. All turned off now. Fired? If not - then still, away, away you go. Please go, dear? Right away love? Get fucking rewired.

I twirl into this masquerade thing of asking - pleading - masking. And pleading. Or silently leading?

And in this effort - searching, still. It's taxing. and man I'd love, I'd love to kill.

(not actually - to clear things up.

it's just a saying that we've got)

And through my chaos (that's what's cutting through) Am I bleeding? Am I ill? Or am I just right back here? With you? Am I coming to?

All set up here - not to fail. And there, I guess - that's my refrain.

Again, in pain. Dear lord. Not again. In pain I re-register all my thoughts to see them. Better. Simpler. Brighter.

For lack of better words - just - righter.

Just not to be made. And my love? - it's great

You - just let me keep this costume on, dear

-Then still. Don't let the mask yet disappear. Don't see me bare. I love you, dear. I'm more than her. I need you here.

And if you care. Please, hold me still.

6.

K. I asked for rhymes for "funny". What I got in return?

You catch your breath there. Your breath is needed, I swear. You hold this close. Hold – and try to cherish her.

Then wait your turn. Then go – Go! – fire and burn.

Give me – us – a solid run. Go on dear. Go on – for us, for me – my Lord.

Then make us race. And what against? There’s so much pain in me to face.

But still, give it to me. A quick run for my money. As if you hate me. My love, my dear. My “unfunny.”

(Um, like someone pays me for these bursts of soul and heart, and pain. When you – all of you – just wanted me to be plain.

That - try to explain.)

But then, back to the topic. What I got in return? What rhymes with "funny"?

“unfunny” Kay. That trip was idiotic.

That input – indeed, for me tho, has been great. Let’s hope it doesn’t eat away the _nothing_ I ate.

7.

I think it's a meltdown that I'm going through. but ping me, call me - for my curtsy cue.

It's the one that thrills. Or kills. But somehow ills?

I know it's this or that or that. Intermission? God. Then revulsion? Regret?

I pause. I revel in my flaws.

Me - I just don't want to say goodbye. To this freedom or this cage. In verse - a sigh - a fully written page. I live, I cry, I laugh, I die. In here - my cage - I want to age. God, please, step away - I have to try.

(Oi, Hemingway, the pain? - I see you. Hopefully just in the rear view mirror. Hopefully yesterday - so still, we can fix me? Hopefully never - but what would my fix be??)

Hopefully - Dear - I will correct this. In pain - and in growth. I know I can make it. Not to follow this path. Not faithfully. Not his. In all the cost and penance that I owe. And all the paths that let me -made me- grow. What made me write this. Put forward my oath. So I can live through this - live this for us both.

As for our bodies - our dreams - just put on a cloth.

(yes, the sex cloth. That's what I'm speaking of. To let us slip away, my love. Answer the call. Into my darkness - Ernest, let's safely go.)

The words just come here on their own. I try to stop them. They won't go.

I was happy. I cooked, I cleaned. And in that, God, in that still, still, I live.

But what if I've built a heaven, just for me. To let my faults, my hopes, my pain - just disappear?

Still. Still. Please hold me through. As I reach- grasp - for this glass of truth.

Here love - I'll swallow my pride. My dear, if you'd be so kind. I'll push through for strength, for truth. For light. Please love - search for me - search for me alive.

8.

Is it ok then? To force him into being my haven?

Or - come on, second me - morally hazy? Cause him? I know. He'll show up. He'll happily meet my crazy.

He'll carry with me all my crap. Am I leading him into a trap?

(And Lord - and love - am I still up? Or did I slip into a dream. Where I'll be trapped. For this. For him.)

69.

I need to rest. Head on your chest. But how? And - now?

How do I crawl back out of this? From hell - how can I get to bliss? How do I wake up - true love's kiss? But dear, it's dark. What if you miss?

(Yes, I hear you. With every bullet so far. In clever comments, you're my star.)

I might be too broken, I fear. To finally meet him there in the clear. To meet you somewhere near, my dear.

Near - where - what - sanity? (Ha! - well - hello there, dear reality. A nice thought fed by our vanity. Let's not lose sight though - let us keep the clarity.

So right - clean health is off the table. Since I've burned down my broken cradle. But hey, love, we're better now, chin up. (And please, please Marysia - try to clean up.)

So back to the core. We left it behind somewhere before.

Right - landing near. Before you truly disappear.

Near the closest I can get. Near the point I stop to fret. Near my world with no regret.

Near the stop I chose for us. Near the moment where I trust?

But then, near you - it would be just fine. A spot that's you - a spot that's kind. _Lucky, lucky you._ You haven - heaven? - of mine.

10.

it feels like I rip myself apart (a liver token - eagle guard)

To bring you mess. It's funny - -painful, crucial, - to confess.

I shrink - curtain, please, applause. There's less of me now. So I could leave. So I could breathe. So I could learn to love - and how.

Get eaten, dear. Until I'm near.

11.

The wait is done. The weight is gone! Have you been waiting for too long?

He's proud of me. I'm proud of him.

(Why did I have to get so thin?)

It's not on him, of course. It's me - my brain, my stain. My choice. My soul, my fear - and God - its

force. and all this pain. and no remorse.

I've lost so much weight. For that - I made him wait.

(and here? Ha, he has made it known. He did not like that week at all. That week without me, on his own.)

I thought it'd be great. To cut it - cut off all I ever ate. But now? What's left through what I chose? A shadow. - Smile! - A bag of bones. An army of my dying clones.

The tears I ate. The noise, too great. A broken, feeble, dying fate.

And so much hate.

The hate I felt - First - for myself. Then - for the world. Then for the coldness in my cord.

Then for my verse. Still, too intense. Now - for my starving universe.

Finally, hate for being so seen. For being more open than I've ever been. For losing the will to keep my image clean.

But see? Hear these words? It's never him.

*wanted to end on a more innocent thought but then life happened

gotta share this too

I deeply enjoy this sight as I hit "alt-tab"

Swedish drommar - "dream cookies" recipe.

houses for sale, young families

how to titty-fuck like a pornstar

Just there, purest me.

[anniebeckcalla]

too little, too late (p.sh) part two

(bf!parksunghoon x reader) ◦ ₊ WC!1220> ◦ ₊ CW!prison,violence, slight angst, plot twist, sunghoon crying too much, fluff

read part one here!!

masterlist | tattoo shop | bakery | click here

ღNOTE FROM C. i made part 2 for anyone who fancies it !! i feel like it's a bit jumbled and rushed, but as long as you enjoy it, that's all that really matters. thank you so much for reading.

ღ2. this story is not accurate to true life !! prison doesn't work this way !!

It was finally the day of the court case, and one week since Sunghoon had last seen you. Not that he'd noticed; time didn't seem to exist in his mind anymore. It was like there was a dark whirlpool churning through his brain and sucking all the little happiness he had left, turning him into a useless wreck.

All that Sunghoon could think about was you. It hurt him to do so, because every time your face turned up in his mind, all that he could remember was why he was in prison, and the suffering that you and his child would have to endure as a result of it. He had always vowed to himself that he would never let anyone hurt you, but he had broken his promise.

He stared at himself in the stained prison mirror, droplets running down his jaw and chest from his shower. His eyes were framed by dark shadows from lack of sleep. His long jet hair made his pale skin all the more brighter, giving him the overall look of a deprived Victorian orphan.

Sunghoon wondered to himself how you'd react to him in the courtroom later today. Would you still think that he was handsome enough to love? Would you be able to look him in the eye knowing the burden he'd left you with? And what about when the judge handed out the sentence, which undoubtedly would be over 5 years? Would you have to be dragged out kicking and screaming, or would you feign indifference as if Sunghoon didn't matter anymore?

The fabric of the grey prison tracksuit seemed more uncomfortable than usual as Sunghoon pulled it on over his damp body. As he pulled on his heavy plimsolls, his mind strayed to the drug dealer that he'd ruthlessly attacked. His heart turned cold when he remembered the blood splattered across the alleyway from the body underneath him. Why hadn't he stopped just then? Why had he ever thought of beating up the man in the first place?

Sunghoon lowered himself onto the hard prison bench in defeat. He hoped that whatever happened, you and his baby would be safe. But was hoping enough anymore? Scenes of you giving birth in a lonely hospital corridor floated into his head…of you and your child being laughed at wherever you went in the community …of your child being bullied at school, unable to defend themselves…

There was nothing he could do to change the future, because he'd caused all of this by himself. He hid his face with his hands, sobs racking his body and piercing his heart. He continued to cry even when the prisoners yelled at him through the thin walls; he didn't care about what they thought. He was well and truly doomed.

The door rattled as keys entered the lock, and Sunghoon looked up to see the prison guard in the entrance. “Looks like some guys have all the luck,” she snarled, pulling Sunghoon up by his shoulder. Sunghoon barely registered what she was saying, keeping his head down as his tears stained the concrete floor.

The prison guard grabbed his hair and pulled his head up to face her. “Didn't you hear me, you idiot? Your victim has come around and is in recovery. Luckily for you, they've asked to drop charges and the court has agreed. You're walking out of here a free man.” Sunghoon shook out of the guard's grasp, unable to believe what he had just heard. “Did you just sayㅡ”

“Yes, I did. The charges have been dropped, and you're going home today.” Pushing him out of the cell, she added, “You'd better fix your face before lovergirl sees you like that.”

Instead of joy returning to his body, Sunghoon felt fear and pain jolt through his veins. He didn't want to hope, for fear that it was all a sick joke and he was coming back to the cell right after the court case. It just wasn't realistic enough. How could the case be dropped on the day he was meant to be sentenced? Why would his victim suddenly recover from such a hiding, insisting that Sunghoon be set free?

His feelings intensified as he and the prison guard walked through the bleak corridors. Maybe, just maybe, he'd allow himself to hope. No, he couldn't do that. Yes, he could! No, he couldn'tㅡ

The clash of emotions were so much that Sunghoon staggered, his heart aching. The prison guard shoved him along the corridor. “Anyone would think that you didn't want to go home,” she snapped, unlocking the doors at the end of the corridor and dragging him into the room.

When Sunghoon looked up, his face lit up. There you were, as beautiful as ever, eyes glittering with unshed tears and hands clasped over your chest. “Sunghoon,” you whispered. Sunghoon didn't answer. Instead, he walked towards you slowly, hand outstretched as if you were an oasis. When he was within touching distance, he pulled you into him, holding on tightly as if he'd never let go.

“Am I really going home, y/n?” he breathed. “Yes,” you replied, your tears soaking his shoulder. “I'll make sure that we're never apart again,” Sunghoon said. He pulled away gently to ease his hand down to your stomach, his touch gentle and soft. “All three of us.”

a little over a year later...

It was a beautiful day with a deep blue sky and the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. You and Sunghoon sat on a blanket upon the lawn of your garden, smiling down at your daughter, Bora, as she attempted to lift herself into a crawling position. “She's so clever for a baby, isn't she?” Sunghoon said, lifting her and pressing kisses to her cheeks. You smiled in response, your heart swelling with pride and love. Life couldn't be any more perfect now that Sunghoon was here with you, and while you appreciated it, you couldn't help remembering how he'd been let out of prison.

The drug dealer had dropped the charges against Sunghoon, yes, but not out of good will. Following the news of his recovery, you had gone to the hospital, threatening him and his family to let the police know of his drug empire if he didn't retract his charges-and leave the town as soon as he was well enough. When they hesitated, you'd pulled out an envelope thick with notes- hush money from your personal account. You had never used blackmail before, but you'd been willing to do anything to get Sunghoon out of prison.

Thankfully enough, Sunghoon had not returned to his life of crime after being released. Instead, he now worked for a large business in the city, changing the rhetoric of his reputation for the better. As for everything else, the birth had gone very well, with Sunghoon right beside you throughout every step of the way. Bora was now four months old, and the perfect daughter in your eyes.

You'd never told Sunghoon about your encounter with the drug dealer, however, and so he lived happily without knowing how exactly he'd been set free. Would you tell him? Maybe, maybe not. For now, you were happy. You had your boyfriend and your daughter right next to you, and that was all that mattered. You lay your head on Sunghoon's shoulder as he held Bora, and in response, he extended one arm around you, pulling you close.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why?”

“Never you mind. I'm just grateful,” he smiled.

thank you so much for reading, liking, and reblogging !! (ФωФ)

taglist: @cigsaftersuh @jenoleeaesthetic @pl4netx1a @jeonghansshitester @chenlezip @neodreamzenie @markkiatocafe @mejaemin [thank you so much !!]

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Fic Title: a penchant for cyanide praise

There's a dripping feel of disgust curling up his body.

"I guess you did okay for a loser."

"Wow, didn't expect a Deku to do that. Good job."

"God Deku, you're so whiny, I guess we had to do your plan. Good thing it worked."

Each bit of praise, praise he'd once craved like water in a desert, feels as if sand instead is poured down his throat. As if it were all a mirage.

Izuku clutches his notebook to his chest and stares at where Kacchan had left. Izuku had been happy when Kacchan stopped being so mean. When the other listened to him, and even said a 'Deku could get into Gen Ed'.

But it felt... wrong. Each bit of praise felt like a blow. Even getting into Gen Ed and helping Kacchan with his plans was... it felt so wrong.

"Excuse me," a voice said. Izuku turned to see a teacher he'd glimpsed walking around. A tall, almost skeletal blonde man. "Are you okay?"

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki gets a second chance at doing things right. He's got a whole plan. One, get into UA. Two, keep Deku from getting One for All. Three, get One for All himself and save the world better than Deku ever did.

It'll be perfect. Deku doesn't need One for All, he proved that his brain was his best skill before. Though he can't be a hero. Katsuki never knew why Deku got number one when Katsuki was only ranked twenty, but it had to be pity vote. That just showed how corrupt the Commission was still. Katsuki would fix it.

He would.

Pairings: One sided BakuDeku, some hints of IiDeku.

Notes: Bakugou would be 'praising' Izuku but tearing him down the whole time. Due to this, Izuku would be in a very confusing state because it's Kacchan. He's become Izuku's friend.

Except he hasn't, has he.

Then a teacher who overheard some of the 'praise' steps in. Izuku of course is unaware it's All Might who has been looking for someone to take OFA. That Bakugou kid seems expecting something everytime he does anything in class, and some of his plans do work... except they just don't make sense. He seems to be acting far differently then in class when he does planning exercises.

All Might does not expect it to be because Bakugou is cheating while using a very heroic young man...

[johnnyshrine]

★ 156 // “M&M's”

[francixoxoxo]

Ughhhh that’s SO ADORABLE I love how many ideas we can get out of this!!!!

I’m imagining pirate Billy sitting on a rock or something, a small and secluded part of the shore that you’ve come to find is his favorite spot for fishing. And it’s maybe the second or third time you’ve met him on the beach like this, and you’re so desperate to talk to him again, make him laugh again, you can’t help teasing. The water’s a bit dark, it’s just recently stormed and the sky is overcast. So you can easily swim along the sandy floor, reaching up to his fish hook and (with some ick from the worm hooked on as bait,) tug on the metal. Billy gets all excited, trying to reel it in, and then you peek above the surface, just enough for your eyes and nose to be visible and the surprise in his eyes makes you laugh, bubbles rising in the water. The surprise in his eyes melts into happiness and he’s laughing, a little breathlessly, “Well, ain’t that a pretty fish?”

[pardonmydelays]

all jokes aside, our show is in sixteen days and i've never been more anxious about anything in my entire life

[aropride]

it's so hard to turn off the editing part of my brain when i read it's so fucking annoying

[hibernating-stag]

Good morning I'm up thinking about that forbidden beast again

[keeps-ache]

mm i Neeed to go the beach

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[catblinker]

"let me be a bitch occasionally" is absolutely a thing you should be able to say to people, not rolling over is like a necessary skill to enjoy your life. but when you want to be a bitch to like. people pointing out that you're being kinda racist, and especially non-white people pointing out that you're being kinda racist, and offering you their country's perspective on events as opposed to US and US-aligned propaganda, you gotta know when NOT to be a bitch. sometimes the most productive thing to do is to fuck off and do something worth your time, but sometimes you're being told something you really ought to listen to, and plugging your ears and walking away is like. Not the right answer

[honey-tongued-devil]

▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

  - It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm  

  - But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different  

  - When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions  

  - It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look  

  - And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day  

  - It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts  

  - Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second  

Viktor:

  - For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one  

  - He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway  

  - That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet  

  - What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer  

  - The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you  

  - And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body  

  - Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them  

  - For the nights when he feels lonelier  

Ekko: 

  - Communism  

  - There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore  

  - The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it  

  - But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes  

  - Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket  

  - It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it  

  - And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you 

 

Vander:

  - Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you  

  - When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by  

  - And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin  

  - “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else  

  - After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift  

Silco:

  - Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places  

  - Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them  

  - The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it  

  - Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his  

  - That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you  

  - But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe  

  - “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump  

Jinx:

  - Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare  

  - She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean  

  - It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it  

  - It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it  

  - Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable  

Vi:

  - Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed  

  - Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it  

  - That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month  

  - The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you  

  - When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt  

  - She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to  

  - But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others  

  - That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life  

Caitlyn:

  - Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need  

  - And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen  

  - So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform  

  - Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you  

  - It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you  

  - The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers  

  - There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often  

Mel:

  - For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you  

  - “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked  

  - It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body  

  - It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something  

  - But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless  

  - When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her  

  - And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects  

  - Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare  

  - Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had  

Sevika:

  - Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous  

  - But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders  

  - And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers  

  - It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do  

  - And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours  

  - But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it  

  - In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously  

  - And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable  

[random-cockroach]

okay maybe my brain can switch up to 7 moods and lock on 3 things simultaneously but I can't for the life of me play their pretend to die or live to trick song and a depression is coming symphony of a dying love

Decepticon Prowl because I was thinking a lot about that animatic today ;)